Blog Post: Part 2 – Pumped, Drained, Milked and Abused In Captivity

He hardly moved an inch all night, by contrast, I was wide awake by dawn after an excitable, sleepless evening, constantly peering back to my monitor for any sign of activity.
After an hour of eagle eye waiting, his eyes finally shot open, nature must have called loudly. I got comfortable, settling into a comfortable chair as I watched him instinctively grab for the locked door of his cage, finding it still firmly keeping him prisoner. Did he truly think I had released him in his sleep?
My note was the first thing he saw, his hopeful outstretched fingers reached as far out as the bars would permit to pull it in, allowing his eyes to pour over my cruel words. I’m sure he hoped I wouldn’t start in on him so quickly, but I only had him for one more day and I intended to enjoy every single second of his subjection. He was frantic as he scrambled for the frozen bowl….his only way out was to melt the ice down to the key. I knew this would be exciting if I could just be patient, though fortunately for him, much of it had melted away, but a thick defiant brick still remained a frozen obstacle.
I had only estimated his reach, and much to my amusement, he had to struggle quite a bit to grab hold of the bowl without tipping the water. The brick still must have been about 5 inches thick, so his pathetic attempt to knock it on the side of the cage didn’t yield the breakage he so hoped for. Soaking it back in the frigid water also didn’t make a dent in it.  He reluctantly grabbed the note again, certain I had offered guidance – and hanging his head in defeat, took note of my ‘heat’ instruction and began rubbing the brick frantically across his warm chest. It took him at least a half an hour, though time was endless in my giddy anticipation, watching him go from determined to desperate and finally shivering as he neared success. I do love my petty torments.
It looked nearly melted in half before a final crack against the cage walls snapped the remains, finally freeing the key and my boy from his enclosure. I’ve always heard a blast of cold water was the best way to wake up in the morning, I deeply hoped he would appreciated my thoughtful effort.
I didn’t ring the bell before slipping downstairs, coffee in hand, I just couldn’t bring myself to give him a warning. My dungeon seemed absolutely teaming with energy, smoothed over only by the fresh hot steam pouring out of the bathroom. His shower must have been such a pleasant relief, almost a very human moment after spending the evening like a caged tiger.
His look of surprise to see me as he crawled out of the bathroom melted to a tinge of fear, arousal and joy seeing I had two cups of coffee in hand. I’m never cruel enough to deprive someone of their morning caffeine, but oh how I hoped he knew it wouldn’t be so easy to come by.
He smiled making his way towards me, wanting to offer a greeting, but seeing my note from the corner of his eye, he knew to follow instructions and remain silent. “Your flight is 16 hours from now, I will require as many orgasms by one means or another before I let you go”, I coldly informed him. “16 hours is a very long time, but you will need a nap, eat and to get to the airport a bit in advance…… whether you miss your flight or not, is honestly not my concern. All you need to do, is complete your task and I’ll let you go. If you don’t, well…..
He smiled a bit too wide, confidence on his face, I’m sure it would fade before too long, but in this moment, he was very secure in his ability to perform. I took a deep sip of coffee, and sat his down on the fireplace. A small kitchen scale had been placed out the evening before, I weighed his cup. 14 ounces. “I know you feel like you’ll have no issue completing my task on time, but should you not….there is ONE way to buy your way out”. Instead of total number of completions, we can go by volume….volume which you will ultimately be forced to consume.” His expression finally dropped as I handed him his coffee. Let’s set the bar at four full ounces. 16 orgasms or 4 total ounces, all consumed.
I don’t think he could tell if this was his favorite game ever or something he would deeply dread, but without missing much more of a beat, he realized I was starting at him with an anticipatory gaze. Dutifully he lowered his coffee on the ground and under my watchful eye, began his first of many expulsions. “Every coffee needs cream”, I mocked as he strained to empty himself as much as he could into the hot liquid. It’s no surprise he didn’t last long, not this time…. he knew I loved to watch him.
Before he could gather himself, I snatched the coffee and placed it back on the scale – .05 more. “I’ll keep a tally, but you have a long way to go”…I smiled, handing it back. Drink up my dear, you have a very LONG day ahead.
He begrudgingly chugged it down, a grimace spread across his face, but a deep red flush across every other inch. He drank it all too quick, just as I had hoped. “So eager to get that nasty task out of the way, you didn’t consider the ill side effects of drinking too much too fast”, did you? I smiled, grabbing a roll of package film wrap and ordering him to stand.
I moved in close enough for him to smell my perfume and feel my hot skin against his naked back. “So soft and strong, but infinitely better tied up”, I purred, beginning to mummify him in his stoic, militaristic pose.  I took my time, making sure my hair or lips grazed him often, my satin nightgown teasing parts left exposed before finding their way under the tight black plastic bondage. He was comfortable (for the moment) flat on his feet, but the securing lines around him kept him at a rigid  stance. “I’d like to give you 20 lashes of my single tail”, I smiled, “but I’d like you to beg me for them.” He giggled shaking his head….I took another sip of coffee.
“I’m going to leave you here, standing for as long as it takes. Either your posture or your bladder will give out first, but let’s be clear…. eventually, you WILL beg me”.
Grabbing my cup, I turned the monitor towards him and headed upstairs for a shower. I’d hear and see every squirm as I shaved my legs and washed my hair, by the time I got to toweling off to begin my make up, he was shifting frantically in his wrap – but not yet begging. Single tail lashes have always been his Achilles heel; he’s never been ‘broken’ in a session but had some deep desire to one day get there. Pain for him, was that path, but he was a far cry from being the sort of masochist who could request or endure such treatment. It’s such a pity…emotional satisfaction was on the other side of an obscenely painful and humiliating punishment, and no matter how hard he may have wished for it, he couldn’t have one without the other.
With my red lipstick applied, I began to hear his genuine begging, mild threats to accidentally ruin my carpet and all manner of frantic, litanous pleading, but not for the lash. I headed down to him, grabbing my favorite snake skin lash off the wall. He was fixed on it, squirming and dancing as much as his bondage allowed; I’ve never been more amused.
“Which do you find a greater humiliation, I asked…. begging for and attempting to accept the whipping you deserve, or having your bladder fail in all that plastic?” He needed to be pushed to an absolute wall, he had to have no other way around it, before finally he would cave and plead with absolute urgency for my 20 strokes. I wanted him to hear himself….to hear the tone of a defeated man asking for discipline so he could be granted such a given privilege of using the bathroom. All men eventually crack and it was hardly a minute longer before he did, asking not just for 20, but 30 hard strokes for his foolish attempt to out wait me.
I savored it as much as I could, but the lashes went all to fast for me.  I carefully paced them, after each forceful blow, I’d patiently wait for his breathing to slow before adding the next. I wanted it to last forever, for him to absorb this – not just the pain, but the slow breaking down of any semblance of control he thought he might still have. He already knew I wouldn’t stop, but he needed to accept it as well.
Fortunately his plastic bonds didn’t protect him. Lovely studded ribbons of red marked across his back with each deliberate crack of my whip. He’d whimper and shudder, then the soft sounds would be broken once again by another sharp echo of the whip against his waiting back. He would wear these trophies for a week at least…every shift of his starched shirts would graze painful welts and he’d be instantly reminded of this perfect moment.
I cut him down after the 30th, allowing him to crumble humbly on his knees to compose himself and wait for instruction; which I didn’t immediately give until he pressed his lips to my feet and thanked me for his punishment.
“You may go to the bathroom”, I said grinning from ear to ear, “but take your time. When you step foot back into the playroom, it’ll be time to begin your draining.”
Despite my warnings, he crawled as fast as his body could carry him towards the restroom, the black of my dungeon swallowing him up as he faded out of sight….
to be continued….

