Sybil’s Birthday Bondage Surprise

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“Sybil. What were you doing in a sex club this afternoon?”

“In or out. Don’t leave the door open.”

“We have to talk.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Now.”

“You want to talk, then sit yourself there on the toilet seat. I’m not moving from this tub for the next three days.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“Yes, it is. Hand me my drink. There on the floor.”

“What is this thing?”

“It’s a sports bottle. What does it look like?”

“A green penis.”

“It has a straw. See?”

“Forget the bottle. What were you doing in a sex club?”

“They’re called dungeons, if you care to know.”

“Whatever. What were you doing there?”

“Using my birthday present. The gift certificate you left for me on the dresser.”

“I got you a trial membership for an extreme yoga class.”

“I know that–now. Did you happen to read the certificate?”

“I bought it on-line for Elinore’s yoga place. Got it with a coupon.”

“Did you read it?”

“I skimmed it.”

“Did you see the word yoga anywhere on it?”

“I didn’t think I had to read it all that carefully.”

“Might’ve saved me playing Stretch Armstrong.”

“So. If you figured out it wasn’t a yoga class, what were you doing there?”

“Making sure you got your money’s worth.”

“What happened to the yoga class I paid for?”

“Do you want to hear what happened or just keep asking questions?”

“I want to know how you managed to get yourself stripped naked, trussed up–“

“Would you lower your voice? Neighbors can hear right through these walls.”

“Could you not do that.”

“What?”

“Suck on that thing.”

“I’m drinking. I got it as a souvenir. See? Silicone. Squeezable. So it fits wherever you might want to put it. Anyway. I’m thinking it’s a yoga class, too. Across the top of the flyer it says, ‘Try a new kind of workout.’ And, ‘Something special with that special someone.’ A little sappy, but okay. The address at the bottom I recognized. I’ve been there dozens of times.”

“So, you didn’t read it either.”

“It’s my birthday present. I’m supposed to wonder if you knew what you were getting me? So. I show up there with my mat, some cute new workout clothes, and right off this woman greets me, asking me if I’m in the right place. I’m thinking maybe not because she is not my typical yoga instructor. She’s got a bust that could be carved out of marble, and muscles you could break nuts with. Her hair is all spikey and magenta colored. And her get-up? Like a Roman soldier. Intense, you know? But the way she asks it puts me off, and I tell her of course I’m in the right place. I’ve been to this studio before. Maybe not recently–okay, maybe not in quite a long while, but I used to drop in on Elinore’s yoga class when I could.”

“That’s what I was assuming when I bought it.”

“I could see they’d changed it all around. I didn’t give much thought to it. The whole place looks like Robin Hood’s castle or something. There are two kids behind the desk. The guy is in what looks like a skimpy cave man get-up with a bear claw necklace. He’s tanned and ripped, with some serious pecs. The girl’s wearing this white plastic space armor and these–these–tit cones, that have little blinking lights in the tips. Then, while I’m standing there being your average Jane Q. Public, these two guys–big, big, blocky guys–come sauntering through wearing nothing but these harnesses with their actual peckers poking out through steel rings. These are not average-guy sized peckers, either. You remember being out whale watching? How it felt, us standing on that little boat, as these two hump backs swam right by? Near enough to touch? It felt a lot like that, them going past me.”

“You didn’t ask yourself why they would be doing yoga in leather harnesses?

“I was a little distracted, Earl. Not something I see every day at the mall, all right? But I say, okay, maybe they’re aiming to get a younger crowd in here. All of us in Elinore’s class are over forty. Some more than others. Anyway, the one with the magenta hair–the manager, I find out later–is giving me the eye and keeps asking if I’m sure I’m in the right place, and I tell her again, yes, and I push the certificate over to her. I say my husband bought a session for me. and she asks if you’re going to be joining me. I say of course not, he’s not into this kind of thing, and she makes a mouth, so I add it’s for my birthday. Who knows? Maybe get a free glass of champagne. ‘Oh. I see,’ she says, but I’m not liking the way she says that.”

“I appreciate you sticking up for me, but you could’ve asked to get your money back.”

“I didn’t want her thinking I’d run off because of a couple of bare-assed boys with their peckers flapping. Then she goes and says, wouldn’t you rather do a nice couples’ night in the hot tub, and I’m thinking, do I look like I’m not up for your extreme yoga class? So I say no, I’d like to use the certificate, see how I like it and if it’s any good, I’ll do a whole series. She shrugs and says okay, like she doesn’t think I’m up to it. That really frosts me, but I don’t show it. I smile, and she hands me off to Tit-Cone Girl who runs down a list of options. bonus veren siteler She says I could do the Enchanted Forest, which is ideal for beginners. Lots of playful plushies, frisky elves, that kind of thing. Then there’s Marooned on Venus, for the more experienced sub, she says, with simulated weightlessness and alien creatures, tentacles, black lights, and so on. And all the time I’m going, they must really be desperate to get young people in here.”

