Figging, according to Wikipedia is “The practice of inserting a piece of skinned ginger root into the anus or the vagina of a person. It has been used as a means of punishment. It is also used as a BDSM practice.”
“BDSM Practice.” Well I practice BDSM so this must be for me, right?
I only had myself to blame; turning up as I did with a large piece of ginger hiding in a recess in my briefcase. Late in the session she made me watch, nervous tension building, while she carved it to shape.
Heat. Searing, penetrating heat.
Imagine one of those muscle treatments, Deep Heat or Tiger Balm, but rubbed deep, very deep, inside you; pushed far into your core, causing normally unused nerve endings and pain sensors to be brought rudely to screaming life.
Back arched, pulling against the ropes, fighting to extinguish the fire. Breathing out of control. Reactions out of control. I could just make out the nipple clamps, the rope tight round my balls and her hand on my cock but the heat dominated everything. It filled me. I orgasmed fast and hard, needing it to end.
But she left it there. She left it inside me.
Post orgasm pain. Normally the hardest thing. But, strangely, wonderfully, my body looked after me, sending me deep into a dreamy subspace.
I am a boat floating on a sea of pain that runs through my whole body. Like the sea, the pain is not constant but rises and falls with the tide and the waves. Sometimes it is hardly there at all, and I am calm, aware of her sitting quietly beside me. Sometimes it rises up, towering above me like a wave, threatening to drag me under. My body tightens, back arched with the pain, then releases with the same rolling shudder I experience during orgasm. Each time the shuddering passes through me I feel another layer of tension disappear and I sink a little deeper into the bed. She is watching me intently. She smiles. I smile back from my boat not quite sure where I am. Eventually I have shuddered so often and for so long that there is no tension left and I am floating free, disturbed only by the faintest of ripples. The pain remains but is dulled now and constant. The Mistress, touching me softly, leads me to the shore.
These words come from a much earlier post – now not on the blog. I tried to find new ones but decided that, having experienced this strange post-orgasm place for a second time, the old description still worked.
More, though less gingery, sin here: