Time passed differently when one had no idea if it was night or day, whether it had been hours or days. All she knew was that she had been here for what seemed like an eternity. Part of her wanted to feel lucky that John was here with her too but another part of her hated that he was here with her, suffering as she was.
He sat on the couch, smoking a large thick Cuban cigar. The girl stood in front of him, naked and trembling.
“Why am I here?”
The man smiled. “Because I deemed it to be so.”
J soon found herself very very helpless. She was in the middle of the room, her arms bound securely to a bar that ran along the back of her shoulders, her arms out straight from her in a T position. Her legs were pulled up and out to each side, the ropes under her legs, pulling them spread out to each side, exposing her pussy and ass. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail away from her face and was secured to the bar with a rope so her head could not drop forward. He wanted her every micro-expression to be seen by those that would be entering.
Was I on Santa’s lap? Technically yes.
Was I making a wish? Maybe?
Did he know what I wanted? Yes.
Did he know what I needed? Yes.
I cried out as his gloved hand slapped down onto my upturned bare bottom.
Men and women alike are taking into and trained at Grey House. If you wish your fantasy to come true, to experience said fantasy, then your gender, your identity, your color do not matter. Most of the fantasies, people can’t tell any of those things anyway.
For this article we are going to be following a male we shall call Robert. Robert is a male in his mid 30s, dark brown hair, green eyes. In his vanilla life he is a single banker, enjoying money, women and a comfortable life. But as stated on his application he has “been searching for something more than just sex. I want someone to make me do things I never would. I want to not be the dominant one.”
He was having a party and she was the centerpiece. She was humiliated and wet and the party hadn’t even started. She was currently kneeling on the coffee table, her hands bound out to each corner of the table, breasts hanging below her. Her knees were on the table, bound down and out so that her legs were spread. Then her ankles had been bound down to the legs of the table, keeping them in place. He had a belt around her neck and had her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail.
I headed out to get the mail from out front. I glanced around, once past the covered front porch and saw Mr Johnson watering his lawn. He smiled, waving at me and I waved back. Then I saw Sean, my other neighbor, mowing his lawn and I waved at him, seeing him wave back. The mailman, Mr. Gorgon, waved at me from down the street as he filled the next mailbox. I waved back then moved out to the mailbox, opening it and pulling out a couple of magazines, a lot of junk mail and a bill.
I turned, walking back to the house and turned the door handle to find it was locked. I frowned. I tried the door again and it was still locked. I could not believe this was happening. I glanced over at Mrs. Bradshaw’s house and her car was gone meaning I had no access to my spare key. I glanced around, looking at the windows. None of the windows had been opened yet so that would not be a way in.
When J woke up it took her a moment to remember where she was. Then it hit her and she moved to sit up but she couldn’t. Her arms were folded behind her head with her right arm pulled toward the left side of the bed, and her left arm toward the right side of the bed bound down with ropes. This propped her head up at an angle to allow her to look down her body. She squirmed, then felt a tight pull on her tits. She saw her tits were bound as well. There were bound tightly, surrounded by rope, the nipples hard on top of each discolored mound. Her legs were bound but loosely so she thought she would be able to turn over to ease the pull on her shoulders. But as she tried to lift her head more she felt a pull on her hair and realized he had bound her hair to the headboard so she could barely lift her head. Continue reading
Samantha McGillis was an average 30 something girl with an itch she couldn’t scratch. She had enjoyed sexual partners and had enjoyed great sex but something was still missing. So now she stood at the door of a bar, looking at the worn wood, knowing that once she stepped through that door something may happen to change her life forever. Then again, she could step through that door, meet no one and come home in a few hours to masturbate to thoughts of a strong man in her life, taking charge. Continue reading