Related posts

One Thought to “Blog Post: Part 2 – Pumped, Drained, Milked and Abused In Captivity”

  1. Dan

    Nice continuation. Corporal isn’t for me, but the mind fuck of this setup is exciting. Specifically, your calm, cool and unwavering expectation of a certain number of orgasms, or 4 oz, and consumption before release from the dungeon is considered. In my twist on the fantasy, you might give preparation instructions before I arrive in town. Maybe an expectation that I abstained from orgasm for a predetermined amount of time (days, maybe weeks), as determined by you. Maybe you set a curfew for me. In bed by a certain hour every day, wake by a certain time, eat certain foods, omit others, take vitamins, maybe even read a book you particularly enjoyed, or watch a movie you want me to see. Maybe you want me to do a certain amount of charity work to put in some sweat equity to show that I desire a session with you that much. Make me earn your consideration (not even a promise) of a session. Other expectations might be to do yoga and stretching exercises, in order to attain a certain level of flexibility and fitness that you might find desirable during session. Maybe this would be important to you for reasons not clearly known to me, nor should I question them. Instead, I should strive to achieve all of your goals on my own, with not communication from me to you during the days or weeks leading up to our session, unless you message me first and expect a response, which understandably, would be unlikely because of your schedule. As time nears, maybe I’m tasked to provide a concise progress report, 200 word or less, for instance. Maybe I was able to achieve certain goals but not others. If you’re satisfied that I’ve put in sufficient effort, but still haven’t achieved all of your goals for me, maybe you would considering addressing those failures or shortcomings with me in real time. Or, if my effort is wholly inadequate, maybe the session wouldn’t be allowed and I’d be forced to start my effort over again, and this time, with even less communication and over the course of a longer period of time. Reminding me that my honesty is critically important, because I will be tested, and failing your tests in session, could be cause for immediate termination.

Leave a Reply