November 8th, 2012
Blindfolded. Eyes closed beneath the cloth. Waiting on her knees before him. Listening to his breathing while he strips then sits.
“Okay, you may touch me now. Hands only.”
She reaches forward, fingertips brushing his legs. She slides her hands around his calves, running her palms up the sides of his legs to just below the knees. Her fingers massaging the tight muscles, as she works her way back down to his ankles, thumbs tracing the shins, finding old divots from childhood soccer games. She works back up the calves, like play scales on a sticky keyboard, trying to work the knots away, as he sighs softly.
She wants to lean forward, add her lips, kiss his feet, or his knees. No, hands only this time. Just touch and explore.
Running her hands over his knees. Fingertips tracing the cap, running over it to press her palms flat. Up and over his thighs, straight to the hips, and back down, dragging knuckles to troll for stress. Squeezing massage from knee upward, thumbs working the inner thigh, fingers kneading the outer, heel of the palm back down the center. Listening to his breathing to hear the tension melt.
Kneeling up, she runs her fingers up his chest, tracing the skin and trailing through the hair. Hands pressed flat, she explores every inch of his hips, stomach and chest. Pausing to roll his nipples with one finger each. Runs her hands up to his shoulders and down his arms, teasing his own fingertips, and then back up again. Fingers, arms, shoulders, chest, belly, hips.
Massaging again, she slows down. Working up his sides to his pecs. Gentle circles, pushing the stress away. Up to the shoulders, pushing the knots down the arms and out the hands. Fingers and knuckles digging out the pain. Neck, shoulders, arms, wrists, hands.
The energy buzzes. Light touch, fingertips just above the surface, barely brushing the skin. Exploring him anew. Every inch of skin exciting and full of energy. Pushing deep into it, running her palms over his chest, down his stomach and over his thighs. It feels so good.
Starting at the bottom, fingertips on his feet, up his shins, over the knees, across the thighs, she pauses, but not yet, up his chest, over his shoulders, up into his hair, fingers trailing through his hair, down his checks, a light touch across his lips, down his chin and throat, chest, belly, to his cock.
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 22nd, 2012
“Now for what I want.”
“Yes, Sir.” She gripped the cross legs behind her thighs and grinned back at him.
Crack Snap Crack.
He landed a hit on each nipple and a teasing mid-air snap in front of her nose. She squealed and tensed trying to remain perfectly still. Clenching her hands on the boards lest she reflexively cover herself.
She let out her breath in a scream when he finished, barely able to keep her hands down, as he laid two lines across each breast. Bright red kisses pointing to her nipples. Mumbling curses as she caught her breath, gazing up at his giddiness.
She howled and bounced on one leg as he caught her thigh.
He stopped her bouncing with a strike to the other leg.
She gasped and half-glared, half-grinned up at him.
Then she saw the light bulb and he turned to get a different toy.
“Close your eyes.”
Her breath quickened as she strained to hear a hint of what he was getting. She could tell where he was, but there were so many toys there, and he was being careful.
She felt him return, closer than before, and he wasted no time.
She yelped as rubber floggers slammed down on her breasts.
She groaned into the hits, keeping her eyes closed and her chin up to avoid the falls.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap!
Left. Right. Both. She gasped and moaned at the hits.
The he picked up a beat. And the rocked together. Single hits per beat. Double. And then triple. Six-count to the beat of the music. She started with a groan, building into a moan and ending with a scream.
He pulled back down. Double and then single hits per beat. Quarter notes on her chest. Pounding out gasps and moans.
“Can… I… Open… My… Eyes… Sir?” She managed between gasps.
His response was to pick up speed again until she screamed and tried to collapse, but there was nowhere to go. Pausing for a moment, he answered.
“Thank you, Sir.” She managed through ragged gasps, and she opened her eyes to see his glowing face before her. Tears filling her eyes, but her smile matching his.
He returned to simple beats, staring into her eyes now. They moved together, breathed together, energy flowing free and joyful between them.
A new song came on, and he picked up the pace. Not too fast, but fast enough to send her humming into space.
Thwap gasp. Thwap moan. Thwap gasp. Thwap moan.
Into six count, her head fell back, eyes closed, hardly remembering to breathe in as it all came out in a long, moaning growl, fingers digging into the wooden cross.
A downbeat to end the song and she nearly falls, but he is there, hand in her hair, holding her up, kissing her.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulls her off the cross and against his chest.
