Session 4/18/20

I sit, naked, waiting. The floor is covered in butcher paper, shiny side down, duct taped in place. In case things get messy. I’m sure things will get messy. There are three small space heaters, arranged in a triangle around me. The room is comfortably warm. But I couldn’t stop shivering. I think I’m nervous. Odd.

Waiting, I look over my skin. Smooth, brown, moisturized. I shaved. Everything except my pussy. Should I have? My legs always feel weird after I shave when my sheets or pants rub against them. Hypersensitive. Would that be problematic for this? I never shave my pussy. He doesn’t like it. He says women have hair. Men that insist on hairless cunts are perverts. Only children lack pubic hair. So, all the hair my body will grow there, remains. I didn’t ask him if I should shave elsewhere. Or rather, I didn’t get permission. I hope it’s not a problem. Oh god I hope it doesn’t make him change his mind and cancel on me. Fuck, I’m nervous.

I hear my breathing as I sit waiting in silence. I hear the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of my blood passing my ears with every pump of my heart. What’s taking so long? I rub my fingertips over my calves and I get goosebumps. I stretch my back and look down at my squishy belly. I poke it. What’s this gonna look like today, bulging all the ways it does. Even more so. I don’t know if I can do this. Maybe I should—

I hear his footsteps approaching. Oh shit. I get into position. I place my forearms atop my thighs, my wrists at the top of my knee, hands lightly cupping my knee. You ever realize how weird knees are? Knee skin and elbow skin feel like scabs to me. Maybe because I was always falling, scraping, scabbing mine up as a child. Does everyone’s knee and elbow skin feel like this?

He enters. Takes off his shoes. I’m seated as we discussed, head down. My hair is in two cornrows, as instructed. Took me almost two hours, but, safety first. All I can see is my lower body and the ends of my braids. Then I see his feet. He has beautiful feet. Perfect feet. They look like the feet of Jesus, I think, sculpted from brass. “Hey. Want some water?” he asks me. I nod. He kneels and holds a bottle of ice cold alkaline water to my mouth. I sip, and then gulp. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. The coldness settles my stomach. Calms my nerves. I take a deep breath.

“You ready?” He asks. I nod, head down, per our previous discussion.

“If at any point you feel uncomfortable, just say stop. Do you understand?” I nod.

He steps away I hear the door open as he leaves. I hear squeaky wheels and the door opens again. He reenters, and with him would be the scaffolding he had made for today, which I’ve yet to see. I can smell it. Cedar wood. And polish. I hear him positioning it, struggling. He should have help. But he didn’t want any outside energies potentially altering the vibe here. With me being so vulnerable today.

He tells me to look and I do. Before me is what looks like a huge hangman’s gallows. Then I see there’s depth to it. So it actually looks like a wooden bunk bed, but just the top bunk, and no mattress. There are beams across that remind me of slats. Each of the four posts end at large, sturdy Xs, for stability. He asks me what I think and I’m speechless. Truly speechless. I can’t believe he’d go through the trouble. And what it must’ve cost!

“Do you like it?” he asks in earnest. I nod.

“Good.” He offers me his hand. I take it and stand. “Look up here” he points to the center of the gallows, where my name is intricately carved into the thick beam. “This is for you. There will never be another here. I need you to know that” he says, his hand cupping my chin, eyes locked with mine, arm around my waist, squeezing my body into him. “Okay?” I nod.

I nod because I’m following the rules of the room. The rules are simple here.

1. Only speak when given permission.

2. Any spoken phrases must be followed with sir.

3. There are no NOs in the room.

4. We do not leave the room until all parties are satisfied, barring an emergency.

Those are the only rules. And since I haven’t gotten permission outside of say stop when I’m uncomfortable, I’ll continue to communicate non verbally until instructed otherwise.

