Tied Up and Tossed in a Corner
April 22nd, 2012
I asked to be tied up and tossed in a corner. I wanted to fight the rope. I wanted to sit and struggle and soak in it. So I asked him, and he said we’d see. The club can often make that impossible.
The night started with a new bit of metal from our blacksmith friend. A flat bit of metal with a double cuff piece folded over. Nice new hinges. He pins my wrists in and then hooks it up to a suspension point. I think I can slip my hand out, but I just hold on. I’m in socks, so up on my tiptoes. Then he pulls out his flyswatter. Oh god oh god oh god. I scamper and whimper as he grins.
Zap.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeak, spin squeal, spin.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
“The perfect dress for this.”
Fuck. Ow. Shit.
Spin, Spin, twist.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Yip. Squeak. Spin.
“Just think, when you’re tied up in the corner… and I’ll have your socks off, too.”
Whimper. Zap. Zap. Zap. Zap. Squeal.
“I have to have my fun, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
Zap. Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal and spin.
“Feel better?”
“Yes, sir.”
He takes me down, shows off the toys and then its time for class.
A young woman has traded him flogging for service. He gives her to us. Twenty minutes of massage a piece for his women. I sit in front of her, shoulders please. Her hands are soft, my knots are hard. But she does a very nice job, rubbing and working some of them out. I count the songs. Four and I let her know she’s met the time. Thank you, very nice. Toy is next.
He grabs the bag of 6mm hemp and sits down, smiling at me. It’s time. I step over in front of him and put my glasses in the roses. He looks up at me, considering, and I smile back nervously eager. Wondering what kind of tie he has in mind. Turns me around and starts on my wrists. Box tie.
Strange people in front of me, I drop my eyes to the ground, my focus back to him. Rope, delicious rope going around my arms and chest, through the armpit to lock it down. Second rope, lower arms, lock it down, pull in tight. A third rope, around the waist, tightening further, no movement at all in the arms. My elbows wobble and I can move my fingers, but that’s it.
“Look what I brought.”
Red clips. Oh god. Seven little red clips in a bundle.
“I have to make it fun for me, too.”
I whimper and scamper back a bit, a look and I come back. He reaches up to a nipple. Whimpering and squeaking as he puts it on. Left. Right. Left. Right. Squealing and swearing and breathing hard. Left. Right. Three on each, a line across each. I gather my control as they sink in. He waves the last one at me.
“Where do you think this one goes?”
I whimper as he lifts my dress and pinches in on the front. Shit. Fuck. Oh that pinches. Breathe. Breathe. Ow!
“Which one hurts most?”
“That one.”
“How’s your head?”
“Light?”
“From what?”
“Not breathing.”
I kneel down, drop my head and focus. I cannot fail so quickly. I can do this. Breathe slowly. Deeply. He moves away. Breathe. Focus. Okay, better now. I can’t fight the rope. I can barely move, but I can fight the pain.
A blindfold comes down. Tied around my head. He pulls me to my feet. Forward between tables and chairs, to a cubby. A couch. Down, lays me down, gets me a pillow and adjusts my dress. He sits opposite for a moment, someone else, too. Toy, I think. Then he wanders off. I can feel him in my feet, out past my feet.
I can hear everyone. Talking and walking, playing and screaming. I shift my legs, I feel my socks on my feet and I shiver, remembering. My feet, oh god, the flyswatter. I twitch for a moment, and then settle in. I can hear him talking in a group nearby.
Settle in, feel the rope, relax. Uncomfortable arms. Shift. Pillow moves a bit. Settle. Shoulder. Shift. Better for a while. I can feel him moving. Hear his keys. Hear his boots. Arms still annoyed. Okay, sit up. Feet against the other couch, a person there.
Much better. Sink back into the rope. I can feel him in front of me.
Zap! Zap zap zap.
Squeal and squirm. Twist and yip.
Fuck. Shit. Twisting against the lower clip. Ow!
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal. Turn. Scramble.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Fuck. Ow. Squeal. Twitch.
He zaps toy and I can hear her try to be quiet.
