Gromet's Plaza Packaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories
Precious Marissa
by ElectroPainLover
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© Copyright 2017 - ElectroPainLover - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/f; denial; sex; fpov; naked; bond; entomb; first; gag; intubate; pain; spank; rope; toys; transported; reluct/nc; X
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Precious Marissa 2: Marissa's Story ElectroPainLover M/f; denial; sex; fpov; naked; bond; entomb; first; gag; intubate; pain; spank; rope; toys; transported; reluct/nc; X
 

Part 2: Marissa's Story

Author’s Note:

This story, “Precious Marissa: Marissa” is penned as a stand-alone story and as a companion story for Precious Marissa”. As the original was written from Kevin’s point-of-view, this version relates the story from Marissa’s point-of-view. Having two stories tell the same tale but from separate sets of eyes may be a style I incorporate more if people let me know that the writing style is interesting. I know I write long stories and sometimes fill them with more background and detail than some of you readers prefer, but, I am too detail-oriented of an individual to fully pull away from my character development. I feel that this style will allow me to create stories which are complete on their own or can be enjoyed as a collective to fully grasp each character being their own protagonist. Only you, the reader, can let me know if you enjoy the style…so…please do. Thank you.

I carefully untwined myself from Kevin’s sleeping embrace when I awoke. I almost always woke before him, especially after one of his week-long duty schedules such as the one he just finished last night. I have always been an early riser and this morning was no different even with our marathon night of love-making which continued into the wee hours of the morning.

My legs still trembled as they bore my weight when I gained my feet and the air was still filled with the odor of sex. Sweat mixed with cum; both Kevin’s and my own. Luckily, my legs didn’t try to buckle on my way to the bathroom now as they had earlier this morning during the same trek.

I turned on the shower and allowed the water to become warm as I sat and voided my bladder. The tenderness of my womanhood surprised me as it had been quite a long time since my vaginal muscles had been worked so hard and felt this way.

My body reveled at the feeling as the, almost too hot, water hit my skin under the powerful stream and rolled down toward my feet. I allowed the jets to caress my skin as I thought about and almost become lost in the memory of our four hours of sex last night and when the last time we had made love for such a duration. It had been our honeymoon night I had determined. I was sore then too, however, I had also been a virgin and being sore afterwards was not so much a surprise then as it is this morning. I clearly remember having only two orgasms back then but had lost count after eight last night. I believe having so few on our wedding night was due to my nervousness and inexperience, both being long behind me from ten months of marriage.

I was most surprised by Kevin’s voraciousness and stamina last night. He had never had lasted long enough to have four orgasms for himself, our wedding night included. I was pleased by being able to bring him to climax so many times, moreover from our mental love for each other than merely our physical love-making. I truly hope we will have the same feelings ten or twenty years from now.

I finished my reminiscent shower and dressed in my usual attire, when Kevin was home in the morning; thong panties and a t-shirt; after drying myself. Kevin has stated numerous times how he loved to watch my bare butt cheeks stick out from under the hem of my tee which led me to change from partial thongs to full G-strings.

I prepared and started the coffee maker on its way to producing my life’s blood and started some bacon thawing in the micro. I placed two coffee cups on the counter and waited impatiently as the dark liquid’s level slowly rose in the glass decanter. Once the coffee maker slowed to a drip every few seconds I filled my cup, leaving Kevin’s cup empty until I heard him stirring around. When the microwave beeped, letting me know the defrost cycle had ended, I put the package of bacon into the fridge, also waiting for my husband to show signs of life before frying it. I sat in one of the dining room chairs; feet tucked up near my crotch, knees against my breasts; and sipped my coffee.

As I enjoyed my coffee I contemplated whether I would actually go through with what I have thought of trying for the last couple of months. For reasons I could not explain nor fully understand myself, a desire to become a completely controlled submissive has grown within me and continues to grow stronger with each passing day it seems. So much so that it has passed the point of being a desire and is now more an obsession.

I have been studying the feelings growing within me on the internet and have even joined a site where I have been chatting with both, dominants and other sub-missives. At first, I thought the people I was chatting with were completely insane or very misinformed on the definition of what they called my desire—being a sex-slave.