This room, which we refer to only as “The Room” is pretty large. The floors were ripped up and the cement was polished. One half of the room is covered in 2.5 inch gymnastic mats. It’s where more... adventurous endeavors take place. It’s where the gallows now reside. On the other half there’s a full sized bed and a floating cabinet from IKEA, that holds instruments of varied pleasures. Whips, canes, crops, chains, vibrators, clamps, plugs, shackles, ropes, handcuffs, tails, costumes, candles, oils, gags, collars, blindfolds, whatever may be wanted or needed for a session in the room. These cabinets are high up and locked to keep little people from accessing the contents there in.

We have 2 children. My best friend babysits twice a week to allow us time in the room, uninterrupted. I can’t explain the gratitude I have for her and her understanding of my needs and I can’t wait to bestow the same kindness on her when she has children of her own.

The cabinets are the only wall fixtures in the room. There’s a bathroom and a closet. The closet contains sheets, towels, robes, toiletries, and 2 of my favorite blanket. There is a WiFi speaker, also from IKEA, in each corner, and also in the bathroom. The bathroom is kept sterile. It’s not a place of comfort, only necessity. The room has lots of windows, none of which have curtains, only blinds, which are often left open to allow sunlight in. Natural light soothes me. It’s necessary for my willing participation in the activities in the room. So are my blankets. They come in handy for aftercare. They help me feel grounded and centered. “All parties being satisfied” includes sexually and emotionally. We don’t leave until we are both centered and emotionally fulfilled, as well as sexually content.

He looks me in the eyes for a long while, until I look away. I don’t like prolonged eye contact and it’s one of the ways he uses to dominate me. Sometimes I’m punished for looking away too soon. Sometimes I’m punished for being defiant by not looking away when I should. I know when I’ve met his expectation because he winks at me. Then I’m free to look away. This time, I looked away earlier than I should have, but he’s being kind. He knows I’m feeling very shy and nervous about all of this. There will be no punishments today.

He kisses me on my forehead and says “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. Are you sure you’re ready?” I nod. “Okay. You trust me?” I nod.

I truly do trust him. With my life. With everything I have in me. He’s never given me a reason to doubt him. He’s always showed up for me, capable and strong and dependable. Solid. Rock solid. So, he can have me any way he likes. His dependability has earned him the rights to me in this way, my willing submission, in every aspect. And his consistent respect of me and my needs let’s me know I made the right choice when I entrusted myself to him. He affirms me every day.

So, I’m ready.

I assume the position we’d previously discussed, forearms on thighs, and so on. I close my eyes and take in the sensations in the moment. His breathing on my skin, warm and steady, my breathing in my ears, fast and eager, the feel of my soft, shaved legs beneath my finger tips, the feel of my heart beating, rapidly and hard, I can feel it in my throat. I want to feel him in my throat. Ugh, focus. I sneak a peek at him, unwinding the yellow cord. I shut my eyes as he gets closer, wondering where he’s gonna start, wanting to be surprised. I feel the nylon at the back of my left thigh, dragging across my skin. Wrapping around my arm once, twice, tied off. The rope is kinda pinchy, but firm, it gives me good sensory feedback. It’s not as grating as I thought it would be. It’s pulled taut. He moves up my thigh, wrap, wrap, tie off, wrap, wrap, tie off. He moves to bind my right side in the same way as the left. Once done, I’m left sitting with my legs parted, and slightly bent, elbows bound near pelvis, wrists above knee. I can still move my hands in circles and flex my fingers, and my legs are free below the knee. For now.

I’ve noticed my breathing has steadied. I look at the intricate knots he’s made down my arm, so beautiful and repetitive. Each nearly exactly like the one below or above it. I’m wondering how often he practiced this. I want to touch the knots but I can’t and it’s like torture. I notice he’s walked away from me. I don’t see him and I don’t feel him nearby. I close my eyes to hear him, sense him. I hear a faint click above me. I can’t place it until I here a second click. It’s a camera. It’s my camera. My rebel T7i. He’s taking photos. It gets my breathing up a tick. It’s kinda hot. I wanna see. I can’t ask. That’s frustrating. I really wanna see. I wiggle and whine a bit to get his attention.

