Bungee, Tea, Clay

And what a fucking crazy crazy fucking dream!

Stefi's out getting food and has been gone a long time now. I hope she is okay. I feel like I don't want to be alone right now, that I need her company after what happened yesterday. But I also appreciate the chance to work though all this chaos in my head. Maybe I'll feel better if I just write it all down.

Where to begin?

The surprise activity was a bungee jump. Stefi didn't tell me until we got there. Maybe she was afraid I would back out. And I wanted to back out immediately with every fiber of my being, but I promised myself yesterday that I was going to be confident and seek out new experiences. Here we were on this wooden bridge, hundreds of feet above the rainforest canyon with the tiny little stream wayyyy down there that wound through it. It was starting to rain, and the deck was slippery. It didn't even look like the railings on the bridge would hold if someone leaned on them. I never thought I had a fear of heights, but I was terrified on this bridge.

Stefi even gave me the opportunity to back out, "Daxi, it is a lot of fun and you will feel totally free and it is the kind of thing that feels really good once it is over and you can say 'I did that!' But, don't make me push you into doing something you don't want to do." Of course, I said I would. We bought our tickets and were first in line.

Stefi went first. I stood by with the camera. She flew out in a perfect swan dive, the bungee stretching out to her ankles, and fell what seemed to be a few minutes. Her gleeful shriek echoed in the canyon and mingled with those of the primate onlookers in the trees below. Then the bungee runner, a young Indiana Jones type, strapped in, lowered himself down grabbed her, turned her right side up and the other burley assistant powered the wench to ratchet them back up to the platform. The wench! Ow, I still hear it! That clacking sound, the piercing shriek of metal raking metal- it is ringing still in my mind when I close my eyes. It didn't sound right and I should have trusted my gut and not jumped. But I thought it was just the fear talking.

The operator was busy strapping the harness around my midriff and hips and giving me last minute instructions. I was too paralyzed with fear to even comprehend anything. But in retrospect, I remember, "Be sure to jump out, not just jump off! And, smile! Have fun!" Stefi was back on the platform, panting, face flushed, smiling at me. Yes! It was the same as that "I've just been thoroughly and completely fucked!" look that Clara had last week in the coffee shop. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, I thought. Still I was paralyzed on the edge, looking down into the tiny landscape below. It is amazing how rapids don't seem to move from this high up.

"10, 9, 8..." The countdown numbers were all a blur. "3, 2," Okay okay... "1!!!" I tried to jump, but I just couldn't. My legs wouldn't move. My knees bent timidly, but my feet felt bolted to the decking. I realized my hand was still clenched with a death grip on the railing. I used all my will to force my hand to let go, and when I did, I felt my feet slipping off the edge of the wet bridge decking. I frantically scurried my feet, flailing my arms, as I slid off the wet edge, twisting awkwardly as I fell. The world spun around me in a sky-ground-sky blur. This was not flying or falling, this was tumbling chaotically through space. I reached the full length of the bungee cord, and my head whipped down frantically as I rebounded up. And then after a few wild undulations I was left hanging upside down waiting for the assistant to bring me back up. I was relieved it was over.

But as it turned out, it was only going to get worse. I felt the arms of the bungee runner grab me and turn me right side up as he signaled to the big guy running the wench above. The wench began to ratchet back me back up. I could hear the clanking metal again, even from down there, louder and louder, harsher and more out of rhythm than it really should have been. It was raising me in stuttering jolts. Suddenly, it froze, and heaved, and the next thing I knew I was falling again in measured but unpredictable releases.

I wasn't expecting it, and as I feel, the ropes tangled around my torso and locked one arm over my head. I'm lucky it caught my arm, because otherwise, it probably would have gone around my neck. I was hanging flat, twisted, tangled and tied so that I couldn't move. The bungee runner was nowhere nearby and must have been way above me. There were panics and muffled screams from up on the bridge. I wasn't moving. I was crying. Hanging there in space above the rocks and river below, I was sure this was the end.

I felt the rope slip more and more and I tumbled further and further down, bouncing at the end of each length of release. Finally, after many minutes, the wench started working again, the runner grabbed me and they brought me slowly and cautiously back up. At the top, finally, the runner hopped on the deck and I was on display like some catch of the day wrapped up and twisted awkwardly in a tattered bungee cord. I couldn't move. It was hard to breathe. The operator and the runner gave me a shove outwards, and then my momentum swung me back on the bridge deck, where they caught me with a bear hug and frantically untangled me. Soon I was released, but continued laying there on the bridge, sobbing. Through my tears, I saw Stefi standing over me, her hands in her mouth, paralyzed with fear.

