Terri Asked to be Bound (M/F), part 13

[FrustratedBinder]

Sorry this post is so long. There was a lot of ground to cover.

Terri has a fascination with bondage and asked me to tie her up. We have been meeting once a month for her bondage sessions. This was bondage, not S&M, humiliation, pain, or anything similar. She wanted to experience different types of bondage. When we started, Terri set clear rules: I would not remove her panties, and there would be no penetration. After several sessions, she changed the rules to allow me to stimulate her clitoris with a wand-style vibrator.

This is the twelfth part of the story, beginning here. If you are new to these stories, I suggest you begin with session 1.

What started as almost a business arrangement had grown into something more over our twelve, monthly bondage sessions. The time before and after the sessions in which we just sat and talked had taken on more importance. Terri had just been my late wife’s friend when she confessed her interest in bondage and asked me to tie her up. Terri has a fascination with bondage and asked me to tie her up. We have been meeting once a month for her bondage sessions. This was bondage, not S&M, humiliation, pain, or anything similar. She wanted to experience different types of bondage. When we started, Terri set clear rules: I would not remove her panties, and there would be no penetration. After several sessions, she changed the rules to allow me to stimulate her clitoris with a wand-style vibrator. We had both begun to enjoy spending time together. After our twelfth session, when we both acknowledged we were falling for each other, we had dated several times a week, but we agreed to keep the bondage sessions limited to once a month to make them special occasions. For a week, I had been looking forward to our thirteenth bondage session. When I heard Terri’s knock on the back door, I opened it wide for her and kissed her as she entered.

I suggested to her that we skip the customary cup of tea due to the nature of the bondage I had planned for her. That made Terri a bit apprehensive, but she grinned at me mischievously. “Oh, my. What have you got in store for me today?”

“Oh, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the guest room, having changed into her outfit for today’s first bondage. While not of Asian descent, she had the body of a young, pretty Japanese woman, but with a larger bosom. She looked terrific in a full-coverage two-piece bathing suit.
After all we’ve been through, and all the things I had done to her while bound, I found it endearing that she still felt shy about taking off her bra. She didn’t mind me exposing her boobs while she was tied, thinking that she was a bound victim, but if she took it off herself, it made her feel slutty. I asked her to turn away from me. “I’d like to take off your top. Is that okay?” I thought it might be easier for her if I were behind her.

I saw her ears turn red. She hesitated before nodding wordlessly.

I released the clasp, and she shrugged off the bra, letting it fall to the floor.

I used a length of soft, white cotton rope to tie her hands side-by-side behind her back. “Place your hands on your fanny, like you’re trying to stop me from spanking you.”

“Are you going to spank me?” she asked, a nervous catch in her voice.

“You’ll just have to find out,” I replied.

I had purchased a two-foot-wide roll of clear plastic wrap that is used by movers to wrap furniture. Starting in the middle of her back, I wrapped the plastic around her arms and body. Her breasts are not overly large, but they are firm. I had to barely lift them to snug the plastic wrap right under her bosom. I didn’t want to cover her boobs with the plastic. After several wraps, her arms were snugly pinioned to her body. She wiggled a bit, testing how much movement the plastic warp allowed.

“This is a very interesting sensation,” she said. “Given enough time, I think I might be able to struggle free.”

“I’m not done yet.”

She grinned sheepishly. “I thought that might be the case.”

I had her sit on a chair, and I used another length of white cotton rope to tie and cinch her ankles. Then I used the plastic wrap to mummify her legs from her ankles to just above her knees. I placed the bulbous end of the wand-style vibrator against the soft mound of her girl parts. Having her stand, I then wrapped more plastic wrap from up her thighs to her waist, holding the vibrator snugly in position. From below her boobs to her ankles, she was mummified, with the vibrator in position to provide hours of exquisite, sexual torment.

To make her feel more bound and helpless, I ran several loops of duct tape over the plastic wrap around her ankles, below her knees, above her knees, high on her thighs (providing additional pressure of the vibrator against her girl parts), around her waist and wrists, and at the top of the plastic wrap just below her breast. Just for good measure, I wrapped some duct tape above her boobs and around her shoulders.

