So, it's been several hours now and no response. He's acting as if nothing has happened and I'm shitting myself. I know he's enjoying this, there's that smile at the corners of his mouth. It's the same one I see at the edge of my sight when not blindfolded, bound between those heavy pillars in the dungeon and he's about to swing the whip for the first time. There's a certain erotic pleasure in the few seconds before the first stroke for me as well as him although I don't usually smile at this point. You know the feeling, just before you pick up your cutlery before you start your favourite meal, just as you step over the hotel foyer at the beginning of a well earned holiday, it's all to live for, stretching in front of you.
I have thought of offering certain self punishments, self inflicted tokens of remorse but he doesn't need to accept any of these. He can think up his own far better ones and hardly needs me to rely on me. I'd give anything to get over this particular hurdle, I can't concentrate on anything, can't eat and I know if it goes on I won't sleep.
It's his "nothing has happened" attitude that's driving me insane.
After supper I find myself standing in the kitchen,eyes shut, leaning with my palms on the pine work table when he rests his hands on my shoulders. I jump as I didn't hear him behind me. He turns me round and looks straight into my eyes.
"You can't make any offers. Don't say punish me Sir as I can and will anyway. I can do with you exactly as I please. I can put you on your bike, lock the gates behind you and never see you again. I can manacle you, chain you in the most extraordinarily painful position in the punishment cell, gag you, lock the cellar and go away on holiday if I choose to. So don't think you can offer me anything in recompense for helping you out here."
I look down, there's nothing I can say. I want to cry but am not going to.
"Yes Sir. I understand. What will happen is my own fault. I just want you to know I feel I have let you down, and that makes me feel worst of all."
"Well, as you've thought about it, and about time I may add, perhaps you ought to go down to the dungeon by yourself and stay there for a while and reflect on things."
"Yes Sir."
It's been a couple of hours. I've put myself in the punishment cell and shut the door. It's very warm, I'm shiny all over. I've tried to wank slowly but I've not even got an appetite for that. Drops of precum ooze from the tip of my cock and slide down the side of my sweaty thigh. Something makes me taste it. Not as good as his.
Maybe I slide into some sort of half sleep because the next thing I know is that he's there, outside the cell, in his leathers with his hands on the door.
"Better come out now boi, I need a bit of exercise. Don't think this will get you off the hook but it may make me feel altogether better about you and, well, anything that makes me feel better about you at the moment has got to be good."
I crawl out backwards and stand, head bowed in front of him. He throws the key to my shorts on the ground in front of me, a sign for me to lose them. Half a minute later I'm standing as before but the slave collar is the only covering I now have. He points to the whipping/fuck bench. There's no need for words, I know the drill. He carefully wraps the thick, pliable leather restraints around my wrists and pulls them down the legs of the bench until my arms are stretched tight, then fixes each one to the nearest ring screwed securely into the heavy wood. I feel my chest pressed into the leather top of the bench, already I have to make an effort to get a lungful of air. He does the same to each thigh, pulling each leg hard to make sure there is no give whatsoever. No other restraint is necessary but that's only the start. A leather strap about 2 inches wide is pulled over my neck keeping my head in place over the end of the apparatus, another wider one is pulled with some force over my waist. Breathing, not easy before, is now difficult. Walking round to my head he offers me a solid looking leather gag attached to a harness that he straps to my head, carefully making sure each separate strap is locked before starting with the next. No blindfold yet anyway. He then goes round to my backside again and grabs my feet one at a time bending them up and tieing them to my thigh restraints. If I could touch the ground at this point I'd be balancing on my kneecaps, the soles of my feet facing upwards. With my mind racing he walks away, his boots clicking on the bare concrete floor, slamming the dungeon door behind him.
This doesn't look good.
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