O positive

I've been thinking recently about orgasm and how to reach it. Over the past few months I've had the (extremely pleasant) experience of partner-induced orgasm. This might not appear mind-blowing in the eyes of the general universe but from my point of view it's a definite turn up for the books. In the past three months, three different people have been able to make me come, by themselves, with limited or no assistance from myself. That's more people than in the rest of my life, and it's a thing worth examining.

Before we kick off, a disclaimer. Orgasm isn't the sole source of sexual pleasure in this world any more than a gin and tonic is the only way of getting drunk. It's good, and I like it a lot, but I've had plenty of awesome, explosive evenings without one. We tend to put the orgasm on rather a high pedestal and can get a bit bogged down in becoming goal orientated with endless quests for alphabetised spots on the human body. I'm not intending this post as yet another piece of writing on how we must make all women come all the time in order to engender some sort of earthly paradise, just putting over some musings on my own orgasm and how it's changed over the years.

Let's look at the facts and see what has happened. My normal routine consists of two orgasms a day - generally I masturbate once in the morning and once in the evening and have done since i worked out how to do it. More if I've got nothing else to do that day. I don't have a regular partner and I sleep alone, so I can amuse myself however I want without bothering about anyone else or being bothered by anyone else. It's "me time" that precious entity we are often encouraged to acquire more of. Some girls have manicures and facials. I masturbate. I can make myself come pretty easily, in a couple of minutes if I need to, but if I have the time, I'll take the time. Orgasm quality varies, but is usually good, with only the odd instance of failed orgasm - usually because I'm too tired - and the occasionally "meh" experience where the end result is more like the exhalation of breath after being under water than a genuine pleasure rush.

That's the solo version and the control. Physically my body works and can orgasm. Now to add the variable - people. People have come in two flavours in my sex life, vanilla and kinky. Vanilla sex very rarely produced orgasm. A handful of times through very prescribed methods, either through oral sex or effectively replicating my own masturbation practices. My first hypothesis was that the reasons behind a lack of orgasm had less to do with my partners (who had satisfied other women before and went on to do so again) and more to do with the type of sex - and type of relationship - we were having. Later, there was kinky sex, which whilst being more exciting and interesting also didn't really produce much in the way of orgasm.

This led me on to consider that the reason I couldn't orgasm wasn't anything to do with the vanilla/kink divide and more to do with the fact that other people were present. Perhaps I had a shy orgasm? What happened is that I would get the physical sensation of pre-orgasm - held breath, muscles clenched but get stuck just before the tipping point, never able to quite move over into release. Over time, the knowledge that this was as good as climax could get for me probably created a psychological block - I knew I was unlikely to orgasm and therefore didn't try or expect it.

However, under certain circumstances I could sometimes orgasm when someone else was present. But I had to be given explicit permission, do it through masturbation and not put under any pressure. For example, being tied to a vibrator or similar would always bring me right to the edge but never bring me to orgasm. Machines were pleasurable, but not a source of orgasm. Masturbation worked better, but being forced to bring myself to orgasm, perhaps under a time limit would be fifty-fifty success or release. In that way, it was pretty hot and entirely in keeping with the submissive situation, orgasm control and denial being part of that set-up. But there were other situations in which ostensibly I should have been able to, but couldn't. If my partner hadn't reached orgasm themselves, I tended not to feel able to myself, less physically and more emotionally or intellectually - I hadn't given them enough to deserve my own pleasure. It didn't feel right, regardless of how much they wanted me to orgasm I was generally unable to and that was frustrating on several levels.

The only time it ever really worked was when I was told that I could have an orgasm and then left to get on with it. Perhaps a gentle stroke of my partners fingers on my neck, back or cunt (I masturbate on my front), maybe some encouraging filth whispered in my ear but realistically speaking I was on my own, with the knowledge that they were around and quietly supportive. I closed my eyes, focused in on myself and once I'd faded them into background noise it was easy. But a little guilty. After all, if I have to remove myself from my partner to orgasm it suddenly makes it a lot less relieving and intimate than I really wanted it to be. It was a private pleasure that excluded them.

