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Nurse Jones: The List part 11
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
From: [email protected] (Michael Raymond Feely)
Subject: REPOST: The List 11/14
Date: 25 Nov 91 09:39:27 GMT
Lines: 506
Reply-To: [email protected]
-*-
After dinner, I tried something different -- something I
wanted to do before the routine with the tanning lotion changed
me too much. Actually, I was probably unnaturally pale before,
anyway, but whatever. I had about average coloration at that
point.
I tried a new concept in makeup. I painted big artificial
blue 'baby doll' eyes on my eyelids, with large false eyelashes
glued on my upper eyelids, and painted-on lower lashes, with
thirties-style eyebrows. (I've tried just about all styles of
eyebrows: simple straight ones, surprised, pained, emotionless,
even slanty Mr. Spock and heavy Mariel Hemmingway ones). I also
painted on very artificial cupid-bow lips and over-rouged my
cheeks. With my eyes shut, I looked a bit like a wide-eyed
Raggedy-Anne doll. I covered my nipples and navel with round
patches of surgical tape (the kind that looks a bit like tissue
paper) and covered it with makeup blended into my skin. I made
myself look as much like a department-store mannequin as
possible. Nipple-less, navel-less, expressionless. Blonde wig.
When I came out of my bedroom he wasn't looking in my
direction, so I stood stock still in a department store pose with
my eyes shut and my hand on the back of the sofa for balance. I
was completely nude. I don't know how he reacted, if he was
startled, or what. I bet I looked like a mannequin, though. He
didn't say anything.
But he did something. To me.
He led me into the bathroom and sat me down at my makeup
table and removed the makeup from my face. Then he stood me in
front of the full-length mirror with my wrists in straps over my
head. I thought at first he didn't like what I had done and was
going to punish me for it in some way, but I was wrong. He took
more of the surgical tape and taped my nether lips together,
covering my sex completely. He blended more makeup into the
surrounding skin; I already was hairless down there, but he made
it look as though I was sexless as well.
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked. This question has
become almost a formula with us. No matter how nervous I am about
what he's doing to me, I'm not supposed to ask it, and I always
do anyway, and his response is always disciplinary.
This time, it was adhesive tape over my mouth. Securely over
my mouth. I tried to open my lips after a while, and couldn't.
I watched while he cut little ovals of tape and put them over my
eyes, one at a time, taping them shut. He was thoughtful enough
to protect my eyelashes from the tape with a bit of kleenex, but
my eyes were taped securely shut. Then he reapplied the makeup
job on the outside of the tape (I figured this out later as I was
taking it off and cleaning up): Cupid-bow lips, big baby-doll
eyes with false lashes, the whole nine yards.
He put cotton in my ears, held in with beeswax. I had only
two operating senses: touch and smell. He put a drop of
sandalwood oil on each shoulder and somewhere on the tape on my
face, and for the next few hours, that was all I could smell.
When he unhooked me from the ceiling, I was completely
disoriented, and would have fallen if he hadn't supported me. I
felt very odd. He put me on the bed with my wrists strapped
together and held over my head at the headboard. I could have
gotten the tape off my face if he weren't watching, but he had
too much of an advantage. When I tried to reach my face with my
hands, he pulled my ankles until my arms were extended above my
head again.
Then he made love to me. I turned my face blindly from side
to side, trying to figure out what he was going to do next, but
he kept surprising me. During the foreplay he used partly-melted
ice cubes, feathers, clothsepins, a snap with a leather shoelace
here and there (I know it doesn't qualify as a whip with you
hardcore ASBers, but it was the first time for me for all of this
stuff, and it hurt -- mostly because I didn't know what it was
and from the surprise of not knowing what was coming next, or
when). I screamed several times under the tape. Each time I was
rewarded with a loving kiss on the offended spot, or a stroke of
an ice cube.
