Isabel 1 | breasts bondage story

Isabel flinched as Ron wrapped the wide leather belt around her waist and began securing it behind her.

She held her hands behind her head and stared at the wall as she had been instructed, but she could not stop her quivering body from betraying her fear. Being completely naked didn't help either.

This is what you wanted, she reminded herself. Total submission.

And Ron had proven to be more than she had bargained for.

After their first date, she had been willing to do anything he commanded. He had dressed her up like a latex wet dream, taken her to a fancy restaurant, then made her sit through an opera with a hard wooden ball in her butt. And that had been it. No ropes. No whips. Just extreme humiliation and brain-numbing arousal.

"Put your hands down at your sides," he ordered. When Isabel complied, he began rolling long lace gloves over her fingers, her forearms and her elbows.

After he dropped her off at her hotel that first night, she practically ran to her room. Once inside, she plunged her fingers deep into her crotch, setting off a series of climaxes that practically knocked her unconscious.

This is it, she thought as he worked on the gloves. He's finally going to make me his slave.

But what had she been last night? She had willfully submitted to his every request, no matter how embarrassing or humiliating.

And truth be told, she had loved every sinful minute.

Isabel heard what sounded like the beginning of a party starting in the apartment above Ron's, but all her attentions were focused on the various black undergarments he held in his hands.

She felt a surge of electricity bounce through her body, and her arms stiffened as she instinctively tried to stop him.

But the cuffs chained to the sides of the leather belt put an immediate end to that fleeting thought.

With her wrists subdued, Isabel could do nothing more than watch Ron as he dressed her.

He wrapped the bustier around her torso and hooked it to the innermost row of fasteners. Her breasts were thrust up by its stiff quarter-cups so they stuck out like rubber balls.

Next came the garter belt with six straps dangling down her hips.

"Lift up your foot," Ron commanded. "Now the other one."

After he slipped on the snug, sheer and quite crotchless panties, he rolled black lace stockings up the length of her legs.

Then came the steep high heels with ankle straps.

Isabel imagined she must look like the perfect Playboy fantasy date.

"Open your mouth, darling."

Unlike the rest of her outfit, the gag was white. She was surprised by the large hole in the middle of the wide piece that apparently fit over her mouth until she saw it was actually a short rubber tube.

She supposed it was a little late to tell Ron that she wasn't all that hot on oral sex.

The collar had a long strip of leather hanging from two rings on its sides. Once he buckled it around her neck, the curved strap hung down her back.

Finally, he placed a black mask over her eyes.

"Trick or treat," he said with an appreciative emphasis on the last word.

Isabel tested the height of the heels with an uncertain step, but Ron quickly picked up the strap hanging from her neck.

"Giddyup," he commanded as he cracked the reins behind her.

Isabel lurched forward until Ron pulled sharply on the left strap, redirecting her steps toward the front door of his apartment.

Oh, no, she thought. Is he really going to make me go outside dressed up like a bondage pony?

"Open the door."

He was.

She stared up at the elevator's direction indicators, and was taken aback when the up arrow lit up with a cheerful ding.

They were going upstairs?

The party.

"Giddyup," he said again, this time with a smart crack on her naked ass with the lash of a riding crop. Isabel hadn't seen this coming, and practically flew forward into the waiting car.

They only traveled one floor up. When the doors drew back, Isabel heard loud music and much raucous conversation emanating from an apartment at the end of the hall.

When they reached the door, Ron didn't bother to knock.

"Showtime," he whispered to her as he pushed her forward into the party.

"Bon Voyage Fred," read the banner stretched across the far wall of the living room. Around 20 men stood around in groups, the largest being the one huddled around the keg of beer.

It didn't take long for Isabel to figure out what kind of gathering Ron had invited her to.

"Hey, Ron!" one of the men called out. "All right! You brought the hooker!"

With a shudder, she realized she was about to become the featured entertainment at a bachelor party.

"Nice . . . very tasty indeed," said another. "Ron, how do you do it?"

"Gentlemen, meet the meat," Ron announced. "As you can see, she's very much prepared to fulfill your every need. But first, I need a beer."

While someone got Ron a plastic cup filled with suds and foam, Isabel sneaked a peak at herself in a mirror. To her horror, she realized the tube gag made her mouth look like something you would find on a blow-up sex doll.

"A toast," he said as he raised his glass. "To Fred, a man who's about to become a mouse by willfully subjecting himself to the whims of a woman. May his golf clubs never rust."

The men applauded heartily as Fred took a bow.

"Come over here, Fred," Ron said. "Let me formally introduce you to the girl of your future wet dreams."

Fred stumbled forward as his friends hooted and howled.

"Down," Ron barked at Isabel as he cracked the reins. "That's right, on your knees."

Isabel, mortified at her unenviable fate, did as she was told.

Ron dropped the leather strap while Fred unzipped his jeans.

"Let her fish it out with her mouth," someone called out.

"Yeah, let her suck it out," yelled another.

Fred thrust his crotch into the tube.

She hesitated for only a second, which earned her a hard blow from Ron's crop across her bare tits.

"Do as you're told," he ordered.

Isabel put her gagged mouth against Fred's gaping fly and began to work his dick free.

