COPE 2012 was Amazing
September 17th, 2012
What an amazing weekend! I didn’t get to do everything I wanted to do, but that’s the nature of life, and what I did get to do, more than made up for anything that we didn’t manage to squeeze in. The best plan falls apart upon encountering the enemy, and that was the case for several of my friends, but for me, this time, nearly all my plans survived, and some of them far better than I ever anticipated. A lot of people are saying it was the best COPE yet, for me, this is entirely true. I have never had so many scenes, I have never stayed at the hotel, let alone with my partner during the event, and I’ve also never been so well fed at an event. About the only thing that was “on par” for my other experiences, were the classes. They always bring in great presenters to teach really fun classes. I had an incredible weekend.
What happens at COPE stays at COPE, they say, no outing other people by talking about their scenes. But that’s not what I do here, as you all know, I talk about what I did, and my experiences. So let’s begin at the beginning.
Our con began with meeting up with friends, helping out, and getting registered. We found quite a lot of our usual crew and gathered up for a nice dinner at Buca di Beppo. We even got to sit in the Pope Room, because there were so many of us. We talked about crew and the con ahead and even about the upcoming Trauma. Enjoying time together as a family, and then we took food back to feed the rest of our family who couldn’t make it out. Being a group with the volunteering spirit, many were working the con, too.
Back to the hotel, I had a scene right up front, so I didn’t even change, but went and found my ex-Lover, and we took our place for my requested “challenging, transitional suspension.” That, will be a post later on. Afterwards, I went back to the room, got on my shiny kimono and boots, and went in search of him. He was bringing down a suspension, so I knelt nearby, helping clean up rope until he was done. The engineer was nearby scening, too. After that, we sat with friends for a time, until he retrieved us, stun gun in hand, to go back to the main room for our suspension scenes with him. Another post to come. He tormented us both with the stun gun while we waited for the high point, but the battery died out as he tried to keep tormenting me as he began to tie her. We played on the rig in the corner until they turned the lights on that night, and then headed back to our room to take care of each other, with massage and orgasms, and cuddling to sleep.
Morning dawned quietly, but I was awake early. I really wanted to attend class right from the start, so I was up, rinsed off and dressed in a sari while they were still gaining consciousness. They said they’d catch up, so I headed out, grabbed an apple(I was too late for bananas), and found a seat in Bondage for Punishment and Pain. They joined me sooner than expected, but before the class changed rooms in favor of a high point, and we knelt beside him, as much as we could manage, for the entire entertaining class. I found myself able to manage for 15 minutes or so at a time, not wanting to distract myself too badly from the presentation. 4mm rope, a high point, and a flexible bottom, made for quite the class. Stopping by the vendors on the way out, he found some great new toys to buy, a dragon tail and three leather “cocks.” The latter being woven leather cylinders of various widths, with rounded ends, that work great to bludgeon your partner with. We headed back to the room to test them out, and were quite happy with the results.
We then headed off to brunch at First Watch. The second class session not holding our interest more than finding food did. Waffles, bacon, pancakes, eggs and coffee later, we were satisfied and heading back to the afternoon classes. I did wear my bratty shirt, and very short skirt, but I took my sari as a wrap to stay warm, as well. Extreme Bondage was up next, with more kneeling from us, though the presenter invited folk to come close and watch, so he was up in front away from us most of the class. This time, I found the tops of my feet beginning to hurt much faster than I was losing circulation. The class itself was quite interesting and entertaining in its own right, with a handful of really restrictive ties. The next class period, the engineer headed off to a latex class while he and I wandered back to the vendor area, this time picking up a book, a new suspension ring, swivel and two hanging straps. The final class of the day, Predicament Bondage, was the same couple as our first class, we all sat in chairs this time, and had a blast watching (and helping with) the crazy stuff the presenter came up with. Electricity, water, rope and weights and everything else he could grab from his bag of toys. Such fun.
We headed off to dinner, then, Fish Market our destination. Got a seat quickly in the bar portion and, though it was noisy there, we had quite a nice meal together. We he asked us if we’d seen anything that day that we’d like to try, we grinned and said all of it. I took my leftovers back to the event, but couldn’t find anyone in need this time. We attended closing ceremonies, complete with lube-tossing, auctions, NCSF and gratitude. And then the final play party began.
We headed back to the room to get dressed, the engineer donning her blind contacts and me my straitjacket over lacy bodice with garters to red fishnets and shiny boots, he even wrapped my pleather skirt around my waist. I was to be her eyes, and her my hands. We headed back to the dungeon, all grins and giddiness. He showed us off down the hall, through the social area and all around the dungeon. Then we headed to the back rig for him to do his scenes and assist in others. I tried to keep her informed of the things going on around us, and once he sent us to fetch water and candy from the adjoining room. After his scene, she wrapped up the rope for him and I returned it to his bag. When these scenes were complete we headed back to the room for more private fun.
Back in the privacy of our own hotel room, the engineer and I stripped down, but she kept in the contacts. We rearranged some furniture, and sat down side by side, facing him, for an incredible needle scene. Post to come. How I didn’t freak out or pass out, I’m really not sure, let’s just say I’m stubborn, and they were incredible in supporting and encouraging me. We thanked him with massage and curled up for a well-deserved, good night’s sleep.
The engineer had to head off early the next morning for school, and we hung around to help tear down and load out the dungeons. After many good conversations and goodbyes, I headed home to check on the internet, crash for a couple hours and then went out to dinner with hubby and friends. Home again for the last two episodes of BSG, some Lactaid ice cream and then crashed out completely for at least twelve hours. Amazing weekend of awesomeness. Thank you to everyone who made it possible and who made it great.
It’s Here!
September 14th, 2012
COPE is today, it starts in just 8 hours! I’ve packed my suitcase, my toybag and my purse. I’m ready to go. Okay, not entirely ready to go, I’m still naked, but my bags are ready to go. Super excited and happy! The corset may not work out, health and postal issues have delayed the work, so I’ve had to change some clothing plans. But it doesn’t really matter, it’s COPE! I could run around with just a short skirt and no one would care. Though, I think he has some straitjacket ideas in his head. At least that’s warm. I’ve mostly given up the idea of being warm. I have one long skirt in the bag, and my saris. But I’m not too fussed about what I end up wearing. Go with the flow and just enjoy.
The class schedule is up and all crazy. Four rope classes the first period! WTF, guys? Ah well, so many good classes, so little time. I think it’ll work out anyway, not to many periods where there’s two classes I’m dying to see. Looking at Extreme, Predicament, and Painful bondage classes. Maybe a latex, a foot care, a single tail class. We’ll see how things go.
So bouncy and happy, I’ve gotta hit sub-mind when I get to the hotel. I can still be bouncy and happy, and all, but we’ve set up some protocol fun, too. Gotta keep my head in the game. 
Such a great weekend ahead! Boots, and rope, and private things, and shiny things, and pain and pleasure, and learning. So Excited!
See you on the flip side.
Be Still
July 21st, 2012
She stood very still as he circled her. Looking over her body, head to toes. The smile on his face predatory, hungry. He stopped behind her, close. She could feel his breath on her neck. The cloth came fast. Covering her eyes and tied tightly around her head. He brushed by her and grabbed her hands, quick loops and her wrists were secured. Lifted above her head and tied off to the beam. She shivered in anticipation as he stepped away.
Back. His presence large in front of her. Metal at her throat. Tugging, ripping, he cut through her shirt and bra in one quick pull of a rescue hook. The straps were gone in two sharp tugs. She was topless. He grabbed the top of the skirt and pulled her against him. Kissing her hard, he tore the skirt away with one hand and one hook.
He stepped back, and she could feel him pacing around her again. Eyes closed behind the blindfold, she tracked him. Excited, aroused, scared, shivering with cold and energy.
His fingers snaked up into her hair, pulling her head back tight, and a knife was at her throat. She gasped, then froze. He dragged the blade down the center of her chest, eliciting a whimpering moan. She fought to remain still as the tip traced her hips bones, trying not to gasp too hard.
“Be still.”