“What’s a sub?”

“I have no idea. Nothing to do with yoga, I’m sure, but Red is standing right there, so I’m not about to ask. Finally, Tit-Cones says I could try the Ogre’s Castle. But she doesn’t give me any details, like she did the others. I ask, what’s that, and she says that for a sub with a lot more experience, very immersive. She leans in, giving a glance at Red and kind of whispers, not for the faint of heart, like she’s doing me a favor.”

“Did any of this sound like yoga to you?”

“No. I’m still thinking they’re trying to be creative, open it up, but I can’t imagine any of our crowd wanting to do yoga in an ogre’s castle. When we do Elinore’s class, there’s incense burning all around the studio, and they’ve got soft, relaxing music going.”

“It’s not a yoga class.”

“I know that. Now I know that. But not at the time. Red was still giving me the eye, and says, ‘well?’ By this time, I’m feeling a little bit foolish, like I’ve been out of circulation too long. You ever get that feeling?”

“Every time I take the car in for service. But they don’t have me taking off my clothes.”

“I just want to get going with the class, but I’m thinking maybe take a rain check, have you get your money back and we go out to dinner, but then she says, you sure you want to do this? Well. I’m telling you, that did it. I whip around and tell Tit Cones to go through the options again. She reads them off and when she gets to the Ogre’s Castle I say stop right there. You’re sure, she asks, like I’m planning to ski a double black diamond or something. Yes, I’m sure, I say. So they pull out a release form that I have to sign. She asks me if I want live or simulated, and I say live, duh.”

“Hoo, boy.”

“I didn’t want them thinking I’d be satisfied with them sticking me off somewhere in front of a yoga video running on a TV screen.”

“That’s not what they meant.”

“I wanted you to get your money’s worth. Then she said I had to choose a safe word.”

“You didn’t think it odd, choosing a safe word for a yoga class?”

“Well — like I said, Red frosted me with her attitude, her perky tits, and perfect abs, and legs that just wouldn’t quit.”

“That waiver. Did you read it?”

“I never read those things.”

“I guess that makes us even, then.”

“It was just something saying how I’m doing this of my own free will, how extreme it is, and where to send the body. You know. The usual hooey to spice up the experience, make it seem scarier than it is. Like those waivers they make you sign to get the super-powered atomic wing sauce out at the barbeque place on County Line Road. Get you in the mood.”

“You should’ve read it.”

“She was looking over the waiver and said I needed to write in the safe word–for the other players, she said, and so I maybe was a bit flip, and I filled in the blank with ‘bring it on’ which I found out later is not a good safe word.”

“No. I’d guess not.”

“But not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“Why?”

“I’ll get to that. Soon as I sign it, the manager whips it away, and this other girl comes out, who seems a little more normal sized–to me at least–but she’s wearing an incredibly skimpy sling shot bikini, made from nothing but a couple of bootlaces it looked like, and that was it. Anyway, she tells me to follow her, please. I heft my bag and Red tells me they have everything I’ll need. I’m taking it anyway, I said. Like I’ve never done yoga before.”

“The costume you ended up wearing? They gave you that?”

“Fresh out of the wrapper. They took me down to the locker room, had me pull off everything, I mean everything. Panties, bra, everything, and stuck it all in the locker. Bikini Girl shuts it–with all of my clothes in it–and has me program the lock. I confess I was a tad uncomfortable. It’s one thing to join a new class fully dressed among a bunch of strangers. Stark naked is a whole ‘nother level of squeamish. But–like I said–I was going to get your money’s worth.”

“I said I wouldn’t have squawked if you decided to bail out.”

“What do I say? Oh, excuse me, the old nipple thermometer says it’s too cold to play right now? Could I have my clothes back please? No sir. Not with Red standing right there.”

“She followed you down to the locker room?”

“I told you, she’s watching for me to quit.”

“It probably wasn’t personal. Maybe it’s a safety thing.”

“Now YOU’RE saying I should’ve quit?”

“Uh, yeah. Knowing what you know now?”

“Well, I DIDN’T know what I know now–then. You’re not making any sense, Earl.”

