Chapter 12 The Black Dress

Upon my arrival, Ben greeted me with an exuberant bear hug, spinning me around in his arms. He conveyed his eagerness to get started, emphasizing the importance of punctuality for several planned engagements. Taking me up to what he affectionately referred to as "my room," but what was, in reality, the dungeon, Ben proceeded to undress me completely. With a meticulous eye, he inspected every inch of my body, praising the flawless work of John in removing every trace of hair. His fingers lingered on the lock of my chastity belt, ensuring it remained secure, before turning me around to admire my exposed buttocks. Skillfully, his hands traced the path of the two chains that emerged between my legs, granting him unrestricted access to my rear.

Content with my physical appearance, Ben retrieved a long black dress that cascaded down to my toes while hugging my upper body tightly with its high turtleneck. Slipping the dress onto me like a robe, he deftly maneuvered the center zipper, guiding it from my neck down, gradually revealing the contours of my body. The snugness of the vinyl fabric left little to the imagination, accentuating the outline of the lock securing my chastity belt and prominently showcasing my nipples in what looked like small pockets. Without the bra's support, the zippered pockets brought your eyes directly to my chest, the tight fabric allowing an illusion of eyes poking out.

With a firm grip, Ben turned me around, positioning me to face away from him. Methodically, he initiated the process of tightly binding my arms, starting with my hands and gradually working his way up. His skillful movements ensured that the rope neither caused discomfort nor hastened the process of restraining my arms. As the tension increased, I could sense my arms drawing closer together, slowly but surely, which in turn pushed my chest outward, emphasizing the nipples that were already standing at attention.

As I watched Ben skillfully bind my arms in the floor-length mirror, it became apparent that it had been strategically placed for this precise purpose. The reflection allowed me to witness the transformation, adding a sense of heightened arousal to the scene.

Turning me around to face him, he took a moment to admire his handiwork, his eyes lingering on the tightly secured ropes and the alluring sight of my body. His fingers grazed across my breast, the pressure causing my already erect nipples to press insistently against the confining fabric of the dress. A shiver of pleasure coursed through me, intensifying the sensations building within.

Leaning down, Ben lifted the hem of the dress, granting him access to my ankles. With a purposeful determination, he fastened ankle cuffs to me, clipping them together and completing my physical restraint. The cool metal against my skin sent a thrilling shiver up my spine.

In a deliberate motion, Ben reached for an item patiently awaiting its role on a nearby shelf. It was a penis gag, its phallic shape and size ample enough to reach the back of my throat nearly. As he positioned it in my mouth, I had to focus on suppressing any reflex that might lead to gagging. The gag's firmness filled my mouth, creating a sense of constriction and surrender.

Purposefully, Ben placed a black Covid mask over the gag, ensuring my mouth and nose were covered. The black mask hiding the dildo in my mouth would allow me to be out in public without drawing more attention to myself through the vinyl dress; on the other hand, it might catch more than enough attention as it was.

Standing tall, Ben took a moment to appreciate the sight before him; he moved me to once again stare at myself in the mirror. While gazing at myself, I was covered nose to toe, yet I felt naked as the dress showed everything. Ben leans down to whisper, "You are mine" his soft words cause me to close my eyes so I can feel all the restraints he had placed securing me tightly.

He grabbed another length of rope, ensuring he had everything he needed for the next stage of our journey. And in one smooth motion, he scooped me up, effortlessly lifting me onto his shoulder, my body at his complete mercy.

He carried me purposefully descending the stairs, heading towards his waiting truck. As he gently placed me in the backseat, my body lying face down. With practiced efficiency, he skillfully hooked my already clasped ankles and, using the extra rope, expertly connected them to my bound hands. The resulting position, a tight hogtie, rendered me completely immobilized.

The gag in my mouth muffled protests or words that might have escaped my lips, leaving me physically and audibly silenced. Each movement was now restricted; every muscle and limb surrendered to the restraints that held me captive. He then added a mask over my eyes, blocking out the light entering the truck's windows. The combination of bondage and sensory deprivation heightened my vulnerability, intensifying the intoxicating mix of anticipation and arousal that coursed through my veins.

