I remember back in ....

In 1999 or so, I was getting more and more interested in bdsm. I was about 24 and had broken up with my boyfriend at the college newspaper, because I had bought a pair of handcuffs, a dildo, and nipple clamps and wanted him to use them on me. He objected and I had reached a quick, but rather deep point where I had to try this stuff. A break-up with tragedy but for only good reasons.

I somehow found this young woman online who was a sub living in Minneapolis and who was involved with a dom in London. We went for coffee at a restaurant on the south side. She always wore a collar, they talked online all the time, he'd visited once, she'd visited him once. I still thought negatively about their relationship. I couldn't understand how someone could get so deep into something with someone so far away. Internet bdsm - ha! The realm of Trekkies, of fat people, of people afraid to live in real time, of fakers, people with too much fear to live what they wanted to do, and lame because they couldn't find someone local.

The ironies. I really tried not to judge and I could tell it worked for her, and she'd planned to move to London. But I thought about it all realistically and couldn't imagine a closeness that could pass through the internet. I laughed at the idea of her doing things to herself that he'd tell her to do over the 'net. I had stumbled upon bdsm through some guy who had IM'd me, thinking I was someone else (or maybe not?). He was married and living in New Jersey. We talked on the phone and he'd tell me to pour candle wax on myself. I'd fake it because I couldn't imagine doing that to myself and really didn't have valid reasons to do it anyway. It seemed silly. It seemed stupid. And, for all the right reasons. The guy was playing in a fantasy world, and I was eager to explore, release, and try this any way possible. But I wanted someone in real life. And someone who knew what they were doing and what they wanted.

Around this time, I was also using the 1-800 chat lines. A guy came over to my apartment one night after we'd talked about bdsm stuff. It was a complete risk to let some stranger into my apartment, but I was desperate and horny. He had me lay down on my futon couch, blindfolded me, and then just tickled and teased me. He explained he didn't need to be mean to arouse feelings and emotions in me. Cutting off one of my senses could allow him to heighten others. I thank the gods he didn't kill me, but I was also so disappointed that he didn't hurt me a little bit.

After this, I hooked up with the stripper and her husband. They were exploring bdsm stuff but it was more about kink, adding me into their crazy mix. We'd take photos of fake poses with her in tall boots and topless, standing over me as I crouched on their floor, while she pretended to flog me. But we'd always end up back in their bed - and even then I wasn't good at eating cunnie. I wanted to do more with bdsm, as did the husband, but she wasn't so interested. This is where we had to draw the line. Because I couldn't envision having a secret relationship with him and her not involved or not knowing. But before this point, she and I ventured to a munch in town. It was embarrassing as we were clearly the youngest and by far the hottest of the gathering. We were stared at and welcomed, but only in a leering, hungry (or jealous) fashion. It was horrible.

When I moved to Madison and lived on my own, I met up with this guy who was doing PhD work at the school and was into bdsm. I remember one night, at his apartment, he'd laid out all his tools and toys for me to look at and pick some for play. Then, he tied me up to his bed and used some on me. But he ended up wanting to date more and play less, fuck more and tie me up less. It wasn't enough. I had a ton of people to fuck at the time - late at night, at the end of my shift in the old theatre/restaurant, where we'd get wasted and I'd come home with rugburn on my knees for fucking on the carpet in the theatre.

pdh was the next significant play partner. We were crazy kinksters. For my birthday, he invited a guy from Chicago to take photos of us in a hotel room - fucking, playing. We went to the Kit Kat Club and other sex clubs in Berlin, but mostly we reinforced our kink and crazy and love. bd was next and probably just the next obvious step in bdsm. A drunk that I was, I'd end up in his flat, wild on the floor, being tied up so I couldn't find my way to stand up. He'd tie my legs open and flog my cunnie. He'd tie me and put a dildo in my ass. He once tried to fist me and gave me my first squirt. It was amazing, and embarrassing. I'd seen a documentary on it back in 1996, but had never produced it with anyone but myself. And even then, wetting myself seemed like a strange thing - rushing to the bathroom for a towel to quick mop it up.

