Sunday, December 31, 2006

Dinner with SirMax

Wednesday, 27th, I woke up late and took my time. In between all of this mess of the past weeks I had started up a conversation with the locally-known dominant, SirMax. I had started looking on again and received an email from someone not matching my direct interests, but who cited his training with SirMax. I not-so-innocently sent an email to SirMax telling him about this man who dropped his name. We struck up a conversation and I talked to Ms. M and pdh about him - both had meet with and played with him and his live-in lover, slavegirl.

Yes, in the past I have laughed at those people online who Capitalize Sir Master Dominant and lower case the submissive slave girl. But I overlooked this, and felt more at ease now in my own skin to say so, and continued chatting with him. We decided to have dinner together Wed night. I'm entering PMS stage and not sure I can even feel sexy so I took my time showering and dressing, playing my sex music, getting in the mood - just in case. I didn't think our time would extend beyond dinner but was hopeful I might be convinced. As Ms. M said, he was, indeed charming. An older gentleman, he certainly didn't exhibit any less vigor or hipness. We laughed and talked, and I was charmed.

After our dinner he brought me back to my place and we dropped off my leftover food. He invited me over to his house, with the infamous dungeon. I had no need to worry. My gut said go, Ms M had assured me of his goodwill, he is known in the community and wouldn't risk that for, say, suffocating me or slicing me up into tiny chunks for chipmunks. I was as giddy as a schoolgirl to try myself out and take him for a spin. But I remained outwardly in control. Not a drop of liquor, not a minute of freak out. When we got to his house, he asked me to take off my boots and wait upstairs -- after we had discussed his summer project of kitchen renovation, new deck, and nicely finished doors by his darling slavegirl.

He led me downstairs to his basement. A harem-ish bed in the corner as if Sheik AliBaBa would lay down with his 7 slaves -- and then chain them up for some tickle torture or thrashing fucks. Next to it a soft rug, candles all over, a tv and couch, library. He started by instructing me on the signals of presentation that he liked. I helped remove his shoes. "Now," he explained as he sat on a stair and I kneeled. "Some people take the laces and just tug and tug so all of them are loose to remove the shoe. I prefer, and need, just the top lace loosened and then give a tug to the shoe and it comes off. Then, slowly slide a finger into the sock, like this, to remove it." There was the sit position: "From kneeling, you sit back on your calves with legs slightly ajar. Not obscenely open but slightly apart. Hands resting on your thighs, Lola." The "present" position: from "sit" up to kneeling, hands sliding up the back of my neck to hold my hair up, and elbows out. "This is a position that is helpful for collaring." And others. I liked the challenge. I liked the formality. Years ago I did balk at this style or request. But now, I felt rather ready for it. Rather like I needed it.

I don't think I can accurately describe the nervousness I felt, the attraction to the dirtiness of being with a much older man [you can't tell me that the Playboy Bunny girls don't feel the same mix of horny and badness when with Hefner], the fight within myself between wanting to completely turn over my body and mind to this dom and completely keeping myself in-check and composed and in control, the need to tell him I'm not a pain slut and the desire to be tested as such, the ambition to follow and obey every command to the T, the need to be the best girl ever, the want for a daddy/dom, the overwhelming joy at trying this all out, the attraction to his command, the curiosity about what's behind door number 2.

As I kneeled presenting, he came behind me. Slowly and tenderly - sending shivers down every nerve in my body, he lifted one shirt and then the other. "Now," he whispered, moving to my front. "You cannot tell me you thought we'd only have dinner wearing a bra like this." My new pink and leopard print bra from H&M. "I only own bras like this...except for my sports bra," I said. I still, even now, wasn't willing to give up too much of myself. I need to keep some secrets, some control.

As soon as I had understood the positions he taught me, he joked, "And you thought there was nothing else to the basement..." I knew there was more as Ms M had told me and I had seen some pictures, and I'm sure he knew that I knew and still, the game was about teasing the tension out a bit longer, letting the butterflies buzz about in both our bellies, allowing my little girl eyes to widen into saucers at the dream of it all. He opened door number two and there it was. My first dungeon sight.

