When you are a bondage whore, life can be unpredictable. I go to fetish clubs often. Master doesn’t mind because fetish clubs are rarely about fucking and I maintain my submissive nature. I just went home with the wrong man. Story of my life. It has happened before and will happen again. Harry was a dominant master. He is looking for a new sub. His last one moved for work. I have seen him at this bondage club often. He was always with a pretty blonde. When I saw him alone last night, I put myself in his eyesight. I wanted him to tie me up. I knew he was a rope expert. We got a room. He was not a big talker, but he did bind me like a parcel package. I felt like a contortionist. He had me in some unnatural positions. When the club closed, he suggested we go to his place. He knew I was owned, and we could not fuck. He didn’t want to fuck me. I was too old for his tastes. He likes a young submissive whore, but he had no problem perfecting his already excellent bondage skills with me. He tied me up so securely, I couldn’t move without fear of breaking a bone. He excused himself to use the bathroom and never came back until the next morning. He left me tied up tightly on a guest bed while he slept. I pissed the bed. I was dying of thirst and I was cold. When he came back the next morning, he had to cut the ropes because even he could not undo the knots. I had rope burns on my wrists and my ankles. I could barely walk when I left. He gave me his card and suggested we do it again. I took his card, but in my head, I was saying hell no as I ran out his door.
Bernice
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