As time went on, orgasm in the presence of others came to represent failure, solitude, "abnormality" and worry. I learned to preface any sort of scene with "it is very unlikely I will orgasm, please don't try." Although this invariably led to an excess of trying and me feeling a bit sore and fed up by the end. Longer term partners learnt to just not bother and leave me to it once they'd fallen asleep. Submission, it seems, despite being deeply personally satisfying on many levels, did not produce a lot of orgasm.

Dominance and topping, however, did. Whenever I was able to switch with my partners or when I had a submissive partner and could use them however I wanted, I could orgasm. The first few times it was difficult, but the more I did it, the easier it became. Different partners delivered in different ways - though clitoral stimulation via fingers and tongues remained the best path to take. The Photographer, Ten and Dandy are all good examples of this. Boys, on their knees, deliver orgasm, survey finds.

But it's not quite as simple as needing to be on top to orgasm. I've recently discovered, thanks to the ministrations of Spiral, that I can bottom and come. This was pretty much the final piece in the puzzle for me and helped me understand what is driving my blockers on orgasm. I'd turned up to her house for a play session. We are friends with no expectation of relationships, ongoing D/s or otherwise and there is no deep and meaningful emotional connection. We were there for mutual fun and pleasure. Which is what we got And I got orgasm. Without any physical input of my own (look mum, no hands).

The ability to orgasm isn't just a physical process, desire has to be there and desire is fickle, strange and in my case downright fussy. Orgasm is also selfish and unselfconscious - it is a singular, personal moment that requires you to let go of all concerns about anyone and anything else and just let go into individual, black-out pleasure. Accepting the "right" to do so within the context of any scenario seems vital to my own ability to orgasm. It's about being comfortable and confident with my own desire and trusting that the vulnerability it exposes - my pleasure and release - is acceptable not only to my partner but to myself. The D/s is part of it in that in that it exemplifies the control and power exchange of give and take that are at play in my orgasm "issues" that I can both take control of my own pleasure and cede it to someone else entirely appears to be the key.

Hearts and minds

This is what comes of waiting a few days between the event and the write up: the context changes. I had a lot of fun playing with Dandy on Friday only to find out on Monday that he's decided to get back together with his ex. I am pretty sure these two events are not connected and I don't harbour any bad feelings towards him - it was obvious from the get-go that he was still very much in love with her and he was entirely honest about it. Certainly I know what it feels like to have your heart pull you in one direction, the force it can exert and the need to go where it takes you. This new fact does rather put a sting in the tail of any discussion about what we did a few nights before. He's no longer under my control - I've let him know I'm not going to carry on seeing him - and that means that what we did is now coloured in a different light.

I knew he was ready to play a little harder and I certainly was. A forced strip - he'd mentioned he found being naked and exposed humiliating, so I made sure to offer no encouragement, just orders - then tied to a chair with cold chain and padlocks. Blindfold on. I put his vest over his head and pulled his head back to pour water over his mouth and nose. A classic torture position. Including electrocution via the violet wand. I tested three different applicators, at different levels, enjoying the pretty glow effect almost as much as the moans and twitches. I took my time, building up with each application of shock therapy, I wanted to get him into as floaty and "switched off" state as possible. After that, a bit of flogging, again all about a physical build up to a certain mental place, before dragging him on all fours over to the bed to alternate licking my cunt with being trained on fucking techniques using a dildo-gag. Only once I thought he was ready and understood exactly the correct sort of speed, depth and sensation I wanted from a fuck would I let him near me with his cock.

The idea was that this would be the first amongst a number of treatments and scenarios, aimed at turning him into the perfect submissive sex toy for me. Robots and dolls are a passion of mine. I was very much looking forward to making one of my very own (and a bisexual boy doll at that - my mind was certainly bouncing a lot of evil plans about). Letting him go and losing out on this opportunity is a little upsetting, especially as I was hoping to make this an ongoing arrangement. I'd been recently rather cheered by his appearance in my life - we had similar kinks and he was good to be around and generally easy to get on with.

