The thing to remember when reading this, is that it is a true story. Sexy stories based on truth often skip some of the real bits. The messy bits, the things that take away from the story. Like being angry at your girlfriend because she did something stupid and dangerous.
That’s what I want you to remember though. That less sexy part. The real emotion behind the anger. Not some silly stupid sexy rule that was broken. But a serious, potentially life threatening one. And the anger you would feel at someone, whom you cared about, for risking their own life and safety. Especially, when it was breaking a rule.
That’s how I had felt as I had rushed to Cynthia’s apartment fearing the worst. Fearing that she had gone and done something stupid just to get off and get herself punished. Afraid I was going to find her dead, having accidentally hung herself, or with some limb swollen black and blue and needing to be amputated. Or a dozen other dangerous things. All running through my head. Fueling my anger. Fueling my eventual sadistic lust.
For nearly 15 minutes, I was rushing to her, with nothing but scary texts and a voice mail, worrying that I should be calling an ambulance. I’m glad that I did not end up doing it. I had rationalized it at the time that she didn’t ask for an ambulance. That if she could call me, she could have called an ambulance. But there are probably people out there who made the same choice as I did, and it didn’t work out nearly as well.
And when I would find her, as you will see soon, and realized the danger she was so panicked about was humiliation. Her own humiliation at being caught, tied to her own kitchen table with a butt plug in and a vibrator slid up her cunt. It made me feel better. Feel relief. But that lasted only a short few moments.
Fear, to relief, to anger. Anger at her for being so stupid. Anger at her for worrying me so much. Anger at myself when I realized that the punishments I had been inflicting for something so dangerous, had only encouraged her to do it more.
She was 19 at the time and I was 21. We were young and dumb. I fancied myself a bdsm expert because I had already done so much, I thought, and she was my girlfriend. My slave. We didn’t have the term free use yet. But that is what she was. I was the first man she had ever admitted her fantasies too. The second man she had allowed into her bed.
If you’ve read any of my other stories about her, you will see that things would evolve over the years. That we would both grow. But this was very early in our relationship. And it taught us both some very important lessons.
What I took away, more than anything else, was that you can’t change a sub’s behavior, if the punishment is really a reward. You can only change behavior with punishment that the sub actually fears.
Cynthia learned the lesson as well that day. But it was a much more painful, and humiliating, lesson for her.
*****************
I was only taking classes part time as I was holding down a full time job for my resume. I had been talking to my boss about an assignment and then gone directly into a staff meeting. It was pre-smart phone days, when the Razr was the hottest phone on the market and I had already learned painfully to shut the phone off or silence it when having meetings.
After the staff meeting, I had flipped the phone open to see a dozen or so texts and a voice mail from Cynthia. To you young people reading, this may not sound odd. But back then, every text cost money. It was concerning. I was already concerned.
Then I read the texts and was out the door with my keys in hand before I even got to the last one.
The first was almost cute: “Sir, I messed up. Need you to come over now and help. Pretty please, you won’t regret it.” Flirtatious. Had she broken a rule and needed some punishment or was just horny?
The third was starting to show alarm: “Sir, did self bondage. I know. Bad girl. Need your help though. Stuck.”
Self-Bondage wasn’t technically against the rules. I knew, and had made her show me so I could watch a few times, that it was her favorite way to masturbate. She liked to tie her self to her bed frame face down with a pillow holding a vibrator between her legs and then tie her hands where she could easily get to the knot. But she had experimented with some wilder ideas.
Recently, she had been experimenting with freezing a hand cuff key in ice and then tieing herself in some painful way. A stress position or with a painfully tight crotch rope. And being stuck until the ice melted and she could get the key out.
By the 6th it was: “Sir, please, need you here now. Can’t get caught like this!”
Since she had been in high school and able to drive, she had occasionally done bondage in ways where she risked humiliation. Driving somewhere remote or just not busy, like the far end of a large parking lot. Then tieing herself to the car in some way and not letting herself untie until she came. That came to mind now, but she said it was her apartment.
The last was addressed to me, not sir, my real name. “RD! Please. I need HELP. Emergency! Phone about to die.”
I don’t know if it was the emergency or the word die, but I immediately thought of the one rule I had put on her when it came to self bondage. Nothing around her neck. She wasn’t into auto-erotic asphyxiation, but she loved the feeling of being threatened. Having a tight, but not too tight, rope around her neck, that limited her movement, really got her going. I had put my foot down on that. Too dangerous.
