Woke up early to clean and shop. A bundle of nerves, but no expectations. We’ll just hang out, have some food, and see where things go. He seems agreeable to some type of violence, and eager, even. As eager as myself. The others, as well. Condo is cleaned, food is bought, and he and I arrive and unpack. Quick discussion of boundaries for the day. I have very few for him. No hospitals, no morgues. You know, the usual.
Cotton rope comes out and my clothes come off. Chest wraps lead quickly to crotch rope, pulled tight and decorated with knots and diamonds. Then clothes go back on, there are guests coming, after all. And I’m on my knees, and clover clamps are in his hands. Please, Sir. Oh gods, so soon? He is laughing as he puts them on over my shirt. They can come off when the other guests arrive. They’ll be here at 2, right? That’s only twenty minutes, you’ve done longer. Covering my mouth to hold back the screams, hyperventilating until I regain control. Dizzy, kneeling, pain. I can do this. Water. Fuck, it’s been so long. Don’t let the chain sit in your lap, it must dangle. Pressing down my skirt with knees spread.
Get up, go turn down the A/C. Yes, Sir. Fucking bouncing chain. Go check the door. Yes, Sir. Not yet. Jangling the chain just to hear me squeal. They will be here at 2, right? That’s what I told them, Sir. A friend texts and is sent a picture of my predicament. My knees hurt, kneeling up. Dizzy, kneeling down. Are the fire cups coming? I don’t know, Sir. I’ll tell them. I’ve never done them before, Sir. You’re doing them tonight. Yes, Sir, I wanted you to be involved, Sir, for that many bruises. He texts to be sure.
2pm. Check the door. No one, Sir. If they’re ten minutes late, you’re going to have to retrieve a vibrator. 2:10. Checking the door. Gingerly climbing the stairs. I can’t find the small one, Hitachi it is. FUCK! I dropped it on the chain. Back down the stairs and to my knees before him. Into the harness it goes. A little extra rope to hold it in place. Tell me when you need to cum. I can control myself, Sir. Make sure it stays in place. Yes, Sir.
Time blurs. Kneeling up and down. Old knees. Water. There are some 1-2-3’s and Thank you, Sirs. What’s on your mind? Old words, Sir. Yes? Pleasing you by orally pleasuring your cock, Sir. Good. Still no one arrives. Should I tell them to get here soon? I told them 2, Sir, I don’t know where they are. What time is it? 2:25, Sir. Good girl, you remember. Time blurs and I get the next one wrong.
The vibrator goes away, it’s old and getting warm. he keeps the rope and ties it to the nipple clamp chain. Pulling me to my feet and leading me around the room. To the post at the edge of the carpet, tying it up high. I can’t, Sir. Please, Sir, I need to go down. Dizzy. He ties the rope around the post, and lowers it so I can kneel, but only just. Pulling up the nipple clamps. He leaves me to stew a bit, marinating in pain.
Time blurs as I shift up and down, looking for comfort on old knees with pain raging at every shift. Half on carpet and half on wooden floor. Barely noticing until he mentions it. He checks the door, shaking his head, laughing. Pulls out a whips and teases my back. What’s on your mind? Old words. What’s on your Mind? Pleasing you by orally pleasuring your cock, Sir. More whip licks and cracks to make me twitch. Would you like some help? Yes, Sir. He lifts the rope higher as I squeal, but puts his fingertips on my lips and my cheek. Grounding. Then gone.
Time blurs. 3pm? Clinging to the post to keep from moving too far, from pulling too hard. 4pm? I don’t know. They aren’t here. Cursing their lateness. He pulls me from the post, back to the couch. Water. The crotch rope is so painful in my ass. He lets me sit on the couch for a bit. Whip cracks and whip raps. Then back to my knees. Jangling the chain, lifting and dropping. Tears.
It’s time to start getting food prepped. I join him in the kitchen.
4:20. Sound at the door. Fucking finally. He goes to answer it. One has arrived, the other is waiting on the cake. You said the first one, Sir. Do you really want to? No, Sir. 4:40. The other arrives. Thank fucking gods! They are amused, and he has them each take one off. At the same time? If you love me. And they do. Are you ready? No. I scream and crumble. Three hours, but it is done.
Food prep and chatter. Then he puts one back on, and I squeal and cry and beg. Please, Sir. Oh gods, please, Sir. He doesn’t leave it on long, just to tease because he can. Cooking and rest while rope fun is had by the new arrivals. Then dinner. Glorious steak dinner.
Crotch rope is definitely too much after this long, so the rope comes off and bathroom breaks are had. Returning to a dragon tail. Licking fire across my skin. Dancing flames across my back and ass, until too many same damn spot convince me to turn around. Licking my thighs and belly, each nipple shot drawing out a quickly smothered scream and curse and spin. Some signal whip then, to draw pretty lines through the fire.
Order gets blurry. Floggings all around. Clinging to the post, once again. Slamming into my back. Heavy and stinging. It’s been so long. Preparing the flesh for later. Birthday spankings. Spankings with M’s toys and E’s toys. A butt hammer, a bastard of a flat wooden slapper than I can’t remember the name of, but his has a reinforced rod since he broke one, the donkey dong. Lots of cursing and jumping and bending. Earned my 41. The others used a horse cock, and thumper, a fluffy mallet, and maybe more. 123 counts in all. An appropriate counting. Divided up by some cake and orgasms. Cuddles and pressure point poking.
Fire cupping time. But they go first. I watch and he tosses out 3’s, then my hitachi. Keep yourself on edge. Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. More counting and orgasms and voyeurism. Beautiful cupping and pleasure.
Anywhere that needs loosened? My shoulders, almost always. Face down to start then. Fire wands first. Twitching gasps at the heat. Warming up. Oil for my skin so the cups will slide without tearing. Shoulders first and back, then brightly bruised ass, then thighs and calves. Each row down of increasing pain. Screaming into the massage table by the last. Giggling above me, pressure and pain mingling from shoulder to ankle. Hands and feet rising up, placed firmly back down, but they don’t stay. Cups slide firmly around my back, feet rise again, trying not to arch too badly, as I squeal into the padding, cursing. Then my legs and I scream and writhe. Such pain! My agony attracts his attention and he helps on the calves, but I squirm too much and one goes down, breaking.
Pause. Cleaning. Sweeping and shining lights as I breathe in the stillness.
Pain resumes, struggling to be still. Hands down. Feet down. They come off one by one, biting the padding now to stifle screams and writhing both. And they are gone. Turn over.
Face up down. A bit more fire heat, but just with a hand since there might be oil drippings. Nipple cups on. On yeah, oil. And back off and on again. Fuck. Sternum and hips and thighs and calves again. The agony has his attention. Dragging cups from ankle to shoulder, and back again. And again. Screaming into my own hands. Dragging around my chest, on and off nipples. So much cursing and stifled screaming, to accompanying chuckles. Until they have all popped off, one by one. Relief.
Breathing. Water. Slowly sit. Head ache. Couch. Water.
His turn. Massage time. Many hands to rub the oil and scold the knots. Circling to get every muscle from head to toe. Back and Chest. Arms and Legs. Shoulders, Neck, and Skull.
Winding down. Cuddle time. Orgasms to bring us down and finish out the night.
Glorious birthday celebration, with the old words echoing in my head. No less true today than way back then.
