Before I start this, I want to… I don’t know.  Babble more, I guess.  I was completely and utterly gone five minutes into this scene.  As in, I’ve only been this far gone on mind-altering substances.  As in, I was completely sober when we started playing but, when He let me down, I felt like I’d just taken a triple dose of Ecstasy (MDMA).  That claim is not an exaggeration and I have experience on which to base it.

My Twitter friends (the ones who were on) didn’t seem all that surprised.  I don’t remember ever reacting that way to a scene before.  I mean, a marijuana high, maybe.  Floaty and spacey and such.  But this was, without a doubt, exactly like the peak of a triple dose of Ecstasy.  My vision was crazy, my body tense and I was trembling like a leaf.  I loved it.

He took a lot of pictures but He hasn’t really edited much.  And He made a playlist specifically for the scene that He’s going to email me.  As soon as the photos are edited and I have the list, I’ll be sure they go up.

I don’t remember much.  What I do remember is jumbled.  And I’m a little on the droppy side.  So if this makes sense at all I’m thanking… somebody.

Oh… And just a forewarning to my friends who “absolutely have to have aftercare”? I’m not trying to be mean, but it would probably be in your best interests not to whine to me about going without anymore.  Ever.

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Yesterday…

Cin had just barely shown up online so I could teach her a few things she needs to know how to do, when Master ordered me off to the shower.  I had no idea what was going on.  I don’t know if I was supposed to or what.  So I got huffy and stomped into the bathroom.

When I got out, Master got in and when He got out, He said, “Get every toy you own and lay them out on the couch neatly.”

“Ooo! You should take a picture of them all so I can post it!” I squealed and He gave me one of His amused, Oh, Rayne. looks.  “What? You… should.”  I faltered.

I watched as He began setting things up.  His tripod came out.  The camera.  A blanket went up for a solid background rather than His desk and bookshelf.

“Go stand in the doorway.  I need to see if I can do anything about the lighting.”

And that’s when it happened.  A knot the size of Texas formed in the pit of my stomach as I realized it had finally come.  The day I’d been begging for.  He was going to play with me like He used to. 

M is particularly fond of stringing me up in doorways with my arms and legs spread and watching me struggle to remain standing.  Yesterday, I finally gave in and mostly just hung in the restraints.  My hands and feet are nowhere near used to that sort of torture anymore.  And that’s probably why the scene almost ended before either of us was ready.  If I hadn’t been gagged, I’d have begged Him not to stop before I realized He wasn’t going to stop.  But I have to give my man credit.  He knows when we’re ready.

Without being told, I clasped my hands behind my back, pushed my feet together and stood up straight while He fiddled with the lamps we use occasionally for extra lighting.  I hadn’t started shaking yet, but I expected it.  Years ago, when He used to play with me this way regularly, I would start to shake as the first cuff was being buckled around my wrist.  By the time He hit me the first time, I would be trembling and on the verge of begging Him to let me go.  Yesterday, what was going to happen didn’t really sink in until I was fully trussed and being hit.

I think not fully knowing what was going to happen was more denial than anything else.  Because all the signs that He was going to play with me, and hard, were there.  His quiet, calculated responses to everything I said.  The occasional goofy look He’d flash me as He noticed me starting to get nervous.  The extreme concentration going into every detail of setup.  One word commands when possible.  I’m sure I saw it coming before I saw it coming.  But I kept telling myself He just wanted to take pictures.

When He said, “Find me a pair of socks.  I’ll probably be in some of the pictures, so I’m getting dressed.”  there was a moment of “What the fuck, Chuck? That’s not fair!” (and I think I said something to that effect to Cin but I don’t remember saying that to Him) but by that point, it was obvious we were at the point of no return.  So I just bumbled around the house finding the things He needed.

There was no warning between my buckling the cuffs on my wrists and ankles (at His command) and Him clipping the first suspension cuff to the wall.  Instead of just sending me to the doorway and stringing me up, He let me wander around, sit at my computer and talk to Cin, stand in the doorway for a little while for more lighting and focus checks… Then He nonchalantly walked up to me, took hold of the leather strap protruding from the palm of my hand and unceremoniously clipped it to the d-ring in the door frame.

Next He pulled my ankles out almost as far as they would stretch and chained them to the bottom of the door frame.  He slapped my pussy three or four times.  Once, He hit it just right so that He got my inner labia and the bottom of my clit.  I tried to yank away, close my legs, sit down.  And I realized just how stuck I was.  That’s when the knot of Texas in my stomach turned to molten lava and began to churn.

Now, I know that Master knows my limits.

My limits… In this case, I don’t mean “limits” in the “I won’t do a, b and c.” sense.  I mean how much I can take.  The point at which I am either no longer enjoying anything that happens to me or so far gone that I’m not even noticing anything that happens to me.  My body’s limits, so to speak.

Master knows my body’s limits better than I do.  He knows when it’s time to stick a fork in me.  But He also has the right to push beyond that point.  And He enjoys pushing beyond that point.  I do, too, most of the time.  The high of knowing I went above and beyond is almost as awesome as the high of being beaten.  But this was the first scene of this sort that we’ve had in years.