“I love you, Sir.” She wraps her arms around him.
“I love you, too.” He kisses her forehead and leads her off to blankets and cuddles.
November 24th, 2011
Monday. Contract day. He says he wants to get off work early to help us clean. The dungeon needs put back together. It’s been storage space since July. He wants to put up the suspension point again. Sounds great to me.
Toy is eager to arrive, but I’m not ready. Come to mine first. I finish eating dinner and we go over at 5. He’s aiming for 530. Toy is stressed out and grumpy. Grouching about cleaning for the first time in a months. But she does her share, as I do mine. He is waiting for the boss to leave so he can. Apparently the boss stayed late as he is a bit later than usual getting home. I remind toy of her promise, and she is appropriately dressed by the time he gets home, but not yet changed into play clothes as the dungeon cleaning awaits.
We greet with hugs and kisses and head down to tackle the dungeon. Tubs and tools and crates and wood scraps. Stage stuff and sawdust, and lots of bits of cloth. We clean and sort and move everything back where it belongs. A vise clamp comes out to play for a bit, fitting around our legs, my belly, and then making a nice breast clamp and head clamp. We reclaim his space and reset the furniture. Taping the mats together, we create a nice pad below the suspension point. He rigs it up and we each take a spin. Just right.
Toy and I go fetch some water and change our clothes, when we return, he has two candles lit and fits a new bulb in the socket. A nice dark glow fills the room. He kneels on the mat and invites us to join him. I drop down into my kneeling posture, toy beside me, him in front of us. After a couple minutes, it feels like silent prayer at church, how long are we going to kneel? Are his eyes closed? Is he moving? I glance through my eyelashes far too often, trying to relax, but eager with anticipation. He shifts to sitting, which doesn’t help, then grabs toy and pulls her into his lap. I listen to her whimper, and then he pulls her up and I hear rope hit the floor. This finally calms me. I sink into my position, eyes fully closed, relaxed and just listening to the rope and to their interaction.
Eventually, he positions her on the bishops chair to the other side of me. And starts making passes back and forth in front of me. It takes a few for me to understand he’s taking the floggers out of the tub. I start to come back into my body at this point, wondering what’s going to happen next. I feel him kneel in front of me, I hear him rub his hands. I know he’s going to slap me, but when the strike comes down on my thigh, I’m surprised. He slaps my thighs, alternating. I crumple a couple times, and one of them, I move so that his strike bounces off my left wrist painfully. When I get back up from that one, my arms go behind my back, protecting the sensitive joint. He starts slapping my face. Harder and harder, until I’m gasping and moaning. I get my eyes back open at this point, and see his grin. He grabs me by the hair and pulls me off my knees and onto my back. I lay there gasping while he shows toy what face slapping feels like.
He pulls me up and stands me under the ring. I grab it for support, my right leg doing fairly well, but my left still half numb. Toy looks very good in her box tie chest harness, sitting happily on the chair. He starts tying a tabletop with jute on my waist. Tossing out the rope and yanking it against my legs when it gets tangled. Most things give into his will if he tries hard enough, eh toy? Yes, Sir. We fiddle with where my hips are and he threatens nice tight crotch ropes. When he finishes the lower half, he steps over to toy to give her the first taste of wax. Dripping it across her thighs. She gasps, and likes it. He lets her process and returns to me.
Chest wraps now, teasing about duct taping the remote control vibrator to me. He adds a little more wax to toy and she squeals as he gets closer to her inner thighs. Just before he attaches me to the ring, I ask if he really wants the vibrator, he does, but he doesn’t want the interruption of fetching it. Ties my chest and then tries something new with the lower lift lines. Up I go, but it’s not balancing on my hips right, so back down and rigs it the usual way. Up again and balance it out. He gets a cloth and ties a sling for my head. I’m already spacing and he pushes me into a gentle spin as he returns to toy and the wax.
I was fairly well gone. Occasionally my feet or legs would rub against him. I moved them up and down occasionally. He put wax on her and took it off with a knife. At some point he poured some over the bottoms of my feet. I squealed a lot and when it got really hot, I jerked away into a little ball. But it felt really good up to that point. He asked if I was still in there and counted me to orgasm once, biting me while I did. I remember him scraping the wax off my feet. Some felt good, some felt really good, and some just tickled the hell out of me. Whenever that happened, I clenched my hands against my face in an effort not to squirm against the sharp knife. He dragged the knife near more tender bits when he was done, causing soft moans and ragged breathing. I can’t remember when he tied my ankles up, if it was before or after the wax, it must have been before, it relieved the awkwardness and some of the pressure.
