I held her hand twisted up behind her back as I unlocked our front door

and pushed it open. She stumbled into the living room ahead of me and

dropped to her knees as soon as I released her hand. I swung the door

shut behind me. She scrambled on her knees to turn toward me, face to

the floor, her hands crossed behind her back. "How may I serve you,

Master?" she asked the carpet. "That's a good start, slut. Go remove

your dress and hose," I ordered. "Bring me my robe." She rose shakily to

her feet.

"Did I say you could stand?" She quickly dropped back to the floor, face

down. "You may stand." Again she struggled to her feet. "Thank you,

Master." "Go!" "Yes, Master." She practically ran to the bedroom. I

started picking out the items I would need for her evening's punishment:

the collar, cuffs and chains of her "uniform," a third set of cuffs, the

Ace bandage I had blindfolded her with the previous night, the short

whip. And our stereo headphones. I placed each item on the coffee table.

She crawled in from the bedroom on hands and knees, now wearing only the

corset and her new spike heeled pumps. My terry cloth robe was folded

neatly in the middle of her back. "Keep your feet up when you crawl," I

told her. "I don't want you scuffing the toes of your new shoes." I was

not going to make the evening easy for her. "Yes, Master," she

responded, dutifully lifting her feet from the floor behind her. She

winced slightly each time she placed her full weight on a bare knee.

Stopping before my feet, she leaned down and began licking the toe of my

left shoe. "Your robe, Master," she said between licks. "You may undress

me, slut."

"Yes, Master." She reached behind her, slipped the robe off her back in

a bundle and placed it on the coffee table. She leaned back to the floor

and slowly pulled the laces of my shoes loose with her teeth. I steadied

myself with hand on top of her head as she pulled off my shoes, then my

socks. She slowly kissed each foot from ankle down to toes, then rocked

back at the waist to kneel upright. She took the tongue of my belt

between her teeth and pulled it free of the buckle with a jerk of her

head. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she pulled at my pants with her

mouth, attempting to unbutton my fly. After a minute or so with no

success, she looked up at me plaintively. "I didn't tell you not to use

your hands. Go ahead."

"Thank you, Master." She ran her open mouth along the length of my

penis, through my pants. She quickly unbuttoned and unzipped my

trousers, then pulled them and my undershorts down to my ankles. I again

steadied myself with hand on her head while she pulled pants and shorts

off under each of my feet. "Put my clothes away," I said, "then return

for your punishment." She folded my clothes into a bundle on the floor,

then looked up at me, a question in her eyes. "Go ahead. You may walk to

the bedroom."

She rose quickly to her feet, scooped up my clothes and scurried off to

the bedroom, the chain connecting her labia clips swinging between her

thighs. While she was gone, I slipped into my robe, tying the cloth belt

around my waist. She soon crawled back on hands and knees. This time her

feet were lifted several inches off the floor behind her as she crawled.

She winced each time her weight rolled across a bare kneecap. "Stop

there," I said as she passed the sofa. "Kneel up." She pushed her torso

erect and spread her knees wide. She bowed her head and clasped her

hands behind her. She knelt directly under the hook in the ceiling. "You

still don't know how I'm going to punish you," I said, flatly. She

surveyed the objects I had assembled on the coffee table. "No, Master, I

don't." "What time is it, slut?"

She turned to see the clock on our kitchen wall. "Ten o'clock, Master."

"And two and a half hours from now is when?" "Twelve thirty, Master."

She looked up into my eyes. I thought I saw a tiny twitch of fear in her

gaze. "Twelve thirty. You will be allowed to neither see nor hear from

now until twelve thirty. You'll be bound, whipped and tormented at my

discretion for that time. Is that acceptable to you?" "Yes, Master," she

whispered, looking down at the carpet. "What was that, slut?"

"Yes, Master," she said, much louder. She stopped, took a deep breath,

then continued, "I give you my sight and my hearing, Master. Punish me

as you see fit. I give myself to you to be tormented at your whim."

