Bouncing Back to You

Feb 18, 2013

I do have SO many toys and SO much equipment to play with in my Hanwell Dungeons that sometimes a special favourite gets neglected for a while until my kinkiness takes one of its regular strolls around the premises looking for new ways to make my subbies suffer. That was very much the case this weekend when one of my most loyal slaves was desperate for a session and I determined to give him an experience he will never erase from his mind: not that he can ever forget his Mistress anyway!

The long, long evening started simply enough, with him enveloped in one of my leather bodybags, strapped and held upright in the centre of the dungeon with the leather pulled so tight that I knew it would start to increase his heart rate with the first tendrils of fear creeping uninvited through his mind. I had already upped his pulse considerably anyway with my choice of costume for the night, a tight rubber skirt with matching cleavage enhanced top. The whole ensemble was, although I say so myself, perfectly designed to get my pervert sub’s cock twitching with desire – and the drips of clear pre-cum gathering at the end of his member soon showed me that it was having the desired effect.

Of course, having a slave drip or drool his disgusting mess on my perfectly polished dungeon floor always gives me a good excuse to increase his punishment and so I added a restrictive leather collar around his neck and got out one of my heaviest rubber masks. I know this subbie has two particular fears: the first is of being enclosed, immobilised and helpless in darkness with just the smallest of air holes; the second is that I will leave him alone like that, with his fears slowly maturing into uncontrollable panic. So, once the hood was firmly laced and pulled around his face, I found a pretext to pop downstairs to my medical suite for yet more equipment to make his life more miserable. I could hear his moans of fear steadily grow in intensity as he struggled to cope with the realisation I had left the room. The art of this game is letting him believe he is alone and beyond help until just the point when reason deserts him, and then popping back up again just in the nick of time to save his sanity. The nett result is that subbie is so grateful to see me that he will beg for even more terrifying torments than before.

Well, the next hour or two flew by in a haze of pain and discomfort for my slave and a haze of giggly good fun for me. As many of you will know, I am not a nasty, pain-inducing, harsh and sadistic type of Mistress – most of the time (or unless you want me to be!) But the liquid cock-drips on my floor, this slave’s lack of attention to detail in his chores and the fact that I had absolute power over him somehow made me want him to suffer badly that night. Time to turn up the electrics on the metal butt-plug, I thought. This slave enjoys a little challenge and so I warned him that I was going to turn the electrics on full for a second or so, just because I could! I enjoy seeing the fear on his face when I tell him something like that in advance of it actually happening. It gives him time to imagine how bad the pain will be and to babble a few pointless words begging for mercy. No chance. The effect of a quick twist of the electrics dial was such fun. There was a sort of animal scream from his lips, a frantic contortion of his leather-bound body and furious twitching as he felt the electrics pound deep into his rear. Once he had regained a little composure I told him that he had made too much noise and we had to keep repeating the exercise until he learned to suffer in silence: such a good training regime.

However, I digress. The original point of this blog was to explain how I rediscovered a wonderful piece of rubber equipment that had been languishing unused under my bondage bench for some while now. I put some pictures on my twitter account so you can all share the fun. It is an extremely heavy, inflatable rubber ball which traps slaves inside in suspended animation. They have NO movement whatsoever once the ball is blown-up and the rubber presses hard on them from every direction. Their only salvation is the built in gas mask and tube connecting them to the air outside while they roll helplessly around inside their own private rubber heaven – or hell. I suspect that Satan has a few of these fiendish devices set aside in his domain especially for claustrophobic sinners like my slave.

To cut a long story short, I soon had subbie strapped into the integral gas mask and inside the ball. I had forgotten how restrictive it is as the electric air pump inflates the ball to its maximum 6ft diameter and the victim’s disorientated questioning is reduced to pathetic whimpers of fear. I found myself singing that old hit “Rubber Ball… I come bouncing back to you…” accompanied by thumping kicks in time with the rhythm that must have been ever more distressing for the wretch trapped inside. Funnily enough, he showed no inclination to join in and make my song into a duet. I know he was crying and trying to suck air in there – but, honest-to-God, some of these slaves have no musical talent whatsoever!
A word of warning for my subbie slaves: ‘The Ball Will Be Back.’


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