Bonding Day : Rule One


I did know that I would be wearing restraints all day long. I did not expect – though maybe I should have – being woken from a sound sleep as he laced my arms into a binder behind my back.We had discussed what would be happening. Sort of. On our planning day a couple weeks ago I probably asked a hundred questions or more, but the activities he had planned were a surprise, so I had to try to cover everything. We hashed out dozens and dozens of little specific details. What he was allowed to do to me. How he ‘d be allowed to do it. In some cases, how he’d be paying for it later. Rule number one, however, was that he could elaborate as far as he dared on anything I didn’t cover.So, I knew the plan was a full day of something, unless I used a safe-word to shut it down. But then, that would end the game absolutely. There were no caution lights today, only stop and go.With sleep still heavy in my mind, I tried to think if I’d ever made him define ‘all day’ any more specifically. I hadn’t. I opened my mouth to gripe at him for waking me up, but he must have been ready and waiting. A ball gag dropped past my eyes and slipped into my mouth before I even finished saying “Asshole!”.Of course, covering everything on planning day was impossible. That was half the fun.He also put a blindfold on me, then stripped my lower half before tying both ankles down to one corner of the bed. The basic notion inspiring the whole day was that whatever I didn’t need for the activity at hand – hands, feet, eyes, mouth, or more – would be restrained, tied, blindfolded, gagged, or whatever he decided. Apparently he didn’t want me doing anything just then, because I couldn’t really move.So for awhile I just lay there trying to either wake up or go back to sleep, but I realized that if he woke me up like this, he was probably planning something equally dubious for bedtime. So I thought about that, mostly, and whether we would even make it all the way to bedtime.He was fidgeting between my legs. Two rather cold, lubed fingers slid into my vagina. Another played with my clit, but not for long. Once I was lubed up, he slid a vibrator into me – the annoying one that only ever made me wet – and turned it on. He spent another minute tying ropes around my thighs. I tried to keep him from getting them underneath me. Tried to push out the vibe. But I was just testing, really, and let him finish easily enough after he smacked my ass a few times.That was rule two. I did not have to cooperate. He could punish me, bribe me, try to make me obey, or failing that, even wrestle me into something if he could. But ultimately, my cooperation wasn’t guaranteed, and I could make him work for his fun if I wanted to.As soon as he’d finished tying the vibe to my thighs, he left the room. The low pitched buzz rattled through my hips and legs, vibrating the ropes almost as much as it vibed my cunt. It was sort of in the right place, but not really. I tried to twist around, to see what range of movement I had, but my ankles were solidly stuck in place. It was rare, anymore, that he strapped me in to anything almanbahis I could get myself out of, but I tried anyway. If nothing else, a little struggling helped distract from the vibe.I did rub the blindfold off my face with a pillow. That wasn’t much of an improvement, since I was suck face down in the dim room and still couldn’t see any of the ties behind me. At least it was easier to really wake up without a blindfold on. I also managed to lift myself into a kneeling position, but however my thighs were tied, the vibe wouldn’t fall out from simple gravity.He came back into the room with coffee and, somewhat surprisingly, a cup of my morning tea as well. I waved hello to him with my head and one tied up hand. He just gave me a look of mock disappointment, set the cups on the bedside table, and returned the blindfold to my face.I flopped forward on the bed, back where I started. The vibe hadn’t budged, but gravity had left my inner thighs drippy with lube and more. A friendly hand played with the wet there for a minute, then slipped a couple fingers inside. This time he didn’t stop for a good long while. I couldn’t really rock my hips like they wanted, but I moaned through the gag, strained against the arm binder, and practically levitated back into a kneeling position.”Bathroom?” he asked, and I nodded vigorously. That was the third rule we’d made pretty standard for games like today. Between activities, he had to ask if I needed a bathroom break, and I’d get a chance to do that with at least one free hand, free legs obviously, and no blindfold. Much better for everybody. If I had to go mid-scene there would be consequences involving a habanero chili, either today or some other day. No way that would be fun for me, as amusing as he might find it, so breaks were the way.When I came back into the bedroom, he had me sit right at the edge of the bed where he could strap my ankles to different corners at it’s foot, spreading my legs uncomfortably wide. He removed the binder and re-tied it with my forearms in front of me, leaving my hands mostly free. A setup designed for drinking tea, I was sure.Of course, he then showed me a pair of awful looking clamps, and pinched my nipples with his fingers as commentary. I screeched and hissed around the gag, and tried to swat him with my two hands, but I couldn’t move them that much. My tea was sitting there steaming too, so I hissed a little more as he screwed the clamps tight to my nipples, but I didn’t really fight him over it. He also hung a pair of heavy little bells on them.Today, rule number four was no decisions. He’d pick the activities for the day. He’d pick what restraints to use and what positions to put me in. He wasn’t allowed to ask me to decide anything for him. That was absolutely a concession on his part. Normally he’d be saying “do you want these clamps on your tits or between your legs?”, or “should I hang bells on them or tie them to your elbows?”, an awful little dilemma attached to everything as a way to make me squirm. It worked really well. It would drive me crazy. But, if I had to deal almanbahis yeni giriş with that all day long? I’d be calling it quits by noon. So no decisions.Finally, when