Powerotics BDSM

I longed to see my collar, a purly feminine longing. But I had to content myself with an examination of the beautifully wrought bands tight upon my wrists and ankles. Each of them clutched me with an intimicy implacable yet strangely reassuring. Chained thus, a girl might find a small comfort in the loss of nagging decision and futile hope. I knew myself a prisoner many times over. I looked appealingly at my companion. “I’m so helpless… oh Trina!”
“It feels like that at first, darling. But if you sit on the cot and hunch your feet and legs up you’ll be able to reach your face and touch that lovely collar. I know you’re longing to. I did. You can even feed yourself.”
She made a wry grimace. “It really shocks a girl to discover how much she can manage to do when she’s chained.”
“Except escape.”
She laughed at my dolor. “Cheer up, dear. Oh, and forget about escape. Just forget it entirely. Girls don’t escape from Presteigne.”
“Then we are prisoners!”
Laughing, Trina went away and locked me in.
It was not as lonely as being tied to the pillar. Not because there was company, but because the passage end of my cell was all bars giving my small prison the effect of a cage. No one was there, but I could not shake off the feeling someone was watching. That’s what bars were for, weren’t they! To peer through! I’d have gone and gripped them and pressed my face against their enmity myself if my chains had not pulled me up short.
So I looked at my chains. Even with their weight heavy on my wrists and ankles they seemed unreal. I tried to make sense out of their confinement, and out of the cell in which I was locked, and to rationalize the chain
tethering me to the stone wall. But nothing about Presteigne made sense. The girl who had locked me thus had done so with seeming love. Chartreuse Carruthers had left me under the spell of her loveliness and charm. Lord Halcyon was pure enigma.
I had to do a lot of wondering. I was not yet of age. Life in my parents’ home had flowed smoothly in comfortable paths. St. Winifred’s School for Girls had been the same… except for one thing, the whisperings. We had done a lot of whispering in the cloakrooms and the dorms. I expect all teenage girls anywhere make these furtive excursions into speculation about afterwards. That wonderful and deliciously frightening “Afterwards” when we would “come out”, when we would meet men, where marriage loomed as a final
unutterable bliss, and when we would at last “know everything”.
It was the “know everything” I gave my thoughts to now. That “Everything” we had giggled about was always understood to cover all the things “little girls should not know”. This includes having babies and going to bed with your husband. But all of us had picked up more. There was something else! In fact, a lot of “Something else’s” which just had to be sinful and excitingly enjoyable. It was understood at St. Winifred’s that anything excruciatingly scrumptious was inevitably “Not nice” or downright sinful. Standing in my cell chained and naked, I could not help wondering if I had been precipitated into something “Not nice” long before my time.
But I wasn’t being sinful. I wasn’t being much of anything, except a prisoner. I was just “Being”. I was something others had a purpose with and an interest in. I was in limbo. I rattled my chains and sta on the cot. Then I experimented and found Trina was right. By compressing myself into a small package I got my hands back. The first thing I did with them was finger my collar.

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I watched. This wasn’t happening to me, but to another girl named Sharon Tredgold, a girl who was always naked. The lovely metal was vicious in its beauty of shining links and smooth bands. The anklets gripped me tight. The wristlets reached up and linked my hands a foot apart, but I was denied their use by the chains falling to the ring and from thence to my ankles. I tested my tethers and could raise my forearms no higher than my waist.
“That’s so’s you can’t assault your jailor, dear.” Trina explained.
“But this is barbaric!” I stood there, lifting the chains taut, and staring at Trina in dismay.
She laughed at my consternation. “Not really, darling. You’ve no idea how beautiful you look.”
“You may think so.” I retorted. “But I don’t.”
“It’s not just me.” trina’s eyes were glued on my metal ornaments. “There’s others… and if we had a mirror you’d see what I mean.”
She was so serious I was puzzled. Beautiful! She had used the word in a way I did not understand. I looked down at my captive limbs. I moved my hands and my feet as much as the links would allow. It was pitifully little. Yet I could move, I could even walk a bit. It was far better than being tied to the pillar… and different. An icy hand touched my spine when I realised I could stay as I was for life. Chains did not stop you living. They simply made a girl doubly captive.
“There’s something else.” said trina.
It was when she locked the chain to the ring set in the stone that I noticed how strategically these iron circles spanned the walls. There was one about every four feet. I guessed what they were for. A girl, or a number of girls, could be tethered and held as might be desired.
“The collar is lovelier than all the rest.” Trina said gently.
It was. It was exquisite. Polished smooth. Until that moment I had never realised how tiny is the neck of a girl. It seemed impossible I could wear so small a circlet. Yet when it was opened and placed around my neck it fitted perfectly. I even felt a ridiculous thrill as the cold steel nestled into the warmth of my flesh. Instinctively, my hands trie to rise and touch it lovingly but were instantly snubbed. It was Trina’s fingers which deftly arranged my hair and set the new chain to cascade down my naked back with a cold intimacy that made me shiver.
“It’s a little heavy, darling.” Trina deprecated. It was. The weight of the chain to the wall tugged at my neck like a demanding hand. But the band on my throat was wide and accepted the drag well enough that I was not actually distressed. It was not until that moment I thought to ask the obvious. “But, Trina, why? Why chain me to the wall?”
She giggled. “Same reason. There’s something compulsive about it, don’t you find it so?”
“You mean you’ve had to wear these… things?”
“Of course! Poor darling, did you think you were the first?”