"no no no... Oh my Daxi! Daxi!! Are you okay!"

I just continued to cry. I never cry. It hurt to cry. I choked. And then I finally got to my hands and knees. I was okay. I was going to be okay. I was alive. Stefi huddled over me, patting my back. "I was so scared, Daxi. I thought I lost you."

"I am... ...okay. Just give me a minute." I huddled there with my face in my palms, balling. Finally I made it to my feet again. Stefi was raising hell in Spanish with the burly man running wench. She was in his face swearing, and though only 5' tall or so, probably more than two feet shorter than that enormous guy, but he was the one backpedaling. I was afraid he would cower right off the edge of the bridge, sans bungee (for all the good it would do him anyway), if the operator hadn't stepped in to pull her back. He caught nearly just as much hell.

It was raining harder now. They closed the jump after what happened to me, and the others on the bridge were already making their way to the ticket booth for a refund.

Stefi stormed off from the cowering operator, swearing. But as she came towards me, her harsh face instantly softened, her eyes turned down, and I knew she was about to cry. She looked up at me and tears mixed with rain, streaked alongside the red and purple hair stuck to her cheeks. She jumped into me and squeezed me in a tight passionate hug, and though she was so much smaller than me, it felt like she was able to make herself big enough to envelop me.

I was still trembling, but somehow in all of this, I felt the vitality and (and um, I guess sexual?) excitement of our wet bodies pressed against each other. I was breathing heavy and my chest expanded outward against hers, our breasts smashed against each others, her tiny waist slipping against mine, her little but enormously strong frame in my arms. She looked at me again, deeply, as if she were trying to see my soul or life in my eyes, as of to convince herself that I was really still alive and not some ghost or specter. "Daxi. My Daxi." She had a hand on each of my upper arms as if to emphasize the point. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

And so we went back to the lodge. I peeled off my soaking wet shirt and bra. Stefi was watching me, waiting for them to come off. So yes, finally, I was standing topless in front of Stefi with nothing to be ashamed of. Near death had finally made me confident about that- what else was there to lose? Yet, it wasn't like I had fantasized a few nights ago. It was in a much more clinical way. Stefi was examining me, looking for bruises from the rope. Somehow, miraculously, there was only a small one under my arm that must have happened when my arm got caught.

Yet her touch was so gentle as she turned me and looked me over. She gave me goose bumps and chills, making my nipples stand erect. It was as if she didn't notice, but at the same time, she was very thorough in looking me over. So she had to notice. I sat topless on the bed. I grabbed my journal to write, but I couldn't write much.

Stefi changed out of her wet clothes quickly and was pacing in and out of the bedroom to the porch. "C'mon, Daxi, get dressed. Let's go get a drink. I am fucking freaking out right now!" And so we walked to the small town about a km up the road to drink. And drink. And drink. The whole afternoon and evening was a blur, like the rain streaking down the windows, or the haze coming up from the valley below and settling in on the cloud forests that cloth the mountains in the distance. Nothing made sense. I don't even remember walking back that night. Somehow I was back in the room, it was late, the room was spinning, and I was holding onto Stefi for dear life as she changed me into my pajamas. I fell into the bed and cuddled up against her, wishing I would had had the guts to hold her like this the night before when I was sober. I don't remember falling asleep.

But I do remember that I had the craziest dream. Never have I had a sex dream so vivid, and so hot. It was so fantastic yet eerily realistic, and I feel it is meaningful right now, so I feel like I must write it down so I don't forget it.

----

I was on the circular piece of the wet bridge decking. Pieces of bungee cord wrapped through steel eyelets and tied my arms and legs in a DaVinci spread eagle. I couldn't move. The platform was spinning and spotlights above we whirled around in a sickly dizzying spiral.

Suddenly a black latex boot stamped down next to my head, stopping the platform I was from spinning. The long heel pinned my hair, and I there was sting on my scalp from my hair being pulled as I tried to look at the 5" heal that was the cause of the tension. I looked up, and Clara was standing above me in a shiny black latex suit, a silver zipper down the front from her neck to her crotch. The spot lights in the room highlighted her bombshell form in the reflections off the shiny outfit. She looked at me over the shelf of her bust, her chestnut brown hair falling over her breasts and swaying in front of her waist.

