“We’re going to try something different today..”
I always wonder how you come up with these bizarre things. From challenges to toys to just simply situational stuff.
You walk out of the room and I have the distinct impression that I’m NOT to follow. You come back with the bench (fun!) and your assortment of implements (not necessarily as “fun”) and tell me to strip and uncage.
“This is a war of wills, if you’re interested in playing. I will truss you up in any way I see fit and it’s your goal to remain quiet for 45 minutes. As in absolutely quiet. It’s my goal to prevent that. You’ll have a couple of things that you should know. First, you’ll be attached, of course, to the bench. Second, I have other attachments, gizmos and things that I may use. No sounds though. Nothing. Not a grunt, whimper, growl or screech.”
“If you fail, everything stops immediately and we’re done for the evening. If you succeed, I may let you have your orgasm in the manner of my choosing.”
Those are all the rules. All the information. You may of course opt out.
“I’m in,” is all I can think to say. I wonder how hard it can possibly be to shut up for 45 minutes…
You strap me into the bench, ask me if I’m comfortable and put a timer in direct sight as I look at the floor. You pull a gag into my mouth unexpectedly, but I realize the timer is going, and remember not to object, or mmmmmpphh at it.
I can feel myself start drooling and am trying to keep it under control when I hear the first SWOOSH – smack. Allllriiiighty then. I see we’re getting started. I react with a start and realize that I’m working very hard not to keep in even just a simple squelch. In seconds, the second, third and several follow-on smacks follow. My backside is stinging and screaming at me, and my head is making enough noise that I have to force myself to take a long breath, even as you connect with me again.
Each time the jolt rocks through me, and each time in my head, I’m making a hell of a lot of noise – so far, that’s the only place. I open my eyes to see that I’m drooling all over the gag, and only 2 minutes has gone by. I’m second-guessing my willingness to play. I guess I didn’t realize you were going to bring your sadist-A-game to the challenge. You pause for a second, lean down and whisper in my ear…
“You’re doing really well. Of course it’s only been 2 or 3 minutes now, but we’re off to a roaring start!”
You rub my neck a bit and then I feel your fingertips at my shoulders, then your nails on my back. Slowly, painfully slowly you run your nails down my back, I can feel the scrapes flaring up as you pass over my back and I’m curling up, or rather, trying to curl up against the belts around me. Trying to give some sort of release to the scratches. My back feels like a big welt and is getting physically hot as you drag your fingers down. Just as you get to my waist, there’s a split-second hesitation and then you return to the crop.
I’m sincerely fighting with everything I’ve got to keep control. You repeat this several times, each time I feel the scrapes down my back yet a bit more. Each time I feel the intensity of the smacks increasing. I’m trying my best to force myself to relax into the bench, to stay with it, to not panic.
I look at the clock and we’ve managed to spend a decent amount of time doing this, but I still have more than 15 minutes to go.
You pause for a second and start stroking me. I figure you’re going for the pleasure thing now, trying to get me to screw up. It almost works. My head is in full “deal with the pain” mode and, though I was hard from all of that and the attack going on, it hadn’t occurred to me that you’d start there next.
With another pause in the action, several more minutes have passed, but I feel you next to me, near my head. I start to re-open my eyes and then feel them. The clover clamps. They close in on one, then the other of my nipples, my chest screaming as it tries to come to terms with the clamps. You’ve actually threaded them through the bench, so if I move… yeah.
My head is yelling, crying out. Yes, some of the pain has moved to the good side of the scale. Some has not. My back is on fire. My ass is on fire. My chest is now screaming. I feel you at my ear again “Only 10 minutes to go now… can you make it? I think not.”
I’m dancing around the pure pleasure side of things, letting the pain take over, then I feel your nails on my back again. But this time, at about (I think) 4 different spots as you come down my back, you mix in swats. Each swat brings with it my reaction, trying to pull up, then the chains on my chest pull me back in place with a searing pain. When you get done with a pass, you go back to stroking.
My head is swimming, wanting to have that orgasm that you’re teasing, edging me toward, quite literally.
You stop for a moment and I look down through the sweat, drool and even some tears at the clock. 3 minutes. You again have me at the edge, I am struggling to keep silent, but I know too that if you continue, it’ll all be over with before the 3 minutes is up.
Then I feel it. You’re biting me, biting my ass, right in the midst of where you’ve been hitting, in the midst of the heat. The sheer surprise of it all takes me over the top and I yelp as the pain and teeth and stinging registers…
I hear the beep of the timer being stopped in front of me.
“Oh, damn. So close. You only had 20 seconds remaining!! Maybe next time, yes?”
You start unbuckling me and getting me free and tell me to get up. In my endorphin state, I start to get up, but the chains are still attached. My chest screams in pain and I lay back down quickly, but it’s too late. The clamps are pulsating now and this wave of black and white scatters through my brain. Then you remove the clamps and it all comes rushing back in a flash.
You’re giggling a bit at me, standing back, letting me come back down. “Sorry about that, I may have ‘forgotten’ to remove those.”
I sit up and then pour onto the floor, fighting to come back from the scene and realizing how close I’d come.
Maybe next time indeed.