Switch

Sunday morning I knelt nude before Jason's front door and rang the bell. As I waited for the door to be opened and hoped that none of the neighbors would come walking by at that exact moment, I thought about my submissive.

Ashley.

A younger girl that has a life. A family. She works hard. Has a bit of OCD, needs to touch certain things when she enters or exits her house, but nothing disruptive. Generally a happy person.

And she's a person with a deep seated need to be humiliated, bound and made to obey.

She isn't really my girlfriend, but we have a relationship. She's not committed to me, and I am certainly not committed to her. But we have an understanding. She is to present herself to me at certain times. Obey me in certain ways. Allow me to do certain things to her. She needs this, and at some level, enjoys it. I don't need to dominate her, but I do enjoy it. I enjoy her, and being served by her.

The day before I had spent a few hours with Ashley. She needed a whipping. Not that she had done anything that bad, in fact she hadn't. She simply needed one.

It began Saturday morning in my house. Since I moved out of my home with Jason, I took a bit of time to search for a house. A condo would have been cheaper but frankly, I need a certain level of privacy. Things happen in my place that can result and cries, grunts, pleading, maybe even a scream or two. I found a house with a certain level of privacy without costing a huge amount. I wish I could have found a place with a basement. California doesn't have basements.

Ashley had spent the night, and we were in bed together. I do like having her in my bed. I actually prefer women in my bed. I am bisexual, with a leaning toward women. Guys can be fun and great, depending on who. They are usually best when dominating me. But girls-- I prefer them in my bed over men.

I woke with her in my arms. She's shorter, smaller than I and fits nicely as the small spoon. I decided to give her a bit of rude awakening. I reached over to the bedside table and got the nipple clamps that had been there for the last week. I slid one onto her left nipple.

That woke her right up. "OWwwww...." were her first words.

"Shhh... just lay there..." I whispered to her as I kissed her cheek. She obeyed while the second nipple clamp went on her right nipple. She grimaced a bit.

"You may remove those when you make me cum," I said tenderly.

"Yes, ma'am."

The covers kicked off and she positioned between my spread legs and went to work. She's experienced and has a magic tongue. She seems to be able to make it curl and probe and do things that most people can't. She also knows I have a bit of a kink for anal, and has acquired the skill of pressing on my anus just... right... so that it enhances my overall arousal.

Once she was assured I was wet (almost immediately), she slid first one, then two fingers inside, slightly curled. I've trained her well. My back was arching, nipples hard, face flushed and hips rocking with her in no time.

Yes, I had an orgasm, but I didn't tell her that. I told her to keep going. She probably knew I had cum, it's pretty obvious when I do, but I told her I hadn't and to keep going. She did. I don't have to stop after one orgasm, I can keep going without stopping, especially with girls. So I kept going, had a second orgasm a few minutes later, and demanded she keep going.

Her frustration was becoming obvious. I was thrusting my hips, demanding she perform when she was doing her best. It was patently unfair, which is exactly what I wanted. Finally I told her to stop.

"You've failed. That was total, complete failure, Ash, and I am disappointed in you. This will require a punishment. Go to the mirror. Look at yourself, at your naked body, at the clamps that are on your nipples causing you pain. Look and see the young submissive that has failed her mistress."

She humbly went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

"Pull the nipple clamps out, stretch your nipples, and watch your face as you do."

She pulled on them, stretching her nipples and small breasts out and cringing as she did. I know how much those things can hurt and she was feeling it.

"Slap your face, hard. As hard as you can. Five times."

She closed her eyes for a moment, preparing herself, then slapped her face. Her right cheek hinted at turning pink.

"Keep your eyes open, look at yourself in the mirror as you endure this self punishment!" I told her sharply from the bed.

After the five slaps I came up behind her and kissed her reddened cheak. "Good girl."

I reached around to her breasts and removed the clamps. She moaned a bit. They always hurt coming off.

We showered and I got dressed. She isn't allowed to wear clothes at my place, unless I specifically tell her to for some reason. She did, however, attach her leash to her collar. I led her downstairs where she ate her breakfast from a bowl as I ate mine at the table.