I twitch in fear. A few more shots on both sides. I think the engineer is nearby, too. Squealing and squirming. Legs up on my couch. He wanders away, but I keep twitching. I can feel him in my forehead, moving. Breathing hard, trying to relax. I can’t, yet. He’s right out there.
Settle in. Find comfortable again. Breathe. Keep track of the people. Listen to the electric booth. Listen for him. Move with the music.
He’s back. Zap. Zap. Zap.
Scream and squeal and squirm.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Scramble. Squirm. Swear.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal. Yip.
Fingers. Fuck. Ow. Ow. Ow. Wrist.
It’s okay, fine now.
Zap. Zap. Zap.
Squeal. Squirm.
Twitch when he switches to toy. Back and forth.
“Oh, I know what I want.”
He grabs and foot and I whimper and fuss.
“Stop.”
I freeze, focus on breathing. Hold still.
Zap. Squeal. Zap zap zap. Scream.
Zap. Zap. Zap. Squirming but trying to hold my foot still.
Zaps the heel. Not so bad, the whole foot, not too bad. Toes!
Ow! Squeal and squirm. He lets it go and wanders off again.
I curl up, twitching. Trying to calm again. He comes back, sits across. Forehead towards him, twitching.
“Not really abandonment if I keep coming back is it?”
“No, just makes me paranoid.”
“Why?”
“Because the last two times you had the flyswatter.”
He wanders off and I sink back in. My left pinky is going numb, I shift and rock and enjoy the music. Cross legged and sinking in relieves the pressure. Rocking to the music, settling in to the rope. I feel him come back again and twitch my head slightly. Afraid.
“Look at her head. Are you almost done?”
“No, Sir.”
Wanders off. I can track him with my forehead. The music keeps me moving. Sinking. Back again, Smack.
My thigh.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Groan. Moan.
Smack. Smacking to the beat.
Groan into a scream and he stops.
“How you doing?”
“Good. Pinky was numb, better now.”
Something with the toy and she comments how hard it is not to talk.
Gone again. Sinking in, music, beat, rocking in circles. My nipples catch fire. They are suddenly awake and hurting like he just put the clips on. Stabbing pain. I rock harder and snap my teeth. Wanting to bite down on something for the pain. Shaking my head, swearing, rocking, snapping. Breathe. Don’t get light headed again. It’s just pain. Breathe, rock, snap, moan.
He’s back.
“The clips hurt so much, but I know they are going to hurt more when you take them off.”
“Do you want to orgasm?”
“Not without permission.”
“I could take them off and put them on toy.”
Oh god, I don’t want them off.
“Toy, don’t you want to help Miss?”
“Yes, oh god.”
“Toy, toy, toy, no, it’ll hurt so much, Toy, that’s not helping, toy.”
But he has her distracted and she’s agreeing. Back to me, and I’m lying back against the couch.
“Ready?”
“No, Sir.”
“1, 2, 3!”
Off comes the lower one and off I go, screaming orgasm, kick someone at the end of the bed, not sure who. Thank you, Sir.
“1, 2, 3!”
The first nipple clamp on comes off. Screaming, kicking orgasm. Thank you, Sir.
“1, 2, 3!”
And again, trying not to kick this time. Thank you, Sir.
“1, 2, 3.”
He waits for me to orgasm before he pulls the clip and I scream and arch.
“1, 2, 3.”
Again. Orgasm, pain, scream. Thank you, Sir.
Oh god oh god oh god. The last two are going to hurt so badly.
“1, 2, 3.”
Orgasm, and no pain. Thank you, Sir.
He grabs both, and I whimper and press back against the couch.
“1, 2, 3.”
Orgasming, fear, pulls, Pain. Screaming, screaming, swearing, crying. Riding the wave higher and rocking and sobbing. Gasping breath. Thank you, Sir. Breathing. Calming, settling back. Whimpering from the other couch. Toy.
Breathing, relaxing, He moves away and I sit back up. Rocking, weaving to the music. Sinking deep into the rope. Leaning forward to release pressure on arms. Rocking in circles, enjoying the music. Sinking, spacing. Gone.
Back again.
