Wheel Slave

Chapter 1: Background

I go by the name Wheelslave. That's not my real name, of course, but one I guess I earned. My Mistress gave it to me after my training, but all that in due time. Let me begin at the beginning.

Even as a youngster, I had somewhat kinky fantasies involving tight jeans, bondage and figure revealing clothing. When I went to the circus, acts that included or even implied bondage fascinated me, but a special turn on was the knife-throwing act with the pretty assistant spinning on the wheel. As I reached adulthood I gradually began to indulge my fetishistic side, at first by reading kinky books and magazines. Eventually, I built up the courage to visit a fetish club in the city and was not only turned on, but was delighted and relieved to see that there were others who shared my bizarre tastes. The next step was to go to a professional Dungeon. I went again (and again). As a result I got to know a couple of the professional Dommes and began seeing them at their private studios. One of these proved to be rather convenient in that her studio was not far off my route to work, so sometimes after a hard day of engineering, I would relieve myself of my accumulated tensions (to say nothing of my earnings) with a visit to this lady's place for a session. 

Because I was a regular and dependable client she toned down her level of dominance to accommodate my preferences. She would have liked to do sessions involving pain and humiliation, themes which generally turn me off, but as I said, we reached an accommodation. However, unless her collection of pain-inflicting implements was purely for show, I must presume she indulged her harsher tastes with other clients. 

One day, however, all this changed. I arrived for my appointment and found a female sub in the studio. Her arms were drawn above her head by cuffs attached to the suspension hoist. Her ankles were tied to ring bolts set in the floor. It was clear that her tightly stretched arms supported most of her weight and that the cuffs were not well padded. The young woman was naked and sobbing through her gag. She showed whip marks on her back and legs. As soon as I entered, the Domme handed me a horsewhip and ordered me to beat the suspended figure. I hesitated and she repeated the order in a shout, at which I delivered a half-hearted blow to the sub's butt. The victim shook her head "no" and made the most sorrowful noise her gag permitted.

"Hit her again, properly!" 

"I'm sorry, Madam, I just can't do this. Can't you see she wants out?"

The Domme snatched the whip from my hand, delivered a stinging blow to my side. (thank goodness it was a cold day and I still had my jacket on.) She then raised the implement to strike the terrified woman. Before she could begin the swing, I grabbed her arm, wrenched free the whip and pushed her to the ground.

"This session is finished! You're over the line. If you dare touch either of us again, I will treat it as an assault. I don't want to hurt you either so just stay there."

It took but a minute to release the hoist and undo the wrist cuffs which, contrary to my original belief, were stiff leather and totally without padding. The bruises on the poor sub's wrists confirmed that. Soon thereafter she and I had undone the ankle cuffs as well. I helped her dress and we headed for the door. The Domme was just starting to rise as we left.

"We're finished, I said as I escorted the still shaking lady out. Once outside, we introduced ourselves more properly. Her name was Suzie and she had also been a frequent visitor to the studio and, like me, had been uncomfortable with the proprietor's propensity to meanness which of late she had been increasing unable to suppress.

It turned out that today the Domme had picked Suzie up and driven her to the studio, so she was now stuck for a way to get home. What can a gentleman do but offer the lady a ride? Because of my work I drove a station wagon, and this was fortunate. The welts on suzie's back would have made it unbearable for her to sit against a seat, so I made the back of the wagon as comfortable as possible and let her lie on her front for the drive to her apartment. Once inside, it was clear that her welts were pretty serious so I bought some salve at a nearby pharmacy and applied it gently to her back, bottom, and thighs. After Suzie was feeling a little better, she asked if she could be alone but we agreed to meet again under less stressful circumstances. 

When I got home, there was an e-mail message from the Domme. She accepted that our relationship was ended but requested that neither of us tell what had happened that day. Remembering the many enjoyable times we had spent together and that we both knew enough to do each other a lot of harm, I agreed. That's why I have refrained from using her name here.

Chapter 2: I meet Mistress Monica

My relationship with the Domme was over, yet my fetishes were even more in command of my mind and body. I certainly enjoyed dates with Suzie as our friendship deepened, but we were both subs (she even more than I). We did play a bit, but I had to kind of force myself into the dominant role and found it hard to be very convincing. I therefore started visiting the dungeon in town again. During the year I had been away, a new owner had taken over and there had been some turnover in staff. A big improvement was the new equipment, most notably a bondage wheel. The Mistresses, unfortunately, were still pretty much the same types as I had remembered. While passably pretty, they were mercenary, unimaginative and, quite frankly, not too bright. There was, however, one conspicuous exception: Monica.

Mistress Monica seemed to enjoy her job, and the knowledge that her work gave pleasure. More important, though, was her intelligence and imagination. I could start a fantasy theme and she would promptly pick it up and develop it. And I can hardly discount her preference for latex costumes and how strikingly erotic she looked in them. Needless to say, I arranged my visits so as to see her. We tried the Dungeon's equipment including the vacuum bed, the bondage table with its dozens of straps and, of course the wheel. It was clear from the start that both Monica and I had a special preference for the wheel. She loved to strap me to it and tease me with a creative mix of erotic suggestion, touching, and turning me from upright to sideways to upside down. A couple of times she tried spinning me, but while the idea was a real turn-on the actuality fell far short. This was because whoever had built the wheel had not provided it with enough straps strategically placed to support a sub properly. They were adequate to hold me bound and marginal for turning me upside down, but if I was spun, my body would shift with each revolution and this led to an insecure and distinctly uncomfortable sensation. Besides, after a half minute or so of spinning I began to feel too woozy to enjoy the erotic element.

