Kira Tales Ch. 04: Kira's Pleasure

Kira Tales IV --

© William D'Ark

2022

And now you ask in your heart,

"How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?"

Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,

But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.

For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life,

And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,

And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.

My people, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees. (Gibran)

Kira Narrating:

When I was younger I let my body make choices for me. I didn't trust my mind to tell me how to behave. Mind was good to me when it came to memorizing things. But behaving properly? No. Body was the key to rewarding behavior. Mind was just a lens into how things were organized. So people wouldn't stray.

Mind led me to studying biology. Well okay, paleontology; I became a dinosaurologist. Laugh if you like. I've seen the smirks and sideways glances.

'Really? This girl?'

Disbelievers. I can tell you the names of just about every dino discovered -- 700 species -- how long ago they lived and their part of the dinosaur family tree. I can name every bone or even fragments of bone and tell you which family or maybe even which species it belonged to. I can tell you which parts of the planet a dino occupied and for how long a species lived. I can talk for hours about the tragic day -- a single day! -- when nearly every dinosaur on the planet died after a hundred and sixty five million years of dominating the planet. Caused by, you know, that extraplanetary thing that crashed into the earth just off the coast of Mexico.

Chicxulub.

It's my best cocktail conversation. Till you turn green.

But other than with memorizing things, Mind was mostly boring. It kept telling me to do sensible things. It tried to keep me on the straight and narrow. My parents were Mind people. Most of my teachers too.

Body, on the other hand, was very, very good to me. It guided me to chase pleasure, to jump on board that wagon till it was time to get off. ...~ heh... get it?

Never mind.

My point is... Body has always been the opposite of boring.

I found pleasures of every sort and as much of them as a smart, attractive girl could have. Most of it for free. I was the willing victim of all kinds of pleasure-filled adventures. Nobody was going to ask me for money when I put out like I did. Booze? Drugs? Underground porno? Private dungeons? I was their girl. No whore, either. Nothing for upfront pay, that was my rule. I was in it for the pleasure, the experience. I didn't want to argue about money. And I never stole anything, ever. Not even when the 24 karat gold stuff was just left on a table. Or when the diamonds and other gems dropped to the floor as women's clothes came off right beside mine. High class, high standards, that was my modus.

Now if they wanted to give me a little something at the end, call it a bonus for me being such a good girl, who was I to refuse? That was part of the pleasure! Being rewarded for good behavior, good performance, and the best sex ever.

Buy me nice clothes. Tickets to anywhere. Take me out for a week on your yacht. Entertain me at your beach front house. Gambling, sporting events, rock concerts, the opera, gallery openings... All to my liking. And many of them did reward me. My bank account constantly grew.

It's how I paid to become a dinosaurologist.

Pleasure. Body talk. With men, women, couples, groups... I was their favorite ping pong ball from the time I was eighteen years old.

Way before eighteen, I learned about the simple joys of hands and fingers on my bare skin. Oh my god, I was so young. Still wearing jammies, I would lay in bed with the lights out, eyes closed, and let my fingers wander every inch. Have you ever done that? With your eyes closed? Over every inch? The secret hidden places were my favorite. My pussy, my ass of course. But even between my toes... Inside my mouth! Behind my ears! Who knows how young I was but that's how I made every square inch an erogenous zone. I was a finely tuned engine that hums erotic vibes even now.

Was I cumming then? ...I knew you would ask. Yes I think so, but it was different. More of a shivery, goose-bumps thing than the canon fire cumming that started in my teens.

The Body whispers. And sometimes it shouts!

I mean, have you ever stopped to take inventory? ALL the ways we humans can indulge in yummy, enervating, sensation-stretching, mind-expanding p l e a s u r e?

Makes me want to cum just thinking about it. ...Visual pleasures, olfactory pleasures, aural pleasures, gustatory pleasures... god bless the head where all those senses are centered. Right?

And then there are the somatosensory pleasures. Ooo...

Discovering those, that's when Body became my best friend.

