The Hurdles
Gazing at the people strolling by my window I can't help but wonder what their lives are like—especially the women. Have they ever experienced five heart stopping orgasms in one day? When their bottoms touch a seat do the memories that instantly materialize cause them to secretly smile? Stupid really: to wonder about other people's lives when my own has more than enough to ponder. I find myself smiling and again look down at the letter.
I'm not afraid to open it, but every time I glance at the name I am transported back to that weekend three months ago. The visit to Darquesied's ranch; the "attack"; the bondage; the whipping; the orgasms; the wonderful shower. At the beginning I thought I was going to die. At the end I felt I had never really lived. In the span of less than a day I had run the emotional gamut from uncontrollable fear to unbridled pleasure and even now, retrospect brings arousal. I am thoroughly convinced that, on that Saturday, the moment I decided not to drive away, my life changed forever.
Sliding my hand beneath my panties, I reminisce...
When I went back to the house that afternoon Sam had already prepared a simple pasta and sauce lunch which I attacked with the gusto of a three hundred pound linebacker. It was clear that a couple of hours under Darquesied's "guidance" really worked up an appetite. We talked of many things. I had asked what he meant by "role playing" when he mentioned it earlier in the day. He said it varied for different people but most often it was "perfect slave".
We laughed again over his name and how and why he came up with the anagram.
We talked more of Kristel and how she had duped us both; me thinking I would be looking at a fine hand-crafted armoire and Sam thinking that I was here to voluntarily experience a "session".
The subject of Kristel took a strange turn when I showed Sam a picture of her and me at a gallery opening. His jaw dropped and he exclaimed; "Son of a bitch! That's Mardi Dimanche. She's a client! Actually... that explains a lot now."
He went on to explain that he didn't really enjoy his times with "Mardi". Her sessions were very intense; geared toward pain rather than orgasm and, where most women would be screaming STOP PLEASE STOP, she would curse and swear like a sailor. Yep, that was definitely Kristel.
At that point we still hadn't decided what to do about her, so the conversation moved to my session. He asked if I wanted to continue now that I knew the rules and, through a mouthful of pasta, I instantly answered that I would—a little embarrassed by my all too apparent eagerness.
Knowing the rules made all the difference, changing the experience from one of fear and despair to one of pleasure and anticipation. The "out" word, "Philadelphia", when uttered in any way whatsoever, caused everything to stop. If a gag was present it was immediately removed so one could explain why the brakes had been applied. It could be a minor thing like a little discomfort with one of the binds or a cramp or it could be more serious. Maybe the set was a little too intense, the pain a bit more than one could bear. Regardless, it was engraved in stone; "Philadelphia" meant STOP.
There were a couple of other benefits to the out word. First; it was a word that Sam could easily make out through any kind of gag, whether whispered or screamed. Secondly; it allows the victim (Sam prefers "client") to scream stuff like "STOP, PLEASE STOP!" without the set actually halting. This lets her suspend reality for a time and experience the activity fantasizing that she was really under duress.
It still strikes me as ironic that, if I had known what "Philadelphia" meant, I would have stopped the session before it began and never realized what I was missing. And... I sure as hell wouldn't have been "branded"!
The word that I wish I had figured out though, was "Chicago". I'm an idiot really because Sam had said, after an intense orgasm, "Don't forget Chicago. It's better if I know." It seems so obvious now that the word is a signal to him that an orgasm is commencing. It gives him the chance to do things to intensify the event from its outset. It was hard to envision that particular climax as being any more exquisite but, as I found out later, he can prolong the gush by as much as a factor of two. Bless this man.
After lunch I had a refreshing little nap in my room. The accommodation was quite nice and well appointed with a large bed and a down filled comforter. When I awoke I took a shower and then we continued my session in the studio. No fake kidnapping scenario this time, just a couple of sets with interesting binds, the last of which resulted in yet another stupefying orgasm. The most memorable time for me however; came after supper.
We had retired, with a couple of after dinner drinks, to the front porch and admired the evening sunset, Rather than wear the robe to supper I thought it more appropriate to put my clothes back on although they felt oddly restrictive. I realized I would have liked to stay in the robe. In fact I would just as soon have been naked. It occurred to me that this spoke of the trust I had developed for this Sam Darquesied fellow. It was not that I thought I could trust him; I knew I could trust him. Almost perfect serenity is the only way I can describe the feeling that accompanies this kind of entrustment. The worries of the outside world just slide off, unable to stick to this shield of faith. It's like jumping off a building in complete confidence that Superman will catch you before you hit the ground.
I had also developed an almost overwhelming desire to please him. For the entire day he had worked very hard to bring me the most pleasurable time of my life. He took me to unimaginable highs then to the most delectable tranquilities—all without asking anything in return. I knew he had received a substantial amount of money for the session but, still, it didn't seem fair. I really wanted to correct this imbalance somehow.
It was a lovely evening and we just sat quietly for a time until I broke the silence and asked about "perfect slave".
Sam responded; "Well, it depends on the client's... that is... your desires of course but essentially it is you becoming a complete submissive within the boundaries of any parameters that we may set beforehand."
"How long does it last?" I asked.
"Again it differs for everybody but for most it's an hour or two. Longer for some and, for a couple, it's the whole session."
Sam, noting my obvious curiosity, continued; "The most popular and relatively short scenario is that I send you to your room to undress with the understanding that, when you return, you will be completely obedient to me and that any failure will result in punishment. And, normally, there is some sort of end goal."
"End goal?"
He elaborated; "I would instruct you to think up something that you will ostensibly refuse to do. It can be simple like 'I will not say the word banana' or it can be more intimate. As always, it's restricted by any parameters that you may have set before we start. But, the ultimate goal is to force you to relent and do, say, or submit to whatever you said you wouldn't."
Then he asked; "If you would you like to try it then we should set the restrictions now."
Suddenly this changed from idle conversation to impending reality and I immediately felt excitement and... I am such a slut... arousal!
"I can't think of any restrictions off hand. I... I have no experience so I don't know how much I can take..."
Sam stopped me right there; "Sylvia, you may have the wrong idea. I know this is all fairly new for you but you have to see that it's not a matter of how much you can take. There is no score card here. What I try to do is to take you to the edge—your edge. Not just the edge of pain tolerance; in fact, it's not about pain at all."
I could see that he felt it very important that I truly understand all this. He continued; "Most people, men and women alike, think of pain as the opposite of rapture. As you have recently discovered; that isn't necessarily the case. If all you wanted was to hurt yourself you could just go and bang your head against a wall. But, when you are bound in a manner in which you are immobile and experience pain in degrees—pain that does not cause injury—then it is like... a cable car."