I had all sorts of questions running through my head as He blindfolded and gagged me.  What if He’s forgotten where my limits are? What if He can’t tell anymore? What if He doesn’t care? Am I ready for a scene that extreme right out of the gate? Do I have a choice?

And there’s always a brief second of “What if, this time, He just snaps and I don’t make it through?”

I can hear you out there, you know.  It’s a baseless fear, but a fear nonetheless.  It’s due to the fact that I have been in relationships where my death at their hands, accidentally or on purpose, was a very real possibility.

And all of this is fodder to keep from having to get to the nitty-gritty.

He started by trying to attach these itty-bitty clothespins we got free with an order from somewhere (I don’t remember where.  Nowhere I’m reviewing for, though.  It was years ago.) to my tits, but the reality of the situation is: They fucking suck.  If they weren’t snapping out of their springs, they were just snapping off and He eventually yanked the ones that stuck off.  All of them at once.  Ow??!?

Wait… was that first? I wasn’t kidding about not remembering much.

He flogged me a bit in different spots.  I don’t know what floggers He used.  At one point, I could have sworn He used the new one, but He said He didn’t.  It sounded like it, though.

Speaking of sound… For being such a big man, Master moves like a ghost.  Seriously.  Until I felt the fire of an impact toy or the bite of a clamp, I had no idea where He was.  I never knew if He was standing right next to me or ten feet away.  I finally gave up listening for Him.

Once, early in the scene, He walked between me and the radio.  But the second He was out of the way, I lost track of Him.  I wasn’t paying attention when He passed the speakers, so I couldn’t tell which direction He passed them in.  And when I felt the flogger on my back, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I tend to get careless and let down my guard when He leaves me alone for any length of time.  And being alone in that state, five seconds feels like five minutes.  Five minutes feels like five hours.  Five hours feels like… well, you get the idea.

He put a bunch of bigger clothespins on my tits when the little ones weren’t working the way He wanted.  He kept saying things like, “Aww, is Daddy being mean to the baby?” when I whimpered.  That really fucks with my psyche.

I want to burst into tears like a little girl and go, “Yes! You’re a mean bastard!” and whine and whimper about how horrible He is like it’s going to make some sort of difference.  It’s not.  He’ll just laugh at me.  So instead, I stand there pretending I don’t want to kick Him and say,  “Shut up, asshole.  You know you’re mean.  I know you’re mean.  Hell, the pope probably has your name down in his book of mean bastards (Does the pope have a book of mean bastards? If not, he totally should.  And Master should be on it.).  Quit baby-talking me and get on with it.”  Which would… probably also elicit a good amount of laughter.  And a different kind of scene altogether.

He caned me and put the clovers on my pussy lips and flogged me more.  I think He slapped me.  He might have used the crop when He was trying to whip the clothespins off my tits.  Apparently, I have the type of skin that clothespins really like to hold onto.  Cause they wouldn’t come off.

The clothespins were on a while.  And He was tapping them and wiggling them with something.  And it hurt like a mofo.  And I think I screamed.

I screamed a lot last night.

I think He eventually decided to take the last few off.  I remember Him asking if I could take Him whipping them off.  I remember the laughter in His voice.  I remember answering yes.  And I remember screaming when He started whipping them off again.  And I think that was about when He realized my boobs had had enough.  He didn’t take the bell clamps off my nipples but He hardly touched my tits the rest of the time.

He kept asking if I wanted more.  If I could take it.  If I liked it.  And I had to think about my answers.  Not because I couldn’t decide.  But because I was literally forgetting what He had just done to me the millisecond He stopped doing it.  All of it.  What it was, how bad it hurt, how many times.  Just… gone.

I was drooling all over the place.  I was sobbing.  I was yanking at the cuffs.  Trying to sit down.  Trying to stand on my tiptoes.  Trying to close my legs.  I alternately sagged and lunged in the cuffs.  There was a time or two that He just stood there and stared at me while I hung limply in my binds, bent as in half as I could be, sobbing and trembling and… just accepting what was happening.

And that infernal click of the shutter popping off wildly at my most vulnerable moments was both infuriating and exalting.  Quick on the heels of thoughts like “How could you want to share this part of me with the world?” were thoughts along the lines of “Wow.  I must look incredibly hot with how many pictures He’s taking.”

He wiped my face a lot.  I swear drool, tears and snot were dribbling over my face and chest by the gallon.  It’s the single gentle act I remember.  He didn’t touch me or kiss me the entire time.  But when He wiped my face, though He mocked me, He was gentle about it.  Like a father cleaning a toddler after a particularly messy meal.  And I lived for the moments when He decided to mop up the drool.

I’m pretty sure the first toy He shoved between my throbbing, clamped pussy lips was Brigit, and I’m wondering how sad it is that I can tell my toys apart while blindfolded.  But Brigit is one of my favorites, so I guess that makes sense.

Then He held the Large Big Stuff under my nose.  He had mentioned hurting my pussy earlier.  I thought He was talking about taking the clamps off.

“You want to fuck that, slut?” He asked as He waved the toy beneath my nostrils.  And if I wasn’t writhing already, I was when I smelled that.

