The Meeting

Originally written over half a decade ago.  Has it really been that long?

This is based off of a few things – one is my hip and my disability. The other is two men I know. I told both that I was going to take some liberties and they know it. That’s about where the truth of it ends. Well, my description of my hip and orgasmic ability is true… And I mixed in some bits from fantasy and reality with stuff that happened in my past. Don’t ask me to sort them out. This is also about good pain vs bad pain and the difference.

We had talked for what seemed like years over the internet. Hours of voice chats, hours of intimate moments.

Then the offer came. You were travelling to a city south of me for a job interview and were planing on staying the weekend. I knew of a friend that lived there that would be willing to host me, so I called him.

“Come visit me,” the friend said, “and I’ll take you two to the party with me as my guests.”

“Party?” I was not quite sure what I was being offered, until he explained.

“A play party. Your online friend, didn’t he say he was going to be visiting the coast too? Both of you can come as my guests. I need a volunteer for the demonstrations as well.” Guests of the Master of Games at a Play party. I pondered this and asked you if you’d like a distraction for a weekend. We were both going to be visiting the same city, so why not go to the same party as an introduction? I knew you would be wanting to go, even if you didn’t meet me. I had an invite sent to you and you accepted.

The Master of Games and I spent a few days negotiating terms and we settled on an agreement.

The wait was a nervous tension. Finally, I was on my way south, past an international border, to a city I’ve only visited while driving through. I settled my bags into a hotel a few blocks from where the Master of Games lived, walking distance almost, and prepared myself for the evening doing my personal ablutions. I dress in a floor length lace number I own, slipping low heels on my feet. I pulled my hair up tight and into a four strand braid, and left the makeup off, although a little gloss never hurts. I grabbed my cane, just in case, slipped my bag of tricks over my shoulder, threw my ruana on and caught a cab.

Of course, I was late. The Master of Games met me at the door of my cab and offered me his arm to steady me. He led me inside then off to a side room to change. This was part of the negotiations. Off went my clothes, on went the rope panties I had knotted up to mark me as playable, but with limits. He tied them tight, and nodded, approving, the bow at the back accenting the curve of my spine. He had a glint in his eye. Out of my bag, I pulled my collar and cuffs, with the locks and spare keys. I slip one cuff on my wrist, one of my keys on a small lanyard with it. The Master of Games smiled as he locked it, then the other. I lifted my leg, placing my foot on his kilt as he locked first one ankle, then the other, happy that my hip was stable for the moment.

He slipped a gentle satin blindfold over my face, letting it lie on my forehead in case I needed it, then, with his fingers entwining in my braid, the Master of Games pulls my head back. I felt his lips softly caress mine. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Your safeword if you are in trouble, is Gandalf.” I giggle. His hand grips my hair with a ferocity I’m not used to. “The other standard ones apply, but the Masters and Mistresses of Arms know that Gandalf means to come and get me, or my two best girls, to help you. I promised not to break you or see you hurt, and I am going to keep that promise.”

A hand slides down my back. He growls in my ear and I tense up. I begin to prance. “Be still,” the Master of Games murmurs in my ear, “I’ve got you. You know me. Trust.”

The words slide out of my mouth without hesitation, “yes, Master.”

“I am not your Master,” he reminds me, “but I am your protector for this night. I will keep you safe, little one.”

I hear the familiar sounds of my collar as the O ring clinks on the D ring. I feel the weight of it slide around my neck. I tense. I wait for the tongue to slide into the locking mechanism, and to feel the last lock click shut. I move my head back and forth. Yes, just tight enough.

“Come,” says the Master of Games, as he takes my arm in his. We had discussed this. I was going to be used as a demonstration for rope work for those who had mobility issues. He led me to a chair to sit.

Over the course of an hour, I feel my arms being tied up in an intricate knotwork pattern, a rope corset being set around my chest and more. I lean forward as I am asked to. I answer questions directly asked to me about my disability and how I get past it. The light starts to bother my eyes as the deeper I fall into subspace. Eventually, I find that I am tied quite solidly to the chair, as the Master of Games continues to demonstrate his skills to his audience.

I hear a chuckle from the back of the crowd. My ears perk and my eyes try to focus, but the bright lights on me make it nigh impossible. “Yes,” the Master of Games whispers into my ear, “he’s here.”

My lips crack into a huge smile and I try to blink away the blinding haze from the glare. I’m not unused to spotlights, this is just how my eyes react as I slip into subspace, and the Master of Games knows it. “Sir,” I whimper, “please… the light is too bright.”

Once again, there is that chuckle again and another voice from the crowd asks a question about sensory deprivation. “This one has a known issue with the lights becoming too intense. She has described it to me as ‘burning’ and that her colour range shifts.”