At another point he was flogging the wax off toy and took a few shots on me as well, legs and then crotch. I think that popped me out of space. I was getting dizzy but it wasn’t time to come down yet. So he stopped me spinning for awhile and then he started playing Open Sesame with toy. Eventually she did, and then he asked her how many more she could take. She said four. So he counted them out, sending me into orgasm at three, and then counting 1,2,3 again for her forth strike. He bit me again, I think. I dropped back into space and he let me spin a bit more.
Then it was time to come down. Dropped my ankles, then my legs and I was standing, leaning into the chest rope heavily. He pulled out the lift lines and then undid my chest. I stumbled a little, but held the ring until I got my balance. He started to undo my legs, but then told me to untie the toy so we could clean up the wax. Reminding me of how to wrap his rope now.
I started to untie her hands, she pulled out, and got scolded for her impatience and desire for modesty overwhelming safety. I finished untying her and set her to sweeping up the wax while I put up the ropes. He returned and we finished off the jute. Then he sent us off to change back into our regular clothes as he sets up the massage table. Down again and we set to work on his knotted muscles. Working hard on his back, my hands are fairly weak, but toy still has her strength and we work together to find what he needs. Energy all coming down as we work, pouring out gratitude for what he has given us into taking care of him. It ends abruptly when his wife gets home. But a wonderful night of reclaiming the space and connecting with each other.
November 17th, 2011
I don’t know where to start. It’s been a week of crazy ups and downs. Excellent times together, and painful moments, too. Through it all, communication. Keep talking, keep expressing, keep feeling, keep reacting, keep it honest and open. We had great moments of connection. A wonderful flight on Saturday. Cuddle-nap-play time on Monday. And last night was the topper. That’s really what I want to talk about today. Conversations were all finding stabilization. Worry was hanging about. I was feeling a bit wobbly before practice. Okay and “fine” but not great.
Class is almost over, I’ve been fidgeting. Glancing at the clock, wondering if he’s upstairs. Worried about him. She says it’s all good now, toy seems happy, but what about him? He arrives with the tote and sits just outside the door. Looks happy, but class isn’t done. Patience. And clapping. Up for hugs, he’s grinning and wandering about greeting. I’m petting toy when I notice him at the table, looking over the new stun gun. Panic, I run around and jump onto the bed, hiding behind the crowd. Laughter and this is pointed out to him.
Whimpering, I get up and walk to the edge of the bed.
I hop off the bed. He crackles it and I jerk away in fear, breath already quickening.
I kneel in front of him, too terrified to put my hands where they belong, but my knees are spread properly. I hope this is good enough and he doesn’t object. He crackles it some more and I jerk away against the bed, whimpering.
I calm my breathing, steadying on the trundle. He snaps it by my ear and I lose calm, gasping in panic, trying to get a grip.
If you let me do it, then I get to zap her. He points up to a bystander. There’s some discussion and the crowd agrees this is what she said.
Do you want to do this?
He shocks my leg light and and I squeak. Then harder and harder til I squeal. But it’s not as bad as it sounds. It never is.
Ready? He pulls it away for a gap.
Steady my breathing, grab the trundle. Yes Sir.
Shock and scream and jerk. He giggles.
The bystander tries it after I explain the pain isn’t the bad part. Then he asks toy. She’s not ready. He crackles it at me and I whimper and cringe. Toy looks scared. More crackling, more whimpers.
I’ll torment your Miss, til you say yes.
He starts zapping the top and inner thighs. Making me jerk and squeal.
Don’t you want to, toy?
Finally a yes. He gives her a taste. Not too bad. Just scary.
Back to me. Crackle and zap. Squeal and cringe. He grabs my foot, I’m panicking nearly to tears.
Hey, what about the shock collar? They try to put that on someone, but terror is enough, no shocks needed. Stray comment inspires him.
Stick out your tongue.
What??? Oh gods.
Stick out your tongue. All the way. All The Way.
Shaking, whimpering, leaning back.
Do you want to do this? Will you let me do this?
If you really want to, Sir, but I’d prefer you didn’t.
He giggles happily and someone suggest the nose and I rock all the way back to the floor at his laughter.
