The metal is cold and excruciating against my flesh. It digs into my neck, wrists, and ankles like bare bones grinding against each other at the joint. It becomes more unpleasant with every adjustment I try to make. I must force myself to become accustomed to this metal structure, to feel as though it is an extension of my skeletal structure, a part of me. Every sensation is an exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain. I feel his eyes watching me, his smirk, his pleasure in my discomfort and pain. I find that I am turned on by this in spite of myself. He knows where every tender part of my body is and he makes sure to exploit that knowledge. I have no choice but to give in, a slave to sensations.

Leather straps constrict her body in a tight hogtie, face down on the padded box. New to bondage with only a handful of shoots in her past, she’s never experienced helplessness like this. I watch as sweat begins to bead on her face. She’s nervous. She gasps and claims it’s difficult to breathe, but I know she’s lying. She's just desperately seeking a way to gain back some of the control she gave up. The exaggerated gasping doesn’t have the intended effect on me so next she starts pleading, first with her voice and then with her eyes, but that doesn’t work either. I’ve seen this act before. Her feigned suffering makes me want to pull the straps tighter, to show her how easy I’m being on her, to show her how bad it can get, but I resist the urge. For now, anyway. If I'm patient, I can lure her in deeper.