Sheba's Subjugation Ch. 04

Greg Lurray had just hung up the phone with his wife, Sheba, when something about that conversation began to irk him. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and tried to figure out what it was.

He had been surprised Sheba wasn't home and hadn't at least called but that, sadly, wasn't unusual. She had seemed distracted but, again, not unusual especially if she was out with friends. And her risque comments about "something kinky" was vintage Sheba; the perfect storm of shock value and disinhibition.

Then it hit him. Sheba had said she was out Karen from work. And, somewhere in his memory, he remembered that Karen took college courses on weekend nights. Sheba had complained about it because she and Karen used to often go out on Saturdays after work. Greg remembered he had been secretly pleased these "just us girls" evenings were now impossible.

So, if she wasn't shopping with Karen, Greg thought, where was she? And who was she with? It was possible Karen had cut class, but Greg doubted it; he wasn't fond of Karen but he did admire her ambition and her commitment. There were other reasons for Greg's suspicious mind to doubt Sheba's story.

Over the past few months, Greg knew he had passed beyond nosy and prying into the territory of paranoid husband. His fear was that Sheba was secretly with another man even though he knew with absolute certainty that Sheba loved him. In fact, Greg knew his suspicion had a lot more to do with him than anything Sheba had done.

That which he feared was also something that excited him; Greg had no idea why the thought of Sheba with another man got him hard but it did. And, once the idea had planted itself in his mind, it grew and produced byproducts like his paranoia. He knew it would only get worse until he resolved these feelings but he wasn't willing to bring up this growing fascination with Sheba, partly out of embarrassment but mostly because he was afraid of the consequences.

Greg wasn't sure he wanted things to get out of control and that's exactly what would happen if he encouraged Sheba in any way. But he was also less and less sure that he didn't want to let Sheba act out his fantasies.

A few months ago, in yet another example of his suspicion, he had secretly loaded a program onto her phone so that he could read her texts and use GPS to know her location. He felt guilty but not enough to remove the software. Besides, her texts with one of her clients - whose house she had been at today, his paranoia screamed - were certainly racy but also indicated nothing more than flirtation was going. Should he have been more concerned, he now wondered. Was that who she was with right now?

Finally, he couldn't stand it so he went to his laptop and pulled up the tracking program. After waiting a very long two minutes, the location appeared on a street map overlay. "What in the hell is my wife doing sixty miles away in the middle of the city," he wondered.

He Googled her position for some clue; some low-end restaurants, various service shops, a motel (his heart skipped a beat and a store called The Stockroom. The motel scared him the most but he checked the unfamiliar store first and realized it was a much worse scenario.

The Stockroom was a sex shop, he soon discovered from browsing its site, that specialized in bondage kink. This was a place Sheba would like, he thought, and an interest that Greg didn't really share. However, why wouldn't she tell me about it (because she knows it doesn't excite you like it does her, his mind answered) and who she was really with (the guy who is going to use that stuff on her in the motel next door, his runaway paranoia supplied helpfully).

Greg had no idea what to do now. Should he call? Confront her? Sheba was a very good liar and Greg knew that would be foolish. Whatever she told him, he would still have doubts. As he tried to decide what to do, he started browsing through the items available on the site and began imagining them used on Sheba by another man.

Then, he unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock and began stroking himself off to a fantasy which started with a blindfolded Sheba kneeling with her hands bound behind her...

*****

Sixty miles away, a bound Sheba, nearly naked and completely helpless, was being watched by a half dozen patrons of The Stockroom, a gay couple, two store employees and a very aroused Clarisse Duncan. With her ass on her heels, her legs spread wide and her breasts flowing over the top of the corset, the only thing not on display was Sheba's belly button.

Walking across the store, Clarisse stumbled and almost fell when she finally saw Sheba. It was a view that could make one forget how to do things like walk or breathe or form complete sentences.

Clarisse's submissive side was green with envy; the restraints, the mild pain being applied to Sheba's pussy and breasts and an outfit that accentuated Sheba's body while leaving it exposed to be played with in all the right areas. The plain white cotton panties pulled down to Sheba's ankles was the stroke of genius, though. They were so innocent and utilitarian by comparison and their use and positioning made the whole thing so much dirty; innocence being corrupted.