He peeled the tape off my nipples. Slowly. That was
excruciating. Then off my nether lips. Likewise. I was pretty
excited by that time. I can only imagine how I looked. Later
when I took off one eyepatch, I realized I must have had a vapid,
vacuous, and rather silly but expressionless appearance no matter
what I was feeling behind that mask.
More foreplay with the ice cubes on my nipples and nether
lips. During my second orgasm (almost always the best) he had me
on top and he slipped an ice cube into my behind. I was too far
gone at the time to even protest, but it was a teriffic orgasm --
it seemed that that second orgasm became a plateau from which a
third orgasm launched. I don't know how to put it, but it was
like an orgasm on top of (added to?) an orgasm rather than two
consecutive ones.
I know, ice cubes are probably tame stuff for you. It was
new to me, though. I realize now (after reading the postings in
a.s.b.) that this entire List must seem like the inexperienced
fumblings of a couple of virgins. Especially to the guy that
walked around with thumbtacks stuck in him. Yow. I feel more
than a little embarassed that you might read this, not so much
out of shame for what we did, but because we are such vanilla
softies. This is really just plain bondage -- is there such
thing as vanilla bondage? I haven't really experienced any
serious pain (except that gag is still a killer). Spanking is on
the List, but I don't think J is any mor interested in
inflicting pain than I am in experiencing it. Besides, spanking
isn't real pain either. I came close to some serious stuff
yesterday, though. I was really afraid. I'm coming to that.
-*-
We made love the following night after what must be the
strangest conversation on record. I'll try to reconstruct it.
On his instructions, I had prepared myself with the usual
shower, shave, conditioner, makeup, wig, etc., leather cuffs and
collar, too.
Now, don't get the wrong idea when I tell you this, because
I still hate having my head shaved, but it's done and can't be
undone except by many months of waiting. Shaving my own head now
just delays regrowing it one more day, so it's not a big deal.
If that seems I'm being too logical and unemotional, that's not
true. I do feel emotional about it. If I could have my hair back
right now, I'd do it, List or not. But I can't, so I am
experimenting with this new look -- just for a few days -- before
Column One is over and I can start growing it back. So what I'm
trying to tell you is that when I shaved, it was an erotic
experience. It still is. After a shower, I shaved my underarms
and legs (I didn't need depilating). Then I covered my scalp with
his fluffy white shaving cream so it looked like I had short,
white hair. I "revealed" myself with the razor. Don't ask. I
can't explain. When I read over that last paragraph it doesn't
capture the eroticism of becoming so extremely naked, but for me
it is an erotic process.
Anyway. Back to the tale.
He had lit two candles in the bed alcove and was waiting for
me. He just started right in with the foreplay. I was unable to
get into it, even though preparing myself for sex is always a
turn-on for me. Anticipation is half the game for me. I don't
like spontaneity. Surprises, yes, but I have to know that he has
thought them out well in advance and planned the things he does
to me. I like my sponteneity to be well planned.
But I just couldn't get into the foreplay. The worst part
was that he knew it -- and he seemed to be expecting me to have
trouble, too. He was even pleased, I think.
"What's the problem," he said. He had that smug smile that
says "I already know the answer to this question." I hate that
smile.
"I don't know, Master," I said, knowing perfectly well.
"I think you do," he said, knowing perfectly well I knew.
"No, really..." I said, pretending I didn't know anyone knew
anything.
"Why did you put on the cuffs and collar?" he asked. Good
question.
"I thought you might have wanted to use them ...?" Stupid
answer.
He just looked at me.
"Would it please you if I put on something else?" I asked,
trying to change the subject. Stupid question.
He just looked at me some more. I was floundering. I could
see he didn't believe me.
"You wanted to be bound. Admit it."
"No! Really! I don't know what it is with me tonight," I
protested. "... Master," I added. "I just can't seem to ..."
"You can't seem to get into it because this is 'vanilla
sex,'" he said. "Admit it."
Of course it was true, but I couldn't admit it. I thought
it would spoil it if I admitted I liked something that I was
supposed to be fighting every step of the way. It takes away an
essential ingredient of bondage if you don't fight it, and you
can't fight it if you admit you want it -- especially to
yourself. Can you?