“How does that feel?” I asked. “Is there any pain or numbness?”

She wiggled alluringly for a moment and then said, “Everything is wonderful.”

“Are you okay if I add the gag and blindfold to complete your helplessness?”

She nodded. “The gag is icky, but If you are going to bring me to the edge of an orgasm several times without letting me climax, I think it will be best if you can’t understand the terrible, unladylike things I’ll be screaming at you.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “The ‘icky’ gag is probably preferable with me washing your mouth out with soap.” I winked at her, and she giggled.
I held up the red, rubber ball gag, and she opened her mouth willingly to allow me to insert it and buckle it behind her head. Then I buckled the soft, fur-lined blindfold over her eyes. I carefully laid her on the family room carpet on her back. “Is that okay on your arms? Not too much stress?”

I’m not sure what she said around the gag, but she nodded her head.

I sat cross-legged and lifted her head into my lap so I could easily reach her boobs. Without warning, I tweaked her nipples, which elicited a gratifying squeak through the gag. Then I massaged her boobs and teased her nipples, lightly passing my fingers over her erect nipples and around her areolae. She moaned softly through the gag and writhed her hips slowly. A caressed her boobs, squeezing them lightly from time to time. When I oh-so-gently squeezed her nipples, her moaning became louder. I continued to tease her boobs for quite some time, hoping to give her an elusive nipple orgasm. I understand that most women cannot experience a nipple orgasm, but Terri is not one of them. With patience, I can make this happen for Terri as long as she is securely, inescapably bound. The bondage makes her bosom intensely sensitive.
I watched her bare feet squirm. Though I hadn’t turned on the vibrator, she pumped her hips slowly, instinctively. Her head rolled back and forth, and her moaning grew in volume and became more guttural. I could see her tugging at the plastic wrap and duct tape. She was completely lost in the experience. Then her body stiffened. She raised her hips off the floor, balancing precariously on her shoulders and heels as she strained mightily against her bondage. She screamed around the gag, a long warbling scream that seemed to last forever before hitting a crescendo that was so loud, I was worried about the neighbors. She collapsed, mumbling incoherently around the gag. I gently placed a pillow under her head as I stood back up, sore and stiff from a half hour sitting cross-legged. Her natural reaction after an intense orgasm was to curl into a ball. The plastic wrap and duct tape prevented that, but she rolled onto her side and tried to curl up in vain. I let her lay mumbling and panting for half an hour while I found other things to do.

When I returned, I noticed her bare feet wiggling slowly. I couldn’t help myself. I sat on the couch and lifted her ankles into my lap. This made her arch her back and squash her excellent bosom against the carpet. She grunted a little at this sudden change of position. Holding her ankles firmly between my knees, I tickled her feet. She screeched and said something unladylike to me, but I ignored her protests and ticked the soles of her feet mercilessly while she screamed and laughed. She bucked and struggled to get free, but I was merciless. She laughed, cried, and screamed all at once. With all her struggling, she managed to rub the blindfold off her eyes. Mummified as she was, she could barely twist or bend her torso or legs, but she struggled to do so, pleading with me with her eyes to stop tickling her. All the arching and tugging must have been hard on her boobs. I thought that fifteen minutes was enough torment for her. I replaced her blindfold, and then I walked away, leaving her panting on the carpet, trying vainly to curl into a ball. From time to time, even without me touching her, she would let out a convulsive laugh and whimper around the gag.

“Is the bondage still okay?” I asked a while later. “I have more in store for you, but do I need to release you?”

She shook her head violently, indicating she was not ready for me to untie her. I was happy about that.

“Good,” I responded, “To celebrate our romance, I plan to try to break the record of how many times I can edge you and then how many orgasms I can give you -- just to show you how much I care about you.” I gave her a mischevious wink.

I could understand her yelp, “What?!” through the gag, as her body involuntarily stiffened.

