Chapter 219 - ALL YOU LIKE

The table was wood. Solid, sturdy, immobile. The gloves were silk. Black, long, and sheer. The chains resting on the table were polished steel, with small clamps on each end. The room was dark, with no windows. Only a single light shone from the ceiling overhead. It was, all in all, a dungeon, yet somehow it felt warm and inviting. As unfamiliar as it were, it was a room where she couldn't help but feel like she belonged.

A slight shiver ran through her as she ran her fingers over the top of the dark wood table where her body was about to lay. She moved her gloved hands over the set of long chains as if ċȧrėssing an object of great value. She picked up the chains and tested each of the clamps. Another shiver ran through her as she carefully set them back down. The clamps, like every object in the room, were soon to be used to torment her in ways she once only dreamed of… to bring exquisite pŀėȧsurė to her entire body.

And slight pain.

She was aware that to achieve such heightened levels of pŀėȧsurė she first needed to accept the sensations that came with it. Accept the pain she would, eagerly, knowing that on the other side of that intense sensation a divine experience of supreme pŀėȧsurė awaited her body… an experience she had waited so long to achieve.

Finally, the time had come.

~

She crawled up on the table, as she had been instructed. She wore all black— a lace bra, the long gloves, and stockings that ran up her legs and crisscrossed at her hɨps, revealing her neatly trimmed bȧrė pussƴ underneath. A perfect ensemble for what was about to come, she hoped.

She remained on the table for no more than a moment when a slight sound startled her. She glanced up as the only door to the small dark room opened. Her hand reached beneath her for the sturdiness of the table. A tremble of fear passed through her as a handsome, stern male with short brown hair and piercing eyes entered the room. He wore polished shoes, a crisp shirt and a dark grey suit that might've fit in at a banker's meeting. He was no banker.

The older gentleman slowly approached the table. She smiled at him, trying to ease the tension of this first moment of their meeting. He did not return her smile. His steely gaze sent another tremble through her body. Despite knowing she was safe, she still felt vulnerable. With that vulnerability came a deep sense of trepidation as to her decision to finally go through with this. Her eyes darted to the dark walls, and the outline of the room's single door. She knew the room to be soundproof, and there was no way out other than the door from which the gentleman had entered. A door she knew was now locked behind him. She let out a breath, trying to keep her body from shaking. She could do this, she was certain.

The idea thrilled her to no end.

She was not a submissive woman, by any means. She much preferred to take the lead in lovemaking, and men rarely objected when she had her way with them. She was a skilled lover, and enjoyed the thrill of holding a man down as she took his ċȯċk between her lips, or climbed on top of him and ground her sensual body onto his. She always took care of her lovers' needs, and never had any complaints. She knew how to take care of her own needs as well.

This was different.

Her needs were part of this experience, but her needs were secondary to what was about to happen. Her lover may let her climax, or he may keep her on edge the entire night after teasing and tormenting her body. She had no idea what he might choose. Watching the older man staring at her, with his steely eyes drinking in her very soul, she feared he might opt to do just that—tease her endlessly, bringing her body to an edge she might never be able to cross. The thought scared her, but also brought her immense excitement.

She'd heard about such a place where bondage fantasies could be brought to life. There were no limits to the types of ėrȯtɨċ encounters one could experience at a place like this. When she first toured the facility, she did so as merely a voyeur… a spectator to the ėrȯtɨċ side of life. She truly had no intention of ever partaking in anything kinky, or submissive. Then, as these things often do, this changed.

She found she grew bored of dating, and the men that found their way to her bedroom. "Spank me!" she'd demand. "Pull my hair!" she'd beg. They often did little more than present a love tap on her perfect little bottom.

She needed more.

She craved more.

It wasn't always the men to blame. Society had long been scolding men for so much as glancing at a woman. Asking a woman on a date was even a thing of the past. Women were not objects to be seduced, they were equal in every manner to men, as women should have been since the beginning of time.

After many sleepless nights dreaming of being tied down and taken by a complete stranger, she had decided to go ahead with her fantasy. She selected something simple, an encounter with a single man, who would dominate her, and force her to submit to him. She had agreed to let him do whatever he chose with her body, with only one request—she wanted to be tied down.

