Reading Time: 13minutes I could feel a tear slowly running down the side of my cheek. The cold steel of the handcuffs, the tools that held my hands securely behind my back, were pressing sharply into my skin.
I could feel a tear slowly running down the side of my cheek. The cold steel of the handcuffs, the tools that held my hands securely behind my back, were pressing sharply into my skin. His heart beat steadily; mine was going a nonstop. “Could I be happier?” I asked myself with a glassy-eyed smile.
Happiness, I have heard, means nothing without sadness. “The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears,” a Native American proverb says. It’s true—here I lay, atop my Master’s bare chest, hands cuffed, body used, bruised and sore, a plug in my anus and nude except for the padlocked chastity belt that covers my pussy and keeps a butt plug in place—and I could not be happier or more free. This situation, I think to myself, is paradise compared previous sleeping arrangements I’ve endured.
Twenty-four hours ago I was hunched over in a 4×4 cage, one hardly big enough for a dog much less a human. My mouth was gagged with a ball gag. My collar was padlocked to a ring at the bottom of the cage, thus forcing my head to the ground. A strap was secured around my waist and fastened to bars on the top of the cage, thus forcing my ass in the air. Before the door was shut and locked, I felt a terrible burning sensation—a branding I figured from the smell of burning flesh—then I was used anally, plugged with the same plug that is in me now, and left to sleep. He wished me sweet dreams but little sleep and no dreams were to be had.
By morning, my lips were literally stuck to the ball gag. Master had to apply water and use his fingers to encourage my lips to separate from the rubber ball. He laughed at my dry, chapped lips; I could only cry. My knees were red, my wrists sore from the cuffs, my back ached and felt as though no amount of chiropractic therapy could help. I became accustomed to the plug and even forgot it was there. Master took a picture of my new brand and showed it to me. “SLUT,” it said, in capital letters and underlined with a long bullwhip that curled at the end. I don’t know what was more horrifying: seeing the brand and knowing it was permanent, or seeing the plug and realizing anal sex is no longer the major “obstacle” to overcome in my slavery. My innocence, it occurred to me, was gone like the space in my anal cavity; I was at that point only a toy. The brand, as silly as it may sound, was insignificant to me at the time.
Before that, I was plugged with what Master said was my tail. It was a different plug that had long, black plastic-like streamers coming from its base not dissimilar to those you might see coming from the handlebars of a Harley. I was humiliated. Master took the time to paint my entire nude body white with black spots like a Dalmation. I was told to walk on all fours, to pee like a good puppy, and to bark when I wanted back inside. “I even fixed you with a nice ring gag so you can bark louder for me,” Master said, pleased with his forethought. To my collar was fixed a chain that was connected to a pulley on an overhead clothesline. I could crawl on all fours across the entire yard in a straight line but I didn’t go more than a couple feet. I knew Master was watching and I could no longer contain myself anyhow; I squatted like a dog and peed. If it weren’t white with black-spotted eyes, Master would have seen my apple-red face. I was humiliated. I barked twice and was let inside. I was permitted to lap at some water in a bowl on the floor and eat bread that was precut into squares.
After that “dinner,” it was straight to the cage where I slept like I did last night: face down, ass up, mouth gagged, hands cuffed, ass plugged.
As bad as the dog and cage experiences were, it was nothing in comparison to the punishment I received a couple days earlier (which day that was, I don’t know—clocks, TVs, computers, calendars, anything that was a connection to the outside world was removed from my sight). Master folded my arms so that my wrists were pulled up between my shoulder blades and tied them in place. My palms were together as though I was praying but no amount of wishing or hoping would lessen what I was about to endure.
A black corset was applied to my waist. Master told me he likes the size and shape of my waist but He loves making me endure frustrating situations. He laced it as tight as he could. At times, he would put his knee in the middle of my back while lacing it to ensure it was pulled as tight as possible. End result, it was tighter than I’ve ever endured and breathing was nearly impossible. I thought I would explode.
