© Copyright 2010 - Mumman - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-F; latex; catsuit; corset; club; F/m; D/s; neoprene; bdsm; bond; dungeon; mast; cons/reluct; X
A Halloween Special 2010 Tale
She admired her shiny black skin-tight latex-attired, corseted, booted, hooded figure in her full-length mirror, posing from different angles, getting her full fill of her sexy, bad self. She smiled, smacking her tight, gleaming, beautifully-rounded ass, straining to look back over her shoulder in the long, tight, thick latex neck-corselet, a cigarette in her other latex-gloved hand, cocked back at shoulder height.
“Damn, I’m fucking hot!” she said to herself, and took a long, slow drag on the cigarette, slowly exhaling. “Wait ‘til they get a load of me at the club!” She pivoted slowly in her shiny, spiky, high-heeled tight patent-leather boots, sticking the cigarette between her red, voluptuous full lips. Her smoke-shrouded head gleamed in the tight full black latex hood with feminine red-trimmed eye and mouth openings, adhering to her beautiful dark face. Her alluring big, dark eyes gleamed. She admired her red and black narrow, very tightly PVC-corseted waist and her firm, bulging 38C breasts under the stretched full latex catsuit, her large nipples protruding. She wore a tight leather, steel-ringed bondage belt adorned by two pairs of handcuffs.
“Watch out boys! The Ebony Goddess is on the prowl! Who’s gonna get caught?” She slung her tiny black hip-purse over her shoulder and grabbed her little leather quirt whip, smoking deeply and feeling high as she left the town-house to drive to the club a short distance away. She took a final deep drag on the cigarette, tossing it out the car window as she arrived at her Halloween hunting location, her pulse quickening. The ghoul at the door checked her I.D. and lustily appraised her as she paid to get in. She strode into the big crowded club with confident Dominatrix swagger, slapping her whip repeatedly against her gloved palm as she surveyed the assorted scary and funny-looking characters on the way to the bar, attracting much attention. She was an imposing figure, well over six feet tall in her 6” heeled platform boots.
She ordered a Manhattan from the sexy, slutty-looking hooker-attired barmaid. The loud music pulsed and pounded as she sipped and looked around. A tall zombie character soon sidled up next to her, ordering a beer. “Wow,” he said to her, “are you for real, or a transvestite?”
She sneered at him. “Feel these boobs, you freak, and find out!” He hesitantly put his hand up, and gave her big latex-covered boob a tentative squeeze. He smiled at her but she grabbed his wrist hard, raising her whip. “Yeah, I’m the real thing, motherfucker! Now get the fuck out of here!” He gave her a look and slinked away. Soon other guys and ghouls were becoming attracted to her and she indulged a couple in limited conversations, appraising them by costumed attire, attitude and wittiness. But she did not come here to be hunted, she was the hunter, and she could be as picky and discriminating as she wanted. She ordered another drink and walked around, narrowing her search for the right quarry.
She saw a tall guy with a nice physique who intrigued her over near the dance-floor, wearing a black tightly-laced, full leather, zip-eyed, zip-mouthed hood, a tight, wide leather neck collar, a tight black Neoprene wetsuit, a wide leather belt with steel rings, similar to hers, adorned with padlocks, tall black army-style lace-up boots and black leather gloves with leather D-ring cuffs strapped on his wrists and ankles. She sauntered over to him and his buddies as they regarded her lustfully. One whistled at her, dressed as an evil psycho-clown. “Hey, baby-” he started to say, but she pushed him in the chest dismissively.
“Out of the way, clown!” she said, as the other guys snickered at him. She walked up face-to-face to the aroused bondage-guy, noticing his lustful, handsome dark brown eyes under the eye-openings. Their eyes were at about the exact same height. “Let’s dance!” she ordered, holding up the quirt, and grabbed the steel ring on the front of the neck collar, leading him willingly out onto the dance floor as his friends watched in envy. He set his bottle of beer down, and she her drink on a table next to the floor.
