He laid the paddle and floggers on a table and plugged in the other item.
“Violet wand,” he explained, extending both his arms before him and bringing them together slowly. When the one holding the wand approached the other, the wand glowed purple and static electricity crackled. A tiny lightning bolt leaped from the wand to Robin’s forearm. “The zap gets more intense the farther from the body it is. This is a relatively low setting. It feels quite pleasant.”
I couldn’t help but flinch when he reached behind me, and then I felt my skin tingle gently. It was nice—not quite ticklish, but not painful either. An effervescent fizz zinging along my flesh. I twitched, trying to squirm away whenever the shocks got more intense, but I was held securely in place. When he brought the wand into actual contact with my skin, the sparks stopped. He drew it away again, and they resumed.
As I quickly acclimated to the sensation, I let my head fall forward, sinking into it, moaning softly each time a particularly sharp zap jolted me. He ran that flared wand over my back and down my ass and legs, making me jerk and shiver.
“There’s some electrical play we probably won’t be able to do. Certain forms of electrostim, stun guns, and cattle prods make the muscles seize quite hard, which wouldn’t be a good idea. But static is perfectly safe—and a hell of a lot of fun.”
I nearly came out of my skin when he slipped it between my legs, brushing it over my taint and balls.
“Jesus!” My gasp ended with a groan, my hands fisting above the close-fitting sleeves. My dick tightened and jerked with each shock, pre-cum dripping from the tip in cool droplets. I wriggled; I couldn’t help it. It felt good, but it was intense enough that my body kept trying to flinch away.
“That’s it. Dance for me, baby. Let me see that ass move.” His teeth scraped lightly on my hip bone, and then another round of tingling zaps traveled over my nuts and behind them. “There are insertable attachments for this, you know. I could send these shocks right up your ass, or even along a sound up your cock.” His murmur was soothing, contrasting with the stimulation of the wand. “And there’s one that’s like a cock ring, with two prongs running down to rest against your balls. It’s designed not to ground out when it comes into contact with you. Someday, I’m going to strap you into the swing and introduce you to those attachments, but not today.”
I moaned, uncertain whether I should be relieved or disappointed not to have that particular experience yet. I was so fucking hard, each jolt seemed like it was going to push me over the edge, but I remained hanging there on the precipice, groaning and alternately trying to writhe away and hump something.
“At higher settings, and with narrower attachments, it gets a bit harder to take.” He did something behind me, and the sparks intensified. My groans turned to sharp, barking cries. He paid attention to my balls and taint for a moment, then wandered away, down my legs or over my back, only to return once I’d had a breather.
The next time he turned up the intensity, my sounds verged on screams.
“With an attachment with a fine point, at a high enough setting, you would swear you were being sliced with a knife. You can burn brands—temporary or even permanent—into the skin with the right tools.”
I went still, whimpering, and Robin chuckled behind me. “I thought you’d like that idea.” He turned it up again, and I screamed.
By the next time he offered me a reprieve, I was shaking, sweat popping out of my pores in beads to soak my skin and hair. I was out of my head, higher than I’d ever been before, so fucking turned on and exultant and quaking with the memory of pain.
Robin pressed close, caging me between his body and the cross. He embraced me, and if I’d been unbound, I would have clung to him, unconcerned with how needy I was being, full of adoration for him and feeling damn near worshipful. My chest ached with the enormity of it. It was too big for my ribs to contain.
“You’re doing beautifully.” Robin kissed the wet skin along the side of my neck, the line of my jaw. He even knelt behind me and kissed the sensitized flesh of my back, running his hands up and down every inch of bare skin he could find. Then he wrapped his arms around me and simply held me. He was hard once more against my ass, rubbing his fly along my hip, but he made no move to fuck me. “I love the sound of your screams. I love the way you move when you can’t handle any more, and then the way you go still and sag when you give in and just take it. So beautiful. So strong. I want you so much. Every minute I’m with you makes me want you more.”