He let go of her hair, and dragged the knife around her hip to the base of her spine. She clenched her fists, a focus for her energy. He drew the knife up her spine, and back down, teasing. Moaning softly, she clenched her jaw. He slid back around in front of her, drawing the knife across her belly and up to her breasts.
Taking a tight hold on one, he pressed the tip of the knife against the nipple. She gasped sharply, and let it out in a sharp squeal. He pressed harder and her head dropped back, breathing hard. He made large X’s across the nipple with the blade, pressing in with the length, first one way then the next. She thought for sure he would draw blood.
“I can you know.” he answered her unspoken thought. “No one here to see.”
Dropping that breast as her head came up in a snap and a whimper, he moved to the other breast. Dragging the knife from top to nipple and then around underneath. Lifting it with the flat of the blade, he dropped it and slapped the nipple. She squeaked and jumped a tiny bit.
“I said, be still.”
“Yes, Sir.” She gasped, tightening her fists and her resolve.
“This knife is very sharp, when I cut you, and I will, I want it to be my decision.”
“Yes, Sir.” She bit her lower lip.
He set the tip at her shoulder and pulled it fast down to her opposite hip and before she could finish gasping, did it again in from the other shoulder. She clenched her jaw to keep from shivering too hard as she moaned.
Then the knife was at her wrist, trailing down her arm, sharp and tickling, she tightened her fists, jaw and squeezed her eyes tighter to maintain control. Barely breathing, until he reached her chest, and catching it again as he started up the other arm. When he pulled away, she let it out in a hard gasp, and a few whimpering moans. Cut short by the knife blade pressed against her throat, his hand in her hair, his body pressed against hers. He kissed her roughly, pulling her lip away with his teeth as he disengaged.
She felt him crouch down in front of her. The tip of the knife on the side of her heel. He drew it up the inside of her leg, the pitch of her moan going up as the knife rose. She nearly lost it as he dragged it over her labia and barely regained control as he continued down her other leg. She wanted to shake and jump and orgasm, but she held still.
He dragged the knife in short horizontal lines on the insides of her thighs. She gasped with every one. Then he sank his teeth in to replace the knife and she screamed. She could hear him snickering when he pulled away as she gasped for breath.
“Now then, I think I want some blood.” He stood up in front of her again. “But where to start?”
He dragged the blade lazily from shoulder to nipple to sternum to nipple, down to her belly, around her hips, to her back, up her spine and in figure-8s around her back. Slapping her ass with the flat of the blade, she could hear him hmming in contemplation, as she struggled to control her body, breathing and fear.
“Breathe!” He commanded her. “Don’t you pass out on me, I haven’t even cut you, yet.”
She took a deep, steadying breath. She trusted him. It would be fine. She wouldn’t even see the blood. She trusted him. He wanted it. It would make him happy. She wanted it. It would be fine. Breathing, concentrate on breathing. She settled into her body, into her lungs, into the ground. Solid. His presence, warm, strong.
The knife tip was still exploring her body. Her ass, legs, back, sides, belly, breasts, arms, neck, throat, hips. Dragging, poking, sliding easily over her flesh. She focused on the feeling, the arousal, the cool metal on her skin. Moaning softly, breathing deeply, holding herself still for him.
“That’s better. Good girl.”
He lifted her right breast in one hand, and she felt the blade on her skin. Harder, sharper than before. She felt him cutting the straight lines of his first initial into her flesh. Then he set it down and lifted the other, cutting the first initial of his last name into that one. He let it down and she let out the breath she had been holding. The cuts stung as he wiped them with alcohol, and she was concentrating so hard on breathing and not panicking that she barely noticed him untying her hands.
He was behind her, lowering her to the ground, pulling her into his lap, her back against his chest. Wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her ear and neck.
“Good girl, such a very good girl. All done now, it’s okay you can let go.”
She collapsed into his arms, every muscle relaxing at once. She burst into tears, and burrowed back against him, as he continued to hold her and reassure her. She mumbled her thanks over and over, shaking and crying and gasping. Slowly she melted, and relaxed, a puddle in his arms, calm and so incredibly happy. He pulled off the blindfold, lifted her chin, and kissed her tenderly.
Thank you.
Abandonment Scenes
June 7th, 2012
Abandonment was mentioned last night when talking about fear play. A very valid form of fear play, but it got me thinking about my own relationship with abandonment. I’m not afraid of scene-abandonment, as such. I mean, tie me up and leave me somewhere? I’ll happily fall asleep, or meditate, or just glow happily in bondage. Tie me up and tell me to escape? Sure! I’ll wiggle and squirm free, and then curl up happily with the rope.
It’s when pain enters the picture that the abandonment means something to me. A very long time ago, long before kink, I wrote a diary entry about fear. In it I listed the things I was afraid of: snakes, needles, sparks. But I got a little more introspective after that. I noted that being in pain and being unable to do anything about it scares me a helluva lot, too. My phobias are flight responses. This one is a bit more complicated. This one leads to a different kind of break down of my psyche.
I am a masochist. I like pain. I enjoy it. I can get off on it. But I also like control. I like someone to be in control. Of me, of the scene, of the pain. Random, uncontrolled or unintentional pain is not cool. If you know me well enough and long enough, you’ll see me break down over my RA pain on occasion.
To be put in a painful bondage and then left, abandoned, causes the adrenaline rush. I’m in pain, I can’t stop the pain. No one is there to stop the pain. What if it becomes too much? What if I can’t take it anymore? What if I pass out from the pain? What if I panic? Am I already panicking? And on and on.
Near the beginning of the life of this blog, I posted Abandoned and Rescued. In that scene, I knew my white knight was coming to save me. I knew he would come and stop the pain. So I was left in a bigger predicament, his arrival had the chance of causing More pain, excruciating pain. And unless I could call out loudly enough and warn him, I would have no way to stop it. Later, I was threatened with being left in a similar situation, without the trap, with no one coming to save me, except maybe the hotel’s housekeeping staff, who I’m pretty sure would have just run away. Terrified, I begged my way out of it.
So, for me, abandonment works as a form of fear play, but it has to be painful. Otherwise, it’s just a happy bondage scene, which can also be fun.
What I Like and Why
May 31st, 2012
So, let’s say someone new came up to me and asked, “Hey Imp, what do you like to do? And could you tell me why? What about those things interests you?” How would I respond, at this point in my life?
Hey, random person. Welcome to the community. I like to do a lot of different things, for a lot of different reasons.
Well, Imp, that’s not very helpful, could you be more specific?
Sure, random. I like bondage, sensation, deprivation, fear, pain, suspension, sexuality, dressing up, fire, electricity, corporal punishment, erotica, mind fucks, new experiences, serving, bootblacking, learning, teaching, submission, power exchange, biting, sucking, cuddling, challenges, sub space, and a whole host of other things.
Wow, Imp, that’s a lot. Could you tell me about all those different things?
Sure, random, let’s start at the top.
Bondage. I love bondage. Always have, always will. Cuffs, shackles, stocks, straitjackets, rope, saran wrap, or just mental. I love it all. But some for different reasons than others.
Cuffs, shackles and stocks. These are the stuff of erotic fantasies for me. Prisoner fantasies, slave fantasies, and the like. These are things for “bad girls” and as such, turn me on to that mindset. They are solid and secure and sometimes painful. They are a solid reminder that I am in bondage to the one who holds the key. I am at his mercy until he sets me free.
Straitjackets and saran wrap or mummification. These are the all encompassing, all enclosing, complete restriction of movement. They can be comforting, a big huge hug from the one who put me in it. A place to sink into myself with the outside kept at bay. Or they can be complete vulnerability. I am trapped, only allowed that which he gives me. Whether that’s simply air or pleasure. Only free when he allows it. And oh so helpless and available to whatever he wants to do. An excellent power exchange.
Rope. Glorious rope. I didn’t know how much I would love rope until it was used on me. I didn’t know I would fall in love until I first smelled hemp, and then he suspended me. And I was done. Forever a rope slut. Rope is a multitool. It can be used for sensation, for decoration, for bondage, for suspension, for pain, for pleasure, for service, and if you have enough, even for mummification. Rope makes me incredibly happy. The bite of the rough natural fibers on my skin. The taking of my power bit by bit as each limb is confined. The sense of freedom when I am held in its complete thrall.