With a practiced hand, Ben skillfully maneuvered me into position, ensuring I was secured in the backseat. A specially modified seatbelt, designed for this purpose, encircled my bound form, providing an additional restraint layer. Happy with his work, he said it was time to go.

As he closed the door, the world outside became a distant echo, leaving me secluded in darkness. The gag in my mouth, pressing down on my tongue, left little room for anything else. Its phallic shape reminded me of my submissive state, requiring me to suck and engage with it to manage the rapidly accumulated saliva flow. Ben had taken it upon himself to explore different types of ball gags in our online shopping, seeking one that would enhance our shared experience and satisfy his desires.

In the backseat, my vision obscured, and my head held in place, I surrendered to the sensations that consumed me. Every movement, every breath, was now dictated by the restraints that held me.

The truck stops after 20 minutes feeling like we are on pavement and not back to the house with a rock and gravel driveway. Ben gets out, comes around, and opens the door near my legs. He spends a moment untying my ankles from my hands and unbuckles me, my legs now free from their constricting ropes, still having cuffs securely fastened around my ankles linked together. Ben lifts me from the truck, then stands me up and allows me to lean on the truck. Once standing, Ben removes the blindfold and fixes the face mask so it once again hides the gag underneath.

As he stands before me, Ben reaffirms my role as his captive, emphasizing the extent of his control over me. He clarifies that objections hold no weight in this scenario, leaving me with only one acceptable response: a nod of compliance. The gravity of his words sinks in. The punishment he describes is so severe that I would find it challenging to sit comfortably for an entire month. It sends a shiver down my spine as I recall the intensity of his spankings, delivered with a force that left my buttocks bruised and tender for days. The realization that he could impose such a punishment, combined with the mix of fear and arousal it evokes, leaves me momentarily dazed.

At that moment, the power dynamic between us becomes palpable. The vulnerability of my position underscores the trust I have placed in him. Aware of our established boundaries, I silently acquiesce to his desires; my only response is a nod of submission.

He asks me again if I understand, and with a sense of urgency and a desire to avoid any potential repercussions, I nod fervently, assuring Ben that I know his expectations. Taking a jacket, he drapes it over my shoulders, concealing the fact that my arms are tightly bound behind me.

As I stop leaning and stand upright, I glance downward, observing my appearance. The flat sandals he had placed on my feet allowed the long dress to cascade gracefully to the ground, effectively hiding my feet from view unless I deliberately extended my foot. The restrictive nature of the dress and ankle cuffs limit my movements, making such a simple action challenging.

Being thrust into a situation where I find myself in public while adorned in such revealing attire, yet concealing everything stirs up an exhilarating sense of anticipation I've never experienced. The notion of potentially being seen by others, with the clandestine knowledge of what lies beneath the fabric, ignites a mixture of arousal and anticipation within me. Sensations of wetness begin to manifest between my legs.

As we navigate the small strip mall, my eyes scan the surroundings, taking note of a restaurant and the assortment of shops within. He guides me towards a tattoo parlor with his arm securely draped over my shoulders. Instantly, a wave of resistance washes over me, causing me to recoil instinctively. The idea of getting a tattoo is a significant commitment, one that I am uncertain we have reached, considering our limited number of in-person encounters.

As I feel tears welling up in my eyes, unable to voice my concerns due to the gag, he turns to me calmly. He soothes me with his presence, assuring me that everything about to unfold will ultimately work out for the best. The warmth of his handkerchief against my skin provides some comfort as he gently wipes away my tears and clears my nose. The gag reminds me of my captive status and the consequences that await any form of disobedience. I nod ever so slightly, the fear and uncertainty momentarily overshadowed by my desire to make him happy. He asks again if I am his captive. With renewed determination, I lift my head and nod to him, fully embracing my role as his submissive.

We approach the tattoo shop together, and he graciously holds the door open, allowing me to enter first. I take in the sights and surroundings as we enter the shop, realizing it appears like any other tattoo parlor. The walls were adorned with various tattoo designs, the medical beds resembling those found in a doctor's office, and the presence of tattoo artists engrossed in their craft. However, my heightened vulnerability intensifies my awareness of my restrained state.

