Struggle

September 3rd, 2016

Do you ever have those days, when you just want to fight? But you’re not a fighter, so it’s more like you want to struggle, need to struggle. As a rope bottom, and masochist, to me, this means I want to Eel. And not just eel. Not just, tie me up, and let me get out. But tie me up tight, painful, torture me while I wriggle and writhe. Maybe I can’t even get out at all, but it’s the fight I want, the struggle.

He told ex-Lover the other day, that I was due some nipple clamps and a straitjacket. It’s been a Long time. He has used the straitjacket with me twice that I can remember – once for a nice zone out, and once to be eyes for an artificially blinded engineer. Once inside, one cannot really fight a straitjacket, but I’ve written at least once about fighting ex-Lover putting it on.

I am full of stress at things, and working on letting it go. Pain helps – we’ve had some fun pain lately, especially with whip practices this month. He was even practicing a new long stroke this past week – more like what you see in movies of someone at a post – though without the blood, of course. But as things build up, I’m feeling the need for a struggle. Now, to figure out where and how.

Share

Sometimes It’s Just A Leg

August 25th, 2016

Listening to class on Wednesday. He’s practicing a single column tie, on my wrist. Pulling hard to make sure it doesn’t collapse, bouncing my arm like a puppet. A half dozen times. Then he grabs an ankle and does the same thing.

Only this time, he starts tickling my foot. I cover my mouth and squirm, but his tie is firm, and he’s grinning happily, tickling it just lightly to watch me react. Then he decides to go for more.

He starts tying my foot at a hard 90 degree angle, then runs the rope up over the top of my calf muscle, taking wraps Tightly down my leg back to my ankle. Tighter with every wrap. It reminds me of the Torture with Twine class, where I tied my own leg like this, but with much thinner stuff. I tighten my hand over my mouth, trying to keep my squeals of pain in, but then managed to switch over to processing with breath – gasping and breathing heavily as he squeezes the muscle tighter.

Then he starts tickling again. I clap my hand over my mouth as my brain tries to process the two opposing sensations at once without screaming. My eyes are wide as I stare up at him, and his eyes and mouth are full of sadistic amusement. And he tickles and tickles, and then squeezes the torture calf, and I have to muffle screams again. Light touches driving me mad, my hands are flapping helplessly, but I can’t fight, I can’t move my leg. He tries to straighten it a few times, pulling gasps and squelched groans out of me. It just can’t move. I try to move my toes, they feel so odd forced up like that, assuring there’s no problem, just strangeness.

Eventually, he unties that leg, and we both admire the markings the rope has left. Then he grabs the other and starts up again. Tight and tickles, pain and weirdness. Gasps and flappy hands. So much fun with one little rope. Together.

Share

A Learning Experience

February 9th, 2016

A different needles experience this year. After the con was over, back at our own place. Rounding out the weekend, with what we could not do there.

I was the most experienced receiver in the room. One had done none, one had only had two. So, he was in teaching mode. Being (mostly) kind, careful, and slow. A needle or two here, and needle or two there. We started me with 20s, them with 25s. There wasn’t a flow, it wasn’t that kind of scene. We encouraged them to go bigger and bigger, he and I. One got to 16s with me, the other to 18s. We had an observer, too. Not interested in pushing, but there for moral support.

We still all got high on tasty chemicals. He was bouncy now and then. We all breathed together. The needles still hurt, mostly coming out, but occasionally the whole way through. He made me look at every one. I think my 16 got turned around inside. Gods that took forever to come out. I only cried a little, the first time he pushed two, one right after the other. I didn’t scream as much as I usually do, they didn’t scream at all. It was a different kind of scene.

The pace was slow, but the needles stung more, keeping my high going, if only just, as I rocked and swung my feet. Asked him to run his finger over them, push me higher. Freezing whenever he pushed a needle. Resting my foot against his leg when he was pushing right next to me. Contact to keep me going. Only 13 in my thigh. Next time, we’ll all do more.

Out was worse than ever. Most of them hurt coming out, they don’t usually hurt at all. The high wasn’t high enough, I guess. The big one hurt a lot. I’m pretty sure I screamed.