She was on all fours right next to me as we ate. My hand strayed to her and stroked her hair at times. I reached to her ass and spread her cheeks, sliding my finger down to her slit, and inserting into her cunt. She gasped and stopped eating as I played with her sex for a bit.

"Time to wash up," I announced and got up from the table. I clipped her leash to a small eyelet in the kitchen. The leash is long enough she can do the dishes and put them away-- barely. It was fun watching her.

The leash isn't locked. She could unclip it at any time. She could reach up and unbuckle the collar at any time. The fact that she doesn't is what turns us both on so much. When I fasten her to something, she stays there.

After she was done cleaning up, I found fault with the kitchen. There's always something imperfect and it is easy to find fault. "You didn't dry this section!" "There are some crumbs on the tiles by the baseboard!"

That's when I told her. "I think you need a whipping."

The look she gave me was that darling look of anxiety mixed with excitement. She wanted to be whipped. She really did. She wanted it and was afraid of it. Maybe she wanted it because she was afraid of it. Didn't matter.

"First I will give you some outdoor time. Come along."

I took her leash and went into the back yard. My yard has a fence surrounding it. The neighbors behind me are a bit lower, so they can't see over. The neighbors on either side... well, they can see over if they stand on tiptoes and peak. If they do, they would have seen a naked female slave sitting on a concrete patio, leashed to a water feed pipe going into the house. Let's hope they don't.

Ashley spent an hour outside soaking up the sun and getting a nice full body tan. I know she was humiliated by this, which is really part of why I did it. I spent the time organizing some things in the house.

When I was ready, I came back outside and asked her, "Are you ready for the whipping?"

Her chest heaved in a sigh and she said "Yes, ma'am."

The whipping took place in my garage. The floor is pretty clean in there, and I park outside, leaving a rather large open play area. The door has a row of windows at the top but they are high enough no one can see in without stepping onto a ladder. Unless someone is hanging, suspended up high.

Leather restraint cuffs went onto Ashley's wrists and ankles. The wrist cuffs were clipped to a small hook and chain that went up and through a pulley. The ankle cuffs were clipped to the ends of a three foot bar-- a leg spreader.

I have to say, I love the human body when suspended and stretched. Ashley's wrists went up as I pulled and made sure she was on tiptoes. Most of her weight was on her wrists, but not all of it. Her toes touched the cold concrete.

Ashley wanted to be whipped. I knew this because we had talking about it before. She had been whipped once before in her life, but I think it was with someone that was insecure and didn't use the right whip and in general Ashley felt it was not a satisfactory experience. She had expressed the desire to really take a whipping. To know what it felt like. To feel the submissiveness to the pain.

So I knew that she wanted this, and having been in her place many times before, I knew exactly what she was feeling. The anticipation, the fear, the knowledge it was going to really hurt, wondering whether one can take it, then realizing it was too late, that you were going to take it, like it or not...

I took a little time to worship her body, running my hand along the little ridges of her ribs under the flesh of her sides, kissing her breasts, fondling her (very wet) cunt, pinning her hair up and out of the way. She was breathing hard.

I used a strap, not a whip. Whippings deliver a specific amount of force. While a flogger with numerous strands seem like they would do more damage, the force tends to be spread out with them. A single tailed whip will cut deeper. The strap I used was wide enough it dispersed some of the force into a wider area, but would leave some pretty nasty welts. It wouldn't cut flesh, but would hurt.

"Twelve strokes?" I asked her.

She looked down at the concrete floor. "Twenty," she said quietly.

"Twenty it is," I said and swung back. The first blow was to her upper back, across the shoulder blades. She jerked, yelped, and swore. "FUCK..."

"I think you should count. Let's do that one again."

The strap hit her in almost the exact same place. "FFccccuuuucckkkkk.... one!" she said.

The red welt from the first two blows was just beginning to show.

The next strike went to the upper back as well. Whipping someone is actually a safety concern. There are certain areas you don't want to whip-- the face for example, because of the eyes, and also because a cut to the nose or lips or ear might not heal right and you could get a facial scar. And no strikes to the lower back. Kidneys are exposed there. Even with a relatively safe flogger, it's best to avoid this area.