Being always the engineer, I could at least deal with the former problem. I brought in my tools and over the next few visits we made some improvements in the wheel, adding shoulder straps, padding, head support, and a brake to stop it at any point. Monica was quite handy herself and worked with me in these endeavors. I really enjoyed these shared efforts almost as much as the subsequent sessions where we tested out our latest improvements. I now started to enjoy the reality, as well as the fantasy, of being spun. My dizziness and stomach still limited the duration, but we noticed that each time I was able to last a little longer. 

Not every appointment ended up on the wheel. If either of us was tired or not in the mood for a wheel session, we settled for a more relaxed hour of simpler bondage, but rich in fantasy. We became increasingly sensitive to each other's tastes and feelings and developed a genuine friendship on top of our "business" relationship.

Chapter 3: A Special Relationship

After a few months, Monica made a bold suggestion.

"For times when we don't need the House equipment, would you rather see me at my apartment? We'll save the house fee, and we won't be slaves to the receptionist and her clock. I've very rarely done this, but I trust you and think of you as a friend."

"I'm honored," I replied. "Are you sure you're comfortable doing this?"

"Hell, if I don't trust you by now....But we do have to be discreet about this 'cause it's against the House rules for me to see customers outside. The new owner sees it as 'stealing clients.'"

So I made my first appointment at Monica's home. We had almost no equipment other than a few straps and some clothesline with which she secured me spread-eagle to the bed. Nevertheless, the session was wonderful not only because we were free of the house with its overtly commercial ambience, but there was also the sense that our relationship was somehow special. 

Again calling on my technical resources, I gradually equipped Monica's apartment with at least the essential bondage apparatus, even though space was limited and any such equipment had to be discreet. This included a binding board that could be supported on a couple of chairs, and later a vacuum bed. Both of these were flat and could be stashed in the closet when not in use. One day after our session, Monica made a request. 

"I have an aunt who lives in an old house just outside town. There are a few little things that need fixing there. Would you be willing to help?"

I didn't want to get into the "freebie" business, but Monica had often gone beyond duty, giving me extra time and attention, and I remembered how much I had enjoyed working with her fixing up the wheel at the dungeon. Monica's aunt, actually her great aunt, was old and not too well, but her mind was sharp. On the way to her house, I asked, "I don't want to get you in trouble with your aunt with some indiscreet remark. Just how much does she know about your business?"

"Actually, pretty much everything. She was in this profession herself in her younger years, back when it was really taboo and underground. She's cool."

Upon meeting Aunt Belle, I agreed. This was one adventurous lady. Still, during the couple of hours we were there, I fixed a couple of door latches and dripping faucets in a very businesslike manner, giving no clue that I knew Monica's private side. I was "just a friend." But by the third visit, Monica broached the subject and Belle took it quite in stride, no more shocked than if we had revealed a shared hobby of stamp collecting.

Monica and I continued to have sessions every week or so, sometimes at the Dungeon when we wanted to use the equipment, but increasingly often at her place. Occasionally after a session we would go directly from her place to visit Aunt Belle. Monica would prepare dinner for us while I played handyman. (Given the age of the house there was never a shortage of fixit jobs.) That was the "official" reason for the visit, but in addition, we loved the dinner conversation with Belle; the charming old lady just made us feel good.

This went on until one Friday, Belle just didn't seem herself. She ate almost none of her dinner and she looked and acted unwell. Monica was concerned and decided to stay the night just to be sure. I stayed, too. Next morning, Belle was worse. We took her to the hospital but she continued downhill. The sweet old lady died a week later.

After the funeral, we learned that Belle had left the house and a substantial amount of money to her niece. 

Belle's death left Monica both deeply saddened and extremely busy. She was hardly in the mood, nor did she have the time to work at the Dungeon. The manager, however, was less than sympathetic to her situation. Her only concern was the lost income resulting from the absence of the most popular Mistress. This incident along with the inheritance clinched a decision Monica had been toying with for some time--going independent. With the big house to use as both her home and studio, and plenty of money to finance the new business, Monica returned to the Dungeon to collect her stuff and to tell the manager where to stuff the job. 

Monica asked me whether I would help her set up her new studio. First, she would need help moving out of her old apartment but more important was the decor and equipment for a professional Dungeon. My heart (and libido) were ready to jump at the proposal, but I realized this would require weeks of work. What would I get in return other than my usual paid sessions with somewhat better apparatus? Monica sensed my hesitation and quickly added, "Of course you'll be my personal slave rather than a paying client." That clinched it. My consulting business had in fact been slow of late so I could certainly afford the time, and while the arrangement was hardly codified, I knew in my heart that this would work out excellently.

And that's how my relationship with Mistress got started. I still have my own place for business purposes, but I now live with Mistress at her house and Dungeon. 

Of course I remained in contact with Suzie, occasionally meeting her for dinner and sometimes sharing fantasies. 

Chapter 4: The Wheel 

After the move we had to set up the enough apparatus so Mistress could begin receiving her clients. We began with a few basics: a bondage table, suspension, and an X-frame fixed to a wall. None of this was particularly exotic, but it allowed Mistress to start inviting her clients. For me, though, it meant I could move on to design the good stuff. 

First, of course, was a wheel, not just a copy of the rather simple one at the old dungeon, but one to incorporate the exotic features we had conceived in our fantasies. The practical design evolved as I rummaged through industrial supply houses, junkyards, and my clients' discarded machinery. I soon began dragging odd pieces of mechanism home to the house. I also moved my mechanical and woodworking tools into a workshop I was setting up in the basement. Monica at first complained that I was filling the place up with "junk," but I promised that if she would just let me prove it, she would end up with the best equipped dungeon she could imagine. Part of the deal was that I would assemble my first apparatus in one of the as yet unused rooms, and that she promised to keep out till I was ready to unveil the surprise.

Her doubts evaporated one night a month later when I showed her the product of my scrounging and labors. The wheel consisted of a wooden disk about 7 feet in diameter. The face was padded with foam rubber covered with a sheet of black rubber. Protruding through the rubber were dozens of steel loops each of which anchored the end of a strap. It looked like a hundred of them, although there were actually 48 straps. Each was made of soft leather and the main ones were padded with sheepskin. The back of the disk was fitted with a hub that bolted to the end of an axle. (The four bolts could be undone if we wanted to take the wheel off the mount.) The axle ran to a variable speed gear motor with a clutch to allow the disk to freewheel. The whole wheel-and-motor assembly was mounted at the apex of an A-frame which in turn was supported on elevated pivots at its base. Two jacking mechanisms extended from the heavy wooden base to near the apex of the A-frame. These allowed the entire wheel and motor assembly to be tilted from horizontal to vertical, or to any angle in between. When horizontal, the wheel face was about 2 feet above the floor, and when vertical, the bottom of the rim, since it extended beyond the A-frame pivots, was just 1 foot above the floor. 

Once Monica overcame her initial thrill, she began examining the wheel in more detail and noticed the radial tracks on the back face of the disk, running behind where the sub's legs would be attached to the front. What looked like a large brick rode each track with a screw mechanism to move it along the track. These, I explained were iron counterweights which she could adjust so the wheel would be in perfect balance regardless of the sub's weight distribution. 

She asked about the box on the end of the electrical cable with its knob and several switches. The knob, I explained, adjusted the motor speed, and I started to describe the several other controls.

The Beautiful Mistress said, "Sounds a bit complicated. Let's figure it out tomorrow." She kissed me passionately but then her face turned stern and she commanded me to dress in my latex sheath pants and tee shirt and wait for her in the dungeon room. I promptly complied and it took me only a few minutes to struggle into the skin tight outfit, and I then reported to the dungeon as ordered. I paced back and forth in anticipation until Mistress appeared at the door in her red latex catsuit which extended from her neck to her feet and wrists. Every detail of her lovely body was revealed as it pressed outward against the compressing latex.

She examined me from top to bottom and reached out to straighten a couple of wrinkles on the back of the shirt and smooth the overlap between the shirt and pants. She then pointed to the bondage bench which I had built for her when we first set up shop in the house. It resembled a massage table, but more sturdily built and somewhat longer, and of course there were numerous hooks and rings under the edges to accommodate all kinds of bondage.

I lay back on the bench and felt the cool of its rubber upholstery through my thin latex covering. Needless to say, I was already filling out my sheath. Mistress quickly fastened my ankles into their straps and my arms above my head in the padded cuffs. I was wondering when she would attach the numerous other straps until I saw her open the cupboard and take out the rolls of 3-inch wide latex bands. After inserting a strip of foam rubber between my legs to prevent my legs from touching, she began winding the rubber around my ankles and around the bench, wrapping me to it. Each turn just overlapped the previous one as the winding worked its way up my legs. I felt the tight compression and increasing immobility work its way up my body. As the winding progressed past my crotch, Mistress left just enough of a gap so I could protrude. 

The winding continued up my hips, middle, and over my chest. She relaxed the tension slightly so I would be able to breathe easily, and continued on upward, increasing the tension over my upper chest and shoulders, pinning them immovably to the board. At this point she got out the padded blindfold and secured it over my eyes. The wrapping resumed with a criss-cross over my shoulders before loosely securing my neck. She then wound a few turns around my head from under the chin to over the crown before wrapping my head and upper arms immovably to the board, and then my forearms and hands.

Monica (Correction: Mistress in this context) finished by fitting the inclined footrest to the bench and binding my feet to it. I was now totally immobilized and unable to see. I lay there as my situation sank in. The total tight bondage along with my complete confidence in Mistress brought a deep relaxation over me. Although I couldn't move the slightest, I really had no reason to. Then the sensations started, Mistress touching and rubbing me through my tight wrapping. My tool, which had gradually relaxed along with the rest of me, quickly revived. It then began getting her attention. I anticipated one of the wonderful hand jobs which Mistress gave so skillfully. But just as I had reached full attention, the stroking stopped. Teasing? But then I felt pressure and weight on my hips as Mistress straddled me; I felt her lower herself onto my sheathed rod. This was the first time I had actually been inside her. We had brought each other off in lots of other ways, but we had never actually screwed. 

The combination of total bondage and rubber enclosure combined with Mistress's incredible movements, both external and internal, were driving me crazy. And of course Mistress sensed this and modulated her activity to keep me just short of orgasm. I strained against my wrapping, trying to pump or otherwise wiggle myself to climax, but the immobilization was too perfect. Half of me wanted to reach that climax, while the other half revelled in the ongoing sensation. This went on for at least an hour before we both exploded in a squealing climax. I felt the weight of Mistress as she collapsed on top of me, raising her legs onto mine. We must have both dozed off, still mated because it was already morning when I awoke to feel the wrappings being undone.

