Monday Morning Microgasm

May 27th, 2013

He leans close, hand on her thigh, One. She turns to glare at him, fighting a blush, Two. She drops her head, trying to block out the people all around them, Three.

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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.

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Public Play, Part Two

September 16th, 2009

I helped a couple friends create scenes this weekend, and participated slightly in other informal scenes. Mostly I wandered around watching, being the voyeur. The first night I did not play at all. I just blinked at people reaching out to grab the ring on my collar. Whatever happened to respecting protocol?

Night Two. I had two scenes.

Lover asked what I wanted, and for once in my life, this weekend, I knew what I wanted and I asked for it. I wanted Rope. I wanted No Escape. I wanted as much rope as he could possibly use. We even dropped by my apartment and picked up all my new rope. There was a wooden frame laced with thick bungee cord into a spider web. He used all 150 feet of my new hemp to wrap me up. A chest harness, a corset, thighs wrapped, calves wrapped, arms wrapped. Then he used his own rope to secure every wrap of hemp to the web, as well as his rope cuffs to finish securing my hands, and a few extra ropes to lace my ankles to the eyelets on the frame. He pinched my nipples as he secured me, and then, with borrowed knife, he traced what flesh he had left exposed. He made me orgasm at knife point, over and over. Hard, soft, thrashing and still. The knife went away and he went back to pinching my nipples, taking his sweet torment while he made me orgasm for his pleasure. Then down to taste me, finish me with his tongue. He untied me slowly, pausing to steal orgasms ever now and then. Took me down, wrapped me up in his jacket and held me until we were both back to ourselves.

Master/Husband asked what I wanted, I told him I wanted sharp things. I wanted the Whartenberg Wheel, I wanted the two-pronged claw. He added a knife. He laid me out on the bed, and dragged the sharp metal along my skin. I yipped and screamed and moaned and gasped. Sensations wonderful, sharp, and delicious covering my body. He delighted in my sounds, repeating motions that created his favorite sounds. Drawing red designs in my flesh, but not cutting, never cutting, though oh did it feel like he was. Delighting in the twitching, tickling that drove me crazy, and the moan of satisfaction at the sharp stabbing that ended it. Until I could take no more, and raised my arms to him, and he entered them wrapping our arms around each other and just holding tight, sharing our love for each other.

And those were the good parts. But both scenes had parts that I will remember separately from the wonderfulness that I enjoyed with my partners. Both scenes had the intrusions that are the reason I shy away from public play. The beginning of the first scene was repeatedly intruded upon by our other lovers, poking and pinching me as though they were included in the scene by default, without asking. The second scene, others were invited to listen and comment on the noises I was making, and He held other conversations apart from our scene. Minor distractions and intrusion, but annoying to me, when I want to have a scene where I can lose myself in the scene and Be with my partner. Perhaps that is asking too much in public?

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All orgasms are not created equal.

August 5th, 2009

Years ago, I began to learn orgasm control. I had Doms who required me to ask permission before orgasming, and I picked it up fairly quickly. About a year ago, I began learning to orgasm on command and to control them. To make them soft, or hard, to keep going or to stop short, depending on what was demanded of me. To even have orgasms, if commanded, in the middle of a crowded restaurant with very little stimuli other than his voice. Above all, to not orgasm without express permission while I am with him, no matter what. (No one has yet tried to control my activities when I am alone.)

All this considered, it is not to say that every commanded or permitted orgasm is equal. They are not all as intense or satisfying. I still get reliably better orgasms from fingers or tongue(depending on the wielder of such) than from intercourse. I can have incredibly intense orgasms out of painful pleasure, and softly satisfying ones from sex. That is not to say I don’t have great sex, or even occasional great orgasms during sex. It all depends on build up, mood and balancing everything just so.

A word about how I’ve been trained, as some people find it very interesting. I’ve been trained to orgasm on the count of three. Some people like to play with this, randomly counting to three, but it doesn’t work like that. As with many things in life and the scene, it is the intention behind the words and the control taken by the speaker and given by me. It is also a very vocal trigger at this point. I was recently asked if counting by showing fingers would work. I suppose I could learn to work off that as a trigger, but it is very much connected to the sound right now. I like to hear the words, the emotions and the command in his voice.

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