To my knowledge, at the time, a sex-slave was someone forced into a prostitution ring by kidnapping or trickery. Someone held against their will after responding to an ad for a job offer then sold to someone whom then forced them to provide sexual relations to their ‘owners’ or others at their ‘owner’s’ demand. I was actually quite offended when they said I wanted to be a sex-slave.

The other members of the website schooled me on the fact that the term ‘sex-slave’ had more than one meaning and that, yes, my understanding of it was one form of being a sex-slave. But, that what I wanted was also a sex-slave or a submissive slave used for sex and domination. A BDSM slave.

I agreed to their definition of being a sex-slave but the thought of being a BDSM slave scared me. After watching several videos of the treatment of slaves used in BDSM activities seemed too brutal for me, though, it turned me on and soaked my undies quicker than I, or they,  had ever been before. I pictured myself in their position, bound and unable to control or prevent what happened to me, and, I would come damn close to having a spontaneous orgasm. I wanted to be treated harshly and prevented from being able to resist or prevent it, though, I had seen so many of the women’s bodies bruised and battered that it made me question whether that was what I really wanted. I like and want pain, but wasn’t sure I could handle that much.

My resolution to wanting to be dominated returned when they had questioned my sincerity and explained that not every Master or Mistress takes it to the level of bruising and/or mutilation. How, those were extreme Master’s working with extreme sub-missive’s.

The biggest thing that turned me on about being what I am now willing to acknowledge as a sex-slave is being tied-up and either forced to cum until each orgasm becomes painful or denied an orgasm while being forced to remain on the precipice of ecstasy. Even more exciting to me than having myself forced to orgasm, or denied such, was being used for my Master’s; which could and would only be Kevin; sexual desires whether I wanted it or not. However, being that Kevin is the only person I would avail myself to be a sex-slave for was where my fantasy was smothered by reality. I have no idea of Kevin’s feelings of BDSM. The one time I tried to breech the idea of simple bondage, he offered to psycho-analyze me.

Now, sitting and taking the first sip of my second cup of coffee, I am contemplating my plan to introduce Kevin into my bondage fantasy. He has the next four days off and I have run across a large amount of rope in the garage. The butterflies begin to flutter in my stomach the surer I am about implementing my plan, but, I yearn too much to be a sex-slave to continue without making it known. I have to act no matter how nervous I am to do so.

 My plan is to send Kevin off on an errand that will take an hour or so to complete and when he gets home he will find me tied spread-eagle to the bed. A note will be between my legs telling him to do as he pleases with me. The ball-gag and flogger I purchased will be pulled out of my hiding spot; the ball gag strapped in my mouth, the flogger between my legs next to the note. Nipple clamps purchased with the gag and whip will be tightly pinching the sensitive nubs of my breasts. The note will explain that I want him to treat me as his slave and do with me as he wishes and hope that doesn’t lead to him untying me and asking a bunch of questions. I can only hope he gets the hint and mistreats me the way I wish to be.

I was halfway through my second cup of coffee when I heard Kevin flush the toilet and the dresser drawer slide open and closed. I filled the cup I had pulled out for Kevin and topped my own, waiting for him to join me.

“Last night was spectacular. Thank you.” I said after Kevin finally joined me at the dining table, giving me his usual semi-passionate morning kiss, and sat in his usual chair.

“You rocked my world last night sweetie. I believe it is I that has to thank you.” He replied, a wide smile formed on his face.

Kevin and I sat and spoke about how much we both enjoyed each other last night, over our coffee. As we spoke Kevin began to question me about which positions we used I found most pleasurable, something we have never really discussed and usually just positioned ourselves for what felt right at the time.

When our discussion slowed I decided it was time to begin making our breakfast. I started the frying pan warming on the stove, pulled the bacon from the fridge and used a pair of scissors to open the plastic package.

I put several strips of bacon in the hot frying pan and they begin to sizzle. Being afraid of undercooked pork products, Kevin has often complained that I overcook his bacon and that he prefers his bacon soft. I try, but, I tell myself just another minute or two and before I know it the red and white slices are brown and crisp. This morning turns out to be no different.

I thought I felt the tail of my t-shirt lift a little then I felt a burning smack cover the left cheek of my ass. The pain made me lift up on to my tip-toes and utter a shriek of pain. I turned around to see Kevin standing behind me.

“What the fuck was that for!?!” I asked him, tears beginning to form in my eyes.

“Did that hurt?” Kevin asked with a glare.