He lets me back up and crackles it a bit more for effect, then presses it against a breast and makes me look down at it. I don’t want to take my eyes off his. But eventually his command is forceful enough and I look down. He presses the button, but nothing. I whimper and he turns on the flashlight, I still cringe. A couple more crackles, a couple more whimpers and he’s done with that for the night.
He wanders off and I catch my breath. Scared to get up, still keeping tabs on him. He starts practicing on the wall. Toy wants beat and she wants practice. Hook them up and head over to get them started. Find some floggers, trade him for the ones he had.
And then I’m tossed up to the wall. Shirt pulled up and off. I slip my bra off to join it. No cross. I don’t have an anchor point. I fold my arms under my breasts and wait, about six inches from the wall. He starts out hard, but not too hard. I’m already high on fear, so I adjust into the floggers quickly. It’s harder to move with the beat like this, but I sway a little. Grunting into the hits, squealing at the harder ones. I fall into breathing before too long, quiet pain space. Until the six-count brings me back out with a squeal. The tips break through my concentration. I hit the wall and then back to my stance. He comes in and out. Hard, softer, tips, thud. It sends me higher.
The deerskin comes out. Huge thud, pounding me solid. So good. I breathe in and out with the hits. Relaxing, comforting. I am breathing with him now. And he starts making huge swings. Harder, but not tipping. I’m rocking with each stroke. Heaven.
Rubber mops now. Starting with thud. Solid, slightly stingy thud. It takes me a bit to get back from the grunts to the breathing. I find myself turning, favoring my left shoulder as it stings more. I try to stay straight, give him a flat target. My hands come up, cradling my chest, anchoring to myself. I’m not going to give in. Tonight, I’m breaking through the barriers of pain, and he is right there with me, not pushing too hard or too fast. I find the rhythm, tapping my foot and breathing with the strikes. Six count knocks me to the floor again, back up quickly. He stays with me. Stingy for a while, screams down to breathing. Pounding, thudding, stinging. It doesn’t matter anymore. Breathing, rocking, turning. Occasional screams just punctuate the scene.
Then his bare hands slam down on tender skin, pounding me to the ground in screams of pain. I try to get up, but he has followed me and I collapse, tears breaking free. The pounding continues and I crawl onto his lap, clinging to his leg through the tears. Eventually, I break through that barrier too, and we readjust, me a ball on the floor, him sitting beside me, pounding away with bare palms. I breathe with the hits, occasionally trying to adjust my body. Elbow not quite comfy, but it’s the best I can do. Head down, no, cement bad. Just maintain. Solid hits stinging my skin. Breathing through solid hits, squeals on sharp smacks. Pounding me down to a puddle of meat.
His hand in my hair, he pulls my face into his lap. My arms around his legs and I sink. The feel of him, the smell of him, the comfort of him. My glasses come off, and I anchor to him. Breathing, I can feel him breathing. Hearts beating. Reality slowly returns. I hear talking above me. Eventually he pulls me up.
How are you?
I smile a spacy smile. Very good.
Is that what you needed?
Yes, Sir. Thank you.
We both need to recover. Sitting next to each other, watching the room. Glowing, the energy and the happy still filling every ounce of me. Even as I finally return to the world and go take a look at hubby’s rig.
An excellent night, amazing play, and it pulled me right into balance. It was full of the love and energy and wonderful connection we share. Nothing else mattered during the flogging. It was us, sharing with each other. And when we came up, our other loved ones were right there, surrounding us. It truly was, exactly what I needed.
September 29th, 2011
She tried to blink, but couldn’t. Coming more fully awake, she realized her head was covered in fabric. Tight. It wasn’t a headache, her head was tightly wrapped. Her ears hurt. Not badly, just a mild ache. Static. There were headphones over the wrappings, playing white noise. She tried to move. Nothing. Taking a breath to stem the rising panic, she realized she was at least free to do that, nothing blocked her nose or mouth. Something at least. She focused on breathing for a few moments.
She sent out her conscious the the rest of her body. She was sitting up, arms bound to the arms of a chair, wrist and elbow. Metal chair and legs bound to the legs, ankle and knee. Her head and waist were secured, as well. Naked. Completely naked. She shivered, though it was not cold.
She still felt groggy. What had happened? Where was she? She remembered the club. Out for a night on the town while her partner was away. Business trip. Back on Sunday. Was it Sunday yet? It had been Friday night. Was it only Saturday? She danced and drank with her girlfriends. They mainly ignored the men trying to pick them up. Ladies night out.