So her upper back was slowly turning pink, then red, then angry red as the welts developed. She jerked and writhed in the restraints, which let me know I was doing a good job. She was complaining bitterly, yelping and crying, but was clearly not going to ask me to stop.

With ten strokes left, I moved to her thighs. I think this surprised her, which is always good. A surprise during a whipping is always a delight. She yelped and almost screamed (my garage is private, but a good loud scream could potentially be heard by neighbors). The leather strap went around the back of her left thigh, circled around the inside (barely clipping her labia lips), and wrapped around the front and outside of her leg.

The second thigh stroke, this one to the right thigh, brought a stream of vulgarity from her mouth. "Holy muther fucking .... "

But she missed the count. I waited a moment. "Count. If you get it wrong we will have to start over." I said.

"Fuck. Twelve!" she grunted out.

I took a moment to slide my fingers along her muscular back touching the skin as it turned red and even a bit purple. No bikini wear for her, not for a couple of weeks at least.

Kissing her lips, I whispered, "I am proud of you."

She grinned in a grim way and prepared herself for the last eight strokes. Several of those were on her thighs, and most of the rest on her ass, which turned a satisfying shade of red and purple later.

The very last stroke went straight up between her legs, landing perfectly on her pussy. She screamed, another surprise dragging the reaction from her. "TWENTY!" She called out and then sort of collapsed, hanging from her wrists.

I unbuckled her leg spreader and then her wrists, catching her as she sort of fell into my arms. I helped her inside and we went to the bedroom, where I lay her on her stomach and began applying some antibiotic ointment.

This time with her after the whipping was delightful. She relaxed and cried, the stress of the situation finally being let out. She then laughed, and talked about what it felt like, and as the immediate memory of the whipping faded, she said, "It wasn't as bad as I thought."

I laughed. "We will have to do it again sometime."

"Eh.... maybe not right away. I think I need to heal from this one."

My ministrations to her back and legs turned into a gentle massage, which in turn morphed into an embrace. We made careful, and gentle love.

Yes, I thought of all of this as I knelt at Jason's door. He took longer to answer than normal. Usually he answered in about a minute, this time it was three or four. I rang the bell again, to make sure he had heard it. I remembered Ashley in my back yard, sitting for an hour nude. I hoped my time waiting would not last more than a couple of minutes.

Eventually he came, opening the door to observe where I knelt before him. "Siobhan, rise and come in. Put your clothes there, as usual."

Jason invited me in and I walked out of view of the public with a sense of relief.

"I think you were getting a bit pushy there with the doorbell."

"I apologize, Jason. I was worried you had not heard it."

"You just don't like being out there on the doorstep waiting with no clothes on," he said knowingly. He was right of course.

"Come in," he said. "Today we will begin with your service to me."

OK, I just realized I probably need to explain something here. Jason is my ex. Ex-husband. We'd been married a number of years. I've been with dozens of people that have dominated me and tried to fulfill my needs just as I try to fulfill Ashley's needs. My own needs are incredibly complex and there is probably no one person that can meet them all.

I need to be tied up. I need to have my freedom taken, and to be abused. No, I don't like being hit by an abusive partner. I've left men because of that, and that's where some of the nuance comes in. I need to be tied up and feel helpless, and have that helpless feeling reinforced and strengthened through pain and humiliation.

I also need to be loved. To be cared for. To have fun. To have my creative side nurtured. To travel and see the world. And be respected at work, and to contribute. I need sex, regular sex, and for that I actually tend to prefer women. I need to have someone be strong when I am weak, and allow me to be strong and helpful at times.

Yeah, it's a mess, but Jason is the closest thing I ever came to a person that meets my needs. He isn't perfect, not by a long shot (thus we are getting divorced), but it didn't change the fact that he knows me and can meet so many of my needs. Mostly around the act of bondage, punishment and torture. And sex (though guy sex, admittedly).

So, I am continuing to see Jason. Rules have changed. The relationship has changed. We don't take each other for granted as much. We are no longer committed to each other. But we meet each other's needs in a unique way. So the relationship continues.