“Yes, today we are going to break your personal record.” She struggled frantically in her bondage in anticipation of the hours of edging I had in store for her. Bringing her to the edge many times but not letting her have an orgasm drove her crazy. She knew it was going to be sexual torment, so she wanted to escape, but she also knew the payoff was going to be incredibly intense, so she didn’t want to escape. I enjoyed watching her writhe, struggle, and roll about the carpet to try to wiggle away from me like an inchworm, leaving a slight trail of drool in her wake. I’m sure rubbing along the carpet was uncomfortable on her bare boobs, but I enjoyed watching them pressed and squished as she wriggled. I just let her struggle, not touching her, until she collapsed in fatigue, breathing deeply.

I rolled her onto her back and pressed my fingers through the plastic wrap to reach the power switch on the vibrator that was pressed firmly between her wrapped thighs and pressing snugly against her girl parts. As I expected, she squeaked, and her torso and legs went rigid momentarily before she began to slowly pump her legs, experimenting to find just the right position for maximum stimulation of her girl parts. I watched and listened carefully to identify when she was close to an orgasm. Then I turned it off. Even though she knew I was going to do this, she still let out a guttural growl of protest and said things I am glad I couldn’t understand around the gag.

That’s when I noticed that her hair, which normally bounced around her shoulders, was matted to her face with perspiration and that she looked very red. I quickly removed the gag and blindfold. “Terri, are you overheating?”

“Yes,” she breathed, “I am very hot.”

I grabbed a pair of safety scissors and cut away the plastic wrap and duct tape from her navel to her cleavage. Then I cut away the plastic wrap from her ankles to mid-thighs. She immediately began to cool down. Her hands were still bound behind her back and held firmly to her fanny, and her ankles were still tied together. The plastic wrap from the middle of her thighs over her bathing suit bottom still held the vibrator snugly against her girl parts.

“That’s so much better. Thank you,” she said, her face returning to its normal color. I leaned her shoulders against the couch with her body in a semi-seated position, sitting on her hands. Then I fed her some cool water through a straw.

“Do you want me to untie you?”

“No. I feel fine now. I don’t want you to release me yet. I was having so much fun being tortured and molested by you.”
Without warning, I flipped on the vibrator. Not being held as stiffly with most of the plastic wrap removed, she rolled away from the couch and curled up in the middle of the floor, pumping her hips and wiggling her legs. When she was getting close to an orgasm, I moved to turn off the vibrator. She saw me coming and tried to roll away, lying on her tummy, to prevent me from reaching the switch.

“Oh, Terri, that is so naughty of you!” I chuckled. I roughly rolled her onto her back and turned off the vibrator.

“You are SO mean to me!” she whimpered.

“I can see I’m going to have to do something about this.” I unplugged the vibrator from the wall. Then, I carried her into the bedroom and plopped her on the bed. I cut off the rest of the plastic wrap and untied her hands and ankles. Then I locked the padded cuffs on her wrists and ankles. I tied each limb to the opposite bed posts with taught-line hitches, forming a very tight spread-eagle. The taught-line hitch is used for things like tent ropes so that the line can be tightened up without untying the knot. As she squirmed against the ropes, stretching and loosening them, I could easily adjust the knot to keep her in a very strict spread-eagled position on the bed.

She made a lovely picture in just her bathing suit bottom, spread invitingly and defenselessly on the bed.

I patted one of her boobs, enjoying how it jiggled. It felt plump, soft, and warm. “Okay. That should keep you from trying to stop me.”

She assumed a fake pouting look and mumbled, “Meanie.”

Confident that she was helpless, I flipped on the vibrator and lightly massaged the soft mound between her thighs. With all the untying and tying, her girl parts had begun to relax, so I took my time getting her aroused again. As she approached a climax, I turned off the vibrator, placed it on the bed next to her, pulled the taught-line hitches snug, and walked from the room.

“Please don’t go,” she begged as I closed the door behind me to let her enjoy her bondage.

During the twelfth session, I brought her to the edge and then walked away for fifteen minutes. I did this repeatedly for 90 minutes before letting her cum – six close calls and then a string of fifteen powerful, intense orgasms. I followed the same ritual this time, bringing her to the edge eight times, each time ensuring the lines were all tight before leaving her alone. Each time, as I returned, I enjoyed a few minutes of gently squeezing and massaging her already extremely sensitive boobs from the nipple orgasm. She pleaded with me to let her have an orgasm, offering all kinds of unladylike things in exchange. I love the way Terri loses herself in the bondage experience.

