The following day I wanted to give him a special surprise. First thing in the morning, I asked him to lock my chain back on the one around my waist and between my legs, and he let me have the car keys to go into town.

I went to the local costume rental place in town, where I bought some body paint and other stuff, and to an oriental import house that sells cheap Indian body jewelry: silver plated necklaces, belts, toe rings, bell earrings, etc. They will go with the harem outfit. That afternoon, I fulfilled another fantasy. I spent the hours after lunch preparing myself. One of the fantasies that I had written to him about involved me as a kind of forest goddess sounds hokey, I know that has green skin and tatoos of vines growing all over her body. I covered myself hair, too, blow-dried with green food coloring quite a job, that and finished up with body-painting honeysuckle vines growing up both legs, wrapping around my body, twining in spirals on my bum cheeks and breasts, encircling my nipples and growing around my neck and in tendrils around my arms, completely covering me. I even had vines winding up the sides of my face to merge with my eyebrows.

It took me over two hours to get myself ready. I finished at sunset and turned on some of the exotic dance music. Wearing nothing but my garnet pendants, I danced for him.

I did a kind of hip-grinding combination of exotic dance and the strip-tease moves on one of the tapes he got, but there was nothing to strip off. It won't do any good to try and describe the way I danced. Suffice it to say that I shook a lot more than my pendants at him, and finished up taking his clothes almost completely off while I danced.

He was turned on enough that he didn't mind helping me a bit there at the end. I ended up with him deep in my mouth and we both lost track of exactly when we made the transition from dancing to lovemaking. J had two orgasms again. All I had to do was bring up the subject of my forehead and how embarrassed I was over it and how I wasn't sure he would like my forest goddess idea with a shaved forehead and all. Downcast eyes and an embarrassed hand over my forehead and he was off and running again. Afterward, the bed was a total mess so were we. Green food coloring and body paint and various precious bodily fluids were all over the sheets. When we showered together to wash off the mess we ended up making love again on the shower floor, both of us all covered with soap. I think three in one evening for J is a record of some sort. I know I set a "personal best" record. We sat up and rinsed while seatedsated in the steamy shower, too exhausted to get up. Finally he turned off the water. We sat in a delicious kind of daze for what must have been five or ten minutes, the only noise was the water teasing from the shower head and our own breathing.

I mustered the strength to kneel, and I covered him with body conditioner I like the feeling of tending to him.

Then I covered myself in the most entertaining way I could manage.

When we got out of the shower I helped him to towel off the excess conditioner he was ready for an encore, and we could probably have gone again it we had put our minds to it. But neither of us wanted to. I think the quality declines after that many orgasms. I don't exactly know how many I had--some of them kind of merged together and who's counting anyway. There are only two possible numbers where orgasms are concerned: Not enough, and enough.

We'd had enough. I got his bathrobe and slippers for him and then put on the fitted white muslin outfit. We sat and cuddled for the rest of the evening, cooking and eating two of those great prepared microwave dinners between cuddles. They're probably 98 cholesterol and 2 preservatives, but they taste great. We fell into bed at 9:30 we were so tired. The next evening we were getting ready to go out for dinner again and talking about this slavemaster thing we are doing.

He had bought a white dress and some sandals for me and I was trying them on while I told him that I was getting into this bondage thing but that there were still some aspects that I couldn't handle, the main thing after my hair was that we walk the edge of the ridiculous.

I fantasize about really calling him "Master" and taking an even more seriously submissive role, but don't think I could handle the reality without laughing. Images of Nazis in white boxer shorts and black ankle-high socks dance uncontrollably through my head. J had a solution.

"We need a new protocol, " he said, and began to remove the dress I had just put on.

"You can start now just by NOT calling me by my first name, and by making a habit of keeping your eyes lowered. Whenever you speak or answer a question you will preface your words with a phrase like: 'If it pleases you.

' We'll start with that for a while and see how it goes. Of course, I'll punish you for mistakes. You will have to figure out what forms of address you can use without laughing, because the biggest mistake you can make is laughing.

Once the habit is established, it won't be a cause for nervous laughter. Do you think you can handle that?" I thought about it, not paying attention while he got a paper bag out of the closet. Three rules: No first names, lower the eyes, and say 'If it pleases you.' And the fourth rule: no laughing about the first three. "I think so." "So?" He was looking at me, waiting. I realized what he meant and after a moment of confusion I lowered my eyes. There was a pause while he continued to wait. "If it pleases you, " I said. I don't know why, but lowering the eyes is a great help. Maybe it is easier for the imagination to work without eye contact.

We know each other too well, and not having eye contact puts some distance between us. I might have laughed out of embarrassment then if I hadn't had my eyes lowered. Well, it was a start. The dress he had gotten me was several layers of sheer white cotton, midi length with long sleeves and a high neckline, lots of buttons in front. But after I had put it on, he had taken it off again.

"Just stand there, " he said.

