Archive-name: Bondage/njlist11.txt
Archive-author: Nurse Jones
Archive-title: The List - 11 of 20


     After dinner, I tried something different--something I wanted to
do before the routine with the tanning lotion changed me too much.
Actually, I was probably unnaturally pale before, anyway, but whatev-
er. I had about average coloration at that point.
     I tried a new concept in makeup. I painted big artificial blue
'baby doll' eyes on my eyelids, with large false eyelashes glued on my
upper eyelids, and painted-on lower lashes, with thirties-style
eyebrows. (I've tried just about all styles of eyebrows: simple
straight ones, surprised, pained, emotionless, even slanting Mr. Spock
and heavy Mariel Hemingway ones). I also painted on very artificial
cupid-bow lips and over-rouged my cheeks. With my eyes shut, I looked
a bit like a wide-eyed Raggedy-Anne doll. I covered my nipples and
navel with round patches of surgical tape (the kind that looks a bit
like tissue paper) and covered it with makeup blended into my skin. I
made myself look as much like a department-store mannequin as possi-
ble. Nipple-less, navel-less, expressionless. Blonde wig.
     When I came out of my bedroom he wasn't looking in my direction,
so I stood stock still in a department store pose with my eyes shut
and my hand on the back of the sofa for balance. I was completely
nude. I don't know how he reacted, if he was startled, or what. I bet
I looked like a mannequin, though. He didn't say anything.
     But he did something. To me.
     He led me into the bathroom and sat me down at my makeup table
and removed the makeup from my face. Then he stood me in front of the
full-length mirror with my wrists in straps over my head. I thought at
first he didn't like what I had done and was going to punish me for it
in some way, but I was wrong. He took more of the surgical tape and
taped my nether lips together, covering my sex completely. He blended
more makeup into the surrounding skin; I already was hairless down
there, but he made it look as though I was sexless as well.
     "What are you going to do to me?" I asked. This question has
become almost a formula with us. No matter how nervous I am about what
he's doing to me, I'm not supposed to ask it, and I always do anyway,
and his response is always disciplinary.
     This time, it was adhesive tape over my mouth. Securely over my
mouth. I tried to open my lips after a while, and couldn't. I watched
while he cut little ovals of tape and put them over my eyes, one at a
time, taping them shut. He was thoughtful enough to protect my eye-
lashes from the tape with a bit of kleenex, but my eyes were taped
securely shut. Then he reapplied the makeup job on the outside of the
tape (I figured this out later as I was taking it off and cleaning
up): Cupid-bow lips, big baby-doll eyes with false lashes, the whole
nine yards.
     He put cotton in my ears, held in with beeswax. I had only two
operating senses: touch and smell. He put a drop of sandalwood oil on
each shoulder and somewhere on the tape on my face, and for the next
few hours, that was all I could smell.
     When he unhooked me from the ceiling, I was completely disorient-
ed, and would have fallen if he hadn't supported me. I felt very odd.
He put me on the bed with my wrists strapped together and held over my
head at the headboard. I could have gotten the tape off my face if he
weren't watching, but he had too much of an advantage. When I tried to
reach my face with my hands, he pulled my ankles until my arms were
extended above my head again.
     Then he made love to me. I turned my face blindly from side to
side, trying to figure out what he was going to do next, but he kept
surprising me. During the foreplay he used partly-melted ice cubes,
feathers, clothespins, a snap with a leather shoelace here and there
(I know it doesn't qualify as a whip with you hardcore ASBers, but it
was the first time for me for all of this stuff, and it hurt--mostly
because I didn't know what it was and from the surprise of not knowing
what was coming next, or when). I screamed several times under the
tape. Each time I was rewarded with a loving kiss on the offended
spot, or a stroke of an ice cube.
     He peeled the tape off my nipples. Slowly. That was excruciating.
Then off my nether lips. Likewise. I was pretty excited by that time.
