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The Elegance Network: Browsing Gemma's Bondage Dream
HomeClassic Restrained Elegance Product
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Gemma Craven
Gemma's Bondage Dream

Hard day at work, fairly dull evening at the wine bar listening to the tedious lives and loves of Samantha, Melaine and Claire. Tiresome deflection of all the questions about when she was going to get herself another boyfriend. About how she could get on without a man, and about how they couldn't get on with them.

Bed time. Her favourite time. Time to step out of the day's clothes and slip into a clinging white night-dress. Pure, innocent white. She smooches the mirror as she undoes her hair clip, shakes her long hair free, slips the jacket off her shoulders, lets it fall to the floor. Weekend tomorrow, they can just get creased. Off with the shirt, then the skirt. Boots, stockings... an untidy heap on the floor. The alarm clock is off. She barely glances at the book on her bedside table. Tonight, she hopes, she will not need it.

On with the silk night-dress, she caresses it as it hugs the curves of her breasts, her slim waist. She smoothes it down; after all she wouldn't want to disappoint.

She steps over to the bed, shakes loose the satin sheet, slips under it. She is asleep almost as soon as her head hits the embroidered silk pillow.

Her sleep is quiet for a while.

Then she starts to stir in her sleep. A little catch to her breathing, a tiny gasp. She turns and twists, her arms slipping down under the sheets. Further down. Her sleeping fingers slide slowly, lasciviously down. One more layer of silk between them and their final destination, but that silk is moist already and adheres like a second skin. Her hand arches as sleeping fingers push into wet silk...

She moans softly in her sleep, her back arches in a graceful, serpentine, sensual curve. As her sleeping body soars upwards towards the first of the night's climaxes, her soul slips its bonds and rises unseeing from the bed. Her spirit leaves her flesh behind, ready for travel to the land of her dreams... the land where her dream master awaits her, where her spirit will give in to his will. The darkness dissolves into light.

When she opens her dream eyes in sleep-not-sleep the light is too bright for her sleep-dilated eyes. She stands once again in the forest where he first found her, where he hunted her down through trees and ferns and streams. How foolish she was to run, that first time! Now she looks about her expectantly, but he is not yet with her. She knows the tree at the other end of the clearing. Once the clearing rang to her screams and drops of her blood dripped at is base. Then the clearing echoed to her moans, and liquid of a different sort dripped onto the dry ground. The touch of its bark brings back the memory of her ravishment, forced up against its unyielding roughness, climax so strong her sleeping body bucks as her dream fingers caress the rough bark. She leans against it, waiting. She does not have to wait long before the ropes erupt from the air around her, wrapping her tight in magical coils. He has felt her presence in the forest and rides upon a the West Wind to claim her once more.

She hears the sound of his wind steed above the canopy of the tree, looks up to see him circling above her. He dismounts, leaps a hundred feet to the ground. As the ropes dissolve from around her, leaving their red kiss on her pale flesh, he fastens his collar snugly about her neck and attached a leash. Slowly, but firmly, brooking no discussion, he leads her across the forest to a darkened cave. The cave of her dreams, where so much has been done to her, and where so much is still to be done.

He leads her to a rock, cushioned with sheepskins and covered in sheer ebony satin that sparkles in the light of the candles. With a tug of the leash he directs her to kneel upon the rude table so that she can be bound in the first of many positions of servitude.

He fastened her arms above her head, leaving her in her modest satin night-dress from the moment. He forestalled any temptation she may have had to spoil the moment with idle talk by the insertion of a large ball gag. She looked at him, pleading with her eyes for him to show her mercy... but they both knew the outrage was skin deep. Her true desire, her true need, was for pain. Pain and servitude.

The ship cut through the air, its blades wrapping around her flank with a satisfying thwack. She squeaked into the gag, but the impact was spread by the leather and the satin and an instant later all she felt was a warming glow where the blow landed. She wriggled, rubbing her thighs together. But he had made sure that there was no friction to be had. She would have orgasms by the dozen this night, but she would have them under his control, not under her own...

Seeing that she needed something more severe, he dropped the whip and picked up the riding crop. He teased her with it for a while, running the tip across her satin-clad rump, caressing her flanks. He reminded her that the crop was for taming beasts so they could be ridden. Tonight, he said, she would be a tamed beast. And tonight she would most certainly be ridden. He pulled her knickers down to her knees to emphasise the point.

With that, he struck her with the full force at his command, pivoting his hips as if smiting a foe with a sword. She yelled into the gag. Never before had he hit her that hard, and the next stroke was no softer. A dozen blows marched up and down her buttocks before he switched his attentions to the soles of her pretty bare feet. She pleaded with her eyes, begging him to hurt her. But she was far, far from her limit. Implacable, he drew back the crop and drove it down onto her soft sole. She screamed into the gag, then screamed again as the next blow landed, and the next, and the next...

After the vigorous lashing, he let her recover and dry her eyes for a few moments. He removed the gag in order to kiss her lips, untied her in order to remove her night-dress. He tied her in a simple hogtie and left her on the padded black satin bench while he prepared the tools of her torture.

He loved to watch her wriggle and writhe, but she looked as though she was tempted to speak once more. Speaking might break the spell... better that she be gagged once again. Since tonight she was a riding beast, a bit and bridle seemed the most appropriate choice to silence her. He added a spiked dog collar, emphasising that she was to be treated like a relcatricant animal. Unlike some slaves, she did not drool much when gagged. This merely meant she could be kept gagged all the longer.

The whips and clamps were ready. The dildos were lined up in order. Time to proceed.

Flipping her or her back, he changed the hogtie for a wrist-to-ankle frogtie. More convenient for fucking her, of course. She was about to get her first riding lesson of the evening. She seemed to be anticipating that with just a little too much relish... the addition of some strong nipple clamps certainly put the damper on her initial enthusiasm. He placed his hands one her shoulders, leant down over her, his erect manhood poised between her welcoming thighs... then plunged into the warm, wet velvet embrace.

She came only twice.

A well trained riding animal should have had at least four orgasms. Obviously her body was not well punished enough. Obviously, her training would have to continue.

He forced her to kneel, still gagged, her wrists fastened to a spreader bar. Rope hugged her breasts, her waist, ran between her thighs. He deliberately left the crotchrope a little loose, tied it off to the cuffs at her ankles. She could use it to bring herself to another climax... but it would be difficult. Would she realise that that was what he required of her now? The beating was about to begin and it would not end until she had come. But it would spoil the fun to tell her that too early!

He began the whipping on her breasts. Gently at first, he set the chain from the nipple clamps swinging. The pull and sway brought the blood flowing more strongly to her sensitive nipples, sensitized the nerves for the next, harder, blow of the crop. Slowly he built the intensity of the whipping, seeing the intensity of her emotion and feelings rise in response. She was breathing very hard, like a riding filly after a gallop. Time for more- she needed to climax for him as she was whipped. He whispered the order to come into her ear, stepped back, let rip at her buttocks.

In her bed, her body bucked and twitched as her hand brought her to searing climax, again and again and again. And in dreams her master took her in his strong arms and forced her down on the floor to take what was his.

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