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Imagine... I send you directions to my house by Email. We have never spoken or exchanged pictures. You are told to be here on Saturday morning, come inside when you arrive. Once here, you find a note and a matching set of leather collar and four shackles waiting for you in the entryway. The note instructs you lock the door behind you, remove all your clothes, put on the leather, then to open the door and go up the stairs. It also warns you to expect a second note on the stairs and not to talk unless told to speak. Half way up the stairs is the second note and a blindfold. You can't see into the room yet. The note says to notice the couch at the top of the stairs- don't stumble into it (any pain you feel will not be an accident)- then blindfold yourself and come the rest of the way upstairs. When you look up to the couch you notice a whip draped over it... And so you come into my house. Vulnerable, naked, blinded, shackled and collared, not knowing what I look like or what I will do with you. You don't even know if we are alone. You feel terribly exposed and beyond shy. But your exposure has not even begun. I take you firmly by the arm and direct you to a wicker armchair. You sit and allow yourself to be positioned. Your arms are pulled over your head and behind the chair, wrists affixed to the back of the chair. I pause now, stroke your cheek, and tell you what your are already aware of: "There is nothing you can do to stop me now. You are my slut, and I will have my pleasure inside you." I attach a belt to your thighs, just above the knees, then I lift first one leg, then the other, tying them back to the wicker. Other lines are attached to these belts, and you feel your legs spread, opening you and laying your legs over the arms of the chair. Additional lines hold the ankles wide. It is a terrible struggle for you to submit to such exposition, your most feminine and private place lewdly opened to a man who you have never really met. You sit, helplessly bound, breasts, pussy, ass all exposed and available for pleasuring. But that is not the end of your opening. I have a device, made especially for you. Several devices, really. Clothespins, each attached by a long elastic band to a distant wall or the ceiling above you. The first of the clothespins is fastened to your sex. The elastic spreads the lip, pulling, distorting, and pinching. A soft whimper escapes you despite being silenced. The other side is similarly opened, then additional clothespins are attached until your sex is laid open completely, the nether lips pulled flat, your vagina a gaping hole. You're whimpering loud and plaintively now and I come to you, stroke your face, reassure you. "Give to me," I say. "It's all right. Sssh. Kiss me," I command as I turn your face to me. And you do. Passionate, deep kisses. Desperate kisses. I reach between your legs and, taking some of the liquid seeping from your sex, I stroke you softly. Pleasure and agony. Panting, frenzied kisses, straining at your bonds, you are possessed, controlled, punished, and pleasured. And then gently, so as to leave you in control of your silence, I leave you. Panting with your struggle for silence, you sit. You hear me move and sit before you, a pop, smell of grape, and you know that I am casually drinking a glass of wine as I contemplate you. Your cunt drips lubrication, betraying. Your face and chest burn crimson with both shame and arousal. You are open to a stranger. Major Melons has Tons of Hard Nipples Pictures
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