Feeling the gazes of those around me, I become acutely aware of the visible signs of my submissive position. The outline of the chastity belt and infinity collar beneath the tight vinyl dress, the phallic gag in my mouth that requires my attention, and the bondage evident in my posture. Embarrassment spreads across my cheeks as I imagine their curiosity and potential judgment.

Though I cannot verbalize my discomfort, I hope that Ben's presence beside me serves as a shield, a reminder of his ownership and control over me. The firm grip of his hand on my shoulders provides a sense of reassurance and guidance.

Still maintaining his supportive hold on me, Ben leads us to the counter. As I glanced at the array of tattoo drawings covering the walls, I felt unease and anxiety wash over me, amplifying my fear of receiving a permanent tattoo. The swirl of emotions makes me slightly dizzy, and I lean into Ben's body for stability.

A tattoo artist, noticing our arrival and my tight outfit, approaches us. His eyes scan me from head to toe, taking in the sight of my mask, which hides the gag. The mix of curiosity and assessment in his gaze only heightens my self-consciousness.

In a professional tone, he asks how he can assist us, his words cutting through the silence of my internal turmoil.

With a mischievous glint, Ben calmly responds that we have an appointment with the piercer, Steve. My head instinctively turns towards him, confusion and panic evident in my expression. I can feel my mind racing, trying to comprehend what part of my body will be pierced.

But as I look at Ben, his amusement becomes apparent. He had orchestrated this situation intentionally, testing the limits of my devotion and willingness to go along with his desires. A mix of relief and annoyance washes over me, realizing I had momentarily fallen into his playful trap.

As we walk past the rows of beds, I feel a sense of relief, knowing that I won't have to lie down on any of them. The tension in my body starts to ease slightly. Steve, the piercer, emerges from a back room, and I observe Ben giving him a warm hug, their camaraderie evident. They have a deep connection, as if they've known each other for a long time. I follow behind them, taking careful, shuffling steps to accommodate the tight dress and cuffs.

As the conversation continues between Ben and Steve, I find myself left out of the discussion, unable to participate or even voice my thoughts due to the gag in my mouth. I sit on the high bed after Ben picks me up and places me there; I observe my surroundings more closely now that I can take it in.

The room's walls are adorned with many after photos, showcasing the work of the tattoo and piercing artists. The images primarily focus on breasts, with close-ups that display the intricate designs and placements of the piercings. Some photos also feature full-body shots, highlighting the artists' skill in creating cohesive and visually striking body modifications.

I feel a mix of curiosity and trepidation, wondering what kind of piercing experience awaits me in this unique environment. The sight of the photos serves as a reminder that I am about to undergo a significant physical transformation.

Feeling embarrassed and excited, I realized I missed a question from Steve while I was lost in my thoughts, captivated by the provocative photos on the walls. Ben brings my attention back to the present by removing the jacket, exposing the ropes that securely bind my hands and arms.

As Steve appreciates the intricate binding, he playfully asks if I enjoy being tied up and paraded around in public. My heart skips a beat as I remember Ben's instruction to only respond with only nods. I look at Ben for confirmation, and he gives me a stern gaze, reminding me of our agreement. With a nervous yet determined nod, I respond to Steve's question, which elicits his laughter as he acknowledges my response.

Steve asks me if I want him to pierce both of my nipples, emphasizing the importance of consent and the legal implications involved. I feel a mixture of shock, apprehension, and the weight of the decision. I glance at Ben, wearing a proud smile and looking at me intently, reminding me of our agreement and the consequences of refusing.

Realizing that declining would result in punishment beyond the piercing, I gather my courage and nod firmly to indicate my consent. Deep inside, I question my motivations and whether this is what I truly want, but the desire to please Ben and explore our dynamic overrides any doubt.

Ben's expression reflects his satisfaction with my decision, and I can't help but wonder if this act of submission will bring us closer together.

I watch intently as Steve unwraps the surgical items, each one looking more intimidating than the last. The sight of the needles and pliers sends a shiver down my spine, but I remind myself that I have consented to this experience and chosen to embrace it as a symbol of my dedication to Ben.

