Post-Production

First of all, allow me to apologize for the wait time on the new post. I hate to delay the postings but sometimes it cannot be helped. I work on a computer 10+ hours a day and sometimes it is all I can do to commit to playing on one too.

I waited all week for the big, emotional breakdown that I knew was just around the corner. I figured, you don’t let someone (ask someone) to beat the shit out of you without having some emotional baggage come out of that, right? The emotional breakdown did not happen and I sometimes wonder if that makes me more or less capable of continuing to push my limits...

The day started out fairly innocuous, we met at the door of my hotel, Mr. S carrying a large bag of what I only imagined to be whips, chains and the like. Have bondage gear, will travel. He makes a very strong presence, tall and somewhat rotund, bald, with a long salt and pepper goatee. Like a thinner, more sadistic Santa Clause. He looked as if he would be quite at home on a Harley or bouncing people out of the local biker bar. We embraced, we kissed, we went to lunch in the manner of two old friends meeting after an extended absence.

The conversation was light over lunch, barely a mention of the events due to unfold other then a confirmation that I was ready to continue. We got back to the hotel and with a kiss he told me to wait in the lobby while he prepared the room.

I went to the bathroom for fear of pacing a hole in the lobby floor and waited. I took off my large ring, made my safe call and practiced breathing to try and calm down. I was excited, nervous and scared. After what seemed an eternity, he called and told me to “get up to the room, slut”. Gone was Santa, enter the Sadist. The surfaces of the room, the desk, bed and night stand were covered with ropes, whips, paddles, canes, and other items that I could only guess what they might be used for. It is difficult to describe my feelings, I was smirking but I knew I was nervous, anxious to please and badly in need of an orgasm. He grabbed my arm and told me to strip. I complied, still not entirely sure what to do with myself. He told me to get on his hands and knees and kiss his boots. He then proceeded to whale on my bare ass and the backs of my thighs. I remember thinking that if I could not handle that; I would be in for a terrible time. I subconsciously moved my hand to try and cover my ass cheek. Wrong move. I was to lay face down on the carpet, my arms underneath my head, and my legs spread wipe open while he smacked my ass and legs. The pain was intense but I could feel my cunt was dripping. He continued to show me who wrong I was to move my hands when he stopped and began to massage my pussy and clit. I could have come in seconds. I immediately started to ask and beg him to let me come and like the surprise gift on Christmas morning, he allowed me. Heat engulfed me and I gushed all over the hotel floor and his hands. It was surprisingly intense given how badly my ass stung.

Mr. S. then lifted me up and prepared the rope, all the while hurling insults my way. “You are a slut, you are nothing more then holes for my enjoyment”. And etc… He placed my hands above my head and tied me around my wrists and chest with the rope framing my exposed nipples. He would ask me if I was okay, using my name to snap me into reality – the gentle side of him coming out again. The insults grew to a pitch and he calming told me that I was dirt. I was the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. To illustrate this, he took out a marker and wrote DIRT across my stomach. He tugged, sucked, pulled, pinched, bit, slapped and flicked my nipples until they were so sore I was doubting my enjoyment. And then the real fun began.

He took out a snakebite kit. The kind with the rubber/silicone cylinder used to draw venom infected blood to the surface. He put one over each nipple and squeezed. The suction was quite powerful, engorging my tender nipples. He batted them around like a cat plays with a mouse before moving back to the spanking of my ass and thighs. He then took out a knife, showed the blade to me and made me kiss it. Blindfolded me and ran the knife along my chest and neck and held it to my throat, threatening to slice it if I did not behave. He moved back to some severe ass punishing and I had to call ‘yellow’ for the first time that day. It was just too intense, and too painful. I was racked with quilt about using the ‘yellow’ (more on that to come) but I had to stop. He decided to move to something a bit more gentle.

More rope work; hog tying me and then fucking my face with his cock. Then again providing me with the most delicious orgasm, we continued to a clothes pin implement he called “the zipper.” I knew it would be painful, but I was anxious to experience it. He placed the clothes pin all around the nipples of both breasts. They were tied to a long string so that they could all be pulled off at once. I begged him to pull them off at the same time, he chuckled but agreed. He counted to 3, but I am fairly confident that he pulled on 2. SON OF A BITCH! The pain was a white-hot flash, but lasted only seconds and then it was a warm, calm….I can’t explain it. It was not so much pleasurable…but it was something. Alive? Feeling? I take pride in always feeling alive, but this was different. And of course, it left the most delicious marks on my tits.

He allowed me to recovery before starting up with the nipple torture. Again, I had to call ‘yellow’, I was done. It had been a few hours, I learned more then I had learned in the few years I was dabbling, and I as grateful as I was…I was done.

He gave me another wonderful orgasm and I returned the favor with the sweetest blow job I could muster. Nipples and ass in searing pain, clit happy, and wanting to please. He came in my mouth and we spent the next few hours talking, decompressing, all part of amazing after-care. Physically, I was sore. Emotionally, I felt fine. I was really upset about having to stop the play with my two calls of ‘yellow’ and I needed to talk about that. It was so important to me to provide HIM with an amazing experience as well and I felt I somehow failed with having to stop. He made me understand that my stopping points were as equally as importing as my starting and that no way effected his enjoyment. If I wasn’t certain before, I was now more convinced then ever that he was the right one to help me along my path.

My eternal thanks goes to Mr. S. For the learning, the experience, the experiences yet to come, and most importantly, the friendship.

Yours,
~M

P.S. nothing kills a late night hotel bar hook up like the word “dirt” scrawled across your stomach and massive bruising on your tits. For once…I kept it in my pants!