The ninth time I brought her near a climax then lifted the vibrator away, but left it on, holding it a few inches above her tummy where she could see it. Instinctively, she lifted her hips, seeking the vibrator with her engorged and ravaged girl parts, thrusting her soft mound toward the ceiling. This took a lot of strength tied as she was, but her frustrated mania was such that she was straining her back, legs, and arms to try to reach the stimulation of the vibrator. I gently lowered the bulbous end to touch her girl parts. She screeched and moaned. Then I lifted it again, watching her hips thrust upward to find satisfaction. I did this several times until she seemed utterly exhausted and was growling loudly in frustration. Then I rested the bulbous end of the vibratory against her pussy. In a moment, she started to scream as if someone was stabbing her. Her whole body bucked and writhed as her legs and arms jerked against the ropes. She experienced an incredible orgasm, her screams increasing in both volume and pitch. Then she had a second one. And a third. Between each orgasm, her hips dropped to the bed, and she struggled to breathe again, but during each orgasm, she pumped her hips, strained against her bonds, and screamed her head off. In all, I think I counted 21 powerfully intense and long-lasting orgasms. After the last orgasm, she let out a pitiful whimper and collapsed on the bed, her whole body quivering, as she lapsed into a semi-conscious fugue state.

Her whimpering and giggling gave way to convulsive sobbing. These intense bondage orgasms always make Terri uncontrollably emotional. It used to frighten me, as if I had hurt her, but I have come to expect it, and now I find it endearing. She continued tugging against her ropes, trying to curl into a tight fetal position. Each unsuccessful tug elicited another frustrated sob. I left her like this for about twenty minutes before I crept back into the bedroom. She was weeping and trembling. I left the cuffs locked to her wrists and ankles, but I untied the ropes. I placed a pillow under her head. She didn’t even open her eyes. She rolled into a ball, hugging herself to cover her bosom, buried her face in the pillow, and mumbled incoherently to herself, rocking back and forth.

Instead of leaving her alone to compose herself slowly, I climbed onto the bed and spooned with her, gently caressing her shoulders and thighs. I reached around her and fondled her boobs. We rocked together. Her whimpers gave way to soft sighs until she drifted off to sleep. After an afternoon of bound orgasms, I treasured caressing her nearly naked and bound body slowly, lovingly. Her bondage sessions are slow, careful, gentle, and sensual, not animalistic and forceful. This cuddling after her powerful series of unrelenting orgasms may almost be the best part. I took in her fragrance, felt her quivering, and enjoyed the warmth of her body until she drifted off to sleep.
Later, I heard her call my name from the bedroom. When I went to see her, she was still curled into a ball, but she had a dreamy expression on her face. “Would you like your top back?” I asked. She nodded slowly. I handed her bathing suit top to her and gave her some privacy to put it back on and adjust her breasts.

“All my muscles are so sore from straining against the ropes. My body is all wobbly. I am not sure I can walk to the kitchen without help.” She was so weak from the afternoon’s activities that I had held her under the arms to help her to a chair at the kitchen table.

“How did you like being a mummy?” I asked. She smiled, “Until I got overheated, I was really enjoying it. Of course, the tickling was cruel.”

“I wish you hadn’t become overheated. I was looking forward to edging you in a cocoon instead of spread-eagled. Something new and different.”

As she finished a light dinner I had prepared, she became noticeably nervous about what was to come next. “What torture do you have in store for me now?” she asked, a twinkle in her eyes.

“Well, I have a couple of ideas, but it will depend on whether you just want to enjoy quiet bondage and struggle against your ropes or whether you think your nether regions can withstand another massive series of orgasms.”

Her face blushed, and she stared into her lap demurely. “Every part of me is extra sensitive. Who would have thought I could experience both the nipple orgasm and more than 15 normal orgasms in one day without a heart attack?” She looked up at me sheepishly. “I think I would like to try bondage in another position, but with the vibrator, if that is okay with you. I may have to call it off if I begin to get too raw down there. Could you do that again, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely, I would love to accommodate you, Terri. Do you have any requests?”

