Insulting your eyes

Your eyes will be my first session with you, Madame. My first real session of sado-masochism. Although I'd been an ardent practitioner of fetishism, the frequent sex slave of a mistress and even of two for a while, even though I'd delightfully cross-dressed inside and out, until then I'd never experienced the bitter pleasure of BDSM. I wanted to find out, so as not to die a fool, for a slice of adventure. I consulted some websites. And very quickly it was obvious: you would be my initiator. Who would hold the keys to my passage into your world. So, no hesitation, with just a few contraindications, you're free to do with me what you like.
will.
Confidence, I read it in your pixel eyes, then in your eyes when, after waiting in front of a door pierced with a glory hole that the best-membered man couldn't fill, I knelt down and you drew pretty hearts around my nipples with your lipstick - what a lovely thought: I had slipped you
that this was the heart of my sexuality. Your eyes then looked at me as if for the first time - at that moment, they were blue and a little questioning. You covered mine with two masks. I was at your mercy and you led me to a platform and tied me with many belts to a St. Andrew's cross.

From the front, I sought your eyes and when you gave me your gaze I no longer felt the blows, the cruel clamps on my breasts, my testicles. I could only feel the pleasure of the kali teeth you would be around my cock, working the ridge of my glans terribly with the vibrator. But when your eyes would move away, then pain would arise, in excruciating waves. You knew this and played on it, cruelly, to make me cry out in pain.
And then your eyes would return and I'd rediscover the sweet pleasure of the pain I'd suffered.
And I'd lean in as far as I could, hoping to get as close to your eyes as I could.

When you made me turn around, to work on my back with all the whips of your paraphernalia - you spared me nothing - I still had your eyes in my gaze and I danced to the blows of the horsehair whip - which resembled a sandstorm, you told me - and to the trumpet of Ibrahim Maalouf or the stridencies of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I was making little "aie" noises, just to say, but mainly because I'd noticed that they provoked a mutinous mimicry in you, and a flash of laughter in your eyes - because we laughed a lot during those two hours, and right from the start of the session, and I loved your eyes, which were so full of laughter!
also laughed.

Your eyes changed as you sodomized me, more attentive, as if empty of expression. I had my legs in the air (!) held by a bar and still managed to gently caress your naked arm while your saliva - more subtle than a sad spit - fell from your mouth painted a radical red and a moving drool hung there like a form of transgressive ejaculation.
You simulated a penetration of your pelvis dressed in a superb white leather skirt, losing the rhythm of your words - I perceived "pegging". The vibrator returned for some very hard glans work. And you'd give me your delicate fishnet-clad feet to worship, and let drool slide down my cheek again and again. And I clung to your eyes again and again. The pleasure was there, enveloping me, like an infinite orgasm.
You gave me 4 minutes to cum, timer in hand. But you and I both knew I wouldn't empty myself. What was the point? Spilling my semen on my belly would have been an insult to your eyes.

Testimony of E.