“Hell yes! Why’d you slap my ass?” I answered, then asked.

“Good! You burnt the bacon. You know I like my bacon soft.” He said, his voice almost without tone or inflection.

“You’ve never slapped my ass that hard before and I’ve made you crisp bacon several times.” I replied while trying to keep any more tears from forming and my voice from quivering.

“I know and I’m tired of it.” Kevin said, a slight pause, then “the slap got your attention, didn’t it? It might just make you aware that I am tired of bacon jerky.” He said in the same monotone voice. His voice sounding like last night had never happened.

“If you don’t like the way I cook bacon, you can fry it yourself.” I told him as anger started replacing my wonderment and turned back to tend to the bacon.

Kevin slapped me again and on the same exact spot he had the first time, the burn becoming hot fire as the sting had not completely receded from the first smack.

“Son-of-a-bitch Kevin, that hurts! Stop it! What the fuck has gotten in to you?” I asked even more angrily, tears of pain and anger filling my eyes and beginning to run down my cheeks.

“I love you Marissa, but, some things have got to change around here.” Kevin said, drawing close to me and, due to his much taller stature, staring down at me. “And, the first thing I want to work on is no more fucking burnt bacon!” His voice regaining some tone by sounding a bit angry.

“And I said you can make your own fucking bacon if you don’t like how I cook it!” I said raising my anger level higher than his.

Kevin grabbed me by my left bicep, quick as a snake, and pushed me toward the table we sat and drank our coffee and spoke of how nice last night had been for both of us. I was pushed until I was bent at the waist and my torso lay across the table. Kevin pushed me hard against the table with one large hand in the center of my upper back. My tits were being smashed painfully against the hard wooden surface. I felt my t-shirt raised roughly away from my bottom. Kevin spanked me hard, this time covering my whole ass. The swats came fast and hard and I cried with each one. I tried to roll to one side, then the other, to break free of his hold but could barely feel the lessening of pressure on the breast I tried to roll away from. His strength was too much for me to fight against, even in a position where I had some leverage, let alone being bent over a table.

My whole rear felt as if I had sat on a colony of fire ants by the time he had ceased his assault upon my derriere. I guess he didn’t feel I had enough however. Only a few seconds after the last slap landed on my ass, I felt Kevin hook the string of my panties and pull it hard enough to tear them off; but, not before the crotch of the panties were pulled viciously tight into my cleft and against my already sore vagina. I screamed loudly from the pain the underwear caused my vulva. I actually began to become scared of the what the man I loved was doing and how he was acting.

I felt how wet I had become from the first two slaps Kevin had rendered and was happy that, though it had not been asked for, passed a test of pain in my own mind. I had no idea the spanking would happen, and, though they were quite painful, that my pussy produced its juice and I felt I was becoming aroused.

I had no way to prepare myself for what was coming next however. Before I knew what was happening, Kevin buried his large cock deep inside my pussy in one violent shove, his pubis slamming against the now tender skin of my ass. The previously over-worked muscles of my vaginal opening protesting against being used so soon again and in such a disregarding manner. I screamed from pain and in protest to the indignant way Kevin was using me. The whole time, in the back of my mind, I was realizing that he was giving me and using me exactly the way I wanted to be used.

All of his thrusts were full and hard, a couple of times the head of his penis allowing my vagina to close before thrusting it back open and the head slamming hard and painfully into my cervix wall. The hard fuck I was receiving, mixed with the tingle in the skin on my ass from the spanking, started an orgasm to build deep within. It grew slowly due to the surprise of Kevin’s strange demeanor, but, it did grow. Each hard thrust was like an old time water-well’s pump for my climb to climax. Like each pump on the handle slowly made the flood of water grow, so did each of Kevin’s pumps of his large member act on my ever-growing orgasm.

I only needed a couple of more thrusts to turn ecstasy into climax when Kevin gave one deep and final thrust. I felt his ejaculate fill me, stunning me that he had produced so much after his four shots last night. Kevin’s orgasm brought me even closer to my own when I felt him pull abruptly out of me, leaving me feel empty and on the verge of an unfulfilled orgasm.

“No!” I shouted in desperation of needing to cum. “Finish me! Please help me finish!” I pleaded of my husband.

“You don’t deserve to be finished.” He said dryly and cruelly while removing his hand from my back. I raised my chest off the table and turned to face him.

