Image courtesy of Thumper's Portfolio, found through http://dishevelleddomina.tumblr.com/Locked leather collar on... wrists locked and clipped in leather cuffs... same for the ankles... blindfold on... lying on my back on the bed... my Goddess leaves me for a few moments to rummage through our toys.
The rapid descent into subspace began the second my Goddess asked for the bondage gear. Each new piece she put on me, locked, and clipped brought me down another flight of stairs into the depths of subspace. And then there's the wait. The delicious anxiety and excitement of the wait. What is she in the mood for? What is she looking for? What will she come back with? What plans does she have for her pet?
My Goddess returned to my side, sat on my mid-section facing toward my legs, and began some CBT. Those nails... god I love those nails... scratching, digging, and cutting into me. I can't avoid reacting. I am slammed by the dominant vibe coming from my Goddess having fun hurting me.
She stops for an instant. And then I feel her fingers pinching a fold of skin. As she lets go, I start feeling the pressure of what can only be a clothespin. It's not all that unpleasant at the beginning, but rapidly the sensation becomes increasingly sharp. I soon forget about the first clothespin as the second is applied in the same manner. And a third. And more. I lose count...
Around the testicules, along my shaft, my Goddess has fun finding sensitive areas that induces a reaction she would enjoy. The clothespins may be creating a pretty pattern, or not, I have no idea. But I could feel her enjoyment to my vulnerablity and my reactions and the sounds I made, even without a word.being spoken on either side.
After a little while of my Goddess combining CBT and clothespin art, suddenly, she stops. No more nails, no more clothespins, no more tugging on the clothespins. Silence. Numbness. Sharpness. And then, she begins to remove the clothespins. One-by-one. And each one coming off creates a searing sensations that, despite the bondage, has my hips come off the bed. She loves it. The air is permeated with the fragrance of her dominance. Her inner sadist was out and having a great time.
After the last clothespin comes off, my Goddess gets off my mid-section, and I hear her flick a lighter. Maybe 10-15 seconds later, I fell her lean over me. No smoking happening. By the time I made the realization that she wasn't smoking, I fell the first drop of wax crash against my chest.
She had been dying to do some wax play for weeks, and the opportunity and time had not come up. Now was an opportune time. My Goddess moves the candle around, dropping wax in an area that ranged from the upper chest and shoulders down to the bottom of the rib cage. Of course, the highlight moments were the hits on, or close to, the nipples. I get shudders now just recalling the intense sensation of a direct hit on one of the nipples. And it seemed to me that the wax from that candle melted especially hot.
The impact of the heat almost makes it feel like the wax continues to sink below the skin before it cools off and solidifies. It is a sharp, deep sensation that reverberates through my body as it becomes duller in its epicenter. As with the clothepins, my mind doesn't move off the searing pain because the latter dissipates, but because there's another drop that hits a few seconds later. And another one.
Wax play is always very special in its own way. Under the skillful hands and devious mind of my Goddess, it's an activity that inevitably brings me into what I've called before the Nexus, a terribly wonderful point at which I don't know if I can take any more, but I so don't want it to stop. And she is just so adept at taking me there. She loves taking me there. I say that because I can feel how much fun she has taking me there.
Shortly after blowing out the candle, my Goddess removes my blindfold, unclips the cuffs and removes some of the larger chunks of wax that had formed. But that minute or so was enough downtime. During all this play, my Goddess had worked herself into a frenzy of sexual excitement. And she needs me to quench her hunger. So as quickly as I gather my wits about me, coming out of the fog of subspace, I switch from being a passive play toy to an active role of sexual servitude. And so the night went on...
Over the course of the next few days, I kept finding more wax on my body, despite my best efforts to catch all of it before getting into the shower the morning after. Wax play is always messy. No matter how careful you try to be, you always keep finding little bits of wax on yourself for a few days, and around your play area for a few weeks. But each time I find another little piece of wax somewhere, I can't help but to smile, and recall the sensations and the imagery of those extraordinarily intense, but fleeting, moments spent in the dominant loving care of my Goddess.
