It is a very comfortable room. You could easily relax here -- if you didn't see the instruments on the walls and on the floor around the baseboard. If you understood their purpose, you'd realize why the soundproofing was there, and you would not be quite so relaxed -- either through excitement or apprehension, depending on your bent.
A woman of middle years walks into the room, quietly shutting the only door behind her. She is blonde, normal weight, but walks a bit carefully as though she were protecting a sore lower back. If you were to see her on the street, you might not immediately think "beautiful"... unless you saw her eyes. Ah, the eyes: deep and piercing, showing a penetrating understanding of people. There are a few lines about them, showing a life spent in laughter and kindness, the eyes of the Merry Prankster playing loving tricks on her friends. If you saw her eyes... well, you would recognize the humanity and kindness there and call it beauty.
But just now, she does not look beautiful: she bears a worried expression on her face, and her body language betrays anxiety, uncertainty, and doubt. She wants, she needs, to find a centered place where her emotions will be still. Her mind is like a hurricane, but without the still, central eye of the storm -- just the storm, all the way through.
Slowly she removes her simple, comfortable, clothing. As she hangs her skirt, blouse, and underthings on hooks by the door, her breathing begins to quicken. She is soon naked, and breathing in short, sharp gasps. She is not cold; the gasps are from anxiety and anticipation.
She kneels on a meditation cushion on the soft, comfortably padded carpet, facing the back of swivel chair. Her knees are spread wide, as wide as they will go. Her hands rest on her thighs: by placing her hands in a resting position, she exudes a submissive attitude that says her hands will not challenge whatever is done to her. She is carefully shaved, leaving only a tiny round tuft of pubic hair atop her mons. Her legs are spread so widely that her lips are parted. Anyone who cared to look would see that she is wet, hugely lubricated. Anyone who cared to look closely would also see that her rather large clit is hard, engorged, peeking boldly out as if to ask if anyone is willing to play.
Her body language screams availability, begging for playful attention.
She closes her eyes, and begins to slow her breathing. With every breath in, she imagines her lungs filling with blindingly bright white light. With every breath out, she lets go of the monkey-brain's worried thoughts which are swamping her. As she breathes deeply and slowly, her thoughts begin to melt away, leaving her mind empty of all, except the breathing. Well, that and extreme horniness: the meditative state begins to peel back her worries and inhibitions, leaving a core of pure need. As she falls into a meditative state, she is just the waves of breathing -- like a snowflake drifting down a dark, silent well. She falls deeper: take away the well, take away the snowflake, and remember only the drifting.
This is Cathy, drifting deep into meditation. She needs catharsis. She needs release from her cares. She is here to seek this comfort from one who loves her so completely he can understand the depth of her need.
A man sits in the swivel chair, facing away from her. The room is so dim, you would not have noticed him when you first came in unless your eyes were dark-adapted. He is so quiet and still that you still would not notice him even after your eyes become dark-adapted. He is the opposite of Cathy when she entered the room: where she moved nervously, he is beatifically still; where she breathed short, shallow, gasps, he breathes slowly and deeply, a deep calm rhythm; where her posture guarded pain in her back and psychological pain in her soul, he is calm, comfortable, and confident.
This is the man Cathy calls Sir. He is the well, the snowflake, the metaphor through which Cathy drifts. His face and eyes are gentle, but he can be very, very intense: intense enough to give Cathy the catharsis she so desperately needs, along with caring for her sexual need.
"Cathy," he says, in a tone just barely above a whisper.
"Yes, Sir!" she whispers in quick response.
He turns in the swivel chair to face her, elbow on his knees, gazing directly at her. "Tell me what you need."
"Sir, I need calm. I need completion. I need catharsis, to escape the turmoil in my head. Please, Sir? Would you pull that out of me?"
"Yes. Bring me your left slipper."