"We've reached another milestone here and you just haven't
realized it yet," he said. "The illusion that you are resisting
me is your last fig leaf. I'm not going to allow you even that
shred of dignity. Tonight I'm going to make you admit you want
everything I do to you. I'll even make you beg for more. You'll
voluntarily give up even the illusion of resistance.
Drawing on my fine command of the english language, I said
nothing.
He got out that wonderful little vibrator and put it in me
and chained my wrists to the bedposts. While I was squirming on
the bed he ran ropes through the eyes in the ceiling and pulled
my ankles high in the air and wide apart. My rear end was nearly
pulled off the bed. He went to work on my rear opening with
another lubricated vibrator, beginning by working his fingers
into my opening until I was relaxed enough to accept it. With
nothing to press against, it was hard for me to stimulate myself.
My squirming became more and more frantic. I remember thinking
that this isn't exactly going to wrench a confession from me. I
just got hotter and hotter. He pressed against the front of the
vibrator, helping to bring me closer to a climax. He watched me
very closely, alternately pressing and waiting, pressing and
waiting. I came to the very edge of an orgasm. I was teetering
at the very top, panting and heaving. I held my legs straight.
My thighs were quivering, I flexed them so hard trying to come.
"I'm not going to let you have an orgasm until you beg for
it," he said. He took out a small bottle and held it up. "This
is an oral anesthetic. It is benzocaine -- not clove oil. It
lasts just a few minutes. Every time you get close to an orgasm,
I will put a little more on." It was the same anesthetic I had
used earlier (ages ago) to suppress my gag reflex. I knew it
would work perfectly on sensitive membranes -- that's what it's
intended for.
I watched in dismay as he took out the vibrator and put a dab
of it on my clitoris. He massaged it in, and put a liberal dose
on my labia. After a couple of applications, I could barely feel
him touching me at all. By lifting my head I could just see the
tops of my nether lips. They get kind of swollen when I am
turned on. In fact, they were engorged and dripping. I could
literally feel moisture trickle between my legs. But I couldn't
feel my clitoris; I couldn't feel anything. I watched him put
the vibrator back between my numbed lips. He pressed it solidly
against me, and I felt the vibration in my hips, but I was too
numb to feel the vibrator itself. He kept watching. I was still
panting, still very turned on, but groaning with disappointment
every time I strained to recapture that edge.... After a few
minutes he took a washcloth and wiped my clitoris free of the
anesthetic, but I was still numb.
"I can keep this up all night," he said. "Or, I could wash
off the anesthetic, gag and blindfold you, and tie you suspended
from the ceiling. Which would you rather?"
"Ceiling?" I said.
"Look up. See the extra rings?"
I did. there were several new eye-rings in the ceiling. I
had noticed them already.
"I will put a harness on you -- one you haven't seen yet,
and suspend you from the ceiling by it. You will be floating
above the bed, blindfolded, gagged, and spreadeagled. And you
won't be able to stop having orgasms.
"But you'll have to beg me for it. You'll have to convince
me that you want it."
He was still pressing on the front of the vibrator. I was
beginning to feel it again. I tried to keep from reacting:
maybe I could steal a secret orgasm. I wasn't exactly on the
edge, but I could just barely see the beginning of an orgasm
peeking around the corner when he took it out again, suddenly.
It was almost a shock for the vibration to stop. Then he put it
back in. He took nearly a half hour of teasing to bring me to the
edge again. With the control over me the aneshetic gave him, it
was much easier for him to keep me on the edge. He kept me
quivering for another fifteen minutes, letting me rest just
enough to keep me from exhaustion, but not enough to let me cool
off.
"Allright!" I said, finally, just as he was opening the
bottle again for a second dose. I had had enough.
"Allright what?" he said.
"You win," I said sullenly, "you were (pant) right."
"About what?"
"Me," I said. Pant pant.