And So Much Blood! I spouted in the middle of pulling them out. Panic, I tried to catch the blood, and only barely managed not to stab myself, half the needles still in. Shit! Blood all over me, blood dripping down to the floor. Fuck. So much watery blood. Why is it so thin? Pressing pads down over the holes as he cleans up. Sorry. We should have known, beaten legs bleed more. Breathe, drink, press, calm. Clean up everything. Stop the bleeding before I can sleep.

Thank you.

Share

Pressure Points and Pain

February 8th, 2016

First-time partner.

So, whatcha wanna do?

I dunno, whadda you wanna do?

I dunno, whaddya like to do?

Let’s go ask my wife.

Hey, what should we do?

Pressure points and pain.

So, off we go to try to find a spot. Quiet dungeon full. Main dungeon full. Side dungeon full. Wet and Warm dungeon has a few open tables. Sure, why not. We grab a table away from the fire players.

I start sitting up. We starts with some light touches and smiles. Wraps an arm around my neck, I turn my throat into the crook. Pokes become a bit more insistent. Kisses the back of my neck. Soft noises and shivers.

Lie down, face down. I turn and settle in, forehead on my hands. Rubs my shoulders, squeezes the tight muscles. Hard pokes, and nails dragging on skin, pulling moans from my throat. An occasional strike, a gasp and a groan. Trying not to tense, tense muscles hurt more. Lifting the leg he isn’t hurting, groans of mixed pleasure and pain. Fingers clenching as his dig into my flesh. He lifts my head gently by the hair and presses into my sternum, hard. I groan and try to fight a bit and he presses me back down.

Turn over on your back now. I smile up at him as he works my chest. Pressing strong fingers into tight points of pain. Groaning and arching my back as he works from shoulders to chest to sides. He pokes the top of my hand, because it’s me. Poking my arms, finding the points and then light slams of his fist. I flex my tingling fingers and grin up at him. He works down to my hips, eliciting deeper moans and more arching. Down to my thighs, strikes coming more often. Feet? Yes, they are just ticklish. He presses into my arches, exquisite pain. Back up to my thighs.

Now he is drumming. The strikes coming fast and hard. Arching, moaning, so intense. I grip the table, shaking and moaning, lost, almost flailing with the power of his strikes. Gasping as he stops, and pulls me gently back to sitting. Teeth find the back of the side of my neck, biting not-too-gently, as I cling to his arm, moaning softly, happily. When he’s done, I lean against him, breathing. Thank you.

Share

The Best Scene I Couldn’t Ask For

March 8th, 2015

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

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

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

“Bench.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Share

Love as Thou Wilt

March 1st, 2015

I should be doing homework, but it was putting me to sleep. I tried to take a nap, but the end of Kushiel’s Dart called to me. So I finished reading it. It was a glorious ending, and heartbreaking, and tumultuous. Despite the long list of nobility and hard to follow politicking, I really enjoyed this book. I’ve mentioned it in another post, talking about the main character and my identifying with her being. But I never expected that I’d want to read the next one. I am drawn to the difficulty, the impossible situation, to the puzzle and the challenge. I want to see if Melisande is caught, if Hyacinthe is freed. I want to read of her relationship with Joscelin, their impossible love. I want to be a voyeur of her assignations. Jacqueline Carey, you have done your job beautifully.

It is the same with David Gerrold, though not with so much glory. The puzzle of the Chtorr, the impossible situation of freeing Earth from the invasion, and McCarthy’s difficult nature in dealing with people, even his lover. I like her answer when he asks why she loves him – because it is easier than not loving him.

The words swirl around in my head as I try to explain how I feel about that. It is not that I stopped loving every guy I have broken up with or who has broken up with me. It would have been easier if I had. Some relationships went on longer than they should have simply because it was easier to keep loving them in the same way. But often, love is not enough. Fortunately, some of the relationships have taken on new forms, because it is simply too hard not to love them still.