Making things more difficult, Master put “toe boots” on my feet. I had no idea what they were but didn’t dare ask—I know I am only to talk when asked to talk. Master sat me on a chair, back upright due to the corset, breasts sticking out as a result of my oddly-secured hands. One foot at a time, I pointed my toes into the impossibly high shoes. Master said they have over a 7” heel! Like everything else, they were locked into place to prevent their removal. Master helped me to my feet, held me by my waist, and encouraged me to walk. Awkward and unstable, Master put me on the floor face down. “Ill be back,” he said disappointedly, leaving me nearly breathless, with pointed toes and little feeling in my arms.
Hours passed. I couldn’t move. I could not get up because the corset prevented flexing at the waist. I couldn’t push myself up because my hands were bound closely to my body. “Even if I could get up, how far would I get in these shoes anyhow,” I thought to myself. I submitted to the restraints and waited patiently for Master to return.
What happened next is unclear. I must have fallen asleep or passed out because the next thing I remember, I was in the garage laying face down on a narrow plank that was supported by two saw horses. My legs were opened wide and chains from the ceiling held them in place. As always, my ass was plugged. In addition, Master’s favorite toy, his inflatable dildo, was inside my pussy and pumped up hard. It felt like I was going to split in two. “One more pump for good luck,” he said, always wanting to take things to a higher level.
As bad as it was, it wasn’t the focus of my attention because Master put a long needle through my outstretched tongue and pushed the needle into the wood beneath me. Any movement at all pulled at my tongue and ached like no other pain I have ever endured. I drooled endlessly like a teething baby. Tears streamed down my face. He masterbated in front of me, climaxed on my face, and left. I was crying, drooling, in pain, and humiliated.
It was straight from the plank to the cage. Face down, ass up, mouth gagged, hands cuffed, ass plugged. He removed his dildo and the corset, much to my relief. In removing the needle, my tongue bled incessantly so He decided to use a bit gag on me that night. It was thoughtful of Him.
Before that, I had what seemed to be the only break I had from the torture. Master, unhappy with my pale skin, greased me up and chained me spread eagle in the backyard to get some color. Silly me, all I could think of was that I would have tan lines from the restraints on my wrists and ankles and from the straps of the gag on my face.
After what I imagine was a couple hours, Master flipped me so my back could get some attention. For hours more I laid there with my nose in the blades of grass. Master returned and flipped me again so I was on my back. He removed my gag to which I replied “Thank you Master” with my quiet, earnest, dry-mouthed voice. He said nothing. He caressed my body from head to toe. He brushed off the grass that was stuck to my sweaty and greasy body and wiped me down with a washcloth. He licked and pinched my nipples and, for a moment, I thought I might orgasm. “Master isn’t going to let that happen,” I said to myself as he stood up and walked away.
A few minutes later, he returned with a plate and a drink in his hands. “Dinner’s served,” he said with a chipper voice. I wondered what it could be—Master is a lot of things but Master is not by any means a chef. Before all of this happened, I was the one who did the cooking. Holding the plate above me so I couldn’t see what was on it, Master slowly tilted the plate and used a spoon to shovel hot macaroni and cheese onto my breasts and stomach. “He could have fed me from the plate,” I thought to myself angrily. He spoon-fed me each bite, being sure to scrape the remaining cheese into a pile on my stomach and into my mouth. He used a napkin to remove stray cheese from my lips and even my drink—an iced tea—was given to me through a straw. I was beginning to remember my Owner’s loving affection and attention once again.
I was then unchained, allowed to shower, shave and use the bathroom (in handcuffs, of course), and prepare myself for bed. Like before, in the cage, face down, ass up, plugged, gagged, nude, embarrassed, anxious, and worried. “What have I gotten myself into?” I wondered.
Before that was the piercing day from hell. After waking from a caged-nights sleep, Master bathed me, fed me, shaved me and dressed me in a tight tank top and little shorts. No bra, no panties. He packed me into the car, hands cuffed and mouth taped shut, and drove to a nearby hole-in-the-wall body modification shop. The cuffs and tape were removed and He and a tall, fat man whose head was shaven ushered me into a small white room. The fat man, Tiny, as he was called, explained to me that I would be pierced at my Master’s request. “Where?” I asked myself but never said a word because I am not to speak unless asked to do so. I just sat there, worried and shaking, hoping I wouldn’t disappoint my Owner.