Only lit by candles. He told me to roam the room. We'll go clockwise, dear reader. For what I remember - as I tried to touch it all, see the corners and crevices, feel the walls. The immediate left [I won't recount all the candles], a fire extinguisher on the wall, the walls sound-proof, covered in black, a type of doctor's table raised to waist level with chains on either end, hooks perfectly spaced on all the 2X4 studs overhead, a row of chains and binding tools hung on the wall, carabineers and chains hanging from the wall around a slight corner, a panel of black cloth hanging. I paused. What's behind this black panel? Nothing but wood wall. SirMax grabbed my arm and twisted it gently behind my back crushing me up against the cloth.. "Because this feels better than pressing you to a wood wall." He released me and stepped away again. A variation of a Saint Andrew's cross in the corner. Hooks and more hooks in the ceiling. A loveseat couch to the right of the cross. Another, lower, black table like a bench for weight lifting. A padded, saw horse. A small table supporting gadgets, whips, floggers, paddles, tails, toys, and items - oh my! On the floor, a neatly contained variety of ropes. "And I thought you weren't into rope?" I asked.

Earlier in our conversations online and on the phone I had mentioned my relationship with James and how he had wonderfully found his natural niche with rope and was starting into Japanese bondage tying. SirMax had mentioned that his slavegirl was very much excited by rope bondage but that he wasn't as favored to it. I emailed James what info and pictures of slavegirl I could find and mentioned that SirMax and I would be meeting and if James would be interested in another rope model for his practices. SirMax did tell me that James had contacted him and they had started a dialogue -- and meet on Saturday.

Another wall to end our circular tour - sporting all kinds of floggers and other toys, as well a chain cutter. The other wall I had passed hosted medical scissors. This place was well thought-out, for sure.

SirMax had me come over to the love couch first. Sit. What is it that Lola likes? I was having the most horrible time trying to be articulate - this whole time, the whole time we'd been conversing - what it was exactly I was interested in. We both understood and got around the whole "If I tell you X, what if you don't like X then we might not click" issue. But I still couldn't articulate or explain - shocking, I know! He asked, what was the most painful experience I'd had? God... how many there are... I thought of bd and his favor of whipping and slapping my open pussy, my bruised tits after he'd beat them to my thrills.

He took my pants off. I was completely naked with only my tiny, white, cotton thong on. He, as much as a gentleman as I could hope for and as much separating sex and bdsm play, left his pants on the entire time.

"Restraints." I knelt up and turned my arms out in front of me with wrists upward. I got ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs. He put my hands through two loops like short dog leash loops and showed me how to hold on to them. He led me to the center of the room. [Slightly cheesy, but seducing and soothing nonetheless, was some kind of Enigma music playing the background.] He locked the two dog loops into a carabineer and into a hook in the ceiling. Lastly, he put a blindfold on me.

I'd read about this and heard, and I had only once experienced the sensory delicacy of bdsm. Once, when I was a lot more risky than I am now, when I was into late night phone calls on those cheesy sex phone 1-800-meet-sexy-singles lines, I invited a boy over. He made me lay down on my futon couch and he blindfolded me and tortured me with soft feathers and gentle pinches. Strung up in the middle of SirMax's dungeon he warmed me with the delicate fur of a gracious dead animal and then started slowly slapping my ass with the other, harder side. Then, he brought out the flogs. We had agreed on safewords "yellow" and "red" and what they meant and hoped that I'd be verbal enough so we wouldn't need to reach either - and I was determined not to.

Across my ass and then my back. My hands gripped the loops and I only truly flinched from pain a handful of times. He wasn't a sado this night and he didn't intend for me to scar, bruise, or bleed this time. After a while - time goes to where ticking stops and I kept smiling and grinning and loving it - he moved me to the cross in the other corner of the room. The wrist cuffs were locked to chains on either end of the upper X and I was shown how to grab them if needed. I meant to signal my tolerance and tenser moments through my open hands and squeezing the chains, gripping them.