Sensation and pain. So many different types of sensation. Floggers, whips, paddles, canes, drumsticks, clamps, clips, clothespins, slapping, spanking, body punching, kicking, biting, pinching, pressure points, scratching, knives, violet wands, stun guns, TENs, massage, wax. I’m sure I’m forgetting some.
Corporal punishment. Spanking, floggers, whips, paddles, canes, punching, kicking and drumming, all excellent examples. Let’s start with rhythmic fun. Floggers, canes, and drumming can all be used to beat someone to music, to a rhythm. This can take us both into space. Feeling connected as one as we flow and move with the same beat. Relaxing and soothing, it can also send me into the most incredible high. Spanking and paddles, also belts, are in the fantasy category for me. They send me into that “bad girl” headspace that I find so arousing. Pain space. This is where whips, body punching and kicking come in. They don’t fit in the first two categories for me, but if I want intense sensation for the purpose of going into pain space, they are added to the list of all these other tools. Pain space, for me, is a place where I fall into the pain, and enjoy both the pain and connection to the one causing it. Catharsis is another part of corporal for me. All these tools can be used to cause me such intense sensation that I am pushed through pain space into an emotional release.
Body manipulation. While I’m talking about spaces, and body punching and kicking. Let me go quickly to pressure points, biting, pinching and massage. These, for me, are direct, personal intense sensations. Biting goes into arousing fantasy, vampires and the like. Pressure points and pinching and focused intensity. He is close up, exploring my body and reactions. Some of them are painful, some of them are pleasurable. But they all make me want to kiss his hands afterward. I like the closeness, I like the personal intensity. The direct energy exchange. Massage has this, too. The closeness, the energy. It also has the element of service that I enjoy when I’m giving it. Or when I’m receiving, it makes me feel cared for and appreciated.
Sexuality. We are sexual beings. And we all express our sexuality in different ways with different people. Depending on my mood and my partner, I enjoy kissing, hugging, cuddling, nibbling, licking, orgasm control, masturbation, oral and sex. Physical connection, intimate connection, can be soothing, energizing, or just plain crazy fun.
Deprivation. On the opposite end of the physical, is the lack of input. Sensory deprivation. Sensory deprivation makes me depend on whatever I’m left with. I sink into my body away from the senses that were taken away and if I have anything left, all focus goes to that. If it has all ben removed or reduced, I’m often able to just float away deep inside. It’s incredibly relaxing. And can also be used to intensify whatever sense is left. Touch becomes so much more intense when you cannot see, hear, or smell. You are focused on the only thing you have left to sense the world around you. Pain in such a state is so much more intense for me.
Clips, clamps and clothespins. I’m not even sure how to categorize those. Pinchy things, I guess. These can be great fun and are usually a test in endurance. Last night, he showed up with two bags. One of 50 teeny tiny clothespins, and one of 24 two inch long clothespins. He decided our faces were his canvas, and went back and forth between all three of us, putting clothespins all over. It was crazy and intense and fun. I had to walk in place and keep touching him to ground, so I would keep breathing properly. These are an interesting category. They are intense sensation, and it just ramps up as you go along, without even having to do anything. And when you’re done, the fun isn’t over. You still have to take all those little things off. Which hurts a heck of a lot more in an instant than they have the whole time they’ve been on. This is why zippers are such great fun. Taking a whole line of them all off at once, can send me into such a great pain space high. This is one time when orgasms are especially appreciated for me, as a way to channel the energy created.
Electricity. Ah, electrical energy. In this category we have TENs, violet wands, electric flyswatters, and stun guns. TENs is a lot of fun. It can be therapeutic to tense or sore muscles. It can be silly giving over of control. It can be used to make Jenga a hilarious game. And it can be used to cause intense sensations and pain. Violet wands are one of the few things I top, for the crew. Anywhere for gentle vibrations of a massage, to sharp jolts of pain. Happy tickling sensations, to skin burning zaps. So versatile and fun. Electric flyswatters and stun guns are the next step up. Sharp, painful sparks when there’s a gap. Muscle jolting when held tight to the skin. For me, just the noise of these sends fear shooting through my body. Sends adrenaline racing, and depending on what he’s threatening, can drive me straight to tears. Delicious.
Fire is another of those adrenaline rushes. Someone is lighting you on fire FFS. It’s a nice warming sensation, which can also be slightly painful, but the fire is generally gone before the pain really starts. I’m not into burning/branding of the skin. But the fear. The primal fear response to being light on fire, is intoxicating. It brings my focus in to just that. Nothing else matters when you’re on fire. Then there’s sparks. Not electrical sparks, those don’t bother me. Fire sparks. A lighter, a sparkler, a log popping in the fire. Terror. Pure terror for me. This will bring me to tears faster than a stun gun, if I’m forced to be close for more than a couple sparks.
Fear. Oh yeah, fear. Sparks, needles, snakes. Fire, stun guns, flyswatters, gags, being in pain and helpless and abandoned. Fear is delicious. Adrenaline rushes are great. Phobias will bring me to tears and panic and breaking points. So they are dangerous to play with, but so far, have all gone well. Being brought to the point of panic, and then pulled right back to keep going can be an amazing power exchange, as well.
Power exchange. Submission, serving, mind fucks. All the mental stuff. To take me out of my head, to give up control. To take care of him and his boots. To dress up for him. To just simply be for him. To challenge myself. To be forced to think and use my brain. To be turned around so hard and fast that I don’t know where I am. To be scared and aroused and dropped all through the power of his voice. So many different head spaces and power exchanges. It can be absolutely amazing.
New experiences. Learning something new. Teaching someone something new. Trying something new. Helping someone else try something for the first time. There’s nothing like it. The joy, the excitement, the energy of new is unique and incredible.
And then there’s this. There’s writing about it. I love writing about it. Writing erotica about it, blog posts about it, journal entries about it. Sharing, processing, explaining. Teaching, learning. Writing it down gets it out of my head and into a place where I can look at it. Where I can share it with others. Where I can learn about myself and really see my own thoughts and reactions. Down on paper or screen, it’s not all jumbled up anymore. It’s clear and it’s wonderful. I hope you all think so, too.
Tied Up and Tossed in a Corner
April 22nd, 2012
I asked to be tied up and tossed in a corner. I wanted to fight the rope. I wanted to sit and struggle and soak in it. So I asked him, and he said we’d see. The club can often make that impossible.
The night started with a new bit of metal from our blacksmith friend. A flat bit of metal with a double cuff piece folded over. Nice new hinges. He pins my wrists in and then hooks it up to a suspension point. I think I can slip my hand out, but I just hold on. I’m in socks, so up on my tiptoes. Then he pulls out his flyswatter. Oh god oh god oh god. I scamper and whimper as he grins.
Zap.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeak, spin squeal, spin.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
“The perfect dress for this.”
Fuck. Ow. Shit.
Spin, Spin, twist.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Yip. Squeak. Spin.
“Just think, when you’re tied up in the corner… and I’ll have your socks off, too.”
Whimper. Zap. Zap. Zap. Zap. Squeal.
“I have to have my fun, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
Zap. Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal and spin.
“Feel better?”
“Yes, sir.”
He takes me down, shows off the toys and then its time for class.
A young woman has traded him flogging for service. He gives her to us. Twenty minutes of massage a piece for his women. I sit in front of her, shoulders please. Her hands are soft, my knots are hard. But she does a very nice job, rubbing and working some of them out. I count the songs. Four and I let her know she’s met the time. Thank you, very nice. Toy is next.
He grabs the bag of 6mm hemp and sits down, smiling at me. It’s time. I step over in front of him and put my glasses in the roses. He looks up at me, considering, and I smile back nervously eager. Wondering what kind of tie he has in mind. Turns me around and starts on my wrists. Box tie.
Strange people in front of me, I drop my eyes to the ground, my focus back to him. Rope, delicious rope going around my arms and chest, through the armpit to lock it down. Second rope, lower arms, lock it down, pull in tight. A third rope, around the waist, tightening further, no movement at all in the arms. My elbows wobble and I can move my fingers, but that’s it.
