[adult content] Belief

"Give me your hand," I say.  He does.

His hand is larger than mine - only fitting, he's over a foot taller than I, and broader.  I can feel the bones and tendons as I hold it lightly, his palm up.  I cover his palm with my other hand, feel the warmth for a moment.  "Trust me?" I ask.  He nods.  He's a friend; he's asked me why I seek pain.  He doesn't believe I truly enjoy it, or that it's real pain.

I open his hand out flat, and hold his hand loosely, just to keep it steady.  I pick up the candle and, holding it high, tilt it slowly.  No stream of hot wax, just a few droplets.  His hand flinches a little in mine, more in anticipation of heat than the actuality of it; from this height, there'd be very little heat in the wax.

"Warm," he says, and I nod.

"Tell me if it gets hot," I say, lower the candle and drip a little more.  Again, a little lower.  A fourth series of spatters of wax onto his hand and this time he pulls it away.

"Hot," he says, and begins to pick the little drips of wax - already hardening - off his palm.

"Now watch," I say, and set the candle down on the table between us.  I need to let the pool of wax around the wick build up again; there's another way I can demonstrate in the meantime.  I look at him, meeting his eyes, and then pass my hand, palm-down, through the candle flame; swiftly at first, as anyone might - and then more slowly.  Again, slower; pain blossoms in my palm, and he snatches my hand away from the flame, turning it palm-up.  Reddened skin, not quite blistered; the pain sings, and I gasp when he traces my lifeline.  The skin is hot to the touch, I know.

Before he can say anything, I take up the candle in my other hand and pour a small flood of wax into my palm, sealing the heat in.  It pools in my cupped palm, and I moan at the additional heat.  His hand tightens around my wrist; I can see the anxiety in his expression.

I close my eyes and lose myself in the pain and the strength of his grip, just for a moment; it's so seductive, wrapping around me, cushioning me and bearing me up.

"Hey," he says, and there's real concern in his tone.

"I'm all right," I say, my voice sounding distant.  All I want is to curl up in his lap, savour the pleasure and pain until it passes, just for a few minutes.  His hand around my wrist is one thing but, oh, feeling him holding me while I feel this....

It's passing, though; just a little pain, and it's passing, the world is resuming its normal shape again.  I begin to peel the wax away from my palm.

"Would you like some ice for that?" he asks, seeing the colour of the skin beneath.

"Thank you," I say.  He doesn't realise it but the heat has left my hand tingling, every nerve ending dancing.  Cloth-wrapped ice will soothe the almost-burn, but it will be a new sensation too, something that borders on pain.  But I need it; I've come close to burning myself.

He stands and leaves the room.  While he's getting the ice, I wonder how this is going to play out.  He's no dominant, doesn't play in the bondage or sadism neck of the woods - at least as far as I know.  But, good god, the pain and his hand around my wrist like that...

Continued in Part 2