I can only imagine how I looked. Later when I took off one eye patch,
I realized I must have had a vapid, vacuous, and silly but expression-
less appearance no matter what I was feeling behind that mask.
     More foreplay with the ice cubes on my nipples and nether lips.
During my second orgasm (almost always the best) he had me on top and
he slipped an ice cube into my behind. I was too far gone at the time
to even protest, but it was a terrific orgasm--the second became a
plateau from which the third orgasm launched. I don't know how to put
it, but it was like an orgasm on top of (added to?) an orgasm rather
than two consecutive ones.
     I know, ice cubes are probably tame stuff for you. It was new to
me, though. I realize now (after reading the posting in a.s.b.) that
this entire List must seem like the inexperienced fumbling of a couple
of virgins. Especially to the guy that walked around with thumbtacks
stuck in him. Yow. I feel more than a little embarassed that you might
read this, not so much out of shame for what we did, but because we
are such vanilla softies. This is really just plain bondage--is there
such thing as vanilla bondage? I haven't really experienced any
serious pain (except that gag is still a killer). Spanking is on the
List, but I don't think J is any more interested in inflicting pain
than I am in experiencing it. Besides, spanking isn't real pain
either. I came close to some serious stuff yesterday, though. I was
really afraid. I'm coming to that.
     -*-
     We made love the following night after what must be the strangest
conversation on record. I'll try to reconstruct it.
     On his instructions, I had prepared myself with the usual shower,
shave, conditioner, makeup, wig, etc., leather cuffs and collar, too.
     Now, don't get the wrong idea when I tell you this, because I
still hate having my head shaved, but it's done and can't be undone
except by many months of waiting. Shaving my own head now just delays
regrowing it one more day, so it's not a big deal. If that seems I'm
being too logical and unemotional, that's not true. I do feel emotion-
al about it. If I could have my hair back right now, I'd do it, List
or not. But I can't, so I am experimenting with this new look--just
for a few days--before Column One is over and I can start growing it
back. So what I'm trying to tell you is that when I shaved, it was an
erotic experience. It still is. After a shower, I shaved my underarms
and legs (I didn't need depilating). Then I covered my scalp with his
fluffy white shaving cream so it looked like I had short, white hair.
I "revealed" myself with the razor. Don't ask. I can't explain. When I
read over that last paragraph it doesn't capture the eroticism of
becoming so extremely naked, but for me it is an erotic process.
     Anyway. Back to the tale.
     He had lit two candles in the bed alcove and was waiting for me.
He just started right in with the foreplay. I was unable to get into
it, even though preparing myself for sex is always a turn-on for me.
Anticipation is half the game for me. I don't like spontaneity.
Surprises, yes, but I have to know that he has thought them out well
in advance and planned the things he does to me. I like my spontaneity
to be well planned.
     But I just couldn't get into the foreplay. The worst part was
that he knew it--and he seemed to be expecting me to have trouble,
too. He was even pleased, I think.
     "What's the problem," he said. He had that smug smile that says
"I already know the answer to this question." I hate that smile.
     "I don't know, Master," I said, knowing perfectly well.
     "I think you do," he said, knowing perfectly well I knew.
     "No, really..." I said, pretending I didn't know anyone knew
anything.
     "Why did you put on the cuffs and collar?" he asked. Good ques-
tion.
     "I thought you might have wanted to use them ...?" Stupid answer.
     He just looked at me.
     "Would it please you if I put on something else?" I asked, trying
to change the subject. Stupid question.
     He just looked at me some more. I was floundering. I could see he
didn't believe me.
     "You wanted to be bound. Admit it."
     "No! Really! I don't know what it is with me tonight," I protest-
ed. "... Master," I added. "I just can't seem to ..."
     "You can't seem to get into it because this is 'vanilla sex,'" he
said. "Admit it."
     Of course it was true, but I couldn't admit it. I thought it
would spoil it if I admitted I liked something that I was supposed to
be fighting every step of the way. It takes away an essential ingredi-
ent of bondage if you don't fight it, and you can't fight it if you
admit you want it--especially to yourself. Can you?
