Don't forget to read Part 1!
He pulled out various things and this is where my memory goes slightly fuzzy. I do know that the first thing he used was a small bundle of wooden rods, running the ends along my skin, the rough, sandpaper-y feel itching just slightly. He ran the smooth, rounded sides over my waist, my stomach, before lifting it and slapping it down gently over my skin, the smoothness combining now with a slight stinging sensation. He slapped it across my breasts, my crotch, causing my body to jerk slightly, causing me to shiver. He pulled out a few other things, the order of which I do not remember. I do know that he used a long piece of satin that, as soon as he pulled it out, the first thing he did was wrap it around my face, smothering me momentarily, surprising me, before dragging it down, tugging it gently around my neck before trailing it down along the rest of my body. There was another implement, a small hammer-type thing that had five delicate pins in it. He tapped it along my skin. There is really no way to describe that. I mean, it was sharp, pointy things hitting my body repeatedly. I’m sure he could have hit harder, but I believe it was more about the actual feel of cool metal and the gentle sting, and not an intense pain, focusing more on the sensual experience. If you tap a needle over your skin, you won’t really feel the same thing. Actually you’ll feel more of what I felt the first day he tried it on me as he introduced me to the various objects. It’s pretty much nothing. However, after being whipped and having all manner of other things of your body, it begins to have a bit of a…kick…to it, if you will.
And then the frontal flogging.
It began. He started full force. At least I believe he did. It sure felt like it. And at twenty-five, or around there, he again began the double flogging. I do know that by about fifteen, my voice was barely audible, my lips barely able to form words as I cried steadily, my body writhing beneath the whip. A part of me wanted to cry out the safe-word. But I knew it wasn’t because the pain was unbearable. The pain was fine, it was the disappointment, the humiliation that came with being punished, naked and throbbing on a table as I had to count each stroke, knowing when it would end, yet still feeling like there were an infinite amount of strokes to come. He promised that he would always give a number, believing it unfair, the pain too much for the submissive to handle if she didn’t know the number, the feeling of infinity multiplied considerably.
By the time he finished I was sobbing nearly uncontrollably, my body shaking against the restraints. He lay on me, embracing me, comforting me before he removed the blindfold, allowing me to wipe my nose, my eyes, helping me calm down.
It took a moment, but I soon relaxed, feeling almost like a child as he released me from the table. He removed my cuffs, asking me if I wished to try to achieve orgasm this session. I told him that I did wish it and I was allowed to stand from the table and make my way to the giant vibrator that they have. I honestly don’t remember its name and I am not sure I really want to as the thing was rather frightening in many respects of the word and I believe its name would only serve to give me nightmares. He had attachments for it, internal and external. While the external merely vibrated, the internal ones rotated around so as to press into the g-spot, the beloved and nearly unidentifiable part of the female anatomy. This vibrator is so powerful, mind you that it is measured in horsepower. It is a giant lump of a thing that you straddle. And if the Master is in an extremely devious mood, it is something that you can be bound to, unable to wriggle from the vibrating sensation pulsating against your clit. *shivers*
I have mentioned before that while in subspace, you are only supposed to think of the here and now, the past and the future do not exist. But I found that as I walked towards the vibrator, naked and shivering, subspace began to disappear, thought returned almost as quickly as it had left and I found myself terrified of it, terrified of the sensations, the feelings that the damn thing could cause to rise up in me and before I knew it I was sobbing. And my Master clutched me to him and I cried, telling him I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t make thought disappear when it came to this, that I couldn’t explain why but I was suddenly entering the realm of thought and no matter how much he held me, no matter how much he reassured me, the moments without thought were only temporary, the calm moments lasting shorter and shorter spans of time. And he could tell when I was thinking again because my body would go rigid and I would just be a girl, standing naked in his arms.
And I hated it. And I hated myself. And I tried to explain to him that I wasn’t strong enough to sit on that vibrator, to have him watch me orgasm. It was too weird, too mortifying a concept and I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. And he explained to me that he was there to help me bear burdens, to be strong enough for me when I couldn’t be strong enough on my own. But I just couldn’t bring myself to face that vibrator and it sounds so silly and so stupid, but I mean I have reservations about using handheld vibrators, so with something a thousand times that size, you can pretty much guess that my inhibitions were increased drastically, were brought up in intensity.
I feel this calls for a bit of honesty on my part. I have masturbated very few times. I do not enjoy it. In fact the concept of touching myself rather frightens me for reasons I cannot even begin to explain and to be perfectly honest I would rather have someone else’s hands on me or none at all than to have to pleasure myself. I have used the small ‘bullet’ vibrator that I own on two separate occasions. I have never been brought to climax, by myself or anyone else, so you can see my fears about climbing on a giant vibrator in front of my Master and trying for God knows how long to achieve something I don’t even know if I am physically capable of.
He wanted me to get on the thing, to just try, to push myself over that limit, but I couldn’t. And that is when he came to the conclusion that I had let my sexuality, my ability to orgasm, become a hard limit.
You can see the problem with orgasms being a hard limit. By a rule, he should really not be forcing it, but I am sure you see the necessity to force the issue. He said that he could whip me again, press me back into subspace to make the transition easier, but it was too late and I found myself murmuring ‘No’ over and over again into his chest as tears ran down my cheeks and he decided it was time to call the session quits.
And so we entered the Cool Down time. He asked if I wished to add orgasming to the list of things to work on in his dungeon and I told him I was not comfortable with that idea. So my homework is to become more familiar with my anatomy, to figure out where and how I like to be touched and to try and find the few things that turn me on the quickest, the things that make me wet with little or no thought. I told him I would almost be willing to go through life without ever orgasming, just sitting with a dull ache and a slight moisture and absorbing what little pleasure I could from that without ever doing anything about it. For his dungeon however, the inability to orgasm is not something that is generally accepted.
He is giving me a week to work on it. If after the week, I need more time, he will grant me one more week, after which time, we will begin work on things in the dungeon to get me to that point.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I was predicting a blissfully ignorant life of fake orgasms and I was perfectly content to survive that way. Sex has never been a huge thing for me. While I love and appreciate nudity, lying naked in a lover’s arms, the sexual act has never been of importance to me. Maybe it is because some part of me is terrified to orgasm, maybe it is because of the few times I was sexually abused by people I cared about. I don’t really know. I know people who were raped and didn’t lose their sexuality. I find I just may be a very nonsexual being. I’ve seen it on television. It seems a perfectly acceptable lifestyle to me but to the rest of the world, it is some manner of blasphemy.
I started this venture thinking that this side of me was associated with my sexuality, would reveal to me why I hadn’t been able to orgasm under normal circumstances. Now I believe this side of me still isn’t connected with my sexuality and I still haven’t found the side of me that is.
At any rate, the basement suddenly felt extremely cold as I came out of my zone and I realized that I had a point when I could tell if I was in or out of subspace.
In subspace, the room was my dungeon, an infinite room of all manner of devices to bring me pain and pleasure, things I wouldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams. Out of subspace, it is nothing more than a dingy basement with a table and some shelves and a few nifty looking implements that, under normal circumstances, I would pick up and play with for the hell of it because they just look FUN.
Stop by next Sunday for a (much shorter, I promise) piece on Kay's situation with collars. Til then, don't forget to stop by her blog for full, unedited posts, and much more at A Life Beneath.