What would be too much sex? Could a scene ever be too hot; could it burn so brightly that the darkness left after the flames died down was just too black.
I find myself wondering these things in a lonely hotel room somewhere in Asia. My trip to the airport was interrupted by 90 minutes of the most outrageously erotic BDSM sex, orchestrated by my wonderful Mistress for my personal delectation and delight, as I stopped off at her London house.
A BDSM session between Elita and I might be set up like a meal: perhaps a first course of tie and tease, made up of many small morsels of enticing sensations; then a main course of Corporal Punishment, ladled onto my plate in great spoonfuls until I can eat no more; finally, a desert of sensual after care, sometimes nothing more demanding than a chat and a recuperative glass of wine.
This session turned out to be something different. This was the chefs special tasting menu; course after course, each offering previously unimagined combinations of pain and pleasure, challenge and reward in a glorious, seemingly unending, feast for all the senses.
Elita was ably assisted in the preparation of this banquet 0f erotic delights by her friend Miss Anna Donovan, the copper haired beauty I had chatted to at the Femdom Ball while Elita prepared for the ordeal of performance. I had been beguiled by Anna then; by her soft eyes, by the warmth of her voice as she talked, by her stillness as she listened. I had found myself wanting to tell her things; to reveal all my secrets in a rush. I had been keen to see her again and would have been as happy with lunch and a glass of Chablis as with the opportunity to have her join our “on the way to the airport” BDSM session.
Let me give you a sense of just a few of the dishes Elita and Anna laid in front of me.
Elita’s customary greeting, which consists of grabbing my nipples through my shirt and pulling and twisting them until me knees buckle, forms the “amuse bouche” for our meal. She then leads me to the bedroom for the first course. Anna, in seductive pale lngerie, is spread-eagled, tied face down to the four corners of the bed, her quite beautiful bottom raised on pillows. “Pretty, isn’t she” says Elita in a matter-of-fact voice, “if you’re good, Ill let you fuck her later.” She’s certainly quite a sight as Elita, then I, smack her backside till it starts to redden.
I’m now tied to the bed, Elita is working my nipples over with the brutal clamps some masochistic idiot bought her at the BDSM emporium that is Fifty and Dean (OK, it was me) while Anna has her lips round my cock. It’s a perfect blend of pain and pleasure but I’m losing the fight to keep the sensations in balance.
Positions reversed, Anna tied now; I’m giving her oral sex, loving her softness, her smell, the taste of her juices. Suddenly Elita is hitting me and I have to find a place to put the pain so I can focus on the glorious feast of sensations in front of my face. Elita hits me harder and harder until it becomes impossible to maintain enough self control to carry on the fellatio. I just bury my face in Anna’s beauty and try to soak up the pain.
Anna is lying across my thighs. My cock and balls are tied tight and her weight is pressing on them. Every time I spank her bottom she lurches forward, sending sharp little shocks through my testicles; if I spank her harder she jerks forward more violently. Only a chef as warped as Elita could have combined these ingredients to create such a perfect little perversion. Only someone as sadistically masochistic as me would benefit fully from the contradictory pleasures it offers.
Anna and I kneel, facing each other, close. Elita will carry on caning me until I cry mercy, then punish Anna. Alternatively if Anna thinks I have had enough, she can cry mercy on my behalf and take her turn at being punished. We kiss, nervously conspiratorially. We keep on kissing while Elita starts beating me. I want to protect Anna so I take it and take it, watching her wince with each blow I receive until she has seen enough and calls mercy, only to have her bottom flogged. I see every blow in her face, hear it in her yelps. Fuck, but it’s hot to watch.
Anna is once more tied on her back. This time her feet are held up near her shoulders, leaving her bent double and fully exposed to me. I’m inside her, fucking her, enjoying the far away look in her half-closed eyes, relishing her moans of pleasure, relishing the fact that I’m causing them.
These are far from all the sensual dishes we consumed; the most fabulously erotic feast I have ever been presented with; course after course of coruscating hotness, pressing all of my buttons: the sadistic, the masochistic and the sensual, and often all at the same time.
So why the questions at the start of the post? The truth is, I felt an inadequate participant in this scene. With its two stunningly beautiful actresses it didn’t need me, it needed a male porn star, all oiled six-pack and permanent rock-hard erection. I’ve reached a time in life when, especially if I’ve been in the grip of insomnia, I just can’t perform sexually for 90 minutes. Once the seed of this destructive self doubt was in my head, even with these stratospheric levels of enticement, it persisted until the end. Elita, because she’s lovely and she cares, persevered and, with Anna’s help, dug deep inside me and brought a wonderful, body-shaking orgasm to the surface.
My orgasm was only the culmination of a session that was somehow red hot yet touching, bruising yet intimate. I loved all of it and as always, was amazed by Elita’s inventiveness, her imagination and her deep, deep understanding of my kinks. Anna was wonderful; so warm and tender; dreamily sexy and giving of herself.
But I’ve been left with a mild case of sexual indigestion. You probably weren’t even aware that was a thing.
I’ve been left with the feeling that the Chef’s tasting menu was great but I shouldn’t have had the second desert.
Or the cheese.
And definitely should have only had one of the hand made chocolates.
It’s not so unusual for me to be a bit maudlin on the day after the day after a demanding session (which is when I wrote this). It seems to be part of a cycle I go through. I wrote about a previous experience of it here.
More wickedness here: