Sex slave bondage training stories. ‘slave training’ stories.



Sex slave bondage training stories

Sex slave bondage training stories

May not be copied or moved to another website without permission Part 1: Sold My husband John sold me to be a sex slave for twenty thousand dollars. Granted, times are tough, and we were strapped financially after he lost his job, but to callously sell me, like a sack of potatoes into slavery was just impossible to understand.

But let me start at the beginning I always thought we had a perfect relationship. We were high-school sweethearts, and once I decided John was the man I wanted to spend my life with, I gave myself to him completely. I should have realized something was amiss when all my friends at school knew I gave him his first blowjob in the back seat of his car the day after it happened.

Girls say that sperm is an acquired taste, and it was to me, too. It took a while to get used to the slimy, salty taste of his sperm, but once I did, it was no big deal to take him in my mouth every day to give him pleasure. It became a daily ritual, eventually working up to at least three times a day, and that was in addition to being fucked at least twice every day. But over the six years we had been married, there were no complaints. I serviced him regularly, giving him whatever kind of sex or play he wanted.

Eventually we moved into bondage and sex, the one complimenting the other. He enjoyed tying me up or down, as the case might be , and fucking me. It became a regular Saturday night, Sunday morning ritual, with me being tied and gagged for hours at a time, usually overnight. We had many secret games we played where no one but us knew it was happening. For example, He would take me out to dinner unexpectedly, and once there, make me go to the ladies room, remove my panties, put them in a plastic bag I always had to carry in my purse, return to the table and slip them to him under the table, spending the rest of the evening, panty-less.

He would return the panties only after we got home, often using them as a gag by stuffing them into my mouth while fucking me prior to going to bed. Or, I was not allowed to wear any underwear under my dress for the entire day. We would often take long drives with me wearing handcuffs, and with my hands pulled down between my spread knees and anchored to the seat tightly by a chain connected to the cuffs. On command, I was required to part my knees when sitting, either to allow a view of my thighs, or access to my genitals, should he wish to feel me, or finger-fuck me.

I usually had to pull the front of my dress or skirt up, so he could view my crotch area while sitting, and I was never allowed to wear pants. Should I fail to please him, there was always an over-the-knee spanking waiting for my transgression. I was spanked with a Ping-Pong paddle until I cried into my gag, and my butt cheeks were visibly reddened.

He never beat me, or left any marks that would show on my body, but the spanking became a routine part of my life. It consisted of a short piece of rope, knotted in the middle, with two loops looking like a figure eight, with the ends of the rope going back through the knot, effectively making a slipknot with two loops for the wrists.

To apply it, my arms were pulled back behind the body, the loops were slipped over the wrists, and the end of the rope pulled tight, pulling them together behind me at waist level. The ends were pulled tight and secured with a swift overhand knot, preventing me from working the loops loose, or escaping them. The ends of the rope were then passed in front of my body and tied in front, effectively pinioning my hands and arms behind my back.

Whenever I was tied like this, I was never able to work myself free without help. And, she could be left tied like that for hours, since the Quick-Tie was not painful, and created no stress on the arms or body.

Of course I was always naked whenever I was tied up. Being naked was just part of the bondage event. And I was kept naked when we were at home. He liked blowjobs, and liked me kneeling in front of him, head bowed, and waiting to give him pleasure on command. Additionally, my ankles were tied together, with the rope extending up to my wrists at waist level, keeping me in the kneeling position for as long as John wished.

In our house, there was a small cloak closet, just inside the front door. John stripped out the inside, removing the overhead shelf, and the coat hooks, and replacing them with eyebolts on the ceiling and at ankle level, near the floor.

He soundproofed the inside with acoustic panels all around. He claimed that when I was inside and the door closed, no sound could be heard on the other side of the door. To prove it, he put a radio that was playing loudly inside the closet and closed the door. Another feature was that there was no knob on the inside of the door. An escape would be impossible. I spent many hours in the Isolation Closet. In fact, since I was usually naked, gagged and in a Quick Tie, whenever anyone came to the door, John pushed me into the closet and closed the door.

