Tuesday, January 23, 2007

All abuzz

"I bet a lot of people have liked you too much," he said.

I was on my right side, naked, with my arms tied in close and my hands in fists. I don't want to talk about myself I don't want to seem grandiose about myself.

I am bent over the high doctors table. My hands out, on my elbows, my palms flat - just like the Secretary. It's the negative space that I feel most sometimes. The minus of touch means the readying of slaps.

It flies through space and hits my ass in a thud. His arm goes back and I hear the air whisper and whine. The chains are rattling in the aftermath of sway. Something will fall on to me and it may or may not hurt in a sharp or dull pain.

I am trying to keep my eyes closed the whole time I am told to. I wish I had a blindfold because it is harder to keep them closed and the tiny peeks I take remind me I am alive instead of dreaming more deeply.

There are no chains to hook me into this time. I am not restrained by outward ties. It is of my own volition and my own control to remain -- or not to. My palms feel sweaty only when I take a second to move them. My feet only feel the wood digging into them when I chance a movement.

I wonder if I'll use a safeword or use a caution.

I feel like I need to hide my face more. But I know he'd never accidentally strike it.

I am on the X cross.

It's a tumble of feeling on my ass, my back. It's the smell of leather rubbed across my face. The twitch in my nose of cat fur whipped up into the air. The sound of the thuds, the biting sting, the air between each which is a whistle and an anticipation, the air around the air which moves around me and around the room like a ghost.

It's not about levels of pain, he said, it's about endurance. Move my fingers when I'm tired of being in this position or my arms get frail or I need to move. I am determined not to move my fingers. I want this so badly.

Yes, like the Secretary needs to cut, needs the release and the rush. I feel I find myself building between emails. I feel myself wishing for this.

The flogs are different in shape, length, texture. One, shorter, stings more. One longer, thicker feels like a massage. Yes, on my back, between my shoulder blades I feel like I'm being massaged. A deep, Swedish, painful massage. I can sigh in relief.

Am I falling? Is the cross tipping over? I'm falling. I'm falling. I'm .... dreamy.

Flagellation. The Romans. Christ. The Catholics in the street during Easter in Spain. Even they flog themselves. The children dressed in green or red hoods like a decorative KKK. The march down the narrow cobblestone. Why do they flog themselves? Do they like it? Yes. Yes. Yes! YES! Yes, they must.

My panties are getting wetter. Please touch me there.

My ass is so sensitive.

If I were blind... I hear that. Something being plugged in. Something humming. I don't know how I know, but I know what that is. "I'm scared" the first words I utter other than "ow" and the tears I have cried. Sappy, as "The Blower's Daughter" song sings, I weep. I feel such release and a sting that I think is a ruler - a ruler from class, made of wood with that narrow metal on one edge - the metal that could cut a finger if used so. .... A shock to my thigh. A zap. I have been zapped more than once a winter day at work for 6 years. We finally bought and use a humidifier. I'm so afraid of this though. Electricity. I'm wondering if my electrons are being rearranged.

When he calms me, he stops flogging and presses his jean-covered leg between mine and I feel safe. Covered. Engulfed. Just by a pair of legs and a whisper, "You are such a brave girl."

Romans.

What is he thinking as he flogs me? Where are his thoughts? I'm worried he's not getting off like I am. And, why am I getting off?

I am eyes closed and led to another part of the room. Hands on a pillow-covered bench. Kneeling. Bending over. I am spanked some more. And teased between my legs. At one point, he pulls my white, cotton thong down to my thighs and spanks me. I cannot help but start to push my ass toward him more. My legs are only slightly apart but each slap on my ass brushes air to my cunt or warms it with his hand - I cannot tell where the feeling comes from. All I know is that I want more and I want to open more and reach out more. I push my ass out. Slowly. Incrementally. God I can feel how wet I am.

I am belly on the bench, legs spread behind me wide. His cock is entering me and, again, I feel like a virgin. He almost thrusts me off the bench. I am holding on and trying to push back. My toes digging into the carpet. My thighs taut and forced.