“You wanna see these pics?” I nod. He kneels and says in my ear “No. You’ll see them after. Be patient.” I slump and I pout. I really wanna see. “Hey!” He yells and it startles me a bit. A pop my head up to look at him. He’s kneeling before me, maybe 4 feet away, on one knee, the camera at his waist level. He snaps a picture. Of me, bound with my legs apart, pouting but surprised. It makes me blush. It makes me squirmy. I look down immediately after. “HEY!” He yells louder, in that voice. His dom voice. “Did I give you permission to look away!?” He whisper yells between gritted teeth. I shake my head no. He glares at me. I hold his gaze. “Just because I said there are no punishments today, doesn’t mean I won’t make you pay tomorrow. Get your shit together.” He almost growls that last bit. I nod. He used the voice that makes me feel like prey. Makes me feel like, have you ever seen BEASTARS? If you have, his voice makes me feel like I’m the white rabbit, and like he’s the wolf. If you haven’t, go watch it. It’s on Netflix. Get your shit together. Fuck are you doing with your life!?

That voice and that threat gets me breathing fast. Partly because it’s terrifying, especially being nearly immobile like I am. And partly because it’s extremely arousing. I’m feeling my pulse race, those butterflies, that tickle in my clit that needs to be rubbed away. But I can’t do anything about it. If I could just squeeze my thighs together for a bit, just a little bit, it’ll calm that buzz that’s growing. I whimper, unintentionally.

He looks at me. He smirks. I can’t see it but I can feel it. I can feel him watching me, smirking, knowing what I need but ignoring me. I hate this game. He loves this game. I want him to touch me, I need him to. My nipples start to tingle as I feel him watch me squirm. The buzzing grows, the tingle moves from my clit, spreads deeper inside me, slowly. Just touch me. Fuck, just touch me.

He walks to me, squats facing me. “Baby girl, are you okay?” Mocking me. He knows I’m not okay. “You wetting yourself already?” He reaches a hand towards me, between my legs, so close, so close I can feel the warmth on my lips. He grazes my yoni and I hear a finger slide across the butcher paper. FUCK! I’m screaming internally, I shiver externally. I try to keep my composure. He tuts at me. “Dripping already and we haven’t even gotten started. Naughty girl.” I hear the smile in his voice.

I wanna speak, I wanna beg, I wanna plead, but if I do, this early, it’s a loss for me. I can’t lose. Not this soon.

Rest assured I’m gonna lose. This game is rigged in his favor. I always lose, but it’s not about winning, it’s about lasting. I wanna last.

I try to steady my breath and settle the butterflies in my womb. I bite down on my jaw. A little pain usually does the trick. Not as well as a squeeze, but, it’s something.

He kneels behind me, breathing on my neck and shoulders. He wraps his arms around me, and I feel the nylon beneath my breasts, tickling and prickling my skin. He wraps me, front to back, tying knots in a circular pattern at my back. It feels like a web at my front. It encompasses my arms as well. Every few times he passes the rope around me he grazes my nipples. I don’t know if it’s on purpose, I don’t know if he notices me flinching, notices my breathing, feels me writhing ever so slightly. I just want him to touch me. Other than the brief grazes, he hasn’t touched me since this started. I’ve only felt rope on my skin. I want to feel him on my skin. And he’s so close and he smells so good. I wanna taste him. I wanna touch him. This is taking so long. FUCK!

“This is just to harness you. It’s taking a while because I wanna make sure it’s supportive and it can bear weight without restricting circulation. I also want some specific patterning on your breasts, so please, bear with me.” He wrapped my breasts separately, each having a knot above and below, but the rope is diamond shaped at the base of the breast. I imagine it looks like a bikini without material to cover the boobs themself. The patterning, and really that’s a fancy way to say bruising, is gonna be interesting in that area. I’m an easy bruiser. Which is a plus for me, because he likes bruises and it doesn’t take an exorbitant amount of torment to leave marks on me. I couldn’t imagine how long spankings may last if I had tough skin.

He comes to the front of me and I feel the scratchy smooth rope beneath my bosom again. This time he wraps both breasts together at the base. Now my DDDs are trussed up like I’m wearing a too small push up bra. I kinda like it.

