Chapter 06 - Spread Eagle

I woke up in lukewarm water; looking around, I saw Ben seated in a chair in the corner, engrossed in a book I couldn't make out. I continued to stay motionless in an attempt to be able to watch Ben for once.

He wore a blue shirt and shorts; his black hair had grown out and was no longer so short it was hard to see the color; I could now see it had hints of dark brown or midnight blue. His nose was slightly crooked, which led me to think it had been broken at some point, and I made a mental note to ask him about it the next time he was feeling chatty. His most striking feature was his eyes. They were captivating with shades of green, brown, gold, and hints of gray, like an ever-changing kaleidoscope. I could stare into them for hours.

As I was starting to look at his lips, he noticed me staring at him and walked over to sit beside me in the tub. He inquired about how I was feeling, to which I replied, "Very good, Sir. Everything felt wonderful." He gave me a skeptical look and asked, "Everything?" My face flushed with embarrassment, and I admitted that the last part had been gratifying. He smiled mischievously and reached down into the water. Anticipating him to unplug the drain, I was surprised when he reached between my legs, delicately caressing the outer folds of my sex with his fingers; then, with the tip of his pinky, he entered my sensitive back passage. A gasping moan escaped my lips as his fingers found all the best places. Gradually, he inserted his pinky a little further, leveraging his fingers to stroke me tenderly, using his thumb to move up and down my clit.

Moaning, I tried to get closer to his hand, and I was abruptly stopped as I was still chained to the tub by the collar. He chuckles and lets me know he is pleased I was ready for more, as he was afraid he made me too sensitive for more playtime this weekend.

Ben unfastens the chains securing me to the tub and helps me stand up. He gently dries me off with a large, fluffy towel, ensuring every inch of my body is dry. Ben then guides me to sit on a stool before a sizable mirror.

As I sat down, I groaned; I forgot about the bruise on my bottom and shifted so I wasn't sitting directly on it. With skilled hands, Ben unravels the braid in my hair, delicately combing through the tangles with a wide-toothed comb. Once satisfied, he gathers my hair into a loose ponytail.

Having me stand up, he removes the towel from my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. He directs my attention to the mirror, and as I turn my head, I catch sight of the large welt on my butt. It is twice as wide as the belt he had used and has started to develop a bruise. He warned me that sitting would be uncomfortable over the weekend and implied that I had better behave.

Next, he guided me to slip into a pair of lace panties, opting for a t-back design to prevent discomfort against my sensitive backside. Then, he delicately placed a short silk robe on me, ensuring it was securely fastened. Noticing that I had missed dinner, he kindly proposed that we warm up some leftovers. Holding my hand in his, we ventured downstairs together.

The kitchen is reminiscent of a chef's dream, with its vast space and an array of stainless steel appliances. It appears large enough to cater a sizable event, a surprising sight for a single man in his mid-thirties. He leads me to one of the numerous bar stools lining the island, allowing me to observe his expert movements around the room. Mindful of my tender bottom, I carefully lower myself onto the stool, feeling the cool touch of the silk robe against my skin, acting as a barrier between me and the hard wooden surface. I instinctively open my legs and clasp my hands behind me, unconsciously assuming a submissive posture. He smiles at me and continues navigating the kitchen skillfully and with purpose.

Contrary to my initial assumption, he prepares a fresh omelet with a generous portion of spinach. Once finished, he sprinkles diced tomatoes before walking to where I am sitting. Extending his hand, he signals for me to get up, and we proceed to the breakfast table in front of a large picture window that overlooks his expansive backyard. Since it is nighttime, all I can see beyond the glass is darkness.

The chair he leads me to resembles the office chair I have at home, but this one boasts a few additional features. Unlike mine, this chair allows the knee rests to lock in place instead of swinging open and closed with ease. The knee pads also possess hooks, indicating that ankle cuffs can be fastened. On the back of the seat, there are more waiting clasps for wrist cuffs. While this particular chair lacks the vibrating feature that my chair at home possesses, it compensates with a unique attribute that happens to be one of my favorites--screw holes in the seat, allowing for various attachments. Depending on the positions where the seat is adjusted, these attachments can access both of my openings.