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She looked at my sulkiness dubiously. “I should tell you that you won’t like some of the things we’re going to do. But they won’t hurt.”
I didn’t care. To get untied I’d have agreed to anything. I gasped in agony as each cord was stripped from my skin, then sighed in ecstasy as, little by little, my freedom was returned. With the succesion of bath and clothes, and a tete-a-tete dinner with Trina I knew I was once more back within my world.
But Presteigne was waiting.
“It’s a cell, darling.” said trina. “Quite a nice one.”
I took her word for it. To me, it looked all stone and iron bars. “It’s not for me, isn’t it?” I asked hopefully.
“Aren’t you lucky, dear.”She looked at me expactantly.
“I am a prisoner after all, then?” I asked dismally.
“It’s just the first night, Sharon. Same as the first day. It’s for you to get the feeling.” Trina was watching me anxiously.
It was a bitter disappointment. Presteigne was probably full of them. “I’ll walk inside meekly if that will set your mind at rest.” I offered acidly.
“You’re sweet.” Trina acknowledged gratefully. “I’ll come in with you. It’s a bit less awesome than walking through the door alone.”
It was very clean. There was a narrow cot and a mattress. The window was well barred. It was not a very large compartment. “Do you only use this for new girls?” I asked doubtfully.
“Well, not really. The cells actually get used quite a lot.” She gave me an apologetic look. “I’m afraid you have to wear chains.”
I know it’s absurd, but I thought she was talking about bracelets and things. “I didn’t bring much in that line.” I said regretfully.
“Well no, the chains are provided here.”
It was too grotesque to be true. I turned to Trina, prepared to laugh. But her diffident grin told me the truth. Following the focus of her gaze I saw the wooden chest.
“They’re really rather beautiful.” said Trina. “They cost an awful lot of money.”
I was sure they did. If they hadn’t been meant for me I might have admired them. Some craftsman had used a lot of skill. Nor were they slender trinkets. Trina’s muscles tautened as she heaved them out of the chest. They shone brightly.
“Do I have to do anything, or just stand still?” I asked kindly.
“You can take your clothes off, dear.”
I shrugged. Why not! I was going to bed. “Is there something wrong with the lock on the door?” I asked.
“It clicks shut with a wonderful snap.” Trina assured me. “You have to wear the chains on the same principle I explained.”
“To get me in the proper frame of mind.” I said bitterly, and held out my hands.
“Sorry, darling, little ankles first.”
I looked down in genuine interest. I’d never been chained before. Yesterday I’d have believed no one in Queen Victoria’s England had ever worn fetters. But I was going to! Lovely expensive ones.
“These join your feet with enough chain so you can walk very slowly.” Trina informed me busily. “Then there’s chains on up to your hands. They all connect to the ring in the middle.”

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You want your slave beautiful of course and if you are a hair fetishist you will want her to pay extra attention to her hair. Lots of it. Experienced masters will often set very strict and precise rules about hairdo and hair care. Things such as growing it long, kepping it healthy and shiny, the 300 daily brushstrokes, etcetra. Don’t hold back: be specific. She is your slave and if it is a lot of work or inconveniant, so be it.

And if she doesn’t comply - well,se the hair as punishment. A double one actually. This is what you do.

Pick a very painful spot, such as just behind the ears, and grab the hair on both sides of the head.
Set a specific number of pulls for this punishment. Let’s say 100. It should be a pretty severe punishment.
Execute the punishment every time yoiu are noit completely satisfied and you can even spread this punishment over a week (like 100 pulls every day for seven days).

This will work as a double bladed knife. There will be the punishment as such but - especially as this punishment is repeated frequently - the scalp will become very sensitive. As a result she will feel the aftermath of the punishment when carrying the task she was punished for in the first place. Now that is very effective reminder!

