A quiet whisper is all I need
A firm touch which dispels my fears.
Your possessive touch I so desire.
A spirit has touched me and I now heal.
The touch which strokes my body and soul.
Makes me whole, no longer lost.
My thoughts no longer confuse me.
In your hands, my eyes open and for the first time I do see.
My whispers are soft and gentle spoken in the simple word.
For the entire world to see, submissive thoughts to be heard.
Fetish/BDSM parties, as others in the BDSM blogosphere have commented, are great and who am I to disagree! Having just got home, still on a bit of an endorphic rush and unable to sleep I wanted to put down some words.
I am, I have to say, fortunate. Now in my mid forties, I have been involved in some shape or form in this lifestyle since I was 18, so coming up to thirty years. In that time I have made some great friends and it was at one of those friends that held a party last night. So, bag of toys and some bits of fetish wear in hand I turned up around 11pm and found myself in a pretty good scene with people I knew and some new faces. Now, I am, as I have alluded in my previous post, in a strange sort of, but not totally, collared relationship with someone. Trying to explain that relationship is not easy but then again, should I have to explain it as it works for the people concerned. She knew I was going to the party and I had Her permission to play if I wanted to but within some limits that She set - in this case I was not allowed to have any needle play, one of my favourite sensations. What I did not know, was that one of Her friends, who I also know has been asked by Her to not only keep an eye out for me to make sure I did not misbehave but also to try to get me to indulge in some needle play. Ok, I am a man. I am weak. My brain is connected to my cock. The needles looked great, a fan shape across my shoulders but the damning evidence is there in the pictures that were taken! I shall, not doubt, discover the consequence of my actions later but at that moment, as the last needle went in, I was in that other place that pain sluts love to be and nothing else existed. That floaty, distant sensation, when all around you vanishes except the bond between you and the instigator of your hurt. All you want is to swim in the feeling and for it to never end.
I was made to stay on my knees for about an hour, whilst others could look at the handiwork which of course I loved having somewhat of an exhibitionist streak in me. But of course, eventually the needles come out, I am cleaned up and then to snap me out of the reverie I was told what had occurred in respect of Her and the friend. Not much I could of course do at that juncture but inwardly I knew I had done bad and would suffer.
There is much more I want to write about but, now can actually feel tiredness coming on. One of the things I do want to put down in trying to understand why I did this but I suspect that will come when I am clear headed and fully awake.
