Seeing Peace

"Oh my God, Nancy, what have you gotten yourself into?" I asked myself. Maybe I moved too far, too fast.

Let me back up a little. I won't bore you with the details of how I met this guy (the internet) or how I got to know him. I will tell you that I was looking for some BDSM 'action'. I didn't have any experience, except for the time I locked my hands behind my back in cuffs, just to see what it felt like. My BDSM experience was entirely in the world of fantasy. But I wanted more, and being a hard-charging modern woman, I wanted it quickly. So I hooked up with this man, who agreed to be my 'master' for a scene.

I really talked up my experience, not because I wanted to deceive him, but because my pride and my desire wouldn't allow me to admit I was a 'newbie'. Eventually we met at his dungeon, really an old store front in the low-rent part of the city. The inside was fixed up quite nicely, filled with a lot of equipment I'd seen only in pictures on the web. I tried to act confident as I looked at spreader bars and ball gags and nipple clamps.

He asked if I preferred where we began. I spotted a board sticking out of the wall, with a smooth rounded edge pointing up. I asked him about it. He said it was the Wooden Pony, a fairly advanced device. My woman's intuition told me it was his favorite. "Looks like my kind of action," I said, trying to sound confident, "Let's start there."

"Um, okay," he replied, clearly surprised that I wanted to begin with such an advanced 'toy'. He added, "But if you're going to start there, you'll need to be completely naked." I think he was testing me.

"All right," I said, but this time my voice betrayed a little nervousness. Trying to regain my confidence, I removed my clothes as smoothly as I could. Off came my blouse, my skirt, my shoes, and my hose. I stood there barefoot in my bra and panties. I clasped my hands behind my back, trying to look submissive.

"I told you COMPLETELY naked," he said, a hint of command in his voice. Okay, time to cross a line. I reached behind me and unclasped my bra, took it down my arms and dropped it on the floor. Then I bent over, slid my panties down my legs and stepped out of them. Resisting the temptation to cover myself, I returned my hands to their place behind my back. I was totally nude.

His question was unexpected: "You haven't a clue what you've gotten yourself into, do you?" That question brought me up abruptly.

"I've been busted!" I thought to myself.

"Girl, is your only exposure to this what you've seen and read on the internet?" he asked. I hesitated, wanting to appear experienced but also wanting to be honest. "Being new isn't a crime, but lying about it will bring punishment," he said in a quiet and firm voice. "Now tell me, have you ever submitted to anyone in this way?" I still hesitated, and he firmly instructed: "fetch me the riding crop hanging over there, and have your answer ready by the time you return."

Trying very hard to look collected and assured, I brought him the crop. Nothing was working right, my walk looked like I was an awkward action figure and I was suddenly acutely aware of my nakedness. Returning with the riding crop, I handed it to him and hesitated briefly, then stammered about maybe having talked up my experience a bit more than I really had.

"Cut the bullshit, girl, and spit it out! Truth or a whipping, you choose."

"Okay," I said, "I've never seen the inside of a dungeon or any of these toys except in photographs and videos. I want to experience it it real life, and I will. I thought I would have a better chance if I didn't come on as a newbie."

"Thank you for your honesty," he said, then was still and deep in thought for what seemed to be a long time. I started to say something and he raised the riding crop, pointed toward me. "You may speak when you're given permission," he cautioned. After a few more minutes he went on: "I don't think you have any idea that you're setting yourself up to be used, broken, and thrown away with the trash. When it happens, don't expect me to fix you."

He went on: "You may leave now or you may become mine for two hours, and I'll put you on the pony for fifteen minutes to give you an idea of how much you're over-reaching."

I remembered a line from a story I had read not long ago, and I said: "please, Sir, may I speak?"

"You may speak one sentence," was the reply.

I thought a minute, then said: "why two hours if we're only going to play for fifteen minutes?"

"It's necessary, girl," was his reply. "First comes some basic training, then a short pony ride, then time to emotionally return to this reality. I want you to leave at once or leave in two hours with an idea of what you are asking for. You may speak one sentence when you have reached your decision."