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“I expect you’re thirsty.” she said in an everyday voice.
I did not get untied. She held the glass to my lips as I eagerly drank. With the last gulp I realised I would not be getting the drink unless I had to stay where I was a lot longer.
“My name’s Trina Simard. I’m a prefect.” She smiled at me brightly. “You came yesterday, and your name’s Sharon Tredgold.”
“How do you do”, I said absurdly. “Are you going to untie me?”
“Of course not, silly.” She grinned as though I’d made a joke. “You don’t really expect me to, do you!”
“I don’t see why not.” I said warmly. “I hurt… terribly.”
“Well, I’m not. So there!” Her voice chided without anger.
“Cover me up then. Use that sheet.”
“I can’t do that either. You are new, aren’t you?”
This time her grin was sympathetic. “We’re always tied like this our first day. It’s to put us in a proper frame of mind.”
“Naked?”
“That too. Has His Nibs come and had a good look?”
“You mean Lord halcyon? Yes, he came. It was awful.”
Trina’s eyes became speculative. “Nobody’s told you, have they?”
“Told me what?” Suddenly, I was more avid for what this girl knew than I was for the water. “Tell me now! Tell me… please!”
“Oh, they’ll break it gently.” Trina said casually. “I can’t tell a thing unless I’m ordered. Don’t worry, you’ll find out.”
“That means I’ll be happier if I don’t?” I ventured.
“Well, I don’t suppose you’d have been too happy yesterday if someone had told you about today!” Trina winked knowingly. “But just so’s you don’t feel hard done by I can tell you that being tied the way you are… and a lot more didderent ways… is one of the routine fun things at Presteigne.”
My shocked expression caused Trina to grin. She put a finger over her pursed lips and shook her head, then took her glass and went away. When the door thudded shut I did not cry. I didn’t do anything.
What could I do?
I don’t want to tell about the rest of the afternoon and early evening. The ropes hurt worse and worse. I was almost afraid to breathe, the way they dug into me. Trina hadn’t helped much, though it was nice to know there were girls like me and that they seemed happy enough. It was Trina who came to free me in the evening.
“Are you going to do what I tell you?” she asked winsomely.
“Do I have a choise?” I knew I sounded surly.
“I’m going to untie you. You could fight or run, or just be stubborn.”
“Just untie me. I’m too tired to be anything but a good girl.”

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Almost all parties and gatherings, as well as individual venues, have rules and many of them are pretty standard. This is what most of them will roughly look like:

Behavior outside the venue: Do not confront the general public with things, they do not want to see. Keep it down on outfits and BDSM-behavior in the parking lot. Reserve that for inside. If your outfit is very explicit, dress up inside (most venues will offer facilities to do so). Upon leaving, don’t honk and keep it down on noise in general. Other people will want to sleep.

No cameras! Never bring a camera of any kind, not even if you “only” plan to make pictures of the two of you. Bear in mind that others may have reputations or jobs at risk and that it will scare the living daylights out of many, if they even spot a camera.

Active play belongs in the play area! Almost all parties and gatherings will have one or more designated play areas. Restrict active play to these areas ONLY. The rest of the venue is reserved for social contact and do not invade other people’s privacy, for example by folding your sub over a bar stool to spank her. People hate that and will hate you for doing it. It only shows disrespect to others. Nudity is considered active play, hence should be restricted to the play area!

No unprotected penetration. Active sex does not belong in a public place, so usually active sex (unless maybe if there is a darkroom available) is hardly ever an option. If and when you penetrate with toys during active play, always use condoms and gloves, for your own safety as well as that of others.

Dungeon Masters/Monitors We will explain about dungeon masters (the more modern word is “dungeon monitor”) elsewhere in this section. He or she is first and foremost responsible for your and everybody elses wellbeing. Suffice to state here that a dungeon master IS the party boss and that you should follow his or her guidance. And yes, subs can be dungeon masters as well. Ignoring their guidance will usually get you thrown out.

Public safety. For good safety reasons most parties and venues do not allow drinking, smoking or glass in the play area. Dungeon masters may want to check out your equipment, again for safety reasons.

Be polite and modest! If you are allowed to watch other people play, do not press your nose onto their bodies. Maintain a respectful distance, do not interfere, do not comment and show respect. Don’t talk when watching a scene. Please also do not throw yourself on others, you will only make an idiot of yourself.