When it finally popped out, she maneuvered its tip into the hole and started inhaling it.

"Oh . . . Jesus," Fred gasped as Isabel worked his rapidly-stiffening member with her tongue.

Within a matter of seconds, he was shuddering compulsively as his seed spurted down Isabel's throat.

"Who's next?"

Isabel spent the next half-hour on the floor servicing the groom's ushers while the party swirled drunkenly around her. As she finished her sixth blowjob, she overheard Fred whispering something to Ron while he pointed to an archway between the living room and the dining room where a solitary plant hung down from a hook in the center.

Ron nodded and laughed as Fred dashed into the kitchen, only to return a moment later with a coil of rope and a handful of clothespins.

"Get up," Ron ordered.

Isabel stood as directed.

Ron unlocked the cuffs from their chains and quickly secured her wrists behind her back. She felt him wrapping the rope around her arms in stacked coils. Around and around he sheathed her limbs in hemp until they were completely covered and pinned together over her elbows.

Isabel arched her back to take off some of the strain, which caused her breasts to jut forward even more enticingly.

Ron smacked her ass with his crop to propel her toward the archway, where Fred had already removed the plant, leaving its hook hanging empty.

But not for long, as Ron tied a length of rope to her wrists and threaded its end through the metal hole. Isabel felt her arms rise, and bent over to accommodate. When she reached a 90-degree angle, Ron knotted the end to the top of the rope around her arms..

"Get me a broom and a mop," he yelled to the boisterous throng.

When someone returned from the kitchen with both, he ordered Isabel to spread her legs apart as wide as she could. When he was satisfied, he tied the broomstick to the back of her ankles so its ends overlapped the wall on either side of the archway.

He then took the mop and tied it to the front of her ankles, pinning them between the two rods. His ropework pulled the wooden shafts together against the sides of the wall on either side of the archway so they effectively locked her legs in place.

"Seems like a pity to waste rope," he said as he held up the remainder.

Isabel couldn't help yelping as a hand began stroking her pussy from behind while Ron busied himself knotting tight coils of rope around her dangling tits.

"Would someone please fill her mouth with something besides complaints? Fred is going to hear enough of that starting tomorrow."

One of the men soon had his cock jammed deep down Isabel's throat.

When Ron had used up the last of the rope, Isabel's breasts looked like two overinflated footballs as the cord cut deeply into their tender flesh.

"Gentlemen, it's time for a game," Ron announced. "It's called 'Pin The Clothespin On The Party Girl'."

He handed each attendee a clothespin as he continued to explain the rules.

"Everybody gets to attach one of these to a part of her body . . . the more sensitive, the better."

He demonstrated by snapping his directly onto one of her nipples. The rest were soon clamped to her breasts, her inner thighs, her stomach and especially her pussy.

"Now, Fred, here comes the good part," he said as he handed the groom-to-be his riding crop. "I want you to remove them one by one."

Fred looked at the crop curiously.

"Like this," Ron said as he took back the leather rod and expertly snapped it against Isabel's crotch, causing one of the clothespins to fly off into the kitchen.

Isabel practically bit off the dick in her mouth.

"Hey! Go easy on the johnson, bitch."

Isabel did her best to do as she was told, but the combined pain of the pins and the lash were almost more than she could bear.

The game mercifully came to a conclusion as Isabel continued to suck off various members of the wedding party.

"Look what I got for a present," Fred exclaimed as he brandished a foot-long dildo.

Isabel groaned as he slipped it deep inside her sopping pussy.

"Ready for another round?" Ron asked the guest of honor as he pointed to Isabel's gaping asshole.

As she clenched her cheeks around the tip of his invading rod, she caught a glimpse of Ron out of the corner of her eye.

He was smiling and holding up all five digits on one

hand, and a solitary finger on his other.

As in the number of days she had left as his slave.

Fred rammed his member deep into her rectum, and Isabel didn't remember another thing until Ron carried her limp body back to his apartment and laid her to sleep on his bed.

She awoke the next morning to a volcanic orgasm as Ron's cat licked away the butter smeared on her newly-shaved pussy. When she struggled to escape the animal's sandpaper tongue, she found herself tied in a strenuous spreadeagle. Not only were her wrists and ankles bound to the bedposts, her knees, elbows and waist were also tied down tight, making it impossible for her to move much more than her head.

Then she noticed the clamps on her nipples, and decided to shut up when she saw that they were tied to a piece of taut rope that shot straight up to a hook in the ceiling and then down to the knob on the door to the bedroom.

Upon closer inspection, she realized they were more like tongs than clamps. With the ends of the cord knotted to their handles, the pressure on her nipples would increase dramatically if anyone pulled harder on the rope.

When Ron opens that door . . .

Isabel closed her eyes and thought back to the bondage bulletin board that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. None of her digital suitors and their fetish fantasies held a candle to her present reality. She realized this situation was exactly what she had hoped to find when she gave herself to Ron for a week.

And, despite her anguish, she had to admit to herself that, deep down inside, she was loving every painful minute of it.

Her reverie was interrupted by a knock.

"Yoo hoo . . . anyone home?"

The door began to swing open