OK, back to Sunday.

Jason quickly tied my upper body. A body harness, compressing my breasts slightly with rope above and below. He then maneuvered my hands up, angling them behind my back.

It was a strain. Put palms together behind my back, lower back pointing down. Then flip them to turn them up in a prayer position, fingertips up. At this point my palms were facing each other, but that was all that was touching. I knew then what he was doing. Tying a reverse prayer.

Reverse prayers are one of the tightest, nastiest arm binding positions possible. Many girls can't do it, you have to be flexible and be relatively thin. I am fortunately (or unfortunately) both.

Jason tied my wrists together then pulled on the rope, sliding and pulling my hands up behind my back. I grunted a bit, but he kept pushing it, pulling my arms up behind me.

A quick loop of rope around my forearms drawing them closer together, and then more pulling up, and finally a loop of rope around my elbows, drawing them together as well.

My forearms were now bound together in an extreme reverse prayer. Holy Crap.

I have done a few reverse prayers before in my life, but this was way more demanding than anything. Once in place, it was a strain and I knew it would begin to hurt in a while. Cramps would set it. But for now, I was able to hold it.

Not that I had a choice, which was the point, of course. It felt very, very restrictive. My arms had essentially been completely disabled in a tight and somewhat painful way.

"Now," Jason said. "Suck my cock."

He was clothed (I was not, of course). He stood there. Clearly expecting me to get to his cock. I was tied in a position that completely remove the ability to use my hands at all. If my wrists had simply been tied, I could have turned around and gotten to his belt, but in that nasty reverse prayer? No.

So I knelt and began working on his belt with my teeth.

It took a few minutes, but I finally got it undone. Then... the top of his pants were held with a sort of clasp. I couldn't get it undone for the life of me. I tried and tried. The movement and struggle of trying caused my arms to strain and move, which in turn caused cramps in them. I began whimpering.

Finally, I grabbed the top flap of his pants with my teeth and pulled as hard as I could and the thing came loose. I ripped a bit of the cloth as it did.

So his zipper. Fuck... zippers don't go down unless they are held straight. I tried and tried. It went down a bit but the cloth would bunch and it would jam and I couldn't get it down more than a tiny bit.

"If I have to help you, you will be punished," Jason said. Well, there it was. He was setting me up for failure, just as I had pushed failure on Ashley the day before.

If the Dom wants to find a reason to punish a sub, there is always a way.

I sank down with my ass on my feet and looked up at him. "I can't do it," I confessed.

He unzipped for me.

Then it was easy. Pulling his pants down with my teeth, then his underpants, and his rather large and hard cock sprang out, eager for me to take it inside me.

Which I did. I took his cock in my mouth, the familiar feeling of my longtime erstwhile husband filling my mouth and throat. I know him well enough I know every reaction, every muscle twitch, and know exactly how to get him off. And he can't fake an orgasm; if he comes it is really obvious because it goes in my face, or down my throat.

Being in the reverse prayer was frustrating and painful, though I have given countless blow jobs while tied up and that didn't bother me. It was that the more I moved the more my shoulders and back cramped and I think Jason had jacked off before I got there because he wasn't cumming very easily.

I worked him though. I know how to massage his frenulum and head with the back of my tongue and throat-- drives him crazy. That all goes to shit if he grabs my head and starts fucking my face, though. Then all I can do is try and keep from choking and barfing on him.

He let me work him and eventually he came. I could feel the pulsation in his cock, the contractions, and the warm fluid flooding my throat. I swallowed as he came, keeping up and when he withdrew I was relatively clean. A little mucus and saliva stringing down from my lips, but not like some of the times I have been throat fucked and had saliva, cum and vomit covering my chest and breasts.

I recovered a bit and asked politely if I could have the reverse prayer removed. "Please?"

He considered. "Eh. You are really beautiful in that, Siobhan. I don't think you understand how gorgeous it makes you look."

Thing is, he thinks I look beautiful when I am suffering. I know this. I get this. I suspect I do sort of look beautiful suffering, an a sadomasochistic way.