“I’m just saying–“

“Well, don’t. You sound like Red. Anyway. I’m getting goose bumps and Bikini Girl says, let’s get you dressed. bedava bahis I’m ready for that, doing a little foot dance because the floor may look like old wood beams, it’s not. Nothing but painted rubber matting and I’m getting chills. They open up the package and it’s a collar, and wrist and ankle cuffs. Leather. Cold leather. With buckles. Cold buckles. And rings and clips. I jingle when I move.”

“Right there. You could’ve said something.”

“What? Like, do you have something with the fur still on it? Maybe a bunny suit? With footies? That would be embarrassing.”

“Better than what they had you in.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight’s twenty-twenty. I have to add some more hot water. It’s giving me chills remembering.”

“I see that.”

“Don’t get any ideas. Not for another three days, at least. I need to let miss vanessa jane get back to normal. Anyway. I’m getting myself used to the idea that maybe being naked is the ‘extreme’ in their extreme yoga. Like, I’ll go into the studio and all the other women will be just as naked. Maybe in better shape, but it won’t be just me. So, Bikini Girl leads me through a door, and we step into a totally dark room. I mean totally dark. I can’t see my hand in front of my face. She whispers good luck and whoosh, she’s gone.”

“Now you should have said something. You can’t do yoga in the dark.”

“Maybe so. But I was relieved I wasn’t standing naked in a room full of strangers.”

“Oh, that’s a laugh.”

“I’m just saying how it felt at the time. So it’s dark, right? Then all these little yellow eyes start blinking around me and there’s growling, like tigers circling me. I don’t get spooked easily, but now I’m spooked. It’s not putting me in the mood for yoga, that’s for sure. Then music comes on, drums mostly, flutes, and really angry sounding. About that time, the lanterns come on, not too bright, but I can see well enough to know the room is done up like a dungeon, all stone and wood beams, hay on the floor, ropes and hooks dangling from the walls and ceiling. That cage thing with a skeleton in it. A brazier with irons heating in it. And I’m thinking how do they expect me to see the instructor, much less concentrate? You know the one thing I don’t see?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Mats. How are we expected to do naked yoga on the hay spread over the floor? Now. Now, I’m about ready to say time-out, king’s X, let me tap out, but before I can, I’m swarmed by three ogres yammering in German, and the place lights up.”

“How’d you know it was German?”

“I’ve seen enough of your war movies to know.”

“Ogres speak German?”

“These did. Exchange students from over at the college, I imagine. Engineering classes are full of them. Anyway. They heft me up over their heads, celebrating, carrying me around like I’m some kind of captive.”

“Naked?”

“I wasn’t worried about being naked. I was worried these three strange guys in ogre masks tripping over each other and dropping me. Let me tell you, they were none too careful what they grabbed hold of. I’d have covered miss vanessa jane with my hands if I could, but I was busy hanging on to one ogre’s head for safety.”

“So you weren’t seeing any yoga students, were you.”

“No, just the kids done up like ogres.”

“You still didn’t think it was a good time to pull the plug?”

“Everything was happening so fast, all I could think was it’s something you cooked up to surprise me for my birthday.”

“Me?”

“You know, making it seem like I’m getting a yoga class, and it turns out to be something wild and crazy.”

“Edible lingerie is about as wild and crazy as I ever got.”

“Well, you weren’t there to tell me, so all I could think to do was go with it, make sure you got your money’s worth. Anyway. After they’d done their little victory march, snorting and snarling, pawing at me, they take me over to a–a–I don’t know what you’d call it. Looks like something you’d have out in the garage. A wooden block with a padded top, ring bolts on either side near the bottom, and at the back there’s a post with a cross-piece at the top, with a couple of ring bolts at either end of the cross-piece. At the time, I couldn’t help thinking how much it looked like a fist giving us the finger. I don’t know why that popped into my head then. You know how I get when I’m embarrassed. I start seeing the ridiculous in everything, laughing so I don’t go all cringey. Anyway. They plop me down and fasten my wrists to those rings on either side at the bottom, and then fold my legs up and fasten my ankles to the rings on either side of the post. There I am with my arms stretched out and straight down and my knees all the way up next to my ears, my feet pointed straight up at the ceiling, and that cross-piece spreading me open.”

“You didn’t think to object before they got you buckled in?”

“I would have, but they strapped a knobby whiffle ball into my mouth. You know what you cannot say with a ball gag in your mouth?”

“No, what?”

“Just about anything. Especially my safe word. Which I realized if I could get it out, would probably egg them on.”

“You can’t still be thinking it’s a yoga class?”

“The deneme bonus moment one of them slaps a flail across my bare backside, I know I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

“You crossed the state line out of Kansas a while back.”