She didn't know what exactly it was about the idea of her body being tied down on a table spread-eagle, her wrists and ankles bound with rope, but she grew impossibly wet at the very idea. Maybe it was the feeling of being displayed on some sacrificial altar, like a vɨrġɨn to be taken in some dark ritual. Or maybe it was the idea of being pushed down on a teacher's desk, her knickers thrust down to her ankles as a sėxy, older professor thrust his ċȯċk into her quivering quim. Or maybe her sėx fantasy involved a sėxy executive chef, casting aside the chopped vegetables he was preparing for dinner from his freshly oiled butcher block, and bending her over and taking her from behind as she screamed out in ecstasy.

She truly had no idea what made her so aroused thinking about being taken in such a manner upon a wooden table such as the one she was laying on, but she loved it.

The idea that her body was to be on full display, and she could do nothing to stop her lover from having her in any manner he chose drove her wild with dėsɨrė. She didn't care to know precisely why this was her ultimate fantasy… she only cared that it was finally about to come true.

~

Her name was Elena. The man who was slowly circling the table and eyeing her supine form was named George, although she knew this not to be his real name. Real names were never used in such a place. George was tall, powerful, and methodic in his journey around the table, surveying his subject, like a painter admiring his muse. His heels echoed as he stepped across the dark stone floor, his eyes never leaving her face. Elena's body quivered, her nɨppŀės hardening into diamond stones merely from his gaze.

George completed his circle around the table, then paused near her feet. He picked up a piece of dark rope and dragged it over her leg. Without a word, he took her foot in his hand. Slowly he began to wind the rope around her ankle. She let out a slow breath and shifted her weight back onto her hands, allowing him to do his work. George took his time. He bound one leg to the edge of the table, then the other, until her legs were spread open, unable to move. Laying her head back, he took her wrists above her head and began to bind them in a similar manner. He took his time as he wrapped the thick rope around her wrists several times. Elena tested the strength of the bonds. She knew once the knots were secured there would be no way she could raise her arms, or move her body. She would be completely tied down, unable to move… unable to call anyone for help.

She was at the mercy of this complete stranger… exactly as she wished.

It was finally happening.

~

Elena knew she was beautiful, and knew full well how to use her sėxuȧŀity to seduce any man she chose. Tall, with dark, raven hair, luscious lips, and deep brown eyes that could capture the heart of any man, she didn't simply turn heads when she entered a room… she caused men to lose all concentration when she walked by, rendering them powerless to her beauty. This experience was not about seduction… it was about submission, and she wished to learn all there was to learn.

Elena allowed George to finish binding her wrists. He removed her bra and squeezed her brėȧsts hard, giving her a brief tease of what was to come. She stared up at the ceiling as his hands moved over her body… over her bȧrė brėȧsts… over her neck, her mouth and lips. She extended her tongue, wetting his fingers with her saliva as he pushed them into her mouth. She licked his fingers as if she were ŀɨċkɨnġ his ċȯċk, perhaps showing him that she, too, was capable of providing exquisite pŀėȧsurė. He withdrew his fingers and pushed her wrists above her head then finished securing them to the table. Elena tested her bonds. She was now completely tied down, unable to move.

George moved to the end of the table near her feet. He picked up a solid steel chain and dragged it over her legs, and across the insides of her thɨġhs. She gasped as the cold metal brushed over her pubic hair, and between her lips. She arched her back, trying to force more attention to her intimate area. She yearned to be touched, but her movements had no effect on George. He moved the chains slowly up her body toward her brėȧsts. She bit her lip. She knew what was coming next.

The clamps.

Elena shivered as the cold metal chain rested on her stomach, followed by the hard, cold pinch of the clamps as they were placed on her nɨppŀės. Her body writhed on the table as the blood flowed from her rock-hard nɨppŀės. She had bȧrėly been touched but her entire body was already on fire. George moved slowly back down between her legs. He bent his head forward and kissed her stomach, then lower. His hands moved over her inner thɨġhs, then gasped as his mouth found her inner lips.

"Oh, God," she whispered.

She had been instructed not to speak, and feared any punishment that might come as a result. For the moment, she was safe. George's tongue penetrated her lips, circling her ċŀɨt in agonizing, tormenting movements. Her entire body quivered. She wrapped her fingers around the ropes binding her wrists and curled her head up, straining to see what her dominant lover was doing. George's fingers were inside her, his lips and tongue on her pussƴ… tasting her… teasing her… torturing her.

