The Best Scene I Couldn’t Ask For

March 8th, 2015

The night started out fairly normal. I’d asked to spend time bootblacking, and he’d even brought an extra pair of boots. He was wearing his new knee-high boots, still fresh and mostly clean. I I just did a basic saddle-soap clean. Rubbing his feet and calves with brush and fingers and micro-fiber. A massage to get him relaxed and shiny for the night. He had things to do, so he left me with his work boots. These got the full laces-out, saddle-soap, and Black Gold treatment. He took them out to the truck when I was done, they were not needed tonight. I was spending the night in service to him, but when he got back, we would have a scene first.

“Pick out a piece of furniture for me to beat you with this.” He handed me the burlap/bamboo stick of awesome.

I walked about a bit, there were a couple open benches and crosses. I hovered near the larger of the two benches, with an eye on a cross, not sure of his intentions. When he returned, I motioned to the bench and pointed to the cross.

“Bench.”

So, I knelt on the bench, legs only having just recovered from the bootblacking, but this was kneeling up instead of down, so I’d be fine. I lay forward and he pulled out a piece of rope. Happy surprise. I haven’t been tied down to a bench in years. Left wrist first, pulled it down to a good place for me to grip and tied in through one of the holes, then over to the right wrist, down to another hole. Then he pulled out the short bit of bamboo.

Damn, bamboo gag, alright, I tell myself, don’t forget to bite down while he’s tying. In it goes and I grab it hard with my teeth, he ties it in good and tight, and then pulls the rope down my back. What the? Interesting. I keep my head down, not wanting to strain my neck and throat by having my head tied back. He takes it down to my waist, knots it and then splits the ropes, effectively tying my waist down to the bench. Nice.

I’m drooling already. Ugh! Stupid gag drooling. Ah well, nothing to be done about it. And it makes him happy to take that control from me. Time for the beaty stick.

Gods that burlap wrapped bamboo feels awesome. He beats my ass a few times, lands a few blows on my back. As long as I remember to breathe out when he hits my back, it’s all good. Otherwise it knocks it out of me anyway. I arch my ass up, keeping tailbone clear as he swings. Moaning happily around my gag.

Then he puts it down for a moment, and starts in with his bare hand. And I’m soaring, heart and body. I love spanking, I’ve been wanting a spanking. On a spanking bench even. But it is one of those things, one of those very sexual things for me, that I am still very embarrassed to ask for. Oh, but he knows me so well.

Some more beating stick, some more spanking, his hand sneaks up and slides under me, grabbing a nipple and making me scream. I’m writhing and moaning and soaring, and drooling. So much drooling. He comes round in front of me and just grins. More beatings and spankings. He grabs me by the hair, lifting my head back, using his free hand to wipe up my drool and smear it all over my face. Ugh, so messy. And then he’s beating my ass again. Gods I love him.

Spanking and beating, and nipple pinching. I’m moaning and screaming and writhing and drooling and dripping.

He pulls out a paddle, pulling louder screams and harder writhing. He wipes my drool all over my face again and again. There is more bare-handed spanking and more beaty stick. One hand reaches under me and lifts me up by the throat. I don’t even know what he’s hitting me with at this point, as I soar higher and higher.

The devil pop is out. He is in front of me, grinning that huge grin.

“Time for your penance. What do you think? Twenty?”

My eyes grow wide and all I can manage is whimpering. I owe him, for not being prepared, for not having a skirt the night before. Fuck. Yes. Anything, for all he has given me. I twist my hands around so I am now grabbing the rope instead of the bench. Digging the fibers into my hands, anchoring. But I cannot speak, I nod.

“Twenty?” I nod again. “You can’t say no to this grin can you?” I shake my head. “You better hold on. Ten for each cheek.” I whimper, laying my head down in my puddle of drool, clinging to the rope. “Ten on the flat side and ten on the rounded.” He goes back behind me.

The devil pop lands and I am screaming. He alternates cheeks and I alternate kicking my legs straight out. The first ten go fairly quickly. Five on each cheek, I barely have time for individual screams. The creator of the pop is called by my screams and they laugh above me.

The next ten are slower. Each hit pulling a scream all its own. Writhing and arching, until I can calm and reset myself. He waits for each one. Letting me scream it out.

Twenty strikes complete. I am pushing the gag forward with my tongue so I can swallow and get a breath. I don’t even remember if he spanked me any more after that.

Then he was untying the gag and I almost forgot to bite down. Put my jaw back in place as he untied my wrists.

“You’re such a mess.” We’re both grinning at each other. “Dripping wet at both ends. You good?”

“Very good, thank you!” I am flying high all night long, as I kneel or stand ready with the beaty stick, helping with or just observing his other scenes. So very grateful for all we have together.