"Say it."
(Pant pant, calming a little) "I want to be tied up," I said
flatly. "I get off on it." I didn't sound convincing even to
myself. Its easier to tell an unconvincing truth than it is to
tell a convincing lie. Did you ever tell a truth in an
unconvincing way because you didn't want it to be believed? Even
though it was true, I couldn't make myself reveal the truth, so
my answer sounded like a recitation read from cue-cards. I
didn't mind him knowing I liked bondage, I just thought it was
degrading for me to have to tell him.
"Not good enough."
"Please! What more do you want? I've admitted it!"
"Admitting it's not enough."
"But this is torture," I wailed.
"Does it hurt?"
"Yes! No! I don't know what you want!"
"I want to be convinced. If it's true, convince me. If
it's not, say so and I'll stop, untie you and put you in a nice
comfortable bed."
"But I said it's true! What more do....Oh Noooooo....!" My
protest dissolved into a wail as he put more of the stuff on me.
"Now we'll wait for it to take effect," he said.
[Editorial insert: Actually, he didn't put more on me,
he just pretended to. He told me after proofing this
account that instead of waiting for it to take effect he
was waiting for me to cool down a bit. We went through
several cycles of this, with the pretense that he was
anesthetizing me: sometimes he really did, sometimes not
(I think); he won't tell me if he really used it again
or not. It was really the power of suggestion that did
it to me. And a little Anbesol, BTW. I guess this is
Just another mindfuck. Well, the brain IS my second
favorite organ.
So I squirmed and cried in frustration while I became numb
for the second time. And a third, and a fourth. Each time,
using both vibrators alternately and in concert, he brought me to
the edge of a climax -- and each time he pulled me back again.
The last time, I was covered in perspiration. The bed was soaked,
and my wig had come off. My eyes were stinging from the salt and
makeup. I can't remember what my exact words were that finally
convinced him, but they WERE heartfelt in the end. I literally
begged. If I could have gotten to my hands and knees and kissed
his feet to show my sincerity, I would have. I wanted release
from the torture. I wanted it to stop and I wanted that orgasm.
I had earned it. As I say, this may not be an exact transcript:
"Pleeeeeeease! No more!" I wailed. I thought I was
exhausted after the first dose, but by now I had been through
four. "I'll do anything! You're right! I want to be tied up! I
have to! I want to be used -- I want to be filled to overflowing!
I don't even WANT an orgasm unless you force me to have it. I
can't .... I need it that way. I need to be gagged and
blindfolded! Please! I'm begging!" ...and so on with lots of
crying and panting in between. Actually, even though I wouldn't
want you to think I wasn't incoherent (say what?), I can't really
remember what I said. Whatever it was, it convinced him that I
was sincere: either I had gotten to the point where I sincerely
wanted him to stop even without giving me an orgasm, or I wanted
one so badly I would say anything, or I really was telling the
truth about prefering bondage to straight sex. He had no way of
knowing. Actually, it was all three.
Anyway, he freed me. Rather than suspending me like he had
promised or giving me my promised orgasm, he told me to get on my
knees on the bed while he stripped (the vibrators were still
inside me) and take him in my mouth. After just a few false
starts, I was able to take him all the way down my throat without
gagging. I'm getting pretty good at that. The vibrator in my
rear tended to gradually slip out as I worked on him, and he told
me to hold them both in while I brought him closer and closer to
an orgasm. I still can't have an orgasm easily while kneeling.
It helps to flex my legs and straighten them, but I couldn't.
He came in my mouth. He had before, over the last month but
not when he was actually down my throat. The first spurt went
deep down my throat and I swallowed it reflexively. I caught the
rest in my mouth. He hasn't ever told me I have to swallow it,
but over the last few weeks I have gotten used to the taste --
and the idea. I looked up at him to see his reaction, (looking
up was a deliberate infraction of the rules, but what did I have
to lose?) and swallowed. He didn't say anything, but I know he
knew. I lowered my eyes again. I figured that ought to win me a
few points with him.
