"I was disappointed I missed your class. I was demo bottoming for another presentation at the same time. So, if you don't mind me picking your brain, how did you get over piss play?"
"I've liked piss since I was a kid. The class was about piss play and different ways to use piss."
"Oh, well... Um, then may I ask your opinion? How can one get over their hangups about piss?"
"There's a few ways. Some people simplify it; think about it like it's just warm water. Others will take the degradation route. Like, say... There are a few drops of piss left on my boots from my class, and only a filthy fucking slut would want to lick the piss off my boots."
I met Boymeat last year. We spoke less then ten words during our initial introduction. Hellos were exchanged as Boymeat began punching a mutual friend. I quietly excused myself as to not disturb the two of them.
The Thursday night of Fusion, I patiently waited for my shift at Playdate with the Pros. I had arrived early in case Shay needed help; she didn't. So I found myself with an hour to kill. And then in a conversation I desperately wanted to have. And then in a situation that both scared and thrilled me.
"Boymeat, do you want to sign up for one of my playdate shifts?"
"No."
"Shit."
"It's so hard, the torture of deciding what to do. Knowing that you'll have to ask for it. Get my permission to lick piss off of my boots. That I won't give you any help. That you will have to make the decision yourself."
I bent and twisted inside. I was wet, wetter than I wanted to admit. The idea of piss play had been on my mind for some time. Readers of this blog may have noticed its occasional appearance in pieces of erotica as of late. And now here was this sick-twisted-incredibly-hot man pushing me to do the things I wanted but feared.
And so, I leapt.
"Boymeat, may I lick the piss off of your boots?"
"Drop."
I sunk down to my knees.
"All the way down."
On all fours, I stared at his leather. At the drops that would soon be in my mouth. I crept towards his boots, stuck out my tongue, and licked. Lapped up his piss. First one boot, and then the other. The event swirled around us, but the people were far way. My world held only my body, writhing in pleasure, and Boymeat's boots for my tasting.
When I finished, I stood, a huge grin on my face. Boymeat adjusted himself.
"The problem with not cuming after your pissing class, and then having someone lick piss off your boots."
He must've seen my smile. Must've noticed the extra perk in my face. Boymeat is great at reading people.
"I'm gonna go sit on a bench over there and light a cigarette. Only a filthy fucking slut would randomly sit down, pull out a cock, and suck it from a guy she's never met. Let's see if a filthy little whore is going to come by and service me."
As soon as he walked away, I dashed about looking for safer sex supplies.
"Where are the condoms?" I asked Shay in my rush. She pointed me towards a small table in the middle of the room.
"Poetic, what's wrong?" asked Stefanos as he mingled among the guests.
"Oh, nothing. I just need a condom, now."
I found the condoms, grabbed one, and scurried through the crowd.
Boymeat had just lit his cigarette when I stood in front of him. He looked up and smiled at me. I handed him the condom. He ripped open the packaging, pulled out his cock, and put it on.
In a breath, I was down on my knees with his covered cock in my mouth.
As my mouth bobbed up and down on him, took all of him in. As Boymeat gripped my hair, guiding my lips along his cock, he spoke sweetnesses into my ear.
"Such a filthy little whore. Such a dirty little slut. Sucking on some stranger's cock. You don't even know me.
"You licked piss off my boots and we barely know each other. You want me to piss on you now, don't you?
"Tonight, when you're lying in bed, touching yourself, you're gonna think about my piss in your mouth. When you masturbate tonight, you're gonna cum to the idea of me pissing all over you."
He fucked my face til he came.
"Are you one of those lucky few whose clit is hard wired for pain?"
"Yes."
He grabbed my shoulders, turned the flesh. He hurt me as I writhed in his crotch. First my head brushed against him stomach, then lifted closer to his face. My body snaked across his chest. My hands rested on his thighs. My noises came. He enjoyed them.
He gripped my breasts, pulling, twisting at the flesh, deep under the muscle, rubbing against my ribs.
"Please. Please."
"Please. I love to hear that."
I was so wet, so slick from his work. I begged. Whispered my pleas.
He allowed me to cum. I twisted in ecstasy from my pleasure and his pain.
He started punching my chest. Concentrated on one side. And planted the seed of yet more fun to come.
"Sometime tomorrow, when you least expect it, I am going to find you, throw you to the ground, rip off your clothes, and pee on you."
When I dropped off Gray at his cabin, off loaded his things, and made sure he was good, I stepped up to hug him. I kissed his cheek. He turned his face into my kiss. He wanted more than a peck.
His lips met mine. We kissed. And kissed. And kissed. I stood up on my tip toes. My arms around his chest.
Eventually he ended our embrace.
"You better go. My cock's getting hard and you have to work."
He slapped my ass and sent me on my way. I, regretfully, went back to setup duty.
~
"I just wanted to ask for your advice on running for Dirty Pig."
"Well, you've seen the show before. You know what to expect. I think the only thing that might harm you is wanting it too much."
Brakes screeched in my brain.
FULL STOP, yelled a voice in my head.
~
"Maybe I'm trying too hard? Maybe I'm taking this too seriously? I'm gonna stop. I'm not going to talk about Dirty Pig for the rest of the night. And as far as bribing the judges..."
"When it comes to the judges, I think they need to get to know you. You can't just be the next person offering them something. Not just another pretty face. They need to remember your name."
"You know, I was thinking. I went to Del's class at GKE. And I saw Carol at CatalystCon. And I just got an email about possibly getting a short story published. What if I spoke to them about those things first? Make myself a person instead another contestant just trying to get a vote."
"I think you've got this, Lil Sis."
~
"I just wanted to thank you for teaching Top of the Boot at the first GKE. I was fairly new to bootblacking then, and it was the first time I'd seen a class from the perspective of the person receiving the blacking. I really appreciated the presentation.
"Also...A little birdie told me you were one of the judges for Dirty Pig. I'm running for Dirty Pig. How would you like me to bribe you?"
~
"Yes, you can use rope for breath play. You can use twine. You can use piano wire, but then you'll run into other issues."
"Mmm," I moaned, while stroking my neck.
"You are one sick and twisted chic."
~
"Other fun activities can also be used for breath play."
"Yeah, I know." Rough turned me, noting my sly smile as I stood in front of the class.
"Really?"
"Yeah, last night."
"Good on him."
"Indeed," I said.
~
"How do you want me to prepare for your Basic Suspension class?"
"Don't eat a big meal beforehand, and don't die in Rough's class."
~
"Now, I'm at a disadvantage for my class. Poetic is an experienced suspension bottom. She's suspended herself and others, and can make up for any mistakes or discomfort this suspension may cause."
Wow, I thought. People, even Gray, actually notice my rope-y-ness. I may be kind of good at this.
~
"Now, what if she fainted in her suspension?"
I let my body go limp in his ropes. Listened as Gray explained how to get someone down to the ground quickly. Felt as familiar hands lifted my frame, loosed the ropes, and rested me on the floor. Kept my eyes closed, and my body unmoved, as people "scrambled" around me.
"Okay, you can get up now."
I popped up to sitting, smiling at the class.
"Okay, everyone spread out on the frames and try your suspensions." Gray looked down on me. "Can you...?"
"Yup." I scooted my butt across the floor, ropes still tied to my body. In the corner, I started untying his ropes and leaving them in neat-ish lines to be coiled.
~
"If he were at Summer Camp, he would totally win Fresh Meat."
"Well, it's not exactly a competition."
"Well no, it's a popularity contest."
Rough looked at my friend.
"Can you hold this please," he asked. My friend took up Rough's bag.
Rough's fist slammed into my chest before I had time to register his movement.
"Thank you," he said, taking back his things.
"Thank you," I said to Rough as he left class.
I was a smiley-happy-floaty girl again.