I lowered my head in sort of a "I give up" way, and said, "Please..."

"OK. I have something else for you anyway. I think you've been missing on long term bondage since you moved out. Time we catch up with that. Consider it punishment for ringing the bell so eagerly when you arrived."

This is what I had signed up for. When I arrived at my old house, at Jason's door, and removed my clothes to kneel and wait for him outside, I was making the gesture that I would submit to his binding, discipline, and yes, torture. Because I needed it.

He took me into the old play room, set up when he and I were married and filled over the years with equipment and various implements. I had experienced a lot of pain and humiliation in that room over the years, and had a lot of fun and orgasms, as well. It felt like home.

Finally, he undid the reverse prayer. It must have been on maybe an hour or so, which was enough to mess with  circulation, cramping me horribly, and my hands were numb. I felt like a chicken whose wings had been ripped off. And he didn't undo my wrists, they were still bound behind my back, though my hands were hanging relatively free on the top of my ass.

Blood flowed through my arms and I groaned as the pain surged a bit, then slowly receded.

"Thank you, Jason." I said. "That was intense. And painful."

"We'll give you a little time to recover before we begin the strappado," he said.

My face fell. Strappado. An ancient torture technique. Incredibly simple, it consisted of tying the victims wrists together behind their back then lifting them up until the victim was suspended off the floor, hanging by their wrists, their entire body weight pulling on their twisted and deformed shoulders and arms.

The more intense version was called squassation, in which weights were added to the feet, forcing more strain on the joints and sometimes causing joint dislocation. In the most severe squassation, the victim was lifted up and then dropped; this guaranteed joint dislocation and the tearing, shredding of muscles and other tissues.

I've been in strappado before, and was injured in it. That was one of my more serious injuries; my arm in a sling for several weeks after. I was able to avoid surgery, but it was painful and debilitating for a long time. Strappado was nothing to take lightly.

These days, the BDSM and porn communities call anything where a woman's wrists are raised behind her back, even just a foot or two, "strappado". That's silly and I find it demeaning and misleading as to the actual nature and intensity of the torture method. Jason knew what he was doing, and when he said strappado, he didn't mean lifting my arms up a bit behind my back.

(Need I remind anyone that this kind of BDSM play is damned intense and injury can occur very easily, as I can attest to? Don't fuck with it unless you know what you are doing.)

I breathed in and calmed myself. I reminded myself that I have a safe word. Not the earth shattering safe word that ended my marriage, but a regular, everyday safe word. I could do this. It was why I was here. To immerse myself in extreme bondage.

I stood in the play room, feet on the thin layer of rubber padding we had installed several years below. The play room is more or less soundproofed, and the rubber coating on the floor serves two purposes. First, it softens any impact from an unintentional drop or fall. It had saved me more than once.

Second, the rubber matting was fluid proof. Body fluid proof. A victim (usually me), could lose bladder control, bleed, vomit, drool, release their bowels... whatever might happen. The rubberized matting was easy cleanup.

My arms had recovered and all was well. Jason checked the rope bindings on my wrists to make sure they were secure (he tied them and he is good; they were secure). A rope threaded through a simple pulley above hung down in the middle of the room. He attached this to my wrists.

Then he tied my elbows together again.

Dammit. I'm easily flexible enough to have elbows tied or wear an armbinder for a long time. But during strappado? This was going to be a first.

He lifted my arms up, pulling the rope through the pulley. He went a few feet, which essentially forced me over, my arms sticking up in back of me, my ass jutting out, my boobs dangling down. I could have tried to stay straight, but no one in strappado does that, cause it hurts. The natural, the only thing one can do when your arms are yanked up behind you is bend over.

OK, I am going to stop here and go on another weird diversion/rant.

I'm a woman and I like to feel, look, and be sexy. I like men looking at me (most of the time). Most women do, whether they admit it or not. I like to think my naked body is attractive.

One thing that happens in bondage and punishment? I am not attractive. My breasts get tied up into ugly purple balls. I drool all over myself. I cry and my mascara runs all over. My body gets forced into very unladylike, every not-elegant positions. Bondage and torture is humiliating. I suppose I get off on it a little; like many bondage related things, it's a love-hate thing. I love it because I hate it.