“Look what I brought.”
Red clips. Oh god. Seven little red clips in a bundle.
“I have to make it fun for me, too.”
I whimper and scamper back a bit, a look and I come back. He reaches up to a nipple. Whimpering and squeaking as he puts it on. Left. Right. Left. Right. Squealing and swearing and breathing hard. Left. Right. Three on each, a line across each. I gather my control as they sink in. He waves the last one at me.
“Where do you think this one goes?”
I whimper as he lifts my dress and pinches in on the front. Shit. Fuck. Oh that pinches. Breathe. Breathe. Ow!
“Which one hurts most?”
“That one.”
“How’s your head?”
“Light?”
“From what?”
“Not breathing.”
I kneel down, drop my head and focus. I cannot fail so quickly. I can do this. Breathe slowly. Deeply. He moves away. Breathe. Focus. Okay, better now. I can’t fight the rope. I can barely move, but I can fight the pain.
A blindfold comes down. Tied around my head. He pulls me to my feet. Forward between tables and chairs, to a cubby. A couch. Down, lays me down, gets me a pillow and adjusts my dress. He sits opposite for a moment, someone else, too. Toy, I think. Then he wanders off. I can feel him in my feet, out past my feet.
I can hear everyone. Talking and walking, playing and screaming. I shift my legs, I feel my socks on my feet and I shiver, remembering. My feet, oh god, the flyswatter. I twitch for a moment, and then settle in. I can hear him talking in a group nearby.
Settle in, feel the rope, relax. Uncomfortable arms. Shift. Pillow moves a bit. Settle. Shoulder. Shift. Better for a while. I can feel him moving. Hear his keys. Hear his boots. Arms still annoyed. Okay, sit up. Feet against the other couch, a person there.
Much better. Sink back into the rope. I can feel him in front of me.
Zap! Zap zap zap.
Squeal and squirm. Twist and yip.
Fuck. Shit. Twisting against the lower clip. Ow!
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal. Turn. Scramble.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Fuck. Ow. Squeal. Twitch.
He zaps toy and I can hear her try to be quiet.
I twitch in fear. A few more shots on both sides. I think the engineer is nearby, too. Squealing and squirming. Legs up on my couch. He wanders away, but I keep twitching. I can feel him in my forehead, moving. Breathing hard, trying to relax. I can’t, yet. He’s right out there.
Settle in. Find comfortable again. Breathe. Keep track of the people. Listen to the electric booth. Listen for him. Move with the music.
He’s back. Zap. Zap. Zap.
Scream and squeal and squirm.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Scramble. Squirm. Swear.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal. Yip.
Fingers. Fuck. Ow. Ow. Ow. Wrist.
It’s okay, fine now.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal. Squirm.
Twitch when he switches to toy. Back and forth.
“Oh, I know what I want.”
He grabs and foot and I whimper and fuss.
“Stop.”
I freeze, focus on breathing. Hold still.
Zap. Squeal. Zap zap zap. Scream.
Zap. Zap. Zap. Squirming but trying to hold my foot still.
Zaps the heel. Not so bad, the whole foot, not too bad. Toes!
Ow! Squeal and squirm. He lets it go and wanders off again.
I curl up, twitching. Trying to calm again. He comes back, sits across. Forehead towards him, twitching.
“Not really abandonment if I keep coming back is it?”
“No, just makes me paranoid.”
“Why?”
“Because the last two times you had the flyswatter.”
He wanders off and I sink back in. My left pinky is going numb, I shift and rock and enjoy the music. Cross legged and sinking in relieves the pressure. Rocking to the music, settling in to the rope. I feel him come back again and twitch my head slightly. Afraid.
“Look at her head. Are you almost done?”
“No, Sir.”
Wanders off. I can track him with my forehead. The music keeps me moving. Sinking. Back again, Smack.
My thigh.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Groan. Moan.
Smack. Smacking to the beat.
Groan into a scream and he stops.
“How you doing?”
“Good. Pinky was numb, better now.”
Something with the toy and she comments how hard it is not to talk.
Gone again. Sinking in, music, beat, rocking in circles. My nipples catch fire. They are suddenly awake and hurting like he just put the clips on. Stabbing pain. I rock harder and snap my teeth. Wanting to bite down on something for the pain. Shaking my head, swearing, rocking, snapping. Breathe. Don’t get light headed again. It’s just pain. Breathe, rock, snap, moan.
He’s back.
“The clips hurt so much, but I know they are going to hurt more when you take them off.”
“Do you want to orgasm?”
“Not without permission.”
“I could take them off and put them on toy.”
Oh god, I don’t want them off.
“Toy, don’t you want to help Miss?”
“Yes, oh god.”
“Toy, toy, toy, no, it’ll hurt so much, Toy, that’s not helping, toy.”
But he has her distracted and she’s agreeing. Back to me, and I’m lying back against the couch.
“Ready?”
“No, Sir.”
“1, 2, 3!”
Off comes the lower one and off I go, screaming orgasm, kick someone at the end of the bed, not sure who. Thank you, Sir.
“1, 2, 3!”
The first nipple clamp on comes off. Screaming, kicking orgasm. Thank you, Sir.
“1, 2, 3!”
And again, trying not to kick this time. Thank you, Sir.
“1, 2, 3.”
He waits for me to orgasm before he pulls the clip and I scream and arch.
“1, 2, 3.”
Again. Orgasm, pain, scream. Thank you, Sir.
Oh god oh god oh god. The last two are going to hurt so badly.
“1, 2, 3.”
Orgasm, and no pain. Thank you, Sir.
He grabs both, and I whimper and press back against the couch.
“1, 2, 3.”
Orgasming, fear, pulls, Pain. Screaming, screaming, swearing, crying. Riding the wave higher and rocking and sobbing. Gasping breath. Thank you, Sir. Breathing. Calming, settling back. Whimpering from the other couch. Toy.
Breathing, relaxing, He moves away and I sit back up. Rocking, weaving to the music. Sinking deep into the rope. Leaning forward to release pressure on arms. Rocking in circles, enjoying the music. Sinking, spacing. Gone.
Back again.
“How are you doing?”
“Arms hurt a bit, lower arms, wrists.”
“Are you done?”
“No, spacing.”
“So we should take you out while you’re still spacing?”
“Probably.”
Up and out. And the ropes come off, inch by inch. The pull of the rope on my skin sending me higher. Shivering, thrilling at the feel of it. Pressure releasing. Breathing and flying. Slowly lower my arms, raise them up to stretch. His hand on the small of my back, gently pushing me forward, to the opposite couch. Sits me down, dumps the rope in my lap.
Rope. Hemp. Oh gods hemp. I pull it up to my face, breathing it in. Lift my legs to brace my arms, bury my face in the hemp. Breathing, smelling, Shifting my head whenever my breath overwhelms the scent. I think toy has left the couch, sitting opposite now. I want to lie down.
I slide a hand over, no one there, just my sock. I lie down, curl my legs up on the couch. Rope still in my face. So far gone. I can still hear, but I no longer care. Rope. Glorious rope. So lucky, so blessed, so loved. Mind just floats. A blanket over me, fleece. I wasn’t cold, but it contains me. Keeps me inside myself. Rope and comfort and wonderful.
“Is she still asleep?”
“Not asleep, didn’t sleep.”
He pulls the blindfold off.
“It’s bright out there.”
“Yes.”
“You still have all the rope.”
“MmHm.”
“You have to put it away, you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that what you needed?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, so much.”
I grab his hand. Kiss it. So grateful.
The lights come on. Time to clean up. I sit up on the couch and take care of the rope. Coming the rest of the way down slowly as everyone else takes care of the gear.
I thank those around me, for taking care of me, of everything. So lucky to have such friends, such family. The world comes back and we load out and head to breakfast. Such an wonderful night.
My Friend the Blacksmith
February 16th, 2012
A great Valentine’s weekend. Hung out with folk at the poolhall on Friday. Got to sleep in on a Saturday. Then the big party. I had a new red dress with holes down the sides and my shiny boots. I blushed as red as my dress at first until I got used to it.