He takes more pictures of me. From different angles. He kneels again and lifts my chin, snaps a pic. He scootches away from me a bit, and lifts the camera to his eye. I lift my head, stick out my tongue, cross my eyes and point both my middle fingers up. He snaps and bursts into laughter. I laugh too, but I kinda can’t, being tied up like this. He crawls to me and kisses me on my forehead. He says “Almost.”

That forehead kiss is the best thing. It keeps me.

He laces the back of me with multiple ropes. I feel him wiggling his fingers into the web of knots at my back, one hand between my shoulder blades, the other at the base of my spine, where he joined the arm/leg binding to the web. He inhales and hoists me up. I start, I wasn’t expecting that. I’m faced down, nose 3 inches above the floor, legs dangling, as he holds me by this hand wound grid. He places me back on my bottom. “Yep, that’ll do it!” He says excitedly, accomplished. Like a small boy who put together his first model plane by himself. I wish I could see the look on his face. But he’s behind me.

He tips me to the left and lays me on my side. “Just these last few” he whispers. I feel the rope gliding across my skin again. Binding my calf to my thigh now as well. He does the other side the same way. He laces additional ropes between my leg folds.

I’m positioned as if I’m kneeling in prayer, the Japanese sitting position, except my knees are apart. My front is fully exposed.

He takes a few more photos. And then I feel some slight tugging at my back. And then I’m being lifted off the ground by the ropes he laces through my back web. I can’t tell how many, but the pull is completely even. The way gravity is pulling my weight towards the ground, against the ropes, it’s jaunting, but not painful. The sensation is new. I’m nervous and uncomfortable. Not physically. Mentally uncomfortable. I’m a big girl. 223 lbs to be exact. And I’m wondering if these ropes can hold me. If the gallows can hold me. I feel unsettled. I want to get down. I’m about a foot above the ground. I want to protest. I want to say stop. I’m slipping into my head and my fears are talking. Loudly. The key to new experiences is to be present in your body and not in your mind. Feel the sensations. Notice tactile things, tangible things, actual things. Not the made up things in your mind. But I’m slipping. Mentally. I think I’m gonna—

He’s kissing me. He’s laying below me and he’s kissing me. His hands are on my hips, softly. His tongue is exploring my mouth gently, needingly, longingly. It wasn’t just me then. He’s kissing me like he needed it. Like this past, what, 15 minutes of tying me and toying with me was taking a toll on him too. Like he needed to touch me too. Taste me too. I feel his hands in my hair, at the roots of the loose braids. I feel him slide his hand to the base of my neck and ball his fingers into a fist, pulling my hair tightly. I feel myself go limp, like he knew I would. I let out a moan. Well, it escaped me. I couldn’t hold back if I tried. I’m sopping wet, my insides melting like butter on a fresh pancake. Good god. What this man does to me.

He runs his fingers along my cheeks. He holds my face on his hands. He looks me in the eyes for a few seconds and says “thank you.” I smile and nod. He boops my nose. I grin.

“Let’s get started.” He growls mischievously. I think I cum then. A little bit.

I hear a buzz. A familiar buzz. It’s my favorite hitachi wand, I named Sahara. He turns her to level three. He runs her along my body, my back, arms, my ass. From my knee to my thigh. He skips my pussy. Runs it along the opposite leg. Then it’s gone. FUCK.

Where’s he gonna—

OH MY WORD!

Sahara is ice cold as he places her on my clit. My orgasm over takes me within 6 seconds. All this foreplay was too much. I feel my inside clench and release, clench and release, my core tightens, my eyes roll back, my body flexes against the ropes, I just wanna shut my thighs, but I can’t. I cum, squirting and screaming and writhing, but he won’t stop. I start to shake, hard, involuntarily.

“P...p...p p p... please!” I scream, near to tears.

“What!?” He yells through gritted teeth, turning up the level of Sahara to some ungodly height.