I made the decision to stop play partly because frankly, neither of us need the complication, but also I don't want to engage in D/s unless I can be the main attraction. I don't share well at the best of times, and when it comes to power exchange I am pretty uncompromising. I've also become very unbending in terms of getting what I want. And if his heart belongs to someone else, chances are his mind is with her too. I'm not interested in pieces of whatever is left, that doesn't especially inspire feelings of dominance in me. I could probably top him again - though not for a while, I don't think - but the real stuff is underneath the welts in the skin and the moaning mouths. I like those things too, but I like the buttons that you push to get them more.

I suppose I'm a little down about it and feeling somewhat lonesome. Coming hot on the heels of the decision to break off with Ten, I feel like I'm living in a fast moving whirlwind of minor BDSM rejections and abdications. Fortunately none of them had gotten anywhere close to the stage of serious emotional hurt (I'm doing my best to avoid that sort of thing), but they were both good matches for what I want right now and their absence is felt. I probably have more sadness over not knowing where the next good fuck is coming from - but regular sex is important to me lack of D/s is a genuine feeling. I've lost two lovers in the space of a week. Any more and people will think I'm careless. This is rather taking the shine off going out and playing with other people. However, that is how I feel right now and I'm changeable, so no doubt after a few days I'll feel different.

Easy come, easy go?

After a couple of email exchanges in which we realised that any and all meet ups were going to be both ad-hoc and not any time soon I've decided to stop play with Ten. Long distance orgasm denial, masturbation management and chastity rules are fine as long as there are regular hands-on sessions to provide reinforcement and filthy memories to look back upon fondly. Training needs contact time. Which we didn't have.

I'm not crying into my coffee (black, no sugar) over it, though I was initially a little saddened because I'd been doing some planning for his arrival. I'm a great believer in only doing things - and people - if you can do them properly. We were getting to the point where the ritual around how and when he could masturbate had become unfulfilling for both of us. The impetus was lost and with that can came a sense of diminished intimacy and responsibility to each other and to the power exchange. In short, we were flagging and I hate the sensation of not doing well enough, either as a top or a bottom.

We've known each other for long enough to both accept when things aren't working, so there was very little fuss, just a footnote that we'll keep in touch. We've managed for ten years, let's see what happens next decade.

Bangs and whimpers

Different things attract me to different people. With Dandy, there is the obvious, yet despite my superficiality, there is also the less obvious. The things you only find out after a bit of time, when you've spent a while observing reactions and doing what passes for getting-to-know-you in the kinky sense of the word. I know how his skin smells, that he bites his lip when he's thinking about something filthy and looks away, almost shyly. That he shudders and his back twitches when I run my fingers down the nape of his neck. All these things make me smile, but not as much as the main thing.

He whimpers.

It's not a groan, or a gasp. It's not a breathy noise at all and it's not exactly human either but more definitely animal, specifically puppy. It's a small noise, quiet but high pitched. A whimper. A whine. A noise of want, need and natural, unfeigned subservience to what I am doing. Regular and pulsing in time with his breathing. Tiny little yelps of not-quite pain and not-quite pleasure. A bit of both. Just right, in fact.

He's on all fours by the side of my bed. Cuffed, chained to the bed and gagged with a bit which is making him drool a little, not unappealingly (his choice - I let him lay out four items for use and that, rather than the ball, made an appearance). I let him hear the snap of a latex glove and smear my fingers in lube before probing around his raised arse, pressing in a bit before getting into a rhythm. Which is when the whimpering begins in earnest. I want to fuck him like this, but annoyingly, I don't have the kit. On the other hand, there is something satisfying about doing this by hand, I can feel his responses more readily and, certainly for the first couple of times at least I want to go slow and be a little gentle. There will be time for more later. Right now, I'm exploring.