After that we began having sex regularly, but only if I am (as she calls it) packaged. I must be encased, sheathed, and totally immobilized. In effect I must be converted to a living dildo. Even on nights when I was invited to share Monica's bed, unbound, it was generally after she had "drained" me and I was always required to wear what she called "containment" shorts. These were tight briefs or bicycle shorts made of Lycra or latex to keep my tool compressed; she didn't want it poking her during the night. Given my kinky tastes, I certainly don't mind these restrictions, but I was curious why such an absolute prohibition on "vanilla" sex. I subsequently learned from one of her friends that when Monica was much younger she had had an older boyfriend who was an insensitive bully. He would force himself upon her with no regard for her feelings. It took a long time for her to gather the courage to break it off. I am no psychologist, but it would be a reasonable guess that this accounts for her present need to be in complete control when having sex.

After showers and breakfast, I set about showing Mistress how to operate the wheel. It isn't really so complicated, but I am glad we waited till morning when we had the time and alertness needed. All the control functions were managed with a small box, perhaps the size of a paperback book. In the middle of the box was a knob to set the motor speed and just to the left of this were five switches. The first turned the motor on and off, and the second was the forward-reverse so the wheel would rotate either clockwise (normal) or counterclockwise. When the third switch when pushed down, it applied a brake to slow or stop the wheel. The fourth, to the right of the main knob, was three-position switch (up-stop-down) to adjust the tilting mechanism so the wheel could spin horizontally (like a phonograph) or vertically (like a wagon wheel) or anywhere in between. 

"And what's that last switch?" Monica asked. "That's the clutch. It disengages the wheel from the motor so you can let it coast, or spin it by hand. You also use it when adjusting the balance."

"Want to make a dry run?" I asked while buckling the few loose strap ends. Together we went through the controls, exercising each of them as Monica watched the empty wheel spin, stop, tilt and reverse. Soon she had the feel of how everything worked. I reminded her that with the wheel "occupied" the acceleration would be a bit slower. I then showed her how to adjust the counterweights so the wheel would balance perfectly with me on it. 

"OK. Let's try it for real!" Monica announced. 

"Yes, Mistress."

I stripped and put on my latex bike shorts and set the brake on the wheel. My stomach was filled with butterflies as I stepped onto the footrests. Mistress promptly fastened the waist belt and began buckling all the rest of the straps. It took a few minutes to do them all, but I still suggested she go over them once more to pull the buckles extra snug. Mistress released the brake and I immediately tuned head down and oscillated like a pendulum. 

"Looks like you'll have to adjust the counterweights," I said. But first, Mistress stepped up to my inverted body and ran her fingers over my inner thighs and gave me a little squeeze at my crotch. She then turned the wheel by hand till my head was at the 9 o'clock position and locked the brake. It was then easy to slide the counterweights on their tracks. She released the brake and noticed that I was now foot-heavy. Too much. After a series of increasingly fine adjustments, she checked the locking screws of the weights and gave the wheel a gentle spin. I rotated smoothly through several revolutions and came to rest at 7 o'clock. Mistress gradually turned the wheel, stopping at several positions to see whether the wheel wanted to move due to any residual imbalance. It was perfect!.

I heard and felt a click as the clutch engaged, and the wheel began to accelerate in a clockwise spin. I saw Monica's figure, and the room, going round and round, and I also felt my tool straining inside the tight latex shorts. Monica noticed the effect as well and held her hand on the rotating bulge. But at about that point, the dizziness began to get the better of me and I said, "We'd better stop."

Monica let me spin for a few more revolutions before she applied the brake and brought me to rest. She helped the wheel to a head-up position and let me regain my equilibrium. The last thing either of us wanted was for me to get sick. However, it was clear that I had lost any conditioning I might have once had from the old days at the Dungeon. There was a long training program ahead of us.

Every day, and sometimes two or three times a day, Mistress would strap me to the wheel for my training. We began with the wheel horizontal so I could get used to the sensation of spinning that way, usually for 5 or 10 minutes at a stretch. After a few days, we started raising the wheel so it was inclined. I would spin until I got woozy and asked to stop. After giving me a few minutes, Mistress would resume the rotation. By the end of a couple of weeks, we had the wheel at about 30 degrees of tilt and I was able to spin that way for ten minutes.

Keeping our long-term goal in mind, we also did short sessions of vertical rotation where I would wear my sheath briefs and Monica would massage my organ as it rotated in her lubricated hand. She would draw out the stimulation so I would endure for ever longer periods before she brought me to climax. If ever there was a Pavlovian conditioning program, this was it. Soon, the mere suggestion of the wheel brought on instant arousal.

Monica however, was impatient and didn't want to wait till I was fully trained on the vertical wheel; she needed satisfaction now! One day she brought home from the fetish shop a bondage swing and told me to build a suspension system to hang it over the horizontal wheel. I considered the usual winches and hoists, but the exact positioning would be very tricky. It was then that I remembered seeing an old travelling crane setup in a client's factory. It was small by industrial standards, just 500 pounds capacity, and had been left by a previous tenant, but best of all, it wasn't being used. A phone call confirmed that I could have it for the taking.