...Just to be clear, I associate all those skin-to-brain-and-back, somato-sensations with sex. Sex is my platform, my launch pad. At sixteen it became clear to my whole family that's the kind of girl I was. I wouldn't apologize for it either, even when people made me go to church more, or made me sit down for those long talks. Afterwards, I still dressed the part. I still acted out. School was my hunting ground as well as my proving ground. I was going to have him or her or them or even mister or missus teacher if they struck me the right way. I knew what Body wanted!

I scored five teachers, matter of fact. Starting in junior high. Three men, two women. And never once got caught. I don't know how many guys I fucked in those days. Girls? Not as many, but yeah they knew I was there for them too.

Fucking. Cumming. Some call it love making and I'm okay with that but I'd rather call it sex-bonding.

When Sir came into my life -- late twenties -- he taught me what's really going on. What never gets talked about 'cause most people never know. I learned that even bad sex is a type of bonding, we just might not understand how at the time. I learned that all sex is a DNA exchange. A mind meld. Sex is a permanent memory, of gutters or glories depending on how it went down. It can leave different types of scars just like it can rebalance and heal. Sir argues that sexual attraction can be a body thing, a mind thing, a spiritual thing. It can be a combination of things. But whoever we have sex with, exchanging intimacies, secrets, juices, taking each other to orgasmic heights, we record those experiences in multiple parts of our makeup.

It's when sentiment comes into the picture, softening the sex-play, that fucking turns into skin-to-heart-to-brain sensation play. A second organ enters the picture complicating things more.

And the bonding? At the level I discovered? In a soul-deep relationship based on consensual power exchange?

It's a timeless, forever thing. I swear. He and I have together confronted angels, devils and even death.

If a bus runs over me tomorrow I will find Sir again whether in heaven or another cycle thru some physical existence. Reunion. Rebirth. He and I will come together again. So we can cum together again. It's inevitable, for I absolutely know we are that tightly bonded. Skin to hearts to brains. Looping back from brains to hearts to skin.

Makes me tremble thinking about it.

... ... ...

Where was I? Oh, the four somatosensory pleasures... Like pressure-pleasure...

Soft pressure or hard. Rough pressure or smooth. And there's external pressure...

Leading to internal pressure... usually saved for the end... mmm

And we can't leave out pressure's opposite (I'm going to say it slowly here 'cause the word is so gorgeous)... r e - l e a s e...

Sounds like a slow sigh, doesn't it. Like when you're coming down from cumming... double mmm

But we're not ready to talk about cumming yet. This is about the sensory pleasures that come when pressure eases off. When it's released.

Here's an example girls will appreciate -- when a cock pressures you from the inside, pushing deep as it can go, then pulls back. Eases off. Re-leasing that gorgeous cunt-strangling force you were feeling while it was in there. Pulling back, like, all the way to the head? Ssss... so good, so good, right girls? There's that delicious midpoint when it's not quite pulling at the walls of your pussy, it's not quite pushing, it's trapped there by your tight pelvic muscles and his mushroom shaped glans? Right?

Splendid sensation.

Then he goes back to pounding you. Presses that cock inside, sometimes all the way to the cervix...

Then again. And a-gain. And a-gain. In a rhythm... flock, flock, flock...

Ok, now I'm ready to talk about cumming.

Wait, just kidding. But hang on while I get a Kleenex...

Better now. Not so drippy.

Anyhow... A second type of somato-pleasure is heat. The pleasures of being warm, or of being warmed by something or someone. Maybe the friction of skin rubbing against skin, whether outside the body or inside where cock skin is stretching tight against the walled surface of our pussies. Or the slick sides of our mouths. Our even our dry, tight asses.

...Oh shut up, most of you girls have done that and been fine with it. Many of you relish it. Some of you cum that way -- one of the great mysteries of sex, if you ask me.

But there I go again, talking about orgasms. Jeez...

So, have you ever been touched by hands or fingers that felt hot? Woo... There's a somatosensory moment for you, a kind of mystical thing. When someone focuses their mind so keenly that the nerves and blood vessels concentrate heat like a laser beam in their fingers. Amazing. Especially when they run along your spine... yikes!

