We left dinner and headed to the party. It was a perfect summer evening, and I was feeling blissful and relaxed. The party is quite a ways out from the city, located in a large house, with various and extensive play spaces and gathering rooms. When we got there, we chatted with friends, said hello to his wife and her lover, and wandered around for awhile. After a short period, he told me the scene he was planning was to suspend me.
It’s been a long time since rope was a consistent part of kink for me. V uses rope on me occasionally, sometimes to secure me to a piece of furniture, and sometimes as an element of the scene, but I am no longer the rope bunny I used to be, and I don’t trust my body to either bend the way it used to or to withstand the rigors of heavy rope play for long periods. I’m actually pretty unsure of myself in rope anymore, which makes me sad, when I think about what a rope slut I was before.
That insecurity made me ask him if we could scene down in the basement play area of the house instead of on the main floor. In the basement there is a modicum of some sort of … not privacy, exactly … but at least we wouldn’t be right out there in the middle of everyone, making a spectacle, the way the first floor play stations are. I didn’t want to be an embarrassment if I had to ask to be released immediately, or to embarrass myself if I was unable to contort my body the way he wanted it to be. I know it’s vanity, but I want people to remember the way I used to be in rope, not the way I am now. And yes, I hear how bad that sounds.
“The scenes we do are for ourselves, not for others watching.”
And that’s certainly true. Usually, by the time we get into a scene, the whole world vanishes, and it’s just he and I. But if you are playing in public, part of the charge of it is that people watch.
He agreed to my request. We both love an audience, we both feed off the exhibitionism, but he’s very responsive to my moods and needs. In this case, the scene could have ended up being pretty amusing to watch on the main floor, but doing it in the basement gave it a different feel…an intimacy, even though we played right next to friends and people were sceneing at other stations in the basement, or sitting on benches watching.
I still had a lot of anxiety going up in the rope. My main concerns are my flexibility in regards to my back, and, more recently, pain in one shoulder and upper arm. We have now discovered that I have a completely torn rotator cuff. It’s not a large tear, but it’s all the way through, and most likely won’t heal without surgery. But Viper is well-aware of my limitations in that regard and was very careful to accommodate it. He was also very solicitous and assured me that I could come down any time, and it would not upset him in the least. Which of course I knew and know, but in the moment I needed encouragement, which he provided, hugging me close.
Once he hoisted me up, I was not terribly uncomfortable. I mean, rope is rope, and it puts a lot of stress on the body, but I was not ready to come down five minutes after he got me up. Which was exactly how he had planned it, because he planned to have me up for awhile.
After making sure I was secure and not in pain, he stood in front of me. Gone was the warmth from his voice; in front of me stood my stern Owner, the one who has dominion over what I do with my body, who makes the rules – and who punishes me when I break them. “I told you there would be punishment for stealing that orgasm, didn’t I, kitty?” he said.
I strained to look up at him from my face-down position. “Yes?” I squeaked. He had his hands behind his back, and I trembled a little at the thought that he might use an impact toy on me, a cane or a whip, while I was in the air. Suspension heightens every sensation, and I can’t tolerate even an nth of the pain that I can while I am on the ground. Instead he pulled out my Hitachi. “You used Baldy to get your orgasm, it only makes sense to use Baldy to punish you.”
I confess that I was relieved. Whether teasing me until I begged for the orgasm, or using it to force orgasms from my body, surely I could deal with that easier than I could deal with pain.
He turned the vibrator on and then he pressed it against my clit.
And pulled it away.
And put it back, and pulled it away.
Then he held it there for a long time, until I was near orgasm. I knew what he was going to do, but I couldn’t keep my body from responding, couldn’t keep myself from arching into the rope, from pushing my cunt toward him as best I could with the rope holding me in its tight embrace.
And I yelled when he pulled Baldy away just as I was pushing myself toward the end.
He did it over and over, while I struggled and panted and contorted myself. While I swore at him and finally while I begged, near tears. Finally, he held it tight against my clit until I bucked against the rope in an orgasm, gasping and whimpering as I came.
And then — as I twisted and fought as he kept holding it there. And holding it there. “No no no no…” were the only words I knew as I came until my belly cramped.
“Please…” my voice was hoarse, a whisper, a plea. My cunt burned, my stomach ached, my body didn’t even fight the pain of the rope anymore I was so overwhelmed with sensations. Pleasure — and misery.
He asked me questions then, I think. Had I learned my lesson? What had I done wrong? Say it louder. Would I do it again? He may have made me meow too. I can’t really remember exactly all that he said, that he made me say. I don’t remember coming down much either, though I do remember, after laying curled on the floor, my head in his lap, feeling his hand in my hair, lifting my face up so he could look into my eyes. “Do you want to suck your Owner’s cock?” he asked. “Do you want to taste my cum?”
I always cringe when I read in stories that a woman (or man) wanted nothing more than to taste their partner’s cum. It seems so trite, so cliche. But damn it, it’s true. And in that moment, there in the basement, with a roomful of people possibly looking on, I wanted nothing more. I gasped out a yes and scrabbled for his zipper. His cock was rigid, cum glistening on a head that was purple and engorged. I took him in my mouth like I’d never have another chance.
I love that hurting me makes him hard. Really hard. That is not always the case in BDSM play. Many men – and women too – are not aroused by this kind of play. At least not physically, in the moment, while they are doing it. Even W had a barrier most of the time while he was actually hurting me. Oh, it was definitely foreplay, and he’d get hard and sex me all night long after a good, brutal, BDSM session, but in the moment, he had walls up in his head that usually kept him from getting a raging hard-on. Not so with Viper. All he has to do is start slapping at my thighs or pussy or breasts in the kitchen, and he’s hard as a rock beneath his jeans. All he has to do is grab me by the hair and ask if I’m his kitty, and I get wet.
We’re a good match that way.