Novel & Cerita Plaster Bondage

The textured surface of the dildo made sure that she'd still feel the consequences of every attempt at movement, though. It was bondage with no ropes, cuffs or chains. Just these two dildos, held in place by unyielding metal, were enough to completely immobilize her. She was on all fours with no way back or forth, her knees already hurting from the hard wooden box she was kneeling on. Because of course Mistress wouldn't be satisfied with just nailing her in place, spit-roasted. A punishment was supposed to be as grueling as possible, and this unassuming box was the final nail in Nadine's coffin of cramped discomfort.

His thumb pressed against my lower lip, parting it, and I nodded weakly, my throat dry. “Yes, sir.” The words slipped out easily now, like they belonged there. He dragged me toward a low bench against the wall, the metal cold beneath my touch. “Bend over it with your chest down and ass high.” I obeyed, draping my upper body across the padded top with my arms stretched forward. The position pulled my cheeks apart, the plug pressing deeper as he tied my wrists to the far end, the ropes biting fresh into my skin. Then he tied my ankles, spreading them wide to the bench legs so I couldn’t close my thighs. My balls hung freely between them, and my cock pressed against the edge, rubbing with every

“My board’s pushing for stability. My family wants a bride. And you… you’re the perfect lie.” Tears welled up, but she blinked them away—pride refusing to break. “I’m not your puppet.” He leaned in, breath warm against her ear, rain sizzling on his collar. “No. You’ll be my possession.” She slapped him—hard—with the force of every shattered dream she’d carried. The sound cracked through the stairwell like lightning. His jaw ticked as he did not retaliate. Instead, he smiled. A slow, dangerous thing that sent a chill through her veins.

A rustle of movement drew our attention back to the shadow, still lurking in the darkness, massive and intelligent, a predator that had sensed our bond as much as it had sought our lives, and Kenneth’s hands swept over mine again, grounding me, securing me, pulling me into the rhythm of his lethal, precise movements, yet each touch carried weight beyond survival, a subtle intimacy, a magnetic, possessive tenderness that set my nerves alight and reminded me with every pivot, every roll, every ducking motion that we were inseparable, tethered in desire and trust, bound irrevocably by the events of the night, by the first desperate kiss that had begun this chain, by the heat and ferocity that n

She loomed over me, blazer off, shirt unbuttoned, eyes dark with lust, ready to push further. “New lesson: total obedience,” she said, her voice a velvet threat, leading me to a leather couch. She bound my wrists with a silk scarf, securing them to the armrest, then produced a remote-controlled butt plug. “Insert this,” she instructed, handing it to me. I obeyed, sliding it into my ass, the stretch making me gasp, and she took the remote, turning it on, the vibration pulsing deep.

He raised me to the table and went back to his toys. I watched him pick out more bondage cuffs and a tool I had never seen before. Returning to me, he uncuffed my hands from my back and ordered, "Lie down." I flattened my back on the metal table. He cuffed my right hand to the side of the table, then my left. Next up were my legs as he secured each ankle to the table with the bondage cuffs. I was strapped to the table on both sides, unable to move, totally at his mercy. I saw him grab the spreader bar and place it under the cleft of my knees, parting my legs and suspending it in the air.

"You are special. Especially despicable, and especially vile." He turned to the guards, his voice devoid of any warmth. "One hundred lashes with the silver-laced whip. For every ounce of pain Estelle suffered, she will repay it tenfold." The silver-laced whip was the cruelest instrument of punishment in the pack, reserved for traitors. The silver in the whip sears the flesh, leaving wounds that never truly heal—permanent, blackened scars, a constant reminder of betrayal. The guards exchanged a look. They knew Cassandra deserved it, but the punishment was extreme for an Omega female.

He said and she nodded. “What is your limit in having sex?” “I don't understand your question.” “How long can you go in rows?” “An hour.” She replied and he shook his head. “Harrison isn't so much of a man after all.” He muttered and looked at Xalia. “Pick the equipment according to your strength.” He said and she nodded. “Bondage hoods, collars and chokers, restraints, binders, bondage tape. I am okay with all that.” She said marking them and Draven also did.

Alexander and I have our separate spacious playroom with all the equipment and furniture to both pleasure and punish our slaves. I bind my slave to the four-poster bed. Her butts are on the bed's edges as she is laying on her back on the mattress. I bound her wrists over her head and splay her legs in the air while binding her ankles to the front bed posts. I love to bind my submissive to uncomfortable positions. This arouses my carnal needs differently. She moans as I attach a pair of nipple clamps to her nipples. I'm just being extra soft with her.

she told him. “Yes, you can. You just need a few minutes to relax.” She frowned beneath her mask. He said he would stop if she told him to, but now he was refusing. “I know what you’re thinking,” he told her, the amusement echoing in his soft tone. “The point of bondage is to push beyond your comfort zone, to force a deeper satisfaction than you ever thought you could experience. You just need a few minutes to relax before we start again.” Sandra’s frown remained. She didn’t think she could endure more, she was spent, her arms hurt, and her legs ached.