The disco-rock beat pounded as they began moving to the pulsing rhythm. Her sensuous, rhythmic movements entranced him and she occasionally punctuated the beat with little swatting snaps of the whip at him, some connecting stingingly, occasionally on his ass when she maneuvered next to and behind him. He loved it and got very turned-on, as did she, pleased by his smooth, natural dancing rhythms, and willingness to take a public flogging! She noticed his hard cock under the tight Neoprene and he noticed the tight latex being sucked into her pudendum. They sweated and grooved into the next dance-jam and became the center of attention around the dance-floor. Their adrenaline levels increased as the pounding beat drove them, digging on each other, her snapping whip tattooing his hot Neoprened hide to the beat with increasing stinging, welt-raising intensity and regularity as she held him by his collar ring. It hurt so good! His buddies and the crowd watched in awe and fascination as the sexy Dominatrix gave the Bondage Boy a good rhythmic, stinging whipping over the next 5 minutes, until the blasting funk-rock track ended, to some appreciative applause and whooping.
She pulled him by his posture-collar ring off of the dance-floor, both sweating profusely in their hot attire, and his hips, thighs and ass smarting. They picked up their drinks and she led him between and past his somewhat jealous, shocked buddies, toward the bar with a firm grip on his collar-ring as he finished off his beer. He finally started to talk to her but she cut him off. “Zip it, Mister!” she admonished, “Or I’ll zip it for you!” She was in full-dom mode. She grabbed the zip-pull at the corner of his mouth on the tight hood to emphasize her point and pulled him to her face by the neck ring. “I’m gonna control you and the conversation for the rest of the night, understand?”
“Uh, OK” he said hesitatingly, sucked in by those intense, big dark brown eyes.
“Now buy us a drink! I’ll have a Manhattan! And next time you address me, it will be as ‘Goddess’, do you understand?”
“Uh, yes, Goddess.” He was turned-on and willing to play her game for now. He ordered her drink and a bottle of beer from the hooker. “Cheers, Goddess!” They clinked and drank thirstily, looking at each other lustily.
“Goddess, indeed!” he thought. “What a body! Fetish Goddess!” He imagined he was in a fantasy dream, willing to let it play out and see where it led. His friends didn’t matter to him right now. He was her mysterious hooded captive, not knowing what he was in for this night, and beyond. She had captured her prey.
“You’re pretty funky, for a white boy!” she complimented.
“What’s you name, slave?”
That word struck him to his fantasy core. “Marcus.”
“Come, Marcus! Let’s go get some fresh air!” She led him by his neck ring through the bemused, intrigued crowd out to the smoking patio. The cool air felt great! She lit her cigarette from her tiny purse and inhaled deeply, expanding her large breasts in the tight latex, blowing smoke at him. “Do you smoke, Marcus?”
“Well, have a smoke!” She took out a cigarette, sticking it between his narrow mouth opening and lit it. He lightly inhaled and coughed a little. She thought it was sexy seeing him smoke in the hood. He thought the same about her, admiring her wide red, sexy luscious lips surrounded by the tight red latex mouth design on the shiny black hood as she took a drag and the smoke streamed out. Her beautiful dark eyes entranced him. “I was looking for a guy like you tonight! My ‘costume’ is not really a costume, Marcus-slave, it’s who I really am! And I think likewise for you! It’s more an extension of who you really are, deep down! Right, Mr. Bondage Freak?”
He took a puff. “Yes, Goddess, I suppose you’re right.” he said, looking at her penetrating eyes through his narrow eye-slits. He knew she had his number and he was aroused. He admired her big beautiful breasts and nipples stretching the sexy tight latex catsuit, her small, corseted waist and sexy boots. His heart thumped rapidly and he took a drink, the beer bottle just fitting between his tight hood’s narrow zippered mouth opening.
“Of course I’m right!” she said, playfully swatting his thigh with a stinging flick of the whip. “We’re each other’s fantasy!”
“Indeed, Goddess. Here’s to fantasy-reality!” They drank and smoked. He played her game, waiting for her to initiate more conversation.
“Very nice that Halloween’s on the weekend!” she said. “Party and play Saturday night, and recuperate on Sunday! You’re gonna need it, slave!”
“Yes, Goddess.” He was very excited! She was evidently telling him that she was taking him home to her place tonight! He wondered what kind of play she had in mind, for how long and how severe. He could feel the hot welts from her dance-floor whipping rising under his tight suit. It had turned him on, but how much could he really take? How far would this Ebony Goddess push him?
“There’s a nice prize for best costume tonight, you know. I figure that us together could win it!” she said. She swatted his hip with the whip.