He took a roll of white plastic cord out of a paper bag and knelt by my ankles. Finally I noticed we were doing more than getting me dressed. "What are you doing? I mean, if it pleases you, what ...

?" "Just stand there, " he repeated.

I stood. He untied the straps of my new sandals.

They are the kind that wrap around the ankle several times in a crisscross pattern and then tie further up the calf. He tightened them until they were cutting into my skin, and tied the loose end of the roll of white plastic cord to the top.

It is that colored plastic leather substitute that boy scouts use when doing crafts, weaving key rings and belts and such.

I think they call it gimp, or gymp or something. He began wrapping the stuff tightly around my leg in a spiral.

He spiraled up my body and out one arm, where he tied it off and then did the same thing on the other side. Then he spiraled up the first leg in the opposite direction, making a crisscross pattern.

It was very tight.

He continued, wrapping me over and over, until my entire body was covered in a tight webbing of the stuff.

Every time a roll ran out he pulled out another, white again, and tied them together.

He was careful to keep the arrangement symmetrical, left side a mirror image of the right. He wrapped a flanged vibrator into my love. The webbing slipped off when I moved so he superglued it back onto the vibrator. He didn't turn it on, though.

After a while I began to feel very weird. I was free to move, but I felt ... contained. No matter what I did, moving or not, I could feel the pull of the webbing.

I felt awkward, as though every movement I made was being opposed or deflected by something. Like being under water with currents or something. He worked around my breasts so that when he was through they were flattened and crisscrossed and held against my chest. Only my nipples protruded, bulging out between the strands, pendants dangling. Then he put my dress back on and took me out to dinner. From the outside I looked pretty good: A blonde I was wearing the long honey blonde wig in a semi-diaphanous cotton dress.

No boobs at all to speak of. White leather sandals. The wrapping didn't show anywhere.

A close observer might have noticed that my sandal straps were tight, but there were no close observers.

We went to an Italian restaurant, but an expensive one. I walked slowly, sat carefully, and ate sparingly. Even so, I spilled wine, water, and food all over the place. I wish it hadn't been Italian food and red wine. It was a new dress. The waiter didn't say anything, but I really made a mess. Back at home, he cut away the strands holding the vibrator in. He had used separate strands for the vibrator so that cutting them didn't loosen the rest. He made love to me. I'm not going to tell you it was the best lovemaking I had ever had, but it was definitely an interesting experience. I never would have thought it would be.

I imagine that you probably are wondering what was the point? I don't know, but he does good things to me, and I don't need a point. It is a little like art, I guess. It was just there.

Because. I kind of like being a blank canvas. After, as I lay panting on the bed, spread out flat on my back and feeling as though I had fallen from a great height, he took some bandage scissors and cut the strings one at a time, slowly. Then he untied my sandals.

All in all, a very satisfactory evening. I have no idea why, but there it is. The next day we were showering and J was 'preparing' me for sex again the way he almost always does when we are showering together, by covering me with skin conditioner and exploring every orifice until I was eager to have him inside me in any way he chose. Without actually saying so, I have signaled in every nonverbal way possible that I was prepared to have sex in the one way we have never had it. When his fingers were deep between my buttocks, inside me, I would squirm against him, trying to push his fingers deeper. I actually feel pleasure when he does this to me, and the responsive noises I make indicate my sensations clearly, but he has never penetrated me ... that way. I have arrived at the conclusion he was toying with the idea but that it repelled him somewhat. I must admit that my fascination with the idea was tempered with a certain amount of apprehension: I had never had anything that big inside me there. Also, I am perhaps overly hygienic in my approach to sex.

I like to be clean before and to wash after. The preparation and the postcoital rituals are important to me: he almost always leaves me a little excited afterward, no matter how sated I was during, so cleaning up afterwards is an erotic experience. The odor of soap evokes a more erotic response in me than the various secretions our bodies make. It's conditioning, I guess. Anyway, I think the hygienic aspect might still be what bothers us both most, even now. So while we were showering I made a tentative suggestion.

It was very difficult to bring up this subject for the first time. ASB'ers probably already know that. "You must know that I get tremendously turned on when you do that, " I said, trying to approach the subject obliquely. Which was difficult, considering that I was near orgasm and he had a number of fingers deep inside various parts of me. He didn't answer.

"If you want me ... that way ... I could clean myself. Inside, I mean." He still didn't answer.

"If it would please you, " I added. We both got more interested in other things at that point and further discussion had to wait until later. I have worked in internal medicine, and prepped patients for rectals before.

I explained. Not all the gory details, but enough so that he knew that I knew what to do.

"I hadn't even thought-" he said.

But the thought had obviously taken root. For the rest of the week, in the back of my mind was the thought of what would come later. I took a chance making that suggestion.

You see, this whole thing is something of a game. I can't seem too forward when I suggest an innovation like that. He must take the lead and I must follow. Reluctantly.