he was done fiddling with all the restraints and the clamps, he unbuckled the gag, laying a finger over my mouth for a moment to warn that he didn’t want any talking. He handed me my cup of tea. Effectively, I had one double-hand with very limited movement, but I could lift the cup and drink without any trouble. No talking was fine. I was busy.He sat down opposite me on the floor, looking up between my spread legs while he drank his coffee. I sipped my tea.The pinching from the clamps was incessant, and the bells jingled every time I even tried to adjust my position. He really did have me sitting very much on the edge of the bed, and my feet were at least four feet apart. It was hard on the thighs to stay seated, hard on the knees to stand up too long. That made for a lot of clenching, I realized, and an odd sort of show that he had a perfect seat for.I finished my tea entirely too quickly. He wasn’t near done with his coffee, but he put it down for a moment so he could take my teacup and set it on the table. Then he got out a different gag, an open-mouth style with rubber-coated bars that set behind my teeth. It made for a lot of drool, but it was actually more comfortable than the ball gag. There were half a dozen buckles to adjust, so it took him a minute to strap it all securely to my head. When he was done with that, he pushed my arms up so that my elbows were above my head and clicked something that anchored my already-joined wrists to the back of my neck. He sat back down.Courtesy of both the tea and the gag, a trickle of spit flowed down my chin almost immediately. Between my breasts. Down my stomach. While he sipped his coffee and watched me sit and stand and clench and try to swallow.When the river reached between my legs, he scooted closer and idly massaged it into my clit and labia. Not the way I usually made my own lubrication, but it was plenty effective, and the usual kind joined in soon enough. As intently as he’d watched me earlier, for the sit-stand-and-clench tea-drinking show, he was now focused on his coffee even as his fingers wandered softly over everything he could reach. But then, I was turned on enough that ‘softly’ was just a form of torture.The tiny sips of coffee he took suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. He spent a solid five or ten minutes on the last half of the mug. I spend that time trying to press just a little harder against his fingers. Only when he’d finally drained the cup and set it aside did he turn to face me again. He dipped his tongue right into the middle of the dripping mess he’d made and started drinking me just as slowly.I didn’t last long at all. One little knee spasm sent me off the bed and onto his face, with a great deal of groaning and jingling. He actually held me up for a moment like that – though I can’t imagine what it did to his neck – but pretty quickly he pulled one ankle strap loose so I could descend without almanbahis giriş dislocating anything. I slid to my knees on the floor, still pretty much sitting on his mouth. I wondered if I was folding him in half, it was such an odd position, but through all this the man’s tongue did not stop.My hips could finally do what they wanted, in this case ‘grind on his face’, but the rest of me was trying not to fall forward onto my own face. I strained backward, clutching at the bed since my hands were behind my head anyway, but none of that was terribly effective. It was a near thing. I was rapidly losing my grip, but he relented before I fell over.Finally regaining my balance, I released my fingertip-hold on the mattress so I could look down. He had actually slid mostly under the bed, gripping the frame like an incredibly low pull-up bar. He looked up from between my knees at the same time I looked down, so the veritable waterfall of saliva exiting via the open mouth gag went pretty much directly onto his forehead. The look on his face was priceless, going from surprise to horror, but his expression blew right past that to awe. The man was frozen with lust, like a deer in sexy, sexy headlights.Laughing with your mouth wedged wide open makes a very weird sound. I certainly couldn’t move, so I just laughed and drooled on him some more until he remembered he was supposed to be the dom today.He did eventually extract himself from under both the bed and my drooling face. I peeked at him from behind my elbows, still giggle-honk-ing. He was decidedly soggy, just everywhere, but he was grinning from ear to ear.And he kept grinning as he reached over and released the clamps I had pretty much forgotten were on my nipples, despite the jingling. Mid honk, I yelled. That was pretty much the only other noise available in that gag, so I yelled a lot. I yelled at the pinch of the clamps coming off. I yelled at the sting while he massaged the blood back into my tits. I yelled some more for good measure when he just continued to twist and toy with them now that they were sore.Eventually he let me and my unhappy nips free for another bathroom break while he went to the other one to wash his face. I took my time, massaged my own nipples, thank-you-very-much, and cleaned the spit off my chin and chest. The open-mouth gag was still in, so there would be more dribble, but I made the attempt. When I came out, he ‘dressed’ me in a mini-skirt with no panties and a shirt that was essentially transparent. Then he put just one hand in a sock and cuffed it to the back of my head.It was time to make breakfast. Cracking eggs with one hand I could do. Tending to the pan with one hand was only a little bit tricky. I wondered if we were going to have any vegetables, but he opened the tomatoes and chopped the onions and peppers without comment. All that was fine, cooking with one hand tied behind me. It was just a little odd to feel the heat of the pan quite so freely through my shirt. It was just a little troublesome to be dribbling the whole time on just about everything. I took care to keep from spitting in the things that were going back in the fridge, but the pan, the chopped veggies, myself, the table, the floor – there were drips and drops of drool everywhere. He seemed to find the spittle very amusing.

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