"Very good, slut. Stand." She struggled quickly to her feet, balancing

on the spike heels, her feet placed about a foot apart. She was

beautiful, tanned skin and the pale triangle at her sex offset perfectly

by dark hair and the black corset, her trim legs tensed and extended by

the heels. I had planned this punishment to push her to the edges of her

submission. I had worried that it might overwhelm her, but I knew it

would take her deep into herself, into areas she had never explored. It

had not been planned as a true punishment, but as an exploration of her

submission, her trust, her desire and my power. My intent had changed

with the commitment to slavery she had expressed over dinner. This

night's punishment would also be the first test of that commitment. Her

strength, bound with mine and turned back on her would prove her

submission. The sensory deprivation I had feared might overwhelm her, I

was now confident would bind her to me. I picked up her collar and

quickly buckled it around her neck. Next, I buckled the cuffs around her

ankles and fastened them together with a single link. She teetered

slightly on the spike heels, spreading her hands away from her sides to

keep her balance. I pulled her hands behind her, buckling them into

cuffs and connecting them also with a single link. I steadied her on her

feet, then released her to stand on her own. I picked up the Ace bandage

and headphones from the coffee table. "Do you have anything to say

before we go on with this?" "No, Master." She cocked her head to one

side in thought. "Yes Master. . . I love you. I trust you." "I love you,

slut. I expect you to be silent until I release you." "Yes, Master."

I wrapped the bandage twice around her head, across her eyes, tucked a

fold into the first wrap and let the long end hang. After plugging the

coiled cord of the headphones into our receiver, I switched the radio on

and held the phones to my ear. I spun the tuning knob until it was set

far off any station and I heard the steady static hiss of white noise. I

adjusted the volume and positioned the headphones' closed cups over her

ears. She gasped with a sharp intake of breath and tensed enough to

almost lose her balance. I steadied her, holding her upper arms until I

felt her relax.

I finished wrapping the long bandage around and around her head, over

the loop of the headphones, pinning them in place and completing her

blindfold. "Can you hear me?" I asked, my mouth about a foot from her

ear. She made no response. "Good," I said to myself. I took the third

set of cuffs from their place on the table and fastened one around each

of her arms, just above the elbows. I slipped a single link through the

metal loop on one cuff. Hooking my fingers through the link and the loop

on the opposite cuff, I pulled her elbows together until I could slide

the link through. I screwed the link down tight, connecting her elbows

tight behind her. Her shoulder blades were pulled together, making a

crease down the middle of her back. Her shoulders were forced back and

down and her tits were pushed up and forward, enticingly prominent and

exposed. She groaned slightly. Holding the link between her elbows, I

smacked her fanny hard with my palm, a reminder that I expected silence.

She tensed, but made no sound. I looped a rope through the ceiling hook,

then through the link between her elbows. I pulled the cord just tight

enough to pull her elbows a few inches away from her back, then tied it

off. She was forced to lean forward to relieve the strain on her

shoulders. She swayed slightly as she stood, unable to stay completely

balanced on the spike heels with her feet tight together. The rope at

her elbows held her upright as she dug her heels into the carpet. If she

completely lost her balance, I knew I could catch her before she hurt

herself. I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of white wine

from the jug we kept in the refrigerator. Returning, I set my glass on

the coffee table.

I circled her slowly, taking in the beauty of my blinded, deafened slave

and contemplating the course of her discipline. I took my time, certain

that her unknowing anticipation was the key to the night's punishment.

Soon she would lose all sense of the passage of time. As I ducked under

it, I brushed the coiled cord connecting her tightly wrapped head to the

stereo. She twitched upright and gasped at the unfulfilled suggestion of

a touch. Her lips remained slightly parted as she breathed softly

through her mouth. Sight and sound had been denied her for barely five

minutes, but awareness of touch was already on edge. She was ready for

her real punishment to begin. I picked up the little whip and walked

behind her. Her pinned hands blocked the whip's path to the upper half

of her ass. I chose the sensitive creases between her buttocks and the

top of her legs and swung hard. She drew in a sharp breath and jumped

upright and forward, stopped from falling only by the rope that pulled

at her elbows and twisted her shoulders back. I swung again. Again she

jumped away from the whip and gasped. After four more blows, she had

shifted about four inches from her spot directly under the ceiling hook.

Her shoulders twisted up painfully behind her and her breath had become

a shallow pant. I lowered the whip. She rocked back against the rope and

scrambled with tiny steps toward her original position, desperately

trying to regain her balance. With a hard twist and a wriggle she found

stability and pushed her heels hard into the carpet. Still, she swayed

slowly against the rope at her elbows. I sat on the sofa in front of

her. I took a slow sip of wine, then another as I watched her sway and

writhe. I would let the sting of the whip sink in and her anticipation

build once more before touching her again with either pain or pleasure.

I wondered how she could trust me so. And I thought that it had to be

that she trusted me as much as I loved her. She could stop this at any

time, but she would not. This night was as much a test of my power as

her submission.

I had to dangle her over the edge and hold her there without dropping

her and without her recoiling in panic. That responsibility was

daunting. That prospect, becoming reality was terrible and exciting and

arousing. I turned on the television, leaned back and put my feet up on

the coffee table.

