Only when I laugh

I arrive with a smile and my vintage doctor's bag: sturdy but worn, with smooth brown leather and brass buckles. Like the smart red casing of my violet wand, the bag tells a story before I've even done or said anything. It sits, smugly, hiding its contents, on the table as we sit down for the pre-scene chat. The bag whispering subtle hints whilst I check in with my intended, smoothing any nerves and checking out my environment. Playing in other people's houses has some advantages, the unfamiliar environment keeps me focused on the activity and the person I'm playing with, plus it frees me from a lot of hum drum prep work like hoovering.

From her emails I'd decided that "medical" was going to be a loose working theme - I'd seen it listed as a fetish, but not an often practised one. Mood was going to be critical for this, and the freedom to be a little bit silly was important, it was an afternoon session, both of us were going to do other things later on and so I knew that this needed to be a fun rather than serious or scary medical scene. With that in mind, a touch of "mad science" also went into the pot, shortly followed by "test subject".

I stripped her, blindfolded then tied her down on her front, arms behind back and ankles slightly apart. My plan was to mix sensation escalation on different areas with regular check-ins where the subject would have to give me feedback on the experiment. This sat nicely within my own fetish of body exploration - I can quite happily randomly prod bodies for hours on end.

I talked for a while about my own fascination with pain, the language to describe it, the pitch and tone of sensation. I narrate what I am doing, as I do it, asking her to rate the pain between one and ten as I did so and noting her responses. I had a bag of different toys ranging from scratchy to sharp and the old favourite of my hands. Fingers are wonderful things. Slapping, tapping, stroking, flicking pinching and twisting gives an amazing range of sensation from pleasurable massage textures through to extraordinary amounts of pain. And all with feedback and minute levels of control that only skin to skin can deliver. I found sections of her body that responded in completely different ways and wished I had a sharpie on hand to circle them, slotting a number "8" or "9" into the space. Anything above a "5" made her part her lips, and breathe slightly heavily. A "7" or above created gasps. Certain noises were only uttered when certain parts were hit in particular ways.

At the higher level, she giggled. Whether in nervous anticipation or between gasps of pain, as if the laughter surprised her, and me. I do like it when they laugh - it's more common than people think. Usually BDSM is associated with tears and whimpers so laughter is a nice sound to hear. The very incongruity of it makes me smile, especially the oddness of hurting someone until they laugh. It's a response that is very genuine, in the sense of non-contrived. You can hear that people are actually enjoying themselves, even though the experience is painful and the laughter comes through gritted teeth and bitten lips.

Sadists heart masochists, and this was pain expressed beautifully. It was a pleasure to watch and I was truly fascinated by her responses, driving headlong into the clear focus of domspace. I put her on her back and pulled on some latex gloves to begin pegging open her cunt using tiny little clothes pegs, placing the final one on her clit. Following an exploratory finger or two I pressed a vibrator inside her cunt and set it on low, offering up the hypothesis that heavier pain can be taken for longer and to higher levels if it is cushioned by pleasure. I then zoned out completely for rather a long time focusing solely on slowly but repeatedly pricking her mons pubis with an extremely sharp dental pick. Every now and then I slapped the skin and area, building from low pats to hard blows to stop the sensation becoming an accustomed one and to keep the blood flowing nicely, ratcheting up the vibrator until she came. Then kept on going as she rocked through the waves.

I only wished for more time and perhaps some fetching young men in white coats and clipboards to assist my not-so-tender ministrations. Offers to be a filthy assistant, anyone?