I was already heading to my car as I tried to listen to her voice mail. It was barely audible and just muffled noises. I could barely hear her and it sounded like she was talking through a mouth filled with cloth.
Because she was. I’m not even sure why she tried to call.
Cynthia and I were only a month from moving in together. We already basically lived together. She spent most nights at my apartment. My roommates were pretty chill as long as I played music loud enough to drown out the BDSM and sex noises. Gloria, Cynthia’s roommate, was generally OK, but was deeply religious and from the same town and church as Cynthia. In Gloria’s eyes it was scandalous enough that I slept over sometimes and that we did S-E-X.
I mean it. That is how she, about 20 at the time, talked about it. She couldn’t even SAY sex. She had to spell it out.
I tried to call Cynthia and got nothing. I tried to text her. Nothing. I wasn’t sure if I should be annoyed or terrified. It was clear to me that she had somehow gotten herself stuck in self bondage masturbating. Was she just stuck somehow or in real physical danger?
It was the asphyxiation that I had in my mind as I drove. Getting more and more scared. It wasn’t allowed, but sometimes she broke rules on purpose. She had even told me that it was hot knowing that she was going to be punished. Imagining what I would do to her. It made it better.
Was that what she had done? Tied herself with a rope tight on her neck to get off harder? Then she’d come to me and confess for a sexy beating? Gleefully repentant, begging for punishment?
It was almost 4:30 and normally Gloria got home around 5:20. Whatever Cynthia had done, she only had about an hour until the gossipy religious girl found her.
I called Gloria, who was still at work. She did shelf stocking for one of the big retail chains. I asked if she had heard from Cynthia and she said no. I asked when she would be home, not wanting to raise the alarm yet. But it turned out it would be late. Gloria had been asked to travel to another city to work a store there that was short staffed. She was excited, she’d get bonus pay and the manager had promised to buy them all a nice dinner as thank you.
By the time I got to Cynthia and Gloria’s apartment, it was 4:40. I was running. I didn’t bother to even knock, I had a key and I nearly burst the door in.
And there she was. Or at least her naked ass. The sight was confusing at first. She seemed to be sitting on a stool, bent at the waist and face down on her kitchen table, her wrists out to her side, chains hanging from them. A rope around her neck and leading to a table leg on the opposite side. I was still in panic mode, I didn’t fully understand what I was seeing. I quickly walked around her. The scene slowly making more sense as her face came into view, her eyes red from crying staring at the clock on the microwave, which read 4:45. She couldn’t move her head, but she was able to turn her eyes towards me, pleading. The garbled voice mail made more sense as her mouth was held open, stuffed wide with cloth that had then been taped into place so she couldn’t spit them out.
She had tied herself straddling a low stool. Her ankles tied to the stool legs, wide apart. The rope pulling her crotch down hard onto the stool. I couldn’t see it, but she had impaled herself on a vibrator. I was too panicked as I came in to hear its buzzing. But now I saw its partner, on the floor, buzzing feebly against the carpet. It had been held against her clit until she had wiggled it loose. I could see the black of her large butt plug sticking out of her ass.
I couldn’t see the nipple clamps as she was lieing flat on the table. But they were there, and tight. She was held like that by the noose and the chains on her wrist. The left quite tight, unlike the right wrist with over a foot of slack. Her cell phone, clearly out of power, was near her right hand. While I circled to check on her, I saw the keys to the locks on the floor, in a pool of water.
I reached down quickly to grab them and was turning to start unlocking her as the anger started to push through the relief.
She was fine. Clearly fine. I could see her, see her skin, see that none of the rope was dangerously tight. That there was no discoloration anywhere. She was fine. And she had done it to herself. She had tied each rope. Including the one on her neck.
She was calming down now that I was there, but I could still see the tears on her face. Her eyes bright red and puffy.
Instead of unlocking her, I got the tape off, easy with how much saliva had slowly seeped through, and pulled the cloth from her mouth. Underwear, mine.
“Did you do this,” I asked her. I heard her breath hitch. My voice was cold. Angry.
She made a scared whimpering noise. “Yes sir,” she said quickly, “but please, Gloria will be home any minute. Please. I know I deserve punishing, but you can’t let me get caught.”
I of course already knew that this wasn’t true. We had hours. But I didn’t have to tell her that. She thought she was running out of time.
“I think your a stupid slut,” I said. Anger making the words mean, not sexy.
She whimpered again. “Please sir,” she said, “any punishment, anything. Even breaking a limit. Just not this, don’t let her see.”