“How are you doing?”
“Arms hurt a bit, lower arms, wrists.”
“Are you done?”
“No, spacing.”
“So we should take you out while you’re still spacing?”
“Probably.”
Up and out. And the ropes come off, inch by inch. The pull of the rope on my skin sending me higher. Shivering, thrilling at the feel of it. Pressure releasing. Breathing and flying. Slowly lower my arms, raise them up to stretch. His hand on the small of my back, gently pushing me forward, to the opposite couch. Sits me down, dumps the rope in my lap.
Rope. Hemp. Oh gods hemp. I pull it up to my face, breathing it in. Lift my legs to brace my arms, bury my face in the hemp. Breathing, smelling, Shifting my head whenever my breath overwhelms the scent. I think toy has left the couch, sitting opposite now. I want to lie down.
I slide a hand over, no one there, just my sock. I lie down, curl my legs up on the couch. Rope still in my face. So far gone. I can still hear, but I no longer care. Rope. Glorious rope. So lucky, so blessed, so loved. Mind just floats. A blanket over me, fleece. I wasn’t cold, but it contains me. Keeps me inside myself. Rope and comfort and wonderful.
“Is she still asleep?”
“Not asleep, didn’t sleep.”
He pulls the blindfold off.
“It’s bright out there.”
“Yes.”
“You still have all the rope.”
“MmHm.”
“You have to put it away, you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that what you needed?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, so much.”
I grab his hand. Kiss it. So grateful.
The lights come on. Time to clean up. I sit up on the couch and take care of the rope. Coming the rest of the way down slowly as everyone else takes care of the gear.
I thank those around me, for taking care of me, of everything. So lucky to have such friends, such family. The world comes back and we load out and head to breakfast. Such an wonderful night.
Writing, Patience and Happiness
October 15th, 2010
I failed at the writing an extra post to make up for last week’s non-kinky post. I spend at least forty-five minutes every day, writing for him because I promised myself I would. Because I was having trouble communicating, and writing is the medium I feel most comfortable in, and I felt it would facilitate better communication over all. I think it does and I think it has, and so I keep my promise, to myself and to him, to write at least five hundred words every day. These writings are very personal, occasionally nonsensical, and include every day things and other people. Sometimes they are profound, sometimes they are flowery, and sometimes they are just as randomly off the wall as last week’s post on social networking. Some days I wish I could just get up in the morning and write all day, send him his words, send my other partners their own words, and write beautiful blog posts, and let the rest of the world just float by.
Complete Shibari: Land and Sky is quickly rising to be my most popular post. It only has thirty views and two posts to topple until it reaches number one. I really wish I’d done a far better job with that post. Maybe I’ll actually get the books during the holidays and work up a better review. It’s not terrible, especially as I’ve never written a book review in my life, but I feel it doesn’t do the works justice. I’m eagerly awaiting his third book(Stars) to be released, too.
So far this post isn’t any better than last week. I keep thinking if I just keep writing, it’ll get better, I’ll come up with something intelligent to say, some great topic to post on, something insightful at the very least. I was chatting with a friend of mine earlier, saying that “Jealousy, Neediness and all those other things you try to ignore” was probably not a coherent topic. Last week I was dealing with bits of jealousy popping up. But instead of dwelling on them and letting them rule me, I quickly recognized and squashed them. With logic and compersion. Jealousy is not something we can get rid of, it reminds us what is important, but controlling it instead of being controlled by it is the key.
This week, I’m dealing with neediness. I hate it when I feel needy. Of course, I need other people and need love and attention. Sometimes, though, I feel like the need consumes me and jumps up and down like a five year old shouting for attention. It doesn’t help that this is an incredibly inconvenient time for that to rear its head. Five year olds rarely care if the time is right or horribly, horribly wrong. So, logic and empathy to squash that for now. I have many ways to fill my needs, and patience will get me everything I need in plenty. As proof, I’ll end this post with a list of things from the last three weeks that made me happy:
Over the knee spankings
Oral sex wherever we happen to be
Sleeping in
Kneeling
Rope
Suspension
Sex
Simple goals
Achieving them
Boot blacking
Second chances
Plans
Acknowledgment
Service
Carrying and holding a drink in my open palm
Drumming with anything that comes to hand
The leatherman on my skin
Bruises
Seeing and helping with someone’s first suspension
Teaching and sharing the violet wands
Fantasies
Massage
Cuddling
Sleep
A phone call from far away
A latex skirt
A kiss on the forehead
Feeling protected
Latex panties
An unexpected spanking
A relaxing evening
A good discussion
Turn Ons
July 1st, 2010
A short post today. It’s been a busy week and I have more things still to do.
