May 27th, 2012
The other day, I was asked “Do all true masochists orgasm from pain?”
After snickerting at the word “true” for a moment, I answered masochists enjoy intense sensation. Each in their own way.
Later, I felt this deserved a bit more thought and discussion.
Dictionary.com: Masochism is “gratification gained from pain, deprivation, degradation, etc.”
Midori has forever changed the phrasing in my head to be “intense sensation” instead of “pain.” She’s right. Pain is too broad. My elbow hurts right now, I’m not getting gratification from it. But intentional intense sensations, I do. I like that deprivation and degradation are included in the dictionary definition. Emotional masochism is just as powerful.
Orgasms are not the end result of intense sensation for me, they are simply one way for me to direct the energy created. A way I enjoy, certainly, but when I’m with a partner, only when allowed, or so directed. Yes, sometimes it turns me on so much I want an orgasmic release. Yes, sometimes it is so intense I want to orgasm to channel or focus the energy somewhere. But certainly not every time, certainly not for all intense sensation.
And that’s just me. I’m sure there are folk out there that it does exactly that for. That all intention intense sensation causes them to orgasm, or to want to orgasm. I’m sure there are folk out there that humiliation causes orgasm for, too. Or sensory deprivation; I enjoy it but it’s far from orgasmic for me.
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.
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.”
Zap. Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal and spin.
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?”
“How’s your head?”
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.
Fingers. Fuck. Ow. Ow. Ow. Wrist.
It’s okay, fine now.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Twitch when he switches to toy. Back and forth.
“Oh, I know what I want.”
He grabs and foot and I whimper and fuss.
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.”
“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?”
Wanders off. I can track him with my forehead. The music keeps me moving. Sinking. Back again, Smack.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
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.
“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.
“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.
“How are you doing?”
“Arms hurt a bit, lower arms, wrists.”
“Are you done?”
“So we should take you out while you’re still spacing?”
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.”
“You still have all the rope.”
“You have to put it away, you know.”
“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.
March 8th, 2012
I may want tears tonight.
I smiled back at him, warmth filling me at the thought. I’d been aching for that, and we were both finally in a place where it would be healthy to go there. His boots needed attention, too. Having just gotten the soles replaced on both pairs. I hadn’t blacked the steel toed ones in a while. It was going to be a good night.
Arrive, hugs and snuggles. His boot toes are certainly dirty. The puppy is too rambunctious though, we head downstairs. My kit in hand, he sets up a chair in the back corner in a decent pool of light. Down onto the cold cement I go, think skirt barely any protection. Set out the kit, go get water. He gets distracted by a self-suspension and goes to offer advice and assistance. I wait patiently, preparing myself to serve him.
He returns and we roll up his pant legs. I unlace his boots, draping the waxed strings over my neck, bight towards the respective boot. Lather created while I waited, I head for the right boot, pulling it up onto my thigh. Snip a few strings. Saddle soap, brush, toothbrush and fingers, working into the soft leather. Switch. Left boot on right thigh. It feels good to have them in my hands again. Clean it up and snip a more strings. Switch. I have to sit at this point. Bare feet on cement with the added weight of his leg is doing no good for my feet. Black gold for the shine. Fingertips working every inch. The class has started behind me at some point, I’m listening, but the boots hold my focus. Switch. More black gold and work into the leather. China marker and I bring out the sole lacing, bright white beneath the gleaming black leather. Quick run with a cloth and done. Pack up and sit to his right. Arms around his leg, head on his knee for the rest of class. The engineer girlfriend on his left. He pets and strokes, and squeezes our shoulder knots as we listen and talk about violet wands.
Class over, I am responsible for a few minutes, organizing for the weekend. He warms up on the wall and then smiles over at me. Ready to go? Yes. I put aside my phone and glasses, toss my shirt to the floor below them and walk to the cross. Taking off my bra, I drop it against the wall and hug the beams.
He starts off with the short, soft ones, but they still sting a little with the power he uses. The music isn’t playing yet, he’s got mp3s playing in his ears, but I don’t know what song. I close my eyes and concentrate on the strikes. Catching his rhythm, I bob my head with the hits. The room is full of conversation, but I focus in on us. On the cross, on the floggers, the energy between us. The leather feels so good on my back. His hands beat into the muscles, fingers drag over the heated skin.
He rides the waves of the music in his ears. The strikes come harder and faster, bringing moans then screams. I bounce and stamp, my heel begins to tap with the beat. I am grateful for the mobility of the cross. I shake it and pull on it. We ride the wave back down. His hand in my hair, he pulls me off the cross and down to my knees. My hands on my thighs, I breathe and wait.
