Chain Reaction
“Let’s chat” the message said. A fairly innocuous message on a far from innocuous BDSM hook-up site. He was a Dom who seemed concerned that he was older than me, a pointless concern given that he was exactly the same age as my previous Dom. I’d been around this particular kinky block before, had Doms (had subs, though the role of Domme didn’t sit well with me), but it had been over two years since my last session and I was hungry for use.
An obedient subbie for once in my life, we chatted. He told me about his time in Spain, his life in the UK, his history of relationships. I told him sketchy details of my past, preferring to focus on my present. I told him my insecurities, exposed my emotions to him. He told me of the playroom he’d created in his home, the toys he’d bought and those he’d made. We talked through the darkness until the early hours of the morning almost every night for weeks.
I played with myself while he instructed me by phone. I came over and over, until I was sore and hoarse, shaking and slick with sweat and juices. “Just one more” he urged, “be a good girl for me”. An obedient sub, I wrenched one more climax from my aching sex.
Finally one day I found myself waiting to meet him in a local coffee shop. We talked more, I discussed the toys I’d brought at his request (my favourite rabbit, a glass dildo), then I remembered the box of condoms sitting at home on my bed, forgotten in my haste to meet. I mentioned my forgetfulness, and he dismissed it. “I always use condoms, but I won’t be inside you today”. He thought for a second, before adding “well, my cock won’t be at any rate”.
I wonder what they thought, those other people in the café. Would they have believed that two hours later I’d be bound, blindfold and gagged, screaming as I came in spite of the pain of the welts the whip left on my buttocks? Maybe they had similar plans, maybe they too would find themselves at someone else’s erotic mercy by noon.
I have never had a first session at a Dom’s home before. I’ve always preferred it to happen on my territory, on my terms. It was a new experience to find myself in the lift to his apartment, wondering what would be on the other side of the door as he unlocked it. Inside the door the apartment seemed banal, one more generic flat in a generic block. A glance at the array of whips, crops, floggers, paddles and chains laid out neatly for use told me otherwise.
He told me to strip, so I hastily removed my clothes and stood before him naked. He put his hand between my legs to find me wet, and fingered me to the fastest orgasm I can ever remember. Removing his fingers he had me suck them clean, before telling me to put my hands behind my back. He wrapped latex bondage tape around my head as a blindfold, then clipped a length of chain around my neck which he used to lead me around. Disoriented, I couldn’t tell which room he led me into. He spent some time standing behind me, whispering in my ear all the filthy things my body made him want to do. He ran his hands over my skin, raising goosebumps and hardening my nipples, before bending me forward over a small table.
He politely asked me to grip the table legs as he lashed my wrists to them, then he moved behind me and chained my ankles to a spreader bar, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. The cool air against my hot wet pussy made me moan and wriggle my hips a little. “Oh dear”, he said softly, “this will never do”. He spanked me hard, and as my arse smarted I heard him walk out of the room. When he returned he told me to open my mouth, before tying a gag in place. “Much better, don’t you agree?”.
The first crack of the whip stung. He spaced the blows across my buttocks, and I didn’t recognise the sharp sting. In the past a whip has left more of a dull sting, but this was sharp and intense. I was soon yelling in pain as the blows fell faster and faster, a blur of sharp pain that left a fire burning under my skin. A slight pause, then the heavy blow of a paddle. He used his considerable strength to wield the paddle, and on top of the damage done by the whip the intensity of the pain was too much. I shouted stop from behind the gag, the first time I’ve ever had to use the word. Immediately he dropped the paddle and ran a cooling gel over my abused buttocks, before fetching an ice pack which he applied to my hot red skin.
When I’d calmed down enough he asked whether I wanted to carry on. I nodded my head, trying to form the words “yes please” behind the gag. My meaning must have been clear, as he brushed over my skin with feathers and ice, returning the ice cube to my pussy time and time again. After a short while, he pushed a sizeable chunk of ice into my pussy, and warning me not to drop it, he left the room again.