Having one's arms tied behind in a reverse prayer I happen to think is somewhat attractive. Undignified, yes, but it forces remarkably good posture and one's breasts are nicely displayed. I think I looked good in the reverse prayer.

Being forced to bend over while in strappado is very unladylike. I presented and pushed out my ass because I had no choice. But worse than that...

He inserted one of those hideous, embarrassing jeweled ass plugs.

I hate those fucking things. They don't hurt or anything, they aren't large enough. It's the idea of having attention drawn to my anus, and decorating it with a jewel. It's dumb. Stupid. Like being forced to wear a pirate hat at an office party.

Which is probably exactly why Jason did it. He knows I hate those things. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it because I was bent way over with my arms sticking up into the air. I took the ass plug.

"You look so cute with a jeweled ass sticking out like that," he said, admiring his work.

"Fuck you, Jason," I said and immediately regretted it as he pulled the rope up another two feet.

I could no longer bend completely over, the rope was pulling up too far. My arms had moved from a 45 degree angle to my back to something more like a 60 or 70 degree angle. My shoulders hurt and my chest was getting tight.

Jason spent some time enjoying my body, as I could do little to stop him. He likes playing with me when I can't prevent it. Things like sticking fingers into my mouth, examining my throat and tongue. Fingers up my cunt, spreading it out. He gave my ear a wet willie. What an asshole.

I wasn't going to antagonize him though; I wasn't going to give him any excuses to prolong this session.

When he was done playing, he continued pulling the rope up until I was on my tip toes. The strain on my shoulders was bad, they felt really like tendons or muscles or something were ripping inside there. I was crying, just a bit.

Pain is your body warning you that something bad is happening to your body. That damage, if it hasn't already occurred, is likely to occur soon unless you do something about it. I desperately wanted to stop the pain, prevent the damage, but at the same time I was reveling in it. This was what I live for. Flirting with danger, pushing my limits, seeing how close I can come. My body was on fire with pain and adrenaline, and I suspect my fair share of endorphins.

Jason in the meantime had undressed. He was naked and strutting around me having the time of his life making me suffer. His cock was sticking straight out, rock hard. It's actually a bit of a turn on for me to see how my suffering makes him hard.

Then I went up another foot, my toes lost contact with the rubber flooring and I was swinging free.

Certain types of torture create certain reactions in the victims. It's a direct, universal response to the type of torture. Crucifixion victims push up, trying to stand to relieve the pain in their upper body, then sink down when that becomes too painful, moving up and down. Riding the wooden pony, a victim will move their body weight backward to shift where the wooden point is digging into their groin; back to their ass, then forward, then center, then back. It creates the illusion of riding, moving back and forth.

And strappado victims (such as myself at that moment) do their best to lean forward.

I bent at the waist, trying to get my ass shifted and pushed back so my back wasn't straight up and down. If you do it right, you can actually lean forward some, which relieves some of the twisting pressure on the shoulders. This is the position the extra weights of squassation are designed to counteract-- forcing the victim's arms to twist all the way around and go straight up behind them.

I am writing all this analytically now, but while it was happening to me, it was just me and my body trying to cope with the pain and position any way it could.

The secondary discomfort from strappado is across the chest. The muscle strain from the shoulders actually hurts all the way across the chest and as time goes on, it hurts across the entire torso. It's harder to breathe when hanging like that. It hurts to take a full breath. So... I was taking shallow little breaths, panting almost. I couldn't scream, or cry out because that takes a nice deep breath. So I was whimpering, a sort of keening whine sound.

He spun me around.

You would think that with all that pain going on in your body, you wouldn't be as aware of your surroundings, but I was. I saw Jason, naked there, his hand on his cock stroking. His other hand gently feeling my upper body, then feeling between my legs and rubbing me there.

He lowered me until I was just barely on me feet. It relieved a lot of the strain.

"oh... oh god... oh god, Jason... please... "

"I think you need some encouragement, Siobhan, my love." Jason walked over to a side table and got a vibrator, one of the small kind designed to stim just the clit. They really, really work on me.