Steve asks Ben to remove my top so he can get started. I look down at my dress and then back to Ben; the dress's zipper is at the bottom, and my breasts cannot be shown unless he practically unzips the whole thing.

Ben stands before the raised bed; his gaze locked with mine. I feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness as he starts to unzip my dress, his fingers gliding slowly and deliberately. The realization dawns on me that this is precisely what he wanted, why he ordered this particular dress for our weekend together. He wants me to be on display, to expose my vulnerability and submission.

As the zipper ascends, my body relaxes, allowing me to shift and open my legs slightly, finding comfort in the newfound freedom of movement. The unzipping of the dress reveals my chastity belt, prominently displayed against my skin, a tangible symbol of my place in our relationship. With the vinyl fabric pushed behind my shoulders, I am left exposed and vulnerable, my tied arms accentuating my helpless state.

Steve steps forward, positioning himself in front of me, while turning to Ben to exchange a few words about the chastity belt, commenting on its beauty, causing a faint blush to creep onto my cheeks. My fair skin appears even paler against the striking black of the dress, intensifying the contrast. Their conversation continues, sharing information and thoughts about me, not listening to the words, just the sound of voices.

After their discussion, Steve approaches with a black Sharpie marker. With a steady hand, he carefully marks little dots on each side of my nipples. Stepping back to assess his work, he examines the placement of the dots, seeking Ben's agreement on their alignment.

As they both focus on me, I become increasingly aware of the need to suck on the penis gag to manage the excess saliva that continues to build up.

Amidst the silence, I hear Steve's voice, breaking the tension. "Okay, let's do this." He reaches for a pair of pliers, its end featuring a hole designed to grip the nipple and flatten it slightly, providing the necessary access for piercing. With precision, he carefully positions the pliers, ensuring the desired placement. I watch him retrieve a large needle and a piece of cork, readying himself for the next step.

As Steve stands before me, his gaze locked onto my masked face, he kindly reminds me to breathe, emphasizing that the pain will be brief. I focus on his words, attempting to steady my breath. Behind me, Ben positions himself, placing his hands reassuringly on my shoulders, a gesture of support.

Looking up at Ben towering over me, I find a momentary sense of comfort. But as Steve proceeds, a searing pain shoots through my nipple, catching me off guard. I can't vocalize my discomfort, my voice stifled by the dildo gag firmly secured in my mouth. The excessive salivation I experienced has vanished, leaving me with a parched sensation.

Steve's voice breaks through the haze, urging me to continue breathing. I feel slightly relieved as he removes the needle, quickly replacing it with a ring, securing a ball in its small opening.

Ben's grip on my shoulders tightens, his words muffled by the lingering pain. Gradually, I regained focus and comprehended his reassurances. He praises me for enduring the ordeal and assures me we're nearing the end. However, my heart sinks as I realize we're not yet finished.

I glance down just in time to witness the second needle piercing through my other nipple. The intense pain surges through me once more, intensifying the fiery sensation. I grit my teeth on the gag, unable to utter a sound of distress. Steve swiftly removes the needle, replacing it with a ring, mirroring the previous procedure.

Tears well up in my eyes, a mixture of pain, relief, and a strange sense of accomplishment. I look up at Ben, seeking solace and support in his gaze, hoping the worst is finally over.

As I struggle to regain control of my breathing, Ben moves around to face me, his hands gently cradling my chin. His eyes lock onto mine, and he begins guiding my breath with a calming rhythm. "Breathe in one, two, three... breathe out one, two, three," he says soothingly. Gradually, my rapid breaths align with his counting, and a sense of calm settles over me. The intense pain in my nipples starts to recede into the background, overshadowed by Ben's reassuring presence.

With my breathing back in control, Ben leans in closer; his voice filled with affection and pride. He praises me for being a good girl and expresses how incredibly happy I make him. At that moment, despite the pain and discomfort, I feel a deep sense of connection and fulfillment, knowing that I have pleased him. It fuels a strange mix of emotions within me, a cocktail of pain, pleasure, and a profound desire to continue being the source of his happiness.