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Not that the fix I was in wasn’t bad enough! It was. The ropes were cutting away at me like angry little animals, and for all I knew I might stand against that pillar all day and all night. I might even be forgotten and just left there! But the thing I was most concerned about was not having any clothes on. If I could only have looked ahead a bit I wouldn’t have worried about being bare.
But I belonged to a world. In that world girls were never naked. If they went to a doctor or a hospital or were being punished they were not naked. I’d overheard a good deal of debate as to whether it was right and proper for a man to see his wife in what was awesomely called “the altogether”. Girls in their teens giggled about this quite a lot and wondered about themselves whem the time came. It seemed to us that Auguste Rodin was the only man alive entitled to a good look at a nude female. Even te word “nude” was considered a bit risque.
I was bound to feel all sorts of emotions about being unclothed. There was a terribly hot shame… I expect the blush contributed. There was chagrin and a simply cringing embarrassment. On top of these was guilt. I don’t know why I felt it but I did! My world said that if a girl was seen naked  she had commited a sin, a really awful sin. It didn’t seem to matter how it happened. It was her fault. I tried to reason myself out of this one but I couldn’t. I tingled all over from that blush… or maybe it was conscience!
I had to make an effort of will to stop wondering what I looked like tied naked to that column. I know what I look like, of course, but I was worried about that bit of me I’d never really examined myself… between my legs… a girl just doesn’t push a mirror between her legs… or lay on a table or something! Lord Halcyon had seemed terribly interested. But when I did push that worry out of my mind I started to hurt from the ropes. I knew now I could never get loose. That made it worse. I had to stand there and endure.
I was tied so tight and in so many places! I started to wonder if Miss Carruthers was a kind and sympathetic as she’d seemed through that awful Nigel business. Poor dear Nigel!
I started to cry again. I didn’t bother about the tears. I let them flow where they wanted. It was there the door opened.
This time it was a girl. She was pretty, about my own age and dressed in some sort of uniform. Not like any uniform I’d even seen… there wasn’t much of it. She carried a glass of water.

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He made it sound reassuring, as though I might have been worrying that the ropes were loose and I’d inadvertently lose them. I frelt myself drifting from reality in the same way I’d done with Chartreuse. I made my next plea as piteous as I could.
“But I want to! I want to be free. I don’t want to be tied up like this. I can hardly move.”
“Excellent.”
“But, sir, I’m naked!”
“So I noticed.”
This absurd exchange brought Lord Halcyon as close to a smile as he allowed, and me close to tears. His comments didn’t seem particularly for me, they were just generalised exclamations. Sharon Tredgold was naked and she was tied. Jolly good! I was a filly up before the judge.
“Why have you sent me to Presteigne, Lord Halcyon?”
He did not bother to answer. Instead, he slowly circled my pillar and me. For a moment I thought he was untying a knot, but my hope plummeted when I realised he was just testing. He ended up where he could get a full frontal view. I could tell he was getting a tremendous enjoyment out of looking at me. My blush held steady. I longed to cross my legs and clasp a hand over each of my breasts.
“This isn’t a school at all. It’s some sort of prison, isn’t it, sir? No school would do this to me.”
A faintly raised eyebrow was all the acknowledgement I got out of that shot in the dark. What he did say seemed irrelevant.
‘I’d suggest, Sharon, you exercise complete obedience. Your Headmistress is a delightful woman. Charming and… competent.”
He gave me a quite impersonal nod and went away. He even closed the door. I don’t think anyone knows aloneness until they’ve been tied helpless and left in a locked room. There’s a unique sort of awfulness about it that dissolves a girl’s courage. It did mine.
In telling about this I expect I sound young and girlish and juvenile. Well, I’m not that old and it was startling and shocking. But the one thing nakedness did for me was to tell me very clearly I was female and a woman. A young woman, maybe. But all my breasts and… and things…! It was like being introduced to myself.
I don’t pretend to be clever or have a literary style. I’m just trying to tell this in the way it impinged on my mind as it happened. If I seem a bit casual here at the start it’s because the horror was later on. It hadn’t
started yet.