“And, I best not see your hand anywhere near your pussy! Do you understand me?!” Kevin demanded then asked, a demand more than a question in its self.

“Kevin. What are you doing? What has gotten…” My words being cut off as his hand shot out and pinched my left nipple very hard between his fingers, ending with a hard twist. I screamed as the nerves sent signals of pain to my Central Nervous System.

“Ouch! Let go! That hur…” My complaint once again broken by a cry of pain as Kevin twisted my tightly pinched nipple again.

“Do…You…Understand…Me?! Kevin asked, punctuating each word with a pulling twist on my nipple in one direction, then the other. My nipple now feeling as if it were being singed with a red-hot poker.

“Yes! Yes! Ouch! I understand! Please stop!” I agreed and cried to get him to stop the torture my poor nipple was having delivered upon it.

With that, Kevin released my nipple with a final painful tug. I reached my own hand up to the now throbbing and engorged nub of my left breast, needing to rub the pain from it but unable to so much as touch it.

Kevin turned away from me and focused his attention on the stove. He turned off the burner and moved the pan which held the burnt bacon to a different burner. For the first time I could smell the odor of bacon being turned into charcoal. I leaned my still sore ass against the table and watched him, wondering what, if anything, he had in mind for me next. I wanted so much to talk to him but didn’t think he was in a talking mood and I feared what part of my body he might attack next. My sexual excitement level was becoming almost too much to keep at bay and the frustration of my incomplete orgasm was almost a physical pain.

A little voice in the back of my head kept telling me that he was just giving me what I had been wanting for a long time—treated rough and cruelly. However, that voices counterpart kept asking why now and what made him do it. The first voice was correct, the second I could not answer. My mind was awash in questions I dared not ask and I could think of nothing else to do but remain standing with my bare ass resting against the table I had just been, in all actuality, marriage-raped on.

Kevin exited the kitchen through the door which led out into the garage. Only half of my mind feared what would happen when that door opened again and he reentered the house; the other half hoped he had plans to go further with me. I wondered just how far he would take it and how much I could really endure. Compared to some of the video’s I seen, what Kevin has done so far has been quite mild but yet hurt quite badly.

The door opened and Kevin came back in and moving quickly. I watched as he grabbed the scissors from the counter. He had done it so fast my mind didn’t have much time to comprehend it, so I didn’t have time to wonder what he had intended to use them for.

He grabbed me roughly by my upper arm, much as he had when he turned and pushed me towards the table. Kevin rushed me through the threshold which separated the kitchen/dining area from the living room. He stopped me in the center of the living room and pulled down on my arm. His knee pushed against the back of one of mine, making my knee buckle, and forced me to my knees. He gave my back a slight push and I fell to my stomach. My mind was a blur due to what was happening and the rapidity of it all.

Kevin pulled my arms roughly behind my back then sat on them and my lower back, his knees straddled to each side of me. I tried to struggle my hands free but his weight held them pinned firmly against the small of my back. I began to scream as loud as I could, partially at him and partially in general. As I screamed to him that I had had enough for now he continued to pin me down and focused upon whatever task he was performing behind me.

I realized I could pinch his ass and that the thin fabric of his pajama’s would not hamper my pinch too much. I missed the first few times, but, eventually got what I believed to be a solid pinch. Kevin acted as if I had not done a thing.

He wrapped one large hand around both my wrists and squeezed them painfully together. He pulled my wrists out from under his body and I immediately understood what he had brought in from the garage. The rope I had planned to use in the next day or two. I felt a loop placed around my wrists and cinched tight.

“What the fuck are you doing? You’re tying me up!? Why?” I asked in wonder, amazement, and surprise. My sobs began to start anew.

“Shut the fuck up!” He said very harshly and smacked my still tender ass. I let out another cry of pain, but, also of fear. Kevin had never spoke to me in that way nor in this particular tone. I was really beginning to get scared of him now.

I felt the rope wrap around my wrists as he worked, the rope climbing a little further up my arm with each twist. I have seen this tie on some of the web-sites and wondered how he knew about it. He finally tied the rope off with several knots. When he released my arms and turned his attention to what I could only assume to be getting more rope from the coil, I tried to find the knots he had just tied. Watching girls with much more experience than myself struggle and fail to untie and free themselves from this type of binding did not leave me with much hope of success, but I tried none-the-less.