She drifted, suspended in time and space. Her attention, rather than

turning inward, projected itself out, desperately searching for any clue

of my presence, of movement, of an approaching blow, and finding none.

The ache of her pinned elbows and twisted shoulders grew out of all

proportion to the real pain she suffered. An itch on her belly gradually

became maddening. Every time her consciousness drifted, she lost her

balance. At irregular intervals, I saw her sway and jerk. She would

twist and wriggle to regain balance, make minute steps and replant her

spike heels to anchor her against the pile of the carpet.

At the second commercial break, I picked up the whip and rose to stand

facing her. She gave no sign that she was aware of my presence. She

stood exposed before me, her breasts and cunt highlighted by the dark

expanse of the corset between them. The corset's half cups pushed her

tits up and together, exaggerating their size and leaving her bare

nipples sitting above a shelf of shiny black satin. I reached out and

quickly flicked each nipple with my fingernail. She jerked back and a

sharp "Ah," escape from her lips. "Master?" she asked, forgetting my

earlier demand for silence. I answered with the whip, swinging straight

down and alternating strikes at each nipple. She jerked back as each

swing struck, but she had learned from her earlier lost balance and her

heels remained spiked into the carpet. "Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . ." she

huffed explosively with each lash. When the blows stopped, she leaned

forward, pushing with her feet as if trying to find the whip, to find

some contact outside her silent shell. Her ragged breathing gradually

quieted. I stepped back and picked up the ring gag off the coffee table.

"Master?" she pleaded. "Is that you? Are you there? Master? Please?" I

plunged my index finger into her open mouth and grasping her chin with

my thumb, pinned down her tongue. She shook her head wildly, fighting

vainly to pull free of the invading digit. I held on and pushed the

finger farther back into her throat. She struggled against her gag

reflex as her throat muscles spasmed around my fingertip. In moments she

stopped struggling and rocked her head back. As her throat relaxed, she

closed her lips around my finger and began sucking, pulling the

fingertip even deeper. I slowly pulled my finger out of her grasping

mouth. I held her teeth apart with finger and thumb while I pushed in

the gag's ring with my other hand. I twisted the ring upright, forcing

her mouth wide open and seated it behind her teeth. Feeding the broad

strap through its twin D-rings, I pulled tight, forcing back the corners

of her mouth. Her ability to question and plead, her last active contact

with the world outside her own body had been removed. She could now only

react passively to whatever I chose to inflict on her. Glancing down, I

saw a tiny glistening trail of liquid building between her bare and

slightly parted pussy lips. I pushed a finger into her and slid it

through her cunt from back to front. One after the other, I squeezed

open the clamps that still imprisoned her swollen labia, then dropped

the pair with their connecting chain to the floor. A puff, then a faint

gurgle passed the open ring of her lips. I briefly pressed my fingertip

against her clit before withdrawing it and backing away from her. She

strained against the elbow ropes, rocking slowly in a circle, trying to

touch something, anything in the space around her. I sat back down on

the sofa to let her drift back into the dark and silent void.

Eleven thirty. There had been nothing notable in the local news

broadcast. The opening credits rolled for "Saturday Night"; the show

wasn't very funny that year. I had another, delightful, amusement

available, so that didn't concern me. She continued to sway slightly,

partially suspended by her bonds. Still, each time her concentration on

balance drifted, she would jerk and sway, twisting to regain balance,

repositioning herself with tiny steps, then replanting her heels into

the carpet. I picked up the clips I had dropped on the floor almost an

hour earlier. The adjustment screws had been backed all the way out to

hold tight on her labia. I took one clip in each hand and squeezed them

open with my fingers. Letting the chain hang down between them, I

carefully positioned the clips around her swollen nipples. If she felt

my breath or sensed my presence, she gave no sign. I quickly released my

grip on the clips, dropping them and their connecting chain.

Something between a shriek and a gurgle burst from the ring that held

her mouth wide open. She jerked back, swinging the chain now clamped to

her tits. Her heels lost their grip on the carpet and she pitched

forward, stopped by the rope above her elbows, then my arms as I wrapped

them around her and pulled her back upright. Her breath exploded through

the ring in ragged gasps. I held her, hugged her, rubbed her back,

calming her with my touch. She trembled in my hands. Gradually, her

breathing slowed and quieted. Her body stopped shaking. I knew it was

not the pain of the clips that frightened her, but the panic of suddenly

and completely losing her balance. I held both her shoulders, steadying

her and letting her find her center under the ceiling hook. She shuffled

her feet slightly and I saw her dig her heels into the carpet once more.