James was the next in awesome lovers. Rope rope rope all over. Leather mittens on my hands after I'd scratched him up too much while fucking. Ball gag, blindfold, spanking, playing with objects, calling me names, etc.

Sir Max was the next progression. I won't go into details, because you can read them elsewhere. But he gave me a taste of protocol (kneeling at his feet to remove his shoes, calling him Sir) and the dungeon (flogging, caning, spanking, humiliation, bathroom monitoring).

And, then Paris. My lovely friends W and Sarah inviting me to kink events, being so patient with me at munches while I didn't understand a damn word, telling me where to buy kink clothes, always sending me invites to fabulous parties. Language always posing a problem. I remember the Nuit Demonia in the first semester when I was here and some guy tried to express his desire to have me or something. I had to ask Sarah to translate, and even then, I was too scared to talk to him.

That brings us to a culmination into now.

I am that girl who I found slightly silly. I'm running around town for "errands" for Mr FD - pulling together a somewhat ensemble for a maid's outfit, getting my full body measurements, looking for a specific Manrammer dildo. I'm living mindfully with his desires. I'm looking forward to our next "homestay" in 11 days. I'm chatting online and hurting myself for his (and my) pleasure. It's not so silly now. Of course. I'm reminded of this often, that we have no idea what other people are experiencing and shouldn't judge the way they are living their lives. I'm the one becoming a masochist slut - far from physical presence of Mr FD, but mentally tuned into a certain path.

Last night was particularly trippy. So, for almost 2 weeks now I've been controlling my orgasms. I've met a few people who have told me about their ability to control their cum and channeling their energy into something longer lasting akin to tantric sex. I'd gotten to the point this past week where I could ride the edge of pre-orgasm for several minutes - putting my vibrating egg on my clit, taking it off, on, off, etc. And, the last time I did this I found it was almost as relieving as having a full-on orgasm in and of itself. I was as relieved as if I'd cum. I was relaxed and calmed.

When I went for measurements last week, I also bought Mr FD a birthday present. I was thinking of getting an instrument of some kind but didn't know what he'd want. I thought about getting a kinky outfit, but knew I'd already spent quite a bit on the maid outfit. So, I settled on a choker type collar with nipple clamps attached to long chains at the neck. I was figuring, I need to practice with this area of my body since I didn't take it so well last time. I thought he might enjoy the s&m dimension of the gift. So, I tried it on yesterday while hanging out in the apartment. Made it to about 20 minutes of the clamps being on and had to take them off. The pressure just builds up so much and makes me feel like little shards of glass are spiking my nipples.

I'd taken some photos of me in the gift earlier and had planned to send them to him, but then, when I asked how he'd want to receive the gift, he said that I should just bring it with me when I'm there. For kicks and a fun peek, I sent a photo to him. He called me a tease and said he wouldn't look. I took the collar-clamps off to have a Skype call with my sister and then put the collar part back on for comfort -- before he'd sent a Skype note, before I realized we were going to video in Skype and he'd see it. (He got to see me, but he refrained from turning on his video.)

Well, lo and behold, I got myself into some fun trouble. If I was going to wear it, he might as well see it, and I might as well have to wear the full get-up. Twenty minutes before turned into an hour and I grew increasingly uncomfortable. The pain was becoming unbearable. He laughed at the torture I'd put upon myself. I laughed - through cringing. He said that as soon as they'd have to come off, he'd hang up the call (of course, considering that unbearable does not equate harmful or unhealthy). I didn't want to end the call - obviously. So, I tried to breathe through it. My palms started sweating. My head started to buzz and swirl. My tummy started to feel twisty.

So, to take my mind off of the pain a bit, he turned on his video. Sigh and swoon. It helped to redirect my thoughts to him instead of the pain. But only so much.

He told me to take my underwear off and play with myself, while making an arc connection between the pain and pleasure. At this point, before I started touching myself, I was ready to rip off the clamps (or, take them off slowly, heh), but I also wanted to go further and still be able to see and talk to him.