On his return I heard the thud of heavy objects dropping onto a cushion. He removed the ice from my pussy and left it on the small of my back as he inserted something heavy and cold into my pussy. When he tied it to the gag I realised it was an anal hook, pushed into my pussy, pressing against the back wall, stretching me wide. I quickly realised that a slight movement of my knees while I pushed my head forwards caused the hook to rub against me, giving me heavenly friction and driving me towards orgasm.
“Not yet girl, hold it in”. I stopped moving, suppressing a whimper of frustration. I felt his hands on my pussy lips, then the shock of a vibrator pressed to my sensitive clit. Immediately I started to buck against the table, my legs shaking, my hands clenched, moaning and shouting against the gag. “that’s it, that’s it, cum for me now, good girl”. I fell against the table, relieved to be able to orgasm, riding the delicious waves of intense pleasure. My head jerked and my chin hit the table, but in the throes of such intense pleasure I didn’t notice. He drove me to orgasm over and over, urging me to push out one more orgasm for him. Just one more. One more. More. More.
He asked whether I wanted a break, but I shook my head no. Intense as it was, I knew there was more to come. I heard him move around in the kitchen, returning with a cup of tea for himself, which he sat and drank, enjoying the view.
I heard him place his cup down, then he stood up. He brushed my skin with feathers once more, brushing them up my back, down my sides, up my legs, enjoying the way I squirmed against them, my breath catching as they brushed a sensitive spot. I was beginning to move against the hook once more, and noticing, he pushed a vibe into my pussy alongside it. There was a feeling of stretch which I enjoyed, and then when he played an incredibly powerful vibe around my clit I exploded into a screaming climax.
He untied me, took off my gag and gently pulled the vibrator and hook from my pussy. Spreading a towel on the sofa he sat me down, gently unfastening my blindfold as I came to my senses. Sitting opposite me he spoke to me gently, asking me what I’d enjoyed, what I’d disliked, making sure I was OK.
After a little while chatting I was growing cold, so he led me to the bedroom and laid me on the bed. As he pulled me towards him by my ankles I realised there was a rubber sheet under the soft towel I was lying on, making it very easy for him to manoeuvre me. He pulled me right to the foot of the bed, so my knees were hooked over the metal foot. Once again he gagged me, this time with a latex ballgag, before blindfolding me with the tape once more.
He chained my ankles back to the spreader bar. As I’d managed to wriggle loose last time he made sure the chains were tight, tight enough to be uncomfortable. He then hoisted the bar up high enough to raise my spread open pussy to his easy reach. He told me to reach up and grip the bar with my hands, then I felt him chain my wrists to the bar. He wrapped ropes round each thigh, tying them off to stop me moving, then to stop me lifting my hips any further he tied a rope across the bed at my pubis, pinning me in place.
I could clench my hands and my toes, and move my head, but otherwise I was completely immobilised. Almost immediately my inner thighs protested, the muscles twitching, causing me to shake. He softly stroked my pussy for a while, before playing with my urethra. Telling me he would teach me to squirt, he applied a tiny vibrator to the urethra, gradually working the tip of it into the tiny hole. The pain was astonishing, and when I protested he asked if I wanted to stop. Frantically nodding my head he removed the vibrator, applying a cool damp cloth to calm things down.
He took a wand vibrator and started to gently work it over my pussy lips, right across the mons and then gently touched it to my clit. Once again I was lost to orgasm. As I came down he inserted first two fingers into me, then three, before finally working a fourth finger into me. He couldn’t work them past the knuckle, but as fisting is a long-held fantasy of mine I tried to relax as much as I could to help him fuck me with his fingers. He fucked me roughly, stretching me to an almost painful degree, promising me that one day I’d take his whole fist and beg him for more. He asked me whether I liked having my hungry pussy filled, and I moaned and nodded eagerly in response.
Removing his hand he wiped my juices across my face so I could smell myself. He unshackled my wrists, lashing them to the headboard with soft ropes, before moving once more to the foot of the bed.
