Author's Note: This is a true scenario my wife and I have both enjoyed acting out.


He is stood naked at the end of the bed, his erection betraying his anticipation and sexual desire. Mistress is sat before him, fully clothed, rolling back a single stocking slowly and deliberately. She is wearing an above the knee skirt and her boots, with barely black nylons just visible. Her blouse is crisp and feminine, a necklace glinting around her perfumed neck.

"Look straight ahead, not down at me," she instructs. He says nothing and keeps his eyes fixed forward.

"It's going to be a long day for you. A long, uncomfortable day."

As she sheaths the stocking down over his manhood she smiles, watching as her plaything struggles to stay composed. She rolls the nylon down his length, stretching it over his balls to ensure that every part of him is snugly encased in 10 denier sheerness. Once done she draws another stocking up beneath his balls, looping it together in preparation to secure him.

"Don't worry, I know this is the important bit. I'm going to have you so tightly trussed that you'll hang on my every word" She drew the first bind tight and saw his balls come together, pert and attentive and pronounced. As she pulled tighter she felt his breathing quicken, and glanced up quickly to ensure he was still staring obediently ahead.

"Good boy," she praised. She wrapped the stocking around his balls twice more, both times impossibly tight. He could feel his sensitivity increasing, and this was even before she started on his shaft. Eventually she looped the stocking around the base of his member for the first time, and when she tightened it she pressure she used was immense. She had learned that she should never hold back, and that the male member was remarkable in it's ability to endure stress of this kind. The next loop was for the middle, and again the moment of tightening was extreme and prolonged, almost as if she was trying to illicit a response. And then finally the tip, the moment when the champagne was corked, his most sensitive point bound until such time as it pleased her to end his torment. She had also learned that if he didn't gasp with discomfort she was not securing him enough, so her final flourish was sudden, severe, both wrists gripping the stretched nylon with and pulling it ridiculously tight.

He was done. He wasn't going to climax no matter what. She reached for the black autograph micro fibre shorts she had specifically selected for him earlier, helping him step into them and drawing them up over his thighs. He was all packaged up now, her prisoner in both the physical and psychological sense. She placed her hand upon the front of his shorts and rubbed him, his hardness causing her levels of arousal to increase.

"Time for a trip out, my boy. We're going to go where I want, when I want, for as long as I want. And I expect you to be the perfect gentleman every second of every minute. Do you think you can handle that?"

It wasn't a question. It was a command. And she didn't need to hear his reply.

I am stood outside the changing room. The store is quiet, and I am waiting for her. To anybody passing I'm just another guy waiting for his beloved to try on her next outfit, only they don't know what I've been subjected to for the last hour.  My manhood his utterly erect, my balls bound so tight that I feel every single move. And then she appears from the changing room, sweeping sexily into view, modeling another dress which moves dreamily around her slender figure. She has removed her boots, her sheer legs divine, her feet crying out for a caress and the touch of my lips. 

"It's quiet in here" she mentions, almost in passing, before disappearing from view. Her coded invitation needs no repeat, and I glance briefly behind before slipping into the changing area. She enters a cubicle with a full length mirror and I follow, drawing the curtain closed behind me. Within seconds we are consuming one another, and I am pressing her back against the mirror as she hooks a single leg around me. I kiss her lips, her neck, her perfume intoxicating and beguiling. I didn't think I could get any harder and my tightly trussed up manhood screams against the merciless bondage she has subjected me to. I cup her breast with one hand whilst the other fumbles at the dress, pulling it upward with pure desire. My hand slides across sheer nylon and I feel insane, my bound desire tormented beyond all decent levels of frustration. I drop to my knees and bury my mouth against her womanhood, kissing and devouring, my head in constant motion. She is forced back against the mirror and I sense her passions growing ever more aflame, delighting in the feel of my mouth pressed close. She is moving her groin in response, lapping up the pleasure, willingly allowing her trussed and tormented plaything to give her an extended pleasuring. Her mind fills with intoxicating fantasies and passionate imagery, her hand upon his head now, steering his mouth as he desperately services his queen. Only then she is pulling him up and turning him around until he is against the glass. She fixes him with her stare, demanding he face her as she plunges her hand inside his jeans. She finds him bound and rock solid, can feel his heat and sense him throb. She plays with his shaft, as always knowing that her stimulation only adds to his discomfort.