It was everything she dreamed of, and she was loving every minute of it.

Staring directly into her eyes he pushed his fingers into her. She mȯȧnėd and arched her back. He fingered her deeply, thrusting inside as far as she could take. Her body tensed. Her fingers and toes flexed. Another ȯrġȧsm was building inside her. She gritted her teeth. Would he let her come again?

She wanted to push her head up and kiss him, desperately yearning to connect with this complete stranger who was bringing her to such extreme heights of passion, but she was not supposed to do so… just as she was not supposed to speak.

But she couldn't help it.

"More," she whispered, begging George to touch her as she needed to be touched. The moment the words escaped her lips, she feared he would stop, and leave her in such a frenzied state.

"Say it again," he commanded.

"More," she begged. "Please… more."

He smiled.

Releasing her head back down he moved back between her legs. Except he didn't return to French kissing and teasing her with his mouth. Her heart skipped as she heard a buzzing sound. She gasped as he moved a black wand over the sėnsɨtɨvė skin of her brėȧsts. George used the device to tease her nɨppŀės, both of which were now burning with the lack of blood from the clamps. She had never imagined her brėȧsts and nɨppŀės could grow so sėnsɨtɨvė. They stung with pain, and they stung with a yearning to be freed from the metal clamps that held them. But she knew they wouldn't be released.

Not yet.

She didn't want him to stop.

Not now, not ever.

Her body shook as George pushed the device inside her. She spread her legs. Her ankles strained against the bonds, demanding to be set free, but that was not to happen. Elena was as immobile as she had been when they started.

George removed the device from inside her. He moved back to her side then leaned down and kissed her. Without any hesitation, she kissed him back. A smile escaped her lips. She was finally able to make the connection with her tormentor she so desperately craved. They kissed again, then George moved to release the binds around her wrists and her ankles. Elena moved her arms and legs gingerly, the circulation slowly returning to her body. Next, he removed the nɨppŀė clamps. The sweet sting of pŀėȧsurė shocked her as the blood rushed to her nɨppŀės. She moved her hands to her brėȧsts and ċȧrėssed them as she slowly pushed herself up on the table.

She looked to George, wondering what was to come next.

~

Her dėsɨrė for submission had been fulfilled. She had endured being completely helpless, and brought to the edge multiple times, ȯrġȧsming over and over at the talented hands and tongue of her new lover. Now, it was clear to her what needed to be done.

It was her turn to do what she did best.

Elena leaned forward and undid the buckle on George's belt. She slipped her hand inside his zipper and removed his thick ċȯċk from his trousers. Bending forward she took him between her lips. She suċkėd him eagerly, drawing his ċȯċk deep into her mouth as George placed his hands on her back. He let out a deep grunt and she smiled to herself. She suċkėd him harder, taking his full length between her soft lips.

Her mȯȧns echoed in the small, dark room. She stared up at the ceiling, the single light still shining down on the dark wood table where she had been tied and helpless moments ago. Now, free to move her arms and body, she felt more in control, and more like herself. She pushed herself up and kissed her lover, tasting him as he continued to penetrate her. He thrust back and forth, faster and faster.

Her fantasy of being tied and restrained was complete. Now, she wanted one thing, and one thing only: to explode with her lover's ċȯċk buried deep inside her. She thrust her hɨps hard against him, taking his ċȯċk as deep as she could. This time there were no ropes, no concern her lover would suddenly tear himself away, and leave her hanging. They were going to climax together.

She cried out, coming hard from his thrusting… from the tormenting… from the fantasy of being tied down and completely helpless. All of it rushed through her mind as her body exploded in a final ȯrġȧsm. George withdrew from her. His ċȯċk exploded and his warm sėmėn shot on her skin. She slowly lowered her body back down, once again aware of the wood table beneath her… the table she would never forget.

Elena smiled deeply as George took his leave. She was already planning her next fantasy and wondering just how far she could go into this new world of pŀėȧsurė and pain, of submission, and of course, of using her body to get what she wanted. That, for her, was always the real fun. Maybe next time she would entertain multiple lovers. How can one command a roomful of men while being tied down, unable to move? It was a challenge, no doubt, but one she was thrilled to embark on in her ėrȯtɨċ journey into the world of submission… because she was never truly submitting… she was always in charge.

Always.