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You know you’ll die, but you don’t! You know you can’t bear it but you do.
You know you’re going to scream but you keep quiet. All I wanted to do was vanish, disappear, have the floor open and swallow me up. I knew I couldn’t bear to have Lord Halcyon come any closer and see me naked, and tied, and not able to move an inch… or cover a thing!
Lord Halcyon’s such a handsome man, and so grown up! Not that he’s that old, I don’t suppose he is. But he’s one of those men who have no age. You suspect he’s always looked the way he does now and always will. It’s the serious intent way he studies you that makes you feel he’s senior and wise.
He radiates power. You can feel it. Or maybe it’s just me! But that’s how Lord Halcyon has seemed in the few times I’ve met him. There was always something in the way he looked at me that made me conscious of being a girl. I felt myself trying to shrink as he approached, absurdly striving to hide behind my bonds. For Lord Halcyon to see me naked… especially the way my legs had been seperated, was just not possible! It mustn’t happen! It mustn’t… it mustn’t…!
“Good afternoon, Sharon.” His voice was as unemotional as when I had last heard it.
“Good afternoon, sir.” My poor little girl’s greeting sounded silly but respectful.
“You are looking well.”
My blush must have reached scarlet proportions and touched my navel. I’ve never felt more desperate.
“Please, Lord Halcyon, drape that sheet over me. I’m… I’m…”
“You are, aren’t you! And quite charmingly so. Why the sheet? Are you chilly?”
There was a hint of a smile on his straight lips. His eyes roved up and down the naked girl who was Me. “I should be covered, sir.” I said firmly. “If you’ll be kind enough to untie me I’ll do it myself.”
It was the strangest thing, as though I had not said a word. Lord Halcyon continued to examine me in a preoccupied sort of way as though I was a thoroughbred racehorse he was paying a few thousand guineas for and didn’t want to be diverted by idle chatter. He did not smile. I’d never seen him manage a really proper smile, just a hint of something on his lips. My sheet lay on the floor. I remained tied to the pillar.
“You’re a very beautiful young woman, Sharon.”
The way he said it was an unemotional assessment of Me. I felt docketed.
“Please, Lord Halcyon, I’d like to be untied.” I managed a sort of desperate emphasis.
“Miss Carruthers did well, didn’t she! You’ll never wiggle out of those ropes, young lady.”

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Along with the business of being “tied up” was the offsetting principle of “getting loose”. This was always accomplished by the exercise of some crafty ingenuity. Or, if you were a man, simply by the bursting asunder of your bonds by sheer brute strength. Sharin had kept this thought in reserve. She now sought its inspiration.
Her waist was very tightly belted to the pillar by several strands of rope. Her wrists were crossed and tied at the back. A stricture had been tugged above her breasts and another below, their clutch accentuating the
blushmaking prominence of the twin globes she had so righteously covered all her nineteen years but which now proclaimed themselves with a joyous abandonment to wanton carnality.
Sharon’s ankles were a question mark. Her legs were not tied together as they should have been. Instead, they were tied one each side of the stone so as to offer, in exhibitionist display, the balck bush of her pubic mound and the sinful lips below. One more female attribute she had faithfully shielded from prying eyes and the chill of draughts. The rope biting beneath her armpits prevented her leaning forward to look at this feminine shame. Sharon was almost glad. It was bad enough to know it was there.
In the matter of “getting loose”, the naked captive immediately realised her only hope lay in her hands. Most certainly no other portion of herself could best the rope. In forthright determination she began to twist her wrists.
As with an aviator, whose fuel tank dictates his “point of no return”, there eventuates in most human stress that awful moment of “sudden realisation” in which our endeavour looms more vexatiously than originally supposed or may, in fact, reveal itself as quite impossible. So it was with Sharon in this matter of “getting loose”. After fifteen minutes of increasingly anxious striving she was forced to recognize the fact that she was as firmly helpless as before she had made the first tentative tug. She was tightly tied and could never free herself. She would stand against the stone until another chose to cut the knots.
She was a prisoner.
Damp with the perspiration of her fruitless struggle, she lapsed within her bonds. Her impotence was frightening, especially since she knew not who might enter. Her nakedness had been her own private possession but, tied thus, it became the prerogative of any passerby. She could not gainsay them, they could feast their eyes at will. The ropes had become malignant enemies holding her against her will.
Since she could not free herself, her mind drifted to the swift sequence of events arising from the accidental death of her parents. She knew not why her father had chosen Lord Halcyon as the Administrator of her Estate, but it seemed logical enough that as the executor he should place her within the safety and advantage of Presteigne. The school spelt luxury and privilege. It was a name, an atmosphere. Chartreuse Carruthers was a surprise.
Sharon admitted to herself that, without Chartreuse, her present plight would invoke panic. A primitive urge to struggle and to scream gnawed constantly. It was only the memory of dark wise eyes and full red lips and the husky vibancy of Chartreuse’s voice that kept her courage in balance and her emotions under control. But which the glowing presence gone, buoyancy had departed too. There was something desperately wrong! This naked bondage should not be! It could have no justifications. She must make a stand: cease to be a giggling girl under that spell of an exotic personality: stop being a child under the hand of maturity. When the Headmistress returned she would assert herself. Demand a return to normalcy and explanations. It was while she was immersed in the full flood of righteous indignation that the door
opened.
Within the portal stood a man.

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