Almost immediately I said: "OK, I'm yours for two hours," hoping I sounded confident while inwardly wondering if I should run away, run away fast. Strange, since this is what I've been wanting for a long time now, but that little inner voice seems to be trying to tell me that things are quite different when living them instead of watching or reading about it.

He approached me with a leather collar that was positively dripping D rings and loops. I immediately hated the collar because it says in large letters: SLAVE IN TRAINING. He fastened the collar around my neck and walked me to a nearby wall, where he clipped a hook in the wall to a ring in my collar. I try to resign myself to standing here for a while.

He then says: "A few basic ground rules to start off with. You are my property, anything you have is because I give it to you. You will speak only when I give you permission and you will at all times remember to address me as Sir."

Oh My God! I watched in horror as he cut my clothing into little pieces and threw it all in the trash!!

I blurted: "But those are my clothes, what will I wear?" The minute the words escaped my lips I knew I had made a big mistake. He calmly picked up the riding crop and came alongside me. Fastened to the wall and unable to move away I trepidatiously watched him approach. "Nancy, you sure did screw up!" I thought.

He swung the crop and struck the front of my left thigh with each of his words: "You are my property, everything you have comes from me. Do you understand? You may answer."

"Yes, Sir, I understand. OW."

"Believe it or not, girl, I'm being very tolerant and patient with you since you're a novice," he continued. "Now let's do some question and answer, you may answer my questions as long as you do so respectfully. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied.

"Who are you?" he queried.

"Sir, I am Nancy."

With a sharp stinging WHACK his crop hits my thigh. "Wrong answer. You are my property. Who are you?"

"I am your property, Sir."

"Why are you here?"

"I am here to have a scene with you, Sir."

Another WHACK, again my thigh burns with pain. "Wrong answer. You are here to obey. Why are you here, girl?"

"I am here to obey you, Sir."

"When may you speak, girl?"

My thigh felt like it was on fire, yet it seemed he was barely flicking his wrist. The SOB was hitting the exact same spot with that damn crop. I decided I'd better start playing along, saying what he wants to hear. I'm not in a really good spot to negotiate, and dammit, my leg HURTS. "I may speak when you give me permission, Sir."

"Very good! What do you own, girl?"

"Nothing, Sir. I have what you give me," I dutifully replied while holding back any trace of personal opinion I may have.

"Very good! Remember this in case I decide to share you, or shave you."

I turned my eyes downward toward my recently waxed crotch.

He noticed my glance and said: "not just there, girl, but your entire body, including your head. Many slaves begin their life completely shaven and only grow what hair their Master wants." It took a minute to sink in, and then I realized he was also talking about sharing me. My eyes widened and my breath shortened into panting. "Just soaked in, eh, girl? Yes, for the next two hours you are mine to share with whom I wish, or sell, or rent out. Are you beginning to realize what you asked for, what you got yourself into?"

"Let's try out that pony now," he said.

He buckled steel cuffs on my hands. I noticed the cuffs had rings attached to them. Then he lead me to the pony, adjusted the height of the board and told me I would straddle it with my legs. I thought it was too high for me, but he produced a pair of four inch spike heels to put on my feet. They weren't my size, but they gave me enough lift to straddle the pony. He adjusted the height again, so that the smooth curved edge of the board was just below my pussy and the crack of my butt. He pulled my hands together in front of me, and attached a clip to the rings on my cuffs, locking them together. He pulled a rope down from the ceiling and attached it to the clip. He then went behind me and made some adjustments. My arms were pulled up over my head.

When he was done, he told me to slowly and gently pull down on my arms. When I did, the board pushed up between my legs. I now knew what would happen if I didn't hold up my arms. "Two more things to add," he said. With that, he told me to open my mouth, and he inserted a metal ring attached to a leather strap. I expected that I would be gagged, and this ring was it, holding my jaw wide open. He buckled the strap firmly behind my neck. I tried to move the ring with my tongue, but it was tightly held in place. Then he buckled a black blindfold over my eyes. It was disturbing, not being able to see.

I wondered what the final point of this was. Would I just stand here until my arms got tired and I pulled that board up between my legs? What would happen next? He soon answered my question. "Two things to take away," he said, with a hint of glee. And with that he carefully removed the heels from my feet.

