Sado-Botany: The Devil's Plaything

I saunter into the Torture Palace, I nod to the subs cuffed in the dungeon pit. My eyes resting on one, I nod, he walks to me and I escort him to my chair, where he kneels at my feet. "Please would you be so kind as to bring me a teapot of boiling water, a tea strainer, a silver spoon and a cup and saucer? I prefer the white fine china service."

My full deepest red lips curl into a contented smile as I set the wicker basket down on the table. Carefully arranging the white starched linen cloth to cover it's contents. Nonchalantly I look around the room, smiling and nodding to Dom/mes I have met previously. My long, icy cold fingers curling around the armrests as I wait for his serve. Carefully I lay out the following: Stanley knife, 10m of black silk bondage rope, a roll of insulation tape, a small flask filled with boiling water, a bowl, some lavender essential oil, some witch hazel and a soft, clean, towel.

I reach inside the wicker basket, admiring it's golden brown patina as I extract a handful of fresh, heart shaped, finely toothed leaves. Dropping them in the teapot. "Thank you boy, now, sit between my knees with your back to me, you may chat freely in the room whilst I brew the tea." Searching again inside the wicker basket I collect a black, long, fine quality silk scarf. Wrapping it around my index finger to stroke long, lazy lines, gently up and down your spine. "Urtica Dioica is an interesting plant boy." I whisper as I strain the brewed herb tea into the teacup.

I smile warmly, raise the cup to my lips, testing the temperature, taking a small sip, then tapping your shoulder, placing it in your hands. "Please drink it all. Druids consider this to be a sacred herb." I unwrap the silk scarf from my fingers, I lean forward, covering your eyes meticulously and tying the ends in a reef knot behind your head. "Urtica Dioica was commonly used in Victorian England, particularly in the brothels to prepare the customer for erotic play. Urtica is Latin, derived from the word 'uro' which means 'to burn'."

Seeing the cup is empty, I take it from you, placing it back on the tray and refilling it. Tapping you gently on the shoulder, 'stand', watching, amused as you stumble blindly to your feet. "Urtica Diocia was frequently used in Victorian BDSM practices to stimulate the skin prior to caning, the practice is called Urtication; Flogging with nettles. Sadly, a dying art." I lament. With the cold icy pad of my thumb, I press hard on your bottom lip, pushing the soft, pulpy flesh down to open your jaw. Picking up the Stanley Knife placing the handle between your lips. "Careful! Knife! Sharp! Bite, then remain perfectly still." I instruct. I walk silently, barefoot, around the high backed chair, carefully assessing it for suitability. Satisfied, I smile.

"Uritica Diocia is covered in tiny hairs; minute hpodermic needles. When skin touches these minuscule hairs, it breaks off into the skin, the venom is then pumped into the skin. The ones I have are fresh and young ones, they will contain a lot of venom at this time of year." As I talk, I busy myself, tying a bloodknot on the chair's front leg, pushing it up tight at the top, then forming a loop, twisting the loop to reverse it and pulling it tight, working deftly to cover the leg with half hitches.

"The active parts of the plant are interesting, because they are all naturally occurring in human bodies. The histamines makes you itch, it is the acetylcholine that is responsible for the burning and stimulating nerve actions." I wrap the rope through to the other front chair leg, tying it's surface with half hitches. I turn the chair back upright, my voice a heavy whisper "Open" carefully taking the knife and cutting the rope. I raise the cup of cooled Nettle tea to your lips, instructing you to 'Drink!', tilting the cup carefully as you swallow the amber liquid.

"Good boy. Nettles really are fascinating, you must watch Les Misérables by Victor Hugo, he describes some of their uses. They are diuretic of course" I refill the cup, raising it to your lips, instructing you to 'Drink!', tilting the cup carefully until you finish it. I tie a bloodknot at base of the back of the chair, decorating it with half hitches then tying off. Pulling on a thick pair of gardening gloves, uncovers the basket of nettles and tucks bunches of them into the bindings on the chair legs and the back of the chair. "Have you ever been stung by nettles? Was your reaction 'normal'? I assume you don't have allergies?"