He pulls me up again. Stingy floggers, and I scream. Jumping and bobbing and writing against the cross. Falling deep into space. Growling with determination. I can feel the attention some of my screaming is drawing. I smirk, but it is swallowed by another scream. He pauses whenever I jump around. Waiting for me to come back to him. I hear the engineer beating the wall beside me. I know it is her, though I don’t look. Her strikes familiar. I feel his hands again, sending shivers through my body.
Now there are mop floggers. More solid hits. Hard, throbbing against the cross. I hear music, but it isn’t what he’s listening to, so it doesn’t matter. The mops beat into me and he goes faster. Six count and my head can’t keep up, it starts rolling as the flogs roll over my back. The scream builds low in my belly until it bursts free.
His hand in my hair, pulling me up. Your skin is breaking, we’re going to have to stop soon. How are you? I can only smile. I think I manage Good. Do I need to put you in the corner? I nod. He puts me back down. I nearly cry. My body betrays me.
He strikes again and I jump. Oh, we’re starting again, he grins. I nod and he hits. Hard and stingy. I scream and writhe. I hear the engineer beside me, singing. Some of them want to abuse you, some of them want to be abuse. I smile through my screams. Her voice a perfect compliment to the end of our scene. My head bobbing with the song as I scream and shake the cross. I hit my knee once and bounce quickly back up. I hear him start to count with his strikes. 1. Scream. 2. Scream. 3. I drop, but not to my knees, hanging from the cross momentarily in orgasmic release. I pull myself back up. And he finishes off with a few more strikes.
Then his hand is in my hair again, pulling me away from the cross. Around other people and then forcing me down to my knees sheltered by some spanking benches. Head down, eyes tightly closed, hands out. I’m too deep in space to be touched. I can hear everything around me, but it doesn’t matter. The energy is all I care about. The floating, happy, gasping, shaking wonderfulness inside me.
Slowly, I float back down into my body. The sounds around me start to invade. I hear him start in on the engineer. The people beside me talking about blow jobs. Noise and cold air. I’m not ready yet. I ignore it for a little longer, my eyes still heavy.
I’m numb from the knee down before I’m ready to open my eyes. I look around. Who are these people next to me? I still don’t know. He flips a flogger out of his grip and we smile. But I’m awake now, time to move. I don’t want to continue listening to the conversation beside me. I drag myself up onto unfeeling feet and make my way to my things. Glasses on, shirt wrapped around me, text messages checked.
I head over to the bishop’s chair to perch and watch the rest of their scene. She stands still. I am amazed and a little confused. Her happy place, she’ll later explain. But then she starts reacting. Screaming and curling up against the cross. He grins with glee, and goes after sharper toys, even the dragon tail, though he only slaps with it, doesn’t snap. She curses and screams until he is done. Then he wraps her up against his chest.
A few minutes and then calls me over to join them. Snuggling together by the cross, until we’re ready to move. I scoop up my bra and we head upstairs. The couch is taken, but he heads for the big chair and we sit at his feet again, heads on his knees. After awhile the couch is free and we pile on in. Snuggled against his chest and shoulders, arms and legs entwined. Relaxing together until it is time to go.
My shoulders are wet and tacky, a layer of skin is gone, but they only sting a bit, not hurt. The next day they’ll be cold. A new and confusing sensation. Hers are quite tender and it makes me want to poke them when I hug her good night. We head our separate ways with hugs and kisses. It has been a wonderful night for us all.
October 21st, 2011
Control. I know I’ve written about control many times, in various different ways. Today, a thought occurred to me however, that I’m not sure I’ve clearly expressed before. I just reread my Power vs. Control post, and I see that I didn’t really touch on the thought I had today. I talked a lot about giving of power and control to a partner. But today, my thoughts are running along the lines of: you Always have a Choice. Meaning that both people have control.
I talk about giving up control, of just letting go. Of giving over to the sensations, the scene, the rope. Of not having to be in control for a little while. But really, it’s more about not being In Charge for a little while. I always have the most important control – control of myself. That’s not to say I can always move the way I want, do everything I want, or say everything I want. But I always have a choice. I can always say no. I can always say yes. I can choose to stop. I can choose to continue. I can control my reactions, my processing, my breathing. My partners tend to choose when I have orgasms, but I’m the one controlling myself so I that only have the ones I am allowed.
I talk about not giving control to someone who is not in control of himself. But it is equally important that I be in control of myself before, during and after playing. I’ve mentioned before, those days I just want tossed in a corner and left to brew. And then I’m not. It would be detrimental to my health, honestly. I get that way when I’m not in control. When I want a physical manifestation of control, because I’m not doing so internally. And it would be weakness to give in to that before I’ve regained control of myself. Sure, sometimes I want beaten until I cry, want a cathartic release, but when I can ask for such, I’m far more in control, and in a proper mindset for a scene.
So, in the way my brain is thinking today. I give up power to my partners, but I keep control of myself.
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.
“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. 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.
