"I have only one wish. Wear something with an accessible lap, I might want and need it."

I rummage through my bag, looking for black dots that are easy to unzip. It's chiffon, partially sheer, I like that. And a pair of black fishnet stockings to go with it, soft to the touch.

While I'm taking a shower in the modern bathroom, he asks me if I've worn a collar. Of course I did. Could I have left it at home?

Clean and fragrant, I buckle up and pull the stocking up my leg. As I put on the other one, she comes into the bathroom to see if I've chosen appropriately. He smells lovely, wearing a shirt and smart trousers, and I am in front of him in nothing but sheer underwear. He looks pleased and pins a collar around my neck. He runs his fingers over my shoulders and I get goosebumps. How does he do it, that almost every touch of his makes me feel aroused?

He attaches a leash to the collar and pulls me out of the bathroom and into the hallway, from which it is possible to go into the bedroom with the bed or the BDSM themed room, and I wait to see what comes next. He snaps the chain and pulls. The collar pulls me to the floor, on all fours. I kneel down, but he keeps pulling until my head is near the ground. He puts his foot on my back and waits. He waits for the information to reach my brain that I'm definitely not making any decisions today. A blissful feeling of being in his power spills through my body. When I soften, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me back to my feet. He grabs a finger in the eyelet of my collar and pulls me close. He kisses me lightly on the lips, and his still taste a little of menthol.

But my eyes are already turning to the BDSM room. It's painted black with subtle gold patterns. There are hanging points in the ceiling where Martin has already hung a shibari ring while I was in the shower. Behind the door is a red padded goat and attached to the wall, beyond which I can't see, is a St James cross and its handcuffs. He has a whole bag of toys with him and I can't wait for him to use them on me.

He grabs the back of my neck and asks if I've ever been strapped to a cross. When I shake my head in silent excitement, he pulls on my neck and presses me against the cross. He handcuffs both of my hands and we discover that in order for me to stand even a little comfortably, he will have to put my high heeled pumps back on. Oh, what a shame. Isn't it?

He runs his finger along the inside of my thigh and pushes sideways until I spread my legs apart to his satisfaction. He tightens the cuffs around my ankles, which he clips to my waist, but he doesn't think I'm restrained enough and pulls the ropes out. He pulls the rope behind the cross structure and wraps it around my stomach. He pulls a little at first, but because I roll my eyes in bliss, he pulls a second time much harder until the rope digs deep into my belly. He pulls it behind my back again and the swish of the rope combined with the sight of Martin's hands holding the rope out makes me gasp with excitement. Ropes and their touch have been arousing me for a long time, but when they're also in the hands of someone whose hands I want to feel on me even without the ropes, the feeling is completely immersive. As he guides me, he sits back contentedly and looks at me. I can only imagine what he sees. The narrow wrists I'm hanging by a little, the reddish-blond hair he's piled partly in my face, the parted lips waiting for his, the collared neck, the erect nipples under the sheer fabric, the hips underlined by the belly band, and the legs spread, waiting to see if he'll unbutton my bodysuit or leave it as is.

I imagine him being tempted to touch it, but when he reaches into the bag, he doesn't pull out anything cuddly. He's holding a long reprimand in his hands and his expression tells me this is going to hurt. He swipes at my right thigh and a dull pain cuts into my skin. It starts off lightly, but immediately hits my other leg, my side, my stomach, and my thigh again, with increasing intensity. It hurts, I try to twitch, but I can't, the ropes and handcuffs won't let me. He continues, and my whimpering has more of a motivational effect on him. He directs his gaze to my crotch and swings. I clamor for him to stop, but he enjoys the blow two more times before he comes up to me, strokes my hair and whispers that I'm a very good bitch. This time he holds Wartenberg's wheelbarrow in his hand and runs it over my outstretched arms. It's terribly uncomfortable, I try to flinch, to pull back, but I still can't, so I just beg, whimper and scream. But that doesn't deter him and he tries to see if I'll react the same way on my feet. It's uncomfortable just a little less. He grabs my hair, pulls my head back vigorously and puts the wheelbarrow on my neck. My breath catches, the presence of the risk of being hurt, and seriously, is palpable and makes me terribly aroused. The wheelbarrow digs into my skin, leaving red dots in its wake, and my breathing deepens. Martin runs his fingers over the wheelbarrow marks and grabs a hand under my neck. Tugging at the fabric at my crotch, he unzips the bodysuit and checks to see if I'm wet.