I was incredulous at the time, but he actually made me wait
until the NEXT DAY for an orgasm. He could have made love again
in a few minutes, or even have used the vibrator on me, but he
made me wait until the morning. I was kneeling in front of him
after I had swallowed, and he bent me over and took the rear
vibrator out. He told me to roll over on my back, and he took
out the other one. I was SO sure he was going to finally give me
my orgasm then ... but he didn't. He told me I would have to
wait until tomorrow. My nether lips were swollen and my entire
pelvis felt congested and uncomfortable. He waited -- and
watched -- while I got ready for sleep; then he locked me to his
bed, both hands to a longish chain at the head, one ankle at the
foot. I could almost (but not quite) bring my arms down to my
waist if I straightened my leg and scootched up to the headboard.
I tried after he was asleep. I spent a fairly miserable night,
although we went to bed early and I did finally sleep. The next
morning he got me up before dawn.
-*-
The List
Column 1
Item 18
I had cooled down by the next day, but he left instructions
before he went to work for me to prepare myself for him. You know
the routine. Shower, shave, conditioner, makeup, etc. This time,
though, no clothing. Not a stitch. Starting at 5:30, I waited,
reading, in the living room.
He took me into the bedroom practically the minute he got
home and started right in putting straps and belts and
constraints all over me. He put a strap around each arm above the
elbow and locked my right wrist to my left elbow behind my back,
and vice versa. What followed was a bewildering array of straps
around my ankles (held three feet apart by a stiff pole locked to
my ankle straps), thighs (upper and lower), and neck (a stiff,
high collar that had three buckles to close it in back). There
were straps around my chest above and below my breasts, a very
wide one around my waist, and two straps that went from the front
of the waistband (leaving my sex exposed) under my crotch to join
a single wide strap that buckled to the back of the waistband --
but only after he had put another device in my rear. This one
was a surprise. It was a while before I figured out what it was.
Before buckling the back of the belt, he told me to sit on
the bed. He rolled me over and lifted me to a kneeling position
with my face and shoulders resting on the bed and my rear in the
air, legs held apart by the pole between my ankles. With my arms
behind me, there wasn't much I could do to resist. There was no
foreplay. He just lubricated his fingers and started loosening
me, preparing me for something. When I saw it, I was nonplussed.
"What's that?! What are you going to do to me?"
Contraptions make me nervous, especially when I don't know what
they're for.
"It's on the List," he said. "Trust me." Well, it is on the
List, but only technecally.
The 'horse' had been on the List, too: two dildos at once.
That was stretching the intent of the List to the limit. I
couldn't make head nor tail of this, though. It looked like a
very large condom on the end of a small-diameter rubber hose.
"But Master, if it pleases you, I don't remember anything
like..."
He gagged me. This time it wasn't that horrible rubber
ball, but it was still a gag. It was a kind of ring that went in
my mouth, held in with a neck strap. The ring just held my mouth
open -- that's all, just held it open. Sounds simple, but I
couldn't make an intelligible sound to save my life. It was
humiliating. And I know I must have looked like a drooling idiot
with my mouth hanging open.
I relaxed a little, though. He wouldn't gag me if he was
doing something that required feedback to avoid hurting me. He
inserted the condom-thing into my rear, poking it gently but
fully inside me wih his fingers -- I was left with a rubber tube
hanging out of me. He buckled the crotch strap of the 'chastity
belt' (unchastity belt?) in back, holding IT (I'll tell you what
IT was in a minute) inside me.
Then he blindfolded me and started the real show. I was
already trussed up pretty securely just lying there on the bed,
but he was tying ropes to the rings on the various bits of
leather harness that held me. Soon, I felt myself being hoisted:
at first it was just my feet being lifted. Then my shoulders and
waistband. Step by step, he hoisted different parts of me up
over the bed until I was hanging, suspended, like a kind of near-
horizontal puppet. I was very disoriented, but I'm sure my head
was higher than my feet, and I know my legs were held spread
apart even after he took off the pole that held my ankles.
