I owe.

I owe Robbie the account I promised him of some of the intense scenes we had over Thanksgiving.

I will likely fall behind on my promise, because this time of the year is crunch time at my job. But I thought I would give him–and everyone else–a little exhibitionist glimpse of the euphoric and amazing experience we had the day before Thanksgiving. The one that involved the shibari, the beating, the caning, the flogging, the chair-fantasy-made-real, and the blowjobs.

* * *

We made careful plans for his visit, with contingencies.  The one that worked just as we’d hoped was an arrangement to meet two people we’d been corresponding with on Fetlife.  One of them was a woman with strong submissive interests who was just starting to explore them in real life, and the other was a young but experienced top with a good working knowledge of rope bondage.  Somehow, we managed to get these total strangers comfortably and happily ensconsed in my apartment together, wine glasses in hand, late in the afternoon just a few short hours before turkey time.

We’d promised the woman a rope demo, and so the man carefully and politely tied me into a . . . oh fuck it if I remember what it was.  I slip into subspace incredibly easily, and my two biggest triggers are blowjobs and ropes.  When the ropes were around my wrists, comfortably, I mellowed out so much that I still need to spend some time reconstructing subsequent events if I’m going to givea more coherent account of the day.  For now I will just say that at some point, a few minutes or an eternity later, I was bound chest, arms, and thighs, and kneeling in front of Robbie, wearing nothing but cherry-red panties and a huge smile on my face, staring into the answering grin on his.  I do like showing people how very good I can be, for him.

We’d also promised the woman that nobody would push her into donning ropes herself, and after I was unwrapped, we helped her get herself pointed for home.  I threw on some clothes and cooked the boys big bowls of spaghetti.  We drank more wine and talked.  We enjoyed.

And then I got whipped.

Not a week before this, I had been reading Calico‘s account of the phenomenal sex party she went to and drooling mightily over the beating and fucking she had had.  I had been aroused, curious, and puzzled at her description of the pain: “I see redness, a haze. White lights burst across my vision. Stars, stars, everything is stars.”  I wanted, and I was scared to have.

But standing in my kitchen, naked except for those red panties, with Robbie sitting at the table, watching me, I let our friend flog the hell out of me.  And he gave me all the pain I wanted, the most delicious pain.  It crackled across my shoulders, bright red lightning.  It sang in my ears and through my body.  It sparkled across my skin, bursting and vivid.

“A hot pink-red sheet of static, white fizz bursting behind my eyes,” Calico wrote.  That is what it was like.  That’s how intense it was.


Intense art by Jinyoung Shin.