We met in the Dungeon soon after parting by the pool. He chose the suspension rig to the left of the stage. I sat down my things, slipped off my sandals.
"Should I take off my clothes?"
"I like to unwrap my presents."
He unrolled what he had dubbed his 'big bundle of ow', a blanket with implements nestled inside of it. One of them included his piece of graphite (shit), but one of his toys was not the Twisted Bitch (thank Christ). He had two floggers, including his big whomping flogger, as well as three or four canes and some rope. I stretched, prepared myself for what was to come. He rigged his ring to the frame.
I stepped to the center of the rig, relaxed, hands resting behind my back. He uncoiled a length of rope. Dragged the chord across my chest. Wrapped it around my neck. Stepped behind me. Pushed his body against mine. My hands felt his cock through his pants. Massaged him as he ran the rope along my skin and breathed into my ear.
He pulled my hair tie from my head. Let it drop to the floor. Let my locks flow down my back.
His hands slid down to mine. Raised them. Bound them. Brought my hands into the air above my head. Secured them to his ring.
He kissed my cheek. Punched my back. Stepped in front of me. Punched my chest. Kissed me more. Traced his fingers from my face down to my chest. Pulled my strapless dress and bra down. Wrenched my boobs. Pushed my dress to the floor. Grabbed my ass. I kicked my dress away. He unhooked my bra. Tossed it aside.
He slapped and punched my chest and ass.
Picked up his flogger. Attacked my back. My ass. Hit my boobs. Went for my nipples, occasionally catching my rings for a split second.
He picked up a cane. Wailed on my ass. Grabbed my hair. Pulled me into a back band. Caned my breasts. Came across my nipples. I cried out.
And then a hand was inside me. He fingered my pussy, dancing his digits in my wetness. And another strike came from his cane, burning sensations on my ass. More fingering. More pain. Alternating the mean with the sweet.
He put down his cane. Picked up his paddle. Again attacked my ass. But, again, his fingers found my cunt, working his magic inside me. I begged, pleaded to cum.
"Not yet." He had one specific demand. "On the third strike." I knew they would be brutal. I always had to earn my orgasms. One hard smack. A second. And then finally a third.
I pulled myself down onto his hand. Rode his fingers for every single molecule of my cum. Screamed and cried out my ecstasy.
He stood. Loosed my wrist rope. Dropped me down to my knees. Kept my hands elevated. Secured the rope again. Pulled out his cock.
He grabbed my hair. Pushed my face onto his cock. Fucked my face. Sunk deep into my throat. I relaxed into his will. Until I had to breathe. Until I could take no more. Until I pulled away. But he held my head. But he insisted. But he wanted his cock inside me.
He pulled my head back. Let me breathe for a moment. Then did it again. And again. And again. I gagged, yet yielded to his will. Took all of him in me.
He rubbed his cock against my face. Let me suck on his balls. Let me play with his cock with my mouth.
He reached up. Let down his rope. Brought it between my legs. Pulled me down into a reverse hogtie. Secured my wrists to my ankles.
I felt his cock rub against my pussy lips and ass cheeks. Felt how hard he was. Felt as he reached over to his bag. Slid on a condom. Slid inside me. I moaned my pleasure. Moaned his name. He grabbed my hips. Pulled my body onto his cock. Fucked me hard on the floor as I took all of him, yet wanted more.
He came. Slid out of me. Reached his fingers inside me. Finger fucked me til I begged for his permission. He gave it. With his yes, I felt the race of orgasm through my pussy out to his hand. Out to my lower back. Down into my thighs. Up my spine. My thank you. My sounds. My cum.
He untied my ankles. Untied my wrists. Pulled me into his lap. Stroked my hair as I curled up into him. Lightly kissed my head. Sunk into his exhausted state, his second wind spent.
"Poetic, you like breath play."
"Yes."
"And I know you."
"Yes. Rough, do you need a demo bottom for your breath play class?"
"Yes."
"We should probably practice."
"Yes."
Rough stood and beckoned me from the porch into the cabin.
It was early in the event; most people had yet to arrive. We crept through the cabin trying our best to not disturb Gray was napping before dinner. We found an empty quad in the back, new beds barely broken in.
Whispering in the empty room, Rough asked me about my previous experience with breath play. I informed him only one other person had used blood chokes on me: NHF in Minnesota. I described NHF's technique; Rough was familiar with it. I also mentioned how NHF had taken about 7-10 seconds to get me out.
Rough had me stand at the edge of a bed. He stepped behind me. Asked me to lift my head. Point my arm up and to the left at a forty-five degree angle. He wrapped his arm around my neck and squeezed.
I felt my body fall through the air, but I didn't feel the impact of the bed, though I may have heard it. It was as if I were moving through water, as if I were a marionette and the strings on my body had been cut. I never went out, never forgot where I was. But for a moment I lost control of my muscles, lost the ability to stand.
Rough stood over me. "That was faster than seven to ten seconds."
I smiled into the mattress. I talked to him about my experience. Explained what it felt like.
"You were in that sweet spot, loss of body without the loss of consciousness."
We decided to go a bit farther. Again, my arm rose. Again, his arm wrapped around my neck. He squeezed and I held my arm up. Held it with all my might. Held it until...
When my eyes opened, I had forgotten where I was. I don't know what I dreamed, but I know I dreamed something. I looked up and saw the ceiling. When I registered I was in a different place than I had been, that what I thought was real was actually a dream, my memory came crashing back.
I was at camp. Rough was behind me. And I was high as a fucking kite.
I was so gleeful, so full of the awesome with life, that I couldn't stop smiling. I picked my body up off the bed. Rested on my knees on the floor. Looked up at Rough. I couldn't remember feeling this good in so long. I was so appreciative of Rough for giving me this gift, for imparting these feelings in my brain, I asked him an odd question.
"If it is not against your dynamic, may I kiss your boots?"
"Of course."
I bent over and met my lips to his leather. I kissed both his boots in appreciation and adoration for my experience.
My Wednesday had been shit. Setup had been difficult. And hot. And full of starts and stops. And took so long. Before I laid on the porch of the cabin feeling dejected. My camp had just started, but it felt like all my possible glee was gone.
And then Rough's arm had been around my neck. And my world felt right again.
Rough had other material he wanted to go over before class. I stood, my back to the wall, Rough standing in front of me. With a quick move, he clamped his hand over my mouth and nose. I tried to hold back my lizard brain, tried to keep myself from struggling. But soon enough I couldn't stop my hands from grabbing his hold. His other hand found my face. I flailed about. I pulled; he followed.
And then he let go. And breath rushed back into my lungs.
For his next practice, he instructed me to give him a double tap when I wanted him to stop. Again his hands clamped over my mouth and nose. My hands twitched. My feet stomped. I held out for as long as I could trying to stop my lizard brain from reacting. But, eventually, I tapped on his arm four times.
"You know, since that was a quadruple tap, I shouldn't have let go."
He pushed me up against the wall. His fingers pinpointed on my neck. I slipped once, twice, before I felt my muscles about to give out. Rough slipped his knee between my legs to stop my descent.
"How are you?"
"Excellent."
"How do you feel about face slapping?"
"Absolutely."
Rough hit me hard across the face, left to right. He grabbed my head and bashed it against the wall. All the while, my arms lazed at my sides, scratching against the wall.
"What's with the gripping?"
"When I'm cuming, or when I'm about to cum, I grip. When I'm turned on, or wet, I grip. It's fun when I'm on a bed."
Rough sat on the bed to my left. I settled against the wall for a moment, perfectly happy, before transitioning to the bed on my right.
"Why would anyone take drugs when you can do things to make your body this high?"
I rested my head against the wall, lazing in my post play haze. In that moment, I was completely uninhibited, and decided to be bluntly honest.
