A few observations from my most recent assignation with Drew…
He flew in Thursday and I, of course, had to be on a conference call at the time we were coming back from the airport. I was almost supernaturally horny that day so all I wanted to do was get into his hotel room, rip his pants open, and suck his cock. That was mission one. Life, though.
But yeah, I sucked that cock. And then he fucked me. No drama, no artifice. Just sex.
Next morning, for whatever reason, I wasn’t in the same place. Maybe because the cock sucking and ass fucking itch had already been scratched. Maybe because Belle and the kids were interacting with me via text before I came over and even in the sphere of being in his room. Whatever, I didn’t feel so much in the same place as the day before. Eventually, he stood before me and pinched my nipples. Not as hard as he’s able to, but hard enough. The pain wasn’t on the right channel. It was plugging into the “ow” socket and not the “mmmm” socket. But I forced myself to take it. Reminded myself that part of my sexuality was to demonstrate to my top that I could take their pain. That was what I gave back to them as they gave it to me. So I let it wash over me.
Then he put the clamps on. So much more pain. So hard to take. Dangerously close to surfacing and calling for a time out. But I took it best I could. Pathetic, sympathy-seeking whines escaped me (and, in retrospect, probably only encouraged him).
Then the turn. He brought a high discipline collar this time. One I’ve never worn before.
He had already put the cuffs on my wrists and ankles. Had already put the harness on me. Had already secured my hands behind my back. I had been decidedly not subby giving him pointed feedback. Not a good bottom. Again, I was just letting him go through the motions. But there’s something about collars. Something about the feeling of leather being cinched around your throat. Smelling it under your nose. Hearing it creak. Immediately, before the buckle was buckled, I felt myself being pulled down into the warm goo of submission. The feeling of being outside my body observing the scene started to dissolve. I entered myself and started to inhabit my role. To feel it in my chest.
The specifics of the order of things after this is a bit of a blur. He put a ball gag in my mouth and cinched it tight. I couldn’t work it out with my tongue. Barely budge it. He put a blind over my eyes. A one point, I was leaned over a little ottoman and fucked roughly. Spit dripped from the gag freely as I had no way of stopping it. The steel between my legs swung and the ring on the collar clanked to the rhythm of his pleasure taking. Then he had me bent over the bed, face in the fluffy comforter, soon slick with spit. The collar held my head out straight and eyes forward. Hands secure. Penis locked. Ass full of him. Face rubbed in my own spit.
After the fucking, he was back at my nipples. Pinching and twisting. He’d give me a warning before ratcheting up the intensity. He’d ask I could take more. I always said yes. Don’t ask. Just say you’re taking it. Just push me. Wait for me to break.
But I didn’t break. I couldn’t break. I was past the point of breaking. No matter how hard he pinched and twisted and abused the tender pink spots, all I felt was hotter, harder pleasure. There was no air in the tube. Just straining hard oozing meat. I found myself in that place where pain ceases to exist.
“Please, sir. Hurt me.”
Be bent me back over the ottoman and went to work on my ass. With his bare strong hands and his wide black belt. His technique was flawless. His aim true. But again, no pain. Just pleasure wrapped in fire. HURT. ME.
Gah. I’m shivering now just thinking about it. My eyes want to close. Even inhabiting the memory affects me. Pulls me down.
I don’t know where the door to that place is. I never notice going through the door. I only recognize the room when I’m in it. There’s no way for me to give directions to him. How to get me there. Restriction of movement. Taking my control. Using me. The collar. The cuffs. Some alchemy of all those things.
Maybe there is no door. Maybe it’s a transporter. One moment in one place, the next somewhere else.