Stephanie had been watching the girl in the straitjacket for almost a half-hour, and she was beginning to grow concerned.
The girl was securely, very securely, bound and gagged, and didn’t seem to be having any luck in freeing herself, squirming and thrashing periodically before seemingly resigning herself to her helpless fate. Stephanie wasn’t sure how the poor girl had gotten tied up, but nobody was paying any particular attention to her at all. A few people seemed to be watching casually, and one half-naked girl had walked over and sat on the floor next to the couch she was lying on, but she mostly seemed interested in taking off the five-inch heels she’d been hobbling around on all evening.
The girl on the couch was entirely naked other than the straitjacket, which looked considerably sturdier than ones she’d seen previously, being covered in more straps, buckles, and D-rings than seemed entirely necessary for its institutional function. She particularly noted that it had two straps securing it between her legs, one on either side of her pussy, which made her seemed exposed even though her legs were firmly strapped together at the thighs, knees, ankles, and feet. Even her toes were tied together with a piece of string.
The girl seemed even more helpless by the sensory deprivation she’d been placed in. The lower part of her face was encased in scary looking leather muzzle, with it’s straps going behind and over her head. There was an effective looking blindfold and, to top it off, a set of wireless earbuds which presumably played music, or perhaps white noise.
About the time she became concerned enough to ask someone if she should do something, one of the casually-watching men finished his beer and came over, sitting next to her feet. Placing his left hand on her bare behind, his right moved between her folds, which led to more thrashings and wrigglings. As he gently began to massage they went from random to rhythmic, following the movements of his hand.
Even through the heavy muzzle he could hear her labored breathing, panting and moaning. More people in the room were paying attention now, although there still seemed little interest in helping her. Her moaning increased until she suddenly shouted through her muzzle.
“Ff mmmffhh mm hhh mmmmm!” it sounded to her. The muzzle evidently had some sort of gag involved.
The man seemed to entirely ignore her, continuing his attentions. After another minute or so she delivered a further outburst, identical to the first, which he also ignored. After an even shorter period she exclaimed again, then again.
Suddenly her securely bound body began spasming and contorting, her head rising and her toes curling. She made several gasping, grunting noises before finally releasing into a long, pleasured moan that Stephanie knew from personal experience signaled the finality of an explosive orgasm.
Everyone was watching now, and a few people had entered from adjoining rooms. Even the girl on the floor had moved to get a better view.
But it wasn’t over. He continued his ministrations and, in a very short time, she shouted the same muffled exclamation again, followed almost immediately by another, then another, followed by another orgasm kuşadası escort almost more explosive than the first.
And still it continued, as she orgasmed three more times, each seemingly, impossibly, more intense than the previous one. Finally he stopped and pulled her next to him, her body as limp as a marionette. Pulling out the earbuds and dropping them into his shirt pocket, he unbuckled the harness gag and removed her blindfold. As he finished she fell into him, a look of beatific bliss on her face, seemingly drained beyond exhaustion into a level of ecstasy Stephanie could only imagine.
She noticed that he made no moves to release her from the secure bindings, and she seemed to have little interest in being released.
The crowd went back to their activities even as Stephanie remained utterly engrossed. The straitjacketed girl continued to snuggle as he rubbed her hair, whispered in her ear, and kissed her forehead. Stephanie almost felt guilty watching such an intimate display of affection.
Engrossed as she was, she jumped when she heard Jason speak from behind her.
“Please Master, may I come?”
“What? Wait… what?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
Jason smiled. “That’s what she was saying. Asking. Permission to have an orgasm”. He was dressed casually in a pair of black jeans, polished combat boots, black t-shirt, and leather vest, which was emblazoned with a number of patches and pins, none of which meant anything to her.
He’d offered to be an escort to this, her very first BDSM party. She’d hadn’t a clue what to expect but, not wanting to look too much like a clueless newbie, she’d dressed to what she assumed was the part. She’d purchased a (conveniently crotchless) fishnet bodystocking online, along with a surprisingly affordable black-and-gold corset, both from eBay of all places. Coupled with a black leather-like miniskirt, a blood-red knitted shrug, and finished off with a pair of two-inch patent leather heels (which she’d quickly abandoned, leaving her standing flat-footed in her fishnets) she’d found that she didn’t look entirely out of place.
“What… how… ask for permission? To have an orgasm? That’s terrible!” she exclaimed. “But… wait… how did you understand that? How did he understand that?”
“It gets to where you can understand gag-talking pretty well over time.” he replied, “especially when it’s your own slave. Putting a gag on a girl then making them ask for things is kind of it’s own fetish.”
“That’s pretty fucked up,” she said.
He laughed. “Yeah, it is. A lot of this is fucked up,” he said, taking a drink from his beer.
Steph looked over at the man and his straitjacketed slave. He was removing her leg and foot bonds even as she seemed blissed out to a level that Stephanie didn’t think was possible.
“But it looked like she’d just been left there,” she said. “She was helpless and he just did what he wanted.”
“Well you missed the part where he tied her up,” he replied. “I know them. She loves that type of thing, long-term, sensory-deprivation bondage. Particularly with a straitjacket. They’re actually very comfortable. I mean think about it, they’re designed to be worn for kuşadası escort bayan long periods of time.”
“Wow,” she said. “Just… hokay. So people really get off on that?”