“PLEASE SIR!” I scream, correcting myself. And he stops. He drops the wand to the paper covered mat. Grabs a towel and wipes me clean. I can’t catch my breath. My face is closer to the ground than my ass and the inversion intensifies every feeling. He gives me a few minutes to settle. He comes to me and kisses my forehead and calls me his good girl. I catch my breath. My heart rate slows. This is INTENSE.

I feel him wrapping rope around my braids. And then I feel my head being pulled up, back. I’m facing foreword, my body and head is level now. I can’t look around. Only ahead. I hear him snapping pictures. He comes in front of me and snaps one of my face. He tells me to open my mouth, wide. I do. And he snaps.

And now I know what I’m in for.

He slides his hand down my neck to my breasts. He takes his time kneading, pulling, twisting my nipples. My nipples are always super sensitive. And the sensation is almost like having my pussy eaten. He knows exactly how to play with them for maximum impact. Tingles radiate from my tits, through my core, to my clit at each touch. In a few minutes, I’m moaning and writhing again. My body begging him for more. The involuntary reaction to suck my tongue when I’m approaching climax kicks in. He removes his hands. Undoes his pants. His thick, rock hard, deep brown, sculpted by the goddesses cock springs foreword. I want it. I open my mouth. He doesn’t move. It’s at my nose, and if I could just stretch, streeeeeetch. I stick out my tongue in an attempt to make contact. I can’t, these fucking ropes. My braids are pulled so tight. Stretching towards him is painful, my hair is pulling, pulling. FUCK!

He snickers as I whimper and shut my eyes in defeat. He starts to prod my tits again, slow and expertly as he does. He knows I’m getting close, he can hear me moan and suck my tongue. I inhale and he slides his cock in my mouth. FINALLY! God!

I suck him with all the hunger this half hour in the room has built up in me. I take his head into the back of my throat, lifting my uvula high, so as not to gag. I don’t wanna gag, I wanna make this last. I feel his head at the end of my wet mouth and I slide my tongue as far as I can, suction it to the bottom of his shaft, press his cock up against the roof of my mouth and slide my head back, slow and steady, firm pressure at the top and bottom of his rod. He quivers. I do the same thing 4 more times, slowly in and out, moaning as the sound of his heavy breathing arouses me even more. On the 6th in, I swallow a few times, compressing on his head, and then I pull back super fast, leaving only his throbbing head inside my mouth. I suck hard and fast, flicking my tongue in circles, just like he likes it and I feel him buckle a bit. I grin and then nibble his tip, enjoying the precum that greats me. He places his hand and the nape of my neck. And I know he’s about to give me what I want. I take a deep breath and set my mouth at the right angle and he fucks my throat. Hard. I can hear his breathing, rapid and shallow, I feel his hands griping my braids, feel them tense and flex. He’s loosing it. He’s nearing climax. I gear up for the money shot. He pulls out.

Well fuck! I wanted to taste his salty sweet semen. It tastes like soft pretzels and loquats.

He walks away. He lets my braids loose from the ropes. What a relief! I stretch and flex my neck a little and let my head drop naturally. I feel more tension in the ropes and I feel myself being hoisted higher. The puddle of my spit and his fluids that was occupying my headspace is shrinking. I’m now about 3 feet off the ground. I’m feeling my anxiety creep up, but I’m breathing through it. This is fine. He won’t let anything happen to me. I’ve been having a great time. I’m safe. He’s got me. I’m good. I calm myself.

I hear him snapping some photos below me. I’m distracted by the thought of how my boobs look. I bet they look amazing. But then I’m thinking about my belly and I kinda wanna cry. And as if he could read my mind, he grabs my stomach and says “Baby girl, you look amazing!” And I grin as he snaps a photo, still holding a chunk of my squishy tummy. “Stretch marks and ropes has gotta be a searchable kink. I’m feeling the fuck outta this.”

He stands and finishes his photo shoot. He circles me, like a pack animal circles wounded prey. His eyes on me gives me goosebumps. I can’t recall ever feeling more vulnerable in my life.

