Ruined behind the Red Door

I arrived at the appointed time. Her directions were precise, "Enter the side gate. Follow the brick path around the back deck. Take the cement stairs down to the red door."

I knocked, 'tap-tap-tap, tap-tap,' and looked into the glass circle peep hole so she would know it was me.

The door opened. I entered. Before I looked fully on her face, I removed my shoes and socks as though I were approaching holy ground.

I stood and turned toward her. She's tall. Her eyes were about the same level as mine and they shone like two emeralds set above ruby lips-all on a cream-colored satin pillow. She was long and slim; elegantly dressed in a floor-length black dress.

She invited me to sit on a settee across from hers. She wanted to read my face. I scanned the room. Thick red drapes hung from ceiling to floor on every side. The room exuded old world stateliness. The mood was enhanced by eighteenth-century classical music flowing from speakers placed throughout.

She guided the conversation through my history. What kinds of experiences I'd had and where. What I had learned. What I liked. How I found her. What I sought. Our eyes were intently fixed on each other's. Trust was building as she drew me into her world.

She excused me to the bathroom, instructing me to meet her naked in the middle of the room.

She was standing there checking me out as I returned. I was again struck by her beauty. She seemed taller now. She placed her hands on my shoulders and turned me toward a curtained hallway that led to the playroom.

The playroom walls were lined with shelves filled with dozens and dozens of pairs of high heels. She had a pair for every mood, every occasion. I also noticed mannequin heads with masks and other paraphernalia. At the far side of the room was the largest mirror I've seen outside a bar. I could see the top of her head over mine in the reflection as we approached it. She stopped me a few steps short of the wall and turned me back toward her and told me to stay there.

She wemt to the corner and rolled a massage table to the middle of the room. She patted and said, "Lie here on your back."

I lay as instructed. She moved around the room gathering items for our session. I took in the new view while she worked. Directly above me in the ceiling was a stout eyebolt with three heavy-duty screwgate locking carabineers. She grasped my right wrist and buckled on a wide leather cuff. She went counter clockwise around the table cuffing my ankles and other wrist. I was owned.

She took ropes and affixed my wrists to some supports beneath the table. I felt the downward tug first on my right wrist, then on the left. She placed a two-foot wide spreader bar on my ankles. The bar had three eyes, one on either end and one on the middle. She took her time securing the eyes in the ankle cuffs to those on the spreader, using a separate rope for each. She added a third rope for the center eye then she tied the spreader below the table. A final tug and all my extremities were firmly secured. Although I could still lift and rotate my head, I wasn't going anywhere.

"That's good," she said, "now to add some mystery." She slipped a mask over my head leaving my eyes in total darkness. I heard the rattle of a lightweight chain and felt her pinching my right nipple with her thumb and forefinger, getting it taut enough to receive the clamp. She repeated on the left. She tested the grip by pulling up, away from my torso. Satisfied, she playfully tugged in other directions and observed my reactions. She gave a little chuckle when she pulled down and saw my cock twitch as though connected to my nipples by some internal cord.

She purred and hmmm'd as she explored my body with a variety of teasing light touches interspersed with light slaps and pulls on my chained nipples.

I felt a tickle at the top of my right inner thigh. It traveled down and took a left at the back of my scrotum and continued up along the crease of my left thigh before completing the loop. When she pulled the ends of the lasso closed, my right testicle retreated into my abdominal cavity.

"That happens all the time when I'm lying on my back," I said. "No problem," she replied. "I've seen this before. I'll take care of this." She let go of the string and let her fingertips press in behind my scrotum wiggling in to loosen my balls from their inner nest. When she teased them out far enough she guided the cord back behind with one hand and pulled the loose ends up my belly snug enough to prevent their return inside. I lost track of how many turns she wrapped before tying off the package.

"I think you need some pizzazz. Do you know what that is?" I couldn't even guess. She continued her patter, "It's a good thing you shaved," she said as she applied adhesive contacts on the dorsal and ventral sides of my shaft, just below the crown. "Do you know what these are?" She applied another adhesive pad below my scrotum and a fourth on my lower belly just above the base of my cock. "Can you guess what's next?" She said as she clipped on the electrodes. I replied, "I imagine something to do with electricity."