Something suspiciously like a sob erupted from my throat, and all I could do was hang there in my bindings, limp against his body. I would have done anything for him in that moment. Anything. He could have flayed me alive, and I would have thanked him and begged for more.
I think I might have said something, but I have no idea what. He stepped to my side and turned my head, kissing me slowly and with incredible tenderness. I yearned for the kiss, trying to move closer, trying to bury myself in him.
“We’re not quite done yet.” He nipped at my lips and drew away, despite my dismayed sound. “I promised you a whipping.”
I could barely open my eyes to see what he was doing as he plugged a cord into the violet wand and then tucked what looked like a small probe into the waistband of his jeans, against his skin. He took up the Mylar flogger, and I realized what was going to happen only a second before he trailed the silvery ribbons over my back, igniting a chorus of zaps each time it approached and moved away. He’d turned the intensity down, I think, but I knew he could easily crank it back up—and would.
“This one grounds out when it touches you, so we won’t use it for long. Just enough for you to get the idea. The paddle and other flogger, though, are designed not to do that. You’ll be able to feel them through the entire stroke.”
The Mylar was light. The sensation it evoked had nothing to do with its weight impacting my skin, and everything to do with the eruption of charges from each fall. They got more powerful as he turned the violet wand up higher, the sparks leaping from the falls to my flesh from a greater distance, the zaps getting sharper. I began to moan and writhe again, both sounds and motion becoming more energetic the higher he dialed up the intensity.
Then Robin stopped. He took the small probe out of the waistband of his jeans and wedged it inside one of the sheaths on my calves. On the next stroke, the sensation changed. The sparks leaped from my body to the whip instead of the other way around. I could feel them surging from inside my flesh, ripping through my skin to find a route of escape. After only a moment of that, he turned up the intensity again, and I began to howl.
When he stopped, it seemed like there should have been some remnant of heat to my skin, a memory of the impact. It was hard to remember it had all come from a flogger that had the heft of a child’s toy. I was shaking again, but Robin didn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. He quickly switched out the Mylar flogger for the paddle, and then he was beside me, stroking my cock with one hand and swinging the paddle with the other.
He didn’t swing it hard. He didn’t have to. The static electricity charging my body jumped from my skin into the metal contacts somewhere inside the paddle, adding far more sting than the force of the blows themselves could account for. Now, though, even with these light swats, my skin did begin to heat up, blood rushing to the surface, no doubt turning my ass pink. It sensitized my nerves, made the zaps hurt more. My moans quickly turned into wails, and once again I found myself wriggling my ass in a futile effort to evade the pain.
“Beautiful. Keep dancing for me,” Robin murmured, his hand pumping and curling and twisting on my cock.
Every so often the edge of the paddle would connect with the plug holding my asshole open. Thankfully the silicone of the plug prevented sparks from transmitting around my asshole, but the impact itself jolted the muscles and even my prostate, making me moan for a different reason.
“Love this. Keep moving, baby. Let me hear you. So gorgeous.”
Ti
me lost any meaning. I don’t know how long he continued to paddle me, raining gently warming blows that hurt far more than my mind could make logical sense of. My head fell back, rolling from side to side, my throat vibrating with moans. My ass felt like it was on fire.
And then it ended, and his hands caressed my heated, tingling skin, nails gently scraping to ignite a burn.
“Almost done now.” Robin embraced me from behind again, hugging tightly, kissing my neck and shoulders. I melted into it, whimpering in exhaustion and the memory of pain. How it was possible to feel so damn good when something hurt so much, I couldn’t understand, but I was flying. Somewhere on the very edges of awareness, I realized he must have shut off the violet wand, because zaps didn’t leap from my skin to his.
I moaned when he left me, needing the press and warmth of his body and the comfort of his nearness. His voice washed over me as he crossed the room to retrieve the heavier, leather flogger, then came back. “Just a little more. We won’t do much; I want to see if this is something we’ll be able to use in the future.”
Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watched Robin swing the flogger experimentally at the wall, first landing isolated blows, and then finding a rhythm. He twisted his wrist so that the falls traveled in a single, continuous motion, moving in a circle, the tips brushing the wall on each trip down before they came up from the opposite direction and over the top to descend again. The result was a nearly continuous rain of blows stroking down the wall.
After a moment of that, he swung it on the diagonal, crisscrossing his target with strokes that moved his arm in a sort of figure eight. I could see his breath pick up with the effort. When he stopped, he stripped off his shirt and approached me bare-chested. He was damp with sweat when he pressed against me again, kissing my shoulders.
He was going to hit me with that. Holy God, this was what I’d dreamed of for years. What I’d wished for and known I could never have when I watched those porn videos. The snap and fall of leather against my skin and the agony that would follow.
It was going to happen.
That flogger could be deadly for me, but he was going to hit me with it anyway. And I was unconcerned. Not because I was suicidally willing to accept that risk, but because I knew he would keep me safe somehow.
His hand stroked down my spine, and with just that touch, I knew he could do anything he wanted to me. I must have said as much, because his lips brushed my shoulder again. “Thank you.”
Then he stepped away and swung the flogger.
It had far more weight than the Mylar one had, naturally, but he didn’t swing it hard, and he swung from a distance, so I caught only the tips instead of the full thud of the falls. The first few times they flicked lightly against my shoulders, just the very ends swiping down my back. He didn’t have the violet wand on; the sensation was pure impact, with none of the zaps that felt like they were sizzling through my muscles and piercing my skin from the inside out. Even without a heavy swing, the snap of the tips hitting my skin generated the same sort of heat that still burned the flesh of my ass. Warmth blossomed through my skin—not quite painful but with a bit of sting. My head fell forward, and I gave myself over to it.
When my skin felt fevered, he added the charge of the violet wand, and even at a low setting, the prickling zaps made those light strokes more. The blows began to land rapidly and continuously, flicking and stinging and shocking with each pass, and I realized he must be doing the same circular motion he’d done against the wall. The sensation was nonstop, except when he paused to turn up the charge on the violet wand.
Then the impact crossed my back, sweeping from the top of my shoulder to the bottom of my ribs on the opposite side, before crossing back the other way. The figure-eight swing he’d practiced. The speed with which the blows landed left me no opportunity to absorb each stroke before the next one fell.
Another adjustment on the violet wand gave me only seconds of reprieve, and then the pain was worse than ever.
Moans quickly became cries, which crescendoed to screams that escalated to breathless shrieks and sobs. I twisted in my bonds, trying to find a way free, begging him to stop.
“I can’t!” I gasped, my spine bowing and my head thrown back in a futile effort to arch away from the blows. There was nowhere to go, though. My face was wet, and I had no idea if it was from sweat or tears. “Please, I can’t!”
“You can,” he growled, his breathing harsh behind me. The rhythm of the strokes paused. When it resumed, he’d turned up the intensity of the violet wand again. I shrieked once more. “That’s it, baby. Give in to it. Ride it.”
I continued to scream and struggle for several minutes more, and then all resistance abandoned me. I could only slump against the cross, moaning. Finally the blows tapered off and eventually disappeared.
Then Robin’s body was against mine again, skin sweat-damp, sliding wetly along my own. He kept an arm around me, holding me up as his hand sought the carabiners clipping the rings on my wraps to the eyebolts on the cross. My knees wouldn’t support me at first, and he had to steady me until I could get my legs beneath me.
I was still hiccuping intermittent sobs, shaking like I never intended to stop. With Robin’s arm around my waist, I staggered the few steps to the pillowy nest in the corner and sank into it, curling up there with a whimper.
All the while, Robin murmured praise and reassurance. He told me over and over how beautifully I’d taken that, how proud he was of me, how much he wanted me. I tried to press closer to him, would have crawled inside his skin if I could have managed it. Time passed with me in a strange, semi-aware place, exhausted but too wired to fall asleep, drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion.
