Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Ok, I have a busy day, but here's one story from Shibaricon....

It was rather late Sunday night, and I was sort of hanging out in the dungeon, thinking that I should really go upstairs to bed, but not quite wanting to leave the last party.

As I was strolling idly around the room, looking at the various scenes, a gentleman of my acquaintance, whom we shall call L, came up to me and said, “Matisse! You have to come over here and help me.”

What could it be? He led me over to where a lovely young woman was standing tied to a post. Very beautifully tied, in a body harness and lots of tight rope. L explained that she was a reader of mine and that she was terrified of me. So, he said, I should step into the scene for a brief while and do something mean to her.

Now, it’s not something I teach people to do, but it’s actually not at all unheard of for people to do what I call grazing on someone else’s scene. The thing is: You can’t invite yourself, the top has to invite you. And you better be sure the top knows what he/she is doing. And you need to ask some questions about what’s okay to do and what’s not.

Or else…you’d better be like me and think, what the hell, I’ll be able to figure that out as I go along. I am so bad sometimes, I amaze myself. So understand that I am not advocating this kind of thing, but it does happen.

I stepped right up to the pretty girl, who was giggling madly and nervously, and she started sliding, still tied, down the pole, until she was sitting at my feet, butt on the floor and legs out in front of her.

“I hear you’re scared of me,” I said, looking down at her. “But hey, I'm not scary, I’m a pussycat, really…”

I had no toys of any kind with me, so I decided to use one of Monk’s tricks. I placed my booted foot on her tightly bound and charmingly helpless-looking breasts, and started to lean my weight onto them. First a little and then – encouraged by the deep, guttural, good-pain noises she was making – rather a lot. I assume she’s had some kind of warm-up, I thought. Oh well, if she hasn’t, she’s having it now.

Then I sort of rotated my foot a bit. More noises. It looked pretty painful. What fun.

When I took my boot away, there was a nice, boot-shaped red mark on her chest. Then I knelt down and slapped the sides of her breasts a bit, eliciting more nice squeals.

At one point L came up, inserted a piece of banana into her mouth, and informed her that she was not allowed to chew it. She just had to hold it in her mouth while I hurt her.

“Oh, that is so mean,” I said. “See, I would never do anything like that to you. I just do stuff like this.” And I pulled out a trademark of my play with Monk: I got her pectoral muscles between my thumb and forefingers and squeezed, really hard. That got some good loud noises.

Pretty Girl’s husband was standing a few feet away the whole time, grinning and making encouraging gestures. That’s always nice, to have the spousal blessing.

So I did that sort of thing for a few minutes, and then L took back over. I often find it delightful to do little cameo appearances like that. It’s like the tapas of kink.