I realized I still had freedom in my legs and started trying to reverse kick Kevin off of me. I didn’t want to hurt him but I wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual at this time. I kicked my legs back as hard as I could. My right heel struck him hard in what felt to be the kidney area and I felt him flinch at the hit. I tried to redouble my effort as I knew I had landed a good one when I felt Kevin grab my legs and hold them down. Once they were in his grasp, they were useless as weapons for me anymore.

I felt the rope looped around my ankles and the same rope-cuff tie being used as he had on my wrists. Kevin made short work of binding my ankles but I still fought to get him off of me, knowing the whole while I would not get free of my large, strong husband. Especially now that my hands and feet were bound. Once he had my ankles bound he continued working up my legs, tying a rope cuff below my knees, then above them.

Kevin worked at cutting more ropes from the long coil, not stopping to apply each one to me as he cut it. I screamed and cursed him as he continued to cut lengths of rope. This had passed anything I had considered as being spontaneously erotic and he was going too far without now having a conversation about it. I wanted this. Especially if he wanted this. But there needed to be discussions, understandings, and limits hashed out and agreed upon. I didn’t even know my safety word… if there was one. I issued more screams, more curses, and, more hysterical screams.

I felt what seemed to be cold steel touch my lower back and panic set in to its highest level until I realized what he was doing. I felt the scissors start to cut my shirt up the center of my back. The shirt was the steels target—not me. When he finished cutting the shirt up the back, he cut each arm-sleeve up and through the collar. Once he finished cutting the shirt so it could be pulled free he pulled it roughly out from under my body. The fabric rubbed against my nipples as the shirt came out from under my body as a table cloth was pulled from under a vase by a magician. My nipples burned and I screamed louder.

Kevin rolled me roughly onto my back. I wondered why he didn’t wait to take my shirt off until I was on my back if he had already planned on rolling me over. I answered my own question—he knew my nipples would suffer doing it the way he did, and wanted them to.

Our eyes met for the first time since he had my nipple pinched painfully between his fingers. I thought I could see a tinge of pain and anguish in his dark brown eyes. What I seen in them made me wonder why he was doing what he was. They did not quite show enjoyment but… what? Fear? Did I actually see fear in those eyes? Yes… almost a fear and mixed with pity. Kevin was not enjoying what he was doing to me, or, at least the way he was doing it.

As quickly as I had noticed it, the pain in those big, usually loving, eyes disappeared and he began to shove the t-shirt he cut off of my body into my mouth. I guess he was tired of listening to me scream. Most of them had been mock screams and for his enjoyment as well as my own. I can feel just how much natural lubrication my body has produced when I try to wiggle my legs free. I am soaked. The need for my denied orgasm to be brought to fruition has never waned, but, continues to grow—almost painfully so.

I tried to bite down as he shoved the dry cotton fabric into my mouth. I was finally allowing myself to play the victim and was now more playing my resistance than actually trying to fight him. I maintained my bite to prevent him from pushing the cloth further into my mouth until the burning pain in my right nipple from him pinching and twisting it made me begin an unconscious scream at the pain. As Kevin continued the attack on my nipple, he pushed the cloth deeper into my mouth until every empty pocket was dutifully filled. He tore strips from the part that wouldn’t fit inside and used them to bind the shirt deep in my mouth. Try as I might, I could not push the homemade gag from the well of my mouth.

Kevin rolled me roughly back onto my stomach, my tender nipples pained by the rough nape of the carpet, my firm mammary glands suffering from the brunt of my weight smashing them.

I felt a loop of rope slip over my bound wrists and slipped up to my elbows. The loop settled just above my elbows and pulled taut until my elbows were firmly cinched together. He continued to loop the rope around, then looped around between my arms. A second rope was applied just below my elbows in the same manner. While Kevin was tying my arms together at the elbows, I wondered where he had learned these rope bondage techniques. He surely didn’t learn them in medical school and I highly doubted these were knots taught in the Boy Scouts. It finally donned on me that he must have found out what I had been doing on the computer. Everything. The chats, the inquiries, the research—everything. And, Kevin had done his own reading… and learning.

Kevin lifted me onto my knees. I twisted my body and neck around to look him in the eyes. I thought I could still see pain in them and attempted to smile behind my gag to show him what he was doing was alright with me. As the gag completely covered my mouth he must’ve misconstrued what the rest of my face showed because he looked away and forced me to turn back forward quickly.