Up I went again, my full weight on my wrists and shoulders. I grunted and groaned under the strain. I heard the soft buzz of the vibrator. Then I felt it between my legs, finding its way between the folds of my pussy and finally coming to rest on my clit.

Fuck, those things drive me crazy. Initially the stim is too much. I am too sensitive down there and when he pressed it against me I jerked and actually wriggled to try and get away.

Big mistake, the wriggling strained my shoulders even more, the pain sharply increasing. I couldn't struggle.

I looked down at Jason. He was looking at my face carefully. I knew he was looking for and listening for the safe word. The second I said it, he would let me down. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes and the vibrator pressed into my clit and I panted and felt the slow pleasure building, competing with the pain in my upper body.

"Fuuuuuuuuuckkkk...." I said in a hoarse whisper.

Deliberately misunderstanding me, Jason responded, "you're in the wrong position for me to fuck you, and besides if I fucked you, you would bounce around and it might dislocate your shoulders."

He kept the clit vibrator on me, letting the stimulation build. He moved it a bit from side to side, fingered inside me some, pressing against the wall of my vagina against the shape of the anal plug he had inserted.

My feet touch the ground and some of the pressure was relieved. I took the opportunity to breathe deeper. The vibrator had been taken away, though. I was OK with that, I needed the rest.

"Thank you," I said.

"For vibrating you? Or for letting you down? Or for putting you up?" He said mischievously.

He showed me his cock, rock hard, stroking it. "See what your suffering does for me?" he said.

I wasn't gagged but I was drooling. If I hadn't peed before come over, I would have unloaded my bladder by that time, as well. This was intense.

And up I went again. Oh fuck, I was hanging free again, all my weight on my shoulders and I cried out, tried to cry though I couldn't take a deep breath, but then the vibrator was on my clit again and this time it pushed me and pleasured me and I felt it rubbing up and down, back and forth, and the warm glow feeling met the pain and somehow the pain wasn't as bad for a bit as the orgasm flooded through my body.

One thing I have learned from doing this kind of thing for almost 20 years, is the ability to have an orgasm while still in pain. Certain types of pain can actually make sexual climaxes easier-- nipple clamp pain, or simple whippings do that. I honestly wonder if some day I will have some nipple clamps put on me, and orgasm spontaneously at the first strike of the whip.

Jason knew I had come, though cries of sexual climax and cries of pain are sometimes difficult to differentiate. He knows me though, and knew the signs.

He removed the vibrator and lowered me down. All the way. Until I was laying on my side on the floor and he was untying my elbows.

The relief was tremendous, though the pain continued. I couldn't move my arms in front of me, especially the left one, without pain. Jason massaged me, getting the circulation going, relaxing the muscles. Eventually I was able to more or less hold my arms normally.

I had pulled a muscle in my left arm, that's for sure. I could tell. It wasn't serious but it would take some recovery time.

As I lay on the rubber matting of the floor recovering, Jason sat beside me, gently fondling various parts of my body.

"I would have fucked you up there you know. Would have liked to. But ... well, we haven't discussed that. We aren't together any more and I don't know how you'd feel about it."

That was so weird and yet so right. He felt perfectly fine applying medieval torture methods to my naked body, but felt he needed to ask permission before sticking his cock in my cunt.

"Yeah. You can fuck me anytime you want, when we are playing. Outside of that, probably not."

He nodded. "I get that. Let me help you up."

He didn't pull me up by my arms or hand, he wrapped an arm around my waist. Thoughtful guy.

The afternoon play time was over. I was surprised looking at the clock, it was 5:00pm. Time had flown by.

I got dressed, had a juice and some water to rehydrate.

"You want me to help clean up the play room?" I said. "Know I drooled and may have peed some up there."

"Nah," he said, putting one arm around my waist. "My pleasure to clean up your body fluid."

I chuckled and we kissed. It was a kiss like old times, when he loved me.

I then headed out of the door, leaving the house and man that were once mine but no longer were.

Before he closed the door, I called back, "Thank you," then got in my car gingerly, not using my left arm, and drove home carefully.