I described my reason for being poly recently as “I am poly because I form deep emotional connections with multiple people at once, and denying that is denying who I am and how I love.” One of my favorite phrases from Kushiel’s Dart is “love as thou wilt.” It is rarely a choice to love, but it is always a choice how we act on that love. The heart does not listen to reason, but reason must guide our choices. Or at least, mine.

Often, in discussions of poly, it is reiterated that a poly person chooses each day, to be involved with each and every one of their partners. I choose every day to stay connected to him and show him, as best I can, how much he means to me. I choose every day to continue to grow a new relationship. I choose every day, to keep a place in my heart for Da, though not a partner, he is still very important to me. I choose every day, to remember those exes who are still a part of my life, and to cherish their friendships.

Meaningful relationships are not easy, they take a lot of hard work, on both sides. But they are worth it. The amount of love in my life, ever growing, is worth all the effort, the pain, the tears. Life is pain, Westley says, but it is joy, too, and love. And it is amazing.

Share

11 Needles Plus Interest

February 10th, 2015

A year ago, I traded 11 needles for 3 Cheddar Bay Biscuits at dinner. Due to circumstances beyond our control (and even our imagination), those needles were not paid. During the past year, he kept teasing me about the interest I was accruing, depsite my various offers to pay that never quite panned out. We never did settle on a firm rate of interest. Now, needles were planned, and my debt would come due.

He had three of us sitting side-by-side, all there for different reasons. He looked at me, a wide grin on his face. So, your interest will be paid like this, you choose the gauge, and you will get that many needles. What gauges do you have, I ask, knowing part of the answer, in the 16s he had bought earlier. 25, 22, 20, 18, 16. I ponder, and math, and fidget, and freak, and ponder. NOT doing 18 or 16. 25 sounds like way too many. 20 isn’t really worth only getting two less. Alright, 22, I tell him. That’s not so bad, the one on my right comments. I’ve only ever done 8 before, I reply, trying to stay calm. My feet are kicking, like a little kid, I can’t stop them, nervous energy running high.

He comments on my having an awful lot of orgasms, since he counts out breathing to 3 as he puts them in. No, I can’t, I really can’t with this. He looks at me, and nods. I’m terrified, and terrified that I’ll move while he’s stabbing me. I just can’t. He has accepted it, but I feel a bit disappointed in myself. I’ll forget this quickly, however, as the needles begin.

We each pick our body parts. He prepares the skin with alcohol then iodine. Thighs for me, careful to choose the swaths that are clearest of bruising.

He starts on my left. I stop my feet, don’t rock the table. 1.2.3. Then to me. You ready? I clench my hands behind my back, tears forming. No. Breathe in. 1. Breathe in. 2. Breathe in. 3. It slides in easily, I whimper. Not so bad, I think, as he goes to my right. Then my left. And back to me. The tears are falling, but dry up shortly after the second one as I begin to fly.

We go one by one. He counts, we breathe. Sometimes we scream. Sometimes we yip. Sometimes we grumble or growl. Always we are joking and making each other laugh. All of us flying high. He is bouncing, dancing, and giddy. I am complaining about how close together the needles are, there’s plenty of space on my thighs. But he needs practice keeping them close because of the design work he’s doing to the left. Somewhere around ten, he takes a different strategy. Finishing off the one on my left all in one go, to let her settle in before the lacing. Then he comes to me.

My 11th. Counts, and I scream. That one hurt three times! Ready? He moves to the next row. What? No? He counts quickly and slides it it. You have to wait for me to breathe! I whimper. No, I don’t. I’m crying again. And another. And another. And another. Counting a little slower each time. He’s done five before he pauses. More? No! Please. He moves to my right, finishing her 18s. As I regain control and start flying again.

Back to me. Four more? Three, I counter. He counts three. Breathe in, 1, breathe in, 2, breathe in 3. And again, and again. Then back to my right to start the 16s. We tease her about them not hurting, because she said bigger ones hurt less. Hurt Less, she insists, not don’t hurt.