     "We've reached another milestone here and you just haven't
realized it yet," he said. "The illusion that you are resisting me is
your last fig leaf. I'm not going to allow you even that shred of
dignity. Tonight I'm going to make you admit you want everything I do
to you. I'll even make you beg for more. You'll voluntarily give up
even the illusion of resistance.
     Drawing on my fine command of the english language, I said
nothing.
     He got out that wonderful little vibrator and put it in me and
chained my wrists to the bedposts. While I was squirming on the bed he
ran ropes through the eyes in the ceiling and pulled my ankles high in
the air and wide apart. My rear end was nearly pulled off the bed. He
went to work on my rear opening with another lubricated vibrator,
beginning by working his fingers into my opening until I was relaxed
enough to accept it. With nothing to press against, it was hard for me
to stimulate myself. My squirming became more and more frantic. I
remember thinking that this isn't exactly going to wrench a confession
from me. I just got hotter and hotter. He pressed against the front of
the vibrator, helping to bring me closer to a climax. He watched me
very closely, alternately pressing and waiting, pressing and waiting.
I came to the very edge of an orgasm. I was teetering at the very top,
panting and heaving. I held my legs straight. My thighs were quiver-
ing, I flexed them so hard trying to come.
     "I'm not going to let you have an orgasm until you beg for it,"
he said. He took out a small bottle and held it up. "This is an oral
anesthetic. It is benzocaine--not clove oil. It lasts just a few
minutes. Every time you get close to an orgasm, I will put a little
more on." It was the same anesthetic I had used earlier (ages ago) to
suppress my gag reflex. I knew it would work perfectly on sensitive
membranes--that's what it's intended for.
     I watched in dismay as he took out the vibrator and put a dab of
it on my clitoris. He massaged it in, and put a liberal dose on my
labia. After a couple of applications, I could barely feel him touch-
ing me at all. By lifting my head I could just see the tops of my
nether lips. They get kind of swollen when I am turned on. In fact,
they were engorged and dripping. I could literally feel moisture
trickle between my legs. But I couldn't feel my clitoris; I couldn't
feel anything. I watched him put the vibrator back between my numbed
lips. He pressed it solidly against me, and I felt the vibration in my
hips, but I was too numb to feel the vibrator itself. He kept watch-
ing. I was still panting, still very turned on, but groaning with
disappointment every time I strained to recapture that edge.... After
a few minutes he took a washcloth and wiped my clitoris free of the
anesthetic, but I was still numb.
     "I can keep this up all night," he said. "Or, I could wash off
the anesthetic, gag and blindfold you, and tie you suspended from the
ceiling. Which would you rather?"
     "Ceiling?" I said.
     "Look up. See the extra rings?"
     I did. there were several new eye-rings in the ceiling. I had
noticed them already.
     "I will put a harness on you--one you haven't seen yet, and
suspend you from the ceiling by it. You will be floating above the
bed, blindfolded, gagged, and spread-eagled. And you won't be able to
stop having orgasms.
     "But you'll have to beg me for it. You'll have to convince me
that you want it."
     He was still pressing on the front of the vibrator. I was begin-
ning to feel it again. I tried to keep from reacting: maybe I could
steal a secret orgasm. I wasn't exactly on the edge, but I could just
barely see the beginning of an orgasm peeking around the corner when
he took it out again, suddenly. It was almost a shock for the vibra-
tion to stop. Then he put it back in. He took nearly a half hour of
teasing to bring me to the edge again. With the control over me the
anesthetic gave him, it was much easier for him to keep me on the
edge. He kept me quivering for another fifteen minutes, letting me
rest just enough to keep me from exhaustion, but not enough to let me
cool off.
     "Alright!" I said, finally, just as he was opening the bottle
again for a second dose. I'd had enough.
     "Alright what?" he said.
     "You win," I said sullenly, "you were (pant) right."
     "About what?"
     "Me," I said. Pant, pant.