He winced. “Yes, Goddess, I think we could!” He liked the sound of “us together”. He figured what the hell, the winner gets $250 and he could use some extra cash. He’ll play along, but of course it’s for much more than just the cash!
“Yes, but we’ll have to play it up to the hilt! I have a dog-leash in the car I’ll attach to your posture-collar. Turn around and let me check your hood and collar, slave!” She stuck her cigarette in her mouth and unbuckled the two leather posture-collar straps and untied the hood lace. “Yes, this can definitely be tighter!” She yanked the lacing down through the grommets very tightly and tied it off in a knot. Now it was very tight against his face, pressing his nose down a bit. She put the posture collar back on, and pulling the straps tightly, squeezing it firmly around his neck, buckled it two notches tighter than previously as he moaned in discomfort, as other smokers watched on in interest. “There! Properly tight!”
“Properly too tight!” he thought, but kept quiet. The sweaty leather now felt skin-tight around his face and head and his neck mobility was practically gone. They finished their drinks and smokes as she ascertained that he had been driven there by one of his friends as her plan unfolded. She led him through the crowd by his neck toward the front door. The music pounded out non-stop. She dragged him into a dark corner. She removed the little keys from his two locks in the front rings of his belt.
“I assume these are all keyed-alike, slave?”
“Yes, Goddess”, he gulped nervously. She smiled and unlocked the two locks above his hips, and put the keys in her little purse. “Goddess, what-”
She shushed him and tightened up his already-tight belt a notch. “Give me your hand, slave! One more word, and they’ll go behind your back!” Here was the moment of truth, the moment of surrender. He could not resist. He sighed and obeyed slowly, lifting his gloved hand as she clicked the lock shut on his cuff’s D-ring and the belt ring at his side. She grabbed his other hand, put his wrist cuff to the ring on the other side, and locked it on, trapping his hands at his sides. She then undid a pair of handcuffs from her waist belt and squatted down, clicking them onto his ankle cuff rings, hobbling him. He moaned in both excitement and embarrassment, but she was not done. She carefully zipped his mouth and eye openings shut on the tightened hood. He nervously breathed the hot, leather-scented air through his slightly squashed nose and the tiny nose grommets, moaning not entirely unhappily.
“You’re gonna wait right here while I go to the car! Can’t have you running off, slave!” She spanked his ass and left as his pulse raced. He blindly pulled at his wrist cuffs and shuffled his feet to see how much slack he had on his cuffed, hobbled ankles. He worried about someone coming over to talk to him, or his buddies noticing him. He worried about eventually having to piss. He knew he was hers tonight, unequivocally! Soon, he heard the approach of her clicking boot heels, to his huge relief. She clipped the black leather leash’s metal snap-hook onto his neck collar ring and unzipped his mouth closure. “Open wide, slave!” she said as he hesitated. She snapped the stinging quirt hard on his thigh, pulling on his leash as he winced. He reluctantly opened his mouth and she quickly jammed a thick folded sock into it, pressing it in tightly and wedging it between his teeth as he protested. She zipped the tight mouth-zip over, clamping in the mouth-filling sock, and unzipped his eyes. She pulled his face to hers.
“Get this straight, Marcus-slave! When I tell you to do something, you do it! Without hesitation! Understand?” She slapped the whip painfully against his other thigh for emphasis, undoubtably leaving another welt.
“Mm-hmm!” he said. He was nervous but aroused. He was certainly under her full control, just as she had told him he would be. He had let himself fall under her powerful spell and it was too late to do anything about it.
“Alright! The costume contest is coming up soon! I need a drink! Too bad for you! We wouldn’t want you pissing your nice suit, now, would we, slave?” She led him to the crowded bar by his leash, noisily shuffling his shackled feet, and got herself a drink. People stared at them as he felt embarrassed by all the attention. He really wanted a beer. She sipped her Manhattan, holding his leash tautly. She, on the other hand, loved all attention, the exhibitionist that she was. He groaned as he noticed two of his friends approaching the bar where she held him captive, pretending not to see them.
“Hey, Marcus!” said the inebriated psycho-clown, “I see she’s got you locked up and zipped-up! Havin’ fun?” His pirate-attired friend chuckled as she looked at them disdainfully.
He turned and shifted his weight nervously. “Mm-hmm!”
“Well, you two make a great pair!” He took a swig of beer, lustily regarding his friend’s sexy captor, staring at her big boobs stretching the tight latex. “Speaking of a great pair-” He raised and tilted his bottle to her, grinning salaciously. The pirate chuckled.