There had been one man. Persistent. Dark. Handsome. He’d caught her eye a few times. Sent her a drink. Oh god. What had been in that drink? Had she gone home with him? She remembered him staring at her while she accepted and tipped back the shot. Hot, hungry eyes. She didn’t remember anything after that.
She gasped as a cool breeze passed over her body, mirroring the cold shiver running down her spine. She felt air moving around her, goosebumps covered her arms and legs. Someone was near her. Was it him? What did he want? Why was he doing this?
“Who’s there?” She called into the silence. “What do you want?”
She felt small pads being placed on her body. Two on each breast. Two on each arm. Two on each thigh. Two on each calf. Wires tickled her skin. She tried to turn her head, tried to thrash free, but there was no slack anywhere. Her body started to tingle and she froze. The tingling grew, first in her breasts until she yelped. Then those stayed steady and each limb’s tingling grew, one at a time, until she made a sound of pain, then stopped. Then it all stopped.
She reminded herself to breathe, and the white noise stopped, replaced by a voice.
“Where were you last night?” A computerized voice, loud and harsh.
“At… at the club. Syrens.”
“What did you do there?”
“I danced, and drank with the girls.”
“I… I don’t know. Someone sent me a shot. I don’t know.”
Pain. All of the pads sprang to life at once. Her muscles clenched and she screamed.
“Who sent you the shot?” The pain stopped.
“I… don’t… a man. Tall, dark, black hair, blue eyes. He was wearing a black suit and a red tie.”
“Did you know him?”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. I don’t know. Not before he sent me the drink.”
“What was the drink?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you drink it?”
Pain erupted again. Pulsing this time, making her muscles jerk out of her control, breasts feeling like they were being stabbed.
“You drank something, sent by a stranger, without even knowing what it was?”
“Yes!” She couldn’t help but scream.
The pain surged for a moment and then relented.
“I…” she gasped for breath, terrified of the answer she had to give. “I don’t know. I woke up here.”
Just her legs this time, higher than before. It felt like they were trying to curl into the chair. She clenched her jaw and growled at the pain.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” She grunted.
“Maybe more pain will clear away the fog.”
All the pads sprang to life, in a wave of pain, from her calves up her thighs to her breasts and then out her arms. The pain growing and receding up and down her body. She writhed against the bonds, straining her tortured muscles even more. Her feet did not touch the floor, but curled helplessly in the air. Her hands clenched at nothing, just beyond the arms of the chair. She growled and grunted, screamed and whimpered. She had no idea how long it lasted, almost started counting the waves once, but gave up as pain overwhelmed her. Finally, it stopped.
“Now, what did you do after you drank the shot?”
She gasped for breath, drenched in sweat, shaking with leftover energy. Panicked and still without an answer. She wracked her brain, having been incapable of thought while he tormented her. She saw his eyes, remembered tossing back the shot. It burned. Her head swam.
“I sat down. He came over.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I… I must have. I don’t remember. It was Ladies’ Night. I wasn’t supposed to. I must have.”
“I…” She didn’t want to say she didn’t know, she tried to think, she wondered if he’d know if she was lying. “We danced.” She tried, not sure if it was a lie or not.
Stabbing pain in her breasts, her arms seized. She screamed and it was gone.
“Do not lie to me. What did you do after he came over to talk?”
“I don’t know.” She was shaking and gasping, fear and pain warring for dominance.
The white noise came back in her ears. Her body started tingling. All the way back down to the beginning, all at once, and built slowly up. They did not stop for her screams this time, but kept building until she was thrashing and sobbing as much as her bonds would allow. Then he pulled the pads off, one by one. Starting at the top. Until all were gone. The tension released, only the restraints kept her from sliding to the floor. Tears soaked the fabric around her eyes, her lips moved, but only breath escaped.
Darkness. Static. Nothing.
She regained control of herself. Got her breath and heartbeat back to normal. Calm for just a moment. Still nothing. Panic started bubbling up again. She focused inward, no injury or lasting pain. Outward, she felt no movement, no breezes, nothing. Was he gone? What did he want her to say? She couldn’t remember what had happened. What if that wasn’t good enough? Was he mad she didn’t remember him? Why was he doing this? Her mind spun in useless circles. She had only the vaguest impression of him coming towards her after the drink and then nothing.
“Let’s start again. What time did you go to the club last night?”
“9 o’clock.” Grateful to have a question she could answer.
“Who did you go with?”
“Erika, Sarah, and Heather.”