Another piece of luck was that Mistress had a client who ran a small construction business. And of course she had ways to convince him to pitch in with his truck after hours, move the crane to our place and help set it up. The operation took the better part of the weekend, but when we were done, there were two rails running along two opposite walls just below the high Victorian ceiling. The cross rail rode on them and the hoist rode along that. The hook could thus move to any locus within the 3-dimensional space of the big room. And it could do it by motor power controlled from a small hand-held box.

As soon as we had verified the operation of the hoist, we attached the swing. Mistress tilted the wheel to horizontal and strapped me to it. Just feeling her hand apply the lubricant to my sheathed tool brought me close to climax, so intense was my anticipation. It was a struggle for her to get into the harness by herself, but finally she figured out that the best way was to lower it to the floor while installing herself. She ended up seated sort of "Indian style" with her legs folded in front of her. Learning to manipulate the travelling crane controls was also a challenge so by the time she was above me. I had lost my arousal. I could do little to help with my arms strapped down to the wheel. We began to doubt whether we would ever be able to get this whole thing to work without a third person to assist when Mistress managed to position herself over me and lower the hoist till her sex was pressing against mine. That solved the arousal problem fast! She then raised herself slightly, used her hand to position me, and then lowered the hoist just enough to achieve penetration. Letting go the hoist control, she reached quickly for the wheel control box. The reaction from her sudden movement swung her suspended harness backward and slid me out. (Remember Newton's Third Law?). We had to repeat the insertion process, and Mistress had to move much more cautiously, but she finally was able to grab the control. I felt the wheel start to move and the intense sensation of rotating inside Mistress. The latter was not a perfectly steady movement since her swing was oscillating both back and forth and torsionally. However, my sensations were just indescribable. She, too was in sensory overload as her internal muscles twitched and clenched on my captive tool. It took only a couple of minutes before she came and brought me along. we both screamed in extacy as the stimulation continued right on through our orgasms. During the mating I had tried with all my strength to move, but Mistress is an expert at bondage and the straps held me absolutely rigid to the wheel. 

Encouraged by our initial, (however awkward) success we resolved to improve the process. The most obvious was to add horizontal bracing lines to the harness to control the swinging, and this was certainly an improvement, but Mistress seemed obsessed with using me on a vertical wheel. To be quite honest, so was I, but we both realized I would need more endurance training. Still, it was fun to plan and plan we did! After a lot of brainstorming we came up with the idea to build a sort of reclining seat and place it rails on top of a table. The seat would face the wheel and be at just the right height so that when Mistress sat in it and pulled her legs up, she would be perfectly aligned with my tool. Then she could slide her seat forward and start the wheel. She could even "pump" if she wished by sliding the seat back and forth on the rails. 

Coming up with the idea was actually a lot harder than implementing it. Again, given my access to industrial surplus, I figured that we could have it ready in a couple of weeks or so, assuming I was also ready. To that end, we intensified my training, doing two, and sometimes even three, sessions a day. Monica would spin me till I reached my limit short of getting sick, or until I lost my erection. We would stop and let me rest a few minutes before starting again. The session would go on for perhaps a half hour, and if I had shown improvement over the previous session, I would get my orgasmic reward (while spinning, of course).

I also added a signaling system to the wheel. There were pushbuttons under my fingers which I could press to deliver a variety of signals. The most important was the "safe signal" or perhaps more properly the distress signal. This would be given by pressing the index finger of my right hand simultaneously with the ring finger of my left. That way it was unlikely that some twitch or other accidental movement would give a false alarm. I was pretty woozy a lot of the time, and I actually had to use the distress signal on occasion, but from the steady improvement in times and speeds, there was no doubt the training was working. It took a month to get the sliding seat finished and by that time I could spin continuously for a full ten minutes with no ill effects.

That Saturday night we decided to give it a try. Mistress handed me my full-coverage latex catsuit, but instead of the full-coverage hood, I wore one with a mouth opening so I could talk if necessary during the experiment. 

I stepped back onto the foot supports and fastened the waist strap first. Mistress then secured the numerous others, starting with the insteps, ankles, below and above the knees, and upper thighs. I then helped her thread the two diagonal groin straps between my legs and buckle them on the outside. We continued upward, securing the chest, shoulders, and head. The latter was done with a broad strap over the forehead, and one under the chin with a helmet-type cup. She left my eyes uncovered this time "for the sake of technical observation." Finally she strapped my arms to the padded wheel face at the upper arms, elbows, wrists, and across the back of my hands. I guess I could still wiggle my fingers, but that was about all. 

My Mistress rotated the wheel by hand through one turn to make sure it was free, and followed with a few motorized revolutions. Yes! my tool was exactly at the center of rotation. Monica then wriggled out of her jeans and panties and before mounting the seat rubbed my sheath generously with lubricant, giving me a few extra squeezes in the process. I was quivering with the double excitement of seeing my brainchild about to be tested on top of the erotic arousal. Looking down as well as I could with my head tightly restrained, I saw Mistress's seat sliding forward and felt her hand guiding me into her snug lovenest. She gave a little internal contraction (a signal?) and slowly I began to rotate. With each revolution the speed built as did the incredibly intense sensation. I realized I was approaching climax and made a heroic effort to hold back but within a couple of minutes I exploded into the snug latex sheath. My body bucked and twitched the minute amount the many restraining straps allowed, and Mistress, sensing that I had been spent, backed her seat away, cut the motor and let the wheel coast to a stop.