I smile warmly at your affirmation, then expertly bind the stalks of two bunches of nettles with the insulation tape to make stinging-whip handles. I pour out another cup of now cold Nettle tea, raises the cup to your lips, instructing you to 'Drink!' tilting the cup carefully again as you drain it. "Take three small steps backwards and please do sit down." My voice light, encouraging, belying the menace in my eyes. My big blue eyes widen, darken, my stomach churning with excitement, watching you sit in the nettle decorated chair. Thrilled anticipation bubbling in my stomach.

"Good boy. I can do whatever I want to you and you are going to love it!"

Nerves jangling with exhilaration. Knowing as you move your legs or sit back you will be atrociously stung and you won't know how or where the nettles are. I laugh heartily as the nettles bite into your tender flesh, as you move in shock, fear etched into your face. Your yelps and squeals of pain making my nipples tighten into hard, painful puckers. Your movements slowly becoming more and more tentative as you finally understand that you are stinging yourself.

Carefully picking up a nettle stalk, trailing it gently over your muscle-heavy chest, drawing feather-light circles with it over your nipples, I pause, placing the nettle down, waiting for the venom to spread and bite. I look at you, my eyes full of concern ... "Are your nipples very tender? Sadly all that puckering means I can't see the hives. Never mind your big cock and full balls will show them off beautifully." I gently dab the hard, firm contours of your belly with another nettle. Waiting impatiently for the venom to diffuse throughout your skin and find a nerve. Irritably tapping a nettle rhythmically against your pubes. Allowing it to dance over the entire area in a strange staccato dance.

Picking up a nettle-whip, I arch my arm back, the nettle gliding through the air silently. The whipping sensitizing your skin on the inside of your thighs, artistically, without leaving any nasty bruises or marks. I laugh, high on adrenaline as it floods through my veins. Grinning as I hear your screams of shock and agony, knowing the tingling glow, the inflammation and irritation, the biting sting, are now, at last, smarting your skin, making it sizzle with pain. "Good boy. You have never looked so beautiful." I say to your tear-stained face and blind eyes. I yelp in delight watching the intensity, the fire, the burn grow. Waiting a few minutes to see the pretty pattern of stings spreading over the tender, vulnerable skin on your inner thighs.

"The tip of the penis and arsehole are the most sensitive." I inform gleefully. I dab the very tip of your penis lightly with a nettle. Watching appreciatively as your thick cock hardens slightly and starts to twitch and dance. I look up to watch the minute changes in your skin tone, your expression as your eyes glaze over, darken, dilate. "Oh I recognize that ecstatic look, are you in heaven? You look so very sexy with those dreamy, half open eyes." Carefully arranging the nettles into bunches propping them up around the inside edge of the basket I place the basket between your thighs, positioning it so that if you get a full erection, or if you move too quickly the tip of your cock will be painfully stung. "I do love Nettles, happily they are also known as The Devil's playthings." I chirp.

I lay the stems down onto your belly, pressing the prickles lightly onto your skin, grimacing, then grinning with pleasure as I watch your reactions. Dark, lust filled eyes scanning your body, proudly seeing the itching, tingling skin, the angry swellings like mosquito bites. I admire the reddening skin on your groin, small bumps promising to welt into large patches that send electric shocks throughout your body over the next day or so. I grin crookedly, then laugh, high and sadistically, I pick up a bunch of white dead-nettles (Lamium album) that I had secreted earlier in the basket. I am certain you will not realize they do not sting. I slowly take the blindfold off you, allowing you to regain your focus and see the terrible predicament you are in.