Back to me. Breathe in, 1, breathe in, 2, breathe in 3. Pain. Breathe in, 1, breathe in, 2, breathe in, 3. Pain. More? No, getting light headed. He goes back right. Back to me. Last two? Yes. Breathe in, 1, breathe in 2, breathe in 3. Pain. Breathe in, 1, breathe in 2, breathe in, 3. Pain. They clap for me. 22 needles, and I am done.

He finishes the left one’s pattern. I rest my head on the right one’s shoulder. Takes a picture on the left, then takes a picture of mine. Then goes back for the last few 16s on the right. And takes a picture for her, too. I ask him to run his finger along the flesh over my needles, it feels cool, but I can’t bring myself to touch them. He does. The others find me odd, but it’s a really interesting feeling. But now they hurt. I am rocking, flying on the pain.

He takes out the ones on the left first. You next? He asks me. No, still flying. So he goes to my right. Then back to me. Handing me gauze. You have to do this part yourself, no one else can touch your blood. He has changed gloves between each person. I know. He pulls them out a few at a time, and I plop down gauze pads. I can barely feel them coming out. I just breathe and cover the holes with gauze. All out. We all clean up, alcohol pads and gauze. When the bleeding stops, I wash the iodine off in the bathroom. Such a great scene, maybe I do like needles, after all.

Share

Saturday: Tortures of Edo Japan

February 9th, 2015

It started in the room… no, it really started weeks ago. Him dropping hints, having secret conversations, building things in private. He had Plans for our weekend. Saturday, he said, the monster was coming to play.

Then it started in the room. He wanted consent, so he told us his plans. Showed us a picture. Pulled out the kneeling “mat” he had made (omg that looks horribly painful… but I’m curious), and the beating stick – bamboo wrapped in burlap and cotton rope. He hit us with it a few times, she tried kneeling on the mat (I don’t want to start the pain so early, so I don’t). He showed her the pole he wanted to suspend her from. What else did we want to try? I like the shrimp tie (ebizeme, she corrects), and I’d like to try the mat, and yes, please hit me with the stick. It’s a really great stick, so deep and thuddy. We finalized our plans and head downstairs.

We find a spot, he goes to settle himself as we stretch. He returns, shoos people out of our space. Grabs me first, spinning me around, I assume the position – arms crossed behind my back. She pipes in, asking him for me, to put the blanket down before I sit, he agrees. He wraps the ropes roughly, keeping me tight against him, as I sink quickly in to rope space. Breathing in the scent of him, and the brand new rope, as we go. A simple box tie, just one wrap at the top, and two kunukis. His hand going behind the center of the chest wraps feels like it is crushing my chest, wtf, but it is gone just as quickly as he finishes the tie.

He sets out the blanket now, forcing me down, and I cross my legs. He ties the ankles quickly, wrapping up and around the back of my neck, pulling me down tightly, hooking in so the cinching lines are tight up against the sides of my neck. I keep breathing, it’s okay, I tell myself, it’s not against my windpipe. Relax. And then he shoves me back, up onto my talibone, head and shoulders against the wall. WTF? Oh, this’ll be interesting. No relaxing here. And then the burlap sack goes over my head (ooh hood, I like hoods) and I close my eyes to settle in as he goes to start her scene. Occasionally rocking and scooting tiny bits, trying to get further up my back to relieve the pressure.

He comes to me now and then, smacking with a small piece of bamboo, causing squeals and more scooting. I think he has her kneeling now, as the hits are coming more frequently, and I can hear her reacting, too. Voices murmur nearby, commenting on our scene, both famliar and not. Cracks of the bamboo have me squealing and yipping. Thuds of the stick make me moan. Stabbing with the far end of the bamboo have me screaming until he pulls it away. Long, hard screams as he digs it into my flesh.

Wait, I can’t breathe, I start to panic, gasping, no I can, it’s just thick, calm down. I get my breath back just before he starts hitting me again. Screams and squeals and moans. When he stops, panic sets in again as I try to take deep breaths. My eyes are open now, just to prove to myself that it’s just burlap over my head. Hole-filled burlap, plenty of space. I calm the panic, deep breaths. It’s okay. More hits and screams and moans. He’s gone again, replaced by panic. Stop it, you’re fine, I tell myself, squirming at the bag, scooting down the wall. My arms are on the floor now, so much better. See, look you’re fine, I tell myself. Deep breaths. More hits, more stabbing pain, more squeals and screams. I don’t know how long this goes on (I find out later that after she was tied, it was 25 minutes), but the cycle keeps repeating.