She stepped over to him menacingly, patting her gloved palm with the whip, looking down at him. “OK, clown, take your drunk ass away from here, along with your matey! Me and Marcus don’t want your company! And he’s coming home with me!”
He took a step back and looked at Marcus. “That right, Marcus?”
He gave a shrugging nod.
“OK! Hope you enjoy getting whipped later, dude!” She stared at him as he and his buddy chuckled and shuffled away. Marcus sighed in relief.
She sipped her drink. “That clown could use a good whippin’!” He chuckled in his hot, restricting hood. Sweat trickled and tickled at his brow and nose. He tried to raise his hands, but couldn’t move them more than about two inches. He couldn’t utter an intelligible word with his mouth tightly crammed. He was truly her prisoner for the evening, and maybe the weekend. He couldn’t believe he was in a public place helplessly cuffed and gagged at the hands of a wild, sadistic, unpredictable woman he had just met, and she was taking him to her place! And he had taken a good whipping on the dance-floor, as his sore ass, hips and thighs attested to! He thought what a crazy masochistic bondage slut-nut he was as his pulse raced and his cock got hard.
“Let’s take a walk, slave!” she said, tugging on his leash. She slowly, proudly paraded her catch around the big club as people looked on in interest and intrigue. Some would have liked to trade places with the shackled and hooded captive. He breathed hard, hot, restricted, leather-scented breaths as she led him clinking along behind her, his hard cock beginning to feel the urge to piss. He had drunk three beers. Finally the D.J. announced it was contest time and urged the participants to strut their stuff across the dance-floor in a line, and line up on the other side. She led him over.
A steady stream of assorted characters made their way dancing and strutting across the lighted floor to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” blasting from the powerful speakers. The stunning Dominatrix jerked Marcus-slave onto the floor by his leash, dancing and turning him around, grinning while whipping him to the beat as people whooped and cheered. Marcus groaned through his gag as the stinging leather quirt landed hard and fast with the driving beat, on his hips, thighs and ass. She even gave him a good swat on his cock that made him holler! They got the loudest reaction from the crowd. She jerked him off the dance-floor as he stumbled slightly at the step down, hobbling over in his cuffed ankles to get in line with the other costumed contestants, panting and sweating and feeling the painful, stinging effects of her hard, rhythmic whipping. He tried to move his cuffed and locked hands to rub his smarting ass, to no avail. She gave him a kiss on his leather-covered cheek, feeling confident that they would win.
The last few contestants got into line as the D.J. congratulated them and the crowd clapped and cheered. He conferred with the managers of the club briefly and lowered the volume of the music. “The winner for best costume is…” He walked down the line as a spotlight followed. He slowed as he neared the kinky couple. “Dominatrix and the Gimp!” The crowd clapped and whooped approvingly. She beamed as he handed her the envelope with the cash and a restaurant gift-certificate. She nodded to the crowd and pulled down on Marcus’ leash to make him bow, bathed in the spotlight. “Congratulations, Madame Dom!” he said, and put the microphone up to her.
“Thank-you! Thank-you very much! My boy here would thank-you too, but he’s not exactly able to articulate right now!” The people laughed and clapped as the D.J. shook her hand, and his locked and cuffed hand also. He nodded, feeling embarrassed. The D.J. went back to his booth and resumed blasting the throbbing music. She beamed happily as she led him through the crowd, acknowledging people congratulating and complimenting them. She led him out to the chilly smoking patio, sliding the envelope into her boot. She lit a cigarette as she got more kudos for their costumes and performance. They were both sweaty.
Marcus moaned, feeling the urge to piss and wanting a smoke now. “What’s that, slave?” she asked. She took a deep drag and exhaled at him. “Told you we could win! How about a victory smoke, slave?” He made a noise as she pulled the zipper over from the corner of his wet sock-stuffed mouth, and stuck her cigarette in it, pulling the zipper back to trap the filter there at the corner of his mouth! He strained to lift his hands up, rattling the cuffs as the smoke went in his face and some seeped into the hood. She smiled at him and lit another one, blowing smoke in his face. He coughed and moaned. “Now that’s sexy!” she said, as other smokers noticed and chuckled.
