People ask me: don’t you worry about getting a bad client who’ll hurt you? Actually, I don’t much worry about that, mainly because I see mostly regular clients these days. No, what I worry about more often is me hurting them.
Not on purpose, you understand. But things do go wrong sometimes, and while I know a lot about dungeon safety, anyone who logs as many hours playing as I do is going to have a mishap once on a while. It’s my job to make them as minor as possible, and I’ve – so far – succeeded in that. But God, sometimes things happen that scare the piss right out of me.
Example A: A few months ago, I was playing with
We were going along fine, but then I glanced up from his bits to his face. Whoa, something’s wrong. He’s turned an ashy-pale shade that says “Danger, danger!” to me.
“Hey, sweetheart, are you okay? You don’t look so good. Talk to me.” I was already removing the bondage around his balls as fast as I could
“Yeah….I feel a little….funny…” His voice was weak. He’d also broken out in a cold sweat all over his body.
Shit, shit, shit. I needed to remove the nipple clamps, too, and that was going to shake him up even more. I took them off. He didn’t respond much - not a good sign. His head had rolled back and his eyelids were fluttering. I untied his hands and legs, and then I put my hand on the strap around his chest and paused.
It had only been about thirty seconds since I first noticed something was wrong, and I had to make a lighting-fast decision. I think
So what to do: Leave him strapped in the chair until he passes out and then comes to – assuming he does - or take the chance, unstrap him and try to get him down to the floor? Decide, right now, Matisse.
His eyes opened and focused on me, and he nodded slightly. Okay, here we go. Holding his gaze, I unbuckled the last strap and prayed fervently that he didn’t go limp in the next few seconds.
He leaned forward and stumbled out of the chair, while I used all my strength to support and guide him. He sank down to his hands and knees, and then down on his stomach, his face to one side. Once he was safely flat on the floor – thank you jesus, he didn’t fall and hit his head – I knelt next to him, watching him tensely. Is he breathing? Is he going to go deeply unconscious? Is he going to throw up? Have convulsions?
The seconds ticked by as I waited. The answers seemed to be yes, he’s breathing, he’s not throwing up or convulsing, and I don’t think he’s deeply unconscious – there isn’t that utter slackness to his body that I’ve seen in other passed-out people. I went quickly and got a large bolster-type pillow and a blanket.
Okay, that’s good. He’s conscious and he sees me. “
He moved his head a little. “M’okay, all right.”
“Can you move both your hands and feet? Wiggle your arms and legs a little for me.”
All right, so hopefully not a stroke or a heart attack. Just a simple faint, please god. Because, wow, if I have to call 911, it’s really going to ruin the day for both of us.
I watched him closely for a few more minutes as the color returned to his face. He shivered and I tucked the blanket in around him more tightly.
And within a few minutes, he sat up, drank some water, and was okay again. I’ve seen him lots of times since, played with him, and there’s been no recurrence. It was just one of those things: a warm room, an empty stomach, a little too much pressure here and there. But it’s not the first time someone’s gone out on me, although it’s the time I was most worried about being able to get someone down safely, because there wasn't much warning, and just because he’s so damn big. That’s the thing: if I have anyone in any bondage position other than lying flat, I always have to think about how I would get them safely down if they passed out. Because I may be a sadist, but that doesn’t mean I want anybody to get hurt.