I couldn’t tell what was being pushed into me. It was smooth and cold, hard and articulated, but I was so excited I couldn’t tell any further than that. I felt incredibly full, with a heavy weight resting high inside me. He asked if I could take more, and I moaned and nodded. More cold smoothness was pushed into me, then he started to firmly massage the top of my pubis and my lower abdomen. I could feel a movement deep inside me as he massaged, and I could feel myself getting more excited. Sensing my orgasm was imminent he leaned over me and said “not yet slut, calm down, don’t you dare cum yet”. I struggled to calm down, so he took his hands off me, leaving me with just the static feeling of fullness and quivering, aching inner thigh muscles.
He spanked my pussy a couple of times, before asking if I knew what he’d done. I shook my head, and he told me that he’d pushed a length of heavy steel chain into my pussy. “You’ve taken 15 feet so far, but one day you’ll be able to take 30. Well done, good girl”.
He moved back to me and I felt a link of chain being pulled out of me. He pulled a couple of links out, and threaded them through the rope at my mons, so they were pulled tight against me and moved against my clit. He pulled all 15 feet of chain out one or two links at a time, making sure to stimulate my clit with every link. Before he was halfaway done I was screaming in orgasm, pulling against the ropes and chains that bound me.
He left the room to get another cool cloth, and as I calmed down I started to feel the aches and pains of being tied in that position for so long. My ankles hurt far more than expected, and when he returned with the cloth I tried to make him understand through the ballgag that something was wrong. He immediately understood what I was trying to say, but when he tried to unchain my ankles he couldn’t unfasten them. He undid the rope holding them high, and helped me to lower my legs with as little pain as possible. Once lowered, it was easier for him to unfasten the chain attaching them to the spreader bar, but he apologised that it might hurt as he unclipped the fasteners. He massaged my ankles to help the blood flow return, then when the pain had died down he unfastened my thighs and the rope across my pubis, finally unlashing my wrists and taking off the gag and blindfold.
When I was capable of movement he helped me into a robe, then led me back to the lounge, sitting me on the sofa again and making me a cup of tea. We chatted, discussing the session – what I’d enjoyed most (the bondage position), what I’d disliked (urethral play), and what I wanted to take further in future (fisting and chain). We discussed the BDSM scene locally, sites we’d joined, clubs he’d been to, then moved to more banal conversation about work, home, family.
He asked whether I felt recovered, and I said that I did. “Good”, he said, smiling, “now strip and lie down, because I’m going to cum all over your pretty face”. I shrugged off the robe and lay on the sofa. He slid me around so I was lying cross-ways, my head at just the right height to suck his balls as he straddled my face.
He handed me my rabbit, instructing me to fuck myself with it while he used my mouth. Eagerly I slid it in, feeling my over-sensitised clit respond immediately. “Don’t cum yet, hold it back slut”. I was shaking but I complied as I sucked on his cock and his balls. After a few minutes he began to stroke himself, and as his movements grew faster he asked me to cum for him. Eagerly I let my orgasm go, finally able to thrash around with the intensity of the orgasm. He groaned and pumped jet after jet of cum over my breasts, my neck and my face.
“Don’t stop, cum again for me, be a good girl”. I kept going with the vibrator, orgasm after orgasm causing me to jerk and thrash on the sofa. As his seed ran down my neck he scooped it onto a finger and fed it to me, over and over again until it started to dry onto my face. At that point he told me I could stop playing, and he sat next to me stroking me as I cooled down.
I took the vibrator out and he ran his hand over my now well-used pussy and we chatted. He talked me down, but after ten minutes or so his hand took on a more definite movement pattern. Rubbing against my clit he slipped a finger in my pussy, and told me to push out just one more orgasm for him. I didn’t think I would be able to, but I felt the excitement gradually rise as his skilled fingers continued to move.
The orgasm was the most violent one I can remember. As it ripped through me my body bent double, and he held me close to him with one arm as his hand continued to play. He brought me off in that way several times, kissing me and stroking me while his hand wrenched climax after climax from me, holding me when I wrapped myself around him.
It took me a long time to be able to stand up. When I was able, he led me to the bathroom so I could wash off the last trace of his seed before I got dressed. Dressed again, I smiled to think that I looked no different to the woman who sat drinking coffee five hours earlier. Maybe a little flushed, with a small amount of chafing on the wrists, but not the wanton, rampant creature I’d turned into under his hands.
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