Chapter 9: Waiting
I’ve just hit the send button, the timer had gone down to five seconds before I finally plucked up the courage to press it. Almost immediately, Mistress appears on the screen in front of me. She’s sitting in her favorite armchair in the living room, her legs crossed, and she’s holding a glass of wine. She looks gorgeous, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, her makeup perfect, and she’s wearing a black latex dress that hugs her curves in all the right places.
“Well, well, well,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she takes a sip of her wine. “You’ve finally finished your little task. I have a very sexy client arriving in a few minutes, so unfortunately for you I will not be able to read it until she leaves in an hour or so.”
She puts her wine down and lights a cigarette using her holder before she continues. “You will have noticed I have been very generous and have not electrocuted you at all or indeed given you any distractions in your timed period. This was for selfish reasons, your mention of permanent bondage intrigues me, and I wanted no excuses for not finishing your task in the allocated time. But that’s about to change as I allow you to stew for a few hours whilst I play with the little bitch that’s coming, then read your story. Enjoy.”
The screen goes black and all of my electrodes come to life. To start with they are incredibly gentle and it feels like I am being lightly caressed, but as the next few minutes pass, I notice the intensity is gradually increasing.
I have done it…. I’ve sent her an email that’s going to change my life. There is absolutely nothing I can do about this now other than wait patiently for her response as I’m being tortured. The reality of this is made even clearer as my laptop screen had gone black at the same time the TV did. She’s somehow managed to remotely close it down and no matter how hard I hit the start button it stubbornly refuses to come back to life.
My mind is racing with all the possibilities and implications of my email and I try to will myself back to a state of calm, but the phrase ‘permanent bondage’ keeps echoing through my brain. The electricity is building now, the gentle caresses replaced with sharper stinging pulses. They’re still by no means painful but Mistress has done this automated cycle with me before; they will gradually increase until they eventually reach the preset level of complete agony that she has chosen. I try to focus, to lose myself in it, but my mind keeps drifting back to the email, to the words I’ve just sent her.
What the fuck have I just done? Did I really just beg her to make me her permanently bound slave? I hadn’t even read through the story I have just written and parts of it are starting to become a blur in my memory. I desperately want to read through it now in the period of waiting she has imposed on me, but she has cruelly taken that option away from me as I am sure she knew I would try.
But one thing is crystal clear. I have just asked her to change the course of my life dramatically and the uncertainty of what she will do about my request is driving me crazy. This uncertainty is far worse than any electricity coursing through my genitals.
I can’t believe what I’ve done, or rather what I’ve asked for. Had I done this as part of our little writing game, knowing that she would consider this a joke and instantly dismiss it? The answer to this is equally as clear as what I’ve just requested, I know her well and there is absolutely no chance she’ll consider it a joke. This is going to be taken seriously, and she will give it her full consideration.
I can feel the panic rising as the enormity of what I have just begged for sinks in. Whether I actually want this or not, it’s now something I have absolutely no control over, I gave away that control when I hit send. It’s all in her hands now and she will make the decision if it happens or not. If she decides it will, I will be given no opportunity to change my mind other than my review in a years time, if of course, she chooses to actually grant me this.
Rather than making me panic more these thoughts actually calm me. I realize that I do want this, I didn’t write it as a joke and knew it wouldn’t be considered as such. The idea of being her permanent bound possession, trapped in my own personal hell, is both thrilling as hell and indeed comforting. It's the ultimate expression of our relationship, the ultimate test of my devotion to her and I don’t want to be given the opportunity to change my mind.
The only thing that’s actually really getting to me right now is being made to wait for her response. The anticipation is killing me. The electricity is now starting to hurt. The pulses are coming quicker and they're stronger and I decide to try using this as a way to diffuse my anxiety. I focus on the waves of pain that course through my body and try to let it consume me. I’ve done this many times before and know that it can be a great distraction although I’m not sure how effective it will be when my mind is racing so much.
I close my eyes and try to block out everything except the pain. Mistress is deliberately inflicting this on me to distract me from doubting what I have just written and it’s working.
What seems like hours later the door to the dungeon opens and she’s standing in front of me. My electrics had indeed gradually increased further until I was writhing in pure agony, but they’d stopped suddenly, I’m guessing about half an hour ago. Since then, I’ve been sitting here in a happy little daze, in complete acceptance of what my future will be.
“I have read your story” she says impassively and giving away absolutely nothing as she starts to unlock the metal hood encasing my head. As she pulls this off, tugging out the tubes that have been buried in me for so long and finally removing the gag in my mouth she casually informs me I do not yet have permission to speak. She continues with the rest of my bondage, unlocking the cuffs that hold my hands to the table and releasing the straps that have been holding me to the chair.
Finally she unlocks the straps and loosens the laces of my ballet boots. Even with the laces removed, she still has to pull these hard to get them off my feet which are still locked into the on point position and refusing to move. As they finally came off my feet erupt into cramps and pain as the tortured muscles in them realize they have been granted a degree of movement. I groan but say nothing.
I am now free of bondage and need to stand up to enable her to remove my diaper and electrical appliances but find I am incapable of doing this. My whole body feels limp and weak, my muscles having been inactive for far too long.
I don’t care though, all I care about is hearing her decision, but it seems she’s not ready to give me this yet.
