tagLetters & TranscriptsThe End of Innocence

The End of Innocence


dear readers;

Omega's Game is the joint handle of Stella_Omega and Joey'sgame We'd like to share an RP with you. We've edited it a little bit, because Stella is a grammar nazi -- the original can be read here if you prefer.



I see Joey around here with some regularity; he seems like a sweet kid. He has a nicely athletic body, and he's always bouncing from one activity to another. I'm always drawn to energy, I feed off it like a vampire. Joey and I connected over music- I can talk about music the way men talk about baseball and football. I fancy myself as- if not an authority- at least an enthusiast, and I tend to lay down the law in a conversation about any of my favorite subjects! And, when I said something bossy to Joey, he said two words, that may not have meant anything to him- "Okay, Stella," and did exactly what I had told him to do.

My reflexes got the better of me. "Good boy, Joey" I cooed. And, I noticed, that, along with his grin, a blush rose along his jawline.

"Careful, Stella, you might turn me on" He winked, but that blush rose higher.

"There are two words that always turn me on," I countered. "'Yes, Stella.' Life can be so simple sometimes..."

He laughed, and I did too, and we turned back to the songs we'd been discussing. But I liked the way his hair fell into his eyes. And it looked even blonder, against the dark red of his skin...

And Joey waylaid me, a little later. He was wondering...

Discussing music with Stella was a lot of fun; she knew a lot of alternative bands and hundreds of obscure facts related to them. When she told me to go and vote for one of her more recent stories, I did so, without a second thought; "Okay Stella".
What a hot story, I wasn't gay but this story had me wanting more, to read anyhow. Later the same day I asked Stella if she wrote from personal experience, whether she was able to draw on her personal life for the material in her stories.
If she did, shit, this was one hot, talented writer!

The story that had me so worked up revolved around a Dom dyke who went home with a Russian male. He was gay or at least bi and he wanted to be raped by the dyke. What an erotic story, Stella made the story absolutely believable, almost too real. I could actually feel this character's pain as he was rough fucked by Stella. I was extremely turned on and wanted more. I let Stella know that she was one hot motherfucker!

I don't think she appreciated my colorful language, even though I had apologized after saying it.

Heh. Hey, compliments, I eat them up!

But, I wasn't going to tell Joey that. As he stammered his praise, uncouth but sincere, his body language was even more eloquent. He had a hard-on that he tried to hide from me by twisting a little away. I caught a great view of his back- nice, strong shoulders, that deep curve of the spine that leads right into a really nice, curvy ass. Seeing me considering, him in that way, he was afraid he'd said the wrong thing, and begged pardon.

"I don't know if that's pardonable, boy," I snapped, and his ears got hot all over again, at that word- "boy."

Funny how language has such control over us, isn't it? It was the little link I needed, to suck him in with. We were walking, as we talked, and my place wasn't too far away. When I swerved around the corner, he came right with me, and I couldn't help grinning. His spirits rose as we climbed the stairs to my apartment.

"Sorry, motherfucker- I mean, Okay, Stella," he said on the steps.

"Fucking smartass," I said, unlocking the door. "look, Joey, here's how it goes. You tell me- politely- what you're hoping for. If I have to spend my energy taking you down, I won't have any left for the fun stuff..." We stepped into my spartan studio apartment. Joey looked around, bashfully yet with burning curiosity, taking in the room. His gaze stopped, with a kind of horrified fascination, at the bed that I built myself- six by six beams, strong enough to tie down a horse onto -- And, now, here we are, staring each other down. Is this boy going to behave?

Man I was really turned on, this was a woman after all, despite her being a dyke and she was sexy as hell. She was almost as tall as I was and in great shape, she had great legs and a stomach that rippled with her sculpted six-pack. I was strangely afraid but at the same time extremely excited, anticipation making me weak, the unknown element causing butterflies to form in my stomach.

Arriving at her studio apartment, I marveled at the bed, a large beam structure, complete with eyelets, ropes, hooks and other assorted bdsm toys. What was I getting myself into? I didn't care, I wanted to be there, I wanted this strangely intimidating figure to make me feel something, anything. I asked her to discipline me for swearing at her, which I had now done twice.

I waited for her response.

"Get your jeans off. And choose- Single-tail, or rattan. Let's help you remember the lesson."

I take them both off their hooks, my five-foot blacksnake, coiled and quiet, and the slender little cane, and show them to you.

Never having used or experienced either, I pick up the rattan and hand it to you with shaking hands.
It was smaller, somehow seemingly less threatening... oh yeah, was I wrong.

Yeah, I know. It isn't black and scary looking. Don't judge a book by its cover!

Taking your arm I turn you easily, and face you towards the bed. I'm not that strong, really- I just watch your feet. I see when you're about to shift balance, and I use that. Besides, you -really- want to be overpowered by me. You're helping. My hand in the small of your back propels you towards the bed. In your eagerness, you fling yourself onto it, grabbing at the railings on the other side. But I want you to slide back again, letting your legs trail off.

The little hairs on your ass and legs glitter in the half-light. I lay my hand on your upturned rump, which- if it were mine- would be trying to find a way out of this. I want to give you one last chance to back out- I hate lawsuits! But at the same time, I don't want to spoil my own fun. I caress the silky skin, slap it lightly, knowing that will excite you.

"This is going to hurt like fuck-all, Joey. Are you really willing? 'Cause you can walk right now."

I flex the thin light cane, feeling its resilience in the palms of my hands. I don't know, Joey, if you've ever felt rattan. I have, and my own skin is already crawling in sympathy! I'm wondering if I should be kind, and give you a warm up- or if I should go for the big impression right now. Just so we don't have to do it again too soon...