She retrieves one of the smooth-soled slippers she had been wearing when she entered the room. She quickly kneels before him, meeting his gaze with wide eyes, wordlessly reaching up to offer him the slipper with both hands. He takes the slipper, then sits up straight in the chair, looking at Cathy wordlessly. She quickly understand the implied invitation: she scrambles to lie across his lap and present her butt for spanking.
He holds the slipper in his right hand, gently stroking her butt cheeks with it, to get her used to the touch. With his left hand, he gently strokes her hair. Suddenly, he grabs her hair where a ponytail would be -- he grabs tightly, and pulls her head back slowly, and forcefully.
"What's the most important thing to remember about a spanking?"
Voice quivering with excitement, tension, and a small amount of fear, Cathy says: "Sir, the most important thing about a spanking is to remember that it's not punishment."
*whack* "Very good. Do you know why you're being spanked?"
A small, trembling whisper replies: "No, Sir. I don't know."
*WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK*... 5 uncomfortably hard "incentive" whacks later, he sighs. He grips her hair tighter, pulling her head up harder. "Wrong answer. Try again, please."
A tiny sob, and... "Sir... because you like spanking me?"
*WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK*... 10 very hard incentive whacks later, he sighs again. "Still wrong. Well, ostensibly right, of course... I do like spanking you. But of course that's not enough. Now come, think clearly: why are you being spanked, here, today?"
Some gasping breaths, and... "Sir... to help me process my pain, so you can beat the emotional pain out of me?"
*whack* "And?"
Tremblingly: "Sir... to pound as much love into me as possible?"
*whack* "Ah, good. You found the truth of it." He chuckles. "I'm glad you remembered this time. You had me worried for a moment." She gasps at the thought of causing worry. He releases her hair, and strokes her hair gently with his left hand, and her butt cheeks gently with the slipper in his right hand. "You're a good girl... You're my good girl."
Hearing that, Cathy's breath is taken away in a whoosh, and her eyes begin to tear up. She begins sobbing gently. "Please, Sir... would you spank me?"
*whack* "Certainly. How hard?"
Cathy considers a moment, and asks, "Hard enough to do me the good I need?"
He again grabs her hair tightly, and pulls her head back slowly but hard.
*WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK* *WHACK*... 15 extremely hard and now quite painful incentive whacks later: "Do you understand what was wrong with that request?" *WHACK*... pause... *WHACK*... pause... the extremely hard and increasingly painful incentive whacks continue until she starts to answer. Her butt is by now beginning to turn red from these warmup and conditioning spanks.
"Um... I'm very sorry, Sir. I was rude. I should have said: Please Sir, would you spank me hard enough to do me the good I need and so that you can enjoy me?"
*whack* He releases her hair, and strokes her head gently. "Very good. I would be happy to do that for you." They both smile, and exhale. "Count for me."
*whack* "One, thank you Sir!"
*whack* "Two, thank you Sir!"
*whack* "Three, thank you Sir!"
*whack* "Four, thank you Sir!"
*whack* "Five, thank you Sir!"
He pauses for a moment, stoking her hair with one hand and her butt with the slipper. "You're a good, brave girl." Now the whacks become harder:
*WHACK* "Six, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Seven, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Eight, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Nine, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Ten, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Eleven, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Twelve, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Thirteen, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Fourteen, thank you Sir!"
*WHACK* "Fifteen, thank you Sir!"
He stops a moment, and grabs her hair again, pulling her head up slowly and forcefully. This always makes her feel gripped tightly in the embrace of his power. He puts the slipper in the small of her back, and begins feeling her butt cheeks with his hand.
"Ah... you're beautifully warm and light red now. Darker than pink, but still just moderate. You can take more... probably a lot more, no?" He slowly grabs each butt check in his hand, as though he were kneading dough, hard. Each grab is tolerable at the start, but as he tightens his grip on her sore butt, she gasps as though he's squeezed the breath out of her by grabbing her sore butt cheeks hard.