He slips the blindfold down over my eyes finally and the darkness is a relief, I lean into his hand and purr, rubbing my cheek in his palm. “She becomes very docile when she’s like this. But docile does not mean that anyone can simply come up and touch her. Or any of our volunteer subs and slaves for the evening. Permission must always be obtained.”

I listen intensely as the Master of Games lists the rules for those who wish to play with the volunteers. Then a question from the crowd, “but doesn’t her disability mean she does not make a good play partner?”

Was that your voice, I wonder? No, the rich inflection and deep tone were not the right sounds.

“Au contraire,” said the Master of Games, “one of her limits is that there must be someone by her if she is being flogged, just in case.”

“How bad is the nerve damage?” Nope, still not your voice.

“Well, little one?”

I lean forward against my bonds, my arms behind my back holding me to the chair. “I chose not to take painkillers,” my voice squeaks and once again there is that chuckle, but it has moved closer and to the left instead of the right. “I prefer visualizations to deal with the pain. Making just enough endorphins so that if there is pain, it is mild and I can function through it. My hip is unstable at times and when it ‘pops’ the best thing to do is let me curl up into a ball and whimper through it.”

“Does the position you are currently in hurt you?” This voice is high pitched, either female or possibly transgendered.

I flex my leg muscles and strain against the bonds. “Yes. But it won’t be a problem unless I’m in this position for too much longer. The worse spot is right over my left knee, a spot that if my hands were free, I could show you exactly where it was.”

More chuckling, I turn my head towards the sound as the Master of Games releases a simple knot and my hands are free to move forward, although the shibari harness still restricts my movement. “Show us where.”

I slip my hand down my left leg. My fingertips rest on my thigh, right over where it hurts, just above my knee. “Here,” I motion and I feel a stranger’s hand on my leg, moving my hand away. “Please, don’t massage it. It doesn’t help.”

My leg jerks in spasms, the hand doesn’t leave the leg and instead a matching one rests on the other leg. “The muscles don’t have a knot in it. Do you know where this pain comes from?”

The question is asked in such a way that I realize it is a medical professional making sure that I am safe to play with and to be played with. “Nerve damage. I don’t always feel things right from my bellybutton down.”

“Right?” And there’s that chuckle again, no closer though. You know my body too well, don’t you? Even though you have never touched it yourself, you know me.

“Yes.” I blush a deep crimson as a hand traces lines with fingernail tips. I should be in pain, but they feel like light tickles. If that was my belly, I would be arching and wanting, instead, it is annoying. “I don’t feel… um… first penetration. There’s nerve damage around my outer vaginal walls. My clitoris works. My gspot works, and I do, eventually, feel a fullness and my muscles can grip. It is as if there’s muffler between what my nerves in that area feel and what my brain registers.”

“Can we see?”

“No,” says the Master of Games, and I am suddenly very thankful of the house rules. “That is one of the limits of the club. No actual penetration must occur. This is not a bawdy house.”

A few voices in the crowd raise their objections, but not the voice with the chuckle. “Anything else about your pain?”

“My back… where my spine and pelvis meets. The joint on the left side can hurt. It isn’t right now. There’s also pain where I sit at times.” I wiggle my butt and realize that the bad spot in my tailbone is reacting, “Sir? Can I please move? This is beginning to draw on my reserves.”

“In a minute. Tell us about your orgasmic capacity.”

I blush again. This is an interrogation. The chuckle is back. “I’m multiorgasmic,” I squeak, barely audible.

“What was that, little one? We didn’t hear.”

I inhale and repeat myself, “I’m multiorgasmic. I can have little ones that I can breathe through, big ones that shudder through my entire body and ones that shut my mind down. The worst is the aftershocks.”

There’s that chuckle again. Oh yes, you’ve heard me before. I’ve climaxed to the sound of your voice through my speakers. You know about this. You’ve heard me mewl and try to breathe after one of our sessions, sometimes for hours or even days. We’d game together, and you knew when I’d have one and would have to deal with it without arousing suspicion from those around me about the flush going through my body. Another stranger’s voice simply asks “Aftershocks?”

“That’s when a submissive is left with repeated orgasms even without you touching them. It can occur if the session is intense enough. How long was the longest set for you, little one?” I can feel the Master of Games touching the side of my face with the back of his palm. I press into it as I search my memory for an answer.

“I once had a flogging so intense, it left a deep bruise on my hip,” I reply, “and anytime anything touched it until it finished healing, I would cum. I had to be very careful about what clothing I wore. Nothing could actually touch it while it was healing. It was intense.”