One of the joys of being on top is the freedom to put your hands wherever you want, to take the bottom wherever you want them to go. It's quite a luxury, actually. Taking my time to stroke, pinch and press against every inch of him until I understand exactly how he works. I'm not there yet, by no means, but I've made some progress. I like the feeling of having him in the palm of my hand, to know that those noises, that expression, that tremor of the leg or clenching of the fists is something owed to me by virtue of what I am doing. Making his body bend to my actions makes him mine, even just for those moments.

I feel quite protective of him, in this state, and wrap my arms around his shoulders, hushing and reassuring him that I'm not going to hurt him. There's a delicious contradiction in this kind of dominance - I care for him and want to look after him, keep him safe and happy. I also want to make him cry, wriggle and thrash around helplessly. Then dry his tears. Then start again. For now, though, I don't go straight in with anything heavy, no pain. I want to build up some trust first and find out where the pleasure buttons are before I bring in anything harder, rather than rushing in with guns blazing. So it's simple stuff. Lots of hands and skin to skin contact, feeling his reactions. Enjoying the way that a rash of goosebumps explode across his back when my fingers lightly trace down his spine. That he arches against the cold metal chopsticks as I press their points gently against his flesh. The tiny pats of a couple of flat palm beats against the base of his balls - he knows, and is concerned, about my love of CBT, but I promised no pain, and I keep my promises.

After a while, he manages to speak a little, to request items that he's brought. I know from personal experience how hard vocalisation can be, so it's a heartfelt need rather than a whim. He mentions nothing specific and when later questioned it was because he wanted me to "get the most out of him" - I can certainly warm to that attitude. I select a butt plug with a puppy tail. He groans as it goes in, there's some resistance but the effect is worth it. After a bit of a fuss and some tail wagging, I get him to kneel and masturbate so I can watch the expression on his face, the movement of his hands. And hear those whimpers. Observational pleasure. I want him to orgasm because he's mentioned that they are difficult, so I want to see how, especially given it's a situation I can empathise with. Eventually, he does, then I put his tongue to work to clean up his semen before he collapses on the rug. I cover him with a blanket and start to tidy up, one eye on his prone form. He's curled up, sleepily satisfied.

Puppies

So, a strange turn of events over the weekend left me without Ten but with Dandy - not they are interchangeable, far from it. They share the fact that they are both keen on puppy play and both are well mannered gentlemen, but that only really describes the beginnings of why I'm interested in either one. I'm not going to draw crass comparisons here: it's rude and doesn't do anyone any favours, least of all myself. Suffice it to say that I'm very glad that both are within my purview, for however long and within whatever confines that turns out to be. I'll admit that I am rather keen to see what might happen when the pair of them are put together in compromising circumstances, which might be an attempt to have my cake and eat it, but we'll see.

I do like my puppy boys. Keen, eager to please, nice to look at and with a forthright animal honesty (and sexuality) that just makes me want to clap my hands with glee - which I do at childishly regular intervals. I've still got a stupid grin on my face from last night, proving without a doubt, in case there ever was one, that doms can be just as spaced out and high from a good scene as subs. It's been a while since I've been in the driver's seat, and whilst I'm not precisely anxious, I do want to deliver a good experience for those I'm with. Which in my case, means research and making lists. I went out for dinner and drink with Dandy, firing off a list of twenty questions and probing for detail. What was he looking for, likes, dislikes, desires, fears. And beneath all that, the things that make those wants and needs real - where they come from, why one thing is hot and another thing isn't. Context is very important. I file it all for future reference.

One of the big attractions is that he is a switch. When he talks about what he likes and how he likes it, there's a lot of "oh, me too" pinging in the back of my mind. This is both a good thing and a bad thing. It's always a little dangerous to assume that just because someone else likes some of the things you do, that they will like all of them. It's reasonably clear that I probably enjoy pain more, for example. It is nice, however, to be able to discuss topping and bottoming as pretty much interchangeable examples of enjoyable play, and to have the understanding that either one of us could deliver or receive. I like the level playing field this creates - neither of us is automatically "in charge", but either of us can choose to be so depending on how we are feeling. We discussed the difficulties of being a switch. Of being in relationships were you felt you weren't getting enough of one thing, or were always having to take a certain role. Of feeling inconsistent and of being perceived as inconsistent - and therefore unreliable or "bad".

