Letting The Masochist Out

I had been very nervous and excited about playing with a Sadist I had met. While chatting the night before I confirmed his instructions. “I will call at 8 and be kneeling at your door at 8:30.”
Finally the day had come. Even though I had barely slept the night before, I was instantly awake when my alarm went off. I left early allowing for heavier early morning traffic but did not hit any. At 8 when I was to call him, I was already outside his house, and I told him that. He told me to come to his door.
I still felt nervous, but got out of my truck. I did walk slowly because his neighbor was in her car and, even though I would, I did not relish the idea of kneeling down on his doorstep with her watching. Fortunately she drove off, and I knelt.
He opened the door and wrapped his fingers in my hair. I took a deep breath. I was ready for whatever happened next. Then he chuckled, told me to stand up, and invited me in. (He has been reading my blog, too.) We sat and chatted while he finished his coffee. I relaxed and admired his home. It really is beautiful. I noticed the eyehooks again that I never would have seen if he hadn’t pointed them out the first time I was there and I was told that at some time in the future I would be tied to the gorgeous antique leather chair in the corner. He was not cocky or arrogant, but he had no doubt that I would be back after this first play date. I do admire confidence.
Then he got up and asked me to follow him. We went through the kitchen and down the stairs. As I walked down the narrow, creaky stairs, I thought about all the mental images my imagination had come up with during the past few days and grinned. It was just a basement, full of normal basement things, but the dank, musty smell was there. We walked past all the things stored there and up to a door way in the back. The door was padlocked. He removed the lock, opened the door, and told me to go in.
The room was not huge, but it was not small either. It was full, though, of so many things. My mind could not take them all in. I noticed the beautiful rug on the floor, and the padded table in the corner. I noticed a chair next to a table. It felt like a man’s room. One wall was covered with items hanging from hooks. So many things. I could not even estimate how many different items were there, and I know I could not identify what all of them were for. Two other walls weren’t really walls. They were full length deep shelves, floor to ceiling, hidden by drapes. I only knew this because one corner near the table was pulled back. I could see the shelves piled full of even more things, more tools and devices for a Sadist to use. And the table itself, probably four feet across, was full of what I could only assume were some of the items he used most often, his favorites that never quite got put away, piled here, about a foot deep. I saw attachment points everywhere, and a glance up showed several more heavy-duty hooks all around the heavily padded ceiling. I was just stunned by the amount of options this man had available to torture me. I had expected him to have collected many things in twenty-five years, but damn! Despite all of the torture devices, though, the room felt comfortable, well used, and lived in.
He sat in his chair and told me to undress. I did, and he told me to get on the padded table, ass up, face down, facing away from him. I remember how humiliating it felt to present myself that way. He said or did nothing for a very long time. Just looked. I am sure my face was very red.
And then it began. I wish I could write more about this part. I have waited a few days trying to remember what happened, in what order, and what was used on me. I can’t. Within a very few minutes, I was riding waves of pain, screaming, moaning, losing control of my body and my mind. Bits and pieces are there, but I cannot put them together in any way that makes sense. Too much, too many, too intense. It was not my body and my mind then anyway. They were his. I was there to satisfy his sadistic needs. I flew when he allowed it, and screamed when he demanded it. I begged for him to stop. I begged for more. I hated it, and I loved it. He is an incredibly skilled man, and read me very well.
The last I remember was collapsing on the floor at his feet, curled in the fetal position, so incredibly content and happy. I was covered in a thick comforter and allowed to enjoy my flight through subspace for what seemed like years.
Will I go back? Oh hell yes! After an introduction like that, I can’t wait to see what he and I can do when we feel more comfortable with each other! Maybe next time I will even earn the right to have his cock. 😉
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