I held her at arms length for a moment, making sure she had found her

balance. I let her go and sat back down on the sofa.

"Saturday Night" was exceptionally stupid and unfunny that night. I

turned off the television. At midnight, I picked up the whip. I walked

around behind her, careful this time not to brush the headphone cord as

I leaned under it. I wondered if I should touch her, warn her with my

hand before I swung the whip. I decided, No. I was determined to test

her will. I wanted to be certain of her conviction to become completely

my slave. A fine tracery of red lines crossed her ass and thighs from

the blows she had received almost two hours before. It was difficult to

resist aiming the whip once more at those same luscious curves. I stood

ready to grab her if she lost her balance again, but I was certain that

she wouldn't. She had a strong will, even in submission, especially in

submission. She would have learned from her last stumble and somehow

brace herself for a blow that she could not know was coming. I swung

hard across the crease between her ass and thighs. She jerked almost

fully upright, arching away from the whip and twisting her shoulders

back. She let out a gurgling gasp. Her feet hadn't budged her heels

still imbedded in the carpet. I swung again, across the same spot. She

arched away again, but not nearly so far. The whip slashed across the

back of her thigh and with each blow, I heard the same gurgling gasp,

but each fainter that the last. By the eighth or ninth strike, she no

longer arched away from the whip, but had started to bend her ass back

toward it. She leaned her torso forward, the rope pulling her arms up

and away, and I know twisting her shoulders painfully. She arched her

back and presented her ass to the whip as best she could. She struggled

to bend farther forward, to stretch her ass and thighs for the whip. I

covered her backside with strokes, from her knees to her hips. Her gasps

slowly settled into a wet, steady moan that barely rose as each blow

fell. At twelve fifteen, I dropped the whip in the floor. She was

covered in sweat and so was I. Her moaning stopped, turning into soft

panting. Wrapping one arm around her chest, I released the rope at the

elbows and let her drop slowly to her knees. She seemed barely able to

hold herself upright. I went around her, grabbed her under each arm from

the front, lifted and dragged her to kneel in front of the sofa. In a

remarkably short time she gathered the present of mind to remember the

requirements of her slavery. She held her body proudly upright, then

submissively bowed her head. Crossing her ankles around the single link

connecting them, she spread her knees wide apart, displaying her bare,

swollen and dripping cunt to anyone or anything that might be sitting on

the sofa. I sat in front of her, placing my feet next to her hips,

outside the wide V of her legs. Taking her face in both my hands, I

guided her ring-stretched and open mouth down onto my erect cock. I

guided the shaft deep into her mouth. When the head reached the entrance

to her throat, I released her face. She was completely immobile for a

moment, then I felt her tongue making broad strokes across my cock. She

pulled back until her tongue just flicked my head through the ring.

Leaning forward and down, she cocked her head back, then drove her

ringed mouth down until her nose pressed hard against my stomach. She

had only her sense of touch and balance to guide her. The

leather-wrapped steel ring pinning her mouth open denied her the use of

her lips and teeth. She worked her head up and down on my shaft, washing

it frantically with her tongue. At the outer end of each stroke she

flicked her tongue across my penis head, then plunged down until I felt

her warm lips and the cold steel that held her mouth ring to its strap

pressing against my stomach and groin. Her head bobbed up and down. A

low moaning growl started deep in her throat, muffled when my cock

sealed her throat, then louder as he pulled off the shaft.

"NnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNNnnnNNNNNN." Her tongue lapped with a frenzy.

Her head moved faster with each stroke, each becoming shorter and

shorter, so finally my head was just barely out of her throat and into

her mouth at the top. I bucked up toward her off the sofa. My engorged

cock was about to explode, and she knew it. The groaning in her throat

grew louder almost becoming a roar. She pushed her imprisoned mouth all

the way down onto my cock and held it there. Her tongue worked in a

frenzy. Her head turned violently from side to side, pivoting around my

member. She pushed hard against my belly again and again, as if trying

to force my cock even deeper into her throat. I wondered how she could

breathe, but knew she could not. As I came deep in her throat, the groan

became a muffled shriek, a squeal. I bucked up to her over and over. Her

head twisted and pushed, twisted and pushed. I collapsed back onto the

sofa. She leaned back, shakily. Her face and chin, her neck and breasts

were coated with a slick film of saliva that had flowed from her open

mouth. She coughed, coughed again. A thick viscous foam of semen and

spittle poured through the open ring of her lips, oozing down her chin

and throat. She coughed again, then inhaled with a wracking gasp.