He’s behind me. I feel him glide his nails over my skin. I’m shivering now, from the sensation and from the exposure. I hear him say “Shh shh shh” as he notices my disposition. I feel his cock at the apex of my thighs. Waiting. I don’t know what for. I’m nervous. This part is gonna hurt. It always hurts when it’s been a while. Hurts like when your lips are dry and you yawn really big and get those little cuts in the corners of your mouth. Like ripping. It doesn’t matter how wet I am, if it’s been more than a week, it’s gonna hurt. I start to breath deeply, slowly, preparing for the inevitable. He enters me, slow, so slowly. It feels like lighting. I grit my teeth against the sting. He only goes in a little bit before he exits. Then in again, slowly, a little more this time. I breath out as he goes in. I bite my lips and clench my fists to get through. I’m getting wetter with each stroke, deeper, deeper. I feel him throbbing, spreading me, wider, my body finally yields, spreads, welcomes him, opening to him, and he slides in farther, as far as my body allows him to go, which is about half the length of his dick. I feel him hit my cervix, gently, as we move into the next phase of acclimation. Awaiting the lengthening of my inner halls. He picks up the pace slightly, tapping the wall that is my most sensitive part of me, gently, but more frequently. My pussy contracts around his vein covered cock, relishing the sensation, I hear him exhale in response to the grip. He picks up the pace, increases the force as well. I squeeze him harder inside me, as his tapping becomes more of a knock, I’m getting wetter, he’s stroking faster. The sensations are overtaking me. I feel my body flex against the ropes, feel the friction on my skin as I tremor, approaching climax, the sound of his rhythmic breathing and our skin tapping together when he enters, like some hedonistic ritual summoning. Like ceremony drums. The smell of us, hot and sweaty, salty, sweet, the smell of the wooden beams, the slight squeak in rhythm to his strokes. The feeling of his member gliding along my walls, sweet ecstasy. I try to keep it together for as long as I can, but I lose it, and I cum hard, squirting, clearing all the slickness from inside me, wiping the slate clean. He pulls out to allow my juices to escape as I whimper in relief. I hear him chuckle as my body slumps, as much as it can being suspended as it is. I try to catch my breath. I feel him at my opening again. It’s tender. He runs his palms across my ass cheeks, squeezing, kneading, like he’s trying to revive an unconscious animal or something. And then he slides back inside of me and I gasp at the fullness. The feeling making my eyes cross momentarily and sends a shiver down my spine. It’s the most exquisite sensation and I’m getting wet again, my body begins to acquiesce to him. Not yet lubricated enough for the friction of his strokes, this is his favorite part. After I’ve come and the frictions back, and he can go in farther, 3/4 his length. But he’s not satisfied with that and he’ll bully his way all the way in. And this is gonna hurt. He’s speeding up, increasing the force. I’m breathing through, it’s not that bad. Yet.

Does time slow down for you during sex? You ever KNOW in your soul it’s been an hour of your best dick riding and you check the clock and it’s literally been 12 minutes? I hate that shit.

