Chapter 3: Offering My Body

Chapter 3: Offering My Body

“John,” I began, “I would like you to gag me. Something comfortable because it may stay there all night. After that, please put on the discipline hood. Then I would like you to take me into the play area and leave me. I want to see what people will do.”

“You may be asking for more than you think,” he said. After a moment, he added, “But I’ll do it.”

He did. The gag was the kind he preferred. A rag was rolled up and stuffed into my mouth. Then duct tape was wrapped around my head, completely covering my mouth with a dozen layers of tough tape. I would not do much talking at this party.

The tape and discipline hood were kept in his briefcase, along with some rope, should it be needed. Sort of a traveling bondage kit. The hood went on and I felt a real thrill as it was laced up in back. He locked the neck strap on and I knew that no one would be able to take off the hood. Except John, of course.

He had explained to me why it was called a discipline hood. It was designed to make the wearer very uncomfortable. The leather was tight all around the head, and that could cause the hood to become quite hot inside. That was in addition to the claustrophobic blindness. He told me that wearing it for a couple hours would become very uncomfortable, and I would really want it off. I believed him.

I knew that I was asking for some torment. But, it would only add to my helplessness, and that was fine with me.

Okay, I’ll admit it, I am masochistic. I crave discomfort or even pain if it increases the helpless feeling. So long as there is no damage done to my fine body, I would put up with some pain in exchange for an intense experience. Some pain. Not a hell of a lot.

The lock finally snapped shut and I was ready to be set before the wolves as a helpless damsel about to be in distress.

I wondered how hungry the wolves were tonight.

John led me by the arm into the large play area. I could hear many people talking and knew it was probably the biggest party I had yet attended. There was only four prior to this, but I still found something different every time John took me there.

His hand left my arm. I did not hear him say anything, not even to wish me good luck. I was on my own. Adventure, here I come.

Of course, I figured that John would be lurking in the background, keeping an eye on me. I knew he would not intervene unless he felt something was about to happen that might harm me. That made it a little less scary. But only a little. I was still at the mercy of strangers – kinky strangers. Rope and whip loving strangers.

Not being able to see sucks. I heard voices and noises that said things were happening around me, but I had no idea what. I was probably missing a lot of activities that I might enjoy seeing.

Well, I asked for it, and would have to take whatever comes.

Suddenly I sensed a presence just in front of me. Then a man’s voice asked, “You available?”

I made a noise to let him know that under the leather hood I was gagged. I could have nodded but decided to see what happens.

“You look very nice tonight,” he said. I thought that he was probably in his thirties, judging from his voice. “Can’t do anything with your arms, huh?”

Again, I said and did nothing. My status was fairly obvious.

“Are your ears plugged in there? Can you hear me?”

That surprised me. I hadn’t thought about adding hearing to what this hood took away, but it seemed quite possible. This time, I nodded.

“Good. Would you like to be tied more?”

Decision time. I was tempted to nod yes. It was what I came for, after all. Instead, I turned my back and wiggled my fingers. I was showing him that I couldn’t do a thing and he could do whatever he wanted.

His hand took my arm and I was being led away. I was pretty sure he was taking me to one of the private rooms. That could be good or bad. There were ten rooms, each somewhat different but all private when the door was closed. There were two lights next to each door on the outside. A green light on meant that people were free to enter and watch what was happening. A red light meant it was a private session and please do not enter. No light on meant the room was empty and available.

I was pretty sure the door did not have locks, so a red light was really just a request.

He led me in. I heard a door opening then closing behind me. I had no way of knowing which light he turned on, just as I had no idea what he intended to do. I was almost shivering with a delicious fright. And feeling wonderfully helpless. And, as was usual in such situations, I was getting hot and juicy between the legs. Some men have told me they could smell when I woman is excited. I wondered if he could smell that on me.

His words outside implied that he was into bondage, and would probably add to mine. I waited. Had he brought rope with him? I could almost sense him standing there, looking me over. What ideas were going through his head? Adding rope to make me feel it more? Or something vicious and painful?

That room must have been one of those with a bed because I felt myself being pushed down to sit on something soft. I would have preferred a room without a bed and its inherent suggest of having intercourse. I would know in a few seconds. If he pushed me back and spread my legs, his intent would be clear.

I had thought about that possibility. I was no virgin, but also not really one of those women who would jump into bed with most any man. A loose woman, my mother used to call them. And I had been married to Roger for almost a year. The sex had been good at first but the novelty wore off quickly for him until it reached a point where he was unable or unwilling to satisfy my needs. He even rejected any suggestion of trying something different and unusual to liven up the sex act. What a prude!

What I am trying to say is that I accepted the possibility I would have sex forced on me. Of course, it would be hard to argue that it was forced when I presented myself nearly naked, gagged and bound and practically begging for it.

That got me to wondering about the man who had me in his power. Was he handsome? Married? Ugly? If a girl is about to have sex with a man, she would like to know something about him. At least his name, for Christ’s sake! In my case, I couldn’t even ask him that.

For heaven’s sake, what was I doing? He might be ugly and fat and slobber all over me while screwing me. On the other hand, he might be handsome and in great physical shape, and I would be missing seeing all that.

As I waited for him to do something, it came to me that I might never know the answers to those questions. What if he fucked me and then left. I might never know his name.