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Stun Guns and Happiness

January 24th, 2014

It has been over a week, so I’ll do my best. That is why I should always write asap after a scene, also this.

It started with rope. Can you do a box-tie? Yes. Arms behind the back, wrists tied, wrap the rope around the chest. All nice and tight and comfy. Out came the stun gun. I back away, and he grabbed me by the hair, hauling me back. I whimpered and thrashed, and he pulled out a blindfold. I whimpered and tapped my foot, trying to stay calm in the tight chest ropes. He dragged me out to the center of the room.

Down. I knelt. Not here. He dragged me off to the side of the room. Laying on my back, arms going numb. Tormented me some more with the stun gun. I curled up on my side, arm still numb. Onto my belly. Much better. For him too.

He grabbed more rope and my ankles are tied. The rope comes up around my neck. So, is this hot. I say yes, but he isn’t asking me. Yes, I hear. Is this hot? Yes. Yes. The other riggers in the room have all agreed that it is hot. Does she need a gag? No, she’ll be quiet. He ties it off to my ankles, zaps me a few times to watch me yank on the rope. Counting so I orgasm just before he zaps me. Then leaves me to stew.

I hear him tying the engineer as I sink into my ropes. There is noise all around, but I am tied and secure and free to just be. He checks in a couple times, pouncing with stun gun, to make sure I’m okay. Once he puts the prongs on either heel. You going to choke yourself? Probably not. Zap. Fuck me! The jolt goes all the way through my legs. Apparently, I am. He laughs. A short while later I tell him my knees are giving up. The jolt and yanking made them angry. He lets them down a few minutes later. Much better.

Once he has the engineer trussed up, he pulls out the dragon tail. I can hear the snaps and her screams. I feel him turning to me. It doesn’t take many snaps and I’m on my back again. So deep in space, and he’s hitting not to mark, it is easier not to scream. Back and forth he goes. A few strikes on her a few on me. She does have a gag to scream into. We both think he is hitting the other harder, ah perception.

Done with the tail, he lets her down and drags me over. Laying atop and between us happily we all wrap around each other. A momentary break, it turns out.

He then drags us to the other end of the room. I have clothes to protect me, she shouts at him about rug burn. He’s got the stun gun again. No, not for her, he promised. He starts counting and zapping again. I’m crying and begging, and thank you, sir-ing. Then he decides the stun gun should be three. According to ex-lover, he should be able to train that, right. I’m crying harder now, and I don’t do it the first time he leaves off saying three. Scolding, didn’t I say? No, you didn’t. Yes, I did. No, you didn’t. He does it again, this time I comply, sobbing out the thank you, sir. And again and again. More begging him to stop and writhing away from the stun gun and sobbing and thanking.

Someone is worried about me, maybe the engineer, I’m not sure, too far gone. He tells them I’m happy. Are you happy, he asks to confirm. That’s a complicated question, Sir. You know what to do. Uncomplicate it, Sir. That’s right, Yes or No. Are you happy? Yes. What? Yes, Sir. Why? Because of that fucking smile on your face that I can’t fucking see. Laughter. Then there is snuggling, and untying, and cleaning up.

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Monday Morning Microgasm

June 10th, 2013

Grabbing her by the throat, he shoved her up against the wall. His hand slid down inside the front of her skirt as his mouth crushed against hers in a hungry kiss.

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Cuffs, Clamps & Ice

February 7th, 2011

Toy and I went shopping, new shiny things for the club. We want to surprise him, make him smile and so we shop with him in mind. Nervous and giggling, we buy new tops. I get a waterproof vibrator, too. A story for another time.

At the club, dressed and lubed, I wear my latex skirt for the first time in months, and my new top, barely holding my breast, with big bell sleeves. He approves. Toy arrives, she looks really great. The corset she picked out fits her well and the skirt we found last week matches nicely. I bring her out and unwrap her for him and his smile widens even further.

He is happy, his girls have dressed to please, and we are successful. She snuggles with him, and I wander about for a bit, but the other rooms are colder.

He motions me over, pulls out the shackles, my heart soars. I have missed those so very much. I step up to him and he locks the around my ankles. I want to thank him, but I haven’t the voice. He pulls out the cuffs – the heavy Irish eights, and puts them on Toy’s wrists. Both of us now bound to him.

Be careful, don’t wrench your wrists.

Latex skirt, feel the shiny. Pats his leg, it should be dry by now. The shirt is problematic, nipples keep popping out. He has a solution.

Go get me a set of nipple clamps.

I rise and go fetch, cloverleaf clamps, my favorite and return to his lap. It’s been a while, he pinches and pulls, slipping them into place. Whimpering, gasping. The pain flowing, warming and arousing. My arm around him, hand resting on the back of his head, I grab his ponytail and force myself to let go.

