Needleplay
March 3rd, 2011
A year ago tomorrow, I wrote a post about needles. Last night I experience needle play for the first time. He put one needle in each breast, and he and hubby pulled them out at the same time. Here is my story.
We’re going to need you. Toy and I. Physically and mentally, we’re going to need your support tonight, to watch the demo portion of the needle class. A hard limit for us both, but we are curious and want to learn the information. I’ve been preparing for needle play for over a year. She barely wants to go.
He is prepared, has a plan, and restraints. The class gathers and he cuffs our wrists to each other, my right to Toy’s left. Then shackles me to a riser, left ankle to a handle on solid wood. There are blindfolds nearby, should watching become more than we can handle. I’m already halfway through a glass of water when the class begins.
Safety first. Always. Cleaning supplies, gloves, first aid. Listening intently, safety quiets the panic. Veins and nerves must be avoided – like rope, I tell myself. Health inspectors and the law, public versus private.
The doll gets naked as we learn about the needles. The types of needles, the parts, the shape. The bevel could be like an airplane, but maybe backwards – don’t ask, it’s origami gone horribly wrong.
We get demonstration of cleaning and preparing, the site and the sub. Remember to breathe, always remember to breathe, and remind them to breathe.
The movement of the needle described in detail, I cannot watch. I have to watch. Toy is hiding against me. Oh god, I can’t watch that. Different sizes, higher numbers are smaller – I have 25s, they’re apparently for babies. I’m okay with that.
He sits in front of us, I hold his shoulder, pet his hair, finding comfort in his solidity.
You can run line through the needles, leave it there and take the needles out. Oh god, now there’s blood. Toy and I hide against each other. He tells us to watch.
Ribbon now, connecting them all together into a pretty corset. Pretty from here, if you don’t look too close. And now he ties the center of the ribbons all together and tugs. We’re hiding again and he’s pulling our eyes back to the scene. Look at that blood. Didn’t someone tell me needle holes weren’t supposed to bleed. I swear someone said that once. Oh gods, why do they keep pulling on it?
He’s uncuffed my ankle at some point, I don’t remember when, and cuffed it to another girl who is enjoying the show, though she arrived late. Class is over on time and now it’s time for folks to try it out.
He unshackles me, collars her and leaves us sit with the needleplay box I gave him last year. We curl up and chat with folk, the only part of the room not filled with needle tossing. Calming and relaxing, I warn her, he has plans. She just says no.
He gets an experienced bottom, tosses two in a pain button and calls us over. We watch him put in the next two. Double dipping pain button, and then she offers him a 14. Oh dear gods, look at that thing, it’s HUGE. I can hardly look at it, let alone watch it go in her, under the other two. Dear gods it’s huge. There is a screaming contest and then a quiet contest. Then he cleans her up.
Our turn. Toy shakes her head. But just one? If you do one, Toy, she’ll have to do two. Are you okay with that? I’ve already agreed to a couple, sure. Okay. One for Toy, two for me. We hop up on the table, hands still cuffed, fingers intertwining.
Where, Toy? Thigh, below the writing, above the knee. Help her breathe. I am terrified, we look at each other and I control the breath. Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… and on and on. He puts hers in, double dipping through her thigh. She does well, cringing but not screaming. Feels like a fucking needle in her thigh. But she is fine and breathing.
Now me. Where? I don’t know. Scared, confused, not very fleshy. Hubby says breasts, so I take off my shirt and bra, one handed. He taps my chest. Here? No, lower, please. Aww… He offers hubby first kiss. I kiss hubby, near tears. He kisses me, too, then turns my head to Toy. Breathe in… Breathe out… she intones. I am freaking out more than she did. Choking breaths. Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… One needle in, I barely felt it. Breathe in… Breathe out… The second one he does less deep and I squeal. Breathe in… Breathe out… and squeal again… Breathe in… Breathe out… Two needles in. One in each breast. I snap my head back to him, he is grinning and happy and bouncy as he has been since the first needle that night. I’m breathing too hard. Slow down. My hands are numb. That’s okay, don’t breathe so hard. Breathe in… Breathe out… Kisses again. You know that if you went deeper on that second one, it wouldn’t have hurt her so much, hubby notes. Yes, he says, I wanted it to hurt.
