Abigail’s Pet Project

This recollection is of an event that is at least a decade back in the past, so I’m not going to claim it’s entirely reliable or trustworthy as a verbal documentary. What it is, however, is an accurate outpouring of the version of events that currently resides in the horrid dark chambers of my memory.

[Note: Where you see {bzzzzzt} is where my memory gives out and the narrative jumps to the next recollection available.]

I called the number and spoke to a sexy voiced young female assistant and wrote down the instructions - Go to the gas station at the corner of A and B, you’ll see a payphone by the deli, dial 123 4567 from this payphone, answer some identifying questions including the password which is Bluppo and then you will be told exactly where to come to meet Mistress X. Seriously. This is the method of filtering out wannabes, flakes and miscellaneous ne’er-do-wells.

I arrive at the extremely large house in a vaguely upscale urban neighborhood of a city that shall not be named. I go up, get greeted by her. This surprised me. Just her. Mistress X. And I’m immediately vaguely breathless because, she’s more attractive than her photographs. Tall, slender, toned, pale skin, beautiful face…. Not essential in a domme but … very helpful, especially for novices. Certainly for me. She’s in an elegant evening dress, minimalist, emerald green, knee length, and mmm that ass as you follow her. Hypnotic. Sway-sway Sway-sway. I know it sounds vaguely disrespectful to say that but I know she knew what she was doing, and it’s true, it’s what I was thinking  - oh my god look at that ass…

We sit in a nicely appointed Edwardian era waiting room and have a conversation about what my experience is, what I’m looking for, what things I absolutely do not want to try, what activities she does not get into. I’m answering, being polite, but mainly inside I’m feeling like a teenager in the presence of the first gorgeous woman of my life.

She leaves. I undress. She returns. Now she’s in a leather corset dress, severe boots - she’s still calm, polite, confident. And then without any discussion she’s tying a thin rope around my cock and balls and with a turn and a tug, she’s leading me through double doors to another room.

Red and black, velvet and leather, whips on the walls, and god knows what other dozen or more harnesses, devices, chains, shackles and on and on.

{bzzzzzt}

I’m suspended in a sling wrists manacled above me, thighs gripped, I’m swaying a little, twisting and I have this ice cold moment of clarity. If she’s in fact a monster, or a psychopath I’m done for - I can’t move, I can’t escape and there doesn’t appear to be anyone else here except us two. But I bite my lip and try not to make an idiot of myself and trust that, you know, she’s just a hot domme who’s going to make sure I have the best of bad times.

{bzzzzzt}

She’s behind me in the sling, talking. She’s talking about my ass. Has it been used? No. No?, interesting. And something is moving into it. I’m so lost in this I can’t bring myself to say anything ask anything.

“Do you know what that is moving inside you?”

I stammer “Your finger”.

“No. It’s two of my fingers. You’re so easy to get into, nasty boy”.

And arousal floods through me.

{bzzzzzt}

I’m on my knees, walls close on each side, dimly lit. Black leather, soft carpet. I’m on my knees in front of her, I’m pushing my head, my face against her legs, her fingers are wrapped in my hair. I so want to push aside the latex and eat her out, I’m ravenous for it - maybe I tell her so, to which she smiles and says “no”. Moving up I so want to kiss her. “No”. I want her so much it burns.

{bzzzzzt}

I’m down on a padded floor, on my knees, wrists cuffed together resting on the floor above my head. X says to stay down, she’s going to get something, she says she really likes the way I look, says she can’t resist taking the opportunity to do something that she loves and that she’s sure I’ll enjoy too. She’s behind me, I hear noises of buckles being threaded, that gently jangle of metal, and her breathing. I feel her fingers around my ass, something … lubricant … now I know what’s coming. We haven’t discussed this, but I didn’t list this as a no go area … in fact it’s something I’d fantasized about with great intensity but hadn’t brought it up to her.

X fucks me in the ass - it’s insanely hot, she whispers very nasty things in my ear as she’s fucking me - her body along my body her lips up against my ear, I feel the heat of her breath. She’s recounting a nasty fantasy about the luring of a young girl with candy and her rape in a van and how the girl feels ashamed but wants it again the kind of girl you want to fuck but never date poor sad nasty girl crying with lust. It drives me crazy, and I want more and more of that cock in me. I’m driving back into her thrusts increasingly lost and unaware of the physical surroundings. I’m craving that feeling. I can sense she’s enjoying fucking me, that she’s doing it simply because she loves it, it’s insane the level of my arousal being driven by the feeling of being something that brings her such primal pleasure.

I hear her starting to get breathless and steadily more animalistic as the fucking goes on, she’s kissing my neck pulling my hair and I’m driving back into her and her feel her reacting to my reaction with an even more intense level of pulling and fucking till finally she seems, to my shock, to climax quivering and groaning and finally collapsing on me, dildo still in my ass.

I’m going to state that I’m certain she came there was no point in faking it, she could have just fucked me and moved on to the next thing, the ass fucking didn’t seem planned it did seem when she said she wanted to advantage of an opportunity that that was genuine and spontaneous.

This was basically the most incredibly nasty sex of my life at that point and only on a handful of occasion in the almost ten years since have I gone beyond that.

In the post fuck moment I just wanted to curl up in her arms. She had incredible skin so soft it was borderline frictionless, certainly the softest skin of any woman I’ve encountered. And as I lay in her arms, we talked.

I remember she had forgotten that one of my wrists was still chained to the bed, and apologizing unclasped the hasp and I curled up even more contently in her arms.

And this whole concept of the session not ending abruptly after the last beating, dominating scenario, was not something I knew about. Rather you end in a neutral space in which you, I’m not sure of the right term, re-orient yourself, and especially for me, I got reassurance from her that what we’d done, what I’d done was okay that it’s not something to be ashamed of, guilty about, was really important, it made the high of the encounter last long into the night, hours after I’d left her residence.

I really wanted her. It was very intense. The connection had been made and she could have made me hers dressed in coffee-stained sweats. The dress, the corset, the leather, the cuffs they all added to it, but without the connection it would have been empty and cold. With the connection you don’t need much else. Submission for me is primarily in the head, a mindfuck, an internal letting go.

And so if you want to find any neat connection between the real time encounter I had with X and what it is that’s transpiring between myself and Abigail now, it’s that connection.

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