She moans, and begins to shudder a bit, the sobs of pain begining to escape her control. They both understand that this is internal emotional pain, coming out. It's why they're both here, beyond the simple reason of pleasing each other.
"We'll finish with volleys, all hard." She gasps: volleys give her no time to recover from each swat, so the pain just builds, and builds, and builds... until she explodes.
*WHACK!!* *WHACK!!* *WHACK!!* *WHACK!!* *WHACK!!* "Sixteen! Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty! Thank you Sir!" She breaks down into continuous sobs. "Please don't stop now, Sir! Please, please, please?!"
*WHACK!!* *WHACK!!* *WHACK!!* *WHACK!!* *WHACK!!* ... and there is more counting, and sobbing, and convulsing... until she says "Fifty! Thank you Sir! Please don't stop, Sir, please?"
He examines her butt: it is bright red. She will be sore for days. "No, I think that's enough. Any more and you'll bruise."
Cathy is briefly disappointed, but stands quickly: "Thank you Sir, for spanking me." The tracks of tears on her face have smeared her makeup; it is clear she is deeply happy.
But something in her tone has revealed her disappointment at the end of the spanking. He sees this, and his eyes twinkle with good humor as he says "What? Did you think you were done?" She begins laughing and crying at the same time: joyful that there is more in store, but so high on endorphins that the difference between laughter and sobs is very thin indeed.
He hands her the slipper. "Here. Put this back." She looks disappointed, until he adds: "And bring the other one."
Resisting the temptation to touch her butt, she shivers and takes the left slipper back to the door, and returns with the right slipper. She kneels before him, acutely conscious of where her sore butt contacts her heels. She looks up into his eyes, dripping tears from her own eyes opened wide to open her vulnerable soul to him, and shudders: "Here you are, Sir. Please enjoy me more, Sir. Please, please, please?!"
He smiles at her, reaches down to accept the slipper in his right hand and strokes her hair with his left. "You're a good girl. You're my good girl." Cathy breaks down in grateful sobs, but refuses to break eye contact. "Present your pussy."
She gasps, knowing what will come next. She lays back on the floor, resting her weight on her shoulder blades and neck, while flipping her hips up between his legs. She wraps her knees over the arms of his swivel chair, so the chair is forcibly spreading her legs wide and keeping them that way. Her carefully shaved pusy is completely exposed. Her lips are swollen with excitement, and her clit is quite stiff. She is wet, in a slobberingly obvious way, embarassingly aware that now he can even smell her excitement. She is acutely aware of where her very sore butt touches the chair.
"Play with your nipples." She begins to squeeze her breasts, and flip her nipples with her finger tips; the effect is electric. He touches her pussy gently, parting her lips. He can see her swollen clit twitching to the rhythm of her nipple tweaking. When she gets near the edge, he begins.
"No counting. Just feel it, all the way down to your core."
*whack*... *whack*... *whack* ... the swats on her pussy continue for about a million years, it seems to Cathy. She can no longer tell the difference between pain and pleaure; she's stayed near the edge all the time.
He helps her down to the floor, making sure she does not fall in her shivery state. She kneels before him again, and engages his eyes.
"Very good girl! Do you remember what happens to very good girls?"
"Umm... do they get to cum, Sir?"
He laughs, gently. "Well, yes. But eventually. Not right away." He looks deep in her eyes to gauge her reaction to that.
Cathy is immediately worried. Her butt and pussy are red and sore already, but to put in an extended period of denial and edging now... the pain and orgasm would light her up like a neon sign. The last time he'd put her in denial, it had been several hours with a feather machine that edged her gently, but relentlessly.
He turns the swivel chair around, picking up a blue plastic framework sitting on a table behind him. "Here. Please put this on."
"Ummm... `on', Sir? How?"
"It goes over your head, like this..." and he gently places it over her head like the electronic coronet it is.
"Sir? What is happening, please?" Her tone is so plaintive, so small, so inspiring of care, that he can't resist telling her, no matter that it will spoil a surprise.