"You have this look in your eyes. You always have it. It's... gripping. Intoxicating."
I saw his satisfaction at my revelation.
"You know I'm gonna write about this, right?"
"Kinda figured. Just wait til Tuesday."
In that moment before dinner, before it was time to wake Gray, I realized I didn't have my notebook on me. I needed to take notes, now. I made my way back to my cabin.
As I skipped towards my temporary home, a giddy-happy-bubbly-girl, I stroked my neck and said over and over again to everyone and no one in particular, "My life doesn't suck. My life doesn't suck. I love my life."
The Cabaret had just ended. There was a crush of people in the hall. A slow lumbering line out of the main dungeon.
I was excited, anxious, at what awaited me.
He stood at the first aid table. When I arrived, he looked me up and down.
"Am I ripping that off of you?"
"Uh, no."
Costume change. I took off my tight strapless black dress. Got naked in the hallway. Threw on a tank top and boxers.
He had a rig held for us. We walked back through the throng. Back into the dungeon. Back towards my fate.
His toy bag sat by a wooden double frame. Scenes were just starting up. We sat down our stuff. Laid down a sheet. Created our space.
He started pulling out all the items in his toy bag. Mean things. Horrible things. Rope-y things. Many many things.
He jumped up on the frame. Pulled up, testing the strength of the wood. He thought he might tie me at some point. He never did. But I didn't care.
I was a ball of nerves. Jumpy. But also horny. He wore boots. His outfit looked vaguely military. This was going to be brutal.
Still, I didn't know what to do with myself. So I talked. Stammered a bit. Giggled a bit. He bought into the ruse. We both knew it was just a matter of moments, though, before I was on the floor.
In the blink of an eye, I was splayed out on the sheet, sobbing immediately. He went from zero to ten; no warm up. Pulled out his knife. Tore open my shirt. Slashed at my boxers.
He punched. Kicked a bit. And slapped. Fuck, he wouldn't stop slapping me. My face. My arms. My back. My ass. That was the worst, at first. The stingy, unforgiving pain. And then gripping the surface he just assaulted. Rubbing in the hurt. Making it last that much longer. It was intense and almost overwhelming.
But then he started with his toys.
A small marble dagger-shaped paddle. Smacking my breasts. Attacking my nipples.
His bath brush, minus the loofah. Burning stings to my biceps, my thighs. It created impressive bruises from the start.
His cane struck all over me. He'd hit a spot. I'd curl in, trying to get away. But it just gave him something new to attack.
My hands flew out instinctively trying to stop the pain. He yelled at me for this. And then came the punishment for my infringement: my sternum.
He slapped my sternum. Hard. And then he told me what he was going to do. Told me he was going to punch my sternum. Told me, if my hands got in the way, he would punch me more than the two times he had planned. He asked me if I could take the two punches without blocking with my hands. Or did I want more?
He punched me once, twice. It hurt like a bitch. And yet, it was the kind of delicious pain I crave.
All during his tortures, he took moments to check in with me. Coming in close to my face. Whispering in my ear as I sobbed.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm okay."
"Do you want to stop?"
"No," I whimpered each time.
"Good girl. You are such a good girl."
He took the remains of my clothes. Put them to my face. Wiped away my tears and the snot.
Once, in the middle of our scene, he asked me a question I suppose many wonder about.
"Why do you do this?"
Through snot and tears. Trying to more than mumble. Trying to speak so he could actually hear me, I answered him.
"Because it forces me to cry. The pain takes me to a place where I can't ignore emotions. I like to cry. Love the release. And I like to know I can take it. I can take the pain. Even when it really hurts."
But he wasn't always sweet with his words. Wasn't always kind. More often than not, he was just the opposite.
"You are in way over your head," he said, many times, an evil laugh following.
During one check-in, my back on the floor, looking up at him, he asked me if I wanted to stop. I had no sense of time at that point, and I worried I would not have enough time for our aftercare, my blacking his boots.
"You are amazing. I'm beating your ass and you're worried about my boots?"
He barked at me to kiss his boots. I got on my hands and knees. Planted my face at the toe of his boot. Kissed and licked up and down his leather. Felt the pain melt out of me. Felt the lust I'd had from before build again. My head went back and forth between his boots, loving his leather.
He moved away. I followed him around. He bent down. Grabbed his whip.
I felt the first pop on my ass. I shrieked, but kept kissing and licking his boots. Another pop. Another yelp. Another lick.
He moved about, whipping me. I tried cowering away. He yelled at me. I was to keep adoring his boots. I scrambled around. Towards his leather. Away from his blows.
He checked back in with me. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to keep pushing myself. But I also wanted to take care of his boots. So I stopped the scene, leather love more important than my tears.
It all started Saturday night...
"Move your hands. Move your fucking hands."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"I'm going to punch you in your chest. Twice. If your hands get in the way, I will punch you more. If you take the two punches, that will be it for your sternum. Can you do that? Or do you want me to keep punching your sternum?"
"I can. I can do it."
"Okay."
I held his other arm. The one not going to punch me. The one resting on my chest. He reared back. Landed his blow. I sobbed, and prepared again.
"One more."
He reared back. Struck harder. I sobbed harder.
"Good girl. Such a good girl."
Then came Sunday morning...
"Go ahead and partner up if you want to practice this."
I looked back at him. A few head nods later and I was on my back as he hovered over me. Scott went over how you would initially look for signs of injury in someone. The head. The spine. The chest.
As I laid there, I remembered FrozenMeursault already knew this stuff. It was a part of his job. As Scott continued to talk, my partner sat beside me, not taking any notes. Instead, he got comfortable, leaning his elbow onto my sternum and resting his head in his hand. I started to screeched.
"Sh, we're in class."
And then there was after lunch...
Dragon needed a partner for two classes. I wanted to be in rope. And he'd tied me before. So I volunteered to be his rope bottom.
Our first class was Newaza to Fly. I found my happy place in his ropes. Our second class was Thinking Rope. Dragon worked on breaking down his TK and figuring out all the ways to make his tie better.
Once, during a slight lull in the class, he remembered where I'd been attacked the night before. And that morning. And now, by him. He fashioned a different TK, with shoulder straps that crossed right over my sternum. The fit was tight. It hurt like a bitch. He smiled.
But wait; there's more...
At the end of Thinking Rope, people gravitated either out of the class or towards WykdDave & Clover.
Rough happened to look back on me as I was chatting about my day.
"People keep attacking my sternum. Every time I mention that I was hurt or show off my bruises, my friends, who are Sadists... Want. To. Hurt. Me. Why did I open my mouth?"
I saw the look in his eyes. The devilish glee. He crept towards me. I knew what was about to happen.
"Shit."
One hand went to my hair. The other formed a fist. Went for my chest. Burried his knuckles into my sternum. I wiggled. I tried to get away. I screamed.
"Why are you screaming," he whispered into my ear. "We are in class."
"I couldn't help it. My lizard brain kicked in."
"We are humans. You can overcome your lizard brain. Be a big girl and not scream."
He dug his hand in again. I didn't wriggled this time. I took his pain. My muscles convulsed. My mouth stretched open. My eyes pursed shut. But I didn't scream.
"Now that's a big girl."
I heard the evil grin in his voice.
Not done yet...
"How are you doing?"
"I can't tell you because you'll hurt me."
I was walking from class. It wasn't five minutes later. I was going to meet up with people for pizza. I thought I was safe.
But then, somehow, Gray and Spicey were in front of me. And Gray asked that question. And I can't lie to him.
They both stopped. My arms instinctively crossed in front of my chest.
"Everytime I tell people about how my sternum keeps getting targeted, they all hurt me."
I whimpered my explanation. I'm sure it was like evil candy to his sadistic ears.