Enlisting Chris's and Ben's assistance had indeed been her best decision in the questionable venture, she thought. Clarisse's own outfit was a leather catsuit with gloves and heeled boots encasing her entire body. On her head was a caplike-headgear with two immediately identifiable cat ears and her hair was slick with gel and pulled back in a high, tight ponytail with deep mascara around the eyes and blood-red lipstick being the only noticeable makeup.

The boots and suit had been murder to get on - impossible until Chris had smiled and handed her a bottle of baby powder and helped spread it on the material - and she had felt herself panicking with something akin to claustrophobia until her body adjusted and the fabric warmed with her body's heat.

Now, though, the smells and feel of the outfit left Clarisse very much in the mood for a serious session of master and servant.

The heels of her boots clicked across the floor and Clarisse tried to ignore the patrons and employees who were watching while trying to appear too not have too much interest; the nearest was a man behind an aisle of vibrators that seemed to be so interesting that he had been staring at the same one - but really staring over it - for over five minutes now.

"Hello, Mouse," Clarisse said when she finally reached Sheba. "Did you thank Chris for helping get you ready?"

"Yes, I did Cat."

Clarisse's mouth twitched in mirth, thinking of just how catlike she was at this moment. "Did you two chat about anything?"

"Yes, we did."

"And what did you talk about?"

"Mostly, he explained a lot of stuff I didn't know and made me see how hard it is to be in charge."

The answer surprised Clarisse. Being the dominant one was, in short, a pain in the ass. It was a thousand details, loads of responsibility and carefully executing everything. Without all that planning, it just wasn't near the turn-on for either the dominant or submissive party.

Still, Clarisse smiled to herself, being the dominant one did have its rewards if you had inclinations in that direction and Clarisse was quickly finding that she enjoyed both sides. Knowing you were wielding so much power and that your actions were being deeply appreciated granted a special level of satisfaction and a caffeine-like boost to the ego and self-image.

Right now, Clarisse's ego was flying high and she decided to keep it there by getting back to work rather than daydreaming.

"I am sure that you've enjoyed your time in front of strangers, Mouse. However, this next part is going to be a bit more private so I fear you will need to say goodbye to your audience. Ben, be a dear and help our little Mouse to the room."

Ben approached and lowered Sheba's hands and then unwound the rubber wraps and then slowly helped her rise. It was apparent that Sheba's legs, which had ached from her awkward position with her ass on her heels and her legs spread wide, had problems supporting her and her eyes were unfocused, possibly as she enjoyed the wonderful feeling of no longer being kept in such a painful position.

Ben then pulled the white panties off and led/carried her to a door that opened into a small room with black drapes covering all four walls and several large industrial looking lights that reminding Sheba of a film shoot illuminating a table-like device in the middle of the room. Sheba's eyes took all of this in, much like a cornered animal assessing her situation. She was obviously excited but, equally apparent, there was some genuine concern, as well.

In the middle of the room, a table, made of wood and about two feet wide and five feet long, had a large number of holes - used as anchor points for securing someone in various positions - and four short arms that would allow for arms and legs to be strapped down far away from the body if one chose.

"Now, Mouse, I want you to lie down on your back in the middle of the table."

Sheba attempted to follow her command but it was hard; the high heels and the burning and lingering numbness in her limbs made her ascent a somewhat awkward affair.

"Now place your feet down flat and lift your ass high in the air."

As Sheba complied, Ben slid a triangle of foam underneath her.

"This foam piece is going to lift your pussy and ass into a position so that it is easy for me to play with. I hope you haven't forgotten the riding crop you picked out, Mouse, earlier because I have a feeling that may make an appearance again."

Sheba nodded and her expression made it clear that she was not upset by the potential to relive that experience.

"As you lower yourself down, you'll notice that this also places your head below your waist and that your breasts will want to fall up or to the side rather than down. That's very important. Do you know why, Mouse?"