July 21st, 2011
So, this extra post is inspired by a several things. One, it’s my birthday on Sunday. Two, toy was giving me a hard time about not asking for things I want (for my birthday). And three, he made a comment the other day that a lot of our play has been about things that he likes(it’s awesome and fortunate, that our kinks match up so well), and due to various things over the last week, he’s curious to try some of the stuff that I like. Thus the straitjacket on Monday. So, without further ado, here’s a short list of scene ideas that came to mind when I thought about my upcoming birthday… while at work… and bored… in the order they came to me.
- Obviously, over the knee, barehanded birthday spankings. This one’s just a given. It’s tradition in all parts of life, to give birthday spankings. So, I want bare hand on bare ass and dear gods, please over the knee, but hey. Girl’s gotta have something special.
- Clothes cut off. I have had this in my head for a while now, but I never really thought too much on it. But when I was writing this list it was second to come to mind. I realized that Every kidnap fantasy I have, they cut off my clothes. This is one I’ve never indulged (it requires pre-planning or the sacrifice of cute clothes), but apparently is a huge turn-on for me.
- Suspension. It’s just all kinds of wonderful and always on my mind. He suspended me last week, quick and dirty, but oh so nice, and spacy. Lovely. So, I think this wish has been nicely fulfilled.
- Sex. Oral. Masturbation. Well, duh, it’s fun. (I’ll get a little more creative further down the page.)
- Intense rope scene. You know the kind. Tied up tight, rope after rope, losing freedom bit by bit. Digging in, dropping down, nothing but you, him and the rope. Eeling optional. The kind of eeling that when you get something free, he just ties it down tighter. And you’re both exhausted by the time the last rope is removed.
- Electric oral. I’ve been curious about this for ages. Since the first time he mentioned it. In that kind of terrified, but oh so curious kind of way.
- TENS masturbation. I want to find the right places. I’ve played with TENS units on various occasions in various ways, but I’ve never found The Spots. Yeah, we’ve turned me all tingly and what not, but I hear stories of more and better. Of getting it to cross the clit. Of getting it to cause orgasms. So very curious.
- Vibrator orgasms until collapse. Writing this made me laugh, then blush. There’s nothing like a Hitachi going on and on until you’ve had so many orgasms that you’re begging for it to stop. And then being forced to have more.
- Clothespin challenge. I wrote this at work with ?’s around it because most of my thoughts were not around painful scenes. The idea popped into my head, inspired by Monday, and spurred on by memories of a game show. How many clothes pins would it take? How many is too many? I think lying down I could take more than standing up. I have this problem with breathing. And then what about taking them off? One by one? Or a big long zipper?
- Sensual flogging or drumming. The rhythmic kind, meant for spacing out and massage. Not the pain of catharsis, not looking for tears or challenge. Just music and thumping and letting go.
- Full body massage. This goes on the same line. Just soft sensation, of touching and caring and love.
July 21st, 2011
Fourth Monday. Finally. Only three months to get here. Such busy, crazy lives we lead. He asks me to bring my straitjacket and blindfold. My turn for isolation. Picnic on Sunday, so some cleaning is already done, but there’s different things need doing. I set to the dishes and the grills, Toy grabs the recycling and trash. Floors are given a once over and the playspace is cleared up a little. Dressed and waiting, he’s got the collar in the truck.
Chat and chicken and dinner. We head downstairs to curl up and flip through the television. Toy heads up to get coffee and he and I discuss my jacket. Doesn’t really work with a skirt, but I’ve got underwear in the bag. Put them on and bring the jacket.
So I strip down to bra and panties – look they match. And he jackets me up, nice and tight. The straps crisscrossing between my legs. Blindfold next, then earplugs. Sound is deadened around me, and then headphones – blocking out most everything else. He puts me down on the couch, laying back on some pillows. I fold my legs, but he soon pulls them straight and shackles my ankles together with something I’ve never worn, hard metal, that seems to crank down.
I settle in, trying to see what I’ve got left. I can hear whispers of sound. His voice raises in question – can I hear him? But it sounds so faint and far away. Is he talking to me? I turn my head towards the noise, but nothing else comes. I feel like I should have answered, but he doesn’t ask again. I can’t hear anything but odd whispers of noise. A creak of the stair, the ceiling, whispers of the tv that only sound like static.
Nothing else is forthcoming, so I relax into the jacket and the blindfold and the quiet. The tv hisses. Annoying. I hear little things, indecipherable, whenever I fully relax. But I can still manage enough. Keeping still, I feel my mind sinking into my body. I feel like I’m in my bones instead of in my skin. I keep thinking about Harry Potter whenever the tv hissing pulls me up. I try to stop, I focus on my breathing, on the heavy sensation in my limbs. I could move if I needed to, but it seems like too much effort to even want to. Little ticks of pain. A prick in my foot, my nose itches, my fingertips of my left hand are pressing uncomfortably. Little movements to relieve the little ticks. Sinking, comfortable. Mind wandering, recording the sensations, knowing I’ll be writing this. I wonder what they’re doing, but no way to know, so I don’t wonder long. I’ve read so much Harry Potter lately, why won’t it stay out of my mind. Breathing, sinking.