“Stay here,” Robin instructed after an indeterminate amount of time. “I’m going to get you something to drink and clean you up.”
I’m not sure I even acknowledged him, but he didn’t press me for a verbal response this time. I felt abandoned when the warmth of his arms was gone, but he was back in no time, tipping a bottle of sports drink up for me to sip. I lay there passively while he wiped my arms and legs down with a wet cloth, only then realizing that he’d removed the sleeves and calf sheaths. He bathed my chest and finally my ass, slipping the hollow-cored plug out at last.
I’d forgotten its presence, but the reminder brought my flagging erection back to attention.
“Please,” I whispered, rolling toward him, reaching for him. My hand found the bulge at his fly easily, and I palmed it. “Fuck me.”
“You’re not too exhausted?” I moaned softly, his hips pressing against my hand.
I shook my head, pulling at his zipper. “No. Want what you promised me. Please . . .”
It took only the barest maneuvering for him to roll me to my stomach and get his jeans down around his hips. Then he was spreading me, stretching me, filling me. The crisp hair on his sweaty chest rubbed against the hypersensitized skin of my back, and his strokes gave me the friction I’d lacked the last time.
I groaned gratefully. “Yes. Please . . .” I pushed up with my hips, trying to get him in deeper. I wanted him to pound me through the cushions and into the floor, sparing me nothing. After a moment of struggling, I got my knees beneath me, though my elbows would have nothing to do with supporting me. Instead I simply hugged a cushion under my chest and knelt there, ass up, rocking to meet his thrusts.
The press of his body, sweaty and sticky against mine; the ache of his cock stretching me; the tight pressure in my balls begging to erupt; the jarring impacts of his hips against my ass—I loved it all, loved everything to do with him. I don’t know how I kept from blurting out an ill-timed confession he could have written off as me being out of my head. Instead I moaned and shouted my encouragement, begging “more” and “harder” and “faster” and “deeper” and “please-God-fuck-me-give-it-to-me-now.”
I went into meltdown at the merest stroke of his hand, pumping into his palm with endless surges of pleasure so keen they were
agony. The spasms went on and on until it felt like my nuts had wrung themselves dry. Only then did I feel the wet pulse of him inside me, pouring into my body what his diabolical game had denied me before.
I collapsed into the cushions, still twitching. On the edge of awareness, I sensed him cleaning us up and wrapping himself around me. But neither my muscles nor my powers of speech seemed to have any strength left. And so I dropped off, sinking rapidly into a weary sleep.
Robin
Autumn spun on as Geoff and I settled into a comfortable routine. I was still enjoying the novelty of having a full kitchen to cook in, and it turned out Geoff had spent a couple of years tending bar at a banquet hall when he was in art school. The allure of my freshly stocked, crystal-paned liquor cabinet proved as strong as my cooking. It gave him a chance to brush up his skills on the nights we weren’t planning to play. Those nights, we wouldn’t have so much as a single beer. On the other days, it could be dinners with martinis, brunch with mimosas, or late nights in the hot tub with a pitcher of sangria.
The evenings we didn’t play were spent in the sort of cozy domesticity that seemed to puzzle Geoff. I doubted it was something he’d ever envisioned for himself during all those years of holding people at arm’s length. He’d sit and sketch designs while I worked on my bookkeeping. Then he’d lie on the sofa with his head in my lap while we watched the evening news, an endeavor that more often than not ended in a blowjob or with Geoff bent over the arm of the sofa.
I had well and truly fallen for him. Jesus, I was getting downright sappy. I found myself smiling during random moments of the day when I thought about him, found myself yearning to be with him when we weren’t together. And it wasn’t just the sort of vulnerable, needy way he clung to me at the end of a scene, when I’d broken him down and laid him bare, that had me feeling that way.
Risk Aware Page 23