"Put your arms down," said Gray. I did.
"Open your jacket." I parted the fabric. My chest was on full display.
I saw his hand come close. I prepared for the blow. I flinched as he only slightly tapped my sternum.
"What's been happening to her?" asked Spicey.
"People have been giving her sternal rubs."
"Where's the sternum?"
"This. See this. Right here."
"That?"
"Yes, that. That is the sternum. That right there."
They both jammed their fingers into the center of my chest. I whimpered through my pain.
Spicey's anatomy lesson done, we headed upstairs.
"My friends keep hurting me."
"You know, if you didn't say anything, it wouldn't happen."
"I can't help it. It's in my nature."
Yup, again...
I sat on the couch, waiting for people to show up for pizza. Nomad sat beside me. I was happy she was there.
"I keep getting hurt. People keep attacking my chest. It's been, like, six people now."
I looked to my right.
"Shit. Ava. I forgot. You're a switch."
I saw the look in her eye. Knew what was in store for me.
She scooted closer. Pushed her fingers into my sternum.
It was the lobby. There is no play in the lobby. My face contorted. My body shook. But I didn't scream.
"If you'll let me make you shiver and shake like that, I'll fuck you."
My chest was given a reprieve for the evening, but not for the rest of my visit...
It was time to go. The Closing Ceremony had ended. Rope given away. Money donated to charity. Time for the goodbyes.
I spoke to Dov, who I'd barely seen during my weekend. I started bragging about my bruises. After he said he wouldn't hurt me.
I showed him my thighs. My arms. And then, my sternum.
"You have no idea how hard it is for me to not hurt you right now. Just give me one."
"Oh, okay. Since you asked."
I braced myself. He held his hand flat, parrallel to my chest. He bent his middle finger. Readying the knuckle. He swung back. Then forward. Connecting in the center of my chest.
"And, because it's the sternum, I don't have to hit you again for symmertry."
Thankfully.
And now, the last...
Our gradual exit from the ballroom crept like a snail up a tree.
Rough looked at me. And remembered. And stuck out his pinky finger.
"Oh god."
"It's just my pinky."
"Yes, but your pinky is mighty."
He came in close. Leaned forward. Drove his nail into my chest. Twisted one way. Then the other.
I scrunched my face. Splayed open my mouth. But again, I didn't scream.
"Good girl," he said, putting his digital weapon away.
He hugged me bye, one of many that afternoon.
I took a picture of my chest the morning after I got home. The bruise, because I proved that yes you can get a bruise on your sternum, looked kind of like a heart. Sweet, and fitting, for my Shibaricon adventure.
"You called me a good girl. I didn't tell you that I liked that."
"I notice things."
He kept his voice low, almost a whisper.
"Close your eyes."
I could feel his fingertips tracing along my face, lightly over my skin. Down my body, never quite touching, and then grazing my calves, and then digging in his fingernails into my thighs. I squealed.
"Keep your jaw shut."
My noises became muted but never went away.
He grabbed me and pulled me somewhere. He yanked at my jacket, exposing flesh. I heard the seam break. I didn't care.
"I'm going to hit you. When I do, you can breathe out and then breathe in. Only that. Only when I hit you."
His fist slammed into my chest. I stumbled, exhaled out, took a deep breath in, and then waited. His fingertips again traced lines across my face. My breath burned in my chest.
He punched again. Breath out, breath in. Again. And again. Each time always making me wait. Each time always making me want the hit just so I could breathe.
"You can breathe normally."
He nuzzled his head against mine. I returned the affection.
"Good girl."
He grabbed my dress and lifted it above my breasts. He pinched nipples, pulling them, elevating them, and simply said, "Up. Up. Stand still. " On my tippy toes, I tried to relieve some of the pain but I could not get high enough. With my eyes closed, I couldn't even keep my balance. He let my nipples go.
His arm across my chest, he was now behind me. Pushing my body against his arm, he exposed my back. He punched. And punched. And punched. I gripped onto his arm for support.
He turned me, now facing him again. He slapped my face. He grabbed my throat. He squeezed, just a little.
He pushed me, willing me onto a nearby bed. One strike. Another strike. It felt like flogger hits on my ass. Then he used his hands.
"Since you can't get away, a closed fist means go on. An open hand means stop. Show me. Do you want to go on."
I made a fist.
He punched my ass. Up, down, alternating cheeks. He slapped my ass, hard. I screamed out.
"That's different."
He pulled me up from the bed, spun me around and around. I didn't know where I was, what direction was where. I was bewildered, breathing heavy, trying to stay on my feet. The room felt enormous.
He stopped my body, held me, and told me to open my eyes.
"Done?"
"Done."
He led me to the couch. We nuzzled, his arms around me.
Hmm, a punching class at the London Grue. Was I going to attend...?
Knuckle Sandwich was presented by Gryphon, with his demo bottom Hedwig.
Gryphon started his class session with some precautionary info: avoiding the neck and face (on a first date), targeting large muscle groups, and the proper way to throw a punch (curves, not corners). He brought along some accessories for his presentation, including boxing gloves and wrist wraps.
With the talking portion over, he encouraged everyone to get up and have a go. I gravitated towards the wrist wraps.
After a demonstration of how to apply the fabric, CherryBondage volunteered to be my punching bag. I liked the look and feel of the wrist wraps, especially since I have a physical job; fucking up my wrists could leave me unable to perform my work.
With a little time on our hands, I learned the proper way to execute the three inch punch. [Tip: Use your body weight, not your arm strength.]
"You hit hard."
"When I have a person to hit, yes... yes I do."
As pairs continued to pummel each other, I looked over and saw Gryphon was finishing up with one of his students. I thought this would be the perfect time for me to ask for what I wanted. (See; I'm learning.)
Gryphon happily fulfilled my request.
He struck my back, my ass. He jabbed, he hooked. My front, my side. I stumbled, I stood. Happily, I did not slam my face onto the stage when I dropped to the ground.
Deep pain resonated throughout my body with each of his strikes. I cried out. I came back. I loved every moment of it.
He struck my ass in a way I had not felt before, hitting down at the top of the shelf, the pain reverberating like a sine wave throughout my rump.
He targeted under my arms, connecting with my ribs. I hadn't felt that type of strike in quite some time, the bite of the hit chewing on my lungs. It was horribly fun. For his efforts, I currently carry a memento of our interaction: a lovely big red bruise.
[For those who wish to dive into my Twitter feed or browse my Fet page, you can see a picture of my bruise, which also happens to include a rather nice view of my ass.]
When Gryphon finished, we hugged. I thanked him and he thanked me.
"You are fun to punch."
"You are fun to play with."
It was Friday night at Rope Camp.
Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate was winding down; fewer than a dozen people remained in the Pavilion, though we all stood around smiling and chatting, still enjoying each others company.
The social had gone well. Even though I arrived late. Even though I had to run back to the cabin for supplies. Even though I didn't black one boot. There was laughing, good conversation, chocolate, some whiskey, and of course cigars.
Funny enough, there was also coconut rope.
As per Gray's standing request, whenever I took his ash into my mouth, my boobies had to be out. For this particular evening I wore my black-top-gray-skirt dress and was easily able to free my chest for his amusement.
But somewhere during the social he decided he wanted me in coconut rope. Dictating that I should just pull my entire torso out from my outfit, I pushed my dress down to my waist.
And then came the rope.
He wound it around my chest, over my nipples, secured it under my piercings, and placed knots in wicked spots all over. Just wearing coconut rope is a predicament in itself. You feel it dig in with each and every breath.
Throughout the evening, the attendees of the gathering would approach me with one of two requests: may I touch it or may I pull on it. I granted both, either slipping into to teaching mode or willing bottom space.
