[Originally posted in the Lobby, reposted in Reviews based on feedback; apologies to those who saw it already in the Lobby....]

[A story from Friday a week ago, a first experience after a 8 month hiatus.]

So here I was, standing in front of a mirror. Dressed in a way that, well, shall we say, was most provocative. See, She had surprised me in the act, being the first witness ever of such a transformation. What followed was a relentless sequence of magical moments, each a tipping point from which I thought I could take no more, each one an opportunity for Her to force me to take more, to drive me further into the other world.

In preparation to the inevitable punishment, I was forced to bend over a tall piece placed under my belly, legs impossibly stretched on one side, arms and head completely down on the other side, rear exposed, skin stretched. She started methodically, slowly, setting restraints on wrists and ankles. Of course, I had been restrained in various ways in prior sessions but the bondage aspects were really accessories to support the main event then. This time, however, it was different. Perhaps it was the fact that I was exposed in such a vulnerable position, perhaps it was the feeling of "extreme stretching" (strangely, in a fleeting thought I remembered the pictures of medieval scenes of stretching that I used to look at in books when I was a kid, perhaps a precursor of urges I would act on only decades later). Perhaps it was Her Voice, continuously and methodically explaining what was going to happen, as she slowly lined up implements one by one on the ground in front of my eyes.

Yes, this time it was different, as I tried to move around the restrains and realized that I could never relieve the stretching, my body sent panic signal to my head, sending back chills and waves of complex sensations. No punishment yet and I was already in a semi-trance...

Now head down, the only way to describe my predicament is an "inverted U". The stretched butt skin being the rounded part of the U, head down looking at the collection of implements that She was going to use on me. And it looked like a lot of them, suddenly. Yep, from thin strap to thick strap to wooden thing to..... Actually, initially She had put down only this one monstrous strap for me to see. She promised that this was something I would forever remember. She was right. More on this later.

She knew that just the sight of the implements combined with the stretching and the restraints would start sending me into a trance. She plays with that kind of thing with Her Voice. Always taunting, continuously explaining what is going to happen, always giving frightening details. She knows what effect the Voice has, even before any actual physical contact has occurred, and She so expertly plays with it.

The first hit came with a pronouncement of "50 on each side" with the first implement. It is amazing how, once again, the rational brain tries to remain sane. In this instance, it reasoned that surely it must not have heard right and She had said FIFTEEN on each side. She had me moved to another level once we past 26, with the realization that it was really going to be 50 on each side...to get started.... Despite any rational realization that this was futile, I tried to move. Alas, stretched with restrains, I could only scream.

As she moved methodically through the implements, announcing different counts for each one of them, I was struck by two things (remember the "protective mind reflex"...). First, Her Voice is so strong, so powerful that it is as if each physical hit is augmented with a virtual hit from Her Voice. Second, I really, really wanted to cry. I have commented before on my lachrymal deficiency: No wet tears, even though I am actually crying. I don't know, I feel tears going up and ready to storm out. But they never completely do. Well, as we went through the list, there was continuous no-tears "crying". I said "we" because in a strange way, by the time She was done with that last implement (a wooden contraption, maybe? I forget...), we were truly sharing the experience (at least I thought so).


Now having lost count but probably just shy of the 200 mark (no pun intended), it was time for the piece the resistance. A monster, heavy strap. In fact, for all the pain that they made me endure, the other implements were in a way just warm up for this final one. She actually spoke about the numerous features of the monster strap, making sure to torture me with every detail, making sure that I was on the edge of panic long before the first hit. She even had a name for IT, something appropriately ominous.

Even when one is "prepared", one is never really ready. What reflexes I had remaining tried to prepare me for the first hit. It did not matter. When it came, "tears" rushed again. And then, even worse, came the wait for the next one. The certainty that it will come and the uncertainty of exactly when it will. And Her voice, continuously alternating between delighting at my cries, explaining in great detail how the next one was going to be worse, and pausing at random times to confuse me as to when the next hit would come.

This just went on, the Voice punctuated by loud thumps and sharp cries. Whatever name she gave that big boy strap does not matter, this last series triggered the next tipping point: I could hear my own cries, I could feel the unbearable thumps, I was aware of the ever more intense stretching, but, you see, I did not care anymore. I was floating in some etheral ocean, still an oddity of a strange inverted U. Every hit of this, this, I don't know what IT was, drove me deeper into that ocean. Deeper into finally not caring anymore about anything (For those who know the reference from someone who is terribly, terribly missed: "Thank God that I'm good as dead/Thank your God that I'm not aware/And thank God that I just don't care").

The supplice (sorry, I favor this old-fashioned french word to attempt to capture the medieval nature of that moment) finally ended with Her slowly removing the restraints. One by one, slowly delighting in the ceremonial. People have lost that sense of decorum nowadays, you know. It's unfortunate. You know, like when a wine glass is slowly placed in front of you. Or when She slowly moves her hands, almost like a caress, to remove wrist restraints. The hyperacuity generated by the repeated hits magnifies the beauty of such simple gestures, their feminine symbolism, their elegant simplicity, and She knows that, and She plays with it.

You would think that, given what I had endured, I would gladly swing each limb wildly to celebrate its renewed freedom. No. I just remained in the same position. Still stretched. Still immobilized by virtual restraints.

See, the combination of the exposure, the stretched body, the restraints, the Voice, and of course the unbearable repeated strokes had put me in a deep state of submission. No matter how uncomfortable and unseemly my posture was, there was no reason to move until She would tell me to do so. In fact, there was no reason for me to do anything, or think anything, or say anything. Only Her desires mattered.

So, evidently, having succeeded in pushing me into that deep state She could do anything She wanted.

Let's use our imagination, shall we?
She could for example make me crawl to the other rooms in the compound.

Oh, wait, here is a good one: She could violate me, She could even say horrible things as she does so, things about whores and sluts...laughing, while inside of my body.

She could even, supreme indignity, play with a shiny metal hook, ignoring my screams as it forces its way in, and laughing as every tiny movement, even breathing, if too deeply, means further pain inflicted by myself to myself (predicament bondage I think the knowledgeable ones call it ??).

Ah, and while She is at it, She could further emphasize the destruction of my masculinity by painfully encassing its physical embodiment into a, well, medieval metallic contraption (not a difficult task as said body part would be retracted by now, trying desperately to hide, in absolute fear, in a pathetic bundle of skin...).

She could even attach massive weights to the contraption, just to see how much that would make me scream;
And then she could comment on how painful that predicament is, magnifying the physical torture with her words.

Let's use our imagination a little more, shall we? She could take that pathetic pretense of man part enclosed in metal and sadistically "play" with it until it is fully milked. She could make that sadistic exercise last until the brain is fully confused between begging for it to end because of the pain and, at the same time, relishing the primal promise of pleasure. She could laugh at the resulting uncontrollable twitching of the body, limited in range as it may be by the hook that she could have placed earlier.

So you think She could stop then, having finally emptied her prey (literally!)? What lack of imagination, my friends! As a final parting gift to make sure the lesson is duly remembered, perhaps a caning could be appropriate. Yes a caning. And given the obvious effects of the earlier punishment, perhaps She could select a special cane, like a prison cane (TM).


Yes, given how deep she had driven me, She could do all of these monstrous things if She chose to........


.....and indeed She did......


Thank you Ms. Irene Boss for making me discover with such talent another stopover on my journey into finding who I really am. Unforgettable....

Until the next time.....

SA