He had asked if I preferred that he talk to me or let me go into silent sub space. I said I liked both. I wasn't sure what it was I wanted yet. But I found I had no need for talking. And he preferred not to. I let my mind go beneath the blindfold. I felt the solid thump of the flog - centered and spread out in one place on my ass, my back. I wondered if this was me still, still standing, accepting this, doing this, almost completely naked, feeling the wetness between my lips build and build, the tingling and the endorphins rushing. A pointed sting of one lash to my outer thigh or inner thigh woke me to this being real. The indentation of the board into my feet kept me in the moment and not drifting too far. I kept re-adjusting my stance and this kept me awake.

"Whiplash girlchild in the dark"

He'd switch utensils and would run the new toy - a paddle - past my face. I'd search it out with my nose sniffing the leather, my tongue reaching out to feel which object it would be. My hands chained to metal warming under my sweating palms. The thick feeling of my ass warming and the paddle rounding me out. Then, the several tails run over my mouth, my drying tongue seeking it out.. "Can you count it? Can you count how many there are? How many are there, Lola? .. That's right, nine." A cat o' nine tails on me. How many swats did I receive? How many times did I wonder, am I a pain slut? Am I braver than the rest? Am I average? Am I good? Am I weak? Am I best?

"Strike, dear master, and cure her heart
Taste the whip, in love not given lightly
Taste the whip, now plead for me"

Sweet sugar topping, like painful cherry delight, he smacked my tender bummie over and over with a paddle of some kind. And I felt each wallop with a blunt bolt to my nerves finished with a shaken jolt of electricity. I was feeling each smack - each - fucking - smack - so electric it went right to my cunt. I was sopping wet already but now I felt something so familiar and something so shocking... was I really about to fucking orgasm off of this? Was I really about to spasm inside and pass out exhausted with release? Oh. My. God. I was shaking. I was hearing my breaths and my moans like I was being fucked. Each. Fucking. SMACK! Brought a moooooooooan of suuuuuch delight. Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Yes! And, then ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!!!!

And when I finally cried out in utter pain and mewed in delight he said, "That's what Daddy likes. That's what Daddy likes to hear." I let out more moans and more cries. And he returned to me with the gentle, soft fur.

"Ermine furs adorn the imperious"

"Now, Lola," he removed the blindfold. "Do not move when I'm up around your face or neck, and do not open your eyes. But you can feel free to move when I'm not at your face or neck, okay?" "Yes, Sir." Starting at my neck he moved over me with finger needles. Over my face, gently. I held as still as a statue. Over my neck. I felt like a robbery. A prisoner on a pirate ship with the knife to her neck. Don't move... Down my arms and down down my sides... I knew I could move, and lord did I! It felt like the most tremendous giggle and tickle over my whole being. I wanted to jump and I did jerk a bit and I laughed harder than I have in a long time. Over my sides, my belly, my thighs, my super sensitive ass, my thighs. I was laughing so hard. Endorphins over endorphins releasing and waving and eclipsing and folding in and out of me. [fingerneedles pic does not include me - c/o SirMax. Adjacent pic is me post-play. More are available on Flickr - email me if you'd like access to view.]

After this thrill, I was released and moved to the doctor's table in the opposite side of the room. He actually bent over, picked me up and carried me like a lightweight child. He laid me on the table and hooked my ankle cuffs in and told me to hold on to the chain above my head and not to let go. I was staring at the ceiling, wondering what the pulley was for - or, even, was it a pulley or some electrical device - small enough for wonder. He pulled my wet thong to the side and I heard a familiar whirr and felt the springing electricity of a vibrator on my clit. My god.... My god... Fuck yes.... I held that chain for dear life and I squirmed my legs still chained down and I wiggled downward closer to the source of pleasure.

When I told him I had lost my dear fave vibrator and was vibe shopping, he made me promise not to buy another until I tasted his.