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Two glasses of cider, a cosmo, and that shot.” She shivered a little, hoping she hadn’t had more after the shot, but not knowing.
“When did you leave?”
“I…” Panic. “I don’t know.”
“Who did you leave with?”
“I don’t know.”
Shocking pain ran down her left thigh.
“Not good enough.”
“I don’t. I had the shot. He came towards me. And I don’t know.”
Her right thigh this time, a straight rod delivering high voltage directly to her skin. She squealed.
“Tell me what happened after the shot.”
“I don’t know, I can’t remember.”
She cringed against the chair as the rod delivered shocks across her breasts, right over the nipples, crying out and trying to wrench free.
“You do remember.”
“No, I don’t, I can’t.”
The electricity crackled from her left hand, up her arm, across her collar bone and back down to her right hand. She screamed, then gasped for breath.
She bit her lip. “I…” What could she say?
The rod ran down her chest, over the left nipple, down to her clit and back up again, right nipple not spared. She swore vehemently, but he only did it again, in the opposite direction.
“Such language. Now, tell me what happened.”
“I looked over at him, lifted the shot in a salute, drank it down. It burned my throat, and hit hard. I sat down on my stool and looked back at him. He had gotten up, and was walking towards me.”
“I don’t know!”
He ran the electricity over her arms, chest and legs in big zigzagging motions. She screamed in protest, trying to thrash, or move, or jerk, or anything but sit there perfectly still, except for her hands and feet clenching and curling in the air.
“You do know, you just won’t tell me. This would all end, if you would just tell me what happened next. Don’t you want me to stop?” He zapped her clit.
“Yes, please. I do. But I don’t know. I can’t tell you. I don’t remember.”
He answered with more electricity. Fingertips, toes, one by one. Up the side of her calves, the inside of her thighs, circles around her clit and her nipples. Tell me, echoing in her ears with each shock. She squealed and clenched her fists and fought the urge to curse. He zapped her earlobes and the tip of her nose and she forgot herself, spitting curses until he zapped her lips. She snapped her mouth shut and breathed heavily through her nose, curling her lips inward and licking them.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“No.” She gave up on insisting she couldn’t, he didn’t seem to care.
“Then remember, you could have stopped this.”
Static. Darkness. Cold.
Constant cold air was blowing on her now. But he had stopped hurting her. Stopped asking questions. She wasn’t even sure if he was there anymore. What now? What else was he going to do to her? Why didn’t he believe her? What else could she say? She wracked her brain, trying to pull up more of last night, but there was nothing. A big black hole in her memory. Why hadn’t her friends saved her? Why had they not been there for her? How had they let her end up here? Did they even know what had happened to her? Had they seen her leave? Had they told anyone she was missing? Was anyone looking for her?
“Are you ready?”
“Will you tell me what I want to know?”
“Because I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth. What happened after you drank the shot?”
“He came towards me. And then I don’t know what happened.”
Pinching pain seared through her nipples, causing her to gasp, but this pain didn’t go away, and she started to whimper.
“Tell me the truth.”
More pinching around her nipples.
“Two clothespins for every lie. What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Now there were three on each breast and she was panting and squirming with the pain, tapping her feet in mid-air and clenching her fists.
“He came toward me. He must have sat down. We must have talked. We didn’t dance. But I don’t know.”
Two more, above her nipples. Strong and small. She breathed quickly with the pain, whimpering with every exhale.
“I can’t, you know I can’t. Please, I don’t know.”
Two more at the top of her breasts.
“You can, I know you can.”
“No, please, why are you doing this?”
Two more just below the collarbone.
“Tell me, now. I just want the truth.”
“I don’t know. That’s the truth.”
Ripping pain as he yanked all the clothespins off at once. She drew a sharp breath and then screamed. Shaking, and shivering against the chair.
“Apparently I’m being too nice.”
Cold liquid splashed over her chest, then arms and legs. It smelled like alcohol. He ran a wet cloth over her exposed skin. She shivered harder, terror rising bile into her throat.
“What, please, what… I don’t know what you want. Please…”
“Only the truth. That’s all I’ve ever asked for.”
Stabbing pain in her left breast, sicking sliding under the skin and another burst of pain. A needle, he’d just slid a needle through her skin.
“Oh god, please. Don’t, please.”
“Then tell me.”
Pain in her right breast, she could only focus on the horrible feel of the needle sliding through her skin.
“Tell me the truth.”