To make up for the lack of bootblacking at the get together, Gray instructed me to lie on the floor of the Pavilion. Then he and Rough provided the necessary boot action by suffering my body with their leather.
Both men stood on my body in various places (back, thighs, hair) and marveled at my ability to take all their weight with my flesh. Gray also thought it fun to kick my crotch. But as I laid on the floor, Rough's boots on my hair, and the toe of Gray's boot occasionally connecting with my cunt, I heard laughter from the attendees. As I learned later, Gray decided to dance in between his crotch shots.
When I stood, I let both men in on a small detail they failed to realize: with each of their movements, my nipples rubbed up against the floor. Not only did I feel their leather bound blows, I also contended with the abrasions of the rope and the floor. Personally, I think I was bad ass to have taken so much.
With just over half a dozen people left, Gray removed my box tie. And oh, it hurt just as much coming off as it did going on. Gray made sure of that. Gliding the rope along my skin, whipping my body around, push and pull. If ever there was any doubt, yes Gray is most definitely a Sadist.
When finally the last inch of rope was gone from my body, he rubbed all over my skin. I slumped forward, relieved at the soft and caring touch.
However, with my coconut rope gone, I now felt the cool of the evening. I pulled my dress back up and slipped on my jacket. Our small group continued to chat.
I don't remember how we got on this topic, but there was one conversation exchange I will not forget.
"How about making a bottom cum til they pass out," someone suggested.
"No," Rough argued. "How about making me cum until I pass out." I grazed Rough's left bicep. He turned to me.
"Hi," I said with a wink and a smile. Everyone burst out laughing.
And then it happened, my last highlight of the get together.
To end the evening, and once again I don't remember how this happened, but somehow we all ended up in a group hug coalescing around Rough. I stood behind him, my face on his back.
And then people, while still in the hug, started hurting me.
Rough stepped back, pressing the heel of his boot on the top of my right foot. And Elf pinched the back of my neck, right where he had bitten me before. And another pinched my left arm. And I think Gray went for a pressure point on the right side of my jar. I can't really be certain because my eyes were closed for almost all of this, but fuck did it hurt.
My face sunk into Rough's back as new sensation after new sensation took hold. I screamed and yelped as they all laughed and enjoyed my pain.
And yet, we were all still hugging, throughout the entire time. It was funny and odd and... something. Something.
A good time. It was a good time.
I deserved it. I totally deserved it.
Celeste swung and smacked my back hard with her rope, testing the technique Rough had just shown the class.
It hurt. A lot. I deserved every bit of the pain.
The day before was the first of two of Roughinamorato's Rough Body play classes. He spoke about different parts of the body, the ways to hit it, the best places to hit, and those to avoid.
But there was one topic he said he would get to at the end of class that he almost forgot: the feet.
As we all worked in pairs, practicing the information Rough had imparted, it dawned on me that no one had brought it up.
I like Celeste a lot, but I wanted to learn what I knew would be an incredibly mean set of techniques. With a need to give myself an excuse, I saw Elf was about to talk to Rough. Spiriting over, I leaned against him and whispered into his ear.
"Ask Rough about feet."
Spiriting back to my partner, Elf immediately stepped up to Rough and spoke.
"Rough, could you talk about feet?"
"Poetic!" Celeste exclaimed.
"What?" I said with a mostly straight face.
The pairs dissipated, returning to their chairs. Everyone wanted to see this part of the lesson.
As Rough worked on Celeste's feet, French curse words fled her lips. She squirmed. She yelped. Though her face had been very expressive during class, this was the most vocal Celeste had been that day. It was wondrous to watch.
So, when she struck my back hard, multiple times, I knew I deserved it, knew the pain I endured was recompense for my attempt at underhanded ways.
But, for those precious fifteen minutes, hearing her screams and seeing her squirm, it was worth it.
"Do you want to play?"
"Yes. When?"
"Now."
"But I'm playing with a friend once they get back with their rope."
"We'll play til they arrive."
Gripping the side of my neck, right where I'd been bitten not ten minutes earlier, Roughinamorato pulled me forward. Just as we were to find a space, my friend walked into the Dungeon and approached us.
A dilemma.
I suggested we combine the two activities, but Rough's plans for me involved my ease of movement. They asked which I preferred first. Of course, I could not choose.
It came down to a coin toss. Heads, my friend; M, Rough. The coin landed on M. My friend stepped aside and patiently waited.
With an enormous amount of room in the middle of the Dungeon, Rough saw where he wanted to work. He found a nearby table, sat down his things, and requested I disrobe down to my boxers and remove my necklace. I could leave my moccasin boots on.
Leading me to the middle of the empty space, he paused for a moment, looking into my eyes, before slamming his fists into my chest. I rocked backwards, but them returned to in front of him. He did it again. And again.
"Welcome," he said before continuing his assault, punching me, gripping my hair, bringing me back, and hitting me over and over.
This, it turned out, was his warm up.
After a few minutes of chest punching, he stopped and walked back to his table. Pulling out two coils of rope, he began weaving his chord around his fists.
"You could cook something on my chest," I said, happy floaty-high already. He smiled.
As he constructed his rope fists, I grew nervous. I'd seen his video demonstrating the technique, but now I would feel the full impact of his cleverness.
Finished, he again brought me to the center of the Dungeon. He stopped and once more looked into my eyes.
I steadied my breathing. I tried to prepare myself. I knew the next however many minutes would be, well, rough.
Punches to my chest. Punches to my back. Open hand smacks to my shoulders. I rocked forward, backward. I almost fell to the floor. I began crying.
And then with one blow I was bent over, sobbing. He grabbed me by my hair, brought his lips to my ear, and quietly whispered, "Shh..."
I caught my breathing. My sobs eased. He hurt me, and hurt me, but I kept my cries to high pitched low volume close contact utterances.
He lifted my arms out to the side and then came down hard, opened handed smacks to my ribs. I screamed and hugged in my arms back in.
He walked behind me and kicked my ass (literally kicked my ass, though technically using his thigh), coming across my rump with multiple blows.
And then I was on the floor. He hit me so hard somehow, but I don't know how, (I actually can't remember if it was from the front or the back) I collapsed down to the ground.
Once on the ground, I knelt before him. Rough came down to my level and rested on one knee. And as he did, he just stopped and looked at me again, a small smile electric and alive on his lips and in his eyes. He looked on me. And looked on me. And then spoke.
"Say, 'Yes please.'"
"Yes please."
Both his fists slammed into my chest. I rolled back and to the right, my body landing half face down on the floor. I pushed myself back up and immediately returned to kneeling, returned to being in front of him, and waited.
"Say, 'Yes please.'"
"Yes please."
He did it again. I fell, rolled up, and returned.
"Say, 'Yes please.'"
"Yes please."
And he did it again. And I came back.
There was no hesitation, no moment between when he made his request and when I spoke mine. No time for rest, no need for it. I knew what was coming, knew the pain I would endure, and knew I wanted it, no doubt in my mind.
He put his hand on my shoulder, pulled me in close, and stroked my hair. We hugged. I nuzzled his chest. I thanked him and he thanked me.
It was rough, just how I like it.
A moment later, my pouting somewhat subsided, MattP and Roughinamorato announced they needed a nipple. Of course, since I was right there and am always happy to be helpful, I volunteered. I quickly disrobed, removing my school Gir shirt, tie and bra, standing in front of them in just my Gir booty shorts.
To show what he wanted to demonstrate, Matt needed small diameter rope. He stepped away in search of the proper chord.
With just Rough and I standing there, I then realized I didn't have my glasses. I walked back over to the side of the room where we'd spoken just five or ten minutes earlier. They weren't there.
Turning to Rough, I wondered if he was hiding them.
"Do you have my glasses?" Stepping back towards him, I saw he held his hands behind his back.