"No."

Clarisse moved next to Sheba's now prone body and lightly brushed her hand on the lower half of Sheba's breasts. The light touch made Sheba jump.

"The most sensitive part of your breast is not the nipple, Mouse. It's the underside where skin rubs against skin. So soft and so protected and so much fun to play with. I'd take off the corset and get to the really soft areas but it would be a crime to take you out of it now."

Sheba's eyes showed that she now realized how much more she would feel a drop of wax if it fell on the soft skin Clarisse had just lightly touched.

"Ben, since you are more skilled than I, would you tie her arms above her and then bind her legs so that her legs are spread as wide as you think she can stand?"

Ben brought Sheba's hands together and tied them in a surprisingly decorative knot through a loop in the table above her head. He then pulled her right thigh out from her body, wrapped rope around her thigh and then strapped the free end to another loop in the table. He then repeated this with her left thigh. It was apparent from Sheba's face that her muscles were under some duress to have her legs spread that wide. Then, Ben wrapped Sheba's ankles just above the heels and firmly strapped them to the table.

Clarisse marveled that Ben had accomplished the process in what seemed moments, that he had used the rope in a way that left her completely immobile but did not cut off circulation and that each knot and each curve of the rope looked like art more than a simple functional knot.

"Very good, Mouse. You just allowed yourself to be rendered completely helpless. You must trust me very much. Because, right now, you don't have much choice about what happens to your body. Now that you can't really do anything about it, I suppose I should tell you one last thing before we start." Sheba's body tensed, this mysterious "one last thing" miraculously finding some part of her that was not already unsettled.

"Ben is a very accomplished photographer who is close to completing a show on bondage. He only has a few places left to fill and he thought it would be nice to add some girl on girl visuals into the mix."

Sheba's eyes shot to Ben, who was pulling out a high-end digital camera and a variety of lenses. As he did, she took in the lights, as well, which now made sense; the kind of lighting you need for photography.

"Oh don't worry, Mouse. Nobody will recognize you."

"What do you mean?"

Clarisse produced a narrow leather mask, with form-fitting curves conforming to her face around her eyes and the bridge of her nose. She took the mask's silk ribbon cords and secured them around her head. Like Clarisse's cat mask, the article granted Sheba a miraculous and instantaneous anonymity.

"And now let us begin, Mouse."

***

Sheba tried to ignore the occasional shutter noises from Ben's camera and remain focused on Clarisse. The camera made her nervous but also excited her. As much as she liked the idea of people seeing her like this, she wanted even more to see herself as she was. She wondered whether Ben would give her prints of this session and thought of how delicious it would be to hang one I their bedroom to see if her husband Greg recognized her.

"Mouse, have you ever had your breasts tortured?" Clarisse asked.

"I don't think so. I have had my nipples played with roughly but I don't think that's what I mean."

"No, it isn't."

Sheba could see Clarisse move to a table which she had only barely glimpsed when she came in. Instantly though, she realized that the candles she had seen on it were not there just to set the mood like some romantic getaway; their purpose became all too clear to Sheba.

Clarisse returned with a squat white candle about an inch high which had already formed a pool of melted wax on its top. "The wax from candles melts at different temperatures depending upon the kind of wax used and whether additives including those for color are included."

Clarisse slowly began tipping the candle over and the pool of hot liquid began to slowly make its way over the edge. "This means that a droplet of wax will have a temperature that can vary greatly. This scientific information might seem boring to some but it does have very important ramifications should one be in a position where heated wax was falling onto sensitive skin."

As she said the last word, a single drop of wax fell from the candle and landed on the tip of Clarisse's right fingertip. The sight riveted Sheba as she realized how exposed were and how much more sensitive they were than Clarisse's finger. She kept watching and, soon, Clarisse's entire finger was coated in a stalactite-like structure of wax surrounding her finger.

"Some of these candles will be too hot for you, little Mouse, but we won't know which ones until we try them out. Kind of like Goldilocks and the three bears except with far more immediate consequences."