"Hmm... well now, what do we have here?" She looked at me, as if I were supposed to answer what was obviously a rhetorical question. She released my hair, but then used her leg to kick the platform, and it did another few rotations, the cool damp air whisking against my naked body. Clara suddenly stamped her boot down on the platform again and I was jolted again as it suddenly stopped. Now Clara at my side, and the boot was next to my hand. She graced the toe of her boot across my outstretched palm. She walked slowly around me, her boots clacking on the tile floor, pacing slowly around my legs, pausing to look at down at my helpless pussy spread before her, unprotected by the pretext of clothing, then around the other side, staring at my breasts, carefully observing her prisoner.

"Ah yes, of course. I do know you: my favorite barista; my favorite clumsy bitch." She finished her tour around my platform and now stood over my head. She knelt down on the platform over my head, her breasts looming over me. "Oh, so you recognize me, too, then? Am I not your favorite customer? Or do you just recognize these?" she said as she slid her hands smoothly down the lofty slopes of her bust. I couldn't speak, my mouth was open but no sound came out. "No? Well, maybe this will help remind you!" She grabbed the zipper and gently pulled it down, exposing her cavernous cleavage, just to the point where her nipples were almost free, with her flesh expanding out of the tight outfit, desperate to explode free. She leaned over me. "Now do you recognize them? No?"

She unzipped the latex further, reaching into her outfit to release her breasts, pulling them out one at a time. She leaned over further, her face inches from mine, but upside down, her enormous tits pressing down on the top of my head. She dragged them across my face- I felt like a car going through an autowash curtain, as these glorious mammaries, so soft, supple and cool, slid down my forehead and across my cheeks. I tried to stick out my tongue, licking and turning my head everywhere hoping to catch one of her prominent nipples in my mouth.

"Oh, did you enjoy that, then?" She dangled them over my mouth, cupping them in her hands, showing them off, as if she were a cruel street seller taunting a beggar dying of thirst. She hung her nipple just above my mouth- I tilted my head up- stretching my neck and my tongue to lick it, to purse my lips around it, but it was just millimeters out of reach. "And now I suppose you want to kiss them?" There was a pregnant silence, as she jiggled her tits just above my mouth. "Well, I asked you a question!"

"Yes" I managed to squeak out.

I felt a sudden hard slap against my right breast. The sting sent chills though my senses and my nipple immediately hardened tight. "Yes WHAT???" She slapped my left breast. They were on fire with pain and a warming afterglow of pleasure.

"Yes, Madam Clara," I somehow knew what to say.

"That's better." She withdrew her breasts from my face. "No.... No. I just don't think you are ready yet." She got up and walked across the room. I heard the distinct sound of ice rattling in a plastic cup as she came back. She stood over my reddening breasts staring at my vulnerable nipples begging for forgiveness and love. "Payback is a bitch. Just like me." She rattled the cup for second, swirling the ice in it, and then suddenly, vengefully, she threw it out down on my chest. Ice cubes bounced off of my breasts and flew everywhere. "Well??? How do you like it? Are you sorry now?"

"Yes. Yes, Madam Clara. I am so sorry madam Clara. Please forgive me!" I pleaded. A piercing whistle went off in the distance, and she walked across the room, and came back with a steaming tea kettle. She stepped up on the platform again. Straddling my torso and looking down at my face. "I just made some tea, care for some?"

I was terrified. Ice was one thing, but having scalding hot tea poured on me was no longer a game. She leaned on her knees, and then sat on my down on stomach, her legs straddling my sides. She squeezed her thighs and hugged me with them. She set the tea kettle down next to my side, and disappeared into the corner of the room again. I could feel the heat radiating off of it as steam rose up from its mouth. She returned holding an unglazed porcelain tea cup, the color of the Costa Rican clay, and a matching saucer. She set the saucer on my breast bone, and the empty cup upon it. I tried to struggle, but it was no use, the bungee cord pieces holding me down were fully stretched tight.

