Wench for a Weekend | free bondage story

I’d been talking to him for a few months over the computer. I don't know if he ever told me his name. If so, I had long forgotten it. I now knew him only as "Master", and preferred it that way. He asked me what I wanted to be called, and I chose "Wench" - more creative than "slave", and I sure would serve him like a serving wench would. This wasn't exactly a "normal" relationship, even as dom/subs go. He was married to another woman - his "Mistress". His problem was, with their different work schedules, the few times they got to spend together, she wanted to be in control - he is a switch, and needed an escape for his dominant half. That's where I fit in.

I agreed to come over to meet them for a long weekend, but I had a few conditions:

1) Nothing living will enter me - orally, vaginally, or anally. Toys are fine, penises are not.

2) My tongue does not enter anyone else; my finger may be allowed to.

3) Bondage is to have comfort as a high priority - I'm not into pain.

4) To that end, pain is only to be used as a correction tool; a punishment for a wrong.

5) Any pictures will not show my face. It can be blurred, or I can be blindfolded - I would bring a blindfold/gag harness that I would prefer to wear for any pictures.

His Mistress had a condition - He will be locked into his CB-2000 chastity belt at all times I am present.

All three of us agreed to all of the conditions, and that proceeds from picture sales (if any) would be split up. Mistress Muff would be in charge whenever she was around. Master would be able to toy with me as allowed above. Travel plans were made. With pricing and schedules, it worked out that I would take a train from Portland to San Diego on the way there, and fly back. As I did not know what they looked like, and vice versa, we came up with a plan for them to identify me at the train station. I would put on a leg brace, forcing myself to use crutches. That, and a my description, should do a decent ID at the station. I liked to wear my leg brace, and crutch around. Call it a fetish if you will; a way to do publicly acceptable bondage. This was one more good opportunity.

modelstied presents more bondage:

I got off at the right stop, and crutched out into the crowd. A conductor was nice enough to unload my one piece of luggage. More people got off of the train. Some headed right toward the exit, others said their "hellos" to people waiting for them, and then left. I was getting concerned. There was practically nobody left, I was over a thousand miles from home, and I couldn't even carry my suitcase due to the crutches! Now there were all of 3 people within sight. One guy looked homeless, one woman was standing there, and some guy was sitting on a bench, idly watching me. If Master was waiting in the station building, or in a car at the curb (past the station), the only way I could get to him would be to abandon my suitcase!

I needed time to think, and to get off of my one good leg before I needed a medical reason for crutches. I crutched over to the guy on the bench. If nothing else, maybe he would carry my suitcase - It was about 30 yards away, and within sight. "Um. . . Hi there." "Hi. Looks like you've had a bit of a break." He pointed to my braced leg. "Take a load off." I sat down, and he continued "So, what happened to you?" We started chatting about what happened - I made up a story, and I think he bought it just fine, even as he asked about the details. I told him I tripped over my cat, and tumbled down the stairs. We went into how I felt about having to crutch around for all these weeks, how guys always look at the "Chicks on sticks", and then he surprised me. "OK Pat. Let's go." I must have had a dumbfounded expression. This guy knows my name? He's the guy I came to meet? He just sat there, watched me lie my ass off about an accident I never had, knowing it the whole time? He watched me sweat out whether or not he was showing up for half an hour, when he was never more than 30 yards away? That bastard! He. . . He. . . He was in charge, and I was never in danger. He took care of me. I shook my head in disbelief of his stunt. Master was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "I guess I'll carry your bag *this* time." "Thank you master." We headed off to his car. We had an agreement. I should always call him 'master', but had the option to drop it when others might get offended. Nobody was within earshot - 'master' was required. As we got into the van, he handed me a pair of wrap-around sun-glasses. I put them on. They had been painted black on the inside. While some light peeked in around the edges, essentially, I was blindfolded. He drove off.

We started chatting about how the train ride was, things we wanted to do on the trip, how things where going where we worked - he worked as a tech for some manufacturing firm. After about half an hour, he pulled into a driveway, and announced, "Here we are! You can take off the sunglasses." In all honesty, I didn't even know which city or town we were in. It turns out he lived in a nice, non-descript, suburban home. Master got my bag, and I crutched inside following him. He closed the door behind me, and said "Wench, take off the brace. While you're at it, your skirt too." It was clear the journey was over, the servitude just beginning. "Yes, master. It would be my pleasure to obey your every command. I will do whatever you want me to; to follow your every whim." By this time, the brace was off, and my skirt was on the floor. I continued my monologue anyway. "If you need anything, you need but ask, and. . ." A stern look from Master shut me up. He looked past me to the front door, and back to me. Then to the door, then to me. I didn't know if he was threatening to kick me out if I didn't shut up? I turned around, and looked at the back of the front door.