     "Say it."
     (Pant-pant, calming a little) "I want to be tied up," I said
flatly. "I get off on it." I didn't sound convincing even to myself.
Its easier to tell an unconvincing truth than it is to tell a convinc-
ing lie. Did you ever tell a truth in an unconvincing way because you
didn't want it to be believed? Even though it was true, I couldn't
make myself reveal the truth, so my answer sounded like a recitation
read from cue-cards. I didn't mind him knowing I liked bondage, I just
thought it was degrading for me to have to tell him.
     "Not good enough."
     "Please! What more do you want? I've admitted it!"
     "Admitting it's not enough."
     "But this is torture," I wailed.
     "Does it hurt?"
     "Yes! No! I don't know what you want!"
     "I want to be convinced. If it's true, convince me. If it's not,
say so and I'll stop, untie you and put you in a nice comfortable
bed."
     "But I said it's true! What more do....Oh No....!" My protest
dissolved into a wail as he put more of the stuff on me.
     "Now we'll wait for it to take effect," he said.
     [Editorial insert: Actually, he didn't put more on me, he just
pretended to. He told me after proofing this account that instead of
waiting for it to take effect he was waiting for me to cool down a
bit. We went through several cycles of this, with the pretense that he
was anesthetizing me: sometimes he really did, sometimes not (I
think); he won't tell me if he really used it again or not. It was
really the power of suggestion that did it to me. That, and a little
Anbesol. I guess this is Just another mindfuck. Well, the brain is my
second favorite organ.]
     So I squirmed and cried in frustration while I became numb for
the second time. And a third, and a fourth. Each time, using both
vibrators alternately and in concert, he brought me to the edge of a
climax--and each time he pulled me back again. The last time, I was
covered in perspiration. The bed was soaked, and my wig had come off.
My eyes were stinging from the salt and makeup. I can't remember what
my exact words were that finally convinced him, but they WERE heart-
felt in the end. I literally begged. If I could have gotten to my
hands and knees and kissed his feet to show my sincerity, I would
have. I wanted release from the torture. I wanted it to stop and I
wanted that orgasm. I had earned it. As I say, this may not be an
exact transcript:
     "Please! No more!" I wailed. I thought I was exhausted after the
first dose, but by now I had been through four. "I'll do anything!
You're right! I want to be tied up! I have to! I want to be used--I
want to be filled to overflowing! I don't even WANT an orgasm unless
you force me to have it. I can't- I need it that way. I need to be
gagged and blindfolded! Please! I'm begging!" And so on, with lots of
crying and panting in between. Actually, even though I wouldn't want
you to think I wasn't incoherent (say what?), I can't really remember
what I said. Whatever it was, it convinced him that I was sincere:
either I had gotten to the point where I sincerely wanted him to stop
even without giving me an orgasm, or I wanted one so badly I would say
anything, or I really was telling the truth about preferring bondage
to straight sex. He had no way of knowing. Actually, it was all three.
     Anyway, he freed me. Rather than suspending me like he had
promised or giving me my promised orgasm, he told me to get on my
knees on the bed while he stripped (the vibrators were still inside
me) and take him in my mouth. After just a few false starts, I was
able to take him all the way down my throat without gagging. I'm
getting pretty good at that. The vibrator in my rear tended to gradu-
ally slip out as I worked on him, and he told me to hold them both in
while I brought him closer and closer to an orgasm. I still can't have
an orgasm easily while kneeling. It helps to flex my legs and
straighten them, but I couldn't.
     He came in my mouth. He had before, over the last month but not
when he was actually down my throat. The first spurt went deep down my
throat and I swallowed it reflexively. I caught the rest in my mouth.
He hasn't ever told me I have to swallow it, but over the last few
weeks I have gotten used to the taste--and the idea. I looked up at
him to see his reaction, (looking up was a deliberate infraction of
the rules, but what did I have to lose?) and swallowed. He didn't say
anything, but I know he knew. I lowered my eyes again. I figured that
ought to win me a few points with him.