"I'm sorry. It was just too intense. I was really trying to hold back so you could be satisfied, too."

"I know, but for a first experiment it wasn't all that bad. On the other hand, I'm not going to go through all that work of taking you off and putting you back on while you recharge your batteries. Why don't you just stay there a while and we'll try again. I think I have an idea."

My wheel had come to rest with my head at about a 7 o'clock position, Mistress rotated me to about 3 so I was effectively lying on my left side. She turned out the lights and let me relax. I must have dozed off because I awoke with the world spinning, or at least it seemed to be until I realized it was I who was going around. I also realized that my batteries had indeed recharged. Having awakened me, Mistress stopped the wheel head-up and held up a rubber cocksheath. 

"This one is a bit thicker than the one attached to your latex briefs so it should solve your over-excitement problem."

It wasn't a bit thicker; it was a lot thicker, but I was in no position to argue (in more ways than one).

Monica repeated the experiment and for her, it worked like a charm. She must have cum at least three times, or at least that's how many times I heard her scream. My experience was a little less satisfying. For ten minutes I was held motionless against the wheel as it spun. I could feel myself rotating inside her, but the sensations were too weak even to approach climax. Of course that could have been in part from my previous explosion. If, however, the goal was to extend my endurance, it appeared that the heavy sheath was the answer, but perhaps not quite so heavy. Mistress eventually had mercy on me. After the ten minutes of rotation, she stopped the wheel and let me recover. She then covered her hand with lube and set me spinning again. Her skillful hand did the trick, even through the thick sheath. She brought me to the brink four times before taking me over the edge speeding up the wheel as she did. Cumming inside the tight confinement was a welcome and most intense relief. My body spasmed against its restraints as it spun. It seemed the surges in my tool were synchronized with the rotation.

I was exhausted when the wheel finally coasted to a stop. Mistress lowered the wheel to a horizontal position and lay on it beside my still strapped-down body. We both drifted off into a deep sleep. By the time we woke up and I was unstrapped, I had been on the wheel for four hours. My muscles were stiff from the immobility, but otherwise I felt very comfortable and rested. I filed that observation in my mind for later use.

Over the next week we repeated the experiment and settled on a slightly thinner sheath that at least allowed me to get close to the brink, but it still took her amazing hand to finish me. Still, she wanted to prolong our sessions. The limit now was my rotational endurance. Spinning on the wheel produced enough centrifugal force that my internal fluids were driven to the extremities--my head and feet. The feet problem was readily solved by either mummy-wrapping my legs or by lacing on tight thigh-high boots, but the head was a bit more or a problem. We ordered a blow-up hood from one of the fetish houses. It covered my entire head, the only openings being the breathing tubes to my nose. It certainly added to the sense of confinement and helplessness, especially since it blocked my sight and most of my hearing. However, when Mistress tried to pump it up to balance the internal pressure, it just ballooned outward, making my head into an oversized black latex globe. 

Chapter 5: An Inspiration

The next morning, I noticed that a tire on my car was a bit squishy and I had to pump it up. Suddenly it dawned on me: The tire didn't balloon out because there was fabric cord in the rubber. That night I told Mistress and suggested putting a non-stretchable leather hood over the inflatable rubber one. She thought that was a very exciting idea. Unfortunately we didn't have one, but to test the concept, we got out her collection of cloth bandages that she used for mummy-wrapping sessions, both the elastic Ace type and some non-stretchy cloth strips. 

After I was in my latex catsuit, Mistress wrapped my legs with the elastic bandages, increasing the tightness as she progressed down my legs to my feet. She had me don the blow-up hood and bandaged over it with the non-elastic strips. She later said I looked rather silly with the white mummy head on top of the black suit. But, Hey it's all for science. Once the wrapping was in place, she guided me (I couldn't see.) to the wheel and strapped me snugly in place. I could feel the straps tightening up one by one as she progressed around my body. Finally, Mistress attached the bulb pump and inflated the hood. Restrained from expanding outward, the pressure inward was intense. It felt like my face was being squeezed from all directions. The leg wrappings were also feeling tight. She stopped pumping when I grunted a protest through my breathing tubes. 

I waited with anticipation for the rotation to begin, but first I felt all the straps being given an extra tug until they were almost painful. They had never been so snug. My attention suddenly shifted from the tightness of the straps when I felt a firm squeeze on my sheathed tool, making it even harder, if that was possible. I guess it was sort of a good luck signal? The wheel began to turn. In the past I had felt a sort of rush the first time my head swept down, but this time that sensation was absent. In fact I was only slightly aware of my rotation. It felt more as though I was on a flat table that was rocking through a small angle than actually spinning on a wheel. 

The speed kept increasing till it was clearly faster than I had gone before, except for brief "sprints" when Mistress cranked up the speed for a climax. Yet the discomfort that had made me call "Uncle!" in the past just wasn't there. At the same time, the extreme tightness of my wrappings and hood which had felt so confining was now actually a source of comfort as the internal pressures induced by the centrifugal force balanced the rubbery compression on the outside. I soon found myself able to relax completely and just enjoy the ride.