I remained there until the threat of discovery had passed. But usually, I would only have to spend an hour or two in the closet, waiting to be fucked.

Waiting, just thinking about what John was going to do to me, and whether he would allow me to have an orgasm this time. I never knew whether he as going to allow me pleasures or frustration when he fucked me. In the closet, my wrists were usually Quick-Tied in front of me, or a leather strap held my hands together. In either case, my hands were pulled up over my head, and secured to the eyebolt in the ceiling. Additionally, my legs were spread apart as my feet were tied to the eyebolts on each side of the closet, leaving me spread and totally available to exploring fingers when the door was open, or accepting the mechanical fucking machine that John had bought and used on me regularly.

Its one saving grace was that I could always reach an orgasm when being fucked by the machine. In fact, I had no choice. The fucking machine was about the size of a small microwave oven, and sat on the floor between my spread legs.

A vertical rod extended straight up, out of the top. Being a small woman, the internal depth of my vagina is only seven inches, so the thrust of the fucking machine was adjusted to six inches, allowing a full stroke, without the head of the dildo falling out of the vagina at the bottom of the down stroke.

What was painful about being locked in the closet, was the shoes that John made me wear. Once John had me tied in position, hands pulled up toward the ceiling, and legs spread apart with the ankles tied to opposite walls, he knelt in front of me, putting a slipper on each foot, one at a time. First, he would grasp an ankle, and raise the foot off the floor, as far as the short length of rope would allow.

Taking a slipper in the other hand, he would slip it onto the foot. While the slipper is satin and pretty, inside it is made of stainless steel, and holds the foot in rigid alignment in a straight line. A piece of metal extends behind the heel, much like a shoehorn might. There is a leather strap at the end of the metal piece, at the end farthest from the toe box. Once the foot is firmly in the slipper, the shoehorn part is raised against the back of the ankle, forcing the foot into a straight line below the leg bones.

The foot is lowered to the floor, forcing the woman to stand on her toes, which is not only painful, it virtually prevents walking or running. The woman is forced to pull herself up by her wrists, and stand on one foot, while the other ballet slipper is applied to her other foot and secured. Within moments, the weight of her body being supported on her toes becomes almost unbearable.

The longer she stands in that position, the more she tries to relieve the pain by pulling herself up by her wrists. Invariably women begin to moan in pain, and begin to cry as best they can, especially when gagged. Leaving a woman in this position for more than twenty or thirty minutes and cause permanent damage to her feet.

Fortunately, while John frequently made me wear the slippers, it was never long enough to do any permanent damage, although I frequently screamed into my gag for what seemed like hours.

The combination of the ballet slippers and the fucking machine was a unique torment. In the first place it was Saturday night, and I was tied and gagged, with my legs spread wide apart and being held by a steel spreader bar. I heard the doorbell ring, and thought to myself that it was an odd hour for anyone to come to the door, as late as it was. I heard John open the door, and muffled voices of greeting - almost as if they were speaking quietly, so as not to be overheard.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened, and there was John, accompanied by another man. A large, burly man. He could have been a weight lifter, or wrestler. But bound and gagged, there was nothing I could do to get away, or shield myself from the view of this stranger.

The stranger grunted, came over to the bed and looked down at me. I tried to figure out what was happening. Had John brought home another man to humiliate me?

Or was he going to rape me - or worse? But what could be worse? I had no idea, but would soon learn. Whatever it was, there was nothing I could do about it. Suddenly I got it. John was trying to sell me to this stranger. Sell me into some kind of sexual, bondage slavery. I started screaming in protest into my gag, but the ball in my mouth effectively muffled my protests. I began to thrash about, almost as if my exertions would free me from my bonds. I gasped in an involuntary burst of air, went limp, and let out one long scream as best I could.

And that was that. I was defeated and knew it. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen, and that was that. The stranger released my breast, and moved his hand across my chest to the other breast, and pinched my nipple very hard.

That will save you a lot of pain. But has she been broken yet?