“Strip,” Tiny said. My eyes got wide and I didn’t know what to do. Master is the only one who commands me and I didn’t want to obey this rude, ugly man. I looked at Master and I knew from the stern look in his eyes and the nod of his head that I was to obey. Thinking of Him, I stripped quickly. I was then placed on a cold table while Master and Tiny arranged some shiny devices on a steel cart.
“Nipple one,” Tiny said, showing me the piercing tool and the hoop that would be later pushed through my sensitive skin. I cried and started to bite my lip. “Her nipples are already hard, Man,” Tiny said to Master. “Lucky for her I don’t have to get them ready,” he said with a chuckle. I wanted to slap him but I know better—Master makes sure I am a pleasant, well-mannered young lady at all times and I was not about to disappoint Him in this situation. Tiny grabbed my breast with this gloved hand and squeezed near the nipple. His other hand controlled the “puncher,” as he called it, and positioned it in the center of my nipple. With a loud clicking sound, a shooting pain, and a loud yelp, my left nipple was pierced. I cried but didn’t dare say a word.
In this way both nipples, my navel, eyebrow (twice on the left side), septum, clitoris, hood and labia were pierced. In fact, my labia was pierced three times on each side and Master said he would connect padlocks to the hoops to lock me out of my cunt.
Master and Tiny left me in the room to view and ponder all of the new holes in my body. It was at this time, I later learned, that Master learned how to brand me. In fact, it was Tiny who made the “Slut” design on the poker that was to brand me days later. It was also at this time that Tiny presented Master with sketches of the tattoos I received a week later: one says “Master’s tit” and the other says “Slave” and both are arched around the areola of my nipples. Master also had the BDSM symbol, the circular ying-yang-like icon, tattooed in the small of my back.
Earning these marks were not without extensive punishment, though. After I had gotten dressed and after I kissed Tiny’s cheek at Master’s command, I smarted off to Master. “How could you do this to me,” I erupted once we were in the car. He looked at me with disbelief and didn’t respond. It was a momentary lapse in my judgement that I will forever regret. Master cuffed me, taped my mouth, buckled my seat belt, and drove us home. I was in some hot water.
Little did I know I would literally be in hot water. Master took me to the garage where He has a system of chains and pulleys that he used to suspend me from my wrists. Before he did that, my mouth was filled with cloth and taped shut. Then Master tied my ankles together and attached a 15-pound weight to the rings of rope around my ankles. Lastly, Master put a tight leather hood over me, thus making me blind to the upcoming dreadful events. There I was, hanging from the ceiling, gagged, hooded, nude, and stretched from head to toe with a 15-pound weight hanging at my ankles. I was hoping that would be punishment enough. Knowing Master, I should have expected more.
I didn’t know it at the time, thankfully, but Master has two large water guns and filled one with extremely hot water and one with ice cold water. You can probably imagine what happened next: my nude, stretched, suspended, body was subject to the tortures of high-pressure scalding water and ice water. I screamed at the top of my lungs but the gag and hood prevented any noise from escaping. I swung and kicked in an attempt to avoid the pain but only the additional pain of the swinging weight resulted from my efforts. My fingers twitched involuntarily; my head became hard to hold up. My screaming made my ears ring. The muscles in my stomach contracted in response to the hot water. As soon as I adjusted myself to its sting, Master shot the cold water and made my muscles react in a manner different from the first. There was, it occurred to me, no way of making this situation more tolerable. I screamed and moaned and pleaded for it to end.
And then, as quickly as it started, it was over. I swung there, back and forth, side to side, aching, wet, filled with new holes, and all I could think of was how ashamed I was for lashing out at Master. I clasped my fingers together and hoped He would forgive me.