“After you finish that cigarette, slave, I think we’ll be going. I’m getting hungry, how about you?” He moaned more as smoke got in his face and into the nose grommets. She blew more smoke at him as he coughed. “How’d you like to go to a diner like that, and watch me drink coffee and eat?” she slyly grinned. He tried to talk but his mouth was too stuffed and his tongue trapped. “Or maybe I’ll go to a drive-thru and eat in the car? Yeah, that might be better and easier!” He sighed noisily and nervously. He’d not eaten much that night and was feeling hungry, now that she mentioned it. He stood there, feeling humiliated with the burning cigarette stuck in the tight hood’s mouth-zip while other smokers chuckled at him. He felt the stinging whip-marks under his sweaty wetsuit, wondering how many welts he had. Smoke seeped into his hood as he coughed occasionally.
She just watched him as she smoked, like a spider with an insect stuck in her web. She idly tapped the quirt on her boot-calf. Finally she took the burnt-down cigarette out of his mouth-zipper, zipped it back shut, and crushed it out in an ashtray, along with hers. “Let’s go, my slave!” She gave him a good swat on his sore ass-cheek. She led him through the noisy club, smiling at people as they made their way along, receiving compliments and congratulations. She pulled him out the front door, nodding at the ghoulish doorman. She led her nervous and excited prisoner over to her car in a dark area of the parking lot, hitting the remote door unlock button.
He was trying to convey something urgently to her, which was that he had to piss. “Well, slave, there’s no zip on your wetsuit, so you’ll have to wait!” She opened the door to help him get in. “Don’t you dare piss in my car, slave!” she warned him. She helped him swing his cuffed ankles up into the car and get him situated in the seat as he breathed heavily. She fastened the seatbelt tightly on him with his elbows sticking out at his sides. She slammed the door and went around to get in and started the car. “Now, Marcus-slave, you’re in for quite a night tonight! The likes of which you may have fantasized about, or had nightmares about! It’s Halloween, and the spirits are possessing me! He-he-heee!” she cackled like a witch. “No need for you to see where you’re goin’!” she said as she zipped his eyes shut. He sighed in nervous apprehension, worried that he had fallen into a madwoman’s clutches as she took off for the nearest fast-food drive-thru.
She got a hamburger, fries and a cola and took off down the road with her blind, bound and gagged passenger. “No food for you, slave!” she said as she bit into the hot burger, the aroma making him salivate into his mouth-filling sock. He moaned and rattled his locked waist-cuffs as she drove and ate and drank and soon he had no idea where they were. She made many turns to get him disorientated, going a long, round-about way home. He was focusing on holding his piss in and was moaning. “No pissin’ in my car, slave!” she reminded him, with a stinging slap of the quirt on his thigh. He was having high anxiety. At last she pulled up to her townhouse and shut off the car. “Here we are, slave! At your final dungeon destination! He-he-hee!” He was getting the creeps now!
She opened his door, took off his seatbelt and helped him out of the car. She dragged him by his leash to her door in the dark. “Step up here, slave, and one more step inside!” She pulled him in and slammed the door as his heart pounded. “Welcome to my prison, slave! No-one knows you’re here, you don’t know where ‘here’ is, and you don’t even know my name! Ha-ha-ha-ha!” Her words had the desired effect upon her captive and he moaned in fear and apprehension. “Let’s see if you can manage my cellar-dungeon steps with those ankle-cuffs on!” She dragged him to the cellar steps with a sharp whip to his hip, as he offered meek resistance, whipping him again. She stopped him to take the first step down. He had to obey. He took a tentative step, still blinded by the closed zippers. There was just enough slack to shuffle down, step-by-step, with her help. He breathed very fast, sweating in the hot hood and his heart raced crazily.
“Welcome to Halloween Hell, Marcus!” She dragged the nearly hyperventilating prisoner across the cement floor to a heavy door with a thick latch-board which creaked open and she led him in. He was on the verge of pissing. He tried to talk to her but she wouldn’t unzip his crammed mouth. She brought him to a round steel support-post and backed him up against it. “Don’t move!” she ordered with a smack of the whip. He rattled his padlocked wrist-cuffs as if he thought he could break them but he remained totally helpless. The implacable Goddess steadied him at the post and proceeded to tie him to it with a long length of clothesline, tying it around his waist and winding it tightly down his legs to his ankles, where she tied it to the cuffs at his ankles. He kept trying to talk to her but she was heedless. He started pissing his undies and suit and it began to trickle down his crotch and wetsuit as he moaned in misery.