"Why do you come here to me boy?" I look at your startled, petrified expressions and know deep in my soul what you want and need. "You come here for this, don't you? You come here for me. So I can do whatever I want to do to you." I smile at your vacant nod, your slack face, the lack of muscle tone betraying your need. "Piss yourself for me." I hiss in your ear. A slow, malicious smile brightening up my face. Knowing that as piss cools the nettle stings will be twice as biting on the inside of your thighs. Knowing that as you feel the tender inner thigh flesh stinging unbearably, you will drive yourself demented waiting for the pain to blaze through your dick and balls.

Taking the de-flowered dead-nettles with gloved fingertips, pressing a stalk onto your ballsack, slowly binding it in place with the flesh warmed silk scarf. Grinning maniacally, taking another sprig of dead-nettle, placing the dark green leaves on the very tip of your cock, slowly wrapping your cock so you can see the leaves left exposed and pressing against your shiny purpled head. Watching your ragged anticipation. "If you allow that hardon to grow you will automatically sting yourself. It will be excruciatingly painful. Would you feel better if I sucked your cock?"

Lifting my dark blue eyes to meet yours, I tremble in excitement at your moans, the fat slow tears running freely down the soft curves of your cheeks. "Please don't cry. I shall stop!" Your limbs jerking, whimpers of pain, excitement, frustration and fear all clearly expressed in a few soul wrenching sounds. I pour the hot water from the flask, add a few drops of essential oil of lavender onto the corner of the soft, warm towel, carefully rubs away your tears, washes your face. Then pats witch hazel over the stings with a kind, gentle touch. Your cock twitching, the colour changing to the deepest pink. Effort slicking your brow with a thin film of sweat. "Are you brave enough boy? Is my soft, warm, wet mouth tempting enough for you? Is that beautiful glistening, shiny purpled head worth sacrificing for a few moments of pleasure?"

I watch your body trembling, your skin goose pimpled as the of sweat slick chills and clings to your skin. Panic dilating your eyes, fear, excitement and lust all clearly readable in them. I watch your head whips around, your eyes staring in shockingly obvious dilemma, torn between ecstasy and agony.

"You come here for this don't you?" I hiss into your ear. My breath hot on the fine hairs on your neck. I look at your face, the desperate need in your eyes. I examine your pathetic totally nettled body covered in a heavy rash of stingy painful welts. I flick a long, pink supple tongue out to taste the small sticky stream of pre-cum. I grin mischievously. "Is that cock dripping?" I flatten my tongue to make a wide, fat pad, with exaggerated firmness dredge the surface of your shiny, purpled knob. Feeling excitement contract your thick shaft, I make my tongue sharp, pointed, licking slow, steady concentric circles around your piss hole. Icy cold index finger and thumb squeezing the thrilling hole open, my intruding, insistent tongue forcing and gaping your pisshole wide. Small cat-like laps scooping every drop of pre-cum into my eager mouth. My clit engorging, flickering into life, my own moist warm juices filling my nostrils, making my skin tingle and cry out to be touched.

Your screams are shockingly loud and shrill, catching me by surprise. Your fat member dancing and twitching, engorging, banging against your belly. Then you are up on the balls of your feet and away to the farthest corner of the dungeon. Hopping from one foot to the other yelling. Your hands clawing at the gossamer fine silk scarf binding on your member. Watching you dropping the crushed, dead nettle to the floor. You darting away from the limp-warmed stalks, begging "get it away from me, get it away from me!" frenzied screams interspersed with piercing, loud heart breaking sobs.

I pull you close to me, bind you tightly in my arms, pinning you in my embrace. Holding you still. With gentle cooing repetition soothe "you are safe, you are safe." Affectionate fingertips rhythmically smoothing your hair. You are trembling, like a new born faun I lead you gently to the couch, supporting your weight on my shoulder. With tender care washes your skin, soothes it with the lavender oil and witch hazel. Covering you lightly with a clean white sheet, draws you back into the warm security of my arms, pressing soothing kisses, lightly over your face as we relax into the period of aftercare.

Eudaimonia Optera 27 May 2009