MISS S IN BONDAGE- ruby glow

The first part of this story left Miss S and I in a fuzzy, post coital haze, sharing a glass of champagne. However, I was becoming more nervous and jumpy as time progressed and Miss S knew why. Mistress Elita was on her way across town and that could only mean one thing: violence.

(The delightful Miss S sent me her thoughts on this part of the session and I built this post around them. She writes beautifully)

At the Eroticon sex writers conference I had purchased two Ruby Glow vibrators from the inventor, the lovely Tabitha Rayne, as gifts for Mistress Elita and Miss S. As soon as I saw the “pleasure for the seated lady” promise I knew just how I would use one in a BDSM session.

I tied Miss S to a stool, sitting her over the vibrator and clipping the wrist cuffs behind her. I knelt on a facing chair, close. We looked  into each others eyes, finding both nervousness and excitement; I would see her reactions to the vibrator, just as she would see my pain from the beating that was surely heading my way.

This was the enticing vision to be presented to Elita as she entered the room.

I felt a deep kind of peacefulness from having come so long and snuggled into my rope harness and leather cuffs like a hammock or a fur coat. The vibrator nestled between my legs sent weakening waves of happiness up through my tummy and down through the skin on my legs. I felt I was sunbathing on a tiny shiatsu chair.

Elita called as she collected the room key I had left for her. While she rode the lift, I applied nipple clips to Miss S, tightening them till I could be sure they would stay in place, seeing her fight against their sharp pain.

This made having nipple clamps suddenly attached, screwed tighter and tighter and reattached, feel like finding razor blades in candy floss. It hurt so sharply I screwed my eyes shut and tried to imagine I was with a doctor, having some important procedure done. Following your instructions to breathe, to come back and open my eyes and look at you, helped. I don’t know why, but having you acknowledge my pain like that made it not hurt as harshly.

Then you cranked up the Ruby Glow and the scene completely changed. My nipples and my clit felt like the only glowing points in my suddenly empty mind.

Elita appeared over your shoulder like an actress in a film.

Wordlessly, Elita took implements from her bag and laid them on a sofa like a surgeon laying out instruments for an operation; a flogger, her multi-tailed whip, her cane, a riding crop. The last item out was another cane, one I hadn’t seen before; long, heavy and stiff, it looked more like a walking stick. I stared at it mutely in horrified fascination.

She selected the flogger, swinging it in the air.

As the flogging started, I became both more submissive to Elita and more dominant of Miss S, wanting her to feel my pain, take part in it, understand what I was feeling.

I couldn’t believe the intense beating I saw you take and the way it made you switch between personas. You grabbed the knot on the back of my harness, tightening it and making me feel like you were gripping my whole chest at once with one extended long-fingered hand, forcing my weight down hard onto the vibrator until I nearly screamed, dominating me. Then Elita effortlessly flogged your back, the pain on your face so obvious that I wanted to do something, nestle into your shoulder and whisper, “it’s okay, it’s okay.”

A supreme effort allowed me, for at least a few strokes, to eliminate my responses to the blows, leaning forward to kiss Miss S on the mouth. To be beaten by one beautiful woman while kissing another; violence and tenderness, harsh pain and soft touch in delicious counterpoint.

Elita picked up the heavy cane, triggering a surge of heart-pumping, adrenaline-driven fear, only to put it down again.

The birch. I’d made it for a Sinful Sunday post and for this; five strong Willow switches bound together. Elita wrapped them hard round my backside. The shock of the first blow took my breath away. I cried out at the second. After five Miss S was no longer my submissive, she was the rock to which I clung as the waves of pain broke over me.

Every crack of the birch sent a sympathetic shockwave through me, which melded with the pleasure from the vibrator and made me feel like I was going to come. Each time you cried out in pain, I moaned.

Hard as the birching was, and it was very hard, I knew it was not to be the main event in this session. Thankfully, she paused to let me breathe before picking up the heavy cane.

I felt like I was showing off when Elita took a break from savagely thrashing you to slide over to me, still tied to the stool and the vibrator, touching and kissing me so gently in front of you, making me arch my back.

The cane. Jesus. The fucking cane.

No number to aim for. No map to see a destination and measure my progress. Just relentless, shocking impact, deep into my flesh again and again. Miss S leant into me. To hide my anguish in her hair felt child-like, comforting; it triggered a vision from my own childhood: hiding my face in my mother’s hair as a nurse removed gravel from a wound on my knee. To be beaten that hard was to be reduced to a simple, elemental state, all life’s complexities shorn away to leave just one simple thing. Pain.

Eventually, having perhaps been waiting for a safe word that never came, Elita stopped. She said she didn’t want to hit me any more.

I stood shakily, and she hugged me for a long time; hugging me back into the hotel room from wherever I had gone.

And Miss S? Still tied, she lifted her face to kiss me, as free from artifice as a sixteen year old on a first date. I don’t deserve this angel that Elita has brought into my life, but I drank deep of that hard-earned kiss.

Later, Elita and I went to dinner and the opera. We were as high as kites, laughing and talking and sharing our feelings. And in Act Two, as the tenor sang the opening bars of Una Furtiva Lagrima, surely the most beautiful aria in all the world, the emotion flooded out of me in silent tears, running down my cheeks and onto my collar.

I miei sospir confondere
per poco a’ suoi sospir!

As if my sighs were hers,
and her sighs were mine!

from Una Furtiva Lagrima, L’elisir d’amore Act 2, by Donizetti.  Click on the button to hear it:

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