As macho as i think i am, which if needed measure puts me somewhere between King Kong and Superman, i still could not prepare myself for her.
First of all, our interaction was purely online. This placed a numbness between me and my reaction to the situation which, eventually, dictated the duration of our dynamic. I met her in my chatroom that i hosted (does anyone remember the one i mentioned here?). She dawdled, but only a little. Once she saw that i had a certain amount of untenable arrogance, she proceeded to lay out the full narrative of her submission and how she saw me fitting into it. We were easily 500 miles apart. We would never see eachother in person, unless one of us made a considerable trek to the other's locale, which just wasn't going to happen. What i liked and equally feared about her was her ability to succinctly describe the ways in which she would submit to me, even though these scenarios that i designed would be carried out by her cuckolded husband whose only role in their romance was to ensure his wife was summarily tormented, via proxy.
"c" would break the ice when she came online by telling me about the Shopping Network extravaganzas she had just watched that would efficiently plop her into a "ready to submit" mode. Trust me, i didn't believe it myself. I would cajole her, saying things like,"Cubic zirconias make you cream?!?" As "c" described it, watching the beautiful feminine hands delicately handle the costume jewelry (which, with her, would allow me to patter around with my own jewelry fascination) took her to a place where she could face her "demons". I came to learn that these "demons" were some of the most extreme degradations i'd ever participated in.
"I need to be in complete discomfort."
"I need to be suspended by my hair."
"I need to be treated like a mindless rag doll."
She repeated these statements in various iterations, but all of them would find a place in each of the predicaments i designed. On her consent, her husband e-mailed me, initiating a correspondence between him and i. I would send him my diagrams and my instructions. "c" would see none of this, not knowing her fate or its duration once her hubby began. His e-mails always came with just one phrase: "How am i supposed to position "c"?" The first time i received this question, i took several steps back from my computer. I paced back and forth. Something disturbed me about the spouse of one of the girls i'd met in my chatroom allowing his mate to face whatever torture a stranger could conjure from a distance. I would not be there when it began. I would not be there to set the mood and to establish the tone, telling her that i knew what i was doing. I would also not be there after she was released. I would not be there to hold her, embrace her, or wash her of the grime that collects after long hours of constriction. Yet, despite this, i could not contain my arousal and found myself creating intricate mechanisms for "c's" debasement.
The first scenario i designed involved shrink wrap (one of my favorite things). I'd been exploring this myself in my real life, and wanted to try something with "c". She had established that her torments needed to take place over a period of 24 hours or more - non-stop. First, she would be strapped to the support pole in their basement with leather bindings at her forehead, clavicle, hips, knees, and ankles, totally immobilizing her. Then, her husband would carefully apply a flawless mask of overly feminine makeup: Exceptionally rouged cheeks; Heavily lined eyelids, overhung by dark, rich eye shadows; Lips accentuated by crimson shades. He would then insert into her cunt an inflatable dildo, and a matching inflatable butt plug into her ass, as well as a PVC triple-headed gasket gag in her mouth. This would be followed by several layers of tight shrink wrap stretched across her naked body. The only thing protruding from the plastic would be the air hole of her PVC gag and the plunger bulbs of her dildo and butt plug. Her husband painted her shrink wrap-encased body with the heat of a hair dryer, effectively sealing her inside of this prison. Later that evening, via my instructions, the husband invited over several of "c's" friends to examine her, given encouragement to touch her through the plastic and squeeze the plungers of her impalers. 36 hours after this began - 36 hours - she was released.
She consistently challenged me, prodding me to go further with my sadism. One of the most extreme scenarios i ever designed had her bound with her arms behind her back, gagged, blinded and stuffed inside a burlap sack which was then placed inside a cedar chest, lid closed, and then pushed inside of a walk-in closet. The only light of day she "saw" during her internment were the hourly visits where her hubby was instructed to lift the lid off the chest and urinate onto the form lying prone inside. She withstood this for 41 hours. At the end of this episode, i could not, despite all attempts, find the thrill i'd first experienced when "c" approached me with her initial proposition.
Over time, i looked on my experience with her as a growth period. I learned more about my need to debase the female form, and its limits. That arrived after many hours of reflection. When i came to the realization that i could no longer perform this duty for "c", i was devastated. For the first time in my life, i was unable to accommodate the gift of someone's complete submission. Before this experience, i'd glibly thought that i could meet any level of masochism tossed at me. "c" showed me the limits to my own sadistic traits. I still remember the stark jolt of pain as i told "c" that i was no longer going to be able to act as her "top". Letting go of her submission was almost as extreme as it was to first acquire it. Except, this time i didn't feel any pleasure.
*this continues on here