Halfway through the night, I tugged on his sleeve and asked about The Box. Can we open it? I hadn’t been drinking at all. I’d be careful. I got the box and we found a quiet room.
A while back, we learned that our friend was a blacksmith. About a year ago, he brought the blacksmith an idea. They started collaborating on the design of a metal shrew’s fiddle. Measurements were taken. Plans drawn. Pieces shaped and tested and reshaped. Hinges were built and broke and made stronger. The metal was heated, scrubbed and oiled to remove the shiny. Last month the blacksmith gave us the locking pin. Almost done. Last week the blacksmith gave me The Box: large and white, and sealed up tight. I gave it to him, but a busy week left it closed until 11pm Saturday night.
I handed him the box and he pointed to the floor. I knelt eagerly, only slightly awkward in the stretchy dress. He pulled up the tape and removed the paper-wrapped bundle. My eyes were shining as he unwrapped our new fiddle. I took the dulled pin from around my neck and pulled the string out as he removed the shiny place-holder pin from the device. I lifted my hair and he placed it around my neck. Left wrist, then right. I watched his hands as he slid the locking pin home and secured it tight. Finally.
We had the toy we’d been waiting for. Heavy and secure. Fit perfectly to my neck and wrists. Not so tight on the neck as to risk panic or immediate danger. The wrists deliciously squeezed in metal wide enough not to cut off circulation. Pure joy.
He watched me get to my feet, both of us full of grins, and head back out to the party. Smiles and grins and appreciative comments followed me through the dance floor. I headed upstairs to find the blacksmith. Tripped on the troublesome step, but no harm done. Got someone to pull my dress back down when I got to the top, stretchy material likes to ride up. Found him, grinning like mad. Wow. He loved the lines of the device, and even more seeing it in use. Our photographer wanted pictures, and then placed an order for three more. They chatted about design and care while I floated. The blacksmith doesn’t like the hinges, the next one will have it done differently, but the lines. So gorgeous.
My shoulders and wrists begin to ache, I set the end on toy’s shoulder. Ah, much better. A little relief from the strain is all I need, and I’m wandering again. So happy, such lovely weight and delicious pain. But I want it to last, so I set it on shoulders and hands and bartops as needed. I’m curious at one point and find a bed to lay down in. That’s more like it, completely comfortable.
Up again and round about. Toy feeds me a chocolate rum ball, and I’m off. He finds me here and there, tugs on the end to make me gasp. Grinning at each other. Not an especially useful position for anything other than restraint itself, but very good at that. No, I can’t reach the pin with fingers or teeth. I’m good and stuck. Others ponder ways I could escape, but it would take some serious doing.
Two hours in, one in the morning. Even having it braced by someone else, my shoulders are still hurting. Time to give in. He releases me and I put it away, wrapped and boxed once more. Arms now free, I give thanks all around. To him and the blacksmith. A wonderful Valentine’s gift from them both.
I Know What You Did Last Night
September 29th, 2011
Blackness.
She tried to blink, but couldn’t. Coming more fully awake, she realized her head was covered in fabric. Tight. It wasn’t a headache, her head was tightly wrapped. Her ears hurt. Not badly, just a mild ache. Static. There were headphones over the wrappings, playing white noise. She tried to move. Nothing. Taking a breath to stem the rising panic, she realized she was at least free to do that, nothing blocked her nose or mouth. Something at least. She focused on breathing for a few moments.
Sitting.
She sent out her conscious the the rest of her body. She was sitting up, arms bound to the arms of a chair, wrist and elbow. Metal chair and legs bound to the legs, ankle and knee. Her head and waist were secured, as well. Naked. Completely naked. She shivered, though it was not cold.
She still felt groggy. What had happened? Where was she? She remembered the club. Out for a night on the town while her partner was away. Business trip. Back on Sunday. Was it Sunday yet? It had been Friday night. Was it only Saturday? She danced and drank with her girlfriends. They mainly ignored the men trying to pick them up. Ladies night out.
There had been one man. Persistent. Dark. Handsome. He’d caught her eye a few times. Sent her a drink. Oh god. What had been in that drink? Had she gone home with him? She remembered him staring at her while she accepted and tipped back the shot. Hot, hungry eyes. She didn’t remember anything after that.
Cold.
She gasped as a cool breeze passed over her body, mirroring the cold shiver running down her spine. She felt air moving around her, goosebumps covered her arms and legs. Someone was near her. Was it him? What did he want? Why was he doing this?
“Who’s there?” She called into the silence. “What do you want?”
She felt small pads being placed on her body. Two on each breast. Two on each arm. Two on each thigh. Two on each calf. Wires tickled her skin. She tried to turn her head, tried to thrash free, but there was no slack anywhere. Her body started to tingle and she froze. The tingling grew, first in her breasts until she yelped. Then those stayed steady and each limb’s tingling grew, one at a time, until she made a sound of pain, then stopped. Then it all stopped.
Breathe.
She reminded herself to breathe, and the white noise stopped, replaced by a voice.
“Where were you last night?” A computerized voice, loud and harsh.
“At… at the club. Syrens.”
“What did you do there?”
“I danced, and drank with the girls.”
“Then what?”
“I… I don’t know. Someone sent me a shot. I don’t know.”
Pain. All of the pads sprang to life at once. Her muscles clenched and she screamed.
“Who sent you the shot?” The pain stopped.
“I… don’t… a man. Tall, dark, black hair, blue eyes. He was wearing a black suit and a red tie.”
“Did you know him?”
“No.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. I don’t know. Not before he sent me the drink.”
“What was the drink?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you drink it?”
“Yes.”
Pain erupted again. Pulsing this time, making her muscles jerk out of her control, breasts feeling like they were being stabbed.
“You drank something, sent by a stranger, without even knowing what it was?”
“Yes!” She couldn’t help but scream.
The pain surged for a moment and then relented.
“Then what?”
“I…” she gasped for breath, terrified of the answer she had to give. “I don’t know. I woke up here.”
Just her legs this time, higher than before. It felt like they were trying to curl into the chair. She clenched her jaw and growled at the pain.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” She grunted.
“Maybe more pain will clear away the fog.”
All the pads sprang to life, in a wave of pain, from her calves up her thighs to her breasts and then out her arms. The pain growing and receding up and down her body. She writhed against the bonds, straining her tortured muscles even more. Her feet did not touch the floor, but curled helplessly in the air. Her hands clenched at nothing, just beyond the arms of the chair. She growled and grunted, screamed and whimpered. She had no idea how long it lasted, almost started counting the waves once, but gave up as pain overwhelmed her. Finally, it stopped.
“Now, what did you do after you drank the shot?”
She gasped for breath, drenched in sweat, shaking with leftover energy. Panicked and still without an answer. She wracked her brain, having been incapable of thought while he tormented her. She saw his eyes, remembered tossing back the shot. It burned. Her head swam.
“I sat down. He came over.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I… I must have. I don’t remember. It was Ladies’ Night. I wasn’t supposed to. I must have.”
“Then what?”
“I…” She didn’t want to say she didn’t know, she tried to think, she wondered if he’d know if she was lying. “We danced.” She tried, not sure if it was a lie or not.
Stabbing pain in her breasts, her arms seized. She screamed and it was gone.
“Do not lie to me. What did you do after he came over to talk?”
“I don’t know.” She was shaking and gasping, fear and pain warring for dominance.
The white noise came back in her ears. Her body started tingling. All the way back down to the beginning, all at once, and built slowly up. They did not stop for her screams this time, but kept building until she was thrashing and sobbing as much as her bonds would allow. Then he pulled the pads off, one by one. Starting at the top. Until all were gone. The tension released, only the restraints kept her from sliding to the floor. Tears soaked the fabric around her eyes, her lips moved, but only breath escaped.
Darkness. Static. Nothing.
She regained control of herself. Got her breath and heartbeat back to normal. Calm for just a moment. Still nothing. Panic started bubbling up again. She focused inward, no injury or lasting pain. Outward, she felt no movement, no breezes, nothing. Was he gone? What did he want her to say? She couldn’t remember what had happened. What if that wasn’t good enough? Was he mad she didn’t remember him? Why was he doing this? Her mind spun in useless circles. She had only the vaguest impression of him coming towards her after the drink and then nothing.
“Let’s start again. What time did you go to the club last night?”
“9 o’clock.” Grateful to have a question she could answer.
“Who did you go with?”
“Erika, Sarah, and Heather.”
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Two glasses of cider, a cosmo, and that shot.” She shivered a little, hoping she hadn’t had more after the shot, but not knowing.
“When did you leave?”
“I…” Panic. “I don’t know.”
“Who did you leave with?”
“I don’t know.”
Shocking pain ran down her left thigh.
“Not good enough.”
“I don’t. I had the shot. He came towards me. And I don’t know.”
Her right thigh this time, a straight rod delivering high voltage directly to her skin. She squealed.
“Tell me what happened after the shot.”
“I don’t know, I can’t remember.”
She cringed against the chair as the rod delivered shocks across her breasts, right over the nipples, crying out and trying to wrench free.
“You do remember.”
“No, I don’t, I can’t.”
The electricity crackled from her left hand, up her arm, across her collar bone and back down to her right hand. She screamed, then gasped for breath.
“Tell me.”
She bit her lip. “I…” What could she say?
The rod ran down her chest, over the left nipple, down to her clit and back up again, right nipple not spared. She swore vehemently, but he only did it again, in the opposite direction.
“Such language. Now, tell me what happened.”
“I looked over at him, lifted the shot in a salute, drank it down. It burned my throat, and hit hard. I sat down on my stool and looked back at him. He had gotten up, and was walking towards me.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know!”
He ran the electricity over her arms, chest and legs in big zigzagging motions. She screamed in protest, trying to thrash, or move, or jerk, or anything but sit there perfectly still, except for her hands and feet clenching and curling in the air.
“You do know, you just won’t tell me. This would all end, if you would just tell me what happened next. Don’t you want me to stop?” He zapped her clit.
“Yes, please. I do. But I don’t know. I can’t tell you. I don’t remember.”
He answered with more electricity. Fingertips, toes, one by one. Up the side of her calves, the inside of her thighs, circles around her clit and her nipples. Tell me, echoing in her ears with each shock. She squealed and clenched her fists and fought the urge to curse. He zapped her earlobes and the tip of her nose and she forgot herself, spitting curses until he zapped her lips. She snapped her mouth shut and breathed heavily through her nose, curling her lips inward and licking them.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“No.” She gave up on insisting she couldn’t, he didn’t seem to care.
“Then remember, you could have stopped this.”
Static. Darkness. Cold.
Constant cold air was blowing on her now. But he had stopped hurting her. Stopped asking questions. She wasn’t even sure if he was there anymore. What now? What else was he going to do to her? Why didn’t he believe her? What else could she say? She wracked her brain, trying to pull up more of last night, but there was nothing. A big black hole in her memory. Why hadn’t her friends saved her? Why had they not been there for her? How had they let her end up here? Did they even know what had happened to her? Had they seen her leave? Had they told anyone she was missing? Was anyone looking for her?
“Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Will you tell me what I want to know?”
“I… no.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth. What happened after you drank the shot?”
“He came towards me. And then I don’t know what happened.”
“Wrong.”
Pinching pain seared through her nipples, causing her to gasp, but this pain didn’t go away, and she started to whimper.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I can’t.”
More pinching around her nipples.
“Two clothespins for every lie. What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Now there were three on each breast and she was panting and squirming with the pain, tapping her feet in mid-air and clenching her fists.
“Tell me.”
“He came toward me. He must have sat down. We must have talked. We didn’t dance. But I don’t know.”
Two more, above her nipples. Strong and small. She breathed quickly with the pain, whimpering with every exhale.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t, you know I can’t. Please, I don’t know.”
Two more at the top of her breasts.
“You can, I know you can.”
“No, please, why are you doing this?”
Two more just below the collarbone.
“Tell me, now. I just want the truth.”
“I don’t know. That’s the truth.”
Ripping pain as he yanked all the clothespins off at once. She drew a sharp breath and then screamed. Shaking, and shivering against the chair.
“Apparently I’m being too nice.”
Cold liquid splashed over her chest, then arms and legs. It smelled like alcohol. He ran a wet cloth over her exposed skin. She shivered harder, terror rising bile into her throat.
“What, please, what… I don’t know what you want. Please…”
“Only the truth. That’s all I’ve ever asked for.”
Stabbing pain in her left breast, sicking sliding under the skin and another burst of pain. A needle, he’d just slid a needle through her skin.
“Oh god, please. Don’t, please.”
“Then tell me.”
Pain in her right breast, she could only focus on the horrible feel of the needle sliding through her skin.
“Tell me the truth.”
“Please, please, please. I don’t.. I.. please, I…”
Pain lower, right above the nipple, slower, sharper.
“Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“I.. please… don’t, I… please.”
The other breast again, right above the nipple, matching sets of fear and pain.
“Tell me what happened after you drank the shot.”
“I don’t know, I woke up here, I must have passed out. I don’t know.”
“Good girl.”
The needles came out fast and clean. She was crying and shaking as he wiped down her breasts with alcohol. The headphones came off, the wrapping around her head started to unwind. She was dizzy, she didn’t understand. What happened? Light began to assault her eyelids, she cringed away and found she could move her head. The restraints were coming off her arms, then her legs. His body was in front of her lifting her, carrying her, a hood still on her head, but thin. Softness beneath her, a bed. It was darker here and he slid the hood off. Stroking her hair.
“Such a good girl.”
She opened her eyes, startled by her partner’s voice after so long with the computerized one.
“What?”
“Shhhh. You did so very well.” He wrapped her in his arms and she curled up against his chest, sobbing with relief. “Such a good girl.” He repeated.
“Thank you, Sir.” She whispered, as she fell into an exhausted sleep against him.
“You’re welcome, little one.”
1950s Monday
September 15th, 2011
Nervous anticipation. We have Plans, it’ll be alright. We’ve gone shopping and have everything we need. Packing, checking, dressing, checking again. Don’t forget it at home! Go back, get the food out of the kitchen. Okay. I’m there. Need to calm down. Kneel on the wooden floor til toy arrives. It only takes her a few minutes, still bubbling over. Cleaning first. Put away dishes, wash up a couple. Floors, sweep and vacuum. Toy does the tables, couches and garbage. What else? Spot check the house. All looks good.
Okay, clothes. Latex panties first. Ah, Mother Nature, why do you hate women so? All shined up, but for how long? Stockings, not too bad considering their age (they got progressively worse as the night went on). Okay, corset-y thing. No support at all, but it’s cute and lacy and it has garter-y things. Toy, help, I can’t get the top hooks closed. Okay, now for those garter-y things. Strangest clothing accessory ever. What’s so sexy about suspenders for stockings? Success. Okay, dress. Toy, need your help zipping it up. Shoes and it’s too hot for the sweater.
Out to the kitchen, it’s nearly six, hurry hurry. Aprons on. Coffee, toy. I fiddle with the oven and we decided 350 will just have to do. Coffee, toy! She starts cutting up the chicken. Can you do the coffee, Miss? Okay, 8 scoops? Can’t get it to turn on… oh, hey, what’s this piece? There, that works. Coffee. And the cookies go in. What else? Steam the broccoli. Won’t that ruin the coffee/cookie smell? Oh well. He isn’t on time, thank gods, hurry coffee! Pans found, chicken wrapped. Cookies done. Wait, not long enough, falling apart. Wait. Better. Coffee done. Plate two cookies, mug of coffee, robe. It’s way too hot for a robe. And here he comes.
She with his coffee, me with cookies. He comes in, and takes us in, all grins. Hug and a kiss, hug and a kiss. We flutter a little over a spill and then head down to the couch. Sweater on now I’ve cooled off. Pulling off his shoes and socks, toy cradles his feet and we snuggle and talk about our weekends. Quite a lot to talk about, and then it’s late and dinner isn’t cooking, yet. Where’s my dinner, toy? Not cooked yet, Sir. And she’s over his knee for a spanking. He lets her up to go cook and I stand to follow, and follow I do, right over his knee for my spanking. Ah, the echo of smacking latex mixed with moans, delicious. Ass warmed, I head upstairs.