For the moment, we've both decided to be happily inconsistent, but to keep each other posted on whatever inconsistency we're displaying whenever we meet up. I am reminded about variety being the spice of life. Then I grin again.

Staging torture

Taking a step up onto the stage, my heart bangs just once against my ribcage, then the nerves vanish. Cool deep breaths. Standing in the middle. Back to the audience. Centre myself, listen to the music. Exhale. And begin. There's a metamorphosis, right there. A start point from me to me in performace. I change into something else, letting bits of me go and relying on the eyes watching me to fix me into place. I take them in whilst trying not to look, trying instead to appear exactly as I should come across. Just a girl, dancing. No hint as to what might happen next. I don't want to give the game away.

Those who know I'm doing "something" with Ringmaster and Dandy are close to the stage, most people are either at the bar or upstairs at the gallery, backs to me. I grin a little to myself. They have the ambivalence towards me I do when most stage shows are happening: the jaded attitude of the fetish scenester. Another redhead girl doing a striptease. Whatever. When I start screaming, they'll turn around soon enough. And turn they did. But by then, I could no longer see them. From the moment I get into the lights to being taken down from the ropes I'm in another place entirely. I can barely remember a moment of the show itself. Afterwards, I need to be told what happened, what it looked like, how people reacted. On stage, I'm in a certain kind of space. A heady mixture of strong sensations - after all, I am giving those watching a thrill, controlling their reactions to some degree, and I have the power of being beheld, being desired and wanted. But there's more than that.

I love doing stage performance. Part of me likes the exhibitionist aspect, naturally, but there's more to it than that. I've seen a lot of bad performance, performance that doesn't really do anything for me, inspires no reaction, is just there to be watched or ignored, depending on which way you are facing. There's a trick to performing in public, to give the crowd something that they weren't expecting, give them something at any rate. It's not the same as playing in clubs with a crowd around you. That gives the thrill of being watched, certainly, but in some cases I can be more distracted by voyeurs than exhilarated. I'm not here for them, I'm here for me, and for the person I'm playing with. On stage, I'm here for those watching. There's a parity in BDSM performance between the top and bottom, what we present is an illusion of power and control. It's a good illusion though, and all of it happens to me, many parts of it are real.

I could talk you through what happened when because we ran it through a few times beforehand, but that was practice. Cool and calm, measuring the paces, checking the rope, going point to point and setting the props. When it's live, it's different. I have in my mind the list of what happens when, drummed in by internal repetition before I go up on stage, but it's a guideline, quickly dropped if something else feels better, feels more natural. I rely on my partners to keep me safe and secure, knowing that they will catch my weight if I fall. But beneath that is another knowledge, that if I do hit the floor, I won't feel it because I'm high on endorphins and because falling to the floor was exactly the right thing to do. It's like a rollercoaster - you can know the ups and downs perfectly, but you still scream, your heart still rises in your throat. You still feel it.

Onstage, I do feel it. Full of self-stimulated panic that rides my body so it thrashes, bucks and trembles as if it were all real. And the feelings are real. I don't fake it, it's not a put on display, but bits of myself pushed outwards, performing bits of me as the rope inspires memory, the pulled blows (and they are pulled) still have force behind them to inspire fight or flight response. Held tight in strong arms flight isn't an option. So I struggle. Because I'm being assaulted, abused and tied up. I'm covered in blood. I'm writhing and screaming, feeling every muscle in my body contort and spasm. I'm in a red, red space of simulated emotions, interspersed with the white flashes of cameras and the thudding of blood in my ears. Bull in the ring with two matadors. This is how boxers feel, when the sweat drips, the crowd cheers and the blows keep coming.