"I've trussed you up good, haven't I? I don't ever think I've had you more attentive, my boy."

He nods. No point in putting on a pretense. She winks mischievously.

"I'm just warming up, darling. before I'm done you'll be lost for words. In fact I'd go so far as to say that you'll be literally gagging for it"

A couple of minutes later we are walking to the till with a dress draped over her arms which she hands to the young cashier. She takes it from her and scans it routinely.

"Everything to your satisfaction madam?" She asks, to which Mistress nods. 

"Oh yes. I'm very satisfied"

Ten minutes later she is sat on one of the comfy couches in Beatties, watching him approach with a tray laden with warm drinks and naughty treats. She can she him bulging through his jeans and she smiles as he approaches, deliberately waiting to cross her legs, the rustle of sliding nylon causing him further pause for thought. We sit, we talk, we laugh, to all intents and purposes no different to any other shopping couple. Only they don't know the secrets of their special relationship, or the level of control Mistress has whenever the mood inspires.

And now he is home, and she has put him to bed. His chest rises and falls, all the fight gone from him now. And well it might, for she has surpassed herself this time around. The extra rope has not been wasted, and has been used to add further restraint to both elbows and knees, tied off along different parts of the bed. When once he could have wriggled, now he can barely shift at all. This was bondage to a whole new level, so complete and inescapable that it was barely worth a struggle. Yet he had to struggle, because he needed to know that this wasn't just a game. He needed to know that he was utterly captive, helplessly bound. And she needed to know that once ensconced, ensconced he would stay. When they had come upstairs she had instructed him to strip, and he had been stood before her in just his black microfibers with the red flash inside the waist. She had kissed him gently, rubbing him slowly and deliberately, ensuring that he was duly attentive. Once secured she had played her usual game with the sheers, parading them before his dark brown eyes. She brushed them against his smooth cheeks, over his nose, before holding them within inches of his mouth. He opened up without even being asked, and Mistress secretly felt a rush of sexual power. In silence she pressed the nylons into his mouth, never breaking contact until he had devoured every last inch. An equally sheer pair of tights came down over his face before she roped him with her usual excessive style, catching the faintest mmmmppppphhhhh or gasp whenever she increased the tightness. And then she was holding the Lycra hood aloft, approving of the shine, the feel. She drew it down over him, taking care to ensure the eye pads were correctly positioned. It was an elegant solution, and utterly effective.

She lowered herself to lay beside him, draping her leg over him, caressing him with her stockinged toes. His chest rose and fell and she could sense the desperate need for sexual release. Her softer side would gladly had released his manhood and bought him to a climax; it wasn't as if he hadn't endured enough. Yet the feeling of power, of having her man in thrall of her was addictive, empowering. She leaned close to him, caressing his face and moving close enough to whisper.

"I know how much you want to peak. I can see how exited you are and you've waited so long. But if I pleasure you now then it means you're still really in control. If I release your manhood you'll be back in control, and I don't want that. I've loved being the centre of attention. I've loved the way you've adored me, looked at me, hung on my every move. It's just gone midday and it's hours before Sally drops the kids back. I'm going to keep you bound and gagged for a long time yet. Not because you want to, but because in the long run it will make you a better man. It's taken me a long time to learn that there's a difference between what you want and what you need. You've trusted me with your desires and now you have to trust that I know best. So rest up, my boy. I've bound and gagged you. And you're going to remain bound and gagged until I choose to release you"

She heard him make some kind of sound. Glancing down at his groin she could see him throbbing. She knew that certain words lit him up, so she moved even closer still.

"Bound. Gagged. Nylon tights inside your mouth and over your face. Have a dreamy afternoon, my man. I'll come back and see you . . . . eventually"