“People get off on all sorts of crazy things,” he replied. “Getting tied up is almost the tip of the iceberg.”
Meanwhile, the still-straitjacketed girl was doing her best to open the front of her Master’s trousers using only her teeth, and having only a moderate amount of success. As Steph watched he reached down and gave her a bit of assistance and, within moments, his exposed cock was standing at attention. She had less than a second to see it however, as the girl immediately went down on it, her master’s pleasure clearly evident on his face.
“Oh dear,” Jason sighed. “No condom. I hope she’s a swallower or I’m certainly not sitting on that couch tonight.”
Steph looked from the couple, to Jason, and back. “What, seriously? Won’t they clean up?”
“Oh yeah,” he replied. “There’re baby and bleach wipes everywhere. I’m just sort of… fussy about other people’s bodily fluids. Particularly when they’re fresh.”
Steph laughed, noticing that the couple seemed to have the room’s attention once again, albeit casually. Some people were playing on their phones, others chatting quietly. But there suddenly were quite a few more people than there’d been a few minutes ago. Still, it seemed to her that watching such an intimate activity in such a public space seemed almost a violation.
“Isn’t there somewhere they can go with more privacy?” she asked.
“Well, there’s no specifically ‘private’ space in the house,” he answered, ” but there are places that are less public. They knew they’d have an audience here.”
As he said that the man, her Master, let out a long, satisfied moan. As Steph watched the girl’s throat she realized that she was, indeed, a swallower. And as she completed her ministrations it was evident that she was a particularly fastidious one as well.
“Well that was very satisfying to watch,” Jason said. “So what next? Would you like to check out the dungeon?”
“What, like a medieval dungeon? A torture chamber? Seriously?” she asked incredulously.
“Seriously,” he replied.
“Hell yeah!” she said. “Lead on!”
========
Jason led her to the house’s basement which, as she expected, had unadorned cement floors and walls. She was a bit surprised to see it also was divided loosely into a series of rooms, some with full walls, others with half walls, still others almost symbolically separated by support beams. The lighting was calculatedly dim, with many fixtures turned off or at less than full power. There was music playing over a series of speakers, tending towards the sort of gothic/industrial that seemed almost cliché, yet entirely appropriate.
The first room she saw was entirely given over to medical style tables, largely gynecological in nature. There was a girl on one of them, entirely nude, and both of whose breasts were being carefully covered in meticulous circular pattern of surgical needles. She wasn’t restrained in any way, and the gentleman applying the needles seemed especially focused and attentive.
“What the hell is escort kuşadası that?” she asked, gripping Jason’s arm.
“Ah, that’s needle play,” he responded, leaning close and speaking quietly into her ear. “Yeah, that can look pretty extreme, but it’s relatively common. Master Beek is rather experienced and accomplished. He actually was an EMT for a number of years. I’ll vouch for him.”
“But that looks dangerous,” she replied. “I mean, she could really be hurt!”
“A lot of what goes on here is potentially dangerous,” he replied. “But people know that. And it’s really, extremely rare that anything goes wrong.”
“So people get hurt?” she asked.
“Consensually, absolutely. Accidently, not really,” he replied. “I mean, I’ve been involved in the scene for over ten years, and have been to dozens of play parties. And I’ve never personally observed a scene going bad. And I’ve only heard firsthand of a handful. And even those were marginal.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Steph saw fire. “What’s that?”
“That would be fire cupping,” he replied. “You may want to check this out.”
A girl, also nude, was lying face down on a massage table. A series of rounded cups had been placed on her back, evidently held in place by suction. A woman was picking up another of the cups, placing a flaming wand inside of it, then adding it to the others.
Inside each cup the skin was bulging upwards. The girl seemed to be enjoying it, with a look of relaxed bliss.
“It looks rather extreme but, really, it isn’t,” Jason said, “In China this is relatively common, regarded as a simple massage technique, something to remove toxins.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure,” she responded. “Well it looks kind of like torture to me.”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” he replied. “It’s said to be especially good for alleviating chronic pain. The worst part is that, the next day, you look like you’ve been in a fight with an octopus.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, all the cups leave a red mark, a sort of bruise, and they can take a week or two to entirely go away,” he replied. “Of course, it’s been my experience that people tend to wear those bruises as a badge of honor.”
Steph looked around further. There was another girl (woman, she told herself, not girl. She was obviously in her 40s, heavy, and had clearly had a child. Yet for some reason she couldn’t stop herself from thinking of all the female submissives as “girl”) standing in front of one of those big “X” things she saw in so much BDSM imagery. She also was entirely nude, but blindfolded. As she held out each hand a gentleman in a t-shirt and leather pants was buckling a leather cuff on each wrist.
“I’m not sure I could do any of this,” she admitted. “I’m not even sure I could get naked. I’m so self conscious.” As she said that she thought of the bulge below her tummy that no amount of lunch salads or sit-ups seemed able to rid her of. Still, none of the women she’d seen naked so far had exactly been supermodel types either. Indeed, the one having the cuffs put on was decidedly overweight.
“You go at your own pace or don’t go at all, as you see fit,” he replied. “Nobody will try and force you into something you don’t want. And if they do, and won’t accept no for an answer simply point them out to one of the dungeon monitors. They’ll kick their ass out!”
“Seriously, you’ve already done one of the most difficult parts for an unattached submissive gal,” he added. “You went to a munch all by yourself.”
