2 posts tagged “adult content”

Continued from Part 1:

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...

When he comes back, I've got myself marginally under control, the wax picked away from my palm.  The skin's reddened, tingling.  He sits beside me, setting something cold on the palm of my hand.  Some icecubes wrapped in a dishcloth.  It's cool against the heat that sings in my skin, and I shudder at the sensation.  The dishcloth is rough-textured; I can feel every thread, or at least tell myself that I can.

"I believe that you seek pain," he says heavily.  His hands carefully wrap my fingers over the bundle of cold; a gentle touch now, not that iron grip around my wrist that unwound me as much - maybe more - as the heat of the wax.  The remains of the hunger roused by that grip has flagged, but there's enough of it left for me to crave the harder grip again.

"Pain's part of it," I say, trying to keep my voice level.  I don't want him to know how strong the reaction was.

"There are other aspects?"

"Dominance," I say, almost reluctantly.  God, if he asks me to demonstrate that on top of the wax....

He raises an eyebrow.

"I like to...comply, I guess you could say.  I like to please.  Or be made to please."

His hand closes harder around mine, making me grip the ice harder.  It hurts: my skin is so tender, the ice is hard and the cloth abrasive.  I whimper a little, and he releases my hand.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he says, and I shake my head, just a little, rejecting his words; there was no way that tightening of his grip was accidental.  He recognises my expression, and looks a little - shamefaced?  Rueful?

"Maybe that's why I'm asking," he said.  "If you seek pain, seek to please... others must seek the opposite side of the coin...."  His voice trails off, and he looks away.

"Yes.  People who give pain, who dominate."  My tone is neutral; I think this is the point of the conversation we've been having.  Not my drives, but his.  "They're out there, of course.  I think it's harder on male dominants sometimes; that whole thing boys - men - are raised with about not hitting women, treating them with respect."  I smile a little.  "Makes it hard for them to treat specific women - me, say - with disrespect, when that's exactly what I want."

"The line between this," he says, nodding to my hand, "and abuse--"

"Is a wide one.  Consent.  Trust."  With my good hand, I reach for his and place it to my throat.  "I can do this," I say, knowing he can feel the vibration of my voice against his palm, "because I trust you.  I know you won't harm me.  You may have those drives - dominance, sadism - but that doesn't make you a danger to me, or to anyone else."

His hand rests, warm, against my throat.  I sit, calm, my eyes half-closed, my pulse beating against his palm...

"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