Ben had the chair custom-made early on in our relationship, specifically tailored to fit only me. I can't help but smile broadly as I recall the memorable experiences that have taken place on it. Today, however, it appears to be in its basic form, though slightly shifted forward so that when I sit down, my rear barely touches the seat, with most of my weight resting on my pelvic area. I position myself with my legs spread, and he adjusts the chair to force them to go as wide as possible. Gripping the handles on the back of the chair tightly, I steady myself, for I would likely have fallen forward without them. Now, a significant portion of my weight is supported by my pelvic bone, causing the lace panties to dig into my lips and clit, which immediately grow wet from the thoughts of previous enjoyments.

As I struggled to stay seated in the unconventional position, Ben took it upon himself to feed me small bites of the omelet and offer sips of a blue sports drink, which suddenly made me feel quite thirsty, realizing I hadn't had any fluids since the water bottle in my car. When the omelet was about halfway finished, I shook my head, indicating I was full. Ben allowed me to finish the blue liquid before taking over and eating the rest of my dinner.

Standing up, he took the plate to the kitchen, carefully washing it with the cup and fork before placing them in the dishwasher. Returning to where I was, he kindly offered his hand to assist me in getting up. However, I realized I couldn't move my legs from the knee rest position as it was locked. I nearly lost my balance and almost stumbled forward, but fortunately, he released the latch, allowing my legs to move back in front of me. Chuckling softly, he playfully commented that he must remember this setup for future reference.

We went upstairs together, and he guided me back to the master bath. There, he removed the silk robe and the now-damp panties, permitting me to relieve myself as I hadn't used the toilet since leaving home. While I attended to that using the bidet feature, he undressed, leaving his clothes scattered on the floor, and began preparing the shower.

The fluffy towel I used before was gone, which triggered a question; when we left and returned to a room, it magically became clean again. Was I missing an invisible house cleaner?

Ben redirected my attention toward him and guided me into the shower room. The shower area was remarkably expansive, with multiple showerheads and large enough to accommodate a small football team. I had always considered it a separate entity as it was so massive. One side featured a bench, while eight showerheads were strategically positioned at various heights. Additionally, the shower had the remarkable ability to transform into a sauna. I realized it was too late in the evening to dry my thick hair, so I picked up a shower cap from the countertop. Ben expressed his approval with a nod and graciously held the door open for me to join him.

Trying not to dwell on the water consumption, I step into the shower, marveling at the invigorating sensation as several shower heads are turned on, creating a powerful, massaging spray. I position myself beneath one of the shorter shower heads, allowing the water to cascade down my shoulders with massage-level intensity. Meanwhile, Ben attends to his own cleansing routine, always maintaining a certain level of caution when it comes to me touching him. I mistakenly attempted to wash him once, resulting in a stern admonishment and a reminder to seek permission before initiating physical contact. I have learned to respect his boundaries and happily comply with the rules he sets.

Once he finishes washing, he approaches me and gently guides me out of the hot spray. With a loofah in hand, he proceeds to lather my body, covering me in fragrant suds. Using one of the detachable shower heads, he thoroughly rinses away the soap. Then, he carefully sprays water between my legs, indicating that I place one leg on the bench, ensuring I am thoroughly cleansed. Satisfied with his work, he turned off our multiple shower heads and opened the door to retrieve towels.

As he opens the door, a rush of cold air enters, causing goosebumps all over my body. Sensing my discomfort, he swiftly wraps a towel around me, his hands rubbing my arms to generate warmth. Once he dries himself off, he returns to me, using my towel to complete the drying process. Stepping out of the shower, I no longer felt the chill now that I was dry. He removes my shower cap, acknowledging that my hair looks okay with the ponytail he had previously styled.

