Fantasy Fate And Fulfilment

My generous Mistress has given me permission to publish this.

My beloved Mistress is a night owl. At midnight she telephones me to prepare myself because she is coming over in 30 minutes. Thrilled by the prospects, I get out of bed, shower and toilet quickly, dress myself and lay out the cuffs, ropes and floggers for her. I know she will want to undress me and cuff and bind me herself.

Mistress arrives at 25 minutes past midnight. She enjoys being early, testing my readiness to please her. And looking for an opportunity to punish me for not respecting her right to choose her own time to arrive. Often I am deliberately not ready on time, eager for her to punish me because her punishments are so sweet to me. Every stroke of her flogger, every swish of her cane, every knot she tightens around my grateful body is a sign of her care for me.

But tonight I am ready. I had sensed from her voice on the phone that she has something special in mind, and I am eager to share the journey with her.

She lets herself in. She has a key to my flat, and I have freely given her the right to enter at any time without warning, because I want her to know me, to know my life. I want nothing to be secret from her. I want her to trust me completely, so that she can be free to fulfill herself with me in any way without fear of my response.

As she enters I kneel before her and bow my head and kiss her feet. I know she loves me to beg. This is so thrilling for us both because I love to beg. I say "Mistress, thank you for your generosity coming here now. Please use me for your pleasure. Please tell me what I can do for you tonight. Please, tell me what you want me to do."

Mistress says "stand." I stand. She undoes my shirt and lovingly slides it back off my shoulders and down my arms, then places it over a chair. My arms are so grateful for her touch. She undoes my belt, trouser button and fly, then kneels while slowly lowering my trousers to the floor. Her face is just inches from my cock. We both know she is teasing me, and we both love it.

Then she stands and holds out a dice and places it in my hand. We both love this game, letting chance decide how cruel she will be, or how generous, sometimes, and how strong or brave I must be. My pulse quickens with the thrill of not knowing what she plans. The consequences can be severe if Fate deals a series of high numbers.

"Throw it," she says. I bend down and throw it on the floor. It's a 5. Mistress says "that's the number of throws." I throw it again, the required five times: a 4, a 2, another 2, a 5 and a 6! She has written them down. Nineteen in total. I think: not too great, even if it's the number of strokes of a cane. Then she holds out a coin and says "heads, it's addition; tails, it's multiplication." My head is whirling; I can't multiply them in my head now! I flip the coin: tails! She's good with numbers too. "Four hundred and eighty," she says. I believe her.

She tells me to turn around, face away from her, raise my arms above my head and spread my legs. She picks up the stingy flogger and gently plays with it between my legs. This is often her preparation for a hard flogging there, so I stiffen in anticipation. But then she puts the flogger down, laughing gently -- such a tease!

She picks up the ankle cuffs and attaches them to me. "Arms down behind your back" she says, and puts the wrist cuffs on me, snugly. I love the feeling. Nothing too unusual so far. All this is typical preparation for a typical flogging which we both enjoy.

Then things start to get different. She gets a pair of track pants from my drawer and tells me to put them on. She makes sure they hide the ankle cuffs. Then a long-sleeve tee-shirt, which hides the wrist cuffs. She picks up a couple of coils of rope and puts them in a small backpack. "Follow me", she says, and leads me outside and down the path. I'm glad the cuffs are hidden as we pass some late-night party-goers on the steps. We come to the door of the basement where the storage lockers are. She asks me for the combination. I tell her, and she turns on a torch and opens the padlock, then opens the door, turns on the light and leads me inside to my storage locker near the back. It is just one of a row of chicken-wire cages. But she has been here already! The cage is empty, and she has lined the cage with plastic tarpaulins for privacy! She is going to confine me here! My joy is overflowing, but my heart is racing with anxiety too, as there are risks. Not just the risk of someone else coming in and hearing me behind the tarp screen, but would I be safe, would I pass out or cut off my circulation and damage myself?

Mistress takes the key from her pack, unlocks the padlock and opens the cage door. Pushing me into the cage ahead of her, she removes my tee-shirt, then my track pants, and, oddly I think, takes a rope from her pack and ties the clothes into a small bundle. I am naked except for the cuffs. She whispers for me to face the back of the cage. She spreads my legs and clips my ankle cuffs to the chicken-wire sides of the cage. She takes another rope from her pack and ties my wrists together behind my back, and ties the ends of the rope to the joists above me, the knots well out of my reach, with my arms lifted behind me to mild discomfort level. She puts another rope around my neck, and ties it too to the joist above me. While I stand very straight upright the rope is merely snug, but if I relax or bend my knees it begins to tighten on my throat. I know this predicament. My heart is pounding. It races even more as my kind, generous Mistress ties another beautiful rope around the base of my scrotum, and hangs the bundle of clothes from it. Her skilled fingers ensure the safety of my balls, for they are her balls too. The weight pleasantly tugs on my balls. It's nowhere near the weight she usually hangs on them, and I suddenly realize that's because it will be hanging on them much longer than usual!

