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.

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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.

Shrew's Fiddle

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.

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