There was something hanging on the back - a canvas straitjacket. "Would you like me to wear it, master?" He nodded yes. I picked it up off the hook. "As you wish." I put it on as best I could. He started to buckle up the back. While he was doing that, I put both of my arms through the loop in the front of the jacket. I saw that when I was restrained, loop was one strap. It started at the base of my breasts, went over my elbows, threaded through a loop on the jacket, and then would go through the crotch to meet in back. As Master tightened the straps at the tips of the sleeves, trapping my arms in place, I realized a few things about this jacket - My arms were presenting my breasts to anyone who was looking, acting like a frame and a shelf. If I tugged with my arms, the loop going right by my privates would be taking the tug. As if on queue, Master took the crotch strap from between my legs, and threaded it through the buckle. Once that was snug, he went back to the buckles holding the jacket closed, and snugged up each one, removing any slack that had accumulated in later tightening. Then the arms. He unbuckled the crotch-strap, and stopped. I turned my neck to face him, and he stood there grinning like a Cheshire cat again. He started to tighten the crotch-strap. It easily dug into my tights, and slipped into the natural folds of my flesh. He continued to tighten it, pulling slowly with both hands. I lifted up on tip-toe to lessen the pressure. Master followed, still slowly tightening it.

I was getting concerned. "Oh! Master? Master? Please! Please! It's tight already!"

He held the same pressure, and smiled. "Oh? Should I stop to gag you, or should I continue tightening?"

There was no good answer for that, but I sure didn't want the strap any tighter! "Gag please."

"I don't know. I'm thinking you could go another notch or three. . ."

I was getting desperate. "Master? May I please be gagged instead? Please? I’d *really* like to wear a gag to make you happy. Whichever gag you would like Master! Please?"

Master gave the strap a final tug, and fastened it right there. "Very well, wench, you shall be gagged. Stay here." He turned, and walked up the stairs. I knelt, to be more visually pleasing upon his return.

He came back after only a minute or two, and stopped momentarily to enjoy the sight of a bound woman just inside his doorway.

He held up the leather contraption up to my head. I saw straps, buckles, and a few bulbous things. I was expecting a ball gag, not a marvel of engineering!

He put the gag in my mouth - it was a small rubber thing; sure to inflate. One strap went from each side, buckling around the back of my head. Another went from one cheek, under the chin, back up to the other cheek, holding my mouth shut. This one was buckled loosely. One more went from each cheek, joining between my eyes, and went over the top of my head to join the "round the head" strap in back. With everything in place, he put the squeeze bulb in, and started to inflate the gag. It filled my mouth fully, pushing in all directions. With the chin strap on, my mouth was open only about 1/2 inch, but I couldn't open it further or shut it - all was secure. He disconnected the squeeze bulb, and smiled. "Just one more thing - the cap to your gag."

He held up a dildo made of hot pink rubber for me to see. I felt quite humiliated as he screwed it into the gag. There was no way it was going to fall off, and I couldn't knock it off either. He must have noticed my humiliation, as he commented. "Just what every dignified woman needs - a hot pink dildo coming out of her mouth.”

He took a leash, attached it to the crotch-strap where it ran over my arms, and took me on a tour of the house. I walked very gingerly due to the crotch-strap, and dutifully followed Master wherever he lead me. He took me on a brief tour of the house. It was a typical 3 bedroom ranch style house. I felt quite surreal being given a tour of a house while gagged and straitjacketed. At one point, I saw a reflection of myself in the bathroom mirror. I was staring at the 7" hot pick penis sticking out of my mouth. "How can anyone be seen as anything but a slut wearing something like this? It totally degrades. ." A quick tug from the leash to the crotch strap tore me out of my reverie and back to dutifully following my master.

The tour stopped in a normal-looking bedroom. Normal at first glance that is. There were some differences if you looked for them. There was no door in the doorway - I would have no privacy. The ceiling fan looked a lot more sturdy than most. I knew I would find out why during my visit.