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Barbiesland #006: "Perils of Gwen", Scene 1 (Latex DVD)



Sex slave bondage training stories

May not be copied or moved to another website without permission Part 1: Sold My husband John sold me to be a sex slave for twenty thousand dollars. Granted, times are tough, and we were strapped financially after he lost his job, but to callously sell me, like a sack of potatoes into slavery was just impossible to understand.

But let me start at the beginning I always thought we had a perfect relationship. We were high-school sweethearts, and once I decided John was the man I wanted to spend my life with, I gave myself to him completely. I should have realized something was amiss when all my friends at school knew I gave him his first blowjob in the back seat of his car the day after it happened.

Girls say that sperm is an acquired taste, and it was to me, too. It took a while to get used to the slimy, salty taste of his sperm, but once I did, it was no big deal to take him in my mouth every day to give him pleasure.

It became a daily ritual, eventually working up to at least three times a day, and that was in addition to being fucked at least twice every day. But over the six years we had been married, there were no complaints. I serviced him regularly, giving him whatever kind of sex or play he wanted. Eventually we moved into bondage and sex, the one complimenting the other. He enjoyed tying me up or down, as the case might be , and fucking me.

It became a regular Saturday night, Sunday morning ritual, with me being tied and gagged for hours at a time, usually overnight. We had many secret games we played where no one but us knew it was happening. For example, He would take me out to dinner unexpectedly, and once there, make me go to the ladies room, remove my panties, put them in a plastic bag I always had to carry in my purse, return to the table and slip them to him under the table, spending the rest of the evening, panty-less.

He would return the panties only after we got home, often using them as a gag by stuffing them into my mouth while fucking me prior to going to bed. Or, I was not allowed to wear any underwear under my dress for the entire day. We would often take long drives with me wearing handcuffs, and with my hands pulled down between my spread knees and anchored to the seat tightly by a chain connected to the cuffs.

On command, I was required to part my knees when sitting, either to allow a view of my thighs, or access to my genitals, should he wish to feel me, or finger-fuck me. I usually had to pull the front of my dress or skirt up, so he could view my crotch area while sitting, and I was never allowed to wear pants.

Should I fail to please him, there was always an over-the-knee spanking waiting for my transgression. I was spanked with a Ping-Pong paddle until I cried into my gag, and my butt cheeks were visibly reddened. He never beat me, or left any marks that would show on my body, but the spanking became a routine part of my life. It consisted of a short piece of rope, knotted in the middle, with two loops looking like a figure eight, with the ends of the rope going back through the knot, effectively making a slipknot with two loops for the wrists.

To apply it, my arms were pulled back behind the body, the loops were slipped over the wrists, and the end of the rope pulled tight, pulling them together behind me at waist level. The ends were pulled tight and secured with a swift overhand knot, preventing me from working the loops loose, or escaping them. The ends of the rope were then passed in front of my body and tied in front, effectively pinioning my hands and arms behind my back. Whenever I was tied like this, I was never able to work myself free without help.

And, she could be left tied like that for hours, since the Quick-Tie was not painful, and created no stress on the arms or body. Of course I was always naked whenever I was tied up. Being naked was just part of the bondage event. And I was kept naked when we were at home. He liked blowjobs, and liked me kneeling in front of him, head bowed, and waiting to give him pleasure on command.

Additionally, my ankles were tied together, with the rope extending up to my wrists at waist level, keeping me in the kneeling position for as long as John wished. In our house, there was a small cloak closet, just inside the front door. John stripped out the inside, removing the overhead shelf, and the coat hooks, and replacing them with eyebolts on the ceiling and at ankle level, near the floor. He soundproofed the inside with acoustic panels all around.

He claimed that when I was inside and the door closed, no sound could be heard on the other side of the door. To prove it, he put a radio that was playing loudly inside the closet and closed the door. Another feature was that there was no knob on the inside of the door. An escape would be impossible. I spent many hours in the Isolation Closet. In fact, since I was usually naked, gagged and in a Quick Tie, whenever anyone came to the door, John pushed me into the closet and closed the door.