I need to wait for the applause to know that we are done. Hanging half suspended and naked, slippy with blood and trying not to breath as I fake death. Mostly, I'm trying not to smile, not to burst out laughing. The relief and satisfaction of a job well done, the full force of the afterglow born out of such public catharsis. I push out a lot of dark emotions when I'm performing torture and in their wake I'm light headed and giddy. I pad naked to the bathroom to regain a little composure before a celebratory drink and bask in praise.

Later, Majeste comes up to me.

"You look like yourself again, glowing, like when we first met."

That's about right.

Heroine worship

An early afternoon quickie, something that got me excited at any rate: Dossie Easton is delivering some workshops on Radical Ectasy in London this November.

Her works have always inspired me with their combination of fearlessness and practicality in pursuit of kinky pleasure, so I'm very keen to see her in person, despite the rather steep price tag. It's a few hundred pounts for a weekend of workshops, including a play party. Anyhow, I'm completing the application form and will see what happens.

Fingers crossed.

Donations welcome.

Many meet ups

I've been spending a lot of time recently at more social kinky events than having wild BDSM sex (sorry, you will all just have to wait until after this weekend when I will have had plenty of hands-on time with Ten as well as performing at Fangtasia over at the Resistance Gallery).

Friday was a photoshoot and quiet night in with Rossetti (behind the lens), Dandy (in front of it, we jostled for position) and a few other folk. We did a gender swap shoot in which I strapped down my breasts, scraped back my hair and made an attempt at muscle flexing, hopefully the overall effect will be of attitude ridden male youth. Then we did some more "traditional" fem-dom shoots, I wore a latex ballgown and cast a variety of disparaging looks at the kneeling, semi-naked Dandy. Finally, because I couldn't really help myself, I put on a straitjacket, messed up my face with black eyeliner to form tears and collapsed into a shower cubicle. Identities assumed and discarded within minutes of each other. I'm feeling rather chameleonic at the moment and taking snaps of these phases helps me relax into the dress-up attitude of being a switch. Different strokes for different folks.

Saturday I left town to attend a (mostly) vanilla wedding, for a good friend of mine. Another dress up moment, perhaps - I don't think that my kink is particularly ostentatious and I don't feel the need to emblazon it upon myself at every moment, but being in a position where you really can't mention it, especially at an event focused on personal relationships is strange. I was asked a couple of times if I was married or planning to get married, or if I was dating and ended up being very non-committal about the whole thing. Saying "no, I'm just spending some 'me' time dressing boys up as puppies and sex slaves" is not ideal conversation before the best man's speech.

Sunday I was back to reality - or what passes for it - having a catch-up and coffee with the ever-delectable Poupee, we discussed kinky designs for living, and balancing family, friends and kink. I then spent the rest of the day with Ringmaster practising some rope work. We've had ideas for a while about some more intricate ties we'd like to perform which needed more collaboration beforehand than our previous ventures, as well as closer examination of appropriate suspension points and assessments of how long I could hold different positions for. Whilst I love rope simply for the enjoyment of being tied, there's a satisfaction in being able to create something more challenging alongside a top - to offer input, feedback and suggestions so it's a piece you've made together.

Monday was spent having dinner with Offensive Charmer and we managed, not unusually for us, to get into rather deep and meaningful waters, for whatever reason our conversation tends towards the cerebral (he brings out the analytical in me, and there's plenty to bring out) - the whys and wherefores of kink. One point that especially struck me was about D/s as a stress reliever. He's been having a busy few weeks and was talking about feeling that each time he came home he wished there had been a "subby" waiting to let him thrash out his day and enter that calm, empty-headed dom-space. I know the feeling. I too would have been rather cheered to find Ten, waiting patiently at the foot of my bed, a toy with which I might take my ease. We discussed the ways in which having a D/s requirement to relationships made them different to vanilla ones - something that was fresh in my mind after attending the wedding - eventually coming to the partial conclusion that all relationships have those kinds of give-and-take scenarios, it's just that the kinky ones are perhaps more upfront and extended ways of relieving stress. The important factor is that they are shared expressions and the tables can turn - just as a dom might need to deliver a beating, a submissive might need to receive one - it's not the same as hitting someone because you are angry with them, nor going home and shouting at your partner because you've had a bad day.