What turns me on? I’ve posted about my fantasies. I’ve posted about my kinks. But what really turns me on? The simple things. What gets me going?
A deep kiss, full of passion.
The joy in his eyes and the smile on his lips.
A tight grip on my hair, right against the back of my head.
Light sucking and nibbling on my earlobes.
Harsh bites on my neck; inner wrists, elbows and thighs.
Hard pinching of my nipples.
Hard rubbing and sucking on my clit.
Naked bodies pressed together.
Sucking on a cock.
Open hand spanking on my bare ass.
A knife blade on my skin.
The smell of hemp and leather.
Rope holding me tight.
Pain coursing through my body.
Fear rumbling in my chest.
Giving up control, giving up completely.
Journey to Submission, Part 1
December 9th, 2009
She knelt on the bearskin rug on the hearth, hands on her thighs, hair falling down around her lowered face. The fire crackled and popped, casting an orange glow over her pale skin. He stood with his hand on the mantle, watching her from behind. He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, run his hands down her back. He needed to touch her, to take her, but he waited. Control. He had to be in control, but the sight of her there, naked and kneeling was driving him crazy.
She had come to him a year ago, a gift from his parents for his eighteenth birthday. A servant girl to entertain a prince. She had knelt to him then, but there had been fire in her eyes and a stubborn slant to her chin. The past year had been a journey for them both, full of joy, sorrow, excitement and conflict. All leading to this day, where she knelt willingly and submissively on the rug, waiting to serve him.
Had it really only been a year?
~~~
The hall grew quiet as King Samsen and Queen Sylvia rose from the table. Prince Jayceon returned from the dance floor to stand beside them. At a motion from the King, the guards swung open the doors, and two men entered, flanking a young woman, dressed in an iron collar attached to iron manacles, and a small leather skirt. The men in the crowd murmured and stared. The women eyed her critically. Jayceon bit his lip and looked between her and his parents as she was marched to the front of the room and shoved to her knees.
“Happy birthday, Jayceon.” The King announced. “Since you have not chosen a wife, yet, this one will take care of you until you do.”
Jayceon looked at his mother, she was smiling, but her lips were thin and she glared at the girl. He looked back at her and realized why. She was looking up at them all with undisguised fury. He took a step back and then laughed. The tension in the room broke with his grin.
“What’s your name?”
“Ciera.”
“Well met, Ciera. Thank you for coming to my birthday party, though you look decidedly unhappy to be here.”
She did not answer, nor did she drop her gaze.
“Perhaps you would be more comfortable waiting elsewhere?” He motioned to her guards who pulled her to her feet and led her back the way they had come.
“She’s a wild one, Jayceon.” The Kind confided. “You’ll enjoy her, I wager.”
“Samsen, she’ll bite his head off rather than serve him, what possessed you to pick such a girl?” The Queen hissed as the room filled with chatter again.
“You worry too much, Sylvia. Our boy can handle that small wisp of a thing.”
Jayceon was sure he could handle her, but wisp was not the word he would have used to describe her. She had perfectly round breasts the size of golden apples. Her belly was smooth and her hips rounded out in delicious curves. Her thighs were solid and her calves well muscled. Her arms were thin and her hands soft and slender. Her long black hair ran down to the small of her back and her skin was pale and creamy. No, not a wisp at all.
“Jayceon?”
“What? Oh? Sorry.” He realized that other people were offering him gifts now, and he tried to focus, smiling, and thanking them each in turn, but the girl filled his mind and he wanted nothing more than to rush back to his rooms to see her.