Sheba's body tensed, imagining her breasts covered in a multicolored landscape of wax dots and painfully discovering that some of those drops were indeed "too hot". A primal urge to panic descended and she almost whimpered. Then, she relaxed, knowing that she was safe as long as Clarisse was here. She could not have explained to her other why she felt that way. She just knew that Clarisse would not let anything bad happen to her.

Which is not to say she won't let anything hurt me, she thought. Clarisse's vivid description of what faced her had left very little doubt of that. And, like she had with the riding crop, Sheba wondered whether pain was her thing.

It certainly wasn't one of her natural things - like fucking older guys, or loving having her ass played with or having sex in public places - but she did enjoy some of the underlying elements. Still, it was almost completely foreign territory for her. Then, Sheba felt the low heat as the candle began passing over the skin of her breasts. As it did, she realized the underside of her breast sensed the heat more intensely, validating Clarisse's previous statement.

Both the candle and that thought riveted her attention on what was about to come. Her back arched in anticipation. Her arms and legs braced against the rope and she closed her hands into tight fists. And, she found, she was incredibly wet.

Even prepared for it, the first drop of wax was a shock. Her body attempted to jump away but its options were limited. She bit her lip as the drop burned intensely for a moment and then slowly cooled. As it did, another drop fell, this one moving towards her nipple. Then another and another. Soon, she could feel the "X" shape that Clarisse had made in wax across her left nipple.

"Would you like me to stop, Mouse?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

"You may not know but your body seems to like something about it." Clarisse ran two fingers along Sheba's pussy, gathering some of the juice that had grown thick between her legs. Then, she placed the fingers in Sheba's mouth. Sheba licked them clean, finding she enjoyed tasting herself off of Clarisse's hand.

Then the first wax droplet hit Sheba's right breast and she fought to control the pain again, clasping her hands and arching her back perversely upward which only brought the flame closer and made the drops hotter until another "X" shape had been formed.

"Time for some color, Mouse. Are you ready?"

A large part of her body said "Hell, No." However, there was a heat centered around her pussy that said "Yes, please." Like a boy with a stiff prick, Sheba listened to that heat.

"I'm ready."

The heat was indeed more intense and, unlike the straight lines Clarisse had drown before, these drops fell randomly which lessened and increased the pain in a way that Sheba couldn't explain. It just hurt more, and also less, when she couldn't anticipate the target.

There was a momentary pause and then another drop. At first, it felt the same but then the drop didn't harden but instead dribbled down her breast. "Ice," she said quietly.

"Yes, Mouse. Isn't it amazing how similar it felt to the wax? Do you know why?"

"No."

"Your skin has little sensors called thermoreceptors that identify temperature and interpret it for the body. However, when those temperatures become extreme and, especially when you mix the two, the result is that your those little sensors start send inaccurate information to the brain. Now, most importantly for you at this moment is what happens when hot and cold touch a receptor near the same place and at nearly the same time. Do you know what happens?"

"No."

And then, she felt two drops hit her breast and fire shot through her body. Sheba let out a cry that was very real and she swore that her skin must be on fire.

"That is what happens. The sensor identifies the first extreme, classifying the drop or misclassifying it as hot or cold. Then, when a very different temperature extreme is introduced, it will often amplify the level of whatever it chose. In other words, your brain registered a pain so hot that it would certainly injure your body while, in fact, the temperatures was actually no hotter."

Sheba understood that her body was not really burned but, blinded as she was, she could not verify this and her mind refused to accept that the heat was not something nearing the temperature of the sun.

Then, a series of hot and cold droplets began falling over her entire breast area, but never so close together to cause the "scary fire" as Sheba came to think of the mix of hot and cold too close together. After the excruciating pain of the intensified drops, these were not only bearable but began to create a "good" feeling she felt in an area that registered after the "bad" pain was gone.

Soon, she found her body liking the pain the pain because that meant it would soon feel that good feeling. Which all seemed really weird to Sheba on an intellectual level but she couldn't argue with how her body responded. Her body was now bathed in sweat like she had been circuit training for hours and she had spent minutes in that blissful arousal before a memorable climax.