So it feels like 10 minutes, but it’s probably been 2 minutes of him pounding me this way. It just toes the line between pleasure and pain. I hear him moan which makes me moan. I feel him enter quickly and retreat slowly, slamming into me and dragging out. I hear my juices hit the floor as they escape me. Then I feel his hands move from my waist to my thighs and I know he’s about to go deep. And it’s about to really hurt. So I brace for it. But I can’t. There’s no surface to brace against. Nothing I can bite, nothing I can grip. Nothing I can do. I tense in anticipation, causing my vaginal walls to constrict around him. I try to breathe as he increases the intensity and force, my pussy squeezing, working against me. But I can’t. I wanna stop. I hear him growl, a deep “mmmmmm” sound. I buck against the ropes. He’s going faster, deeper, ramming his head against my cervix with so much force I’m probably gonna bleed. I hear his breathing, hard, quick, ragged. There’s no pleasure for me now, only pain. I feel gravity pulling on me and I feel where each of the ropes holds me, unwilling as I am. These ropes hurt. I feel bruises, welts. I just feel digging, the ropes digging into my flesh, his nails digging into my thighs, his dick digging into my pussy. I wanna stop. I wanna scream. I wanna cry. Before I can, I feel pressure against my clit, then small, slow circles there. He increases the pressure of his fingers against my pussy as he slows the speed and intensity of his strokes. It takes the edge off. It feels divine, slow, achingly slow, deep plunges into me, that tickle he ignites and then satisfies instantly with his hand, and all the pain melts away. I’m getting wetter and he picks up his pace, transforming from stroking to plowing to ramming, every single blessed inch of his rod into me. I’m spilling over, slick and hot, losing friction. His fingers slip over my clit as if it’s covered in bubble soap. I’m almost there. So is he. His rhythm is getting wilder but I’m so slippery it’s hard to stay inside. I clench every muscle I can, gripping his cock with my cunt with all my might, I don’t wanna lose this feeling. I’m so close. He’s rubbing and ramming. He moves his hand from my pussy. I gasp. He replaces it with the other hand, much to my relief. He starts to rub his fingers across my clit again, plowing harder into me, not pulling out as far. I know he’s close to climax, I’m close. My pussy is clenching, pulsing, throbbing, leaking all over. I feel the pressure building. Every muscle in my body tenses, my teeth are clinched, my breathing is shallow. I’m at the apex of climax, the very peak of sensation, the pinnacle of pleasure. I feel my pussy relax a little, and I know I’m about to cum in glorious fashion. And then I feel him slip a finger into my asshole. And my pussy tightens all over again and the most amazing feeling washes over me in waves as he move it in and out of me opposite of his cock, one entering as the other retreats. It takes me higher, even higher than before. Maybe as high as I’ve ever been in my life. I cream, my pussy quivers. My core muscle contract. My body pulls against the nylon cords, my skin feels hot, every place they touch feels sunburnt, raw and enflamed. His strokes become faster, more shallow, the finger in my ass keeps it’s steady pace. He pulls his cock farther out, then thrusts into me, hard, once, twice, three times, slamming against my cervix and I feel him cum, forceful, warm, and plentiful, his seed shooting against my tenderized insides. That undoes me, pushed me over the edge and I shatter. I cum in an epic, mind blowing, full body orgasm. He’s inside me, still, as my body moves through it’s involuntary course of shaking, then trembling, then quivering. Inside me still, as my cunt tenses and relaxes in involuntary spasms. I’m still panting and moaning. He loves that my body reacts this way, and stays in to enjoy every moment. I love feeling the swelling of his cock gradually reducing until he can easily pull himself from my still quaking pussy. He does as we both groan, our poor, abused privates, sore. We hear a loud splat as the majority of the evidence of this session, held in place by his dick, falls from inside of me to the butcher paper below, upon its removal. We both laugh.

I told you it would get messy.

He takes a few more photos and then lowers me to the floor. He cuts the web of knots on my back and takes a photo. Then cuts the cords and releases each leg. I roll onto my back and stretch as he snaps a picture of the rope patterns across the front of me. I close my eyes as he walks away. I feel amazing and exhausted and achy and exhilarated. I’m grinning like an idiot. I hear him coming back to me. He places his hand under my head, tilts it up and places a bottle of cold water to my lips. I drink and lie back down. He drapes my favorite blanket over me. He sits beside me and pulls me into his lap, cradling me in his arms. He kisses my forehead. He kisses me all over my neck and face. He kisses my mouth, slowly, deeply, in no rush. I melt. He boops my nose. I grin.

“You did soooo good baby doll. I’m so proud of you.” I beam, feeling proud of myself too.

“How was it?” He asks as he lowers my blanket to my waist. He gingerly traces his fingers along the patterns, bruises and welts left by the cords, inspecting, admiring.

We sit that way for a while, discussing the session. Likes, dislikes, things to note for the future, as he caresses me. I look through today’s photos as he unbraids my hair and runs his fingertips along my scalp, just like I like it. We discuss work, bills, the kids, as he gently massages my muscles.

“You ready to leave the room?” He asks.

“Yes, but,” I answer “next shibari session, can you put up a mirror? I wanna watch.”