I’m forgetting so much.  But, like I said, I was forgetting it as it was happening.

By this point, my feet were aching so badly I couldn’t stand still.  I’d twisted and turned them every direction I could trying to find a position that wouldn’t leave me in unbearable pain until He decided to let me down.  And my left hand was almost completely numb everywhere except the soft, fleshy part of my palm just below my thumb.  That spot was in excruciating pain.

Apparently, my safe word is thrashing violently.  Because I started freaking out when He walked away from me after trying to work the Big Stuff into my cunt.  I’d finally reached the threshold of what my left hand could take, I think, because I didn’t make any sort of conscious decision to try to get His attention and I remember thinking that it wouldn’t do any good anyway.  I just started yanking as hard as I could on the cuff.

And I wasn’t really trying to get His attention.  I was just trying to get my hand in a position that would allow circulation to return to it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mah ha- mah ha- mah haz ha-ha-haz…” I sputtered between sobs.  I’d stopped yanking and was standing there still as a deer in the headlights.  He was talking to me.  Showing concern.  And I didn’t want to miss a second of it.

“Your hands hurt?” That damnable laughter in His voice again.  That amused, “Look at my slut fall apart for me.” laughter.  And I nodded wildly.

He unhooked my hands.  Both of them.  And I held them close to my body and sobbed after thanking Him around the gag repeatedly.

He left my feet locked in place.  I sank to my knees and curled into a ball as much as I could.  He left me to gather myself for only a moment before telling me to lay backwards.  And there, He whipped my pussy until I sobbed and thrashed frantically on the floor.

When He was through, He went in search of the lube.  He didn’t see it and swatted me a time or two for forgetting it.  At first I was confused and thought He was playing with me.  But then I realized He was annoyed and disappointed.  He really couldn’t find the bottle of Sliquid.  It was evident in His voice.

Having Him annoyed or disappointed with me, in this state, is so much more than I can bear.  I began to panic and screamed frantically at Him.  I swore I brought the lube out.  I swore I left it on the tray table.  I swore it was there.  Could He please just look again?  And He found it.

“You’re lucky.”  He growled.

Pushing the Big Stuff into my too-small hole by myself, with or without lube, proved impossible laying on the floor.  I couldn’t get the leverage needed.  So He sent me to the couch.  And I eventually gave up trying to lay back like I do with my smaller toys and tried to sit on the thing.  I was about to give up and beg out of fucking it, getting frustrated that my pussy was so small (Yes, I see the irony in that.), when He told me that I could cum on it if I got it in.

I redoubled my efforts.  And then the pain translated into pleasure and suddenly it was in to just below the second rib.

“Ish id, Mashah!” I exclaimed breathlessly.

“Is it in?” He asked, a good amount of awe and lust in His voice, and I felt His warmth come closer.  Then came the flurry of shutter clicks.

There are fingernail marks in the base of the Big Stuff.  Apparently, I got tired of it slipping out of my hands and cunt.  I fucked the hell out of the Big Stuff while I got myself off and He didn’t give me much time to recover after I came.

“Pick up the toys and start dinner.”  He said when my breathing finally returned to normal and my body stopped shaking quite so hard.

When the gag came out, I couldn’t close my mouth and talking was next to impossible.  My jaw still hurts and I’m having a little trouble chewing, but I seem to be recovering okay.

I didn’t get a hug.  Not a single kiss.  He didn’t even touch me until I sought Him out and wrapped my arms around Him. I think that’s His way of gauging how I handled the scene.  If I go to Him, I’m okay.  If I avoid Him, something isn’t quite right.  And I tried to fight it, feeling a little silly for needing a hug after that, but I was almost immediately in His arms.

I smiled up into His eyes while He held me and said, “It’s like coming off an Ecstasy peak.”

He said, “I know, isn’t it great?” and I was caught off guard.

“It’s like that for you, too?” I never dreamed being on the other end could have the same effect.  When He nodded, I smiled bigger and buried my face in His chest hair.

I got a little weepy while I was making dinner.  I bit back the tears and hovered around Master when I felt like I was going to break down.  But being thrown into clean up and dinner prep made being able to settle down on the couch next to Him that much better.

There was a different quality to the air through dinner and when we climbed in bed.  A different feel to His hands on my skin.  A different tone, if you will.  There is no doubting that we’re back.  In full force.  And I’m a little nervous about what that means.  Cause I’m not entirely sure.  But I’m looking forward to finding out.

He didn’t fuck me till we went to bed.  And I’m not even sure that was His original intention.  He ordered me to lick His back.  That’s not always an invitation to seduce Him and sometimes He’ll slap my hands away from His cock.  But last night, He let me fondle Him and eventually fucked me.

Today, I tried to talk Him into staying home.  I didn’t want to be home alone.  I’m a little droppy and being droppy at home by yourself sucks ass.  Luckily, something crazy happened at work and He got stuck here anyway.

I am in awe of both of us.

Oh, and Cin? I said “Whatever, Trevor.” to Master last night as we were climbing into bed.  I’m so slapping you for that.