And we can't forget, can we, that nerve-shattering thing called fire play. Some people like candle wax, others like combustible fluids. Or those related to impact play, where a cane or whip or flogger bites hot against the skin. Sometimes the smack of a palm on an ass cheek has the same effect. Hot pain.

But I'm getting ahead of myself again.

The third kind of somatosensory pleasure -- I sound like a teacher, don't I? -- is cold. The pleasure of being cool. ~ snap ~

No, not that kind of cool... ...Dudes. Stay with me now. I'm talking about the pleasure of being cooled. Chilled. Ventilated, like when you're sweating. Oh and we can't forget, can we, the absolute giggly joy of ice cubes running across your body as foreplay before fucking. Like, the opposite of those laser fingers but the same goddamn effect.

Followed by, of course, cumming. Which has to happen in any sane pleasure-based scenario.

There I go again. Someone slap me please.

Last on the list -- and the one that always makes me cringy goose-bumpy breathless, as if you didn't already know -- is...

Pain.

Consensual pleasure-pain, I'm talking about. The visceral, neuropathic, corporeal, even psychologically pain-full experiences we voluntarily surrender ourselves to, especially as submissives. Before we cum in buckets like we never knew we could do because we'd never been taken there till Sir decided we were ready and made all the arrangements before blindfolding us then leading us step by step deep into a wholly different underworld where we could finally confront our Shadow Self on its own turf opening our legs and begging I mean begging to be used...

Oh my god. Sorry... The distractions are many...

Be right back. ...Damn, where did I put those tissues?

Consent is key. To most things, really. But it is the cornerstone of a successful power exchange relationship. Where bondage, discipline and sado-masochistic practices are the framework on which everything hangs... ~ heh... (get it?)

BDSM is code for the four pillar posts of the dominant-submissive, Master-slave lifestyle Sir and I now lead.

Bondage... I'm not a rope slut, but I do like to be bound in the right ways, time to time. Sir will sometimes tie a rope bra around my breasts before taking me to the mall. I just love doing that! If people look, they can see a bra-like something under my shirt. But my nipples stick out like tiny rockets ready to launch. The exhibitionist in me loves to shock people that way.

Or if I need to be punished for some reason... and it seems I can never predict when that will happen... Sir might tie me up tightly, naked maybe, and leave me in front of a window where passersby might look in. I will certainly be looking out for them, maybe red-faced from being humiliated in such a tasty way. Willingly, of course.

Or if I need special attention he might bind me to the corners of a bed where he can spend a long, long time slowly winding me up.

Discipline... Some people confuse this 'D' with Dominance. But dominance connects each of these pillar posts just like submission does. In this case, Sir's dominance is the basis for the different kinds of submissive disciplines he has taught me. Like the discipline of dressing properly. I'm not allowed to wear a bra or panties unless it's absolutely necessary.

When I'm working, for example, company dress code requires me to wear a bra. Sir's rule says, ok, I can wear a bra so long as it is very lightweight, the fabric is sheer, and I wear something over it that gives people a chance to see the color or shape of my nipples. Simple. There have been many times when I haven't worn a bra, despite the dress code. That way I make sure I live by Sir's rule as often as possible.

As for panties... I never wear them anymore. I don't need to; I have plenty of other options during my period. And the panties cover up my sex when there might be opportunities during the day for me to 'accidentally' let people see. Sir, wants me to let them see. And I want them to look because it is so fucking thrilling to show off my bare pussy! Oh my god... it's like an invitation for sex right there, in the moment, with whoever happens to see. And I am always so ready to cum... ...I'm getting wet just writing this... the unspoken invitation to fuck me, fill me, leave me slippery wet from cumming makes me look for ways to let people see.

Of course I've developed a reputation at work just like I had in school. I had one female boss talk to me about showing my nipples and flashing my pussy; some chaste churchy no name bitch complained, saying I was deliberately breaking the rules. I asked her if she ever got bored with what she was doing, so bored she thought about quitting and taking with her all those years of experience the company needed to make profits; how hard it would be to replace her and how long it would take before somebody could perform at her same level ...She drummed the table for a minute then said 'Meeting over.' Told me to be more thoughtful. So I was. Next day I wore a floor length silk dress with no panties or bra. Me standing in the sunlit office windows? I swear you could have seen my freshly shaven pussy lips if you looked long enough. And the boss? She wore a starched white shirt that same day. Showing another button's worth of cleavage. Smiled at me too.