Without the heels, I was forced up on my tiptoes. I knew that if I didn't stay on my toes, the weight of my whole body would rest on the edge of this board between my legs. In panic I pulled down with my arms. Suddenly the board was cruelly jammed into my most sensitive flesh. The sudden blow took my breath away, I sucked in air through the ring in my mouth. Carefully I raised my arms, and the board slid back into place. I stood there, balancing on my toes, wondering how long my legs would hold out. Already the flesh between my legs was bruised and tender from pulling the board up with my arms. I didn't relish pressing my whole weight on that area, with the edge of that board digging in. So I stayed on my tiptoes, and tried to take in my situation.

I'm helplessly bound, with tight cuffs around my wrists. A blindfold took away my power of sight, making it even more difficult for me to think about escape. A hard metal ring was strapped between my teeth. Unlike the ball gags I'd seen in pictures, this ring had no give in it, but pried my jaw open in an unforgiving way. A collar was buckled around my throat. And that damn board was resting just below my crotch.

The gag was adding to my misery. Drool began to form in my open mouth, and I couldn't stop it as it ran down my chin. Soon I felt it dripping on my bare chest. I couldn't control the flow, and this increased my humiliation.

I remembered something I had read on the internet. A safe word, these sessions require a safe word. I tried to tell my new "master" that we forgot a safe word, but through the ring gag it came out, "Hee horhot hay hayherd." He didn't understand, so I kept repeating "hayherd."

Finally he said, "Ohhh, a safeword. Kinda late in the game to be thinking of that, isn't it? You will just have to trust that I can tell when you have had enough just by watching you. And fifteen minutes will only *seem* like an eternity."

He didn't sound convincing, I thought I sensed a touch of nervousness in his voice. What if he is as inexperienced as I am? Did he really know what he was doing? I thought about all the equipment I had seen earlier in his store-front dungeon. It all looked brand new, like it had never been used. Was I his first sub? Now I really broke out in a sweat.

How long would he leave me on this thing? Would he really take me off after fifteen minutes or will he leave me until my will breaks? My legs are already beginning to get shaky. Does he know what this feels like? Should I try to beg him to release me? Through my gag would my words be understood? Would my pleas only amuse him? What had I gotten myself into?

Then the sadistic son of a bitch started taking pictures. I couldn't see but I could hear the sound of a camera. Bastard! Am I now going to be seen all over the internet, naked and riding the pony in his fucking dungeon? And I don't think people will be looking much at the dungeon in those photos.

Suddenly my trembling legs gave way and I went crashing down onto the board between my legs. A searing wave of pain flooded upward through my body, when it reached my mouth I let out a tremendous wailing cry. Instinctively I tried to reach my crotch with my hands to sooth the pain, this only ground the board into my tender flesh even harder and the wave of pain crested with an incredible peak of agony.

In an instant I was back on my tiptoes in a raging fury. He has no right to subject me to this torture! Who does he think he is? Damned sadist, getting his jollies watching my agony. This torture is beyond criminal, he should be castrated and strung up in the public square! What gives him the right to treat people this way?

Gradually the small voice within me made itself heard over my fury and my plans to escape bondage and cheerfully dismember this sadistic bastard who put me here. That little voice........the one who reminded me that I have already determined that I cannot escape, I am at his mercy -- if he has any -- and worse yet, that I was the one who chose to be put in this situation.

Piss on that voice of reason! Does he have any idea how this feels, how much this hurts, how humiliating it is to have drool running between my breasts from the damn steel ring he jammed in my mouth? Does he know what it's like to be naked and strung up like a side of beef, poised just above the butcher's knife? Does he have any clue how humiliating it is to be photographed while helpless? That little voice, that cursed voice of reason has only a terse reply: 'probably he does.'

To prevent another sudden failure of my exhausted legs I lowered myself carefully onto the board, trying to give my legs a short rest. I immediately got back up on tiptoes, my bruised flesh will not tolerate any more damage. Shifting slightly, I lowered myself again on the board, presenting a different part of my tender flesh to be crushed between the board and the weight of my body. The relief to my legs is welcome, but brief. Within seconds I'm back on tiptoes, and when I go back down onto the pony again I discover that this area is now too bruised and tender to hold my weight, so I present yet another piece of myself to be crushed and bruised.