I felt him loop a length of rope about my waist and wrap several loops before running the loose ends through the bite. I realized he was putting a crotch rope on me. I became evermore frustrated as I knew he was not planning to use me as a bound sex toy… not with a rope tied tightly into my vulva and mons. I thought, however, the rope may be to my advantage as if I moved just right I could get it to work against my clit and allow myself to finish my much needed orgasm. Kevin continued putting the crotch rope on me and I felt him shove the loose ends between my tightly pressed-together thighs. I felt as his pushing fingers slid more easily when they reached the flow of my juices, and, I was quite sure my wetness had not been missed by Kevin either.

Kevin stopped tying the rope into my crotch and turned me on my knees to face our coffee table. He bent me over the table and lined himself up behind me. “God…” I thought “…he’s going to fuck me again and I can finally get relieved of this yearn for an orgasm.”

He entered me easily and not nearly as roughly as he had earlier. I felt the girth of his member more pronounced as it not only had to spread my labia and vaginal opening but some of my upper thighs as well. He worked himself in and out of me. My orgasm began to build quickly and profoundly, however, each time I was ready to cross over to full climax and have an orgasm Kevin stopped pumping me and painfully abused my nipples. Only when my breathing slowed did he start working his cock inside me again and quit torturing my nipples; stopping his thrusts and paining my nipples each time I came close to cumming. My frustration grew deep and the pain of another unrealized orgasm was maddening. I felt Kevin release another load of spunk deep inside me and quickly withdraw his cock from my pussy, leaving me to suffer as another opportunity for a much needed massive orgasm slipped away as easily as his member slipped within, then, out of me.

Kevin pulled me from the coffee table and returned to his work on the crotch rope. I returned to my thought of being able to use the crotch rope as my pseudo-lover to finish myself off.

Once again he stopped short of completing the crotch rope and left me kneeling in the living room. He disappeared down the hall and out of my sight. He returned a couple of minutes later and I caught sight of what he went to get. My fear returned. In his large hand I could see, and compare the size of, the butt-plug he had retrieved. It looked huge. Too huge! I have never done nor wanted any form of anal play and knew what Kevin had in his hand would be too fucking much for my little ass. I began to scream into the cloth of my gag. However, my new screams were no longer the faux screams I issued before. These were real screams of terror.

Kevin bent me sharply at the waist until my torso lay against my thighs and my face was pressed against the carpet. I felt gel being applied to my asshole and cover it quite liberally. Only seconds later my skin started warming wherever the gel touched. He used the warming KY I had gotten us. It continued to warm as I felt the first bit of pressure from the semi-spade-shaped phallus press against my anus. Kevin slowly increased the pressure as I quickly increased my screams. As I knew I could not fight what was inevitably going to happen I tried to focus on relaxing my sphincter muscles. I knew he had every intent of burying that thing in my ass, whether I fought it or not, and decided to make it as easy on myself as I could.

Easy, however, is a relative term. In this case, the relativity was based on the size of the plug and the circumference of my anus. Neither matched in relative size. It seemed like Kevin worked the large rubber device into my ass for hours. The KY had my skin quite, but not too uncomfortably, warm. Especially considering the burning pain the phallus was causing my sphincter muscles as they were forced wider. Kevin twisted the plug as he pushed and it would enter just a little further. I could feel my voice becoming hoarse from my screams and my tears had literally made a growing wet spot in the carpet. It felt as if I were just about to lose consciousness from the pain when I felt my anus close around the smaller stem and against the wide base of the plug. My rectum felt more full than it had in my entire life.

Kevin laid me down on my back. My weight resting fully against my bound arms was uncomfortable but was nothing compared to what felt like a thousand bee-stings to my asshole. Kevin left me alone and unable to move my body much. I gave a cursory attempt at pushing the huge plug out of my ass and quickly realized what the odd shape was for. Due to its tapered design, my rectum muscles had nothing to push against. It also donned on me that should I be able to push it out, I would have to endure the pain of Kevin putting back in again. I quit trying to expel the invader.

Kevin returned to my vision unwrapping a hermetically sealed bag. I knew what it was immediately and began to scream and struggle with renewed vigor. The butt plug had tilted this surprise bondage escapade beyond the point of permissibility but what he was unwrapping was the point of No Fucking Way!

