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To make sense of this first you need to read Captured Kate

It had been a long, tedious week. I only saw him for as long as it took him to patiently load fork fulls of mashed potato, rice or pasta into my mouth. With no spice, fat or anything interesting with it at all it took me ages to swallow it. I’m sure he made it as dry as possible, a spiteful joke at my expense. I became as desperately hungry as I was desperately lonely as the week wore on and I ached for those few moments of something to do, a moment’s company, my one and only highlight of the day.

The smell of cooking wafted down the basement stairs on the day my solitary confinement ended. I really thought he’d torture me by eating something aromatic and tasty in front of me while he made me watch but instead he ordered me up to the kitchen where he gave me a plate of chilli con carne with salad and a fork. He even unlocked my hands to let me use it.

I sat at the kitchen table without being allowed to dress, feeling grubby and dishevelled and stinking after a week of role play rotting, wondering what was going on while he sat opposite, watching me. Was he really just going to let me eat in peace? It would have been nice to savour the flavour but I was so sure I didn’t have time I ate quickly in case something happened before I finished. He smiled when I spilt hot chilli sauce on my bare breasts by accident.

“Are you enjoying that?” he asked. Of course I was. “It’s not going to happen again so easily.” he warned. What did he mean by that? “You’re going to have to pay for your special little treats.” he said.

He got up and went to get something. He’d been back to my house for another tidy up and returned to the kitchen with my toy box. I should have expected him to find it sooner or later. I thought “Oh no!” as he put it on the table between us with a self satisfied smirk on his face. “What’s all this shit then?” he asked.

The packets of various sizes of cable ties and the duct tape I could easily have lied about, and perhaps I might have credibly dismissed my collection of leather belts if some of them hadn’t been shortened, to fit round the more slender parts of my anatomy. Chain and padlocks, like I’d been restrained in the basement with? I already owned some?

“What does this do?” he asked, opening the carrying case my electric shock dog training collar lives in. Obviously it strapped on to something. “It’s a dog training collar.” I answered, balking at admitting the electric shock part of it. He wanted me to tell him how it worked so I explained the control buttons in between more mouthfuls of chilli while he played with it.

“Ow fuck!” he yelled, dropping the shock unit on the table because he’d carelessly pressed the transmitter’s fire button without noticing the shock box’s pins were touching his fingers. “You wear this?” he cried, amazed. “Looks like I’m going to!” I thought.

I felt obliged to admit the tangle of wires and funny looking bits of shaped metal and leather with it were for connecting the soft parts of my body to a device designed to pass electric current through my throat. He laughed out loud then.

That was the moment I knew he realised he’d accidentally kidnapped a ready made submissive who even came supplied with her own handcuffs. They dangled off his finger tip after he lifted them out of my once secret toy box. “Anything else you want to tell me?” he asked, grinning, “This is your last chance.”

I wanted the last of the chilli more than I dared to tell him about my kinky solo sex life so I smiled, ate and thought “Fuck, where’s this going?” For some reason I felt guilty about being allowed to take part in conversation as if that might be inappropriate as a part of our strange one sided relationship. I let my last chance slip away quietly, although there would be one final need to break the rules.

My last mouthful of my wonderful meal signified the end of my time out and I was put wordlessly back under control again, wordlessly except for “Gag in two minutes OK?” to let me drink. “OK” meaning “Do you understand?” It wasn’t a choice.

He watched me shower and make my hair look pretty after I’d washed up and cleaned the kitchen then told me I’d wear the nurse uniform for the evening. This is basically a thin white pinafore with frilly lace trim and light shoulder straps which cross between my shoulder blades. There is a back to it, just, and a couple of token red crosses. The stitching is already falling apart and I’m sure the washing machine is going to rip it to shreds soon. I wonder if I’ll get another one. I can see the point in it and yes, it does make me feel cute.

Downstairs in the sitting room the television was on, but only to provide the backdrop to my stage. We sat together on the sofa, not watching it. Well, not exactly sat together. At first he sat, relaxed and comfortable, while I lay across his lap on my back, the TV remote on my stomach providing an excuse to punish me if it fell off. We always did that.