So, your hubby gets two as well? No. Speak up? Two more? No more. I heard One more, speak up. No more. Please, no more right now. So, I can leave those in for a while? Light headed. Breathe, don’t hyperventilate. My arms are numb from the elbow down. Okay so should I take them out one at a time? Or hubby and I both take one at the same time. Yes, that, both. On three. One, two, three. I squeal again. Another kiss. Thank you. Toy’s comes out, too, after we convince her that out hurts less.
We hold each other for a bit on the table, she starts to drop and we move to the bed. Snuggles, all three of us curled up together. Warm, happy, crazy. We did needles tonight. First time ever. OMG, we did needles. He strokes and pinches and pets. Comfort, love and quiet.
Head hurts, ears are leaking, but oh so incredibly happy. We made his week. He made mine. Hubby even helped. Will I offer it again? As punishment? Yes, I can see offering it again. It made him so happy and bouncy. I like playing with fear, and offering limits as atonement.
Dear gods, I had needles in my breasts last night. Wow. Still buzzing.
Jute, Nipple Clamps & Tears
December 17th, 2010
“Do you want to go a round?”
“Yes.”
He had the jute in his hand and on his belt. He let me smell it, natural smell – not hemp, but not synthetic or horses, either. Holding it, he looked me up and down, considering. Turned me to face away and put my arms into a box tie.
“How are your shoulders?”
“Right’s a little pinchy, but much better than they have been lately.”
Tie the wrists, the bite of the natural fibers makes me happy, smiling as he warps it around me. Two lengths of eight meters around my arms and chest, wrapping, cinching down, tight, but so very comfortable.
A bit of a length left when he has me secure, and up between the legs, catching the skirt to protect the rope. Yelping as he yanks and then led around the room.
“Keep up, that’s my bad shoulder. Is it in the right place?”
“Yes!”
The grin as he yanks a few more times and then lets it go, finishing it off in the back. Turning me to inspect and show off the work, he stops in front of me. A hand to the throat and he pushes me quickly back into the other room and tosses me on the couch.
“Feet up, prisoner tie.”
I scoot back on the couch, cross my booted ankles, trying to balance and get comfortable for what is sure to be a long tie. The third and final piece quickly secures my ankles to each other and then around to my neck. A comfortable bend for the moment, the jute biting into my skin. So delicious.
Off he goes again, returning with a Japanese washcloth to blindfold me, covering most of my face. And a leather gag to go underneath. The gag is small and flat so my moment of panic is minimized as I adjust, digging my teeth into it.
And here I lose coherent time line. I remember sinking into the rope, into the darkness, listening to conversations around me. I remember changing positions for more comfort, for legs, for back, for neck. I don’t remember how the nipple clamps arrived, but they did. I don’t remember how the other girl came to be tied, but I think it was after the nipple clamps were handed off to another girl to tug on. There was talk of envy of my position. There was talk of requests to be made. And there was tugging and pain and squeaking from me as he tied the her beside me.
I was unbalanced on the couch, squirming to try and move back, my hips were getting strange pressure. When he got her done, he lifted and shoved me further back onto the couch. Gratitude mumbled through the gag.
The tied one wanted to help pull the chain. Something caught his attention from the outer room. He left me, I heard him walk away, his voice leaving the room, but still audible. Panic, kept in check, but bubbling, as I strained to keep his voice in my ears while the first assistant continued to torment my nipples. The one beside me wanted to help, but her hands were tied. Someone else got involved and they moved her into position, got her head in my lap, so she could pull on it with her teeth. His voice returned.
“I was only gone a couple minutes and look at this…”
Multiple people were involved now, a chain of torment starting at my nipples and ending with his amusement. Blindfolded and squealing I had no clear picture of what was going on. It was a writhing mass of energy in front of me, I could identify the players, but not the actions. I knew only that the tied girl was delighted to have the chain in her teeth.
Positions changed and people moved, and there was a slip. I caught a shoulder in the throat. Instant panic and pain, but not the pain I expected. He was there, his voice breaking through my coughing, making sure I was alright. Yes, but still coughing, still panicking, fighting for control. He grabbed it, shoved me back into my place and helped me find my control again.
Camera flashes now. Our photographer capturing the scene. Teeth on chain, both of us squirming and writhing, squeaking and squealing from me. They encourage her to pull harder. I think she was the first to pull one off. The other is yanked free, and they are reset while I whimper.
He sits beside me, landing on a joint and I cringe at the bad pain, but he drops me back into the good pain and rope once more. Her phone rings and her time is up. The first one takes back the chain as he unties.