“That’s about all the time we have for this demonstration.” I feel the Master of Games work on untying me with his helpers and voices start up from the din. One of the Mistresses of Arms explains that for the rest of the night, there is food and drink to be bought, and the dungeon is open for play.

“Can you stand?” I shake my head. I feel strong hands grab me and following the lead of the Master of Games, I attempt to stand. And fail. My hip has popped. I have no support on that side of my body.

I fall. Multiple hands stop me from falling against anything hard, but hitting the floor still hurts. I whimper and shudder in pain as the hip betrays me. I hear people asking out of concern, but the Master of Games shoos them away. This will pass, and he knows it.

That’s when I hear it clearly in my ear, but the pain is too intense. “I’m here, pet. I’ve got you.”

“Do you have her?” The Master of Games asks, very concerned for my safety.

“Yes,” and cool hands touch my forehead and hip. I shriek in pain and whimper. I taste jean fabric against my lips and I bite down. Your hand slips in between my lips and your leg. “Don’t bite me, pet, vocalize. I know you hurt. What do you need, my pet?”

“Help, Sir.” I whimper, biting the rope on my arm instead, resting my head on your leg. The blindfold is wet from my tears. The pain is intense. I feel your hands checking my leg, my hip, my back. The touch from your hands is cool and electric, but I can’t enjoy it.

“Breathe, pet. You told me what to do. I need you to breathe.” I whimper as I’m rolled onto my back with your direction. The chair that I was sitting on has been removed. I lie on my back and my leg is in an exaggerated bend. The worst pain is about to happen and I know it, so I curse. “Don’t use profanity. It doesn’t become you.”

I feel the Master of Arms’ hand grab my ankle and pulls my leg straight to match the other under your direction. I arch into a silent scream, then fall back whimpering, but it works and my legs match. I curl up into a ball, my head pillowed on your lap, the blindfold still on. Someone places a blanket on me to keep me warm. I can feel your hand stroking my hair. I want to purr but all that comes out is more whimpers and tears.

“Are you sure we don’t have to get the EMTs down here for this?” I don’t see the exchange, nor do I care. I simply shake my head and curl up tighter, waiting for the last waves of pain to leave me. “If you’re sure….”

“I am sure,” I hear you say. “There is nothing they can do for her other than pat her on her head, and send her a huge bill for just coming in through the door. She’s told me about this and I’ve seen it happen on camera. She just needs some time.” I whimper as your hand strokes my cheek. I’m quite happy where I am, and I begin to test my leg. I stretch it out, then pull it back in. Satisfied that I haven’t harmed it, relax into your ministrations.

The Master of Games checks on us once, returning to his duties as host. Someone presses a straw to my lips and I drink oh so cold ice water.
“I think you did too much, pet,” you scold me, and I shake my head.

“I’m glad you’re here, Sir,” I reach up to pull your lips to mine, but you pull my hand away to kiss it gently. I shudder at the touch, the arousal from such an intimate act a stark contrast to the pain I had just been in and that still echoes through my body. Your hands trace the ropes binding me, tickling me. I feel your nails dig in and I moan, arching into the sensation.

“That’s it, my pet, just breathe. I’ve got you.”

I think I’m down for about ten minutes, maybe more, maybe less. The more you touch me and speak in soft tones in my ear, the deeper into subspace I go. You pull the blindfold off of my eyes and the light blinds me. I can’t focus, but I know you’re looking into my eyes. “Mmmm… Brown sugar… You’re right, pet. They do change colour.”

“Help me up, Sir?” I hear you chuckle.

“Take your time, pet. You have all the time in the world right now.”

I don’t know how long it has been since the fall but I finally I roll off your lap, pulling my legs under me. Your hand stays by my ear as I move into the yogic child pose, then cat pose, arching my back and tilting my pelvis. Still covered under the blanket, I move back and forth between those poses and others until I am able to sit on my ankles with my big toes crossed. I slide with almost practised eased into what many call “nadu” and rest with my palms up, my thumbs touching my ring fingers. You know this is a meditative pose for me, not just a pose of submission. I am not asking you anything right now, just trying to centre myself after all the intense pain I was in. I feel you crouch behind me, your hands slip around my middle and with a guiding tug, I fall back into you.

“Are you able to get up, pet?”

“Yes, Sir. Let me get my feet under me.” With the echoes of the gymnast I had been, I plant my feet and with your help, stand on my own again. I feel you press my cane into my hand. I spin it so that it acts like a third leg for balance. My hip feels stable, but I know from experience that my hip can unstabilize just as easily again if I’m not careful.

For the rest of the evening, I spend it at your side, covered in a blanket. Even though some of the other tops and doms ask to borrow me, you refuse to let them.

Finally, as the looky loos trickle out of the party, and only the core remain, the Master of Games comes up to me and asks, “how’s your hip, little one?”

