The thought of the combination of bondage and pain started me on my spiral of arousal. Now he led me by my pudenda ring as though parading a bitch or mare to double doors that he pushed open. It was a room filled with light from a hundred candles that seemed to hold many secrets in the flickering shadows. I could see stocks and frames, racks and suspensions, ropes, chains and straps, whips, tawse, crops and paddles. Phallus, plugs and hooks of all types and racked by size. In all it was an Aladdin's cave of potential torment, both the dream and the nightmare of a submissive such as I.

Clearly I had been gagged to silence on many occasions by my wicked husband and his paramour but this time my sight was taken from me. His hands had come up to my face and touched the mask. What I had thought sculpted details to give it greater verisimilitude were in fact small shutters and with the slightest of clicks they were closed, taking my vision as easily as if I had voluntarily closed my eyes. But if it had only been my lids that had closed I would still have been able to see the change in the intensity of light as the candles flickered. Now, without the slightest pressure on my eyes, it was as if I were enveloped in a stygian blackness.

Trepidation and fear are the drugs that make me feel so alive! The mix of bondage and pain sends my arousal spiralling out of control as Sir John, Piddock and my Romany masters will attest. The baronet, though, was the first man where I had deliberately and willingly put myself at his mercy. Although I had sold myself to my Romany for protection, they had got to know me before we began playing games. Games such as I knew would play tonight. With the Romany masters, uncertainty and real fear had not existed. Perhaps I’d to learn more of myself before I could come to this. This was an entirely different level of vulnerability.

That glimpse of the furniture and instruments of torment had not been enough to take in all their detail but it had been enough to set my imagination running riot. I suspect that was why he allowed me that one glimpse, to set my senses racing. In the dark, those that remained to me jumped to a whole new level of sensitivity and now I was truly deafened by my bell and soon disorientated as well. Due to my corset, the bondage of wrists held high up my back by my plait, I could not lower my head nor ease the rigidity it engendered and it ensured my tall heels jarred excessively with every step. Masked and corseted, I had been led across the wide chequer-board marble floor like some new and exotic chess piece. The tintinnabulation of the little bell that hung from my swollen bud was such that sound became sensation and sensation sound, filling my head to the point that I became convinced that, as it seemed so deafening, the baronet must be able to hear it too! But of course he couldn’t. It was probably only seconds as he led me through and past the various items of equipment, but it felt an age by the time he drew me to a halt. I don’t know how long I stood or how often he told me to climb up but it was clear it was more than once before I actually obeyed. The toe of my boot slid up the side of whatever it was he wanted me to mount. It seemed quite tall and with my head pulled back by my plait, he had to release my leash to hold my upper arm and place one hand on to my corseted waist to aid me.

I drew a ragged breath, my body trembling like a leaf. Total helplessness refreshed the excitement and fear, one seeming to fuel the other until it built to such a point that sensation became so cruelly sharp and bright that I felt overwhelmed. Now my helpless vulnerable body seemed not so much trembling as to be vibrating!

Whatever I was stood on was big enough for the two of us and now the Baronet’s hands began to caress me. I made no effort to speak, it wasn’t my place to do so and he seemed content to be silent. Automatically I parted my legs as his hands explored my parts and found them wet and I was sure, swollen.

“How hot and wet a cunt you have bitch!” I gasped as he slid the fingers of one hand into me as his other gripped my breast and teat. Automatically I clenched but it didn’t stop his fingers pumping and working me or his hand fondling and squeezing my breast. The crudity of his speech whispered from the blackness in which I stood rigid and helpless, in counterpoint to the sensitivity with which he worked my body, pushed further up the spiral.

He stopped briefly and even as I panted and tried to regain some composure I felt the blunt tip of what I guessed to be a phallus push against my cunny. The oils of my arousal ensured I was well lubricated and, though I gasped at its size, it slid home as easily as a sword into a sheath, deeper and deeper, until I could take no more and I went up on tiptoes and moaned in protest at its depth within me. It was at this point too that I discovered that my leash wasn’t just hanging from my pudenda ring but also tethered me to the dais. Clearly though it was my protest that he had been waiting for, only then did he back off the phallus that had filled me to the point of pain. Only just enough though so I could stand, feet slightly apart and heels down on the dais. To be so aroused and so filled!

I felt something fitted over my breasts. Each had the smoothness and chill of metal and even as I tried to guess what each was they were tightened around the base of my bosoms with the sound of a ratchet being closed until I felt my breasts begin to throb and I guessed they were engorging with blood. A tension came on to my metal cinched orbs until I was forced to rise on tip toes, then the leash to my pudenda was tightened a notch and my only point of comfort, (or rather, least discomfort) was when my heels were what felt like, an inch off the platform.

I was held tensioned between cunny and breasts for an infinity. I was assaulted by feather and ice, heat and fur, mouth and fingers, tawsw, crop and quirt. The first blow must have been a quirt. It was light so could be used with considerable force without cutting or causing weals on my smooth flesh. But across my nipples it made me scream and struggle to rise off the phallus and escape my torment and torture. Eventually logic overcame instinct, the pull on my pudenda was just too great and I sank back on the phallus, my trembling knees giving out so that I came down on my heels and the phallus went deeper still into me. He was wicked in the manner in which he used pain and pleasure and it wasn’t long before the two became one.

What woman could stand the delight of having her bud caressed with the lightest of strokes from an oiled feather until she begged for cessation or satiation! What woman could stand having her large engorged breasts whipped with the silkiest of quirts, making her jerk up and down on her impalement, then have the sweet pain gentled away with the sleekest of furs. Round and round went pain and pleasure for and age until he decided my bottom could stand a similar treatment but this time with a tawse replacing the quirt!

Of course it could not go on forever. My flesh became sensitised to the point where my body could simply take no more and I swooned. But before unconsciousness took me completely I was aware of all my weight being taken by my swollen bosoms.