Black. Everything’s black. The blindfold’s not one of those cheap, useless bits of cloth you get on airplanes. This one offers me nothing. I’m very conscious of my own breathing; shallow and faster than normal. I can hear my heart beating.
My head is full of one thought. The door has just shut with a solid click behind Elita. She’s not in the room. I’m naked and alone with an the Unknown Mistress. Not only do I not know this Mistress, I’ve never met, seen or spoken to her. Not even a phone call. When I had set this session up I had imagined Elita would be in the room, my unseen yet comforting guardian, but I’m sure she isn’t there. I’m both thrilled and horrified by this knowledge.
Footsteps. A leather cuff on each wrist. Hands over my head. A hoist. Stretched upwards but not far enough to be uncomfortable.
A voice. Cultured, clear, precise. An attractive voice. She’s telling me all the things Elita’s said she should do to me. It’s quite a list.
A solid rubber ball gag in my mouth. It’s on my hard limit list but she wouldn’t know that and it’s not a big gag. I don’t want to break the atmosphere this early so I fight off the feeling of drowning in my own saliva. Eventually I just bloody deal with it, finding a room at the back of my mind where I can lock the panic away.
Nipples. Sharp pain. Her teeth? No. Finger nails. A rope on my balls. Round and round, tighter with each turn. Tighter still, cock growing hard in response. Nipples again, more harshly now.
My subconscious reaches out, trying to connect. There’s nothing. Just the sound of her movement.
A cane. Six. Not heavy blows, but it’s early and I’m shocked by the pain of it, breathing hard. A latex clad finger trails across my lips and slowly enters my mouth, stilling my breathing and calming all of me. Its seems a deeply sensual act, desperate as I am for some, any, form of contact.
Six more strokes. Harder, stinging blows, the cane wrapping round my backside. This time the reward is greater, as her body touches mine from behind while she reaches round to hurt my nipples. I push back against her slightly in response, not sure this will be OK, but she moves her feet fractionally and answers the pressure, leaning into me, finally offering the connection I’ve been craving. This is sensual and erotic, feeling the cool of what has to be a leather corset press against my back as she works on my nipples.
Another six. I’m into it now, pushing my bottom out slightly. Holding still for her. Wanting to show her I can take it. New nipple clips. Harder, sharper pain; I have to fight to get on top of it. This time she leans back against my chest, pushing on the clips, but I answer the pressure, deliberately hurting myself by leaning into her. My face is in her beautifully soft hair and I breathe the soothing scent of it deep into my aching soul. The pain of the nipple clips is in perfect balance with the twin pleasures of her touch and her smell.
This. This is my thing. This is why I’m here.
We’re in a place where her pain, her touch and my responses to those things are how we communicate.
Denied visual communication by the blindfold and verbal communication by the gag, her cane stroke says, “I see you.” The way I breathe in sharply and present myself for the next stroke says “and I see you.” It’s like a dance between two blind people who speak different languages, communicating only through the physical. It’s intense and erotic and new and exciting and I want all of it.
We were only 30 minutes into a 90 minute session and I was already getting lost. Lost in the pain and the pleasure; lost in the sheer eroticism of the physical interaction with the unseen Mistress. Lost in all of it.
Elita’s arrival moved things on quickly. A change of atmosphere; new challenges as they worked me over together. I might need a few deep breaths as I recall the extreme sensations and emotions of what became my first “Double Domme” session.
In fact that might need to wait for another post!
I have now added a post on the second half of this session. I was taken apart by the pair of them but struggled to put myself back together.
“Denied visual communication by the blindfold and verbal communication by the gag, her cane stroke says, “I see you.” The way I breathe in sharply and present myself for the next stroke says “and I see you.” It’s like a dance between two blind people who speak different languages, communicating only through the physical. It’s intense and erotic and new and exciting and I want all of it.”
Gosh, this is SO beautiful!
Rebel xox