"Hmm... you know, your tits aren't so bad either," she said kneading them deeply with her black gloved hands. She flicked each of my nipples in quick succession. My nipples were rigid and on fire, in pain, and hyper sensitive, just wanted the touch of soft lips to comfort them. "So, yes then, for tea time?"

"No, no... please no, Madam Clara."

"Hmm? Oh but why not? I thought you liked tea with your tits? You liked it on mine, no? Pleasssseeee?" She mocked herself. Fuck, this wasn't fair. It was iced Chai that I spilled on her, not scalding hot tea! She carefully filled the tea cup sitting on my chest. My breathing was now short and shallow, terrified, but also ever careful not to upset the cauldron of steaming hot tea the rested precariously between my breasts.

She grabbed an ice cube lying next to me, and held in onto my aching left nipple for a couple of seconds until it was numb with pain. I was biting my bottom lip and squirming, but still conscious not to move my chest. She picked up the cup off the saucer, and turned it in her hand, blowing steam off the rim of the cup. "Hold still! You don't want me to spill, do you?"

I could sense I was crying from fear now. What was Clara going to do? Fuck, I knew, I was the one that spilled tea all over her chest, and now I just prepared for the worst. But Clara, she carefully held the ice cube pinched between her fingers on my left nipple, and then poured the hot tea from the cup slowly onto the ice cube. Steam rose in the air, I felt waves of now lukewarm jasmine flow down my breast like lava off a volcano, as the ice quickly melted away. Thankfully, the cup was small enough that the ice cube held out, but was small. "Oopseee! I spilled! Well, it looks like you are not the only clumsy bitch here!"

I tried to protest but nothing coherent came from the sounds my mouth was making. "Shhhh.... shhh... That's enough from you. Shut your mouth. Now."

Clara took what remained of the ice cube and balanced it upon my lips. Water with a hint of jasmine tea seeped between them as they numbed. She stared down at the watery mess on my left breast. "Mmm, that looks almost as good as it did on me. Almost. But we really need to do the other one." She replaced the cup on the saucer, refilled it, retrieved a new ice cube from beside me, and repeated the procedure on my right nipple. When the cup was empty, and that ice cube was nearly gone, she reached behind her, and placed the dripping remains of the ice cube upon my labial lips, just above the shaft or my clit, letting the rest of it melt there while she got up once again and strutted around the room. The melting ice trickled down my moistening lips, and around my clit.

There I was, tied down, one ice cube on the lips of my mouth and one on the lips of my pussy. I felt the ecstasy of utter vulnerability mixed with the enormous relief that I was not scalded with the tea.

Clara stood up, and did another slow trotting lap around my platform, as she undressed the rest of the way, and her enormous tits caught the glare of the spot lights which prominently silhouetted her erect nipples. She wore nothing else but a tiny strap of a g string. She kept her black latex gloves on.

"Well, well... that seemed to melt quickly! Your pussy must be almost ready! Let's see." She knelt down beside me, placing her hand over my smooth mound. "Yes, yes, very pretty. Very feminine. You must know how Eric loves a smooth pussy, don't you?" She gave it a gentle condescending pat. She used her fingers to pinch my labia and slide it up and down against my swollen clit, now no longer numbed by the ice. She pulled and tugged rather vigorously, holding my pussy closed by pinching my lips over them. I was breathing heavy and writhing to her rhythm. I could almost feel myself getting ready to come.

Suddenly, her hand slapped down on my pussy. "I don't remember you asking permission to come."

"Sorry Madam Clara." I cried desperately panting for breath... "Can I please come now?"

"No." She said tersely. I felt my lips be spread open by her deft latexed fingers, exposing my core to the room. Love juices were running down the wet lines from the melted ice and sliding down my ass. "No, no, I'm afraid not yet." She gave my pussy another slap with her gloved hand, and left it quivering and glistening in the air.

Oh god yes, did I need to get fucked! She leaned down and I felt her tits pressing against my side. Her mouth hovered just above my engorged slit and I could feel her breath on it. Silky thick locks of her brunette hair flowed down and teased my hips and thighs. She whipped her head around, slapping her hair against my pussy again and again, tossing her mane against my center like a gentle cat-o-nine-tails whip. It was such a small sensation, such a tease, when I wanted something in me much harder and deeper, more certain and definite, more sensation, even if it were punishing. She gave my clit a gentle kiss. Then another. And another - this this time a little longer - and she began to gently suck.