Sadism... Sir is not a sadist; he doesn't like to hurt me 'just because.' But he does need to let go of tension now and then. So he might turn me over his knee and spank me. Without warning. Or he might restrain me and use a flogger or crop. Or he might use a sharp blade just to savor the taste of my blood; I have a recurrent scar that is like a zipper when he gets into those moods. Or he might bind my breasts so they are stretched tight and will bruise really easy with a crop or the flat of his hand. We both like the colors that come up after that.

Masochism... I adore Sir for giving himself permission to become the sadist. Because I love the pain he delivers. For me it is pure pleasure. Not that I am a pain slut; I don't need pleasure-pain every day. But when he is in his primal place, or when I require discipline, I happily surrender to him. The masochist is part of who I am. Percussion play. Sensation play. Predicament play. Edging and orgasm denial. ...omg...

After so many years, Sir knows what works for me and what doesn't. He knows me inside-out and has earned the right to own me, body mind and spirit. Utterly. His intention, his command for me... I will submit to anything and everything he asks -- without reservation or hesitation -- knowing he will never put me in any real jeopardy, never really harm me... and that the ambiguity, the vague meanings behind 'jeopardy' and 'harm,' make life with him a constant, unpredictable knife's-edge joy.

Am I at risk, in a restaurant full of people, when he commands me to be topless or part my legs?

Am I at risk, left alone with a dozen men I've never met, all of whom will fuck me senseless over the next five or six hours?

Am I at risk, dropped off at the edge of a hundred thousand acre wilderness -- for a week -- wearing only jeans, tennies and a thin tee? With only a Swiss Army Knife?

Am I at risk, bound spread eagled nude on a white-clothed ceremonial table, drugged and ritually used on one of the High Holidays?

I have done all of these things. ...Along with many, many other scenes. I couldn't begin to recount them all.

I have been pulled into dark, lonely pits of pleasure-pain and orgasmic release -- places I never knew existed -- looking Satan in the eye. Only to discover myself staring back.

I have been to the heights of ecstasy and expansive Being that people cannot usually conceive. There are places... levels upon levels of transcendent self-knowing... till you get to the place where Creation makes itself known. I am so filled with wonderment, traveling there, it can take me days to recover.

...And sometimes too I still get lost.

I am here.

In front of you. Undressed. Exposed.

I am the heat and light you know,

I am muscle, organ, skin, bone.

I am colossal

More alive than ever myself entirely and alone.

Outside and Inside? They come together just for you

Though others may be nearby. No matter. I thrive.

For you are the only one who sees me

Fully alive.

I will admit there were some dead ends along the way. Before I met Sir.

Some of my adolescence was messy because I was more interested in masturbating than just about anything else. Other kids my age didn't share that passion. Or couldn't. Or maybe they tried but weren't free enough inside themselves to explore like I did. ...Just kids, after all.

Part of my teens were messy when I developed a reputation as the 'town pump.' I never got pregnant but there was a spillover effect from fucking so many boys. Those boys came to expect the same from girls who would not put out like I did. Conflicts began and I took the blame.

I was lucky to get into college but outside the lecture hall I drank and smoked and of course fucked like no other girl. I got good grades but when college ended I didn't have a plan. My boyfriend and I split up; he went back to California and I went home to Rochester. With nothing to look forward to.

That's when I got into real trouble.

I mean, I talk about listening to Body language and the pleasure-success I enjoyed. But surrounding myself with pleasure-based people and their indulgences turned out to be emotionally unfulfilling. Those people were shallow and behaved like hungry ghosts flitting from one empty pleasure to the next. I had plenty of casual acquaintances based on fuck and run meet-ups but none of us had learned how to build lasting relationships. And I didn't want to succumb to the dumb stuff I saw them doing -- setting themselves up for contentious or boring, mind numbing lives despite their affluence and status.