Making Me Wet

[BabyAnna]

As the ropes looped around my wrists went taut I instinctively resisted, tried to prevent them drawing my arms away from my body.

It didn't help, and I forced myself to relax, allow the electronic winch to pull my arms out to the side, holding them and my hands helpless, unable to defend my body.

It was what I'd agreed, putting my own hands through the loops, pressing the button on the controller to start the motor, putting myself into this unforgiving bondage. We'd agreed that would be my consent to what followed, and my measure of trust in her.

I didn't know what was to follow, just that she'd promised I'd appreciate it. I did trust her, did feel safe giving control over my body. I was surprised when she pulled a strap across my chest, thick leather running between my armpits and above my breasts. It would stop me sitting up and, with the aid of the ropes holding my arms out to the side, from rolling over. I was now pinned to the table, suddenly glad of its upholstered padding.

She took my ankles, slid my feet through slings hanging from the frame above me. A quick adjustment and they were snug against my skin; I could swing my legs but not withdraw them, pull them free of their dangling restraints. I didn't try, curiousity spurred by how much I was enjoying this making it easy to relinquish control, let her proceed.

She proceeded by reaching beneath the table, a loud mechanical click and it seemed the table fell away from below my legs. Instead of soft leather my thighs now felt only air. Stepping between those restrained ankles, she walked forward and my thighs soon felt her, her hips forcing them apart, the hanging restraints swinging easily to the side and taking my ankles with them.

I did try to resist now, the spread becoming uncomfortable, her relentless progress frightening me. It didn't help, her whole body against my inner thighs overpowering me, dominating me. I had to concede, brought my knees towards me to relieve the strain, found it a more comfortable position. A vulnerable position.

One she took advantage of. I'd mostly stripped before lying on the table, just my underwear remaining, bra and briefs. They were nice, comfortable stretch lace, but not expensive, and I found myself feeling glad of that as she used sewing shears to cut them at the hips, pull them off me. Lacking even that flimsy protection I was now entirely at her mercy, something that brought a knowing smile to both our faces as we made eye contact.

She kept that eye contact as she leaned forward from between my thighs, bent her head to my chest and licked me laviciously. I trembled and couldn't help myself, used my hips to try and push against the strap across my chest to follow her mouth as she stood upright again.

My eyes widened in shock but I didn't shout out, didn't cry, just moaned as her hand slapped the top of my thigh, long fingernails scratching my tender bottom as she pulled her hand away. She bent over me again but instead of her mouth, this time both her hands assaulted me, soft caresses, gentle pinches and subtle little flicks from my shoulders down to and across my breasts. She didn't neglect my nipples but didn't monopolise them either, spreading her stimulation around, leaving me yearning for more all over. 

I'm not sure how long that lasted, just that it left me desperate, no longer using my hips to push against the table to try and raise my chest. Instead they were writhing, thrusting in the air trying to push myself against her naked body. She smiled, a nasty evil controlling smile that left me churning inside. Finally she broke eye contact, by ducking her head to my stomach and I could feel her tongue tracing its way down my body.

A tantalising touch and she pulled back, stepped away from the table. She returned, carrying something that I soon found to be a blindfold, soft cloth loosely fastened around my head. It didn't block all light but prevented me seeing her, watching her. 

Instead I could only sense her, feel her between my thighs once more. This time it wasn't just her tongue, her lips, her nose, her fingers.. I could only guess what was touching me, rubbing me, tugging and stroking me. Inside me.

I couldn't prevent it, helpless and at her mercy. So instead I embraced it, enjoyed the pleasure she was giving to me. Time and again I neared the edge, wanted just that little bit more, squirmed to get the sensation that would tip me over. But I was indeed at her mercy, and she wasn't merciful.

Time and again she seemed to know when I was at my peak, pulled back, kept me gasping, always wanting more. Never getting it.

Before long I was exhausted, desire overwhelming and unfulfilled, my brain overcome by the sensual overload. My body ignored that, kept sending signals, kept trying to get her to go that tiny step further.

She didn't, and instead stepped away again. I tugged futilely against my bonds, seeking to release my hands, let me finish things for myself. I sensed her near me and felt the blindfold being unfastened. As it was removed I looked up, saw the amusement in her face, in her eyes.

"Please," I begged her. We both knew what I was asking; only she knew whether I'd get it.

I didn't, not then.

Instead I turned my head and watched as she pulled a large square towel out of a box. Intricate folds, the top edge folding over the rest, then a fold from either side towards the middle. Some towel origami as hidden corners were pull out to the side before the bottom was folded up. It reminded me of folding a cloth diaper and my brain caught up with what she was preparing.

My arms tugged at their bonds once more, the chest strap brought back into action and my ankles tugging at the swings supporting them. She just smiled, stood up and walked over to me holding the oversized diaper.

"It's a fold called the Poo Catcher," she told me, "Just in case."

"No!" I said, but she ignored me. I'd put myself into these binding ropes, granted my consent, and couldn't withdraw it now. 

That reminder reinforced the arousal she'd spent so long causing, renewed it afresh, kept me teetering on the edge. As she returned to between my thighs I tried to slide forward, make the contact that would let me complete but she kept just far enough away. A bob at her knees and her shoulders were below my knee. As she stood it lifted my legs, pulled my hips and bottom from the table.

I knew she was putting that folded diaper there beneath me even before I could feel it, then as she bent her knees again my fears were confirmed. Soft absorbent cloth against my skin. A quick tug and she pulled it up between my thighs, a strange sensation that my arousal made sexual even before I felt it pulled snugly against me, soaking up the fluids my body was confusedly generating.

Raising my head I could see her pulling the sides up and using large safety pins to fasten them to the front. Pinning me into a diaper. 

It felt thick, intrusive clothing, utility the priority, function over form. She made that worse, folding the leg openings in on themselves so they didn't come down my thighs. Instead they became bulky padding forcing my legs apart, a visible display of my entrapment. The waist was folded in too, leaving the diaper looking neat even as it bulged around me. 

She didn't leave me long to get used to it before adding further humiliation. A cloth diaper is a statement, imposition of her will on my body, but one I could ignore. By itself it was a symbol, not working protection. That needed a hydrophobic layer, something that would catch and retain any liquids until the soft thirsty cloth could absorb them.

Something like the plastic panties she was threading over my feet, working through the loops at my ankles. I watched in fascinated horror as she inexorably pulled them along my legs towards that inevitable transition from symbolic representation of control to full imposition of it. Once those were on I couldn't pretend this was for show; the diaper would be fully functional.

That didn't mean I'd use it. I thought furiously whether she'd demand that, how I'd respond, almost missed her tugging the waterproof protection over the diaper. I couldn't avoid her careful ministrations, tucking loose bits of cloth under the elastic legs, inside the frilly waistband.

As I frowned in distress, at her betrayal and its manifestation, she saw my expression and smiled in delight. A brief and subtle shake of her head and a hand sneaked down between my thighs once more, started kneading the thick cloth against me. Even as my brain rejected this my body provided its own response, grinding against her hand, my nipples springing to life to confirm the full return of my arousal.

I wasn't sure why she'd done this, what she wanted. At that moment I didn't care. Too long on the edge, too near to try and pull back, all I wanted was release and she could tell. My hips gyrated and my breath shortened, and.. she stopped.

"Not yet," she told me, then confirmed my worse fears, "Only when you're wet."