The infernal saraband

Here you are with a martinet. You've chosen the one with the stiff braided straps that leave nice marks. I flinch at every impact. You aim at my torso, my sides, my armpits. The blows come down with force and regularity. I gasp and groan. The result is long, vermilion streaks punctuated with purple. Then it's the turn of my buttocks, with great strokes of the dragon's tongue. The sensations are strong, yet I stretch out my body to you, as if I wanted to offer it to you better.

The swifts put away, you deliver my sex, chain one of my ankles, and hang my leg high. I stand on one foot and sway limply. Back to the roulette wheel and tickling. I laugh, breathe, drool, sway even more under your mockery. This time, the infernal saraband doesn't last. You remove the clamps and I can finally close my mouth. You give me a moment's respite.

Come back and chain up my other ankle.

- Pull on your arms.

I lift myself with all my strength, you hook my other leg so high. I no longer touch the ground. My arms and legs start to pull. It's uncomfortable, and exhilarating at the same time. I'm at your mercy, suspended in mid-air, with no way out. What are you going to do to me?

I can't see a thing. You've blinded me with a mask. Your hands on my shoulders. A gentle push. I sway gently. I wasn't expecting that. You hold me tighter, and I float back and forth in the middle of the still. The movements become ample.

- Thank you, Mistress.

All of a sudden, you grab me by the arm, lift me up and I'm bobbing up and down in space as if I were walking across the whole room. Instinctively, my body tenses and I rest my head in the hollow of your shoulder. I feel as if we've become one, your hair against my cheek, me in your arms. I'd like to say a thousand words to you, but I feel helpless.

It's great. Thank you so much. Thank you. You're a magician.

What poor thanks compared to the unique moment you've given me. The emotion takes hold of me as I write this text and relive the moment.

You release me. Arms and legs pull under my newfound weight. The swaying continues, regular and gentle. Then you grab me again, your arms tight, my head in your hair. Again, I roam the space. Again I feel helpless.

Thank you, Mistress. And the music goes so well with it.

You leave me alone for a moment, bring your computer closer. The previously distant music fills the room. I fly again, enveloped in its rhythm. You've created a little piece of eternity. How long does it last? I don't know how long. I'm writing, and I'm still floating in space with you. These sensations are in me forever and again, the emotion of this beautiful memory overwhelms me. Believe me, tears are not far away. These few lines leave me feeling a little less helpless. I hope I've succeeded in sharing my emotion with you, and that I've finally been able to say thank you.

The limbs are pulling me again. You're trying to improve my position with an extra chain. It doesn't work, it doesn't matter.

Moments later, I'm lying on the floor, a thick cushion under my loins. You fold my legs back, chaining them to my wrists. Again, the mask. Crouching between my thighs, your fingers probe, digging into my anus. Suddenly, you stand up. A hot, strong stream splashes over me. You piss on me. At the force of the spray, I can see you with your panties spread, half crouched over me, relieving yourself. Another spray, my face drips.

A sudden feeling of suffocation. You've just sat on my face. My breathing is restricted, your curves encircle me. What a voluptuous enclosure. I feel you weighing down on me, warm, just separated from your intimacy by a bit of lace. Once again, your hands are busy, the warmth of the scratches running through me in every direction. Your lower belly contracts, and I already know what's coming next. And it doesn't take long. Your urine runs down my face and hair. A few more scratches and you roll onto your side. One leg weighs on my chest, the other gags me just at your popliteal fossa. Through the half-raised mask, I can see you smiling at my helplessness. I wouldn't trade places for anything in the world, I feel so good in this abandonment I'm offering you.

You're up. I'm alone in the dark. I'm cold. Mistress, where are you?

The answer comes soon. Tiny burns dot my thighs. You're standing over me, tilting your candle. The hot wax drips onto my belly, splashes onto my chest, warming me.

A short absence. Suddenly, an icy, inhuman cold. I'd fold in half if I weren't shackled. You run an ice cube through my body. I think I screamed. You insist on the places you've tortured. The warm sensation left by your mistreatment suddenly disappears. I'm frozen, shaking, chattering my teeth.

You release me, remove my mask and let me relax under a blanket. I warm up a little.

- I'll give you a rubdown to warm you up.

- Scratch me, please.

How do you do it? I feel as if a thousand hands are roaming my body in all directions, at prodigious speed. The sweet burn of scratches invades me. What an incredible final sensation.

 

Testimonial from W.