Until the panic wins. Until it doesn’t go away, even when he’s hitting me. And I start sobbing. Hard wracking sobs take over my body. And he pulls the burlap away. Oh gods! Fresh air! Lungfuls and lungfuls of fresh air. He pulls me down to sitting again, and quickly unties my and chest. I lean against him a little bit, and then he goes to get her off the mat and untied. Returning to me to finish.

People are talking at me and I’m responding, but I don’t remember what was said. I am shaking, and hugging myself, they are bouncing with energy. Ready to go on to the next. We have to wait though, for a point to put her up on. So, we talk. He tells her how long she knelt. I tell him about the chest, and the burlap, someone comments on watching me panic. We move our stuff over to near the point as the scene comes down, ready to go again.

He has to focus on her, so he’s going to put me down, and then I can get up when I need to. Okay, I’d like to try the bamboo gag, I tell him. We start with a simple box tie again. Then the gag, I forget to grab it with my teeth and he pulls to hard. I made sounds of protest as it pulls my lips to breaking, and he lets up. Bite it, he says. And I do and he finishes tying it off. He puts me down on the mat, and I glance up at her, standing nearby. Damn, this sucks. She nods. He ties a blindfold around my eyes and reminds me to get up when I need to. Then heads over to start the suspension.

My upper lip and teeth are bone dry already. I start to drool – oh yeah, that’s the other reason I don’t like gags. Dammit, nothing to be done, though, drool is the least of my problems. Man, my shins hurt. Pointy triangular slats poking the bone every couple inches. Thank gods he smoothed them down from sharp points. I lean forward, she’s right, the ankles are the worst, putting all the pressure at the top of my shins, head sitting on the floor support of the suspension rig. I hear him comment about it, but I cannot reply. Damn gag.

Then the real problem starts. My hips are on fire. Apparently the tie wasn’t the best lead up to this scene. Damn. I sit back up. Nope, that’s not any better. I try to relax into the pain, but this isn’t good pain. This sucks. I curl back down again. Trying to move the weight off my hips. No, this isn’t going to work. Back up, what happens if I kneel up? I only start to when I realize this will put my kneecaps into the triangles, no efing way. Back down again.

I’m frustrated now. I know I can stay here longer, if my shins were the only problem. He comments on me drooling, you know, someone else still has to kneel on that. I don’t make a sound, the gag keeps me from even grinning. Nothing I can do about the drooling. Stupid hips, stupid stupid hips. I try shifting my arms, rubbing my hips, trying to find a spot to make them feel better. To no avail. I know I cannot stay here, I know he doesn’t want me to injure myself, or endure bad pain.

So, I rock back and off. Sitting on the floor, I’d so recently asked a blanket to be put down on. But I don’t think about this just yet. I am mad at my hips. I just sit and fume for a few minutes. A scene is over, I want to kneel, but no, still can’t do that. Stupid hips.

Now, I remember that I don’t want to be sitting on this floor, and stand. I put my back to the wall. Stand there in the box tie, blindfolded and still drooling. I hear him put a third person on the mat. I know the suspension is up by now. My throat is so damn dry. I want to see the suspension, I open my eyes and can see some light at the bottom of the blindfold. I lift my head, but the bamboo pulls tighter on my mouth. I relax, sink into the ropes around me.

No, I really want to see, so I lift my head just long enough to catch a glimpse of how she’s tied and then drop my head again. Ow, but nice tie. I sink back into my ropes. Trying to ignore the drool dripping down my dress. Once tilting my head back to try and swallow some to wet my increasingly dry throat. I do like this gag, breathing is just fine, there is no moment of panic. But damn, the dryness of winter.