He starts rubbing on nipple, asking Toy to do the same. She squirms and struggles, but gets her cuffed hands up. My hand slips down to his cheek as I moan and gasp.

He has an idea, picks up the chain and puts it in her mouth. Then, grabbing us each by the hair he pulls us apart. Moaning and gasping and squealing, sensations and energy flowing freely. The angle of my neck is straining. I have momentary flashes of worry for my throat, but I swallow carefully. He releases before it becomes too much. She drops the chain, and I shriek with the pain, but that’s the least of my worry. He scolds her for letting go and hurting me. I open my eyes and look down at here.

Did he tell you that you could let go?

She drops her head. My presence is requested elsewhere, a violet wand lesson is needed. Out I go, shackled and clamped. I reflexively cradle the chain while I teach, distracted from the pain.

Returning, someone else notices my hand on the chain and I am ordered to fetch the dogbones. I grab the big set, clips and safety latches and all. Not wanting to bring to few and disappoint him.

He is gleeful with the amount I bring and I am whimpering with fear. Attaching them to the chain, he asks Toy to hold them for me, keep them up so they don’t hurt me. I catch her eyes, begging her to be kind.

He asks for a pen. I coach her to her feet, it doesn’t hurt as much as we both fear. Shuffling back, her forward, through the feet and down the rooms to the pens. I bring one back, and my water. Sorry, no, he wants a Sharpie. Back we go.

Arms behind your back.

I balance the water cup, easy as it’s mostly ice. Sharpies found, brought back out. He taunts her with one, but nothing gets written.

He tickles and she squirms and I yelp, and she whimpers. Wanting to drop her arms, afraid of hurting me. More tickling, squealing and yelping and leaning and squirming. She drops to her knees. He gets my ice cup and starts putting it down her panties.

If you weren’t wearing any, it would stay.

Toy glares up at me and everyone laughs. I ask for a drink, he lefts the cup but scolds me for moving my hand to meet it. He feeds me the remaining water and then takes it back.

Can you crawl?

We shuffle to the other room, to the toys. He pulls out a flogger, slamming it into my back. He wants better light and spins us around. More flogging, it’s been awhile, the hits fall heavy, stingy. I bend and squeal.

He takes my hands and puts them on top of my head. Good posture now.

He circles, grabs blindfolds for us. I’m coaching her too much, a gag goes in. A forcep attaches her chest to the mess of chains between us. Time to wrap the present. My lower body to her upper, leave the calves free for balance.

A cup of ice is brought, my cup of ice. It is poured down the center, squealing and cold. It flows right past my clothes and catches in hers.

Water mostly drained, a vibrator follows. Buzzing up the chain to tickle my nipples, delicous.

He and the birthday boy circle. Crop and floggers and forceps. Stinging and squealing and shrieking. Pinching and poking. I choke on the gag and he relents, letting me catch my breath. Back at it again. I am drooling around the gag, he teases that I’m drooling all over our her. Toy does not complain. More stinging and screaming and writhing, and I fall into her lap. They catch us and pull me back to my feet.

Ready for round two?

A moment and I nod. She says yes, but the fall hurt her wrists. The cuffs come off her, and go on me, behind my back.

I want you to say something for me, do you know what it is? He asks our Toy.

Yes, count to three.

That’s right. Three times, count to five between them. And on the third, pull down on the clamps.

His hand in my hair, he gets a tight grip, I soar and she counts.

One, two, three.

Arching as pleasure flows through me, the vibrator pressed just right between us for the added sensation.

One, two, three.

Again, pressing against his hand and the vibrator, soaring higher. Something makes me laugh.

One, two, three – pull.

Arching harder, head back, mouth open. The gag falls deeper and it feels right somehow. I shake and the pain flows in pleasure.

Back down and I drop my head to his shoulder, catching my breath.

Are you about done?

The orgasms have been a release for the pain, I can keep going, but it is a good place to come down from. I am gagged and cannot reply. Toy says yes.

The wrap is cut away, the dogbones removed.

She’s going to fall backwards.

Birthday boy grabs my arms and the nipple clamps come off. I do collapse back with a cry, and he holds me. I try to get up but then relax back against his chest. A chair comes, the cuffs are removed and I sit. Breathing for a few moments and then the blindfold, blinking in the light.

There are people watching, more of the family has arrived, I smile at them, not even trying to identify the tourists.

He coaxes Toy to turn away from them and takes her blindfold off. Gives her my hand. Her wrap returns, and a blanket comes for me. We relax for a few minutes with him between us.

The I take her to the couch, wrapped up in blankets we snuggle in together, dropping and cold we cling together for warmth and comfort. Snuggling and happy. The scene was amazing.