I hear more sounds. My breathing picks up. Clanking, like chain in a bucket. What is that? Are they back? I smell hemp. The pillow below my feet moves. It scares me at first, til I realize what it is. The clanking noise stops. I strain to hear where they are, what they are doing. What he is doing.
Music starts playing. I can hear it softly, but clearly. And I relax. I don’t know why, music signals playing, but I relax. It’s a continuous sound, and I focus on it and relax. My breathing slows to normal. He hasn’t come to me yet. I sink back into myself, more easily now.
I think I hear sounds from them. Indistinct. The pillow moves again. My heart jumps, but the music soothes. Then Uncle lands. Ripping me out of myself and back into my skin. And I scream and writhe. More strikes on my thighs. I curl up and he strikes the back of my thighs. I scream and moan. Then he is gone. I curl up whimpering. Then I hear her. Hear strikes at the other end of the couch. When they stop. I whimper and fidget, cowering, and the strikes come again, legs and breasts. Squealing and thrashing, the blindfold starts to slip, he pulls it back down, but it comes up again. The headphones are taken off and a hood forced over my head, squashing my ears. It’s a hood I’ve never worn, the area around the mouth seems to have a leather piece to it. I can breathe easily through it. More strikes with something different and writhing and screams, but this stays in place.
He goes to her again, I listen to the strikes and her squeaks. Straining to hear it stop, cowering whenever it does. More strikes, he lifts my legs to hit the backs of my thighs better and strikes my breasts as well.
Clips come. Along my thighs, left thigh first. I gasp and squeak, sinking into the pain as he steps away. Then returns, my right thigh now, and two above my panties. I rock with the pain, chewing on the leather by my mouth, breathing and moving my legs to take in in and process. More clips around my legs, and then…
A clamp – forcep? – goes on my left nipple and I scream and cry and writhe and shake. He takes it off. It takes me a bit to calm down and listen to them again. He returns and puts one on the right nipple. I scream and groan and moan and twitch my foot, biting hard on the leather, determined not to let this one beat me. He strikes off the clips with a flogger and removes the forcep and I scream and shake. He retrieves them and puts them back on. Having to dig between the cushions under my ass for some of them. As I write this I am not sure I’ve got the clips and clamps in the right order, but I can’t remember clearly.
I was scared of what might come next, gasping hard through my nose, trying to calm down so I could hear. Finally, relaxing enough to uncurl some, to feel the cushion at my feet again, to listen to whimpers from Toy. And then he’s sitting beside me, a blow to my crotch and then his fingers, working away at my clit. Rough and insistent, I arch and groan, pressing back against him. Gasping and moaning, finally I beg, pathetically. Please. Please. The words aren’t even clear to me, but he seems to ask what. Please may I come? He taps my chest twice. I take this as a yes, and let myself go. Orgasming, but he does not stop, pushes harder, and I orgasm twice more before he stops. And leaves me shaking and breathless.
But not for long. He unshackles my ankles, takes off the headphones and hood, and ear plugs. I blink in the light, fidgeting in the sudden brightness and sound. I come up and out again and he sits near my feet and waves me over. Rocking myself up, I turn and cuddle my head against his chest. He kisses the top of my head and asks a few questions. I assumed two meant yes? Yes, especially when he didn’t stop. Then he points out toy, tied up in the corner of the couch and we smile. She looks beautiful.
Do you think you can untie her with you teeth? No. Well, you better try, it’s the only way you’re getting out. You two have to untie each other. I blink up at him and his wide grin. He’s not kidding. So I get up and go kneel in front of her, assessing the situation. I start for a knot at her feet, but she thinks she can get out. I let her squirm for a bit, but she only gets one foot out. So I pull the other knot by her feet and she frees the second foot. Got anything more? She tries, but doesn’t get anywhere. Okay hold still. I’m going to pull the crotch ropes through your waist rope. She squirms a bit and I scold her til she holds still. He’s laughing and enjoying the show. I pull the crotch ropes out of her waist rope, though this seems to cause them to enter other uncomfortable places.
I stand and so does she. Still trying to get her hands free she squirms, but can’t. Okay, I can see a couple more I can undo. Hold still. I pull a couple, but that does nothing to help her hands. She’s turning and fidgeting, so I stand on the rope. He’s laughing his ass off on the floor by now, watching us. Hold Still! I pull a couple more knots out and she can free her hands and get the rope off. He insists I do the blindfold and she squirms and ends up on the floor in a ball. Alright stay there then! I bend over and pull the knot free with my teeth and drop the blindfold on her back.