“Please, please, please. I don’t.. I.. please, I…”
Pain lower, right above the nipple, slower, sharper.
“Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“I.. please… don’t, I… please.”
The other breast again, right above the nipple, matching sets of fear and pain.
“Tell me what happened after you drank the shot.”
“I don’t know, I woke up here, I must have passed out. I don’t know.”
The needles came out fast and clean. She was crying and shaking as he wiped down her breasts with alcohol. The headphones came off, the wrapping around her head started to unwind. She was dizzy, she didn’t understand. What happened? Light began to assault her eyelids, she cringed away and found she could move her head. The restraints were coming off her arms, then her legs. His body was in front of her lifting her, carrying her, a hood still on her head, but thin. Softness beneath her, a bed. It was darker here and he slid the hood off. Stroking her hair.
“Such a good girl.”
She opened her eyes, startled by her partner’s voice after so long with the computerized one.
“Shhhh. You did so very well.” He wrapped her in his arms and she curled up against his chest, sobbing with relief. “Such a good girl.” He repeated.
“Thank you, Sir.” She whispered, as she fell into an exhausted sleep against him.
“You’re welcome, little one.”
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
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.
May 12th, 2011
Tonight is Rope, maybe even suspension.
We arrive on time, head in and start cleaning. Check list complete, change clothes and cuddle up to talk and wait. He is home, a couple minutes to spare. We have a short talk about the cleaning and what it brought up. Toy and I go downstairs with tub #1, but he calls us back up because we’re giggling and he’s making himself dinner.
Down again when he’s done and into the recently cleaned playspace. I sit on one leg of the bishop’s chair and toy curls up at my feet. He likes the image of us there, and puts up the suspension ring.
Toy is pulled out to the mat, put on her knees, blindfolded and her arms bound in bondage tape. She immediately begins fidgeting with it. Up to the bishop’s chair, strapped in securely. Told to listen, be aware and think.
I am brought to the mat, stripped down, pesky new skirt takes some effort. He grabs a couple lengths of hemp. Arms bound behind the back, and then ropes around the upper arm, near the shoulder and then near the elbow. A simple box-tie, and then up to the ring. He grabs my legs and I’m in the air. Wow, interesting, ow, not so nice, squeezing the arms. Remember to breathe in between moans, and down again. So nice to be experimenting again, I tell him where it hurt and he moves some the ropes down a bit. Up again, the pressure shifted, better, but still uncomfortable, but oh so interesting. And then I’m upside down, and he’s giggling. Breathing ever so irregular, but it doesn’t really matter. I feel secure and bound. He drops one leg, but I don’t touch down until he lowers the other.
Order gets fuzzy here. He opens the chest of toys. I think the riding crop comes out first. Swats toy’s thighs and then my legs. Mmm, nice little riding crop. He digs deeper, finds the paddle with speed holes. A few swats on my ass. So painful, I spin and squeal. He digs again, nipple clamps this time, it’s a kind I’ve never tried. I yelp and he says he doesn’t have to be nice here. No, Sir. My heart races. He digs out clips for toy as well. Uncle comes out then. Oh how I’ve missed it. Ass, thighs, breasts. Are you ready, toy? Toy gets a few swats as well. He scolds me to be quiet for the neighbors. He doesn’t have to be nice here, but I should be quieter. Yanks on the chain. One comes off. The other is for Uncle. I whimper, my eyes pleading. He doesn’t have to be nice here. No, Sir. And off it comes. Leaves me to stew. Something scary that she’s going to like, toy says. And he pulls out the TENs, puts in on her thighs. I watch intently, curious how she’ll find it. She doesn’t say much. Intriguing and a few whimpers.
Toy’s hand has gone numb from the tape. He cuts her out, unstraps her from the chair and sets me off the mat. Grabs the sawhorse to put behind me and lays her down on it. Ties one hand with jute and then comes back to me. Takes me down, unties the rope, hands it to me. I drop to my knees to coil it while he ties her more securely. Jute on the wrists and cuffs on the ankles.