“Could you suspend me upside down again? Both hanging by my feet and strapped to the ladder were amazing experiences.”

I nodded. “The shape of your naked breasts as you hang upside down makes me very excited,” I said. “Would you like to eat dinner first?”

I fed her dinner slowly as we chatted. She was bound snugly to a wooden, ladder-back chair. Her wrists and elbows were tied to the chair's arms. Her shoulders and biceps were bound to the back of the chair. I had wrapped yards of soft, white cotton rope around her chest and the back of the chair, above and below her breasts. The thick rope held her thighs snugly to the seat of the chair and her tummy to the back of the chair. Her knees were tied together, but her ankles were tied to opposite chair legs. She quite enjoyed her complete helplessness as I slowly fed her spoonfuls of hearty soup. As was our custom, we ignored the fact that she was immobilized, as our conversation ranged widely. After dinner, she remained bound while I cleaned up the kitchen and filled the dishwasher.
I leaned over her shoulder from behind, gently squeezing her breasts through her bathing suit top, and kissed her. She smiled warmly and stared up at me with wide, pleading eyes.

I lifted her chair and carried her into the family room. She remained bound to the chair while we watched a rom-com. From time to time, usually during commercials, I would tease her nipples or boobs. She made a show of trying to squirm from my grasp, but I knew she was enjoying it as much as I was.

When the movie was over, I asked her if she thought her girl parts were ready for more teasing with the vibrator. She blushed, lowered her head, and nodded slightly. “Yes, please,” she replied.

I moved in front of her and leaned close, staring into her beautiful eyes. “Terri, I don’t want this to be a master and submissive relationship. You don’t feel I am dominating you, do you?”

She shook her head. “No! I just believe in being polite. You are giving me indescribably intense pleasure, so I think it’s okay for me to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ You have never made me feel cheap or dominated. Or slutty. In fact, I sort of feel the opposite. You are doing all these wonderful things to make me feel warm, loved, sexy, horny, and… whatever the right adjective is for how an orgasm makes me feel. And the way we have a relationship beyond just bondage makes me feel even more wonderful.”

“Like I said last time, I don’t want this to be some Helsinki Syndrome thing, or like when a patient falls in love with his nurse. I want to be sure that our relationship is genuine, not just about bondage and sex.”

She shook her head again. “We’ve never had sex. I’ve never had sex. But I know what you mean. Kiss me if you think this is just about bondage. I’ll show you how much I have fallen for you.”

We kissed long, hard, and deeply. I was convinced.

I untied her and let her use the lavatory, asking her to meet me in the basement when she was ready.

I buckled two of the wide leather straps around her chest, one above and the other below her breasts. These were snug but not painful. I then had her hold her hands out in front of her and interlace her fingers. Several turns of white cotton rope, cinched between her wrists, held her hands inescapably, the way she liked her bondage. I then wrapped several turns of duct tape around her hands, holding them folded together. Finally, looped a lark’s head between her wrists and pulled her arms over her head and then back down toward the leather straps around her chest, effecting a bunny ears tie. She giggled when I leaned forward, pulled down the cups of her bathing suit top, and kissed her nipples.

I buckled ankle cuffs to her feet, designed to suspend her upside down with minimal discomfort. I then locked these cuffs to a three-foot-long spreader bar I had made by attaching heavy-duty eye hooks to the ends of a cutoff broom handle. I laid her on a banquet table and then pulled the spreader bar up toward the ceiling, locking the eye-hooks to chains. As I pulled away the table and gently lowered her torso toward the floor, she became suspended with her bunny-ears elbows less than a foot above the floor. Her legs were spread, and her thighs were stretched enticingly. The way she slowly writhed her hips indicated the soft mound of her girl parts was begging for attention.

“How is that, Terri? Is that what you wanted?”

“This is lovely,” she cooed, closing her eyes in a dreamy expression. “You always make me feel so helpless and vulnerable but safe and warm at the same time.”

“I was going to have you place the little, remote-controlled vibrator in your panties, but I forgot. And now that you’re tied, I can’t really do it myself without breaking the rules.”