I remained there until the threat of discovery had passed. But usually, I would only have to spend an hour or two in the closet, waiting to be fucked. Waiting, just thinking about what John was going to do to me, and whether he would allow me to have an orgasm this time.

I never knew whether he as going to allow me pleasures or frustration when he fucked me. In the closet, my wrists were usually Quick-Tied in front of me, or a leather strap held my hands together.

In either case, my hands were pulled up over my head, and secured to the eyebolt in the ceiling. Additionally, my legs were spread apart as my feet were tied to the eyebolts on each side of the closet, leaving me spread and totally available to exploring fingers when the door was open, or accepting the mechanical fucking machine that John had bought and used on me regularly.

Its one saving grace was that I could always reach an orgasm when being fucked by the machine. In fact, I had no choice. The fucking machine was about the size of a small microwave oven, and sat on the floor between my spread legs. A vertical rod extended straight up, out of the top. Being a small woman, the internal depth of my vagina is only seven inches, so the thrust of the fucking machine was adjusted to six inches, allowing a full stroke, without the head of the dildo falling out of the vagina at the bottom of the down stroke.

What was painful about being locked in the closet, was the shoes that John made me wear. Once John had me tied in position, hands pulled up toward the ceiling, and legs spread apart with the ankles tied to opposite walls, he knelt in front of me, putting a slipper on each foot, one at a time. First, he would grasp an ankle, and raise the foot off the floor, as far as the short length of rope would allow.

Taking a slipper in the other hand, he would slip it onto the foot. While the slipper is satin and pretty, inside it is made of stainless steel, and holds the foot in rigid alignment in a straight line. A piece of metal extends behind the heel, much like a shoehorn might. There is a leather strap at the end of the metal piece, at the end farthest from the toe box.

Once the foot is firmly in the slipper, the shoehorn part is raised against the back of the ankle, forcing the foot into a straight line below the leg bones.

The foot is lowered to the floor, forcing the woman to stand on her toes, which is not only painful, it virtually prevents walking or running. The woman is forced to pull herself up by her wrists, and stand on one foot, while the other ballet slipper is applied to her other foot and secured. Within moments, the weight of her body being supported on her toes becomes almost unbearable.

The longer she stands in that position, the more she tries to relieve the pain by pulling herself up by her wrists. Invariably women begin to moan in pain, and begin to cry as best they can, especially when gagged.

Leaving a woman in this position for more than twenty or thirty minutes and cause permanent damage to her feet. Fortunately, while John frequently made me wear the slippers, it was never long enough to do any permanent damage, although I frequently screamed into my gag for what seemed like hours. The combination of the ballet slippers and the fucking machine was a unique torment. In the first place it was Saturday night, and I was tied and gagged, with my legs spread wide apart and being held by a steel spreader bar.

I heard the doorbell ring, and thought to myself that it was an odd hour for anyone to come to the door, as late as it was. I heard John open the door, and muffled voices of greeting - almost as if they were speaking quietly, so as not to be overheard.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened, and there was John, accompanied by another man. A large, burly man. He could have been a weight lifter, or wrestler. But bound and gagged, there was nothing I could do to get away, or shield myself from the view of this stranger.

The stranger grunted, came over to the bed and looked down at me. I tried to figure out what was happening. Had John brought home another man to humiliate me? Or was he going to rape me - or worse? But what could be worse? I had no idea, but would soon learn. Whatever it was, there was nothing I could do about it.

Suddenly I got it. John was trying to sell me to this stranger. Sell me into some kind of sexual, bondage slavery. I started screaming in protest into my gag, but the ball in my mouth effectively muffled my protests. I began to thrash about, almost as if my exertions would free me from my bonds. I gasped in an involuntary burst of air, went limp, and let out one long scream as best I could.

And that was that. I was defeated and knew it. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen, and that was that. The stranger released my breast, and moved his hand across my chest to the other breast, and pinched my nipple very hard. That will save you a lot of pain. But has she been broken yet?

Sex slave bondage training stories

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