Slowly we surface, bit by bit. People come and go. Her clothes are wet. Latex is good for you. We snuggle closer to the heater, blankets wrapped more tightly. People checking in on us. Water and warmth is all we need.

Becoming verbal we greet people, and share tidbits of the scene with each other. Watch him flog a squirmy boy.

We are back above the water now, fully surfaced and awake. He returns with the cuffs, and latches our wrists together. More snuggling and then he returns and slips in between, our shackled wrists coming out of the blankets to lay in his lap.

He asks us some questions, but then reality invades. I am needed for the violet wands again. He uncuffs me and back to work I go, shackles still in place.

We finish the scenes and the night. A big hug and thank you. Ready to pack up. He unlocks my ankles. A wonderful night of love, joy, pleasure and pain. Now complete.

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Why Rope?

December 23rd, 2010

We are putting together a series of rope classes. I am very excited to be ordering another set of hemp ropes very soon. Just trying to find the right vendor. For the first class, the question all the presenters are answering is: Why even use rope? And here is my answer:

I’ve been a rope slut for two years now, thanks to him. Before him, I liked bondage, but I didn’t really care how it was done. Sure, leather smelled good, and rope seemed quite useful, but cheap canvas cuffs could get the work done, and a straitjacket was quick and secure. I still like all those things, but Rope became the bigger fetish – the preferred method. Why?

Rope, for me, is about the senses. The sense of touch, the feel of the rope on my skin, the bite of hemp or the softness of cotton. The feel of his hands putting it on me, the tug as he tightens, the burn as he pulls, the wraps biting into the skin, the vibrations traveling through every inch. The sense of smell when it comes to natural fibers. The deep, sweat earthly smell of hemp and jute. The sense of hearing – rope being tossed out on the ground, the creak of the suspension rig. The sense of sight. The look of smooth straight lines, cleanly outlining the body. Knots lined up, wraps decorating body and rigging.

I also like it for the methodicalness. A lot of people watch ties being done and state that they don’t have the patience for that kind of thing. That is what I like about rope. It takes time, it can be the entire scene. Cuffs or a jacket are put on before the scene and taken off after. Rope is laid carefully and precisely. It takes time, and during that time, you are becoming increasingly bound. You are becoming increasingly helpless. It is a buildup, bit by bit. It is the slowing giving and taking of control. It is a methodical exchange of power.

I also like it’s versatility. Cuffs and jackets are designed for one thing. Chains are hard, heavy, and not as pliable. Rope can be used in so many different ways. Tied to so many different things, in so many different formations. Different lengths, different thicknesses, different fibers. It can be used to blind, to gag, to choke, to beat, to whip, to burn, to suspend, to bind or to set free. And that was just off the top of my head.

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Scattered Thoughts

June 3rd, 2010

Public Humiliation – I knelt on his boot, surrounded. They talked of friendship and history and alcohol. Or they were, before I landed on his boot. I could not really hear them, after. He ground it into me, a stern look keeping me in place. I rode the old black leather, trying to keep my tight denim skirt covering me. His hand on his knee, one finger, two fingers. I glanced up at him in a panic, he grinned. “You better.” Three fingers and I did. Eyes closed, people casually chatting around me, I did. Over and over again, slave to his counting fingers. Mortified, terrified, aroused and his.

Begging – Please. Please, no. It’s never enough. Offer something else. But how do you offer something else when he’s clearly enjoying himself? How do you offer something else when your brain is locked in fear? How do you offer something else when you don’t want him to stop, but you’re too scared to be silent? Begging will make him happy. It is what he is asking you to do. If you don’t want to offer something else, ask for what you are afraid of.

Creativity – Something new. Always something new. Take what you have done and push it one step further. Take a great scene and add to it. Take your fear one extra step. What have you not yet done? What are you afraid of?

Fear – Hand to my throat. Tensing, gasping, internal struggle to be still. I love it when he holds me down by my throat. Stun gun. Whimpering more when he threatens than when it hits. Twitching more at the noise than the shock. Crying, begging. Fear of the pain stronger than the pain itself. Nylon hood. I like the hood. Duct taped around my throat, not too tight. I was fine, the whole scene went well. We were done. PANIC! Instant full body panic as he lay on top of me. Shaking, gasping, crying, thrashing. 1-2-3. Focus moved to an orgasm and calm returns.

Poly – Love is not divided, instead it grows. Communication does not prevent jealousy, but it can help to resolve it. Poly is not for everyone, it isn’t easy, and there is no one right way. You can’t tell someone how to “do poly” only how it works for you. The Ethical Slut provides some good insight, language and tools for any relationship.

I am still tired from the con this past weekend. Sorry about the randomness of this post. I’ll pull something more coherent together for next week.

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