I’m lying on the bed, tied, immobile. Already sore and exhausted after she’s worked over my nipples till they are sensitive and raw. A bowl appears. It’s full of clothes pegs. She pushes my legs apart so she can reach my cock and balls. I can do clothes pegs. I’ve been here before. I’ve had more then one on at a time; once as many as six. Bitey little pegs. But her plans for me turn out to be more ambitious. Far more ambitious.
“I want to see what you can take. I’m looking for thirty,” she says.
She starts at the bottom of my balls. Installs the first peg. Waits a few moments for the pain to reach me, to see it in my eyes. Adds the next one. Looks into my eyes to see the pain arrive. Then another.
By five I’m feeling tense and concerned.
By ten, my balls covered in pegs, I’m breathing heavily. She pauses, then runs her hand backwards and forwards over the pegs, making me cry out.
By fifteen, starting now at the base of my cock, I know I am in trouble. Each new peg has more effect than the one before as the skin becomes tighter. My erection tightens everything still further.
By twenty, I’m thinking this is too much. I could safeword now and would already have taken my CBT experience to a new level. There’s no shame in that, right? An athlete is happy with a personal best; why not me?
By twenty five I am feeling subspacy. There is no room in my head for any more pain. The safe word is fighting its way up from my subconscious. Involuntarily my back arches up as I strain against the ropes, breathing fast, desperately trying to control my reactions to each new assault.
By thirty the only space left is my foreskin and she adds three pegs there. I am lost in a sea of sensation more intense than any I have experienced. I shout out: “Please, no more,” but it comes as a whisper.
I can feel her hand lightly on my skin. She caresses me softly. “Good”, she says, “Very good. Thirty three is excellent”. I should be pleased with myself, but right now I just want it to stop. This is beyond me and, even though I can sense endorphins dulling the sharpest edges, I NEED the pain to go away.
I need it to go away now.
However, when she removes the first peg realise I have fallen into her trap.
A spot of intense white heat stands out against an already red-hot sea of pain. Followed a few moments later by another.
I am a climber who, reaching a hard won peak, realises that he is still only in the foothills and a higher mountain lies beyond.
There is no safe word here because the clips all have to be removed.
One. At. A. Time.
Thirty three clips.
I don’t know how I got to the end of this. Towards the end the white heat had driven out the red entirely and I was lost in it. When it was over I curled in upon myself, like a child after a fall, and stayed that way for perhaps ten minutes. Gradually though, as the pain subsided, it was replaced by the wonderful post session calm, mind washed clean by the white hot sea of sensations.
Thirty three was a lot of pegs. Really, a lot.
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