He nods in satisfaction, takes a vibrating head out of his bag and pulls a chair in front of me. He sits on it and places the head on my clit, which is at breast level and where he has a perfect view. I gasp, but when he turns the head on, I start moaning uncontrollably loudly. Martin presses the head harder and increases the intensity of the vibrations. I lean into his wrist and just let myself drift, one muscle contraction after another running through me, my mind shutting down and I can't stop thinking about how much I want to orgasm. And I'm consumed with the frustration of not being able to do it standing up.

Martin turns the head off, unties the rope from his stomach, then releases his legs. He presses himself against me, lifts me up by my ass and waits until I wrap my legs around him and buckle. I can feel that he wants it as much as I do, so when he penetrates me, I'm on top of bliss. My head is bowed, my breathing is shallow and my hands are turning blue, I'm losing feeling in them, but maybe that's for the best, it's so much easier to hang on to them. I'm letting the moment carry me, squeezing my legs, trying to help us both. After a moment, he gets me to my feet without us stopping fucking together, slowly untying my hands in the process. It hurts like hell to have them along my body all at once.

So when they put me on the leather goat, it is a great relief to put my hands under my body. I kneel on my knees, legs apart, body with my hands underneath me on top of the goat, and Martin turns me and the goat so that I can see my plump ass in the mirror. I'm a little dazed from the sex that's going on, so I don't resist (and probably wouldn't have resisted anyway) when he comes in again with the ropes and first attaches my left ankle to my goat with the cross cuffs and fixes my left thigh with the rope. He does the same with the right leg and then ties my body to the goat and my hands to it. The only thing I can move a little is my ass. He takes a moment to decide whether to tie that too, but in the end he just slides a coconut rope under the rope just above my bottom. It scratches so much that I try not to move willingly. I can see in the mirror my own helplessness, my inability to move and my exposed private parts to which he reattaches the head.

The difference is dramatic, getting done from behind is so much easier! So all he has to do is hold the vibrator and whisper in my ear and ask me if I can imagine how I might feel if someone else was watching right now. The imagery works perfectly and I sink into orgasm pretty damn quickly. But he doesn't stop, and despite the fact that it hurts, he continues and doesn't let up until the orgasm turns wet and until I'm screaming in blissful agony. And even then he won't stop and let me rest.

He takes something out of the bag and I smell the cool lube. He starts to tease me with what I suspect is probably not my little travel vibrator. I ask over and over what it is and it seems like his new project is pretty ambitious. I whine a little, but he doesn't get discouraged and continues until he sees some minor successes. I feel the pressure, but when he turns the vibrator back on, the pressure eases and I relax. It's absolutely mesmerising and it all turns into pleasure very soon. He starts moving the thing around inside me, adding more and more vibrations. I'm completely out of control and begging him not to stop. He grants my wish and after a moment of bliss, I am flooded with an orgasm that I am almost unable to breathe. All I can do is lie there, vaguely aware of him untying me. He places a rather large used dildo next to me.

He releases my arms and body and saves my legs for last. He helps me up and suggests we go into the next room to lie down for a while. I lay on my stomach and catch a glimpse of another mirror beside me. I smile and point out the mirror to Martin. Unnecessarily, of course he's already noticed it. He puts my legs slightly apart and thrusts into me as I lie on my stomach, lifting my ass in his direction. I look in the mirror and get incredibly turned on looking at us, realizing how visual I am. He then turns me to face the mirror, but he doesn't change position and I can look at him above me and my face. I'm surprised how my excited expression actually suits me. And I'm really enjoying the view of both of us, the whole thing. In my blissful exhaustion, I then experience his orgasm as well, and I'm completely blissed out by the experience.

We like to play. But this room, or rather set of rooms, and the nice bathroom in a separate part of the parlor, which allowed us to fully enjoy the privacy, the subdued music, the cross, the padded goat, and the overall feeling of being here primarily to play, transported us into one of those experiences I'll remember for a damn long time.

Thanks so much for providing the space Chilli Parlour!