"That's right!" I heard the click on the TENS controller and winced at the charge exciting the most sensitive nerves in my body. "Mmmm. Pizzazz. Do you like that?"

It took a few seconds for me to process the initial, literal shock. I don't think I answered. I do remember consciously slowing my breathing. A stress management trick I first learned in birthing class before the birth of my first child.

Apparently, the adhesive pads and wires don't affect access to everything she wanted to do. She stroked a bit then flicked open some lubricant and poured it down my crack. She rubbed up and down a few times pressing and softening the opening before inserting a finger. I gasped at the first foray. She withdrew, added more lube and pressed in further, finding my prostate.

She put both hands to work: one massaging my G-spot the other stroking with various grips and pressure. She brought me to the edge several times before deciding to click up the TENS again.

"Poor boy. You need a reward." I heard her moving off to my right. My reward arrived with sense of smell and touch simultaneously as her panties landed on my face.

I inhaled deeply letting her womanly scent fill my awareness. I mmmm'd my approval and sensed my cock stiffen in appreciation. She noticed. "Good boy." She said and patted my cock.

She moved down the table again. I felt tugging at my feet. She undid the ropes and pushed my feet up toward my butt. She climbed up onto the foot of the table. She threaded the center rope through one of the carabineers and pulled, raising the spreader with my feet off the table. She patted my perineum then continued tying ropes and testing access. Finally satisfied, she said, "That's better."

She lubed a toy and eased it in. Pushing, relaxing, speaking encouragement, "There we go. How are you feeling?"

"That's a lot thicker than your fingers," I replied.

"Uh-huh." She continued pushing until the thickest part cleared the sphincter. With the plug settled, she could concentrate both hands on teasing my cock, knowing a constant pressure on my prostate was enhancing every touch.

She worked on my balls while she slowly built up the excitement toward orgasm. Stroke upon stroke, squeeze upon squeeze she raised the tension coursing through my body. "Red. Red red red," I said trembling. She stopped and held me while my cock twitched. I expelled a sigh and my whole body shook.

"Ooooh nice. You just had an internal orgasm."

"Ughhhhh," was all I could say. My whole body was engaged in processing the unfamiliar release of tension. She held on through my return to more normal breathing.

She eased herself off the table and eased out the plug. She gave me a few minutes of respite. She kept my attention by softly touching my legs and arms and torso.

I heard the lube again and felt another insertion. "That's a different toy, isn't it?" I said.

"Yes. I like this one because I can rock it while I play." She demonstrated, sending a new sensation to my prostate. "You'll like it." She slowly slid her open hand up the length of my shaft from fingertips to the heel of her hand while she wiggled the toy on my G-spot. She curled her hand around my cock and stroked slowly, building intensity. I moaned.

"Good. Don't cum yet. Tell me when you're close." The dual stimulation continued. I felt the orgasm rising. "Stop. I mean, red." She stopped ever so briefly. She sucked in a great breath between her teeth showing her satisfaction. Then she was right back at it. Not close enough to the edge according to her expert eyes.

"Red. Red, red, red," I was desperately close. My balls were tightening. I was about to explode when she suddenly let go of my penis. Semen dribbled out. My cock strained to force out the built up load. No. Ruined.

"Ohhhh. Poor baby." She said chuckling as the ooze played itself out. "Ready for more?" She resumed pressing the probe and stroking. Lather, repeat. Ruined again.

She gave me a longer rest after the second interrupted emission. "Let me give you a real orgasm." She stroked vigorously.

Tied as I was, she would do what she wanted. Nevertheless, I craved it. But I was overstimulated. My erection was waning and our time was winding down. "It's just not going to happen," I said.

"Too bad," she said as she hopped of the table. She wiped the goo from my belly and removed the TENS leads and patches. She released the nipple clamps and I gasped.

As she was preparing to undo my bindings, I asked, "would you take off the blindfold so I can see how you tied me?"

She obliged and explained how she enjoys tying compared with other kinds of restraints. We chatted and reset and booked another session.

Not all was ruined behind the red door. In fact, in that world, everything was right.