"Do I have your glasses?" he asked. And then I saw them... hanging from his shirt. Once again, something was hidden right in front of my face.
Just as the revelation came, Matt re-entered the room. He could not find the rope he wanted, but he had found a twist tie. Matt twisted around one of my nipples and then pulled it towards the other. I asked if I could push them together to make the process easier. They both consented.
With both my nipples now connected, Rough instructed me to put my arms out to the side. I slowly let go, allowing the tie to take the weight, pulling my sensitive flesh, until the twist failed, one wrenching free.
Matt decided they needed another and quickly found a second twist tie. This time Rough connected the twist ties and then applied them to my nipples, again with my assistance. Once more Rough asked me to let go and I did. This time the twist ties stayed, pulling my nipples together.
Success achieved, Matt stepped away; Rough remained.
"What did you ask me earlier?"
"May I kiss you?"
"Louder."
"May I kiss you?"
"Louder."
"May I kiss you?"
"They can't hear you in the other room."
"May I kiss you!?"
"I don't know. Can you?"
With my arms still out to the sides, I slowly leaned into him. I danced my lips close to his. I softly brushed my nose on his. I was but millimeters away.
Slap!
He smacked me across my face. My head whipped back, but my lips quickly returned. Again I danced near him. Again I played so close to his mouth, our lips so close to touching.
Slap!
"You can do better than that."
His words drove. Unhindered from my soft restraint, I moved faster. Tried harder.
I rushed in to kiss him. Slap!
I stepped forward, my lips so close to his. Slap!
I brought my arms up to block him, grab him.
He took hold of my throat and turned me, pushing me backwards even as I continued to urge myself towards his body.
Thunk!
He slammed me against the back wall. My left leg instinctively wrapped around his waist, keeping him close, holding him where he'd put us, trying to pull him into me.
"That's better," he said.
My mouth now found his lower lip, just softly touching it. I could feel a hint of stubble.
Releasing, my mouth immediately found his lower lip again, gently caressing it.
I wanted more, so much more. I wanted to ravage his lips with my mouth, for our tongues to dance, to loose my breath in his kiss. But just this, the slightest of touches, the most subtle of kisses, was what he granted me.
In that moment, I was out of breath. I felt the passion bubbled up in our violence. For those brief seconds, I was lost in the sphere of the wall, my body, and his lips.
Letting go, Rough stepped back, picked up my glasses from his shirt, and handed them to me.
"Thank you," I said. For, well, everything...
He placed his hand on my forehead as I leaned against the wall to regain my composure. Soon I righted my breath.
With me somewhat back to normal, Rough simply said, "Time for lunch."
With my current class dismissed, I drifted back down to the basement where I found lunch had magically appeared. I wasn't hungry yet, so I wandered into the dungeon next door.
MattP was finishing up his Dropping Bitches class and I was able to catch a bit of the knot he used to secure his ring, the knot which allowed him to "drop bitches."
As I watched, I noticed Rough was also in the room. He sat on the floor at the edge of the large wrestling mat working with some webbing.
"Are you making your rope fist?" I asked. I had remembered seeing his demo video of the technique.
"No," he said simply.
Instead he asked Inretrepida for assistance, who was sitting on the mat near him. Scooting over, she now sat cross-legged in front of him.
Rough had knotted the long webbing piece, creating a ball at the end. Swinging the webbing, he hit Inretrepida on the thigh once, twice. Grabbing her shoulder, he pulled her torso down and landed two blows on her back as well.
After his strikes, he asked her how they felt. She said the hits to her thighs were stingy while those on her back were more thuddy, but both had lots of weight behind them. Experiment complete. Rough returned the webbing to Matt and sat back on the floor.
From somewhere inside me came inspiration and a boldness I didn't think was possible. Easing towards Rough, I asked him if he was busy. He asked me why I inquired. I knelt in front of him, setting aside my notebook and glasses.
"Could you kiss me?" A questioning look crept onto his face.
I explained that Symetrie had dismissed the class, encouraging us to go practice what we had learned. The expression on his face changed yet again, but before he could say anything, I decided to be totally, bluntly, brutally honest.
"Okay, really I wanted to kiss you and I needed an excuse."
And yet again, before he could say anything, I turtled, growing more and more self conscious and nervous and embarrassed by the nano-second.
And then I ran away.
I scurried out of the dungeon back into the basement proper. But just as soon as I escaped, finding my Hello Kitty bag beside a nearby couch, I realized I had left my notebook inside the dungeon. I had to go back.
As a peace offering, I searched my bag and grabbed a piece of gum. I also tossed a piece in my mouth just in case I hadn't totally ruined my chances for the day.
Creeping back inside, Rough had stood up and was talking to others in the room. I swung my arm towards him, quietly and non-verbally offering the small stick of gum. He playfully batted my hand away.
I walked back over to where I'd sat, picked up my notebook, and drifted back to the group. Using my words, I officially made a peace offering to him with the gum. He accepted. I relaxed a little.
Chatting with MattP, the topic of Shibaricon came up. Flipping through my notebook, I finally found the entry for Wykd_Dave's One Rope class. I noted how I had so much written for other presentations but my notes from One Rope were short and simple, maybe five lines. Still, those were two very intense hours of learning.
Looking to my left, Gray approached the entrance to the dungeon. I stepped over to him and we began chatting. As we spoke, he poked my thighs and stomach. I jumped and yelped accordingly.
And then he began pressing into the cleft between my thighs and my crotch. I began moaning. Sinking into this moment with him, I leaned forward and our heads touched. My lips were by his ear, my sounds for him to hear.
"I'm glad you're having fun," Gray said.
"How could I not?" I asked.
"And just so that you know, I'm getting hard just from this."
I dropped to one knee from the pain... and from the possibility of helping him with his current physical state. His right hand still applied pressure while his left now gripped my hair.
"And no, you may not cum."
He let both his hands go and I dropped to both my knees. My lips immediately formed a pout.
"You can always talk to someone else about it." And then he turned and walked away.
I crawled over to a nearby bench, crossed my arms, and slumped my face onto the bench.
Meany.
"I'm leaving."
"When?"
"Like, right now."
He was pissed. He was really pissed. He stood up and started punching my chest. For a moment I wondered if my missed playdate with TwistedView would happen right there.
As I back peddled, somehow Murphy added into the mix, suggesting he could punch my back while TwistedView attacked my front. I was having none of that.
I screamed no. And then I ran. Like seriously ran. TwistedView grabbed onto me, but I clawed my way free, sprinting onto the asphalt path. I turned and saw the two of them slowly approaching.
"No. I'm serious guys. No."
Still, they crept forward.
"Are you going to call red?"
"I don't want to, but I will if I have to."
Their menacing stares receded. They gave assurances they were done.
Instead of punching me, they wanted to hug me bye. The two of them surrounded me. And then Murphy asked the magical question.
"How are you? It's seemed like you've been off this camp."
And then I could finally say it, could finally reveal the weight on my heart. I missed all the people that weren't there.
Life is life. You cannot predict it. Sometimes you're just along for the ride.
Some of people at the last FetFest were not there this year, but there were two that pierced my heart to its core. Lil Sis was out of the country and Gray was in Hawaii.
As I drove to camp, I realized their absences were the source of my reluctance to go in the first place. It took me til 3pm to arrive even though I had planned to show up as soon as registration opened (11am).
I thought about them the whole time I was there. I remembered all the joy I had with them this past year and the many wonderful moments from last FetFest. As hard as I tried to fall into my camp experience, I couldn't shake my dark cloud.
It didn't matter that I knew I would see Gray in a week. It didn't matter that I knew I was heading to London in a month. They weren't there. And as much as I wanted to love my event, it just didn't feel the same to me without them.