I was well supported everywhere. There weren't any real
pressure points, and my circulation was fine. It was like
sitting in a swing, sort of.
But something was happening inside me. The device he had
put in my rear portal was doing something, seemingly on it's own.
I twisted my head blindly from side to side. "Aaaaah aaah
oooh ooo!" I said. Ha ha very funny, I know, but you try saying
"What are you doing?" without being able to close your mouth. I
was feeling VERY strange down there. The sensation was one of
being filled, but from the inside. It was a warm feeling, but
oddly familiar. When I finally figured it out, I realized he was
filling the condom inside me with warm water through the rubber
tubing. The sensation of being filled increased (and increased
and increased). I felt much much fuller than I ever had with
anything else that had been in there. Packed, in fact. Not
stretched the way a dildo would have done, just full. My
breathing and heart rate began to increase. I guess that
technically it was a water-filled dildo?
Meanwhile, I could feel him putting on my nipple cages. That
feeling really is exquisite.
Then he entered me. I could feel his hands on my hips,
steadying me. He was standing on the futon between my legs. I
felt a slow stroking motion -- I think it was me swinging back
and forth rather than him thrusting. Maybe both. I really felt
I was floating above the bed, though. Floating and full. (Will
she resist the temptation, you ask yourself.) I think not:
Floating, full, and f****d. Heh heh.
Is that the first time I've used the F word? Shame on me.
It'll probably be censored. If you're logging on in California,
it may have been censored on its way through the midwest. They
have filters in the phone lines in certain counties.
I won't bore you with the rest. I had a few orgasms and
lost all sense of orientation in the process. I might have been
weightless for all I knew. The most interesting thing was that I
was free to try to move in any direction but still constrained.
Hanging free, unable to touch anything, but still completely
trapped. I couldn't have hurt myself no matter what I did. Like
a fly in a spider web. And I like the feeling of being filled --
but this way is a little kinky for me. He drained me, freed me,
and that was that. Sorry to be so brief about it, but I don't
want to dwell on it and you are probably tired of gratuitous sex
anyway.
We talked about it afterward, and I found out he had
considered leaving the condom inside me. At first I was
horrified -- didn't he know sea turtles die that way? Digestive
systems plugged with party balloons? He had put a rubber band
around the condom to hold it onto the tubing, but as a safety
measure he had passed a piece of string under the band and
knotted it around so the condom wouldn't be lost inside me even
if it slipped off the tubing.
Then it occurred to him that if the tubing was slipped out
deliberately, the rubber band would close the condom and I would
still be filled by the condom but unable to expell it; a simple
tug on the rubber band would expose enough of the condom that he
could burst it with a pin. Which I wouldn't be able to do
unless my hands were free. Clever, clever. A little technical
for my taste. I'm glad he didn't do it. I think he (correctly)
figured what he had done to me was wierd enough, even though the
newspaper, coincidentally enough, said it was National Condom
Week
Now there's a parade you don't want to miss....
But I HAD told him (under duress) that I wanted to be filled
up, so I can hardly blame him for being wierd. Still, it was
wierd. But who am I to criticize anyone for unnatural practices.
And no, it would not have felt more "natural" if it had been a
sheep intestine condom. Despite what the ad on the package says.
More natural, hah. For certain guys in certain parts of
Tennessee and West Virginia, maybe. Give me artificial any day.
Less than a week to go and the month alotted for his turn at
Master and mine as slave will be over.
-*-
It started raining heavily while I wrote down the preceeding
entry. I went outside and stood in the rain for no good reason.
You know, one of those tropical downpours where it just pours
down vertically and the trees bend under the weight of water on
their leaves. My muslin robe was plastered to my skin. Good
excuse for a hot shower and some conditioner, followed by a nice
cup of tea in my robe, fresh out of the dryer. Luxury.
There has been a lot of rain this Spring. The plants in the
garden are loving it.
-*-
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