“Stable,” I reply.

“Did you feel up to a flogging, pet?” Of course I do, so I nod cheerfully. “What was that, pet? I didn’t hear you.”

The Master of Games laughed, as I replied, “of course, Sir.”

The two of you lead me to the giant X frame. My arms are tied apart, but not my legs, they’re kept free. I’m given enough slack that I can move if I want. You slip in behind the frame and one of your hands cups my chin. “Which of us do you want to flog you, pet?”

I’ve felt the Master of Game’s work before on my body, but never yours. I am torn between wanting your touch while he works his magic or feeling your own on me. In the end, you decide to take up the flogger, leaving me no choice. The Master of Games moves to where you just were, his hands playing with my breasts, the nipples already oversensitive, I gasp as he touches me.

Then I gasp again as I feel the first slaps from the flogger hit my shoulders and travel down my spine in a teasing trail. I feel a second one start on the other side, making mirror images of sensations.

Then the pattern changes. One hip, then the other, as you concentrate on making me react. You flip the floggers alternatively, catching the underside of my hips, right at the sweet spot. Each hit is making me react. I arch, I prance, and I dance under your ministrations. Then the intensity starts.

If this had just started without a warm up, I would be screaming in pain. Instead, with each thwack, I feel the pressure rising from within. I feel thighs become wet from my juices and I begin to make the sounds you know from experience are the sounds of an orgasm about to erupt from my lips.

The flogging stops and I feel your arms tight around me, and your bulging erection press into me. I can’t help myself, and I cum, that soundless orgasmic scream ripping through my mouth. “That wasn’t right, pet.”

“Yes, that wasn’t right. Why are you holding back little one?”

“I think she should be punished for not letting us hear her. Isn’t that right, pet?”

“Don’t hold back, little one. We want to hear you.”

The hands that were on me all leave. I can no longer feel you grind yourself into me. I plead and beg to no avail. “No, pet. We want to hear you.”

The flogging commences again. This time, I fight all my previous training. The sound that comes out of my mouth when that last hit comes is guttural, animal, then the scream of orgasm hits right behind it, and once again, you are there, your arms around me, grinding into me. You reach for my clit behind the rope panties and play with it, keeping the orgasm ripping through me. Your other hand attacks my nipple and your mouth suckles my ear as I cum under your orders.

“Yes, pet, cum for me. Let me feel you, not just hear you…”

And I do.

I don’t know how long it was, or how many orgasms in a row I had, but I slowly come back to my body and find myself once again on the floor, but this time I’m in your arms as you slowly stroke me. I awaken from subspace to find your lips on mine, and your erection pressing into my side. I feel another one beginning to burn inside me and I hear you chuckle. “Very good, pet. Cum for me, again.”

For the next several hours, anytime you stroke me where the marks you made from the floggers you used are, I start to orgasm. If I move wrong under the harness I am in, another one hits me.

Eventually, you slip my clothes back on me, but leave me in my cuffs, collar and rope harness. Somewhere in the fog, I hear you speak to the Master of Games that you’re going to take me back to my hotel room and minister to me for the night. You promise that if he calls us, at any hour or at any point, you will let him talk to me and that I must be at his place at noon prompt for a late brunch with him and his two best girls.

I don’t even remember the cab ride to the hotel. I do remember you undressing me, and making me rise once again to your touch. I hear you chuckle, as you untie the bindings of the rope panties that have kept my secret slot hidden for so long. One of your fingers flicks my clit, pushing another orgasm deep out of me.

“How far can you go, pet? How deep will you let me take you?”

“I trust you.”

“Good.” You slide up along side of me and I hear you start to use your words on me. “I’m going to count, now when I get down to one you are going to be in a very relaxed place… ten, I’m right here beside you and you are safe… nine, no matter how deep you go, if there is something you don’t want to do, you will wake up immediately. Giving yourself over to me does not mean you give up yourself. Eight…. your eyes are getting tired and your limbs are getting lighter… Seven… your eyelids are fluttering closed…. don’t fear, I have you here, pet… Six… lighter still and your eyes are almost closed. Five…”

I don’t remember the rest of the night. This was what we had talked about. You were going to see how deep you could take me. It must have been deep. I woke up with you spooning and nuzzling me. “You purr in your sleep, you know that, my sweet pet?”

With those words, I could feel another orgasms shoot out of my nethers and through me. I could hear you chuckle in my ear. “What did you do, Sir?”

“Nothing you didn’t already consent to, my pet.” You nuzzled my neck, and your hand actually touched the trigger spot and it didn’t trigger.

Satisfied, I looked at the clock. It was only 8 am. We had time.