Sir has had therapeutic TENS on a muscle injury - which He hated - so He has been reticent to use electro on me in the past. However, the pup's wicked grin and gentle nuzzling soon had Him reaching for the remote and giving it a tentative few presses - and His pup's eager squirms and little whimpers of pleasure soon persuaded Him that the pup would come to no harm...
After that it didn't take long for Him to get the hang of the 'fire' button on the remote - or to visibly enjoy the little groans, twitches and yelps that each increasingly powerful 'ZZZAP!' raised ;)
With the plug tingling in my hole, Sir had me crawl up onto the spare sofa-bed - repositioning the removable back rest so that I could straddle on all fours with the cushion supporting my hips and my puppy hole raised high in the air. He then took advantage of my exposed position to place a humbler around my balls: forcing them painfully out and back and making me unable to move from my K9 position.
With His dog helpless (horny and dripping), Sir then took turns at cropping my tender arse and zapping my hole - with the dog barking His thanks at each stroke, and moaning and squirming in perverted pleasure with each pulse - the humbler pulling painfully at my balls with each instinctive jerk of pain or grind of pleasure, and producing a deep ache that simply ramped up my hunger all the more.
Finally, He removed the humbler and had me shuffle backwards along the bed - and eased the now warm electro-plug from my still-tingling hole.
Hungry, opened, riding high on the pain and the pleasure and deep into pup-space - I could only whimper and whine in wordless pleasure as I felt Him slide - hard and hot - into my waiting hole.
He reached down and under me, took my still-aching balls in His hand: used them to slowly pull me back onto Him - controlling me, telling me who was in charge, setting the pace for a long slow fuck that would be more about pleasuring Him than getting His pup off. I could only wriggle and pant and give myself to Him - knowing that His pleasure was my pleasure, and that serving Him is worth more than anything else in the world.
Sated, Sir finally decided it was time for His long-delayed nap, but the pup had one last grinning surprise in its bag as I pulled out my rubber sleep-sack...
Still tingling, still hungry, I could only grin up at my Man as He slid the sack up my prone body and slowly pulled up the zips - sealing me ever tighter into my helpless rubber prison. My legs forced together and my arms squeezed tight to my sides, I watched and squirmed as He converted my body from eager four-legged hound to glossy-black rubberised slug.
Finally, the gas-mask was pulled over my head - the multiple tubes snaking away from its snout to coil and writhe across my bound chest, whilst my breath whistled and sighed through the single port. My Man's face was the last image I saw through the already misting lenses as He pulled my own rubber one-piece over my head, sealing me away into darkness and isolation.
"Be careful what you wish for"
I am not new to intense bondage scenes. My first Top was a bondage expert well versed in the art of keeping a boy bound, encased, breathless and hungry - and I have spent many a heady hour of blissful restraint and edged frustration at His hands.
This time was different.
Maybe it was because I was still in a head-space focused around the puppish need for contact, or perhaps it was because of the health problems I have had with my back - but what I have previously experienced as blissful breathless intensity soon became unpleasant discomfort, which in turn gradually built into genuine pain - and then the rising grip of panic.
I tried reaching for sub-space: deepened my breathing and focused on letting my body relax. I tried to feel the restriction of the dark rubber as the embrace of my Man's control - the cloying, breathless darkness as the enfolding press of His body - the aching pain of my restrained body as the buzz of longed for rubber-transformation.
I tried every mental trick I have learnt in decades of sub-play - and not a single one of them worked.
The panic rose ever stronger in me - my heart racing and the mask sucking to my face with every heaving gasp. Genuine panic now filled my mind and twisted my thoughts - until the oppressive darkness throbbed with thoughts of my lonely asphyxiating death and my Man waking to find my lifeless corpse.
I lost all sense of time - every minute dragged into hours, and every one of them filled with pain. My body rebelled and I found myself thrashing and struggling against the rubber restraints - grunting and crying into the mask and sobbing helplessly in the darkness...
And then my Man was there: pulling away the blindfolding rubber, His concerned face peering in through the clouded lenses and the warm calming touch of His hand stroking my body through the sack. His voice was deep and calming as He pulled off the mask and asked "What's up pup - do you need out?"
I felt so foolish, but I had to nod - not trusting my voice, knowing that it would break in my relief at having Him there (and my disappointment at failing Him).
Smoothly, without fuss or comment, He released the zips and pulled me free from my rubber bonds - then held me and stroked my sweat-soaked head in concern as I trembled and shook, and sobs racked my body. He carried me to the bed then - wrapped me in the crisp warmth of the duvet and held me safe in His arms until the shudders subsided: let the warm touch of His body sooth the pain from my limbs and the panic from my mind.
He held me all the tighter when I could finally speak, and told Him of the thoughts that had racked me in the darkness of my isolation - He kissed my head and told me that He loved His dog and His boy, and would never let anything bad happen to me - and I knew that He meant it, and loved Him all the more.
I had a good growl at the nasty old scary sleepsack later though and gave it a good shake - just to show it who was boss...
Pride London, 2012
Thursday: mule-train and arrival
Friday: Acton and play-time at the Hoist
Sunday: Shoreditch and home