One of my requirements (and I am a woman of many requirements) from my play partners is that I receive email feedback following on from sessions. This has a number of effects, first and foremost, it's good for me as a dominant and as a person, to know how they felt. I can guess, certainly, and usually I find out the highlights or low points at the time but there's something about giving someone quiet processing time. This allows thoughts to swirl around, connect with other thoughts and memories and create a narrative of what went on in their heads, reminding them of their connection to me and, when I receive it, it reminds me, with pleasure, usually, of what we did and how it felt.
I am an avid reader of these messages, just as I am an avid listener when people speak to me of their desires. I like knowing what makes people tick, even more when I intend to keep count. I've been getting several messages from Ten of late and parsing the similarities and differences between why I did a certain thing, the intention that I had in doing so and the effect it actually had - both in the moment and later.
I laid him face down on the bed, I had limited kit with me so no bondage. Instead I tied a silk scarf over his eyes and went to fetch a few items from my bag: a couple of anal vibrators, lube. I started with pleasure, inserting a lubed finger into his arse, playing with the muscles, feeling the tightness of it. He was tense, to a point, but a few whispered commands to breathe started to relax him. I used the smaller of the vibrators at first, to tease the outlying nerve endings, before lubing up the larger, a multi-beaded affair which coiled around on itself to hook neatly under the perineum, sealing itself in. I pressed it inside him in one smooth movement, listening out for the expected muffled sounds of protest followed by a groan of satisfaction. I was not disappointed. I let him absorb the experience for a while, to float away into the pleasure of it.
Then, pain. Maintaining contact with him was important, the comforting sensation of my presence, in my mind he became something akin to an animal, likely to shy or to buck at anything which frightened him. I straddled his back, letting him feel my weight, the muscles of my legs against his sides offering enough restriction to keep him still. I started slow, light touches of deft fingers against the exposed flesh of his naked back, a palette to my gently increasing impact. Pinches became scratches became the rubbing of knuckles against ribs - a surprisingly painful experience.
He has a wonderful ability to elegantly capture his feelings, and, assuming he is being honest, the extent to which I was able to affect him. From my point of view, the play that we did was physically "light" yet clearly the rapport we share and the D/s connection, together with his relative inexperience, creates a much, much greater reaction than I might have expected. He describes the fear in being blindfolded, the confusion at loss of his usual position of authority and control. A natural voyeur, sight would be the way he would try and experience and explain unusual or new sensations, removing that is a control mechanism certainly, it weakens his ability to perceive the world and puts him more under my tender mercies. It also controls how he is receiving pain or pleasure, forcing him to feel rather than to understand. I wanted him to be driven by the sensations and by the knowledge that it was me doing it, instead of being able to witness his own position.
There is enormous satisfaction in reading these missives, the most evocative of which I read and re-read with a smile playing on my lips. They are love letters written after the fact, full of mirrored reflections, the inverse and converse of what I did, what I felt. They draw out the pleasure, allowing the scene itself to have second and third existences in our minds, on our fingertips as the pads touch the keyboard. I love words. A well turned phrase or sentence is perfect in and of itself, when it describes something intimate that I have done then it transcends and dances like poetry, making the time between meetings if not bearable, then certainly full of wonderful memories.
Abandoned to his fate in inescapable rope
3 months ago