She sets back to it, testing what sounds she can cause. Enjoying the squeals and the screams. I fall into pain space and breathing and she frowns. She wants squeals. It takes sudden yanks, but she gets what she wants. He hears where I am, and leans in close.
“Watch this…”
And he counts for me, very quietly, right in my ear. She yanks at his direction, sending me higher. Surprised by my command performance. He counts several times, and I focus and use the pain.
The clamps are yanked and twisted and ripped off and replaced a few more times. I shake and gasp when they are removed.
“Did you just orgasm from pain?”
I shake my head, my fingers spelling out “not without permission,” but no one sees. The shaking is the release of energy so as not to orgasm. She pulls and twists some more. My screams grow louder, the gag slides most of the way out at the harshest of the screams.
“Get that back in! You’re not done yet.”
He grabs me by the hair as she twists and pushes. Tears begin to form.
“Go on, cry.”
He holds tight and she presses harder. I scream and gasp and bite down on the gag, trying to keep it in and breathe and cry. The pain swells, and they push, and I tip over the edge. Tears falling freely and they let me go. Leave me to my release.
I cry myself out and then curl up on myself. He is sitting in front of me while they talk, I curl up my head on my own knee, but touching his shoulder. Spacing out again, in rope and darkness.
They return to the couch, either side of me after short while. Conversation continues, but my hips are starting to protest strongly. I get his attention and mumble through my gag until he understands the problem. He frees my legs, and it is enough. She holds and pets me while they continue to talk.
I shift positions, not ready to give up, but with my legs free, I can now lean back and this puts pressure on my arms. I lean forward and back, and into her and away. Finding comfort in different ways for a while longer.
Eventually, it is enough. My wrist is in too much pain. I lean forward and turn my head towards him, waiting. He asks if I am done. I nod. He asks if my arms are numb. I shake my head. He asks what the problem is, and I try a few times, but I really am done, so I spit out the gag and tell him my wrist hurts too much, from its own swelling combined with the pressure of the rope.
He asks me to stand and I try, but am still unsteady so he has me kneel instead. The ropes come off, then the blindfold and discarded gag. The last trappings of the scene gone, I begin to shake. I take the blanket, which was covering my legs through the scene, to wrap around my shoulders. He invites me back to the couch and I snuggle back into her until the shaking passes while he puts away the rope. It is still cold and I stay snuggled between them until he has to attend to other things, another girl takes his place andI am kept warm while I come fully awake. He returns and I thank him for the wonderful scene.
Warmer clothes and breakfast, bits of teasing and discussion. I am still high and spacy, but awake and aware, and so very happy. A great scene that kept us all entertained on a cold, slow night. I felt like his canvas again. Used for his art – for his rope art, for his sadism, his instigation, and his use of mental control. Given the gifts I enjoy – tight bondage, teethy rope, nipple clamps, intensity, pain, pushing boundaries, control, hair pulling, orgasms, and release to the point of tears. Incredibly grateful for the gift of that scene.
Stun Gun, Crunches and a Dragon Tail
May 13th, 2010
With apologies for last week’s post, I was not in the writing frame of mind…
He snapped his fingers with a smile, and my clothes came off. Shirt, shorts, shoes, socks. Piled neatly on the floor near the suspension ring, out of the way. Thirty feet of hemp, doubled up, around my waist three times, knotted and wrapped into a short tail. Sixty more feet, thirty for each leg, from waist to thigh, a small band, and up and down, thigh to waist. A drum tie. Tuck the tails into the wraps, a double coin for style.
I’m going to blindfold you, turn you upside down and spin you around, how does that sound?
Sure, sounds fun.
A carabiner in the crotch, catching all four runs of line. Hoist rope run through pulleys and ring, up I go, only slight pinching as the ‘biner shifts from down to up. Feet straight up, lift until only my fingertips touch the floor, feet below the beam. He sits in front of me, checking in, all is well.
Aren’t you under dressed?
Yes, Sir.
Now you’re screwed.
A blindfold, tied around the head. Spinning and swinging, checking that all is secure.
Now I’m going to go get the stun gun.
Whimper, squirm, gasping for breath. He asks, receives and returns, electricity crackling. I yelp at every snap, louder at the noise than when it touches me. Unable to move, the shots with it flow into me. I squeal at the short bursts, my arms around my head, panting with fright. More spinning and swinging, more zapping and crackling. His voice breaks through again.
I’ll let you down after you do one hundred crunches. Do you understand?
Yes, Sir.