Up on her knees, she makes quick work of the straitjacket buckles, even without her glasses. I toss it on the couch and sit on the floor with them. She’s trying to finish untying the rope and asks for glasses back. He gives them to us both. She untangles and I coil up the jute. It didn’t taste like much but fibers. He had me clean up. I put everything back in the tub and chest while he got ready for his massage. He came back over to us, sitting on the ottoman with Toy in front of him and me behind him, all happy and glowing.
Then over to the table, back, arms, legs, feet, until our hands were getting tired, turn over. Chest, arms, legs, head and feet. Light touch when we can’t push anymore. Then toy starts to drop, energy gone. I wrap my arm around her and she lays on his chest a few moments and then up. Whispered conversation until she’s just about falling asleep on my shoulder. I lean down to wake him. We need to move to the couch. Clothes changed, tv on, coffee retrieved. We settle in to end our night cuddled up together. Most excellent experience.
June 10th, 2011
My academic pursuit this month, otherwise known as “I’m tired of packing project,” (unfortunately, yesterday, when I got tired, of packing I fell asleep instead of posting) is The Ethical Slut, by Dossie Easton and Catherine A. Liszt, which I posted about the first time I read it. This week, I read Part 1: Within Ourselves, and took down quotes I found pertinent or important to me. So, I thought I’d make this week’s post a discussion of those quotes. I divided them into five categories: Sex, Poly, Social Programming, Communication and Internal Struggles.
Let’s start with Social Programming. This group is about overcoming our social programming so we can live the life we want to live and be true to oneself. “Our programming is changeable.” “You are already whole.” “ Great sluts are made, not born.” “People… free of shame, would trust their own sense of right and wrong.” (pp. 6, 34, 59, 71) So, what do all these quotes mean to me?
I grew up in a religiously based household, taught ‘how things ought to be’ from a young age. One husband, one wife, kids, and pets. Sex inside marriage only. And no kinky stuff. So, the first quote, of programming being changeable. I don’t have to live with the programming my parents gave me. It worked for them, but it does not have to be mine as well. If it doesn’t work for me, then I can change it to fit myself. The third quote goes along with that. It takes work to overcome social programming, to make myself into what I want to be. I cannot just assume I have all the skills and understanding to live the way I want to live. I have to learn and grow and create my life.
The second quote. Being whole. Society likes to push marriage and kids onto us. You aren’t a grown up, until you’re married. You aren’t fulfilling your purpose until you have kids. And on and on. Not everyone wants to be married, not everyone wants to have kids. There is nothing wrong with either of these things. You are a whole person, in and of yourself, without the need for a relationship or offspring to validate your existence.
The final quote, came from Wilhelm Reich’s speeches to young Communists in Germany in 1936. He was speaking against free expression and sexuality, because this would prevent an authoritarian government. I think it is a good point, though. Without social programming telling us that what we feel is wrong and dirty, we would be free to trust our own judgment, our own selves, about what was good and right for us, and what was wrong. That would certainly reduce our unnecessary guilt and self-recriminations.
So, on that note, let’s move on to Internal Struggles, a lot of which come from Social Programming. “Each person owns her own feelings. No one ‘makes’ me feel jealous, or insecure – the person who makes me feel that way is me.” “Knowing, loving and respecting yourself is an absolute prerequisite to knowing, loving and respecting someone else.” “You must speak truth, first to yourself, then to those around you.” “Shame, and beliefs we were taught that our bodies, desires and sex are dirty and wrong, make it very hard to develop a healthy self-esteem.” “Do remember: your sexiness is about how you feel, not how you look.” (pp. 65, 67, 67, 93, 94)
To live this life, I have had to look inside me, to consider myself and my truth a lot more than I ever did before. I have to take responsibility for myself, my feelings, and my actions, something that in today’s society it seems to be more popular to blame others for. Yes, things people say or do upset me, but it is me choosing to react that way. Me choosing to let it bother me. Me choosing whether to talk to them about it, or brood silently. My choice to let negativity fester or toss it out into the light to die. To be in control of my emotions and my reactions, I have to know myself, love myself and respect myself enough to look for the truth in myself. I have to figure out what’s really going on inside me, so I can share it with those that matter.
A wonderful side effect of this lifestyle I have chosen, has been a much better body image and self-esteem. I grew up hiding my body, wearing baggy shirts and jeans year round. Boys hardly every looked at me before college, and I never gave them a reason to. One day in high school, my mother must have been having a bad day, because she told me I was fat. I took this to mean she thought I was ugly and unattractive. Just one stray comment and I held onto it for years. I didn’t believe that I weighed too much, but unattractive, absolutely.