“Thank God,” she exclaimed. “That thing drives me insane. It was a small, remote-controlled device that pressed snugly against her girl parts. I could control it with a remote or through my phone. It was not powerful enough to create an orgasm, but it was powerful enough to keep her stimulated and horny for hours. Her rules when we began these monthly sessions prohibited me from removing her panties or any penetration.

“We might make an exception this one time,” she whispered after a moment’s consideration, a mischievous smile on her lips.

I spanked her alluring buttocks. She squeaked in surprise. “Terri! You know we cannot change the rules while you are tied up… Now, be good if you want me to let you cum later.”

“How much later?”

“Much later. First, you must be punished for wanting to break the rules.”

“Are you going to spank me?” None of our bondage sessions involved real pain. From time to time, I playfully spanked her or used a soft riding crop designed for beginner bondage on her bottom, because as we agreed, she doesn’t really feel bound until I do something to her that she cannot stop.

“No, I am going to tickle you senseless.”

“No! Please don’t!”

“Oh, but Terri, this is my favorite part of tying you up. I love watching your body squirm and struggle as I tickle you mercilessly. I particularly like to watch your boobs and fanny jiggle as you wiggle frantically.”

She affected a fake pout. “You really are mean to me.” With that, I lightly touched her underarms. Terri was so aroused from the bondage and so naturally ticklish that just a light touch caused her to convulse as she laughed loudly and begged me to stop. Over the course of ten minutes, I increased the amount of tickling and pressure on her underarms, sides, and belly. She bucked against the ropes, causing her to swing wildly, and she tugged to get loose. Her laughs were high-pitched and constant. I had to stop twice to let her catch her breath. He struggles to get her whole body swinging violently. She twisted this way and that to try to escape my cruel fingers, but with her legs tied spread and her suspended upside down, there was little she could do. I enjoyed watching her thighs quiver with the effort to escape. She screamed, cried, laughed, begged, and screamed some more. She tried to take deep gulps of air, but the leather straps around her chest constricted her breathing just enough to remind her how helpless she was. Tears and drool streamed down her upside-down face and pooled on the floor beneath her. I had to wipe her face with a soft cloth occasionally, because I was afraid she might choke. At one point, she was struggling so hard that she performed a desperate crunch, nearly reaching her knees with her face.

When I thought her belly and underarms could stand no more, I moved my attention to her feet. This caught her by surprise. She half-screamed and half-laughed as she strained her thighs to bend her knees. Her squeals of laughter became frantic screeching as she fought to get loose and catch her breath.

While still tickling her feet lightly with my fingers, I grabbed the wand-style vibrator, turned it on a medium setting, and rested it gently against her pussy. I was curious if I could make her have an orgasm while also inflicting tickle torture. Her bucking and convulsing made it hard for me to keep the bulbous end of the vibrator against her girl parts. She tried to beg me to stop, but her speech was so incoherent and so mixed with frantic squeals that it was unintelligible. Her boobs bounced and jiggled attractively as she writhed and bucked, spilling out of her bathing suit top. After another ten minutes of alternatively tickling her feet, underarms, and belly while holding the vibrator against the soft mound between her thighs, as she was sweating profusely and losing her voice, she finally experienced the orgasm I had hoped to give her while still being tickled. Her body stiffened, and she screamed loudly. However, even as she experienced the powerful sexual release, her spread legs and bunny-ear arms still yanked and trembled wildly against her bonds from the merciless tickling. Her body was racked by alternating orgasms and convulsions of tortured laughter. As the waves of orgasms subsided, she collapsed limply. Though I had stopped tickling her and removed the vibrator, she continued to laugh uncontrollably for several minutes.

She had been upside down for nearly half an hour, so I quickly unlocked her ankles from the spreader bar and laid her carefully on the rug. Her arms were still bound in bunny ears, but she pulled her knees to her chest and curled up as best she could. I rolled her onto her stomach and massaged her lower back, buttocks, and thighs as she slowly regained her senses. Her skin was soft, hot, rosy, and moist as I kneaded her sore muscles. I rubbed her ankles, trying to massage away the marks from the ankle cuffs. I rolled her onto her back and massaged her belly and bosom. She was becoming sentient again.