I don't know how long I was kept spinning, but for no apparent reason, I felt the wheel start to slow down. As it did, the sense of external compression began building up. I stopped with my head at--I think--2 o'clock. There was movement and shuffling in the room for perhaps a minute, and then witrhout warning I felt an additional sheath being rolled over my cock. Perhaps fifteen seconds later, I felt a warm softness slide over that. Mistress must have moved the sliding seat into place. As I came to that realization, the wheel began spinning again. Spinning inside the beautiful lady was just unbvelievable. With the usual discomforts of rotation so well neutralized, I could concentrate on the exquisite sensations. The sheath was thick enough to prevent overexcitation, but I could still enjoy the wonderful rotating massage. My excitement kept growing and I knew I was approaching climax when suddenly I was out of her. She must have slid the seat all the way back. Still the spinning continued. I was just starting to get a little soft when I felt the stimulation start again--her latex gloved hand? The hand worked itself slowly toward the tip of my rotating shaft, and then I felt a warm compression englufing my member, working its way back from the tip. My God! She had re-engaged while I was still spinning. No end to this woman's talents! By now I was extremely horny and wanted the session to end, but it went on and on, as Mistress adjusted both the wheel speed and her internal tightness to keep me at the brink. Finally my poor tool could take no more and exploded into its tight sheath. I screamed as much as I could with my mouth so covered and I strained against the immobilizing straps. Soon thereafter, there was a click and the wheel began slowing down. It must have coasted for several minutes before it stopped at what must have been the 7 o'clock position, and was then hand rotated to upright. 

Mistress let me rest for a few minutes before she deflated the hood and started to undo the straps. 

"Do you know how long you were on the wheel all together?"

"I couldn't guess. I lost all sense of time."

"Four hours! I was amazed at your endurance. I expected you to give up and hit the panic button at any moment, but you hung right in there. I'll have to recognize this achievement. Henceforth you will be known as WHEEL SLAVE!"

So now you know how I got my name.

Chapter 6: The Centerpiece

A couple of days later, Mistress informed me that she was throwing a party for some of her Domme friends. Would I like to volunteer to be the centerpiece? 

"You will be back on your wheel just as we did for the last experiment."

I thought a minute and replied, "I enjoyed that session because I completely trust you, I don't know how I'd feel about some strangers having that level of control over me."

We ended up agreeing that the motor would be disengaged most of the time. If anyone other than Mistress wanted to spin me, it would have to be by hand. Only Monica would use the motor, and she would keep an eye on me throughout the event. I made one additional request that Suzie be invited. Mistress agreed but only if Suzie served the guests. After all she was a submissive. 

The party was to begin at eight o'clock so we began preparing that afternoon. Suzie arrived at four and we all pitched in cooking goodies and cleaning up the house. Knowing that I would be restrained for an extended time, I drank no liquids all afternoon. Just after seven, we started getting ready for the serious business. Suzie and I helped each other into our outfits. She wore a red latex catsuit with an open-faced hood. A hole in the top of the hood allowed her shiny brown ponytail to protrude through. On top of the catsuit, I laced her leather corset. It extended from just below her latex-encased breasts to just below her hips. I also had to help her put on her thigh-length high heeled boots since the corset prevented her from bending to do it herself. Not that I minded at all.

My catsuit was the black latex one with the high collar and sheath. Once that was on, Suzie and Mistress fitted the blow-up hood in place so its collar overlapped the one on the suit, thereby insuring total coverage. I felt the additional snugness as they pulled the leather hood over the blowup and tightened the laces. But this was nothing compared to the sense of compression as they pumped up the rubber inflatable hood inside the inexpansible leather one. My head and face were squeezed all over. The pressure couldn't balloon out the blow-up hood inside its inexpansible leather shell so all the pressure was directed inward. It pressed my eyepads so snugly I couldn't move my closed eyelids, nor could I open my jaws. 

The two women guided me to the wheel (Of course I couldn't see at all.) and turned my back to it. They helped me step onto the footrests and I quickly felt the waist belt being secured. One by one the other straps tightened over my body until I was totally immobilized and one piece with the wheel. There was a clunk as the brake disengaged and I felt myself slowly being turned through a whole revolution to check free rotation. The wheel was then released and I slowly turned head-down and oscillated slowly. I heard and felt the counterweights being adjusted. This repeated a couple of times till I was exactly balanced. Mistress wanted it perfect to show off to the guests. I was given a quick spin and slowly coasted to rest. I think it was at about a 4 o'clock position but I couldn't tell exactly. I was then turned to what felt like head-up and I heard the brake lock.

I was left in total isolation for what seemed a long time, although since we had started the installation at about 7:30 and the guests were due at 8, it couldn't have been more than perhaps fifteen minutes. I wondered what was happening to Suzie during that time. The first break in the sensory isolation was the sound of female voices seeping through the hood. The guests were arriving. Moments later, I felt my body being touched, or sort of probed by many hands. Yet the touches were gentle and I became mildly aroused. There was scattered giggling. The next sound was one I clearly recognized--the brake being unlocked, and suddenly I was spinning with a hand touching my rotating tool. My arousal level rose as my swollen member expanded against the sheath. Would they make me cum so soon? Apparently not. I heard Mistress's voice and the hand slipped off me but the rotation continued, slowing gradually as I coasted. As the wheel slowed to about one revolution every 3 or 4 seconds, someone gave it another spin and the stimulation started again. This was going to be a long night. This time the wheel coasted to a stop and I was turned head up. Mistress spoke loudly so I could hear her through my hood, 

"We're going to the table for some food now, but don't worry, you won't be completely ignored."