When I left on Sunday I was sad to go but also relieved. I didn't have to try to hide my sadness, didn't have to push myself to participate, didn't have to be on, didn't have to do anything. I could just be me, sad-quiet-people-missing-not-funtastic-at-the-moment me.
It's hard for me to give my pain voice. And, because of that, I did not have the event I could've.
~ erotica ~
"Please."
One word, one syllable, one breath was full of me, full of my eagerness, full of my crazy manic lust for him.
"Please."
It was all I could say, the only word needed to convey all I wanted, needed, desired in that moment.
"Please."
Even with ropes around my torso, my arms restrained, my legs bound, on my knees, my eyes shrouded, still I begged for it. I could feel it, just beyond my lips, just beyond my reach. I could almost taste it, almost taste him, so close to my lips.
"Please."
His hands in my hair, holding back my head, holding back my lips. He needed to grip tight. My desire was great. But this he well knew.
Even with his digits gripping my strands, even with his ropes binding me tight, I forced myself forward. I pulled, pushed myself with all my might. I wanted it, I wanted him so very much.
"Please."
I imagined the dark smile on his face. The sinister grin I loved to see on him. The pleasure he took from holding me back. Making me wait. Making me beg. Seeing my desire. My carnal lust. My horny need. My sexual pain.
He knew I was soaking wet. He knew what I craved. He dangled the carrot just beyond me, just close enough to still give me hope.
"Please."
Bound, on the floor, knelt, waiting. I had heard him sit. Heard his zipper creep down. Felt his knees graze arms. Felt the heat of him so near me.
When I dared to lean forward, when I dared to seek my pleasure, when for once I was a brat, his fingertips pressed into my biceps, pushing me back.
My lips had grazed him, had grazed the beautiful cock I knew so well. A taste. Only the quickest of tastes before he pulled me off, pushed away.
And then the begging started. And the hair pulling. And I could almost hear the smile as it formed on his face.
"Please. Please. Please."
And, finally, who knows how many minutes of agony later, I said, "Thank you."
He slapped my ass and replied, "Don't talk with your mouth full."
~ erotica ~
I was vulnerable. I was restrained. I was unable to do anything but take what came next.
My body laid on his bed. My legs parted. My arms pulled aside. Naked. A black blindfold over my eyes.
His sheets were soft. The pillow under my head was silk. I smelled candles burning. It was the most comfortable one could be, naked, open, and waiting. Wondering what he would do to me. Wondering what my next moments had in store.
Was he still in the room? I didn't think so. My heart raced, at first, but it had calmed finally. I could've heard a pin drop, if he had hardwood floors. He didn't. Plush carpet. An unremarkable color.
I heard the click of the door. I could feel he was in the room now.
A cold drop kissed my lips. Was he holding an ice cube? I felt it now, on my lips, the heat of my breath melting the liquid into my mouth.
Mischievously I snapped up the cube with my teeth and crunched it happily. I knew I'd be punished for that. I didn't mind.
He still said nothing. I felt the sting on my inner thighs and cursed loudly. I called him a son-of-a-bitch, knowing that would only egg him on more. Another sting. Another curse. We had our routine.
When he tired, either out of fatigue or boredom (since I couldn't see his face, I didn't know which), I heard him put the cane away.
A few breaths later, his thumb was on my lips.
"Say it." I wouldn't, and bit him. He pulled his thumb away.
"Say it." He held my throat. I had no more words. No more bratty comments. No more curses. He asked for what I could not give.
The sting of his slap on my breast. He knew I really hated that.
"Say it." His slap on my chest again. My silence remained.
He wanted too much. He needed too much.
"Say it." His fingers on my clit. My hips lifted towards him, towards his hand.
It was not long before I was begging, too, for his request was begging, pleading for my words.
But now I pleaded for my pleasure. I pleaded for that sweet release. I pleaded for us to be something other than the man who loves a woman who could not tell him she loved him too, even though she did.
"Say it."
I couldn't.
And as I laid, splayed out on his bed, so close to sweet ecstasy yet so far away from release, I realized I wasn't the only naked vulnerable person in the room.
"I like her. Can we take her home?"
Even though I was tired, having only gotten about three hours of sleep, there was no way I was going to miss the first class session Sunday morning.
I got up, quickly showered, put on my gray cotton stretch dress with mesh cut outs, laced up my boots, and almost skipped to the upper fire pit class tent. I was the first to arrive for WhipMasterBob and Bootpig's Puttin The Boot To Them.
I greatly enjoyed the lessons they taught in nonverbal communication using just your boots, but my favorite part of the presentation was the last thirty minutes.
The duo always left this time for student requests. Coming into the lesson, what did we expect to learn? From those answers, they would provide us with the final bits of information.
The consensus in the class was a desire to learn about rough body play with the boot.
Bootpig laid on a soft mat in the middle of the class benches. WhipMasterBob stood above her and spoke about different areas of the body to target. He stood on different parts of her body, suggesting that tops have something to hold onto to keep their balance.
But then he stopped. Bootpig was having back issues and could not demo the rest of the information. Could he have a volunteer from the class?
My hand shot up.
He waved me onto the mat. I got on all fours in front of Bootpig, who then didn't move off the mat.
"Oh, am I in your way," I asked.
"No honey. I'm just enjoying the view." Yeah, I wasn't wearing any underwear...
Bootpig complimented my ass before sitting on another mat to watch the rest of the demo.
Lying down on the center mat, WhipMasterBob now loomed over me. He spoke about how I'd positioned my body on the mat. I was flat on my stomach, my arms above my head, exposing my ribs. He then gave some swift kicks with the side of his boot to my torso.
Stepping towards my rear, he stood on my back, pushing my body into the mat.
Using the toe of his boot, he struck the lower portion of my ass with an upward angle. I started to softly moan as my hips ground into the mat with each of his strikes.
"Your welcome," he said.
With that as a warm up, WhipMasterBob had one more lesson to teach.
Slipping the toe of his boot under my clit, he inched farther and farther under me until my entire crotch was on his boot, my pussy right against laces. Using his other boot, he gyrated my ass, having me hump his leather. My moans grew loud as I rode his boot.
And then he stopped.
"What? I'm a Sadist."
The other students in the class groaned for me. Someone saw my pout and advocated to our instructor. WhipMasterBob looked down at my face and ah-ed.
"Can you beg with your eyes?" I did. "That's pretty good. Okay."
His boot was again on my ass, rocking my body against his leather, fervently humping his boot. As I moaned, I still felt the need to ask permission, but couldn't quite get out the words. WhipMasterBob, ever the experienced Dom, understood my garbled request.
"Yes, you may."
"Thank you," I panted.
And right there, in the middle of class, I humped his boot and came.
D3 stripped naked, save for his boots. I wore only a black strapless dress, a cute pair of underwear, and my boots. I told D3 how I like it when people take off my clothes.
"Mean or nice?"
"Whichever."
He stepped in close. We kissed, our arms wrapped around each other.
He began punching me. I slowly, blow by blow, backed up into the wall of the cage. I looked into his eyes as his punches landed on my chest, my arms, my thighs.
He kissed me, turned me, and then stripped off my dress, unzippering the back and quickly peeling it off my body. He left my boots and underwear on.
He punched my back, my ass. Using the toe of his boot, he kicked my thighs. He swung his leg and landed his boot across my ass.
Grabbing my hair, he pulled me to the ground. Lying on my stomach, he put his boot by my face.
"Lick it," he demanded.
My tongue traced up, down, and around his leather as he continued to punch my back.
Using his boot, he flipped me over. He loomed above, stepping onto my body, using the cage for balance until he could apply his full weight. Adjusting his body, he intensified his weight into his heel, down onto my flesh. Turning my head with his boot, he stepped on my chin line.