We tickle her first, one at either end. He pinches her sore nipples, she squeals and squirms, quite trapped and helpless. He gets a Violet Wand. Paintbrush attachment. I hear happy trees in my head as he starts painting her skin. I tickle a little at first, but then notice I’m getting mild vibration in my fingertips, so I just run them lightly on her skin, not sure if she can even tell, or if her mind is totally captured by the shocks. He asks her questions and she struggles to answer. Teases, and plays, we grin over her helpless form. He threatens a straight rod, but grabs a bulb with a coil inside, playing over her skin. We circle her, still questioning. She loses track, forgets to answer, forgets the questions. He turns it off, torments more, she still can’t answer, forgets more questions. I know the questions, I can help, I mustn’t. We could leave her there, go for a drive… He turns out the light and we back off, watching. Waiting, tasty energy. She can’t remember the question, Sir. He sends me off for Gatorade. I return, still watching and get dressed.
The light goes back on and he unties her hands, sits her up on the horse. Bends me over the end she just emptied and pulls out the speed hole paddle again. Paddles me as I squeal and squirm. Quiet not forgotten, but nearly impossible. I even cover my mouth with my hands a few times. He has me hold the paddle. It’s light, Sir. What? Light wood, Sir. I want to apologize, it hurts like hell, but the wood and the holes make it lighter than I expected. Should she have more, toy? Yes, Sir. And more come, skirt up this time. Stings so much, and I start to slip into painspace. Yelps turning to moans and heavy breathing. But then he undoes her ankles and bends her over, too. Swats her ass some.
There are twenty more, toy. Do you want them? Or does she get them? Or do you want to share?
I want to tell her we should share, but he’s asking toy, I have to be quiet.
Toy’ll take them.
As hard as I can swing?
And then she starts using my name and I add to the torment.
Oh, no, Sir. She can have them.
I thought I was Miss, toy?
She can have them.
I thought I was Miss, toy?
Oh, no, sorry, Miss. Toy’ll take them.
Oh no, Sir.
No? So, she gets them? I thought you liked protecting people, toy? Don’t you want to protect her? Her ass is already quite bruised.
Toy’ll take them.
Will you count for me, toy?
And forty whacks, she counts beautifully.
Paddle goes down, he gives instructions for clean up and goes to the couch. Toy and I clean up, putting everything away but the cuffs on her ankles. He says they can stay. Then we join him on the couch. Snuggles, light chat, and Human Cent-Ipad. Toy is a bit traumatized, so we watch Children’s Hospital which is all sorts of odd, and silly. He sets up the chair and we start in on his back and shoulders. My wrists are being funky. He asks me to set up the table. We move over and I have a better angle. I mirror toy, her hands are stronger, but I do my best. Turns over and we finish working his arms. Then he grabs toy and torments her with logic, while I stroke his hair and giggle. She is aroused and I am amused. We finish aftercare between the kitchen and the couch. Talking, Dr. Who and snuggling, a great first night.
March 17th, 2011
What’s really there is that I have an awesome boyfriend who loves me, who trusts me, and who wants to continue our journey together, in life and in kink.
What’s really there is several new paths we are taking, one including an awesome woman who has decided to be our toy.
What’s really there is stressful work and health situations that are not who we are, but simply things we are doing and dealing with.
What’s really there is drama in our worlds and families that we need to deal with and solve together, supporting each other.
What’s really there is amazing opportunities for love and companionship and play and fun together, that I never would have thought possible five years ago.
These sentences are currently written on my thighs. I wrote them in a chat yesterday, and we decided I ought to write them on myself for a little while. “Until the message sinks in,” you might say. I need practice focusing on the positive. I need to not let the negative build up and build up, because “it’s just a little thing,” until it becomes a whirlwind of fear, doubt and crazy. I’m a writer, a good thing, but also bad. I write stories in my head, make assumptions, fill in the blanks. I live inside my head a little too much. I need to remember there are other people out there, often right beside me, who have the real answers, the actual truth of the matter, and sometimes, a far better grip on reality than the tangled mess I sometimes get myself into. Speculative fiction is awesome to write and sell and share, but reality is strange enough without me getting creative on it.
So, lesson of the week: Communicate!
How many times have I written about communication? And yet…
Things are far easier to deal with and discount and conquer when they are small. And nothing is too small to mention. A grain of sand creates a pearl, but a fleck of metal can blind you and a single spark can burn down a forest. He is good at noticing when something is wrong or off, but I am not always so good at realizing he is right. So, communication. Don’t dismiss it when he questions, really look and try to shake loose the thought that is keeping me off balance by hiding in the corner. Life is always crazy and busy and stressful, but letting things bottle and build up is only going to make things worse. Explosions are far more damaging than a firecracker. Just don’t hang on too tight, toss it up in the air and see what it looks like in the light.
I am loved. I am wanted. I am needed. I am worthy.