Spinning, spinning, crunching up. Tired quickly and oh so dizzy.
How many?
16, Sir.
Are you giving up?
No, Sir.
Spinning and crunching and counting. The stun gun comes in to help motivate. My arms are numb.
If you pass out, I’ll leave you there.
Oh yeah, and breathing. Breathing and spinning and crunching and zapping.
How many now?
50, Sir.
Are you giving up?
No, Sir.
Should I get the dragon tail? See which of us can do finish the next 50 first?
More crunches, desperate to finish. Counting down now instead of counting up. People watching, some amused, some sympathetic.
100, Sir!
Are you sure?
Yes, Sir.
His arms around me and a table slid beneath me. Some one lifting my ass while he unhooks me from the ring, and down on my back. Gasping and shaking. Finally catch my breath and I feel him nearby.
Snap!
Dragon tail. Scream. He moves around the table, snapping thighs, belly, breasts. My arms are still up around my head. I flatten out, but rock with each snap. Grabbing at the table for a moment before falling flat again. Legs curling up and back down. Tears come, filling the blindfold.
Toes up!
I straighten my legs, feet out, whimpering, crying. Screaming as he snaps the sole of my foot, curling up and forcing myself to flatten out. Shaking, crying, screaming, writhing.
A different sensation. Slapping my belly and thighs. The screaming stops, I sink into the more solid continuous pain, coming out for a vibrating yell.
More snapping, screaming, crying and then…
Stand up. Move it.
On my feet, blood rushing out of my head.
On your knees.
Down I go, back up, head down, knees spread, palms up. He circles snapping thighs, arms, breasts, long strokes on my back. I arch and squeal, and return to position. Head throbbing, but slowly calming.
He walks away and leaves me to come down. Tears stop, breathing calms, shaking quiets. Sound returns, cool air of the dungeon on my skin. I feel him in front of me. Blindfold is untied. Ordered to my feet, he unties the ropes, handing them up to me.
Can I have my girlfriend back?
Yes.
Smiles and hemp coils. I take care of the rope, inspecting and coiling, putting it back in the crate. My stomach, reminds me I was abusive to it, spinning upside down. He sends me up for water, I down a few crackers and return. A few glasses later and I’m curled up by his side. All fuzzy and glowing from a spectacular scene.
Reconnected
February 11th, 2010
Do you want to do flogging or rope tonight?
Sure, get me the rope.
How much?
4, 8mm.
30s?
Yes.
Did you stretch?
No…and I stretch while he explains to her why.
Arms behind my back for a box tie. He wraps bands around my chest as well, a suspension-worthy box tie. Two lengths of 30′ and I could still eel out if I wanted to.
Do I feel screwed yet? No, I still have my feet.
He grabs the third. This one really constricts my movement, my arms cannot separate at all now, they move as a unit.
I still have my feet, but I know I’m screwed.
Up on the bed, legs crossed, he ties my ankles together, having to use a 30′ instead of a 15′ to make it sustainable, as the rope loops up around my neck. He wraps the rope between ankles and neck, tying it off to keep it from sliding. I have a wrapped handle on front and back and I’m proper fucked now.
He rolls me around, teasing, caning, Uncle. Writhing and squealing, gasping, trying to catch his eye through my legs, too close to the edge of the bed to protest too much.
He lets me breathe, then tests my trust. Balanced on the edge he lets me fall little bits, I shriek and he catches me, every time. I look into his eyes, the joy is there, the love is plain.
Time to test the new head box. He lifts me to the floor, setting me on the cold cement. The heavy box comes down, cutting me off. I am gasping, afraid Uncle will return. A stray comment and he is back, pulling my bra down and clamping my nipples. He pulls on the chain, pinches my thighs. I thrash and scream and he giggles. The box needs more padding, the hole is too big, I keep hitting my teeth on the edge. But it does a good job of isolation.
The box comes off, we give him feedback, he thanks us for trying it out.
Nipple clamps become a lead, he drags me across the floor, scooting and yelping. The right one keeps coming off, squeals when he puts it back on. Over to another chain, hooking them up above my head, I have to balance to keep from pulling them harshly. A bamboo cane now, ass and thighs, I roll and yelp and breathe with the strikes. He hits my breast and I squeal, my clamped nipple brings a scream as I find his eyes and his joy brings me solace.
My hips ache and he lets me down, having to reattached the pesky right one, yet again. Whimpering yelp. Rolling onto my back, pillow provided, the cane goes for the tender bits and thighs and ass. Then up to sitting again, he takes the clamps off, gasping and leaning against him. A moment’s reprieve.