He finishes the suspension, and comes to let me out. Pulling the gag and blindfold and boxtie. You’ve drooled all over my new rope. I just smirk at him. Not my fault. I tell him that my hips are stupid and the shrimp tie was not my best choice leading into the kneeling scene. Then he unties her and I help put the ropes away. We try out the bottom side of the mat, the sharp pointy side. Damn, it’s such a good thing he sanded down the points on the other side. The tortures of Edo Japan are a huge success.

Share

Friday 2: Corporal, Please

February 9th, 2015

We head to the cross, blocked off by chairs, another scene just ending. He has his bag of toys, and an assistant to hand him things. Strip off my shirt, but leave the skirt. I step up and find my grip, making sure my back is as flat as possible. The mop floggers, first, he tells her. Fitting headphones onto our heads, so we can have the old club in our ears.

He starts of nice, easy hits to get me going. Bobbing with the music, into florentine. Relaxing into our energy together. My eyes close automatically, ignoring the world, focusing just on him. They become stingy faster than I expect, but I just bear down into it, vocalizing and squirming at the hits. He rides the waves up and down, finding our rhythm. I have missed this.

He steps away a moment and returns with one of the little sticks. Smack and squeak, smack and squeak. He attacks my ass and thighs, and back. I squirm and squeal for a bit. He returns to floggers for a bit after that. Back into the rhythm, hard and pounding. Sinking into it.

Another change, and I scream, the loopy bat already. I hear her comment, You remember when she helped? And I laugh and Scream again. He turns me around, and I realize I’ve got my eyes closed, I’m not blindfolded, and I open them, to see his big grin. He hits my thigh, still marked from Wednesday. And then my breasts, loop around my nipple. Fuck! Ow! I squirm and he places my hands up. It is very hard to keep them up. And then she hands him the pony pecker.

He comes at me spinning, and I cringe and yelp, but the loopy bat is so much worse that this is almost a relief. Almost. Pounding and squealing. While he bounces and grins to music only we can hear. Then she hands him the deerskin and I melt. Big solid thuds on my chest, and then he tips a few and I yelp. Turns me back around again, for soldi thuds on my back. Oh that one is heaven. Even the handle pounding into me is lovely.

The unbreakable paddle is next, he pulls up the skirt for a clear shot. There is much screaming, and dropping, and climbing back up the cross. And trying to keep my ass out and then falling again. He steps away again. And comes back with the dragontail.

Snap, scream. Snap, scream. I am bouncing as he is striking. He puts my feet in the holes at the bottom of the cross. Don’t move them. Snap scream snap scream snap scream. Twisting and writhing, but keeping my feet still. Then he turns me around again, hands put up to hold them still. Snap scream snap scream snap scream. He decorates my breasts and thighs with whip kisses. Where are you at? Throat is raw. Just over the crest of the scene.

He pulls out the demon pop to finish me off. Pounding my thighs as I wail in pain. Turning them bright red and purple while he smiles at my pain. Pounding me until I’m done. Hugs and kiss and time for clean up. Such wonderful pain, just what I asked for.

Share

Friday 1: Catch and Release… and a Cattleprod

February 9th, 2015

It started in the hallway, waiting for the dungeon to open. Arm wrapped around each other, as another friend walked up. Look what I got, he says, showing off a brand new cattleprod. The man in my arms asks to borrow it, while I try to keep him from grabbing it. Too late. Nonononono. We head towards the rope room where he is getting ready for his first scene.

Hey, you’re going to let him hit you with a cattleprod before I get to? He asks me. Nononono, I reply, but ex-lover drags us over to him, and with some help, he gets it put together. Sit, he commands, and I do. Squirming and shrieking as he tests it out. Then hands it back to ex-lover and we head over towards the doors again, me still trying to get it out of his hands.

Doors open, and we head straight over to the mats. I strip down and he gets ready. Setting the prod aside for now. I don’t see him grab the first hank of rope, and give him a hug to start our scene. In seconds, he slams me to the mat, and I squirm, but he is too fast, pinning me down, sitting straddled across my back. His foot so near my mouth, but no, no biting, my brain tells me, as he wraps my left leg in a tight futo.