"That is an EEG sensor. It will monitor your brainwaves. This USB cable... " snap! as he connects her, "... will connect you to the computer, which will summarize the readouts to tell us how close to the edge of orgasm you are."
Cathy's face looks a bit worried, as she can more or less tell this will not be any ordinary, gentle session of edging.
"The other USB cable..." snap! as he connects it, "... lets the computer control the Sybian. Both the vibration strength, and the rotation. The computer uses a PI-controller to estimate how to set the Sybian to drive you to just exactly the edge, but no further. It should be the closest, hardest edging you've ever experienced. I'm skeptical, but we'll find out together. Now, if you would be so good as to mount the machine?" He gestures in a courtly, gentlemanly way to the Sybian. Cathy, trembling with apprehension, mounts it. It has a double-penetration attachment that she straddles, penetrating her vaginally and anally. The vaginal dildo, especially, is quite thick -- she estimates about 2.5 inches in diameter, based on how much it stretches her.
"Sir, I'll never be able to take this..."
"It's all right." He thinks it's important to reassure her as fast as possible, since that teaches her to share her anxieties with him. "I'll help you stay in place." He smiles gently, and cuffs her wrists behind her back. He then loops several turns of rope binding calf and thigh together, so she cannot straighten her legs. Wrists bound, thighs bound to calves, she cannot move; all her weightmust rest on the Sybian. All of that weight is on her pussy and butt... her already red and sore pussy and butt.
"Thank you, Sir."
"For what? I haven't done anything yet." He is genuinely surprised. It can't possibly be that she's thanking him in advance.
"For binding me to help me through this. For thinking through how you're going to edge me. For caring for me..." Gentle tears begin to flow and her voice breaks at the end.
He is touched, deeply. He cradles her head to his shoulder, sharing the warmth of his body. He strokes her hair, and says, "Of course. Good girls always get taken care of. Always. Without fail."
He flips on the software controlling the sybian, which begins gently. (It always begins gently; it never ends gently.) As the vibration starts up, she begins to feel the extreme sexual stimulation; it makes her convulse in a way that she is thankful for the leg bindings. The rotation kicks in, and the stimulation to her G-spot is intense. It gets stronger and stronger, relentlessly driving her to orgasm. Just as she's about to explode... the machine goes utterly still and quiet! Her body is on fire with pain and the electric moment of an edge, but utterly abandoned, as though suddenly flying through the air having forgotten to bring an airplane. This is edging like she has never experienced it before.
Over and over, it drives her the the edge where she can feel the orgasm beginning... the uterine muscles actually start their first contraction... and then it abandons her in the stratosphere of sexual excitement. She falls back down, and it starts again. Her master sits behind her, with his arms around her: holding her, stroking her hair, whispering reassurance into her ears, tweaking her nipples, making her breathe.
There are, of course, a couple of dirty tricks being played on her.
For one trick, the controller never quite lets her calm down all the way. After each edge, the cool-down is a bit shorter. After the 10th edge, it only lets her cool down halfway -- for the rest of the session, she will never be less than halfway to orgasm.
For another trick, the edges are coming closer and closer together. Each one is still amazingly intense, actually the start of an orgasm and then abandonment. But the first few edges were separated by a minute; after the 10th they come every 30sec.
By the 20th edge, it won't let her cool down to anything less than 75% of orgasm, and the edges come every 15sec.
She is sweating and quivering, glistening in the low light. She is screaming off and on, moaning incoherently. With the last vestiges of her language ability, she screams "Fuck!"
He chuckles. "You have the cutest way of saying 'fuck'..." and nuzzles a kiss onto her neck.
By the 50th edge, she's being held above 90% of the way to orgasm, and edging every 5sec. The fine degree of control using the EEG is relentless at keeping her edging: intensely, with less and less cool-down, faster and faster.
