How to begin…

It’s the release that I crave. I can’t get there by myself — I just can’t let myself let go. I have to be made to let go, forced, lit­er­ally tied down where every­thing is out of my con­trol. It’s the only way I can get there.

I was ner­vous. He told me to undress, to go into the bath­room and get ready, to lay on the bed to accept the cuffs, buck­ling my wrists and my ankles wide apart so that I was spread open across the bed. He started me off face­down. I’d asked for pain — it’s some­thing else I need, helps tear down my walls and makes me mal­leable. He starts off strongly and I can pace myself, breathe through it and han­dle it. But then he starts in harder and harder, and even­tu­ally, I’m whim­per­ing, cry­ing with­out tears.

Safe­words are a prob­lem for us. I’m very manip­u­la­tive and I’ll use the safe­word to mold the ses­sion to my con­trol. He knows how much I can take, and he’s told me not to use the safe­word just because I don’t want to take the pain. It’s only for when I can’t take the pain, and we’ll both know when I get there. It gets so bad. Not the pain — the Hitachi on my clit ensures that I’ll want more — it only serves to heighten my arousal. But the humil­i­a­tion, the sit­u­a­tion — I try to crawl off the bed away from him, but the bonds hold and he laughs at me.

There’s only one thing that he likes bet­ter than whip­ping and spank­ing. We’ve talked about this, but we’ve never been in a sit­u­a­tion where we could try it. But here, in the hotel room, we’re away from every­one, cloaked in anonymity. He ties me face up, spreads my thighs with his fore­arms. I panic, I don’t know what to do — it feels so good, but I want him to stop. I strug­gle, I cry, I scream against the gag, writhing against my bonds — I have to get away before he makes me explode. And the heat, build­ing up in my head, I can feel my cheeks flam­ing. And then, he has me where I can’t hold back. I’m like an ani­mal, I can’t think only feel as I come squirt­ing all over the bed. The shame and the plea­sure are over­whelm­ing and I’m bit­ing the ball­gag hard enough that my head aches in agony. But I keep com­ing, and com­ing and he won’t move the Hitachi off my clit. When he’s sat­is­fied, and I’m a limp pile of sop­ping, steam­ing flesh, he releases my bonds, smoothes the sweaty hair from my fore­head and asks me if I’m all right. I don’t know that I’ll ever be right again. Hav­ing tasted those fruits which I had so long for­bid myself, I only know that I’ll want more.