Turn the oven back on, cut the bread, garlic butter it and pop it in. Apron, Miss? Oh, yeah. Salads next,lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and croutons. Dressing on the table so they don’t get soggy. Stir the boiling pasta, make the sauce/chicken/broccoli mixtures. Toy is minding all the pots on the stove. Five minutes, Sir. Set the table, plate the pasta, put out the bread. Toy sauces their plates and I sauce mine. Marinara to their Alfredo. On the table, aprons off and call him up.
We begin discussing work, and toy drips something. Napkins! I realize and get up to get them as he realizes their lack as well. I return and toy is looking upset. Why’re you upset, I was the one that set the table. But he misunderstands, thinking it was her job. Out by the hair and over the couch he takes her for another spanking. She returns, fidgeting with her dress and garters, and distracting, forgetting to Sir him. He offers me a chance to help her and I try to give her a hint, but it doesn’t get through, back to the couch for another and he leaves her there a moment.
Deciding the spanking isn’t enough deterrent, he gets the flyswatter. We both whimper and twitch as he brings it to the table. Is this the thing he owns that makes me most skittish? Those weren’t the words, but they got lost in the following conversation and I can’t remember them exactly now. Yes, Sir. But, Miss, what about needles? No, toy, those take time, preparation. This he can just whip out and hit me with. But he catches the thread and runs. Hey, an idea. You both roll a d6 and whatever number toy rolls, Miss takes that many needles, and whatever number Miss rolls, toy takes that many. I’m shuddering, but game. Toy, however says no, Sir. He goes on about increasing the die each week, eventually getting to doubles. Toy just keeps saying no, until she finally says it’s upsetting her stomach to talk about it, so he stops, reminding her that if she tries to throw me under the bus, she’s falling, too.
Finished with dinner, we don our aprons again to clean up. He decides they would definitely be enough coverage alone. I agree, but toy just keeps cleaning. We get the food put away and the dishes done again, and then head downstairs. He has cotton ropes and red silk strips laid out on the couch. I sit down by them. Toy takes his shoes upstairs and then we wait for him to reappear, with more ropes. He starts with ankles, one rope a piece and then pulls us to our feet. Time to play a game.
“Toy, what’s Miss’s birthday?”
She stares and stutters, as he counts down on his fingers from five. She cannot remember. Off comes my sweater.
“What was my previous nickname?”
Oh, I know I’ve heard this story, but I can’t remember either. Off comes toy’s belt.
“Okay toy, who is my kink hero?”
“The Insex guy…. JD?”
Nope, off comes my dress. He very much likes what he finds beneath, and realizes that’s as far as I’ve got without ruining the look, and ties my arms behind my back.
“Do you know?”
“PD.” I answer and he nods, my question next.
“How did I get my rank?”
I toss out a couple things, all wrong, and toy loses her skirt.
“What year did I meet my wife?”
“1995?” She tries.
“No. You?”
“2001?” I think.
“Nope.” And her shirt came off, to finish her under outfit.
Our underclothes revealed, he stops to enjoy the view and pulls us together for hugs and kisses. Blindfold next, he picks up a strip of the red silk and ties it around my head. I close my eyes behind blindfolds, so I don’t know how effective it is when he asks. It’s keeping my eyes closed, good? They murmur appreciatively at the site of white, black and red. Doesn’t she look sexy? Yes, Sir. He puts another strip over my mouth, but then decides to knot it up to make a gag. I panic for a few moments, coughing and gasping and he grabs my throat as I bite down on the gag.
“Are you going to panic anymore?”
“o, ir.” I mumble through the silk.
“Is the gag on top of your tongue?”
“o, ir.”
“Under it?”
“o, ir. I uh uhh.” I’m trying to say in front of, but the gag takes away vowels. I never let my tongue get trapped by a gag, I always pull it back and that was super easy to do with the silk knots.
He lifts me up and lays me out on the couch. Comfy? Yes, Sir.
And then goes to tie up toy. I hear the rustle of ropes, occasionally a tail tossed over my legs, dragged across the stockings. I relax, listening to the music and to him tying her up. Eventually I feel pressure on the cushion at my feet, she must have joined me on the couch.
The rattle of the plastic drapes and he returns with a cane. Swatting thighs, I squeal and squirm. Up to breasts, yipping with tender nipples. He pulls them free for better aim. Shrieking and whimpering. He moves down again. Shoes come off and he hits the soles of my feet, much better. Then he canes toy for a bit, and then back and forth. Kisses and caning. Shrieks and squealing. Squirming and writhing.
Silence and more drape-rattling. I hear something click open. I think it’s a TENS, but then zap. I squeal at the unexpected shock of the Violet Wand – paintbrush attachment. He paints up and down my legs and breasts. I squirm too much, and he takes firm hold of my right breast, painting the nipple, I can barely feel it over his grip, and then the left. I moan and squirm happily as he moves back down to my legs, again and holds my feet to tickle them while I squeal. Then over to toy. I listen to her whimpers, he goes back and forth a little and then puts that away, too.
I hear the rustle of a bag, oh god, my nipples are so tender. He attaches clips, they’re too strong for the cloverleafs, I don’t even register that there isn’t a chain against my chest. I scream and squeal and thrash, shaking my head, kicking my feet. They hurt so much, oh god they hurt so much. Gasping and crying and screaming, trying to process. Growling at myself because I feel like I can’t, because the rational side of my brain is screaming red, and the pain slut side is saying no way, not like last time, I will get through this pain. Toy’s done something. I hear her say she was worried about me and didn’t know where he was. She must have peeked. Really, toy? He can hear my screams just as well as you, he didn’t go far. Silly, worried toy. He comments about leaving them on longer. I squeal in panic. I start coughing on the gag and spit it out. Able to draw a full breath, I calm down. Breathing deeply, I stop screaming. My legs still swaying to process the pain, but not thrashing anymore. I try to get the gag back. Sticking out my tongue, no good. Pressing it against the couch, nope. He isn’t commenting or shoving it back in. Must be okay. I certainly appreciate the breath, so I don’t ask for it back either.
I focus back on them, a vibrator, he’s using a vibrator on her. Leaves her with it and comes back to me. Rubbing the latex with his fingers, whispering appreciatively. Toy, are you going to orgasm? Miss won’t get to unless you do. I’m tormenting her, but she can’t unless you do. You better convince her to. I beg and plead, to no avail. He goes back over to her to try to help, but she can’t, too much pressure. He adds another clip to each nipple. I scream and shake and breathe deeply to get it under control again. Toy, please, toy, please. I beg, it’s not working, he tries to help, but she’s not quite there. A third clip and I keep it under control, this last one only adds a little to the pain already blooming there. I change my tact. Reminding toy to think of the ropes and the (is she?) blindfold and the vibrator. He goes over again to help, asking her what she needs. She just moans, unable to answer. Toy, please answer toy. Apparently the clips aren’t enough, he gets the flyswatter and I scream. Toy, oh god, please toy, answer his question. He zaps me a couple times before she blurts something out. He goes to her, and together they figure out where she wants the vibrator and what she needs. She has two and then one more powerful to save me.
He returns to me, asks if I can have six. Yes, Sir. One after each clip? Yes, Sir. He pulls four off, one at a time, an orgasm and thank you, Sir apiece. Shaking and curling and gasping with the pain and pleasure. Two left. You enjoying this. Yes, Sir. I should do this more often. Yes, Sir. Are you telling me what to do? I mean, please, Sir. Please, Sir. Which one hurts more? The left, Sir. So that one last. Yes, Sir. Please, Sir. Right one, off and orgasm, thank you, Sir. So, any 10s for you? No, Sir. What then? 7′s, Sir. So what gets you to 10? Usually oral, Sir. So, if I was licking you? Yes, Sir. He repositions, grabs the last, rips it off as he licks. I scream and gasp, writhing against him. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I am nearly in tears as I keep thanking him, shaking and riding the wave back down.
