I’m sat in my car on a warm afternoon at the end of the week. The car is parked exactly at the intersection of my two lives. Behind me: a three-way BDSM session full of extreme sensations; full of pain, pleasure, and eroticism. In front of me: home, family and the long Easter weekend that I’m not yet ready for. That’s why I’m here.
The actual location of the car is more prosaic: a parking space just behind a garage on the A1, but I feel perfectly at the tipping point between one life and the other. The session was more than twenty four hours ago but the time between has been such a noisy mess of traffic jams, over-run meetings and tightly packed, humdrum bullshit that only now, sat by the A1, can I really think about what happened and my reactions to it. It’s important that I do so. A BDSM session can trigger such a maelstrom of emotional responses that it effects me for days afterwards and I have to get this one packed tightly away in its proper place so I can go on with my normal life. This doesn’t mean I shall forget about the session. I want to be able to bring it out and enjoy it again at times of my choosing rather than have it jump unbidden into my consciousness when I should be concentrating on something else.
I just haven’t had the chance to think about the session since I left Elita’s beautiful little house yesterday afternoon. I had originally booked to see Lilly, having been completely enchanted by her at our first meeting but, nearing the date, had for some reason lost my nerve and asked Elita to join us.
As the sun warms the car I ease the driver’s seat back a little and close my eyes, remembering how Elita and Lilly looked as they let me in; the things they did to me, the things we did together…
Predicament bondage. The rope wrapped tight round my balls is tied to me feet. I can only half stand up. Lilly is positioned in front of me. If I lean forward I can lick her pussy but doing so tightens the rope on my already stretched testicles. I feel Elita must have tried this one before. Of course I DO lean forward, burying myself in Lilly, making long, slow strokes with my tongue. She’s warm, she’s wet and she tastes beautiful. I love how she moves slightly as my tongue runs over her clitoris.
Hands above my head tied behind a pillar – turning it into a whipping post. First Elita then Lilly, the whip striking across my backside; lines of fire, fighting to hold my position.
Elita’s over the bench as we both worship her beautiful arse, licking stroking, kissing her. We steal a kiss together as Elita can’t see us.
My turn for the bench, Elita hitting me with a nasty little plastic cane. I hate it and she knows this, so she carries on, laughing at my distress. What makes it bearable is Lilly lying under the bench looking up at me, smiling, sympathisizing, removing the straps of her basque so I can run my hands across the soft skin of her cheek, down over her long neck, and on further down to cup her perfect breasts. I love the way her eyes widen in shock as Elita lands a harder blow and I cry out. In this position I can hide nothing, she sees all my responses and shares in my experience. I pinch her nipples, making her close her eyes and arch her back in response. She’s so beautiful.
Elita’s strap-on, deep, hard, fast; exerting herself as she drives into me relentlessly. I hear her breathing. The sensations are so intense and so deep: is it pain, is it pleasure? Lilly, still under the bench, sees it all in my face as she reaches up and pinches my nipples hard. I guess I deserved that.
Lilly’s bent over the bench, sucking Elita’s strap on into her mouth. I’m behind, pushing deep into her, inducing little moans that slip out round the strap on. I catch Elita’s eye across Lilly’s arched back, a shared moment, a connection as we enjoy this beautiful meal together. She puts clips on my nipples, runs electricity through them. Lots of electricity. I’m lost in the pain; lost in the fucking; lost in the beautiful sight of them; sucked deep into a whirlpool of emotion before being spat out in an orgasm of body shaking intensity.
I wake up just as I’m remembering the violence of the post orgasm caning. Elita said twelve strokes, six from each of them, but I knew exactly what she was going to do and so I was ready for the hard, fast endless beating that started as soon as the twelve strokes were over. I sucked it up, wanting it, relishing the pain, determined to wait for her instruction to “call it”, the sign that she thinks the marks are getting too much. By then I was breathing fast, sucking in great gulps of air as I desperately tried to ride the wave of pain she had created.
It was only 90 minutes. But 90 minutes is a lot; all the drama of a football match or a movie can be squeezed into 90 minutes; I can drive to Oxford in 90 minutes on a good day. Or I can dive into the deep end of BDSM and spend 90 minutes letting myself drown in the glorious, demanding, rewarding mind-fuck of it all.
I wind the window down to let the spring air into the car. I feel my shirt rub against my still sore nipples as I turn to look for a space in the traffic. I pull into the flow and head, smiling a deep and contented smile, for home, ready now for the weekend.