Fast forward to earlier today. I was strapped to a pole in the basement. One strap was tightly secured around my waist, one just above my breasts, and one around my neck. My wrists and elbows were tied behind the pole and my legs were spread wide with a spreader bar. As promised, my pussy was locked shut with three small padlocks, the weight of which pulled my lips toward the ground. I was gagged with a ring gag and was beginning to drool all over my chin and chest when Master walked up behind me. “Look what I’ve put together,” he said with a tone of joy in his voice. Standing behind the pole, Master put his arms over my shoulders and showed me a self-laminated scrapbook of pictures and stories. It was called “My new slave” and it consisted of nothing but pictures of me, ideas and desires of mine, and many of my emails to Master. With each new page I was shown a new and more embarrassing photo of myself in terrible situations. I hated them and loved them at the same time; the rush of memories was nearly overwhelming.
One picture showed me ironing Master’s dress shirts using my nipples. He attached one nipple clamp to me, thread the chain of the clamps through the handle of the iron, and then clamped my other nipple. In this position, I could lift and pull the iron in any direction I needed. To move the shirt, I had to lift the iron off the table completely, let it hang from my nipples, turn around, tug at the shirt with my hands cuffed behind me, and then place the iron back onto the board. I was only able to finished two shirts before Master stopped me. I wasn’t fast enough, he said, and was sent to the cage without dinner. Another picture showed Master whipping me. My body was red from head to toe with whip and cane marks. My eyes were wide and filled with tears but I remember my pussy being wet and eager for action. Traitorous contraption.
Master read emails I had sent him. Sentences like “I want No Limits, I want to be a Man’s toy” and “I will do whatever is required of me to make my Master happy.” There was also my description of myself to him: “I am 5’3, 121 pounds, 34c-26-35, shoe size 7, dress size 5.” He also read parts about me wanting to be pierced, tattooed and branded by my Master. “I would be honored to wear your marks,” I said with earnest. “Are you honored now?” He asked. I nodded my head agreeingly and with as much vigor as I could being restrained as I was. Master’s scrapbook was complete with two hooks that he quickly attached to my nipples. “I’ll let you think about things for awhile. Be back shortly,” He said.
While he was gone, I could think of nothing but my great times with Him. When I first came here, it was only for the weekend and He insisted He pay for dinner and the movie. He even opened doors for me, walked on the inside nearest the street for my protection, and bought me flowers. At night He tucked me in, gave me a kiss on the cheek and wished me sweet dreams. It was like a dream.
The next time, Master said that since we got to know each other better, that I would have more required of me. Master undressed me that weekend; it was His first time seeing His toy. He touched and fondled me and even kissed me on the cheek and forehead. His caresses and massages made me orgasm twice and I thanked Him endlessly for the sensations I received.
The third time I came here, it was for one week. During this week, Master wanted to show me his version of restraining a slave. He tied me up all day everyday it seemed—I was beginning to forget what my hands looked like. His ties were tighter, more painful and more difficult to endure than anything I have ever been through yet the level of freedom I experienced while in His ties was and still is beyond words. At the end of that weekend Master kissed me and told me He couldn’t wait until next time. Neither could I.
And here it is.
I took a month off work to spend here with Master (He lives in Pa and I am from SC). Master told me that I would be tested this month and, if I passed, I would earn his collar and the right to become His slave. I don’t know what time it is, what day it is, how much time is left in the month and I don’t care. What I do know is that Master said I was a good girl and that I passed his test! He presented me with His slavery contract and His new, permanent collar!
“You have earned my collar,” He said passionately, “and if you choose to accept it and all it requires, you will make me a very happy man.” I smiled, cried, read through His contract, and signed it eagerly. He sealed the deal with our first kiss on the lips and then we made love for the first time. I wasn’t tied or restrained in any way and He gave me permission to let me touch Him. He was warm, tender, romantic, loving, and, in a word, perfect.
Afterwards, he cuffed my hands behind me and filled me with his butt plug. “I don’t want you getting too comfy,” He said in a soft tone. Apparently He doesn’t know how comfy I already am. Thank You Master.
Coleen is a writer, photographer and film maker at Wasteland and Sssh.com.
Here at BDSMCafe.com, she is editor and curator of this comprehensive library of BDSM fiction, informational articles and other educational features that date back to the early days of the internet in 1996 when the site was first launched.