I started to circle around her. Unsure of what I wanted to do. I mostly wanted to beat the shit out of her. But I’d never seen her this emotional before and in my anger, it made me feel good. I wanted her scared. I wanted her afraid.
“She gets home around 5:20 right,” I asked. “That means we have about 30 minutes for you to explain yourself. So talk fast, in case she gets home early. First, what the fuck happened?”
She explained quickly, and through her tears, that she had frozen the key in an ice cube. But hadn’t thought about how that would make it slippery and she had been holding it while she came and it had slipped out. She started to beg again, but I pulled my belt from my pants and hit her ass with it hard. Three time on the upper ass. She cried out but stopped begging.
“Good,” I said. “You are only making this take longer. Don’t worry, we still have plenty of time.” Then I leaned in close. “Unless of course she comes home early. But now tell me, what limits can I break if I untie you? What are you offering me to get you out of this position?”
She was breathing hard, upset, and said, “I don’t know, sir.” She sounded tired. Drained. So I started to hit her again. Her ass once and then her right outer thigh. The stool stopped me from hitting both. I didn’t stop for awhile.
It was 4:55 when I stopped, I could see her eyes staring at the clock.
“You begged me to come here to help you because you acted like a stupid slut,” I nearly shouted. Belt hitting her again. Other thigh. Her lower back. “And then when I get here, you promised me limit breaking to free you. So which fucking limits.”
She was starting to cry again. Not from the pain. I had hit her so much harder in the past. I would hit her so much harder before I was done. From the strain and the fear. From being tired and being made to think. From having spent over an hour in discomfort, her ass and pussy aching from the assault of the toys, terrified of being caught.
“Umm, umm,” she said. Confused. So I kept hurting her. Her upper back. Her shoulders. Her arms. The belt coming down again and again with satisfying thwack. She’d have faint bruises on her arms for days. Finally, she had an idea, “my mouth, I’ll swallow.”
An interesting idea. Even by the end of our relationship, when Cynthia would eagerly take my cum and swallow it. Lick up off the floor or from between another woman’s legs. She never liked it. But early on, it was a hard limit. She enjoyed sucking cock, but hated having semen in her mouth.
I moved around to the noose and pulled on its slack, pulling the rope tight around her throat, making her press her face harder into the table. “That’s the best you can think of? Maybe I should just leave you here. Get you past this stupid social phobia of yours.”
“NO,” she cried out, her voice choked slightly by the rope. She made whispering noises that only turned me on more. I yanked it again before letting it go and started to slap the cheek that wasn’t pressed to the table. Once, twice, light. Then a third time with enough force that I heard her head thunk the table.
“What’s worth not being caught by Gloria like this, not having your parents, your brothers, your teachers, your preacher, find out how big of a fucking stupid slut you are?” I said. My voice a growl. My cock was getting so hard and it was only a matter of time before I fucked her. “Convince me quickly or I’m leaving. Convince me and then your getting fucked before your getting untied. So you better hurry.”
I dropped the belt and started to use my hands on her ass and legs and back. Smacking hard enough that she ended up with multiple clear hand shaped bruises and my right hand bruised in some spots. It hurt to make a fist for days.
“Please sir, please sir,” she started, about to beg again, but then started tossing out ideas. Ideas that I knew were coming from her sickest fantasies. Her most twisted and embarrassed imaginings. “I’ll let Leslie fuck me. You can fuck my ass and I’ll suck you after. You can post pictures of me online without my face. You don’t have to use a condom. You can pee on me.”
I don’t want to give the impression that she gave a nice ordered list. Each idea was said raggedly as she searched her mind. Said in between cries of pain and shame. She wasn’t eager for any of them. Not then at least. Interestingly, we would eventually do most of these things as our relationship developed and she found her tastes growing harder and darker.
We never invited Leslie to fuck her, but there were other women. Ass to mouth was never a favorite of hers, but eventually stopped being a limit and found its way onto her severe punishment list. We would also learn that she found she enjoyed putting herself online, without her face, and even going on cam in a mask as viewers begged to see her punished in different ways. And, to my disgust, she ended up learning that she actually really enjoyed the humiliation of being pissed on. Not my favorite, but it made her happy in a disturbingly masochistic way.
I grabbed her by the hair, pulling tight, pulling her head up and against the rope. I spit in her face.
“I agree to all of those,” I said, “After I cum though.” And at the time meant it.