“Anyway, it wasn’t a really hard slap. But enough to sting, catching miss vanessa jane by surprise. That sends a jolt down the insides of my thighs, right to my toes. Then he does it again. And again. I can’t do anything. I try wiggling my butt, which doesn’t help, the way my wrists and ankles are pinned. All of a sudden Red pops into view, wearing this leather mask with a grill for a mouth, and asks if I’d like to use my safe word now. Maybe I would have. If she’d asked nicely. But she didn’t. So, I tried sticking my tongue out at her, but all I could do with that wiffle ball stuffed into my mouth is show her my teeth. And drool. Like a two-year old. I mean, is that supposed to happen? Is that sexy? Do you find that sexy, Earl?”

“I’d skip that part.”

“I add a little growl, so she gets my meaning, and whap! He’s back to slapping me across the ass with that thing of his.”

“I can’t imagine you not saying something for that.”

“Normally, I would–but–“

“You’re just trying to get my money’s worth.”

“Okay, that too, but–and don’t take this the wrong way–but, you slapping me on the backside–never felt like this. Maybe because they had me spread wide open, everything bare, and it’s a complete stranger swinging the whip. Not like full out, but enough that it stings. Every few strokes, he’d catch me on my veejay and I’ve got a full-on tingle going right up to my armpits. Taking me right up to the edge without going over.”

“So you’re saying you like it.”

“I didn’t say that, Earl. Exactly. Anyway, she gives a nod, and another ogre brings over a candle, holding it over me. I thought he was leaning down to get a better look at miss vanessa jane, but, no, he starts dripping hot wax on my thighs. Starting just back of my knees and trickling it along heading straight for my veejay. You know how you say your thighs get to buzzing when you stand too close to the edge of a really high place?”

“Even thinking about it sets me off.”

“Well, it was just like that. It wasn’t so much the pain–it didn’t seem all that hot, but just thinking of hot wax dribbling on my puss set me to buzzing and bucking. But he stopped just a hair shy, and went and did the same thing on the other side. Then–another ogre clips a couple of clothes pins on my nips.”

“Ogres just happen to have clothes pins lying around?”

“I don’t know, Earl. Maybe they need to do laundry like normal people.”

“There’s nothing normal about any of this.”

“They weren’t done softening me up. The worst–and this was a surprise–the worst was when one of them took to running a bristle brush between my toes. Oh, that nearly had me wet myself, and it would’ve served them right if I had given them a squirt. I guess it doesn’t seem like much compared to what they’d been doing. But that had me whipping my fanny this way and that, my feet going like flippers, but my ankles are buckled down too tight. I may have gassed a bit, but they didn’t seem to notice.”

“Goes with the job, I guess.”

“You know who didn’t show herself, when I was getting the shit literally tickled out of me?”

“Red.”

“Right again. Too dainty for it, I suppose.”

“What I don’t get, Sybil, is–you stub your toe or bark your shins and you’ll curse for a solid five minutes.”

“I was sort of getting used to it. The way I was twisted up like a pretzel, then having hot wax drizzled on the tender parts of my thighs, then having clips snapped onto my nips, and then the brush between my toes–all I can think is that it’s pain and pleasure both trying to move along the same nerve. Like a bike race on a one-lane road. One trying to outdo the other, racing for wherever it is we feel pain or pleasure. But here’s the kicker. It’s like they both arrive at exactly the same time, and all I want to do is scream. I maybe did.”

“I’ve got a couple of C-clamps I can use on you next time.”

“Don’t be peevish. These are professionals.”

“Professional ogres.”

“Don’t bandy words. You know what I mean. So, I’ve got clips on my nips, a flail slapping my veejay, wax caking on my butt cheeks, and now I’ve got one of them sticking a finger in my back door, wiggling his finger around, while this other one holds up two green dildos. One’s normal sized, the other is enormous. But both of them are all gnarly and twisty, veined, and covered in pimples. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where those are going. He’s holding them up where I can see them, first the one, then the other, like he can’t make up his mind which one to use. Then, like he’s going to be generous and let me decide, he looks right at me, holds up that huge bladder buster and smiles. But, if he’s doing me the courtesy of asking, I’m going to tell him no. So I shake my head. He holds up the other, and I nod my head. He seems disappointed, but I breathe a whole lot easier when he tosses the big one away. He goes to greasing it up, while the other one greases my hind end. I brace myself when he puts the tip against my pooper and starts twisting and pushing. The way they have my legs split wide the way they were, no way I can squeeze myself shut if I wanted to, so I decide, you paid good money for this, so let’s go.”

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