With that I felt myself being stimulated again until I was fully hard, but then it stopped. Just as I was going soft, the stimulation resumed. Was someone assigned to keep me aroused, (maybe a sub whom one of them had brought along) or were the ladies taking turns at that 'duty?' Whichever it was, the intermittent stroking went on just enough to keep me from going soft. After what I would guess was fifteen minutes, I heard the bulb pump adding pressure to my blow-up hood and I rotated to a 6 o'clock or head-down position and the stimulation continued. I was glad for the extra pressure since it counterbalanced the internal pressure my head would have suffered from being inverted. I was in fact very much enjoying the sensation, especially with the gentle touch which now included the insides of my thighs and my latex-compressed balls as well as my tool. I began to wonder, though, how long this teasing would go on and how I would feel about it by the end of the evening. But I also knew two things: first that I had no control over what happened (short of the panic button), and that my Mistress would not let me come to any harm. So for now I just relaxed and enjoyed. 

After an indeterminate time I again heard female voices and the scraping sound of furniture moving on the floor. More voices and some banging and grunting. Trying to figure out just what was happening, I started to go soft again. but my unknown benefactor quickly attended to that. As soon as I was hard, though, I felt an additional confinement of my tool. Another layer of rubber? Yes, It was a second sheath, judging by how attenuated the sensations from the touch had become. Now I knew what was happening; they had positioned the screwing seat. I heard giggling and realized why. The anticipation of being "used" had immediately aroused me still more. In a short while my expectations were realized as I felt the snug sensation of a woman enveloping me, and heard the clunk of the wheel brake releasing. Almost immediately I began spinning inside my unseen user, but unlike the sessions with my Mistress, the sensations were much weaker. Yes, I could feel the pressure and rotation, and even a sense the occasional contractions of the woman's love tunnel, but the added sheath must be a new one, even thicker than that which I had worn when servicing Mistress. Why was this, unless I was in for a long evening serving multiple guests without a risk of climaxing and going soft? That must be it. Well, just hang in there (as if I really had a choice). 

After a short time, I felt my rotation slowing down since the motor was disengaged, but a couple of pulls on the rim by someone's hand got me back up to speed. This continued for several minutes until I felt distinct contractions and squirming, even through the heavy rubber sheath. There were sounds of female extacy followed by laughter. The encasing female then withdrew and I was brought to rest, I think at about an 8 o'clock position. Someone wiped my sheathed tool off with something that felt a little cold, probably a cloth wet with alcohol. A minute or so later, I was given a few arousing strokes and felt myself being enclosed again by female sex, and the spinning resumed. 

After being used three times, I was stopped and rotated approximately head-up. I anticipated another cycle, but none happened. Instead I heard voices retreating, apparently toward the far end of the room where some unknown activity continued for what must have been twenty minutes. The voices and sounds then moved to the next room where the snacks were laid out. I was just left there still unsatisfied. Perhaps I dozed off a bit, but I woke up spinning again with a lubricated hand bringing my tool back to attention. As soon as this happened, another woman must have mounted the screwing table because my business was again "back in business." This went on for four cycles, or it might have been three with a break for some readjustment in the middle of one. I really couldn't tell. I was, however, aware that my frustration was building up to an incredible level. It wasn't just the attenuated physical sensation, but the mental adventure of being converted into a living rotating dildo. Some might regard such usage as objectifying or even degrading, but my loving relationship with Mistress overrode such feelings, especially since this was a specific role playing event rather than an enduring lifestyle. 

After the last screw cycle, I felt the flange of my outer sheath being unstuck from the front of my suit. Then someone removed the outer sheath. The increased sensitivity combined with my pent up arousal was such that I almost came as soon as I was touched without it, but Mistress commanded, "Not yet, Wheelslave, unless you want to spend the whole night on that thing." I forced my mind to invoke the most off-turning thoughts (in this case my former Domme bullying Suzie) until I drew back from the brink. Thereafter, I was occasionally touched and spun, and teased for I know not how long. There were occasional periods of non-activity, but apparently the Dommes collaborated to keep me hard most of the time and spinning a good part of the time. 

After a particularly vigorous spin, the wheel gradually coasted to a stop and I felt the wheel stand shake slightly as though it was being worked on. "Uh-oh!" I thought, "They're engaging the motor." I was right. The wheel began to accelerate gradually until it was spinning at least once a second, and I felt something envelop my tool. Another woman's pussy? No. This was a mouth. I could feel the tongue moving and the slight scratchiness of teeth. Then the feeling of suction, even through the thin sheath. I tried to hold back until I heard Mistress call out, "You may cum now." and as the wheel accelerated still faster I most certainly did, exploding surge after surge into the tight latex sheath. Who was this benefactor?. She (at least I hope it was a she) certainly knew her art. It must have taken several minutes for me to coast to a stop and be turned to head-up. The brake locked and I felt the straps being loosened by several hands until only the one at my middle held me to the wheel. The unfastening stopped and I heard voices through my hood and then the sound of the front door banging shut. 

A minute later, Mistress deflated and removed my hood and I squinted and blinked at the sudden influx of light. I saw that the guests (including my anonymous benefactor) were gone. As Monica undid the final strap she supported me as I stepped off the wheel. I had to grasp the wheel stand to maintain my balance as she helped me out of my suit. After a stop at the toilet and quick rinse in the shower, I put on my Lycra containment briefs and collapsed into bed beside her, holding her gently as we drifted off to sleep. My last thought was, "I'm the luckiest guy in the world."
 
 

14.01.04