The point wasn’t to get her to agree to vile things. It was the humiliation of hearing them. Of her knowing she had spoken them. A reminder of what she had done to herself. How far she had fallen. What she would do to keep it secret. Later, when he anger had dropped, I didn’t hold her to any of them, except what I did next. Expect as I took her cunt raw for the first time in her life. Eventually, when we did explore those other depraved things, it would be at her request. Her desire.
Where the orgasms good,” I asked. I could feel the anger still in my voice. Acid.
She made a whimper, nearly frantic to be untied, time was running out, or so she thought. But she was always smart, my Cynthia. She understood that I wasn’t playing.
“At first sir,” she said, “but then I was stuck and that just made it . . . “
“You came again and again because you liked being a stupid slut didn’t you,” I asked.
She made the sound again. The small helpless sound. She understood what I meant.
“Yes,” she said, a whimper, “I kept thinking about being walked in on and I was so scared but I couldn’t and now it hurts. Please sir. It hurts. Please don’t let her.”
“Well now she can see this,” I said and pushed the cloth back into her mouth before she could say anything. “She can walk in and see you getting fucked like a stupid slut. She can tell everyone you know that your a whore.” I grabbed the roll of tape, on the counter nearby, and wrapped it around to hold the gag in place.
It was 5:05.I saw her eyes going to the clock. Understanding that she had maybe 15 minutes, if she was lucky, a few more.
“I hope it was worth it,” I said and pulled off my pants and underwear. I needed to fuck her. It wasn’t even a physical need. It was something else. Some need to show her that she was mine. That she had fucked up. That she was paying for it. Claiming her.
I had to untie her from the stool. It was in the way. But she had used large bow ties that were quick to tug off. As she stood on shaky legs, the vibrator fell out of her, still buzzing, landing near the other, and I could hear her crying into her gag. I could see the bright red marks that my hand and belt had made on her skin. I knew here eyes were staring at the clock. Counting the minutes until her humiliation.
For a moment I felt bad. But then, as I looked at the side of her face, one cheek growing red from my slaps and the other pressed in, but the noose. By the fucking noose. I felt my resolve harden.
I knew there was no danger. I knew she had been a stupid horny bitch. She needed to be shown her place. Shown the error of her ways. When I made a rule, I expected it to be followed.
“You have about 12 minutes until she’s home,” I said, “That is unless she comes home early. Or maybe you will get lucky and she will come home late. Either way, even if she walks through the fucking door, I’m not letting you out until I’ve cum.”
The angle wasn’t perfect, but I slid in to her tortured cunt with ease. No condom. For the first time ever, I fucked her without a condom. She made a sound of pain mixed with pleasure. Her pussy was still raw from over an our of the vibrator. Raw from more orgasms than she could count. But I could tell that she was enjoying it. The dirty whore. I knew that despite her fear, it and the humiliation of being taken like this, her first uncovered cock, was too good.
Also deep down, I understood that this was a threshold I was crossing. I was making her mine in a way that I hadn’t done before. That no man had done. I was taking her. I was owning her. Even through her pain and humiliation, I could see in how her body moved that she was enjoying it. That she wanted it. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like I was in my proper place and she in hers.
I thrust deep and she shuddered. I could feel the buttplug hard inside her and didn’t care for it. I didn’t want a synthetic feeling. I just wanted to feel her battered hole. I pulled all the way out and then pulled the plug with enough force that I heard her cry out into her gag. Then I trust back into her. She cried into the gag again and started making a constant whine as I trust. I didn’t care in that moment if it was pleasure or pain. If it was fear of being caught. If it was humiliation. All that mattered was my taking of her. My pleasure. My anger. I pulled almost all the way out.
But it still wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough. She hadn’t really felt that burn yet. She was enjoying it too much. This was getting her off in some truly sick depraved way. I had a feeling that had Gloria really walked in, right at that moment, Cynthia would have orgasmed. Maybe one of the best orgasms of her life.
It was not enough. Not nearly enough. She was enjoying it. She didn’t understand my displeasure. And I realized, that she hadn’t really apologized yet. She hadn’t shown me how sorry she was. If anything, I was rewarding her again. Being fucked in pain and humiliation was what this slave wanted, wasn’t it?
I stopped fucking her. It wasn’t me who should be fucking her, rewarding her, it was she who should be fucking me, rewarding me, for teaching her this lesson.
I stood there, my cock half in her and waited. Watching the clock on the microwave, seeing her face in my peripheral vision, staring along with me. I waited like that, not moving until I saw the clock strike 5:12.
“I’m starting to think you want to be caught,” I said. “You are confusing me cunt. Do you want to be untied?”