The cane returns, I move wrong, blocking in a moment of weakness. He grabs my septum and scolds me, I cringe and grovel and force stillness as he returns to it harshly. I thrash, but keep his target clear.
If I feel teeth you’ll regret it.
I would never. My mouth is open with the pain, it will not close on flesh. Pain space is coming now, screams dwindle into heavy breathing. He moves around the body, I sink into it, and he lets me. Closing my eyes with a hand, he leaves me to drop into space.
The rope, holding me, cradling me, keeping me safe and leaving me vulnerable. My hands have shifted, but they still are held fast. My arms cannot move, but there is no pain. Circulation is complete, the problems easily solved. My neck begins to grow weary, I bring up a knee to rest it on. Not for long, I like the pull of the rope. The handle at my throat is not too close and pulls evenly.
I sink deep into the rope. I can hear the other scene, but I don’t care. I am here. I am happy. I am in His rope again. His hemp digging into my skin. Keeping me just how he wants me. Held in position, easily moved and open access to everything. A prisoner tie, and perfect.
He returned and freed my neck and ankles, ordered me to kneel, knees spread wide. He smacked my inner thighs, bright red hand prints. Pinching the bruises and putting me back into pain space.
Can I put needles in you?
I did not say no.
May I put needles in you?
Not tonight.
Yes or no.
I waffle, because my brain isn’t screaming no, and he wants to, and she has them, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. It’s been a big scene and I don’t know that I want to add that on top of it.
Yes or no.
No.
Was that hard?
Yes, my brain was arguing with itself.
My feet hurt from the pressure of kneeling. He pulls me up and begins untying.
The feel of the rope, shivers through my body. Murmuring, spacing. He drags it across my nipples and I whimper. Pure rope pleasure. One. Two. Three. So good to me.
The rope is off, we hug, just sharing the floating energy. The ropes are waiting, I sit with them, run them through my fingers, coil them and put them away.
Practice is over, everyone is gone. We sit for a few moments, reflecting.
Rope marks and bruises. Joy and love. We needed this. Reconnected.
Processing Intense Sensations
September 23rd, 2009
There was a recent discussion that masochists aren’t into “pain” they are into intense sensations. Based on the fact that we don’t get off on just any pain we suffer. Stubbing a toe, chronic pain, headaches, sore throats are all types of pain, but they are (generally) not turn ons for masochists. It’s intense sensations that we like, from a broad range of stimuli. This is very true for me, I enjoy the rush of intense pain and pleasure, and the mingling of those sensations all together.
Someone asked recently about processing pain. I want to turn that into a discussion of processing intense sensations of all kinds. I process in various ways, internally and externally. I process by making noise, by breath, by physical connection, by visual connection and by orgasm. Let me take these one at a time.
Noise. Anyone who has been around when I play knows that I am not quiet. I have been called tortured puppy, a mouse and delicious for the sounds I make. The type of noise changes depending on what is happening and how I’m dealing with it. Whimpers of anticipation. Begging in fear. Yips of pain. Moans of pleasure. Safe words when it is too much. I get louder with the intensity of the stimuli, until it crests over into needing another form of processing. I start with noise and then move on.
Breath. When noise is no longer enough, I process through breathing. Breathing with the waves, breathing the intensity in and out of my body, processing by focusing on my breath. I breathe with each strike or each stroke, take deep breaths to find control, catch my breath to narrow focus momentarily. Most importantly, keep breathing so it can all go on and on, moving all the energy through my body with every breath.
Physical connection. The next step for me is physical connection. It helps me to be touching the person causing the sensations. Having that physical link, to feel him there, to be connected to the source. It grounds me, gives me focus. If I am tied or cuffed or restrained in such a way that this is not possible, I take the physical connection from my bonds. It is not as good, but pulling on the bonds can also give me a focus, a physical link to the person who put me there.
Visual connection. If I can look into his eyes, I can take even more. That connection is stronger for me than physical. Looking into his eyes, seeing the joy, the love, the sadistic glee. Being able to share that mental energy directly, feeding back and forth. It is incredible.
Orgasm. This is one that is totally at his whim. Often though, my partners allow me to orgasm to help me process. Bringing me high and then giving me permission. I am then able to focus all the sensation down and actually release it. Let it flow through and out instead of maintaining the cycle and having it build higher and higher.