He then guides me to what I affectionately call "my room," where I sleep during my visits, although others may perceive it as a dungeon. The walls are adorned with whips, chains, paddle boards, and other items, while unique toys are showcased in easy-to-open display cases. LED lights illuminate the various toys, creating an eerie ambiance when the room is dimmed and only the LEDs remain aglow.

On the far wall are several tall dressers containing various toys in different shapes, sizes, and colors. Ben once jokingly mentioned that he couldn't decide what to acquire, so he got one of everything. While I believe it was a playful remark, there are times when I wonder if there is some truth to it.

The bed in the center of the room is strategically designed, allowing access from all sides. Its sturdy four-post cast iron frame remains motionless and silent, regardless of the activities that take place upon it. Equipped with attachment points, the possibilities for twisting, hanging, or stretching were limitless.

Ben enjoys me being tied up when I sleep in the room adjacent to his. Since one has to pass through his bedroom to enter this space, he typically leaves the double French doors open, allowing him to keep an eye on me. However, when I'm at home, he allows me to sleep without restraints, as he worries about my safety and fears that I may not be able to free myself quickly enough in case of an emergency.

Guiding me toward one of the dressers, Ben deliberates over what he intends to do with me. He opens the shallow drawers and chooses a collar, a waist belt, wrist and ankle cuffs, and a spreader bar. The contents of each drawer showcase the multitude of unused items, hinting at the array of unexplored experiences. He instructs me to sit at the edge of the bed, which serves as a gentle reminder of the welt on my bottom.

After acknowledging that I've already endured a lot throughout the day, Ben assures me that he will take it mostly easy on me tonight. Currently naked except for my thin eternity collar, he fastens the leather collar around my neck before securing the waist strap. The thick belt was made of soft leather adorned with rings. He asks for my wrists and fastens the wide leather restraints over my lower arms, their extended length preventing me from bending my wrists.

Pulling the covers back, he instructs me to lie on my stomach. With me in this position, he seizes the opportunity to employ an actual lock, attaching my arms to the waist strap and immobilizing them. I feel the waist strap shift again as he uses two chains to position me dead center of the bed, ensuring minimal movement during the night. My vision is obscured as he returns to the dresser; I am unaware of what else he retrieves. Suddenly, I feel the cold sensation of stainless steel being gently slid into my backside, followed by the insertion of a long bar through a ring on the waist belt. Recognizing the familiar sensation, I realize it's the sizable hook he has used on me before.

Now securely lodged within me, the hook is connected to a chain Ben added to the back of my collar. If I arch my back, I can feel the hook shifting back and forth inside me. Once satisfied with his handiwork, he affixes what I believe to be a small spreader bar to my ankles, ensuring they remain in place. Then I hear a CLICK, and he informs me that it is an expanding spreader, capable of extending its length but unable to retract. I am cautioned to be careful, as it has a six-foot wingspan.

Finally, he covers my legs with a blanket and places another across my back, exposing my bruised butt. "You are so beautiful," he whispers in my ear as he slowly traces my butt with a single fingertip so that it tickles me, which causes me to unintentionally widen my legs, eliciting Ben's laugh.

CLICK CLICK

He kisses the side of my head, reminding me not to engage in mischievous behavior, as he doesn't want to administer additional punishment during the same weekend.

With that, he switches off the light and retires to his room, hidden from my view as the doors are positioned at the foot of the bed, limiting my line of sight to the left and right.

Attempting to settle into a more comfortable position, I become aware that every movement I make causes the internal hook to rub against the sensitive areas inside and around my back opening.

CLICK.

The spreader bar widens more, leaving my legs with a foot or so of space between them. Once again, I endeavor to find a position that offers some relief. The sensation of the hook inside me is so pleasurable that I can't help but grow increasingly aroused, my wetness a testament to my body's response.

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

Feeling frustrated, the struggle against the spreader bar becomes more pronounced, thwarting any efforts to find respite. I lie there, reflecting on the first time Ben instructed me to sleep on my stomach, recalling the memories of that night when he visited my tiny house for the first time--an experience that now feels like a distant lifetime ago.