Coming down to my level, he chose to sit on my ribs and once again punched my chest. Using his elbow, he applied pressure points to my chest and arms. Pulling out a knife, he glided his steel along my chest and over my face. He made me endure more pressure points.
His knife away, he leaned down and once again kissed me. He licked my eyelids. As we continued to makeout, he pulled me on top of him. His body now laid below mine.
In an instant, the dynamic of our scene switched. I kissed him, teased him. I danced my breasts in front of his face. He pinched and sucked on my nipples. I leaned down and bit his neck. He encouraged me to bit harder; I did so. He moaned with my increased pressure.
I kissed him more. Without realizing it, I'd begun grinding my hips on his leg. I was happy my underwear was still on.
Without warning, he hooked his leg and flipped me back onto the mat. Again we kissed. My legs grasped his thigh as I continued to hump his limb.
He sat me up, crossed legged. He punched my thighs more. Using his lead shot mallet, he attacked my back and thighs.
And then he asked a magical question.
"What do you want to do now?"
I answered bluntly.
"Fist me or fuck me."
We laid down a chuck; he gloved up. I removed my very wet underwear and got comfortable on my back.
We started slow. I asked him if I needed permission to cum. He said I didn't. I could have as many orgasms as I wanted. "I love to watch people cum."
I orgasmed a few times before his full fist was in.
Once inside, he used a turning motion to make room, sending my muscles racing. What he thought was to be our final flourish was merely about a third of the way into the fisting. I continued to fuck his hand and cum like crazy, pushing back as he rocked me forward.
Once, during a rather intense orgasm, I lifted my hips up off the ground, bridging my body high. "That was intense," he remarked.
My ass back down on the ground, I hooked my calves around his elbow and squeezed my thighs. I rode his hand as hard as I could. I came so hard, I cried. I asked him to vibrate his hand, and then came again. He tried to open and close his hand quickly. I stopped him, coaching him instead to do it slowly.
Soon, his wrist tired. He asked me how long I could go. I informed him this was a loaded question, as my record for a fisting was an hour and forty-five minutes with forty-two orgasms (yes, we counted).
He decided, with his wrist about done, it was time to pull his hand out. There was a final flourish, the delicious feel of his knuckles against my pelvic bone when his hand exited.
Ungloving and joining me on the mat, we cuddled and kissed, and almost fell asleep.
He then asked me if I wanted to help him orgasm. I gave a very enthusiastic yes.
I then gloved up as he laid back. As he masturbated, I massaged his asshole. When he came, I caught his cum in my glove and smeared it onto his lips. He licked off his cum, sucking on my fingers, all the while our eyes locked on each other. It was so very hot.
Gloves again discarded, we cuddled more before cleaning up.
When we checked the time, we could hardly believe it was real. We'd started at about midnight. The time had flown by.
We finished at 2:22am.
My abduction had a special guest. They walked into my line-of-sight after all my limbs were restrained, somewhere in the middle of my pain. I hadn't heard their voice before then either.
They wore beautiful boots, black with red trim and buckles at the top. They used those boots to step on my stomach. They stepped on my chest. They stepped on my face and smeared the mud from their walk through the woods to my abduction onto my cheeks.
Murphy ordered me to compliment the special guest on their boots.
"I already did earlier." I had, in fact, seen the special guest wearing those boots before my class and remarked on how beautiful they were.
"We don't give a shit," yelled Gray. "Do it again!" He punished me for my sass. I screamed out in pain, and then in adoration of the boots.
"I love your boots, X. All I want to do is kiss and lick them."
"Now you are a filthy fucking slut," remarked Slut.
With her hand now free from my cunt, Slut transitioned to biting me all over: my chest, arms, legs, stomach.
With PrudeNate's hand inside me, I soon asked permission to cum again. I was refused.
I pushed through the pain, now not just the scratching and punches and biting, but also willing my body to not react, willing my muscles to not contract, willing my orgasm back.
Murphy said I would gain permission for my cum if I screamed out my name, Cabin Bitch For Life. I did. I came.
[Added thanks to PrudeNate:
As my torment continued, someone remarked that there was nowhere on my body that had not been punched. PrudeNate, however, disagreed.
"There's somehwere she hasn't been punched yet." The group looked to him in astonsihment, asking where.
"Here," he replied as he punched my cervix with his fist inside me. There were many nodding heads of approval, as well as a few at-a-boys.]
During the duration of the scene, whenever I began to catch my breath, or Gray and Murphy thought I was getting too quiet (as in I wasn't full throated screaming or sobbing), the duo beat me more.
"We want your voice gone. You're not going to stop screaming." I don't remember which of the two said that.
N3rddom, who I'd barely seen throughout my ordeal, came into my line-of-sight, punched my chest, kissed me, and whispered into my ear, "Aren't you glad you asked me to do this?"
When he stood back up, he also remarked, "What happened to you mindfucking us?"
With PrudeNate fisting me, CandleLover's nails gripping my breast, and Slut's teeth sunk down into my stomach, it became too much. At one point, Slut bit hard, pulled, and swiveled her head back and forth.
I tried to break free. I was so sweaty it was hard for everyone to hold my limbs as I wrenched my body around. I got an arm out, but was soon restrained again.
I needed to get away. I was able to curl my body away from Slut, but she never let go of my stomach. She just wouldn't stop biting me.
Finally I had to scream, the most guttural scream of my life. "YELLOW!" Immediately people relaxed their grip. I curled into a ball away from Slut, away from her teeth. It happened to be into Big Bro's lap.
I just needed a moment. I just needed water. I just needed Slut to not be biting me.
After I chugged a bottle of water, I said I was okay. I thought we would go on.
Instead Big Bro called it. I was done.
"Whatever someone has done to you, they can do it again."
"Oh shit."
With my knowledge that Gray was indeed a part of my abduction team, the possibilities for pain, restraints, and all kinds of meanness increased exponentially. My level of dread for what was to come skyrocketed.
As the truck traveled, we passed over the uneven terrain of the camp. I had no idea where we were going.
When we stopped, I was pushed out of the truck onto the ground. I heard Murphy ahead of me and felt him tug on my chains, pulling me forward. I was to walk the rest of the way to my fate.
My Hello Kitty bag was still slung over my shoulder, a dangling dead weight as I was marched along.
My dress was in tatters, barely clinging to my body. Another bra had been destroyed (but, since Gray had ripped one of my bras before, technically it was allowed).
The terrain was a little rocky but mostly muddy; I guessed we were in the woods.
When we finally stopped, I felt a log under me as Murphy dragged me onto it. My legs straddled the large piece of wood. I was pushed down onto my stomach. My dress was ripped still more, exposing my back and backside.
My captors started with spankings. At first it was Slut's big blue cock smacking my ass playfully. Soon, though, Murphy had a better idea.
I knew Big Bro's love of firing squads, having experienced the Hitachi Firing Squad last year at Rope Camp. He suggested the entire team participate in a spanking fire squad. So many hands stung my body all over my back and ass. I screamed and tried to wiggle away. Of course, there was no getting away.
They turned me around on the log, pulled off my hood, and Slut's big blue cock was now in my mouth. Murphy gripped my hair and bobbed my head back and forth on Slut's strap-on, encouraging my efforts.
There was yet still more abuse to my ass. Punches, for which Slut drew targets before her and others inflicted their blows. A cricket bat, who strokes were at first wickedly stingy. But then N3rddom (I'm assuming it was him since I know he owns a cricket bat) turned the implement and began giving me thuddy hits. Those strokes were but a small respite as next out came a cane; more stingy pain eliciting my cries.
Again I tried to crawl away. Instead they just flipped me over, my back now on the log. Apparently one side was cooked enough. It was time for the front.