“Hold still and don’t fight it and it will hurt much less. Try to fight it and you will endure pain, yet, have the same result as if you didn’t fight me. Discomfort, or, pain; it’s up to you. Either way, it’s going in. I have no choice and you have no choice.” Kevin said as calmly as coaxing a kitten to milk.

“What the fuck did he mean that he had no choice?!” I screamed to myself. This was all his choice! Sure, he may have found out that I wanted to be used as a sex-slave if he came across what I had done on the computer, but, every action he has taken has been his choice. Apparently and obviously I have no choice but he fucking does. And the line of me ever trusting him with bondage has most definitely been crossed.

I watched Kevin don surgical gloves and felt him as he gently spread my labia after putting my bound legs on his shoulder. He was a good medical doctor and I had not understood why he decided to pursue psychiatry. Though inserting catheters was usually the job of RN’s, I could tell that this MD was quite skilled in it himself, though, I only have one other instance to base my opinion upon.

Being catheterized by my own husband was more humiliating than anything else I have ever experienced. Furthermore, it was an entirely unnecessary and much too demoralizing of a procedure for any form of bondage games I wished to participate in.

I felt as the thin plastic tube made its way up my urethra, being only an odd sensation until it came time to enter my bladder. I remembered the instructions the nurse gave me during my first and only previous catheterization and tried to make myself pee as the tip pressed against my bladder. The technique worked as well this time as it had the previous time and the tip entered my bladder almost painlessly. I felt my bladder begin to empty itself of this morning’s coffee.

“As for pooping, you will just be forced to hold it and the butt plug will ensure it.” Kevin said after lowering my legs back down to the floor.

“What the fuck is he talking about?! How long does he intend to leave me bound anyway? He’s talking like this shit’s permanent or something. What the fuck is he doing with me?” The questions and thoughts running through my head as if fueled by coke or some other stimulant.

“If you noticed, I chose high protein, low carbohydrate foods for dinner over the last few nights. Feces production will be much lower and you should be fine until you are able to have your next bowel movement. You may be uncomfortable but it won’t hurt you.” Kevin informed me, making my bedazzlement of the situation that much more strong.

My probably now soon-to-be ex-husband helped me back onto my knees started working with the crotch-rope once again. I felt it tug and loosen several times before he started cinching it tight against my crotch. He fumbled a bit with the rope and the butt-plug and pulled the rope hard and tight. The pain of the plug in my ass growing slightly as the rope pulled its base tighter against my anus and held it there.

I felt as Kevin lashed my wrist ropes within the loops of the crotch-rope making it impossible to pull my hands away from the top of my ass. I felt him tie off the rope to the lower elbow tie and knew any possibility of untying my hands from being bound to my body was going to be an impossibility as well. However, now I figured I could move the crotch-rope by simply shrugging my shoulders should my libido for an orgasm return. The desire had pretty much been crushed during the insertion of the butt-plug and the catheter, but, should I be bound up for a while I might be able to coax it back.

“If you would like to try to finish off what I would not allow, the crotch rope might help you to get there, but, I doubt it. I used a cream with Novocain and soaked the rope fairly well with it where it crosses your clit and your vagina. You should feel pretty numb down there right now.” Kevin said cruelly and tauntingly, grinning a Cheshire Cat grin.

I move the rope what little I could to test what he said, not doubting it in the first place, and, sure enough, my pussy and clit were beginning to numb. “This mother-fucker has thought of everything!” I thought to myself; the first time in our entire relationship I had ever thought of linking that idiom to my husband.

Kevin left me alone again as he went down the hall once more. He was gone a little longer this time. When he returned, I noticed he had done some of his own bondage shopping as I had only purchased a simple ball gag but he was carrying a full head-harness gag. He also had two more bags of what appeared to be medical stuff I didn’t recognize. Kevin knelt down beside me.

“Please do not bother asking me any questions when I remove your temporary gag. I will not answer them and any speech will only result in me punishing your nipples much more harshly than I had before. Remain quiet and you may not be punished, make a sound, and you most assuredly will be.” Kevin warned. Remembering how painfully hard his strong fingers could pinch my sensitive nipples, and, how much it had hurt when they were being twisted, I decided I would be better off by remaining quiet until I was seated in my lawyer’s office.