     I was incredulous at the time, but he actually made me wait until
the NEXT DAY for an orgasm. He could have made love again in a few
minutes, or even have used the vibrator on me, but he made me wait
until the morning. I was kneeling in front of him after I had swal-
lowed, and he bent me over and took the rear vibrator out. He told me
to roll over on my back, and he took out the other one. I was SO sure
he was going to finally give me my orgasm then ... but he didn't. He
told me I would have to wait until tomorrow. My nether lips were
swollen and my entire pelvis felt congested and uncomfortable. He
waited--and watched--while I got ready for sleep; then he locked me to
his bed, both hands to a long chain at the head, one ankle at the
foot. I could almost (but not quite) bring my arms down to my waist if
I straightened my leg and scooted up to the headboard. I tried after
he was asleep. I spent a fairly miserable night, although we went to
bed early and I did finally sleep. The next morning he got me up
before dawn.


The List
     Column 1
       Item 18

     I had cooled down by the next day, but he left instructions
before he went to work for me to prepare myself for him. You know the
routine. Shower, shave, conditioner, makeup, etc. This time, though,
no clothing. Not a stitch. Starting at 5:30, I waited, reading, in the
living room.
     He took me into the bedroom practically the minute he got home
and started right in putting straps and belts and constraints all over
me. He put a strap around each arm above the elbow and locked my right
wrist to my left elbow behind my back, and vice versa. What followed
was a bewildering array of straps around my ankles (held three feet
apart by a stiff pole locked to my ankle straps), thighs (upper and
lower), and neck (a stiff, high collar that had three buckles to close
it in back). There were straps around my chest above and below my
breasts, a very wide one around my waist, and two straps that went
from the front of the waistband (leaving my sex exposed) under my
crotch to join a single wide strap that buckled to the back of the
waistband--but only after he had put another device in my rear. This
one was a surprise. It was a while before I figured out what it was.
     Before buckling the back of the belt, he told me to sit on the
bed. He rolled me over and lifted me to a kneeling position with my
face and shoulders resting on the bed and my rear in the air, legs
held apart by the pole between my ankles. With my arms behind me,
there wasn't much I could do to resist. There was no foreplay. He just
lubricated his fingers and started loosening me, preparing me for
something. When I saw it, I was nonplussed.
     "What's that?! What are you going to do to me?" Contraptions make
me nervous, especially when I don't know what they're for.
     "It's on the List," he said. "Trust me." Well, it is on the List,
but only technically.
     The 'horse' had been on the List, too: two dildos at once. That
was stretching the intent of the List to the limit. I couldn't make
head nor tail of this, though. It looked like a very large condom on
the end of a small-diameter rubber hose.
     "But Master, if it pleases you, I don't remember anything
like..."
     He gagged me. This time it wasn't that horrible rubber ball, but
it was still a gag. It was a kind of ring that went in my mouth, held
in with a neck strap. The ring just held my mouth open--that's all,
just held it open. Sounds simple, but I couldn't make an intelligible
sound to save my life. It was humiliating. And I know I must have
looked like a drooling idiot with my mouth hanging open.
     I relaxed a little, though. He wouldn't gag me if he was doing
something that required feedback to avoid hurting me. He inserted the
condom-thing into my rear, poking it gently but fully inside me with
his fingers--I was left with a rubber tube hanging out of me. He
buckled the crotch strap of the 'chastity belt' (unchastity belt?) in
back, holding IT (I'll tell you what IT was in a minute) inside me.
     Then he blindfolded me and started the real show. I was already
trussed up pretty securely just lying there on the bed, but he was
tying ropes to the rings on the various bits of leather harness that
held me. Soon, I felt myself being hoisted: at first it was just my
feet being lifted. Then my shoulders and waistband. Step by step, he
hoisted different parts of me up over the bed until I was hanging,
suspended, like a kind of horizontal puppet. I was very disoriented,
but I'm sure my head was higher than my feet, and I know my legs were
held spread apart even after he took off the pole that held my ankles.