"Now it's your turn to move onto me." I feel his hand holding the vibrator on my clit and something enters my cunt. My eyes are still closed. I think it's a dildo. I think it's plugged in. It keeps getting warmer as I ride it and move backward on to it. I try to find a rhythm but am distracted by the vibrator. I want to hold the vibe on my clit where I know I'll find it. He's doing his best. Warmer, warmer, deeper, deeper. Oh god, I'm cumming again.

It was 2 of his fingers. No dildo.

It's the finger blades again. He has this habit to put his hand on my face, on my head. He's holding me still. I like the muffled feeling of it. I like the caution. Finger blades up and down my entire body. And when they touch my ass, I unconsciously, purely from biological reaction quiver and shake.. I'm so sensitive now. I'm afraid my ass will bleed from moving too much. It tickles, it makes me shriek, it zings me.

I am on my back on the bench. His mouth is on my clit. It's almost as embarrassing as him peering through a monocle at my ass. I'm embarrassed but he sucks my mini-cock clit into his mouth and sucks, flicks, licks, sucks, flicks, licks. I can't help but move my legs, curl them up and apart. Opening myself more, bucking my hips at him more, rotating.

I am on my back on the bench and he is fucking me. Hard, fast, a long-distance runner. He is sweating and I am gasping, Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Yes, Daddy. Whispering. I want to be like Mommy. I want to be a big girl. I pull my hands from the bench legs and touch his back - to crave him more. And he says yes. He says yes. He grunts and cums whispering, grunting nasty words of how I will be a big girl and how Daddy loves his little girl.

I want to do it again. I want to do this again. I want to do it now. Again. He tickles me lightly with his fingertips - all over my body. Up and down and circling lightly around my cunt. If.. if .. if you dip one more second down there I will lift up to meet you and tell you to touch me more.. I could go again that way.. I could pin myself to the wall again and I could kneel and I could spread all over again. God I love this. I love I love I love I want to say I love my Daddy but I don't love you I love this I love how you are making me feel I love this God I want this again Now.

My legs are shaky. My arms tired. My mind a buzz. When we lay on the bed outside the playroom and he asks me what I thought I ramble. Romans. Flagellation. Sounds. Air. Negative space. What are you thinking. Pain. Tears. Suffering. Dreamy. Floating. Wet. I ramble. I think this is the most I've ever said before to him.

And then I am upstairs, outside her room and he tells me to sit and I'm naked on the floor and hair ruffled and sweaty and he asks her to come out. She sits in front of me - she had previously sat in front of me as we were clothed and we made small talk but giggled - and I'm totally humiliated and embarrassed and I hope she's not mad and .. "This is awkward," I say. I catch her eyes looking at my face and then my chest and pubis. She is checking me out in a small, sideways, non-chalont way. I wonder if she registered that I am trimmed. I wonder what her cunt looks like. She's younger than me but I feel like she knows more. And there isn't some weird command that he has over her. It's natural that he ask her to come out and tell her to sit. She only protests with her body as anyone in the middle of a home project would - what now? She doesn't laugh at my nudity or timidity which makes me feel better. And for these interactions I could see myself kissing her.

He and I grab salad fixings and eat the entire bowl of salad as I ask him questions about their relationship, about how he found his dom-ness, about what we know about bdsm and how we got there. I am talkative and at times I feel stupid. Sex brain. When the salad is done I'm ready to go home. PCSS - as he calls it, post-coital [...] syndrome. I said "stress" he said ".. " god I cant' remember. Yes, it's true, I have a lot of male genes in me. I'm ready to pull away and go. He makes me roll over on my side on the harem bed and there I am, arms curled to my chest and he's trying to break into me. "I bet a lot of people have liked you too much," he said.

I am warming to him though. It's impossible not to fall for a deliverer of lusciousness. It's hard not to like someone who is likable.

[written 1/15/07 1:38am]

3 comments:

a said...

lovely...

Cicciolina said...

Ah. Sweet, sweet dungeon memories. Delicious.

noman said...

so...how did he come to his dom-ness?

Another wonderful story, but my too-rational mind still wonders about liking (or falling in love with) someone whose thing is to humiliate. I can see binding and maybe a little pain here and there, but humiliation is a tough role to play in a loving relationship.

I guess different strokes...