Kevin untied the cloth strips holding the wad of my t-shirt in my mouth. He pulled the almost dripping wet material from my mouth. I flexed my jaw to allow the muscles to relax. Kevin cocked his head like the RCA dog of days-gone-by and I assumed he was waiting to see if I had something to say against his admonishment of doing so. I closed my mouth in a gesture to show I was not. I was too scared. I was too shocked. But most of all, I was too pissed.

The gag he held up to my mouth appeared to have a much smaller ball than the one I had purchased. The ball also had a strange hole in the center of it which I thought was there for breathing purposes. He furled his brow making me quite sure I would endure more pain upon my nipples if I didn’t open my mouth and allow the ball to be inserted. I opened my mouth and even lifted my head for him to buckle the straps. My bonds had me well past the point of any actual resistance and knew I would only be rewarded by pain should I continue to be the least bit noncompliant.

Kevin buckled each strap tightly about my head and the chin strap tight enough to prevent me from pulling my teeth off of the hard rubber ball. I didn’t feel as if I were gagged as well as I had been by the cloth gag and that I could make much more noise should I wish. I hoped to myself that Kevin hadn’t paid much for this harness gag as it didn’t seem like it would be nearly as affective as my $18.99 one.

Kevin lifted my bound body from the floor of our living room and placed my stomach on his shoulder. The rope running against my crotch tightened as my body bent over him. I felt the rope rub across my pubis and the upper portion of the crack of my ass, but, nothing where the rope split my vulva and mons. The Novocain was obviously doing its job.

I was carried from the living room, through the kitchen, and out through the door separating the kitchen from the garage. He carried me to the far corner. An unfamiliar blue tarp covered something I could not make out.

Kevin stood me up against a wall and pulled the tarp off of what I seen to be a wooden box. It looked like a cheap casket. I panicked like I had not panicked during the whole strange situation of the morning. I began to slide to one side. Kevin, moving with the grace and speed of a cat, caught me before I fell.

“Relax! Struggling or crying or anything else will not prevent you from being placed into it. The quicker you realize that, the better off you will be.” Kevin warned and informed me of my upcoming fate of being crated.

I was lifted again, this time the way Kevin had carried me into our house and the hotel room before that. He carried me to the box and now I noticed the insert which looked as if it was meant to hold a mannequin or expensive wax figure. He lowered me in.

The molded insert fit my body very snug and offered no movement beyond the ability to sit up. Well, almost. With my arms bound behind me and my shoulders, waist, and hips so snuggly fitted within the mold, I couldn’t even move enough to lift my torso to sit. My legs, too, were perfectly fitted to allow only the movement afforded by the compression of my skin. I was not just bound in a box; I was completely rendered immobile within the mold.

“I need to become a doctor again.” Kevin said as he headed for and disappeared into the house.

“What fucking more can he do to me that requires his medical skills?” I wondered to myself. “Does he plan to pierce my nipples now that I can’t budge an inch?” I contemplated as the thought both mortified and terrorized me.

I heard the door open, then close.

“I need to insert an IV, a feeding tube, and a ventilator. The IV will provide liquid and medication, the feeding tube will, of course, provide you sustenance, and the ventilator will help you breath and not inhale any saliva, and, protect you from aspirating should you vomit. I don’t suspect you will, but, as you will be alone and without medical assistance, I would rather take precautions.” Kevin said matter-of-factly upon his return.

He spoke like a doctor but was making no sense. An IV, feeding tube, and ventilator? I could not understand what he was doing and how it had anything to do with what he may have found on the computer. This was not being a sex-slave. I was being packaged for shipment. Forcefully and unwillingly.

One thing about it… Kevin was good. I barely felt the prick of the IV needle as it pierced my skin between my clavicle and the top of my left breast, just inside from my shoulder joint. I watched him carefully flush the IV tube with saline and felt the cool liquid enter the vein. I watched as he picked up a loaded syringe and ensured there were no air bubbles by flicking the tube and shooting a small stream from the needle. I lost sight of his hands just before feeling another sensation of coolness as he injected the liquid into my vein.

Kevin looked into my eyes after carefully recapping the syringe. “You will not remember anything that happened to you today. I have chosen these medications specifically for that purpose.”

The medications he spoke of took effect almost immediately. My world become that of a dream-state and I was unsure of anything that followed was real or imagined.

I was… nothing.

 

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28.01.17

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