Pulsing, steady vibration, pulse, shake, I couldn't help but cum -- in shaking and trembling and jerking. Over and over and over...

I laid there, in a daze, in a dreamy daze. "I want you," he said. My eyebrows raised. Ok, what's that mean? He wants me in a general sense because I'm delicious? Or, he wants me. Turns out, he wanted me. "Is that okay?" I was gung-ho for anything he was giving at that point. And, I was in awe and lust as he put a condom on, crawled up on to the table and proceeded to fuck the shit out of me. It's not true that women care much about size, honest. But the friction, the motion of the ocean, the pushin' on the cushion - that's very important. Any well-trained whore can teach herself to flex her cunt muscles to take a long, wide, short, thin, bulgy, stubby cock. His cock was very well proportioned, but his motion - I would rate it up there with James. Almost but not quite close. James has a jackhammer thrust in his lower back, SirMax almost matched that. At some point he had to pull me back down as I was almost head off the table. Sweat dripping off of him onto me like warm, salty rain.

Better than the pummeling thrusts, was the nasty, dirty talk. Earlier, when I was kneeling at his feet at the love couch, he requested that I use "Sir" in speaking to him throughout. Not at every statement or question because there is such thing as overuse - thank god he said that - but when I felt it appropriate. But now, it was Daddy. And Daddy had to do his business in his good little girl. Daddy loved his little girl, and she was so brave for taking him and letting him take her. Daddy knew she wanted to be a big girl and wanted to be good and Daddy was going to show her how. Hell, I don't even know what he was saying at that point, but it all had to do with how nasty I was and how dirty he was and I was in headspace so mixed up lovely that I couldn't help but cum all over again. And, let me tell you, hearing a man fucking cum out loud with those groans and the finish-line grunts and sighs and yeses and exasperation of expiration - it could almost make me cum all over again.

He unchained my ankles and carried me out to the harem-esque room/bed. I was sighing as closure but he warned that that was not the end of the adventure. There was more where that came from and he pulled me up from reclining heaven [because I'm such a guy and ready to pass out after sex]. I did try my best to suck him off but it's not easy knowing for each cock, darlings. And yes, he's right, that's the difference between girls and boys - boys press harder, we girls are afraid of damaging your cocks, so be sure to tell us how to do it well. I certainly did not give my best performance sadly. I think my mind was too overwhelmed to concentrate on giving good head and I think he was focused elsewhere, as well.

He rolled me over, put a cushion under my hips, tilting me ass upwards. And plunged back into my cunt for one last round. "Yes, baby, your Daddy has to do what he wants. Just take it, baby will just take it. Just - let - Daddy - fuck - his - babygirl - one - more - time..." I love Daddy talk. God... !

Our post-coitus was spent just kind of laying there, chatting a bit, but not too much, and then dressing for him to give me a ride back home. Just how I like it, frankly. Screw the roses, send me the thorns.

He was only a gentleman. A man from days past. I was told that, in private, I'd follow his instructions. In public, he only requested that I allow him the courtesy to open doors for me and make sure I position myself for him to walk on the outside of us, closer to the street - traditional, but his way. Funny that, that's how I grew up. Dad always walked us around Buenos Aires that way. In fact, he's always kind of instilled that gentleman old school in us. Which I found very charming about James, that he'd open the car door and other doors for me. [And, it's interesting to hear of one of his new dates being confused at that chivalry. When he went to open the car door for her, she felt threatened like what are you doing on my side of the car? Sad, sad world. But understandable. All women should and need to go through anti-man, anti-world, feminist freedom to find self-reliance and strength. It's just nice if we can also incorporate a pleasure for caretaking and appreciation, as well. Feminism and femininity can go hand in hand really.]

1 comment:

noman said...

I've been catching up on my reading and I can't believe there are no comments to this post. What a fantastic (in the true sense of the word) scene. It could have been a screenplay for a slasher movie only without the slashing. I guess the 'real' lola is back in action.