     I was well supported everywhere. There weren't any real pressure
points, and my circulation was fine. It was like sitting in a swing,
sort of.
     But something was happening inside me. The device he had put in
my rear portal was doing something, seemingly on it's own.
     I twisted my head blindly from side to side. "Ah ah oh oh!" I
said. Ha-ha. Very funny, I know, but you try saying "What are you
doing?" without being able to close your mouth. I was feeling VERY
strange down there. The sensation was one of being filled, but from
the inside. It was a warm feeling, but oddly familiar. When I finally
figured it out, I realized he was filling the condom inside me with
warm water through the rubber tubing. The sensation of being filled
increased (and increased and increased). I felt much fuller than I
ever had with anything else that had been in there. Packed, in fact.
Not stretched the way a dildo would have done, just full. My breathing
and heart rate began to increase. I guess that technically it was a
water-filled dildo?
     Meanwhile, I could feel him putting on my nipple cages. That
feeling really is exquisite.
     Then he entered me. I could feel his hands on my hips, steadying
me. He was standing on the futon between my legs. I felt a slow
stroking motion--I think it was me swinging back and forth rather than
him thrusting. Maybe both. I really felt I was floating above the bed,
though. Floating and full. (Will she resist the temptation, you ask
yourself.) I think not:
     Floating, full, and f****d. Heh heh.
     Is that the first time I've used the F word? Shame on me. It'll
probably be censored. If you're logging on in California, it may have
been censored on its way through the midwest. They have filters in the
phone lines in certain counties.
     I won't bore you with the rest. I had a few orgasms and lost all
sense of orientation in the process. I might have been weightless for
all I knew. The most interesting thing was that I was free to try to
move in any direction but still constrained. Hanging free, unable to
touch anything, but still completely trapped. I couldn't have hurt
myself no matter what I did. Like a fly in a spider web. And I like
the feeling of being filled--but this way is a little kinky for me. He
drained me, freed me, and that was that. Sorry to be so brief about
it, but I don't want to dwell on it and you are probably tired of
gratuitous sex anyway.
     We talked about it afterward, and I found out he had considered
leaving the condom inside me. At first I was horrified--didn't he know
sea turtles die that way? Digestive systems plugged with party bal-
loons? He had put a rubber band around the condom to hold it onto the
tubing, but as a safety measure he had passed a piece of string under
the band and knotted it around so the condom wouldn't be lost inside
me even if it slipped off the tubing.
     Then it occurred to him that if the tubing was slipped out
deliberately, the rubber band would close the condom and I would still
be filled by the condom but unable to expel it; a simple tug on the
rubber band would expose enough of the condom that he could burst it
with a pin. Which I wouldn't be able to do unless my hands were free.
Clever, clever. A little technical for my taste. I'm glad he didn't do
it. I think he (correctly) figured what he had done to me was weird
enough, even though the newspaper, coincidentally enough, said it was
National Condom Week
     Now there's a parade you don't want to miss....
     But I had told him (under duress) that I wanted to be filled up,
so I can hardly blame him for being weird. Still, it was weird. But
who am I to criticize anyone for unnatural practices. And no, it would
not have felt more "natural" if it had been a sheep intestine condom.
Despite what the ad on the package says. More natural, hah. For
certain guys in certain parts of Tennessee and West Virginia, maybe.
Give me artificial any day.
     Less than a week to go and the month allotted for his turn at
Master and mine as slave will be over.
     -*-
     It started raining heavily while I wrote down the preceding
entry. I went outside and stood in the rain for no good reason. You
know, one of those tropical downpours where it just pours down verti-
cally and the trees bend under the weight of water on their leaves. My
muslin robe was plastered to my skin. Good excuse for a hot shower and
some conditioner, followed by a nice cup of tea in my robe, fresh out
of the dryer. Luxury.
     There has been a lot of rain this Spring. The plants in the
garden are loving it.

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