My Raincheck

So, by way of 'making up for' not getting the whips out over the course of a recent event, Sir had more or less given me a 'raincheck'. Which is what we finally got around to the other morning.

Sir was up early in the morning, and after I came down he eventually headed upstairs to shower saying maybe we could get around to something thereafter. I waited downstairs and went about my morning, not sure whether to expect anything or not. Eventually he called down and told me I was to come up to him.

I came to the big bedroom (which is also sort of our 'Work' room) to find him standing inside dressed all in black with a wicked grin on his face. (Eventually, I may get to a post about the room we primarily use, but for now, it will suffice to say it's "His" room, our bedroom, and clearly his domain. I have rooms of my own as well, although they are such at his pleasure.)

I stood outside the door and undressed (as it's the room I don't wear clothing in without explicit permission, one of our few rules) then by his permission, entered.

At the foot of the bed, there's a soft black bench with low arms at each end and lots of pillows; soft golden chenille and others with a shadowed black ornate floral orchid pattern. On days such as this, it is pulled out from the end of the bed, the pillows set aside, and the bench is then covered with a soft black sheet. It's just long enough for me to lie across comfortably, my head resting on one of the arms. Four black leather straps encircled each of the bench's legs, then come up towards the left and right raised ends. Across each end, Sir had attached two of the highly polished chrome spreader bars, each the width of the bench. On the bed laid several of my favourite whips, and the four black padded leather cuffs. Without saying a word, I knew what laid in store.

He told me to come around to the bed. Then lovingly, he buckled each cuff onto my limbs, first my wrists then my ankles. He crossed the room to the toolbox compartment organizers and pulled out four of the small nickel plated padlocks, then returned to me and proceeded to lock the cuffs onto me. This little 'ritual' of sorts in and of itself is enough to get me into a mindset.

(Soft black leather and shiny polished steel is very much our aesthetic. Metal and leather. Although somewhat ironically, I have no interest in many of the metal cuffs or collars we so often see. I suppose you could say we're both rather selective about our tools.)

He kisses me, and leads me across the bench, face down. Limb by limb, he clips the cuffs onto the spreader bars leaving me unable to escape, and a ready target. He ensures I'm comfortable, then disappears over towards the rack where we keep our whips hung. I'm not blindfolded, but I'm not sure I want to know, just yet, either. So I turn my head and close my eyes, giving over to him, and what he wants.

Anyone who has ever been sensually whipped can readily identify the two primary different sensations, 'thud' and 'sting'. For me, when I'm under Sir's whips, these two have two completely different effects. 'Thuddy' makes me sink, deep into a place where I've very inarticulate, but very pliant, and welcoming suggestion. 'Stingy' on the other hand, tries to lift me off of whatever I'm securely attached to, and leaves me fighting myself, begging for it to stop, and sometimes crying. (This does NOT however mean I actually want it to stop.) Each of these are their own head (and body) trip. It takes someone with a particular sense of timing and ability to 'read' me to combine them both over the course of a brief period. Neither of these are things I entrust to people I don't know well, as both leave me very emotionally raw.

Sir is one of the few people I know who can make me change gears as it were, between the two, and still leave me in a state where I actually enjoy it. Unfortunately, it's not something I find I can do often, and it takes both of us being in a particular state of mind and comfort to actually pull it off.

In any case, without telling me that was what he was about to do, that was the state he worked me into. Working from whips that can, when used a particular way feel more akin to a good massage, on to whips that once I'm warmed up, yes I can take, even though it's a most peculiar kind of enjoyment.

Back at the Floating World, we had found a flogger made of the satin cord it seems every kinky person has worked with or made something out of at some point. Just ordinary fabric store cord carefully woven into a nicely formed handle that felt good in my hand with a bazillion purple satiny tresses. The reason it came home, though, was that each of the tips had been carefully dipped repeatedly in 'tool dip', the rubber coating for tool handles. The balance was nice, and I knew instantly that those tails would sting horribly.

Well, I was right. And THAT will teach me to pick up a tool, having it in mind for use with perhaps a pretty girl somewhere in my future. I should know better. And I should know that just as I was always taught, before you use a tool on someone else, you should have it used upon yourself, so you know, down in your bones what it's capable of. While ultimately, of course I'm fine with all of that, it being the way things are done, and it is simply to be expected, I did not however expect this particular tool this particular morning.

Which led to many cries of "I hate that whip!... Don't stop."

By the time my morning's ordeal was 'over', I was very 'floaty'. Sir released me from my bonds at the bench and let me lay across the bed. We spoke briefly, and then he very matter of factly went over to the small table in the corner and returned with several sets of adjustable clamps with which he heightened my neediness beyond excruciating.

Then he removed them, and left me unfulfilled. He allowed me the cuffs for the rest of the day (actually, I slept in them that night only taking them off the next morning.)

The lovely anguish that is being left afterwards is not something I would normally enjoy. But with him, after this in particular, it was wonderful, feeling that ache combined with the soreness from the whips earlier, it left me constantly aware of HIM as I drifted through the next day or so. It's that awareness, that feeling of being owned, posessed, taken somewhere I rarely go with anyone with trust at the core of it that I treasure above all else.