I hear him cleaning up, putting things away. He unties toy first. I feel the ropes across my legs again. Then it’s my turn, ankles first, then sitting up for my arms. Gag off my neck and then the blindfold. I blink in the light, looking at toy relaxing by my feet. He finishes cleaning up and sets up the massage table. Toy fetches her lotion. We join him and work his tired muscles, back, arms and legs. He turns and we go for chest, arms and thighs. Then snuggle in together, holding him and him holding us, before getting dressed and heading back to the couch for aftercare cookies, cuddles and chatting.
Negotiation Win
August 21st, 2011
It was the night. Finally time to fulfill our bargain for a 50 cent pair of scissors. Time to face the music and dance, literally. Bag packed, ready to go. He calls, needs help with the gear. We get it all loaded and head to the club. Wait for the owner and then lug it up and set the stages. The instigator is all bouncy and excited, she says she’s going to explode. Casting about, we finally decide everything is ready and drag toy off to the bathroom to change for the evening.
We can’t remember if there was any exact wording on the shirts, so we do our best with buttons, bras and tying. My skirt is even shorter than I remember. Instigator helps us both with our hair, pig tails for me, hello kitty barrettes for toy. Fidgeting and fussing, and we’re ready to go. Out the door and into the back corner where he sits with hubby, to show off our outfits and drop our bags. The grin in his face matches the light in his eyes as we stand before him. And only intensifies as he has us each turn and bend over to check for appropriate skirt length. Approval is granted and then the fire class begins and we gather to listen.
Class comes to a close, and our performance is announced, massage tables are cleared and instigator’s laptop is set up at the edge of the stage. I drag toy up as he explains what is happening to the curious crowd. There are a lot more unfamiliar faces than I expected, but I’m not really looking at them. Finally, it is ready, we take our places and press play.
The song is ridiculous. Japanese that toy and I have barely learned to pronounce about falling in love and seeing the world in a whole new way. We have macarana-esque parts, and kick lines and spins and air guitars. Everyone is laughing and his smile is huge. I try to look up from the screen when I can, but I’m terrified and don’t manage it nearly as much as I wanted to. But we got through the whole thing, and all fell down together at the end. Then curled up into a cuddle pile around toy, laughing our heads off. I don’t even know if they clapped.
Once we pulled ourselves together, we gathered our things for the bootblack competition. Now, earlier in the evening, instigator had asked if she could borrow my china marker for this, and I, feeling snarky for having to sing and dance, told her, but it’s a competition, aren’t you prepared? To which she replied did I want one boot to not look as good as the other? And I, feeling more snarky, said, don’t worry, I’ll fix it. So, still teasing a bit, we find a quiet space in the back to set up our supplies, turning a couch so the light is better, if not great.
He finished his conversations and came back with toy. Sitting down, he offered us each a foot and pulled toy down next to him for his entertainment while we worked. I’m not sure I’m a real bootblack, I just love his boots. Instigator’s far more inclined to clean up any boots that pass her way with a polite request for service. So we set in, scrubbing and rubbing. I start noticing some strings, but my scissors were broken. Instigator is burning the strings off her boot with a lighter. Hm. Hey, can you do that on this boot and you can use my china marker? She agrees, I can’t even just ask to borrow it, I’m phobic of sparks. She has a little extra fun making it spark to watch me twitch, burns her thumb and my arm on the hot metal as we are working in very close quarters. Then we oil and shine and whiten. Making them as shiny as we can for an oil tanned boot. Re-laced and done, he sets off to the front room for judging with toy, leaving us to clean up and drink some water toy has brought.
Returning a short while later, he says the reviews are mixed. Mine is a better shine, but speckled. Hers is more consistent, but duller and there are some buff lines in it. Toy just can’t decide who won and lost, so we give it up as a tie, both wishing we’d had better light.
Next up, massage, and there’s just the thing, a king-sized padded table nearby. Toy fetches her massage lotion and he drops his shirt and lays down. We surround him, them on his back and me on his legs. Their hands are stronger and his back is always the most knotted. In silence, we put all our focus on him, working his back, neck, legs and arms, circling around him, doing our best to pull out his stress. He turns over and we continue, upper chest, shoulders, arms, hands and legs. About the time my hands have given out completely, he looks up and smiles
Now it’s his turn to have fun. He grabs me in one hand, toy in the other, and pins instigator with his legs. I lose track of what is happening to toy at this point and only hear her moans and whimpers and Thank you, Sirs. Instigator is pinned by one leg and the other is being used to kick, poke and prod her. A boot-spanking, if you will. Me, he has by the throat to start, eyes closed, one of my hands clutching his arm and I gasp and squirm in his grip. He holds me close, turning to count occasionally, sending me spiraling into orgasm. Kisses and I love you were interspersed with numbers, the moans of the others, and the sound of his boot hitting flesh. He moved his grip to my hair, less of a fear reaction, rocketing up arousal and sensation. Still the round robin of pleasure, he raises me up to see his boot on instigator’s throat. Beautiful.
There was a moment, his grip maybe slackened or I opened my eyes a little too wide. I saw what was happening to the others, and I had a shot of envy for the physicality of what he was doing to them. Before I could process it much further than that, his hand tightened in my hair, and he counted to three. I buried my face in the mat and orgasmed through tears. When I came up again, the energy and reality of the moment reclaimed me, and the negative feeling was gone. I was in his grip, against his body, two of my best friends were sharing in this wonderful scene of pleasure, pain and orgasms with a man we all love in our own way. Just incredible.
I loved the sounds. The slap of his boot, the screams and moans and gasps, the words from his lips: I love you, 1-2-3, fucking your brainto go, taunting instigator as he found new places for his boot . The sound of his breathing as he took a moment for himself. Toy’s thanks.
We cuddled up together, me, instigator, him and toy. All lined up and snuggling. Still occasionally handing out orgasms, playing with programming, appreciating all that we had. Not someplace I ever really pictured myself ending up, but it was just right in that moment. The four of us together.
Time to rejoin the rest of the party. We gathered our stuff and headed back out to the front room. Put away our gear and gathered around in the electric area. His boots are “dirty” from kicking instigator. She offers to lick them clean again and starts to work. Toy and I look on, not really boot lickers ourselves. Then he grins and points me to the nearby violet wand. A straight rod and turned on. I hand it to him and he zaps her a few times, insisting she keep working. Tormenting her until he gets a better idea. Handing me back the wand, I’m to shock her at his direction. She stays more focused on his boots when the rod is coming from the other direction, but it’s still fun to make her jump.
Boots shinier. What else haven’t we done from the agreement? Bondage. He takes instigator’s tie and secures her hands, tormenting her with one hand and holding her other until he finally hands the tie off to me, wanting both hands free. He puts a mask over her head and we are all impressed that it fits over her hair. Then moving me around the wall to hold her hands above her head so he can return to using his boots. His tool of choice on her for the evening. He asks if anyone wants to take her place? Absolutely, I reply, unable to see what exactly he’s doing, but not really caring, her moans are delicious. He finishes her off, and sets her free after she starts squirming her hands as though the tie has become uncomfortable.
Then orders me down on his boot. It’s been a long time since we’ve done that. I kneel on his boot and he goes to work, rubbing and kicking as I moan gasp and writhe, focusing on staying on my knees with hands on my thighs. Alright, time for your favorite part, you have permission to get yourself off on my boot. Thank you, Sir. I ride the boot more intentionally now, moaning and arching into an orgasm. One more. He moves with me a little and I curl up, my head against his leg as another orgasm washes over me.
We are interrupted then, and he has to go move his truck. I sink into my position. Knees wide, hands on thighs, palms up, back straight, head down, eyes closed. Calm, satiated, joyful. I sink hard. I’m aware of instigator beside me, and only barely of toy curled up on her lap. He is only gone for a few minutes, but he doesn’t come right back. I hear his voice throughout the room. I sneak glances beside me, I can still feel instigator, but I want to see that toy is still there, too. His keys jingle louder and he returns, standing in front of me, a single kick to the crotch and I’m awake. How are you feeling? Aside from the eyelets digging into my left foot, I am very good. He motions me up and we all settle in, curled up and relaxing waiting for the club night to end.