INTENSE! (Eroticon reading)

I read this live to an audience at Eroticon. It was fun to try an communicate the intensity of the experience.

If you would rather listen to this than read it, then the audio version is at the bottom of the page.

It’s so intense. So fucking, unbearably intense. We’ve been round this cycle three or four times, and each time she pushes me deeper. I can feel myself getting lost, reaching my limit. Now she’s doing it again and I can’t stand it; I really can’t stand it and I twist and turn, my body pulling hard against the restraints. I’m deeper down the rabbit hole than I have ever been and I’m frightened by the strength of my reactions. Tears are welling up behind my eyes.

But here’s the thing: all this desperation, all this emotion; this sense of tumbling over the edge is not because she is hurting me.

It’s because she isn’t.

A sadist and a masochist were in a room together.

“Please beat me,” said the masochist.

“No,” said the sadist.

It’s an old joke but it doesn’t come close  to describing what’s  going on between us.

She’s been hurting me a lot but, for now, the pain has faded away. Her hand is on my cock, rubbing, stroking, not the “punch wank” she sometimes deploys, but long, slow, lube-enhanced strokes until the sensations dominate everything and I give myself up to them. It’s wonderful. Her lips close over my nipple and I tense, waiting for her to bite me but she doesn’t, her tongue teasing the super-sensitive tip of it.

Unbidden, the sense of wanting her to bite me drifts into my consciousness. I push it away in favour of the intense waves of pleasure, but it will not be denied. That want gradually becomes a need, a need that grows until it drowns out all the pleasure and the only thing, the only thing, in my head is needing her to bite me and it’s a desperate, aching, all-enveloping need.

“Bite me, please bite me, Mistress.”

She ignores me and continues her stroking and teasing:

“Pleeeease, Mistress, just do it. Do it now”

“Surely,” I tell myself, “I can’t possibly use the safe word to stop her from NOT hurting me!”

Eventually she does hurt me, biting hard, pulling and twisting with her teeth and then her finger nails until I’m gasping and my back is arched. But I can cope with this. I welcome this. I understand this.

In a bizarre turnaround, the pain has become my relief from the agony of its absence.

Then she stops hurting me and she’s back with the slow stroking.

Elita isn’t finished with me. She isn’t finished at all.

Her hand continues to slide slowly, softly, sinuously up and down my cock. Despite how good it feels, the 10% of me that is still aware of where I am decides that I am not going to orgasm today and I should ask her to end the session. I have done so often before. But I keep quiet.

Her second hand closes on my throat; I feel my breathing involuntarily stop under the pressure as she leans on it. I can see nothing, hear nothing, I can only feel; sensual pleasure from my cock, the pressure of her hand on my throat. The 5% of me that is still aware of where I am wonders if she might push me all the way under, but I’m in so deep that the thought triggers no alarm.

She leans on my throat again and I feel a blackness more intense than that caused by the blindfold start to descend. This new blackness is not about an absence of light, I already have that, it’s an absence of……..of……it’s an absence of everything.

As it envelops me, the individual sensations of her hands fade away and the only, THE ONLY, thing I am conscious of is the orgasm floating up from somewhere deep in my core. The 1% of me that is still aware of where I am knows this is happening, but the rest is the blackness.

The orgasm becomes a living, breathing entity; it’s me and yet also not me. It rushes up and passes through me like an ethereal Voldemort passing through Harry Potter, leaving him, leaving me, unharmed, but shaken to the core and feeling somehow changed by its passing.

I think Elita took her hand off my throat at the exact moment of the orgasm and, as it ebbed away, I lay still next to her for a moment, feeling light headed in my blindfold, occasionally shaking as aftershocks passed through me.

Eventually I felt I had to say something, just to reconnect with my Mistress, to let her know I was back in the room.

All I could manage was “Fuuuuuuck!”

She laughed, clearly delighted. “Oh, Yes!” She said “There are sessions, and then there are sessions!”

And boy, was she right.

For something different, here is an audio recording of me reading this piece in the same way I did at Eroticon.

 

I have been inspired by the wonderful  GirlOnTheNet to have this first go at audio porn!