Her eyes rolled to me and I saw a flash of anger in them, mixed with her shame and pain. She nodded as much as her self-bondage would allow.
“And you understand that it won’t happen until I cum, RIGHT?” I said, the last word a shout, “I know you have been a stupid slut today, but you can’t be that stupid.”
Again that flash of anger in her eyes and as she nodded I saw understanding dawn on her. My Cynthia. So smart. So quick. So ready to be a depraved slut.
She started to try to fuck me. Tied face first onto a table, arms outstretched, feet planted on the floor. She had almost no leverage. No ability to move. All she could do was start rolling her hips. Working her tired body, her sore cunt, up and down my cock. Only an inch or so at a time.
It felt good. It felt right. I wanted to grab her by the hips and plunge into her like a raging animal, but this felt so much more right. Making her do all the work. Making her in charge of her own punishment fuck.
“Good job stupid slut,” I said, looking at the clock, “5:13, you still might get away with this.” And then I ran my fingers down her lower back, across the red angry marks, dragging my finger nails hard enough to leave small tears in her skin.
She made a panicked noise and started to work her hips harder. She managed to get further and further into a frenzy. Actually fucking me right, hard enough, deep enough, fast enough hat I felt myself growing closer and closer.
“5:14,” I managed, feeling the orgasm coming. I’d like to tell you I lasted longer. But I was heated. Frenzied. A primal sensation of taking, of owning, of breaking. All mixing with the first raw, non-safe, sex I had had in over a year. My friends, I did not last long at all.
She made a panicked cry as she rolled her cunt onto me and I could hear the small sobs bursting from her nose. It was too much. I grabbed her hips and plunged hard. Fucking hard. Taking her. FUCKING her. Taking what was mine. And I came inside her.
Her first cream pie. Her first of many.
When I pulled my shrinking cock from her, the clock said 5:17 and she was still frantic. Saying the same word over and over. Through the gag it sounded like “eathe.” Please. Please she wanted me to untie her so badly. To save her from the humiliation that she thought would come any moment.
I was deflating already. The anger, the spite, the resentment, I wanted her to hurt more still. So, I started to walk away. “I need a shower,” I called over my shoulder. “You just wait until she walks in and sees you with my cum rolling down your leg.” And laughed as she made a panicked shrieking noise through the gag.
Then finally she did it. My slutty Cynthia. Who had waited through torture and risked humiliation, to give me an amazing fuck. Who had wanted to please me more than she had wanted to protect herself. Finally, she used our safe signal.
To this day, I’m not entirely sure why it took her so long to safe word. She was always the sort of sub that viewed safewording as having failed. But there were times she had felt the need to do it. I’m still shocked that having her fetishes exposed wasn’t one that set it off. That she had lasted through the humiliation and pain that I inflicted on her. I know how much she liked it. She told me later that despite her pain, she came close to orgasm.
But still. Did she suspect? Did she already trust me so much that she knew I’d never really risk her suffering true pain? That I’d never have fucked with her or fucked her like that if she might really be exposed to real humiliation?
But that was too much. She snapped her fingers. Our mouth-closed safeword. And I admit, that now, in my post-orgasmic mindset, I felt guilty. I turned and nodded.
“Don’t worry,” I said, as I started to walk back to her, “I talked to her before I came, she’s over an hour away still.” And saw Cynthia relax, her tears of frustration taking a lighter tone. I grabbed the keys off the floor and unlocked her.
I wasn’t done with punishing her for the night. Not too long later, after she had called Gloria herself and verified she was still far away, I tied Cynthia back onto the table, on her back, legs pulled wide, and beat her tits, stomach, and cunt red. I left bruises in the shape of my teeth all across her breasts, and thigh, and bit one of her labia hard enough that I almost drew blood. We would admire those bruises for days. Then fucked her raw again. Her second cream pie.
Later that night, back at my apartment, I made her ride me, anal, girl on top, all the while telling her that she’d be taking the load in her mouth. Sucking her own ass off my cock. Though it was just a threat. I didn’t mean it. And many months later she would admit that she was disappointed I hadn’t forced her to try it.
The next day, we went to planned parenthood together for a morning after pill and I nursed her through how sick it ended up making her.
We learned that day that there were funishments. Things that others would hate, but that she secretly sought out. Pain and humiliation that just turned her on.
And punishments. Things she feared. Threats I could make when I truly needed her to behave.
She never tied a noose to her own neck again. Not unless I was there, watching.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/p2pj0x/cynthia_chained_to_the_table_mf_bdsm_humiliation