Then he’s up to grab the next hank. I scramble to my knees, seeing him tuck the hank into the back of his pants, Ah, that’s where it was. We circle for a bit, I note the gathering crowd, laughing at my awkwardness, and I just grin. Circling, until he comes in, spins me around while I try to shove with the little leverage I have. I comment that I should have bitten him when I had the chance. Oh really? He pins me down, yanking an arm behind me tying the wrist and wrapping the rope around my belly.

We’re up again, circling. The crowd is growing. More shoving and squirming as he takes me down a third time. I think I lose my remaining arm and leg this time, I’m no longer sure. I end up in quite a swirling mass of rope by the time he’s done. One or two more lines go round, I haven’t got much mobility left.

Or so I think, until he, finished tying, grabs the cattleprod once more. NONONONONO! I shout at him, he and the crowd just laugh, as I spin away, sliding across the mats much faster than I thought possible. Nonononono! I whimper as he chases me. Fuck! As he hits me with it. Again and again, I shove it away with arm and chin and body. Squirming and scooting all over the mat. That doesn’t look like eeling, he laughs. Nonono! Ow! I glare at him. If you want me to eel, you gotta stop that! My focus is totally on the prod and not one care given to the rope. He just laughs and zaps me again.

Fine, ugh, gotta figure out what I can do. Ropes are almost all tight, my arm can move quite a bit, but I can’t DO anything with that rope. FuckfuckNonono! He zaps me again and I scramble away, noting a DM has stopped by to check us out. I manage to slide a shoulder wrap up and off, it’s not tight, no trouble with my neck, but I try to distract him anyway.

Look, there’s a rope around my neck, it’s hot, right? Stop zapping me! He laughs some more. Sure it’s hot, keep going. I’m trying I’m trying! There is no try, only do. He shoots back at me. You’re Not Helping! As he zaps me again. This to much laughter from the gallery.

He sets the prod down to come bite me, and we growl at each other as his teeth sink in. But this is better focus for me, and I find another rope to work on. Eventually getting a wrist line to slide off my foot. He pounces and bites some more. And I scream, but I’ve gotten started now. And I kick the prod off the mat, to many cheers from the audience. Oh really?

He gets up and gets it back. I curse and shout and squirm away. Keep eeling he says, taunting me with the tips. I’m TRYING! I shout. Working frantically as he zaps me for kicking it away. I get a rope worked over my knee, and then another, and another, he didn’t lock down the futo. The knot it harder, as kicking my leg to squirm away from the prod only tightens it. Keep eeling and I won’t zap you. I glare up at him, whimpering, trying to focus. Good girl, good girl. As I finally get my leg free.

There is more biting now, and growling, and screaming as he goes for my foot, still bruised today as I write this. Whenever I slow down, he grabs the prod again, keep eeling. I’m trying! You’re not Helping! Are my shouts in return. The crowd grows and shrinks. The DM stops by a couple more times. We stop a couple times, to remove hair from my mouth, long enough to choke me. Once as I cough and gasp, he waits until I nod before zapping me back into action.

Good girl answers my small victories. A little more free and I start grabbing the prod. This only gets me zapped more. Let go, keep eeling, or I’ll keep zapping. Whimpering, as I try to ignore the prod reaching for sensitive areas, I writhe around the mat. Look, I’m eeling, I’m eeling. I glare at him. You’re not helping! He laughs and pokes, and bites, and prods some more. Good girl. You’re almost done.

I glare at the rope that is left, two wrist cuffs, not the horrible ones, but the ropes leading to them are all gnarled masses. Your stupid cuffs, I grumble at him, and he just laughs, holding me now. Biting my shoulders as I struggle with the last two knots. And done, there are some cheers and clapping.

I collapse back against him, a pile of rope in front of us. Good girl, he murmers one last time, holding me as we both relax. I have no idea how long it has taken, it doesn’t matter, I did not give up. Such a good scene. Our friend who bought the cattleprod gets snarky glares from me the whole rest of the weekend.

Share