Then I started dating, but I was still hiding in my clothes. Boys were interested in me, some told me I was attractive. But I didn’t believe them. I started having sex and doing kinky things. Boys didn’t run screaming from my body. That seemed like a good thing. My dad once told me I should get sexy underwear so I’d feel better about myself. That was strange. Dated some more, here and there and around the world. Still hiding. Got married, continued to hide, though I got cuter clothes from hubby and his mom. Other men were still attracted to me. That was strange to me. Why would they look at me? Talk to me sure, I’m bright and fun, but look at me?
We swung a bit and then became poly. We joined a few groups, and started going to events. I got more and more compliments, and people appreciating my body, my energy, my sexiness. I was encouraged to wear cuter (and shorter) outfits. I gained confidence in not just my body, but myself. The community is full of so many people of different body types, and people are attracted to them all. People are attracted to skin, to body parts, to men, to women, to everything and everyone. I learned that you don’t have to be perfect, or a certain size, shape, or height. You just have to comfortable and happy in your own skin. If you feel sexy(and sometimes even when you don’t), you are sexy.
Next, let’s explore Poly. “We tend to like our lives complicated, with lots of stuff going on to keep us interested and engaged.” “Is there some virtue in being difficult?” “The human capacity for sex and love and intimacy is far greater than most people think.” “What rewards can you foresee that will compensate you for doing the hard work of learning to be secure in a world of shifting relationships?” “I don’t have to fulfill every single thing my partner needs or wants.” “Faithfulness is about honoring your commitments and respecting your friends and lovers.” “You don’t have to force anyone into a mold that doesn’t fit: all you have to do is enjoy how you do fit together, and let go of the rest.” (pp. 7, 29, 36, 59, 59, 63, 73)
I’ll start at the top. Complicated lives. I’ve always kept busy. Band, theater, gaming, volunteering, writing, working, studying. My love life was often complicated, even before I came out as poly. I spent time with multiple guys, or with guys who had girlfriends elsewhere, or with different guys in different countries. I flirted online a lot, with men, women and couples. The first time hubby proposed to me, he was already engaged to someone else. I love order and organizing, but my life has always been fairly complicated. It’s not that I’m easy, I have standards, but I agree with Dossie and Catherine, why be intentionally difficult?
Our capacity for love and intimacy is huge. We love family, friends, lovers, pets, people we see on TV, even characters in books or shows. All in different ways, perhaps, but that’s a lot of love, and we always have more for new people coming into our lives. Why should romantic love be different? If everyone is honest and respectful, then, to me, everyone is being faithful. I always did like the song from Kiss Me, Kate with the chorus “Always true to you baby, in my fashion. I’m always true to you baby, in my way.”
Then we get to the rewards for all this learning and growing into the people we want to be. And the remaining two quotes answer that one. In poly, thanks to poly, I don’t have to try and be everything, and do everything, and fit into a mold of the “perfect partner.” I can be me, and they can be themselves, and we find out what needs we can fulfill for each other, and enjoy those things together.
This leads right into Communication, the most important thing, for me, in poly. “Consent – an active collaboration for the benefit, well-being and pleasure of all persons concerned.” “They may be shy in the seductive stages, and bolder once welcome has been secured. Women tend to want explicit permission, and for each specific act.” “Talk clearly and listen effectively.” “Being able to ask for and receive reassurance and support is extremely important.” “It’s vital to be able to give reassurance and support.” “Lots of hugging, touching, verbal affection, sincere flattery.” “You need to know how and when to say no.” “The historical censorship of discussion about sex has left us with another disability: the act of talking about sex… has become difficult and embarrassing.” “What you can’t talk about, you can hardly think about.” “Most of us have been struck dumb by the scariest communication task of all – asking for what we want.” “If you are not free to say ‘no,’ you can’t really say ‘yes.’” “You have a right to your limits and it is totally okay to say no to [anything] you don’t like or are not comfortable with.” (pp. 21-2, 49, 61, 61, 62, 62, 63, 95, 95, 101, 103, 106)
Several different subcategories here. Staring with general communication – being able to speak clearly as well as listen. I have learned, over the last few years, that what one person says and the other person hears, are not always the same thing. I have learned the importance of restating what I think the other person is trying to communicate, so he can agree, or try another way of explaining.
Being able to communicate needs and wants (as well as knowing the difference), and being able to hear the same from my partners has been vital to our relationships. I still have trouble taking about sex out loud, and am sometimes embarrassed to write about it. But we work together, and talk together, and we open with each other and I am more and more able to talk about it. It’s still not perfect, nothing ever is. But I am learning and growing, and overcoming the embarrassment and shame of my social programming.