“Is everything okay, Terri? Does anything hurt? Or is anything numb?”

“I love the bunny ear tie, but it is hard on my shoulders. Could you please release my hands from the chest straps?” Her voice was hoarse and gravelly after a half hour of screaming and laughing.

When I had released her hands from the leather straps, the ache in her shoulders and arms made it difficult for her to do herself, so I slowly lowered her hands over her head and back in front. She signed as I massaged her arms, shoulders, and back. After a time, she sat up, threw her bound wrists behind my neck, and kissed me. We made out on the rug on the floor of the basement like two horny teenagers. Much later, she fell asleep on my family room couch, her wrists still bound together at her request, until morning.

When I released her wrists in the morning, she retreated to the bathroom. After fixing her hair, removing and reapplying her makeup, and dressing, she emerged in a green-and-white tea-length, cap-sleeved, and jewel-neckline dress, taupe hose, and matching green pumps.

“Wow!” I said, “You look amazing. Why are you so dressed up?”

She folded her hands in front of her, lowered her chin onto her chest, and looked up sheepishly. “It’s Sunday. I was hoping my boyfriend would join me for church services this morning.”

She called me her boyfriend. That felt nice.

Terri Adds:

My brain knows that I am safe when he ties me up. I know that he is not going to break the rules. While he has the opportunity, I am not worried about him having his way with me or never letting me go. Sometimes I think I am controlling him more than he is controlling me. He sees to it that I experience indescribable pleasure, almost as if HE were MY servant. Yet, I experience a visceral twinge of panic and excitement as he makes me helpless. Being bound makes my whole body more sensitive. Yes, my boobs and pussy become engorged and susceptible, but just being helplessly bound makes my entire body quiver in anticipation.

I never dreamed that being mummified in plastic wrap could make me feel even more vulnerable and sensual than many of his other bondage positions. His gentlest touch on my boobs and nipples sent shivers of pleasure shooting through my body. Though it took a long time to experience the nipple orgasm, these waves of erotic pleasure from his touch were nearly as intense as the orgasm itself. Though almost incoherent from these waves of joy, I desperately desired sexual release. When it finally came, I strained mightily against my bonds and stiffened. I think I stopped breathing during the orgasm. Wow! It was incredible.

I really enjoyed being mummified, and I'd like to try it again. Maybe next time we can use bondage tape or medical bandages so that I won't overheat. I hated for that predicament to end so soon.

He has tied me in a tight spread eagle and teased my nether regions before. I love it! When he announced that he was going to try to beat his record of giving me more than 9 close calls and more than 15 orgasms, I nearly panicked. I wasn’t sure I could stand that much sexual torment. When he lifted the vibrator, my body decided on its own to seek it with my pelvis. This was exhausting, but I had lost control. My only thought was to touch the vibrator. I am happy to report that we did break his record, but in doing so, I became a sobbing, trembling, quivering plaything. For a time, I was no longer a successful businesswoman. I was a bowl of orgasm-induced, girly Jell-O, my whole body consumed by post-climax warmth and exhaustion. My God, it was so scary but also so all-consumingly wonderful.

We've been going on dates two or three times a week, but he has insisted that we keep our bondage sessions to once a month. He's very concerned that I have become his sex slave or something and wants to ensure I love him for who he is, not just for the sex. Months ago, I confessed that I was a virgin, and I have fallen deeply in love with him. It was time to take our relationship to the next level, which is why I suggested he come with me to church. God is important to me, and I believe we should share that as much as we enjoy our time together and our bondage sessions. I wasn’t sure how he would respond. Our bondage play is not about humiliation, S&M, pain, punishment, or subjugation. It has become an act of common pleasure and respect, wild but not lustful, that I don't think is incompatible with my spiritual life. To my relief, he was more than happy to join me and meet some of my church friends. Saturday had been a physically demanding experience; every muscle in my body ached, and I was hoarse, so I was grateful for his strong arm around my waist. Otherwise, I’m not sure I would have made it from his house to the car and from the car to the church without collapsing.