She Still Thinks She Is Winning

To put this into context read She Always Wins. Before we’d even covered two miles, I began whining loudly about how the armbinder was squeezing my arms. My captor pulled over to the side of the road, lifted the seatbelt’s shoulder harness up and over my head, and threaded the leash through the strap around my knees. She slid the car seat back as far as it would go, then tugged the leash down and tied it off against the headrest, bringing my face nearly to my knees. Next, she cranked up the radio volume and drove away. I knew the hotel hosting the annual SM bash was an hour’s drive away, so I was puzzled when she said, “Oh good, there’s a spot near the door.” As we parked, I wondered where we were and if she would leave me in the car. But no such luck; she came around, unstrapped my knees, and tugged on the leash to get me out. We walked about 50 feet to a door and went inside. My wife said, “Please hold him while I look around.” I stood there for ten minutes until she returned, at which point I was led to another room. Ropes were placed around each ankle, and the chain connecting my legcuffs grew tight as they were tied off on either side. I was told to bend over; a hand pushed my back forward while someone else secured the leash at floor level in front of me. The skirt of my dress was flipped up onto my back, and I felt lube being applied to my butt:oops: A large plug was inserted with firm pressure until it popped into place, held by my sphincter muscles contracting. Giggling echoed around as a wide belt was put around my waist. The leash was untied and pulled upward, making me stand upright. I felt a leather band about four inches wide go above my balls, followed by three snaps fastening and stretching them out. A narrow band was placed behind that one, over my penis, buckled tight, with two more added to my shaft. From the back of the belt came a crotch strap through which my balls were inserted into a cutout, left dangling loosely. The strap was padlocked to the front. Someone removed my posture collar and unlaced the hood before taking it off entirely. The ballgag harness was unbuckled, allowing the ball to pop out. “I want you to try these on for size.” As something touched my lips, I opened my mouth, realizing an unfamiliar shape had gone in: a gel penis. Yuck. In rapid succession, it was traded four times, increasing in diameter with each swap. My wife said, “I’ll be right back,” and went out the door. I felt someone smooth my dress down over the waist belt and give my balls a good squeeze. She french-kissed me and whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” When my wife returned, she said, “This harness fits these gags well; I’d like the three biggest ones.” My new prized possession was secured: one strap went up over my nose and head, another under my chin, and a third buckled at the back. Small padlocks clicked onto each buckle. A new hood zipped down over my head as panels snapped into place over my eyes and mouth. The posture collar was replaced again. My mistress said, “The jingling is all your new keys on the D ring of your collar; if you can get them loose, you can take all this off.”:roll: My legs were untied from the wall, and I was led back to the first room where I was tethered to a permanent fixture while my wife paid for everything, making several trips to the car.

I was then led outside and secured upright, resting back on my arms without making a peep as my knees were restrapped. We drove another forty-five minutes before stopping; a bellboy loaded our luggage onto a cart, and a valet took our car after my wife got me out. We entered a noisy room where several people greeted my wife. [Previously we had attended three of these fetish show/parties, with her going as my sub, but it didn’t work out that way this time.]

We took the elevator; I counted nine rings as we passed each floor. Walking straight out and about seventy-five feet to a room on the right, we went inside. I was leashed to something shoulder-high for a few minutes while I heard my mistress in the bathroom. She returned, untied the leash, led me to the bed, and sat me down. “Ok, let’s talk.” she said this to a fellow with a fat penis in his mouth. “I like you like this; I like being in control, and I find the bondage even better. I can keep you exactly as you are now or untie you immediately and never do it again. It’s your decision. But if we proceed this way, you will respect and worship me, and I will take care of your needs. There will be no regrets, and no going back to how things were before. What do you say?” “MMMMMMMPPPPPPPPpphhhhhHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!” I shook my head yes as much as the collar allowed. “Ok, let’s get you ready for the party.” She stood me up, removed the armbinder and straps from my wrists and elbows. A pair of thumbcuffs locked my arms behind my back while rope circled my wrists five times before being cinched and knotted at the top. My elbows followed suit, secured to a ring on the back of my collar. Four strands passed above and below my “breasts,” with four more around my waist, welding my arms firmly to my back. The wrists were recinched, and the spare rope ran through my crotch up to the front of my collar, looping back four times before being knotted onto the waist bindings. “Too bad you can’t see this catsuit I bought for the party; I bet you’d wear it if I left the house sometime.” She pulled on my leash and said, “Let’s go, my little transvestite slaveboy.” It was easily the best punishment I had ever experienced up until that point…