Being able to ask for and receive reassurance and support, in any number of ways, can be hard. Why should I have doubts and need reassurance after all this time? Well, because I’m human, and imperfect and the little devil on my shoulder, or the little voice in my head gets too loud sometimes, and I need help shouting him down. And it has been very important to me, that my partners have been there to give me that. Even if all I need is a hug, or the words I love you, to calm me down, and even more so, when I’ve wanted a flogging or tight rope bondage.
Then there is consent. I like their definition: “an active collaboration for the benefit, well-being and pleasure of all persons concerned.” We want to have fun, be safe and healthy and work together for these things. Consent is for everyone, tops, bottoms, masters, slaves, doms, subs, husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends. It is not just one person consenting to the other, it is both(or more) people consenting to each other. And being able to say no, is just as important as being able to say yes. You have to be able to say no, or yes doesn’t mean anything. There’s consensual non-consent, and there are no-limit slaves, but in the end, if you cannot ultimately turn and walk away, then you are not really consenting to be there.
On to happier topics – Sex. “Sex is nice and pleasure is good for you.” “We have never met anyone who has low self-esteem at the moment of orgasm.” “The existence of her clitoris was proof positive that God loved her.” “Sex is whatever the people engaging in it think it is… if you… feel sexual… that’s sex, for you.” “Sex is a healthy force in our lives.” “We like to think that all sensual stimulation is sexual, from a shared emotion to a shared orgasm.” “When sex becomes goal-oriented, we may focus on what gets us to orgasm to the exclusion of enjoying all the nifty sensations that come before (and, for that matter, after).” “Sexually successful people masturbate.” (pp. 4, 19, 27, 39. 40, 92, 96, 98)
We live in a culture of double standards. Sex sells – well, everything. But we are taught to avoid it, that it’s dangerous, that it’s only for marriage, that touching ourselves is disgusting. We are taught to be embarrassed by sexuality. But sex is wonderful, and it’s not just about intercourse, or orgasms. Being a kinky person, there are so many different ways that I find sensual and sexual pleasure. Being poly, hubby and I have a very strict definition of what sex is, in regards to our rules about who we can “have” it with. But that is about intercourse and sexual//reproductive health. We give and receive sensual and sexual stimulation with a lot of different people, in a lot of different ways, including our own selves. Intercourse is great, orgasms are great, but they are not the end all and be all of our sexual lives. We like things complicated, remember? I really enjoy the sex-positive nature of this book and the confidence it reminds me to have about myself and my desires in a culture that tells me I am wrong and disgusting in so many ways. I love my life, and I am happy with who I am.
March 24th, 2011
It started with a cage. A dog kennel set in the middle of the room. All lonely by itself until he ordered me into it. I crawled in, shut and latched the door behind me. The locks were there, but not needed. A small crowd began to gather, sitting on the couches, as I settled in. He was setting up Godzilla, the lovely, long-corded violet wand, casting about for just the right straight rod, which ended up being a ball-chain set. And begin.
He dragged the chains across the cage, setting of sparks to make me cower and the crowd grin. The cage does not carry the current very far, but I whimper anyway, and keep my head down. He dangles the chains through the bars and I curl up into a ball. The chains dance across my back and I squeal, trying to condense more, but there isn’t room. He giggles above me, and then pulls them back. Legs! He goes for the sides of the cage, spinning the chains in to zap my calves and thighs. I squeal and move to the far end, squirming and writhing to the audience’s delight. Feet! He aims for my toes, but I hide them quickly. He gets lower, snaking the chains on the floor of the cage, zapping my ass as I squirm away. I have too much room, something must be done. Cattle prod?
Someone says they have one, and returns with a stun gun looking thing, that makes no noise. Odd, but I don’t want to touch it to find out, so I stay at the door end of the cage. He opens the door and flails me with the chains. I scream and yip, but stay still. The unknown of the other toy keeping me at bay.
Time for a break. He lets up and I relax. She comes and sits in front of me, plopping down like a little kid to see how I am. He sees us talking and thinks she might be taunting me or something, and orders her to join me. She only puts up a little resist, and climbs on in. We settle together, comfortable for the moment, and he returns with Godzilla.
Less room now, squirming and squealing and yipping, and shoving and squeezing and pushing. We collide with each other and he dances the chains down through the top. We compress as much as we can as he attacks one end or the other. The crowd laughs and cheers him on. He grabs hold and spins us around, show us to everyone in the room. Another attempt at a cattle prod, this one a modified flyswatter. He takes hold and pokes us. Thighs and backs, he goes for the toes but we hide them. He opens the door and herds us to the far end. Squished against the bars, I can get no smaller.
He gives us a break, going after a third victim, and she takes off her high heels to give us more room. I’d forgotten my laces at home, so I’m already barefoot. The third victim doesn’t want to play so he returns to tormenting us. Her hair gets pulled through the bars and attached to the cage by helpful members of the crowd. She can’t move her head now, but she squirms just as much. Godzilla dances around the cage and through the bars. Squeaking and squealing, we writhe and contort for his pleasure.