Something definitely culminated inside. I started touching myself and there was a mixture of pain and pleasure in some kind of quilt or field or plane that was in me and around me, where there wasn't a difference between the two. They were one big crochet of feeling, and I was so wet. He smiled and watched me. I stopped being conscious of how I looked (was I grimacing or was I contorted?) and felt flooded with lust and endorphins, my eyes wanted to close but I wanted to keep looking at him. A twang of pain would surface and I'd fondle myself harder or more intensely. He moved his eyes into the video and just stared at me, smiling or watching or grinning. And while I looked into his eyes and played with myself and felt my arms moving and my breasts bouncing, I didn't feel the pain. I felt some calm waves of nowhere. I was high and gone. I was me, staring at him, moving my fingers, but I was out somewhere else. "I'm your memo... I want you to burn me with your cigarette... I want you inside me... I am in your eyes... I am nowhere... What is going on?... Where am I?... Ouch... Yes... Close to cumming... So close... I am your memo..." My eyes would space out and he'd become fuzzy. My eyes would want to close and I'd keep them open. I know I made noises because I could kind of hear them but not: short, quick breaths; long, deep breaths; moans. But I didn't know I was making them until he pointed them out. And then my eyes opened up again, real wide, and I was peering into him, looking into him, still touching myself, still out there, and then I got so close and in so deep to a place I have no idea where it is, that I started to cry. I wanted to orgasm, but didn't need to. I wanted to let my mind and body break apart into all these little pieces of sun rays, expand itself into a chrysanthemum like fireworks, but I wanted to keep it together. Where the fuck was I?

And his voice came back. He could let this go on, but he thought maybe I was reaching a point and should come back. Could I come back? I could. And I cried. Tears down my face. And it was time to calm down, and take the clamps off. My hands were shaking and I was terrified that they'd accidentally lose grip and slap the clamp back on. "Quickly or slowly?" I didn't know I had words. Quickly would be better, he said. The first one off and it shot like a spike in me. And then cooled. The second wasn't as easy and stuck to my skin and I had to kind of pull it off. This was like fire piercing me.

I spaced out. Breathing. Zoning. Dreaming. Floating. High as a kite. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted nothing. I just zoned out. Like when you look at a baby nursing on his mom, and its eyes get all droopy and it kind of grins like its drunk. I had had only one glass of wine tonight tops, and yet I was as drunk as a happy sailor. Mellow, happy, floating.

He wanted to bring me back if I could come back. On the inside, I felt like I could snap to attention if I was required to do so, but the other, over-riding part slowly pulled on the kite string to let me glide back into my body. Eyes half open. Yes?

See, he said, that's what I was doing. I was ready to cut the call if you needed to remove the clamps, but you were able to go further. And once you started going further, I wasn't going to drop you like that. I will see you through and be here after.

I put my pj pants back on and he told me to get a blanket and wrap up in it. I was in a cocoon of joy. I touched my breast with a bit of my finger, way above my nipple, and it zinged back at me. It was so sensitive and tender. And, thankfully, contrary to my fears, neither one had fallen off or become disfigured. I giggled and all of a sudden felt incredibly sleepy.

Why don't you just go lay down and see if you fall asleep? He suggested. After all, it's midnight, a fine time to go to bed, and if you can't sleep you can always watch the Deadwood I loaned you. We said good night.

I was in bed, my shirt making me aware of my nipples but not uncomfortably so. I closed my eyes and drifted all over the place. I flew to different places in the world and encountered different actions. I hadn't remembered that I was invisible and so I thought I had to dodge things. I could look at people and they didn't know I was there. And then, the sounds from the street outside would honk honk or someone would yell and I'd wake up back in my bed. At about 3am I couldn't take the sleep-wake repetitiveness and took a pill. There were no more dreams or flying about without fear.

I have no idea what happened to me last night - although I have a guess. I have no idea if it was a long time or a short time. I have no idea what he was thinking or doing. I don't remember all the things I thought or felt. It was super fucking intense but I wasn't alone.