My wrists were cuffed above my head, his left hand fondled my breasts inside my nurse outfit while his right stroked the inside of my thighs, the nurse outfit’s tiny knickers and of course, me. We always did that too and I spread my legs and arched my back to make myself as accessible as I could, like I always did when he wanted to watch television. I knew I’d be straight down stairs into the basement for another week of hell if I didn’t make the required effort.

We bonded during moments like these but where in a loving, romantic relationship I would expect to be taken to bed so to speak, I endured only the taunting and teasing with no release. Later I’ll explain this.

After handling me for some time he tipped me off his lap, sending me rolling down his shins and tumbling into a heap at his feet. I’m expected to adopt one of a number of his favourite slave positions when this happens but that evening he got up to go retrieve something from the kitchen.

That something was my dog training collar. He brought one of the dining room chairs with him too and placed it in front of the television, facing the sofa. I understood he would look at me sitting on it.

He switched off the TV then unlocked my wrists temporarily, he wanted them cuffed to the back of the chair behind me and so they were. I knew he was going to shock me. He produced a couple of my cable ties, which I’d bought for myself in my past life, and proceeded to tie my ankles to the front chair legs, not at all in the best way!

I shook my head, suddenly animated and looked at him anxious to express I thought something was wrong. “We are going to do this!” He said, laughing at the opportunity to impose his superiority on me. I nodded to tell him OK, I knew that. “What then?” he asked, suddenly intrigued that I might have something worthy to say.

The evening would set a number of new precedents in our relationship and fascinated, he removed my gag to let me explain the first. I pointed out that he needed to tie my ankles to the rail between the chair legs, not the legs themselves which I could simply lift out if I tried hard enough. And to make sure I was genuinely helpless, he would need two cable ties, one round my ankles, the other round the chair rail, looped together. Tied to the sides of the chair, I was vulnerably posed as open as I should have been.

I made so much sense, not only in explaining cable tie technique but in explaining the shock collar too, I escaped being thrown into the basement for my audaciousness. Not only that, he cable tied my ankles properly before he put a gag back in my mouth, to facilitate my further input if necessary. Naturally we had to restore his authority and put me back in my place, upstart that I was. I suffered my punishment gag for being a “clever slut”.

Waiting quiet and subdued while someone else locks a collar round your neck is a moment of breath taking beauty and I know, as he did that, he felt my thrill. He made sure the contact pins were perfectly placed either side of my larynx, to keep me quiet as effectively as any gag would, and sat down on the sofa with the collar's transmitter to enjoy me.

Did I take his breath away too? He tormented and tortured me with such an erotic sensitivity I know I began to fall in love with him, deeper still as he continued to shock me. If he didn’t yet love me back I could see he felt almost euphoric as I squirmed, trapped in my seat, dripping in sex at the thought of what he was doing to me. There’s a point beyond which pain is no longer kinky but there’s also a point before which it isn’t yet. He watched me allow him to explore and test me, fascinated by my willingness to let him and the serenity and grace with which I suffered his experimentation.

Shock sessions became one of my “special little treats” and the privilege of simply wearing the collar at all cost me the nipple clamps, the vibrators and hours taped up rigid as the physical manifestation of his mummification fetish.

He still made sure I remained the slave he’d wanted when he kidnapped me though and I was never allowed to relax my eternal sexual availability, but silently our deal evolved into a balanced and mutual dependence.

My insistence that he let me advise him on the use of cable ties was the last time I ever spoke. I discovered that his discovery of me on his own terms made me feel controlled not just by his will but by his curiosity too.

It has to be said that our fantasies didn’t coincide with perfect synchronicity, could they ever? I resolved to concentrate on a rough with the smooth mind set, grateful for 90% of however his control led me in return for the 10% I genuinely endured. I don’t know how my ratios worked out for him, only that he was interested in me enough to let me push us in new directions and each time I tried, because I’d expressed my own self centred, selfish desire, each new direction became yet another one of my special treats, to be paid for by my exploitation later.

I found it exciting to know that my naughty nudges of wickedness would cost me. That made paying the debt always thrilling. He thought so too. I’d notice a smirk, a knowing half smile and see him think “Really? Be careful slut!” if I tried something new. With just that look he’d dare me to carry on, wanting me to go too far and need the consequent punishment. I always did, I loved doing it.

To be continued in Topping from the Bottom .