Another break and he wanders about. We keep eyes on him, every time he goes by, but hands are empty. She likes the cage so we stay. Relaxing together. He moves on to other scenes. Her friends decide to have a bit of fun, and now I’m part of the audience, though inside, as I watch them play with her, untouched.
Then we snuggle together, spent and happy. Finished with other scenes, he comes and lets us out. He directs me to take a break and wait for our table. He has tighter plans for me.
A little while later and a massage table has replaced the cage in the center of the room. He snaps, and my dress comes off. A sheet on the table and another snap, and I’m lying naked on my back. The leopard print sheet is wrapped around me and tucked in nice and tight. Ah quarters. He pulls out three quarters and the duct tape. The sheet is reopened and the quarters are placed over tender bits, one for each nipple and one above the crotch. Rewrapped and away we go.
He has red duct tape and starts at the feet, wrapping tightly and quickly. The room is dark and the energy is high. Tonight is not about clean and comfortable, but quick and dirty. I shift my feet, offsetting ankle bones, and he wraps quickly up to my calves. Flexing my thighs to keep my knees from being crushed too tightly together as he lifts my legs. She is helping with the wrapping and lifting. My ass is difficult, lift higher, bend up, more tape. Can I sit up yet? No, not quite, lift again, pass the tape. There we go.
Propped up on the end of the table to do the torso. Someone is bracing it, but not well enough. I’m sliding, panicking. My ass is sliding too far down, I tell him, I’m tipping. He braces and laughs and keeps wrapping, then tosses me back up on the table to sit. Chest is covered, now for the throat. He wraps more carefully, but still quickly. I have no brace, so he avoids direct wraps. Breath is still quickening, and then he is to my face.
Top of the head first, difficult, but tight, over the eyes and nose, and down to the mouth. Panic! Can’t breathe! Well, I can, but barely. Please. Please can I breathe? Please? He cuts a hole for my mouth and I gasp my thanks. Finishes up and tosses me flat on the table. The head end is tilted up a little and I relax into the position, joints settling into the tightness. Spacing now that the frantic energy of wrapping is complete.
Now, where were those quarters? Left one first. Tap, pinch, poke. Ah, there it is, he slices out the coin and yanks the nipple through. Right one next. Pull it out. Pinch, poke squeeze, slap. She wants the whole breast, but it’s a small hole. He pulls and yanks, pulling them all the way out. I scream and writhe and gasp. But they are free and she is happy.
Electricity returns, the modified flyswatter. Zapping, I yip and squeal and struggle. Ow. Hurting my nose. He cuts the mouth hole a little bigger, freeing my nose. Much better, thank you. Zapping and squealing and rolling. They stand on either side to keep me from falling off. Oh Toes!
He scurries down to my feet and cuts another hole, carefully, pulling away the cloth to find my feet. Ohhh, this little piggy goes to market! Zap! I scream and curl up my legs and slowly put them back, whimpering and squirming in my bonds. Where does this one go? The porn store? The strip club? This little piggy goes to the strip club. Zap! My whole leg spasms and I struggle. What the fuck was that? Hey, what was that? What did you hit me with? What the fuck was that? She checks in, but doesn’t answer. Yes, I’m okay, but what the fuck was that? He zaps once more, but I barely notice.
There’s another quarter, we should get that one. He comes back up to my side and pokes around for the crotch quarter. Finds and cuts it out. Zap, squeal, zap, yip. Three holes to poke and play with now. Where’s the sparkly cock? My hands are completely numb now, just so ya know. He cuts them free and I can’t feel my thumbs, but feeling returns quickly. Might as well, he keeps cutting and my chest is now free, breasts to crotch. My head hurts, it’s tight on my temples, but not enough to complain about. Keep your hands down. I grab the cocoon by my thighs. Pinching and smacking and zapping. Squealing, yipping, screaming, writhing, squirming, gasping.
Someone offers new electricity and shows her how it works. Gel and probes, zapping around the breasts. Full contact feels good, Spark gap is zappy. I writhe and moan and squeal. I can feel him chatting away at my feet. The hips are interesting and nerves run spasms down my thighs.
Hey, everyone wanna see something fun? Who wants to count with me? He calls to the crowd, ready for the finale. One, Two, Three. I orgasm and writhe on the table. One, Two, Three whispered in my ear. You’re orgasming in front of all these people. One, Two, and another girl whispers in my ear Three, three, three, three three. I arch and moan and orgasm to his delight and her voice. And done.
He cuts away the tape, quick and easy with the rescue hook. And I am free again, but not moving. I grab his hand and get a hug. Thank you. Thank her, too. Breathing, someone gets water. He tosses my dress over my body. I am still, coming down, looking up at him. Happy, satiated, satisfied, loved.
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.