Clearly, I'm going to run out of parts to crush soon since I have only a tiny range of motion. What am I going to do then? I try staying on tiptoes as long as I can, hoping that some area of my crotch will recover and can be used again to rest upon. Again my legs catastrophically fail and I crash onto the board, this time on flesh that is already bruised and tender. The wave of pain is beyond belief. For a moment I lose sense of feeling, the room seems to spin behind my blindfold, and I thought I was going to pass out. Sensation returned quickly with mounting agony that ripped a moan from the depths of my soul. Losing control of my bladder, my urine began running over the board, down the insides of my legs and splashing onto the floor, stinging my bruised flesh and making the surface under my feet slippery and treacherous.

Returning to my tiptoes I discover that my rage has turned to fear: what is keeping him from leaving the dungeon, leaving me to an endless cycle of tiptoes and bruising myself until I pass out with exhaustion and pain? Why should I believe that he will release me as he has promised -- and hasn't fifteen minutes already passed a long time ago? Will anyone ever be able to hear me and rescue me from this torture?

As I lower myself once again, searching for a part of me that I've not already crushed and abused, a calm resignation creeps into my mind. A part of my mind seems to be telling me to accept that things are what they are and that I cannot do anything except what I am doing - waiting and hoping and trusting that this will end as I was told it would. Without trust and acceptance I will lose myself to panic and fear, and God only knows where that will end up.

I begin to think I'm hearing voices in my mind, he's not spoken a word since my ordeal began but I could swear that he's talking to me. The voice is talking to me about the meaning of submission, the lessons to be learned and the self-image that I am developing to take away from this experience.

I must be going crazy!

I feel his hands at my feet putting the heels on so I don't need to be on tiptoes. He speaks for the first time since the scene began: "time's up, girl, your fifteen minutes just finished." I must be crazy, I shake my foot in an attempt to remove the shoe. I also shake my head as much as the harness allows me to move and make a sound that is meant to be "no." It comes out more like "oh, oh" but he gets the idea.

"Not ready to quit?" he asks in a puzzled tone. "I'll allow a few more minutes, but I'm not sure why."

"Nancy," I thought to myself, "you've really lost it, you've gone completely insane. A minute ago you couldn't wait to get off this thing and rip that slimy bastard into tiny little bloody pieces and now you are saying: wait -- not yet -- I'm not finished. You have really gone round the bend, it's the loony bin for you."

I know I'm not going crazy, it makes no sense but something inside me is trying to be born and I know without knowing how I know that this pony is helping the birth of this something, this realization, this whatever-it-is. He takes my blindfold off, for the first time since the pony ride started I can see myself in the mirror mounted on the opposite wall. I look a mess, covered with drool, pee, and sweat. I can see the haggard gray look of exhaustion in my reflection and wonder at the change that only a quarter-hour has made in my appearance.

I watch myself sit carefully on the board to rest my legs and toes for a moment and then rise again, and I suddenly realize why this is called a 'pony'. I'm posting up and down just like a rider in her fancy horsy clothes riding her fancy horsy through the fancy countryside. Well, the motion is the same, anyway.....just no horse and no clothes, that's all.

I sit again for another short rest moment and I realize that the cycle of sitting and standing is getting shorter and shorter, and I also realize with a jolt that I've stopped moaning and wailing at the pain of sitting on the pony. The agony is mounting every time I rest on the board, but without my noticing it I've stopped complaining about it. Holy Shit! I think I've learned a bit of acceptance. I watched my reflection as this realization hit home, and I swear that I saw a change in my body. I'm more relaxed now than ever before during this ordeal.

Sir notices it too, and he is quickly putting the high heels on my feet and begins detaching the rope from my handcuffs. He removes the link that is holding my head harness to the ceiling and leads me off the pony, trembling, to a padded bench where I lie down. He removes the handcuffs and that hated steel ring from my mouth, I flex my jaw for the first time in what seems like years.