She went behind him with more rope and looped it through his right elbow, pulling it over to his left, going back and forth, pulling his bent elbows as closely together as they would go behind the pole as he whimpered and moaned. She tied more clothesline tightly across his chest and around his tight posture-collar and the pole a little less tightly but quite snugly. He was bound ram-rod straight to the pole. She went around to his front as he made pleading noises. She noticed he had pissed himself, seeing the liquid bulge trickling down the left leg of his wetsuit around the tight ropes. “Looks like you pissed alot, Marcus-slave! Maybe it’ll trickle down into those boots, if they’re not tied tightly enough! Good thing you didn’t piss my car or upstairs, or I’d have given you a worse whippin’ than you’re about to get! And don’t pretend you don’t like it, Marcus! I want to see your eyes now!” She unzipped his eyes as he blinked at the light and made incoherent noises.
She smiled wickedly at him and began the whipping as he cried out. She started at his roped shins and worked her way up slowly, enjoying her sadistic self immensely. He hollered as she whipped him methodically up his legs, even on his pissy crotch as he yelped, his hips, sides, stomach, chest and arms. He hollered and screamed in pain and for mercy, but the dark masochistic side of him that had got him here in the first place was starting to boil over and the combination of the tight, strict bondage and the multiple stinging whacks of the quirt tattooing his Neoprene hide gave him a raging hard-on, which she noticed. She expertly snapped it back-and-forth on his hard cock repeatedly as he hollered in pain and pleasure, almost thinking he could cum. “See, my slave, how I know you? How I know what you want and need?”
She grabbed his hard, sweaty, pissy cock as best she could under the thick Neoprene and began jerking it very hard up and down, eliciting gasping, pleasurable moaning from him. “Come on, Marcus, how’s about a squirt for your fine Ebony Goddess?” He strained against the tight ropes and cuffs, feeling the stinging heat from the dozens of whip-marks up and down his body as she jerked his cock violently. He moaned with increasing urgency as she grinned at him with wide eyes. “Come on, CUM on, slave!” He hollered and ejaculated from his core as she kept it up, watching him. It was the most mind-blowing orgasm he could remember outside of a vagina. He shuddered and spasmed as the hot semen jettisoned out. She gave him a big smile. “There! There’s a happy slave!” He moaned happily and felt a calm come over him. “Now you just relax for awhile. Your nice, cozy dungeon is soundproofed, so no-one heard you, and no-one’s gonna hear you! Enjoy my accommodations, slave! See you later!”
He groaned as she shut off the light and slammed the heavy door, engaging the heavy latch. It was pitch-black as he listened to her high-heels click up the steps. He tested the tight ropes securing him, but she knew her ropes very well, and he was well and truly trussed. He felt the semen seeping down his sweaty, piss-saturated shorts, and the piss still trickling down his wetsuit under his roped legs. He breathed short, tired, satisfied breaths, pushing his fears and trepidations aside for now, reveling in his harsh bondage, feeling the stinging welts from her thorough thrashing, thinking how it hurt so good. He waited there in the absolute silence and darkness, relaxing as best he could, trying to ignore his painfully-bound elbows, waiting patiently for Her, his Goddess.
Upstairs, she smoked as she undid her tight corset in front of the mirror, and began undressing, unzipping her tight boots from her sore feet, pulling out the cash envelope, and peeling off her sweaty, skin-tight latex garb. She pulled the sweaty tight hood off and shook her shoulder-length, matted black mane. What a night, she thought to herself, smoking deeply, and went to draw a hot bubble-bath and pour some wine. While it filled, she fingered her clit and pussy, tweaking her nipple, having a nice climax, thinking about her bondage-slave below. She chuckled, thinking he’d be OK for a good while while she relaxed. She wanted to leave him there for a long time to fuck with him while he wondered when the hell she would return, desperately yearning for her, before she chained him tightly down to the bondage-cot for bed-time. Tonight, tomorrow, and beyond, he would find out the true meaning of being a bondage-slave, an object for her to control and manipulate as she pleased. She sunk into her hot bath, sipping the red wine, and slipped into a deeply-relaxed state, semi-dozing, as her stringently-bound-and-gagged slave waited below, and waited, and waited…
Mumman (inspired by Mike)