“Try to slowly get your muscles going, when you feel you can manage this you have permission to tell me and I will help you stand up. You still don’t have permission to say anything else.” She sits silently in her throne seat and lights a cigarette.
An hour later I’m lying in a hot bath, free from any bondage or electrical appendages. It’s bliss, but I still haven’t been given permission to speak and the only words that have come from Mistress were to encourage me as I walked like a geriatric up the stairs to our bedroom and en suite bathroom. I am free, but she’s continuing my torture simply by deliberately withholding her decision from me.
Does the fact that I’m now free of bondage and she’s showing a degree of aftercare mean that she’s going to decline my request?
The uncertainty is killing me. I’ve been lying in this bath for almost an hour now, my muscles slowly recovering from their prolonged inactivity, but my mind has been racing the entire time. The bath water is now almost cold, but I’ve chosen not to top it up with fresh hot water.
I hear her footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of the door creaking open. She’s standing there, framed in the doorway, looking every bit the dominatrix she is. She helps me out of the bath and leads me to the bed where she lies down next to me. I snuggle into her, feeling the warmth of her body coming through the latex skin that is hugging every curve. The scent of her perfume fills my nostrils as she runs her hands through my wet hair. She kisses the top of my head gently before pulling me even closer to her.
“I want you to know that I’m very proud of you,” she whispers in my ear “your story was incredibly moving.”
My heart swells with pride at her words, but my mind is still racing with the one unanswered question that I need to know the answer to. I turn to face her, my eyes searching hers pleadingly for any indication of what her decision will be but I still don’t dare to ask without permission.
“You have permission to speak freely with me until I choose to take this permission away slave” she whispers, as if reading my mind.
“Mistress, please, please can you tell me your decision? Are you going to do what I asked for in my story?” I plead, my voice desperate and needy.
She smiles at me, a cruel and sadistic smile that sends a shiver down my spine. “Oh, slave, you know I love to make you wait, to keep you in suspense. It makes the eventual decision so much sweeter, don’t you agree?”
I nod, but my mind is screaming at me to tell her no, I don’t agree, that I can’t take much more of this torture. She laughs, and it’s a cruel and heartless laugh.
She knows just how much I’m suffering, how much I need to know her decision. She reaches down and runs her hands down my body before gripping my now fully erect cock firmly. She squeezes and gives it a hard tug, and I wince but bite my tongue to hold back the groan.
“But I think in this instance, I’ve probably made you wait long enough. Of course I’m going to grant your request you pathetic little worm. I’ve actually been thinking along very similar lines for a month or so and I’m pleased that as always, we’re on the same wavelength. Now, fuck me hard whilst you are thinking about your future life of bondage, this may well be the last time in your life you will fuck me without restraints.”
I’m stunned into silence for a moment, her words finally bringing my racing mind to a halt. I stare into her eyes, searching for some sign of whether she’s joking with me, but the look I get back tells me she is deathly serious. I am about to spend at least the next year of my life in constant bondage and the thought thrills me.
Soon I’m fucking her hard, but rather than responding, her body is still and there’s a bored look on her face as she starts to reveal a few more details. She’s deliberately started the process of turning me into an object, and she’s making the point that an object doesn’t need to know if it’s causing pleasure.
“While you were in the bath, I took the opportunity of phoning the man who made your metal face hood. As you know, he’s an incredibly skilled metal worker and knows just the material he will make your manacles and collar from. It’s unbelievably hard apparently, and can only be cut by a disk impregnated with industrial diamonds. Even with that, four cuffs and a collar will take him over three days to slowly cut through if they do ever need to be removed.”
I’m too shocked by the revelation that she’s already set the process in motion to respond so I continue pummeling into her silently, my thoughts full of how it will feel to be fitted and welded into these almost unremovable restraints.
“He’s ordered the material and we need to go to his workshop tomorrow morning so he can measure you up to ensure they fit like a glove. It will then take him a week to make them so we will be returning to his workshop then to have them fitted and welded on.” she continues, her voice laced with a cruel glee.
I stop thrusting, my body frozen as the reality of what she's saying hits me like a freight train. In a weeks time I will be permanently bound and will remain like that for at least a year, probably the rest of my life. My thoughts are interrupted as a harsh order is delivered.
”You’d better start fucking me again slave. The reward for your story is to cum inside me, but I haven’t got all day. If you haven’t cum in two minutes that reward will be revoked!”
I start to move again, but my mind is reeling. I’m overwhelmed by the enormity of what she’s just revealed and the sheer speed at which she’s set this in motion. But Mistress is not about to let me dwell on these thoughts. She lifts her legs, locking her ankles behind my back and throws her head back, arching her spine and squeezing her cunt around my cock.
“Faster!” she commands, slapping my ass hard with an open palm. I comply, speeding up my thrusts, I’m desperate to cum after my frustrating bondage in the chair but I’m no longer fully present. I manage to overcome this and am soon on the edge.
”Please may I cum Mistress?”
“You may” she purrs, “Fill me with your worthless seed.”
I drive into her harder and groan as I pump my load deep inside her. It’s an incredible orgasm, the pent up emotions from my experiences bound to the chair mixing with the scary anticipation of my future and the knowledge this may be the last unrestrained orgasm of my life creating an intense release.