By now she is screaming; it's not clear even to her if she is begging to cum or begging for it to stop. She'd probably like both; she doesn't have enough cognitive facilities left working to even begin to realize the contradiction in wanting it both ways.
At 53 edges, her master flips the software into its second, quiescent state. The Sybian slows down, but does not stop: she is held about halfway to orgasm. Cathy is left gasping, sweating, hoarse... wanting to beg for some kind of release, but not sure exactly what: the release of stopping, or the release of orgasm.
"Very, very good girl. Would you like to cum with me?"
Cathy has no words left. It's not clear she understands what he says, she's so far gone. She grunts and screams a little, quivering and sobbing with what might be joy. He smiles gently at her.
"The judges will accept that as a yes."
He picks up a second EEG coronet, and puts it on himself, connecting it to another USB port on the control computer. He sits in the swivel chair, and rolls it up to her. He unzips, and presets her with his cock. He is, of course, demandingly hard. She takes him in her mouth, beginning to suck and lick the head around the corona and frenulum where she knows he's most sensitive. She needs to touch his most sensitive spots to convey the depth of her love for him, her submission to him, her desire for their souls to melt together and be one.
He then flips the controller software into its 3rd and final state. The Sybian roars to life again, starting to lift Cathy above 50% of the way to orgasm, and maintaining her there relentlessly. No matter how she squirms, how she moves, she moves upward from halfway to orgasm.
"Here's how this is going to work. The closer you get me to orgasm, the control computer will take note and push you closer to your orgasm by turning up the Sybian. The only way for you to cum is to make me cum; the intensity of your orgasm will be proportional to the intensity of the orgasm you give me. Enthusiastic cocksucking on your part will lead you to an explosive orgasm; mediocre cocksucking will lead you to just a ruined orgasm; no cocksucking will lead to several hours being held in this excited state and then nothing. The choice is yours."
Bound, stimulated beyond sense and sensibility, she sucks him enthusiastically. Her hands are bound behind her, but she can use her lips, tongue and throat very effectively. She warms him up with her tongue on his cock head, popping it in and out of her lips so her lips hug the sensitive corona. She bobs faster and faster, sucking harder and harder.
She can feel the Sybian speed up... so she has direct feedback in her pussy about what her master is feeling. She slows down, sucking deeper and harder... and the Sybian speeds up more. She's learned something she never knew before: the speed, suction level, and depth he prefers. Her heart practially melts, knowing that with everything else, he has given her this gift of a visceral understanding in her own womb of how her cocksucking feels to him.
A minute passes... maybe two... maybe a thousand years. Time-keeping is not exactly Cathy's skill at the best of times, but now she has no idea of time passing. Eternity like this would be just finewith her. The Sybian ratchets up, and up, and up... and she's at the edge again. Suddenly, she sucks incredibly hard, and rams him deep into her throat. He cums explosively, ejaculating down her throat with shudder after shudder... load after thick, ropy load of cum... ejaculating so hard it almost causes him an abdominal cramp. The Sybian explodes, driving Cathy into explosive, screaming orgasms that go on, and on, and on...
She lost her grip on reality in there somewhere. Probably she lost consciousness, but frankly, she couldn't guarantee she even continued in existence. She woke up, feeling compltely warm. She was wrapped in a blanket, laid out on a couch, being held in her master's arms. He was gently kissing her face, rocking her back and forth.
Cathy felt sore, to be sure, physically sore in her butt and pussy, and muscle soreness in her legs. But when she probed her emotional core, there was no soreness. She was filled with a beatific calm, as though she had inhaled vast quantities of white light that almost turned her into an angel. All the stress and worry were gone, replaced by a warm, centered feeling. And the knowledge that she was intensely loved.
"You're my very good girl, Cathy. My very good girl."
She quivered at the words, cried very gently, and nuzzled into his shoulder. The world was a good place, once again.
[Edited to correct typos and infelicities of phrasing. So much for writing late at night. -- froodly]