Personally, I am looking forward to a massge this weekend, amongst other things...

Deep heat

The plastic goes on in thin sheets that wrap tight, flattening my breasts down, holding my arms to my sides. It's a clear blue, so my skin is visible through the layers. Spiral and I are having a quiet Sunday evening in. She helps me over to the bed, lying me down to continue the mummification around my legs, leaving a gap around my hips so I'm in that curious position of feeling safely covered and also exposed. She uses Velcro medical wrap around my neck and face. It's the first time I've ever played with this material and I was a bit nervous when it went over my nose and mouth, preparing myself for the low level anxiety that minor breath reduction induces. I didn't need to worry, the material was fairly loosely weaved and I could breathe normally. Interestingly, I still got the sense of confinement and flicker of breath-play panic - my mind assuming that I would not be able to breathe properly and behaving accordingly. A collar is fastened around my neck and a blindfold around my eyes.

I go under pretty quickly once it goes dark. Relaxing and dropping down into a world of inky blackness and inner space. It's a selfish place, this sort of bottoming. I can't move or really do anything for the top, my interactions are minimal. I am a pleasure absorbing thing soaking up the peace that comes from having no responsibilities, the thick warmth of close-pressed plastic. Getting less and less aware of the world around me, more and more focused on the world within my brain and within my cunt, already getting wet. The universe has contracted to two points of excitement.

Arranging the Hitachi against my cunt proves a bit troublesome, there's not a lot of space to manoeuvre because my legs are pressed so tightly together. She laughs, I laugh. Not especially consciously: there's a lot of mirroring that goes on when your brain is too spaced out to form any original activity, it just responds to what is going on, whether it's the right thing to do or not.

"Don't laugh, only I can laugh"

She flicks my nipple through giggles. I like it when they laugh, there's nothing worse than being over-serious all the time. Play that is playful, rather than deep and (supposedly) meaningful, has a lightness of touch that is marvellously contrasting with the power of the sensations. There is a click and the Hitachi starts to buzz. A warmth flows up my body from my cunt which has just been smeared with deep heat. That, in combination with the vibrations sends me even deeper, surging down on waves of pleasure that make the muscles in my thighs twitch.

After some time, it's not clear how much, she starts to deliver light blows around my body. They are like small sparks of light in the blackness, puncturing my reverie. They hurt, not a great amount, but enough to make me gasp, partly because of how soft and relaxed I've become. They build up in blunt slaps and then stop, allowing the throbbing of the Hitachi to carry my forward, skin tingling from the blows.

I realise that my thighs are becoming very hot. At first I think it's just the deep heat, then I start to think that its the Hitachi warming up, stuck as it is between clenched thighs wrapped in tape. I'm in no position to examine it, and initially just try to relax and experience the pain - which is akin to a friction burn - as part of what is being done to me. It gets hotter, or feels as if it is getting hotter. I start to wriggle, then struggle. Spiral notices my panic and removes the toy. Needless to say, there was no actual damage, and once again I marvel at the ability of the mind to construct its own scenarios.

She leaves me be for a while, letting me settle back into the comfortable spaces I'd been inhabiting, this time with a different vibrator. Giving me plenty of time to breathe through it and just enjoy what is happening. I start to daydream, fantasize, enveloping myself in thoughts that expand upon my situation - dollish thoughts of passive pleasure. A lot of people rush to the "next thing" in play, rather than waiting and allowing the bottom's mind and body to work itself up - which it mostly will. Certainly in my case. There's a certain decadence in being given this kind of attention, in being a plaything and although at the time I was lost in my own desire, now i feel a gratitude towards her for giving me that experience.

My fingers twitch in masturbatory patterns, twirling futilely, and helplessly against my thighs as she brings me to a surprising orgasm - surprising in that they are so rare with other people. I gasp and moan beneath my bonds, in a physical brain-thrash, hot and wet and under wraps.