The small bed has 2 steel rails that run parallel along opposite edges. She likes to cuff me, one hand to each rail, and then slip in underneath me. I am free to move the length of her body but otherwise quite helpless. I must do as I am commanded, pleasuring her or her friends for hours at a time.
When I am on the small bed, she makes me wear a sheath. She does this, not to increase my size but to ensure that I gain no physical pleasure while inside her. She knows that it is the greatest torture to be deep inside her, watching her beneath me, thrashing and moaning on waves of ecstasy while I am without hope of release.
If she is feeling particularly cruel, she makes me wear her special sheath. The spikes inside don't seem like much but Mistress makes me swell so that every throb brings a jolt of pain and every jolt brings a throb. They comes in waves, the crests so intense that she knows I cannot serve her. Instead, she puts me on my back and sits astride me as I squirm and whimper. Her passion is my pain, her tight grip, my torment.
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