Another cough and the last drops of sperm flew from her throat and past

her ringed lips, falling onto the carpet between her splayed legs. I

reached behind her head, quickly unbuckled the strap and pulled the

steel and leather ring from her mouth. The liquid gasping of her breath

gradually slowed, calmed. Her face dropped to her chest. A minute

passed. She slowly lifted her head and pointed her face toward me, as if

looking into my face, as if she could see and hear to locate me where I

sat. "Thank you, Master," she said softly and clearly. I could barely

believe my ears. She was thanking me for this? I chuckled and shook my

head, then leaned forward to begin unwrapping the bandage from around

her head. It was twelve thirty. I let the bandage trail down in the

floor as it unwound. As soon as the headphones were free, I pulled them

off and set them beside her on the carpet. She visibly relaxed as the

hiss that had filled her ears was replaced by the dull drone of our

window fan. She released a long soft sigh. Her tongue rolled out to lap

my cum from her chin. In moments the elastic cloth came off her eyes and

I tossed it behind her on the floor. Her face glistened with sweat,

flushed and lined from the winding; her hair was soaked and tangled. Her

eyes blinked open, closed, open, closed again as she recoiled from the

light. She bowed her head, then looked straight up at me, smiling

radiantly. "Thank you, Master," she said again." "Thank me? For that?" I

asked. "You liked that?"

"No, Master. . .Yes. . .Oh God, Master, I don't know." She looked down

at the floor, shaking her head, the back up at me with a wry, lopsided

grin. I cupped her cheek in my hand.

"Master, it was horrible. . . it was wonderful. I know I came when you

came in my throat . . .I almost came every time you touched me. I don't

want you to do that to me again, but . . .I want you to do it again."

"Slut, you amaze me." "May I make a request, Master?"

"Go ahead." "Master, please, save what you did tonight for special

punishments. Please.

I don't think I can handle this very often . . ." "I'll consider that."

I grinned. "Tonight was harder than last night?" "Yes, Master. I like to

be whipped. You know that. I don't mind being blindfolded, not too much

anyway, but losing my hearing too . . . that infernal hissing. Not

knowing if you're even in the room. I very nearly started humming." "But

you didn't." Our safe sign when she was gagged was a pattern of rhythmic

humming. "No, Master. I didn't want to disappoint you. I didn't want to

disappoint myself." "Oh, baby," I said, caressing her face, rubbing her

neck and shoulders, "you really are my slave, aren't you?" "Yes, Master.

Absolutely." She smiled up at me, then bowed forward as far as she

could, the top of her head resting against the front of the sofa between

my legs. I grinned broadly back at her. I was exhilarated. How could I

not be overjoyed, owning this magnificent woman who knelt at my feet?

"How are your shoulders?"

"They ache," she replied without looking up. "I'd almost forgotten about

them. They ache, Master." I reached over her back and released the link

connecting her elbows, then bent down and opened the one between her

wrists.

"Aaahhhhh," she sighed. "That's much better, Master. Thank you so much."

Her arms dropped limp at her sides. I massaged her back and upper arms,

slowly kneading the pent up tension from her body. "That feels so good

master." "Lie back," I ordered. She dutifully rolled onto her back, her

knees still bent and spread, ankles crossed. I unscrewed the link

between her ankle cuffs, then unbuckled her shoes. She was limp, neither

helping nor resisting as I lifted her feet and pulled off the pumps. Her

head rocked to the side, eyes closed, her mouth open and slack. "Can you

stand?"

"I think so, Master. I may need some help." I stood beside her as she

pushed herself up to sit. I reached out to her. She grabbed my arm with

both hands, then slowly pulled herself to her feet. As she came fully

upright, her left knee buckled. I grabbed her under her arms, steadied

her.

She struggled to take a deep breath and smiled bravely up at me. Another

deep breath and I could see her gathering her strength. "There, Master.

I'll be okay now." "Let's get you out of that corset." I went behind

her, careful to always keep a hand out to steady her. One by one, I slid

loose the corset's hooks from top to bottom. I pulled it away from her

sweat-drenched body and dropped it on the sofa. With my hands on her

shoulders, I gently turned her to face me. I squatted down and clasped

her waist with both arms, then lifted her up over my shoulder. "I think

we need to get some sleep," I said. "Yes, Master. That sounds very

nice," she replied. I could hear her contented smile in her voice. I

carried my naked slave, clad only in her unlinked collar and cuffs,

toward our bedroom.