Now my wise Mistress answers the question before I ask it. Her voice is quietly triumphant: "Four hundred and eighty is the number of minutes Fate has decreed you will be confined here tonight," she says. "Tell me, worm, how many hours is that?" I say "Eight hours, thank you, wondrously kind and generous Mistress." I am nearly crying with joy.

Mistress then says "If you prove yourself tonight, I might consider the numbers should be hours next time, instead of mere minutes. Tell me, worm, how many days is 480 hours?" I say "Twenty days, Mistress." As I say it I'm thinking to myself "Fuck, that's three weeks!" Mistress knows me well; she reads my mind, senses the fear in my voice, and hisses "Insect! You dare to defy me? If I say you need three weeks confinement that's what you will have. Think about that while you are here tonight. In fact," she continues, "I'd better check those dice again now. They may in fact have been hours dice, not minutes dice! If I don't come back for you in the morning you'll know they were really hours dice, and Fate means for you to be here twenty days."

I don't believe her for a second of course, she's not crazy! But she loves messing with my mind! But I do know she is very serious about the eight hours. She has a great respect for the decree of Fate, the voice of the Universe which speaks through signs and symbols, like dice, if we dare to ask the questions, and can bear to listen to the answers.

My clever Mistress is also very practical. She gets the camera out, turns it to video mode, and says "now, tell the judge why I shouldn't go to jail." We've talked about "insurance policies" for risky play before. Accidents happen: people die jogging, while watching TV, walking the dog even, and sometimes people die while they're tied up. The jogging didn't kill them, or the TV, or the dog, but for some reason people think people die from being tied up, and the people who tied them up get the blame. So, insurance. She turns the camera on, I look into the camera, and I say "I am willingly, eagerly, voluntarily getting my friend to restrain me and confine me and abandon me here in this cage for the whole night. I take full responsibility for any unforeseen consequences." Mistress turns the camera off and puts it in her pack.

Mistress then delights me further by taking a leather hood from her pack and putting it over my head. To keep it in place she ties a rope around my head which squeezes the leather against my closed eyelids. I am now in total darkness. I cannot see any light at all. I can breathe freely, and I inhale the smell of the leather surrounding my face. The perfume and the texture of the leather arouse me instantly, and the firm pressure of the rope around my head is exhilarating! I whisper a dozen passionate thank-yous to my gloriously magnificent Mistress.

Without another word she closes the cage door. The click of the padlock locking causes a surge of adrenaline to pulse through me. The reality of abandonment actually happening right now is pounding in my heart. I hold my breath and strain to hear her delicate footsteps down the passage, the gentle click of the light switch going off, the basement door closing with a dull thud, the rattle of the combination lock going into the hasp, the metallic clunk as it locks, and finally another rattle as Mistress turns the combination rings. Then silence. So she's not doing that trick of pretending to leave but really staying to watch me. No, to get those sounds like that she really has left, she really did close the door behind her and lock it from the outside. My brain reels for a moment: Will she remember the combination? She had to ask me for it when we came in! I have to have so much trust in her.

A few moments later I think I hear the flat door close gently somewhere inside the building. What is she going to do? Watch TV or a video? Will she fall asleep and leave me too long? So many things we didn't discuss in detail. Will she come back soon to check me before going for the long haul? What have I got myself into! I could die here and no one would know for eight hours!

The silence and the darkness and the stillness are all-encompassing. I realize the temperature is perfect, very comfortable. Something else to thank my Mistress for, for choosing this night. My naked body exposed to the night air is singing, vibrating with the intensity of the sensuality of the situation. My emotions are a swirling mix of joy, delight, anxiety, apprehension, and exhilarating, victorious fulfillment of this long-imagined fantasy!

The physical reality of the situation, that I need to stand strongly upright to avoid strangling myself, is amazing! The longer I have to be strong, the stronger I feel. The straighter I stand the prouder and more confident I feel. My life depends directly on me and me alone, and I am strong and capable. The weight on my balls is perfectly balanced to keep me fully aware of them and erotically stimulated, with no fear of circulation problems. My Mistress is so thoughtfully skilled and knowing of my body that she has given me this precious gift.

The passing of time is a mystery. The world is asleep, silent, giving no clues to mark minutes or hours. But I know I will hear the night ending, or rather, the sounds of the day beginning, so I have no fear of missing that. My Mistress will release me in the morning, and I will be reborn a free spirit in grateful servitude to her forever. But for now, for these next eight hours, my mind will buzz and hum and merge and soar in celebration of my own senses and my powerful body.