In the middle of Geraint's bedroom, I stood, waiting with my hands firmly attached to my ankles, my legs straight and my naked and exposed backside jutting into mid air. I didn't know what to think. I couldn't think. My mind was completely blank, but my pussy ached for attention. I didn't understand how he had such power that he could make me do this.

'Open your legs!'

Automatically, my feet shuffled, widening the distance between them and widening the gap at the tops of my legs. I felt so exposed, so humiliated. I was in heaven and already could feel a slight tremble in my knees from this un-natural position.

To my surprise, he knelt in front of me. I thought he would fuck me from behind, but in his hands, he had some kind of pole and red coloured rope, quite thin, quite soft looking, but rope nonetheless.

He glared at me as if forming an opinion, deciding something.

I had no idea that his decision at this point would change my life and send me spiralling into a world of degradation, depravation and a seedy, desperate need to comply with his every word. I had no idea that someone could be so utterly broken, re-shaped and put together again as someone alien, someone unrecognisable, so changed, that nothing would ever be the same again.

'Hold onto the pole and don't let go!'

As soon as I gripped the thin pole, which was about three feet long, he went to work with that red, sexy looking rope. In a blur, I watched him feed the rope around my wrists, around the pole and tie the ends off.

'Wider!'

Again my feet shuffled, until they were almost as wide apart as the length of the pole. He seemed satisfied, silently threading more rope around my ankles, which were already burning from the effort, around the pole and tied off. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't move. My only options were to stand or fall. I felt useless, confined and at the mercy of his whim.

The blindfold he put over my head gave me the jitters. I could see absolutely nothing.

'Open your mouth!'

Something hard and round was placed between my teeth. It was so large that I had to extend my jaw to its maximum. It was uncomfortable, even painful. I felt movement at the back of my head. The ball in my mouth had straps, which were pulled tight and fastened. I could neither see, nor speak. My calves and thighs burned. I felt dizzy, disoriented, but worse was to come.

Over my ears, he placed what I first thought were mufflers. Plunged into absolute silence, it wasn't long before the only sound I could hear was the persistent and rapid thump of my heart as blood rushed through my body. When it happened, I jumped, moaning out my surprise. The mufflers were no such thing. He had placed ear phones over my head and switched them on. The noise was unsettling and very loud. It was a hum, monotone, with a medium pitch. It was unchanging, never altering, just this torturous hum that within minutes blew every fuse in my head. Years later, I heard a Tibetan monk using their 'Om' mantra to achieve meditation. The 'Om' sounded just like the hum and listening to him embroiled in his manta, released a flood of juices from my pussy. My brainwashing had begun.

Not knowing which way was up or down, I fell backward, crashing painfully to Geraint's carpet. I had lost all forms of communication. I had lost all my senses except two - touch and smell.

I have heard stories of women who can actually orgasm at the taste of chocolate. Thanks to Geraint, to this day, I still fall into sexual raptures at the mere smell of strawberries. Today, I tend to steer away from the fruit section in supermarkets; a single strawberry can turn me into a seriously horny tramp.

Sprawled across Geraint's carpet, blind, deaf, dumb and bent in two, with my legs kept firmly apart and my wrists attached to the pole, I felt him move me, I felt straps placed over my shoulders, under my arms and fastened around my waist. It was hours before I realised that he had placed me inside a harness and at the back was a ring, and through the ring, he had inserted another rope that was connected to the ceiling.

I felt myself hoisted upward, slowly, an inch at a time, until finally my feet left the relative comfort of the carpet. I was suspended in mid air, unable to move, unable to escape and quickly becoming brain dead. As I swayed gently back and fore at the end of the rope, I felt something wet, something sticky, slowly, but unstoppable dribble down the inside of my thigh. Then that smell hit me.

Strawberries!

At first it was distant, nothing more than a fragrance, but definitely there and definitely strawberries. I jumped when I suddenly felt something touching, prodding and probing at my vagina. It wasn't warm, its shape a complete mystery, in fact although bulbous and fat in circumference, it was cold, as if it had been in a refrigerator.

It easily pushed inside me. Lodged inside my vaginal passage, it made me wince, it wasn't just cold it was fucking freezing and pushed deeper and deeper inside. Minutes later, just as I got used to its coldness, or maybe it had become heated from my body, I tensed again. Another rounded, but unsmooth and freezing-cold object rubbed at my swollen labia and pushed inside.

This was pure hell, torture at its finest. After five minutes, maybe ten, I had no way of knowing, another ball of torment found its way inside my body. My pussy felt full to the brim. My pussy demanded that the intrusion move, give me some penance, some pleasure, something that moved and gave variation, but the objects remained, unchanged, uncaring.

Movement, rubbing against my nose, finally told me what was inside me as he pressed one to my flared nostrils. The bastard had filled my pussy with frozen strawberries and they were thawing fast. Moisture, water, strawberry juice, I had no idea what, was dripping slowly from my pussy and agonisingly dribbling down my left leg.

I suddenly needed to pee - badly, which was made even worse, when he dabbed, quit gently, a frozen strawberry at each of my nipples in turn. They became so hard they burned, begging to explode. I wasn't sure how much more I could take. I thought he was going to make love to me. How could I have got it so wrong? I hung from my rope, groaning in pleasure.

I needed to swallow. I needed to stand up straight. I needed to pee. I needed to cum. I needed to see something. I needed to get those fucking things out of my pussy. I needed silence. I needed to hear someone's voice. I needed to speak and I needed to blow my nose to get rid of that incessant, never ending smell of fucking strawberries. Behind my gag, I screamed, but no sound came, or at least I didn't hear it, but I did feel one of the strawberries, now soft and crushed by my pussy muscles, ejected, forced out at the speed of sound. The feeling it gave me, the sensation it made at the entrance to my pussy, almost made me cum.

I pushed down, forcing, willing the next one to eject itself. It shot out, making me groan. The effort was supreme, but the payoff so worth it. The last one was inside me much deeper, much softer; I felt it move time after time. I kept grunting, pushing, clenching, forcing and willing the thing to leave me at speed. Behind the mask, my eyes watered. When it finally shot out, I came and wet myself at the same time. I never knew the act of urinating could derive so much pleasure.

Geraint was not short on strawberries. Within minutes, my pussy was filled to capacity with frozen strawberries again, but this time he pushed and forced smaller, but still frozen objects into my back passage. I lost count after the seventh or eighth insertion. I was beside myself in agony and already completely exhausted. I no longer knew if I was conscious or not. I guessed it was probably close to mid night.

When he finally released me - it was dawn.