And it is best for me when I can resist what he does to me, even though I may secretly want it. That way the responsibility is his. He has to believe that I am going along against my will, at least to some extent--which has always been true up to now.

He gets me so turned on that I want to go forward despite a certain amount of trepidation about what he will do to me. I am always afraid, but ready to do the next item on the List, even though I don't know what it is.

It is only after he has started that I sometimes chicken out, even though I agreed to it when we made up the List. But by then it is too late.

Still rushing in and fearing to tread. In fact, today, having settled down a bit, I can even look back on when he shaved my forehead with an equanimity that borders on sensuality. He must know by now that I have come to like what he is doing to me.

I am becoming addicted to him. But I have to walk a tightrope for both of us. He would lose interest if I gave in too easily. I have to fight it all the way. So we have these three silly rules just so I can break them so I can be punished.

Except that when he thinks I have transgressed deliberately the punishment is much worse.

He always makes me regret it. Like this last time. He walks a tightrope too: he always makes a time come when I myself don't know if I want him to stop.

After that, sometimes, I genuinely want him to stop, but he never does. And if he did, I would be disappointed afterward. I knew when we made up the List there would be some things that I would want to stop, but I also knew intellectually that nothing on the List could actually hurt me. The smell of neatsfoot oil has become a turn-on for me. My next punishment began with the leather straps. I don't need to describe again how he immobilized me, except this time he left the strap between my knees off so I could take normal-sized steps. My arms and shoulders were still strapped back so that my breasts were unnaturally prominent strapped so far back that the chain between my nipple rings was taut. He told me to follow him out to the garage, where he showed me the contraption that he had kept covered with a sheet. It looked like a wooden sawhorse--in fact he called it a horse--except that there were two horizontal parts side-by-side instead of the usual one, and they were separated by a space. And in the middle, on either side of these pieces, were two blocks of wood shaped to form a tiny, smooth, wooden saddle, also split down the middle by that same space.

The whole was sanded and varnished quite expertly. He let me see it.

That was all.

Then he took me back to the bedroom, put the hood on me, and locked my collar to a chain attached to the bedpost. I had to sit on the edge of the bed and wait, listening to him move around the house, wondering what he was doing, and what the "horse" gizmo was for. Finally, he led me into the living room where he hooked the shoulder straps to something overhead, and my ankles to something that held them apart blindfolded, I couldn't tell what. I also couldn't fall, and I couldn't bring my legs together. He unbuckled the crotch strap and I felt him begin to insert something into me. I squirmed against it, but it was only a token squirm.

I knew he had control. Besides, it wasn't particularly large and didn't hurt, although I could feel it was hard. It was well lubricated and completely painless. I soft placeumed it was a dildo. He did the same to my rear opening. I squirmed harder against this second intrusion, but I was already getting turned on by the first and ended up voluntarily relaxing enough to accept the second device.

He pushed the two deep into me and held them, and I stood there, hooded, docile. I felt something heavy brush between my legs.

I didn't know for sure, but from the noise and the prelude, I expected it to be the horse. He told me to sit.

Slowly. As I did so he manipulated the dildos inside me into position. I didn't know what he was doing at the time, but I soon learned that he had slipped the ends of the dildos into the slot in the seat of the horse and clamped them tightly with a wrench into place with bolts that pulled the two parallel horizontal pieces together to hold the dildos immobile. Once he began removing the hood and the other restraints, I also found that the two dildos were nearly touching deep inside me, separated only by the floor of my love and the anterior wall of my rectal cavity. When he was through I was completely unfettered: not a scrap of leather anywhere on my body. Even my hands were free, for what good it did me. The dildos were rounded and smoothed wooden dowels, each covered with a condom to make it comfortable and splinter-free, thank God. They were clamped into position so that even if I tried to stand up they wouldn't slip out. No matter how I moved, I couldn't get off the horse without causing myself pain, maybe even damage. Yet there were no visible restraints. "What have you done to me?!" I asked in an unsteady voice. I looked around me, twisting as far as I could to see what he had done, becoming increasingly nervous and uncertain. I felt over the device that held me seated. The bolts were far too tight for my fingers to budge them. I ran my shaking hands over both places where the dildos disappeared into me they were far too firm to be shifted. I wasn't uncomfortable so long as I didn't try to move, but I had no choice about getting free of the thing. I had to sit there and wait for what came next.

He told me he wouldn't free me until I had an orgasm while he watched. With my hands free, I was able to masturbate, but it was really embarrassing, sitting there in the middle of the room.

To the casual observer I would have looked like a naked woman sitting astride a simple wooden sawhorse. Admittedly, a naked platinum blonde elizabethan woman with no pubic hair and a chain connecting her nipples, but even so, you wouldn't have known that I couldn't get up.

I really tried masturbating, but I just couldn't get into it. On the horse, I just couldn't make it work. He stood in front of me, hooked his finger under the chain between my nipples and pulled me gently but firmly toward him.

The horse would let me lean just so far.

My nipples stretched out to points in front of me.