"You should do what you would normally do in a situation like this, I can be quite rude at times and should probably learn my lesson well."

I can't believe that I am submitting to this but something about the whole scene has me quite excited, no, really excited. It's the knowing that you're in control and there's nothing I can do about it, that appeals to me, experiencing a different venture that I never really thought I would give in to. Not the pain so much as the lack of control and the feelings of vulnerability

"Yes, Stella, I am willingly doing this," I manage to choke out. I jerk involuntarily when I see the shadow of your arm rise...

The cane flexes like a live thing, as I raise it over your flesh, and I bring it down straight across your buttocks.

I feel the rebound all the way up my arm- the thin brown rod sinks into your flesh momentarily. As it comes up again, the white line has already formed, and I see, with great satisfaction, the reddened welts beginning to mound up on either side. On your right cheek, a drop of blood stands, perfect, where the tip of the cane bit in...

You haven't even begun to breath yet, your body hasn't completely processed this form of pain at all. Only your hands, clenching the crumpled sheet, turn white...

Once more, taking careful aim, I deal you a second blow, about an inch below the first- although to you, it feels like the identical spot. I see your chest begin to inflate with indrawn breath, and push it right back out of you with the third hit. Damn, I love how that looks. You have six welts, three per side, aligned nearly perfectly across your buttcheeks. Each welt is three distinct lines, white in the center, red on each side.

Like an Indian Brave's war stripes.

"Be careful what you ask for," I say, around my own dizzying rush of adrenaline. Glad that I'm wearing these black leather jeans of mine-They remind me that I'm the top, dammit!

Moments before the thin rod assaults my being, my brain and my body, perhaps both, scream a warning at me, too late, I feel something akin to a sharp knife dripping with acid slice into my buttocks. I can't quite grasp the gravity or level of pain that I seem to be experiencing.

I am unable to breathe let alone think or speak as blow number two slashes my senses. My perception of events obscured by the mind numbing pain, insists that this can't be happening to me, it must be another person lying on that bed, hands tearing at the white sheet, mouth open in a silent scream, then I experience the third and final blow and feel like I just stepped off the edge of reality and fell screaming into a roaring pit of fire!

When I'm finally able to draw breath, what comes out of my mouth is something between a scream, a groan and a guttural moan.

My face is wet with tears when I finally register the reality and face the fact that I had willingly subjected, actually asked for this to happen to me.

Yes, poor baby, it does hurt, doesn't it?

I lay my cool hand on your ass, gently, soothingly- and am unable to resist fingering the high ridges I've sculpted into your flesh. You flinch when I touch you. My other hand grabs your shoulder, kneading the tight muscles. I can feel how quickly you react, letting the tension drain away, solely because I'm being nice right now.

You are not budging. You are not getting up off that bed, going for my throat. This was something you wanted, probably more than you ever knew. The cuffs- when I put them on you- will feel to you like... Freedom. You won't have the responsibility of controlling yourself anymore.

"So, we've learned something, right Joey?" I say. I love the little nod I get in response- you're paying attention now! "I can really make you hurt. And it's not fun, like you thought it would be- but, I bet, we only have to do this the one time."

Yes it goddamn well hurts, but I'm not about to say those words to you and chance another sound thrashing, and you bet I very much want to go for your throat, however; this was is something that I had willingly asked and agreed to. When you touched the raised skin it's almost too much for me. It hurts so bad, feeling something like raking a razor blade across bare skin would feel.

"Please Stella, please cuff me, I think I need to be restrained right now!" I plead gritting my teeth. I'm a fast learner; I'm not about to repeat this experience anytime soon.

"Yes, Stella, I've definitely learned my lesson, thank you Stella."

You know, the truth about a good top- does what the Bottom asks.

I have a set of cuffs for a guy your size and strength- steel radial belting, hidden between two layers of soft black Elkhide, glittering with steel hardware. I show them to you, and wrap one wrist then the other. For a man with murder in your eye, you are very co-operative, stretching your arms above your head so that I can link the chains around the top rail of the bed.

With your head twisted to the side, watching me as best you can, I put cuffs on your ankles, and you stretch yourself, almost luxuriously, so that I can clip them to the footboard posts. And a bottle of Arnica tincture- an herbal anesthetic- to smooth over your ass. I want to be able to put you face up soon. There is only one laceration. I touch it, gently, in tribute. If this were the old days, I'd lick the blood off your skin. Sadly, those days are gone.

While I'm waiting for the tincture to work its magic, I wrap you in more of these big, thick leather bands, buckling them into place above your elbows and knees. In two hands, ceremoniously, I set the big collar around your neck. You push your face into the mattress, trying to get used to the feeling of weight, and your hair falling in sweaty tendrils over the black leather, your strong shoulders pulled forward, your heaving chest, push me to ferocity. I want to invade you.

This started as a near-joke- it's not funny to me anymore.

I watch silently as you move about the room, opening first one cupboard, then closing it before unlocking this drawer, removing an item then relocking it and moving to another drawer, cupboard or locked box. I hear you unbuckling belts; hear the tight snap of leather as you flex the various items you have gathered, testing their strength.

I inhale sharply when I feel your hands as they encircle my wrist, feel a moments panic when the first cuff is buckled into place and secured to the bed. I hold my breath while you complete the same procedure on my other wrist. You wrap my ankles in similar bindings and I stretch out to assist you in securing my body, consequently ensuring my cooperation in what is to follow. I finally let my breath out in a great exhale, safe in the knowledge that I won't be able to escape or hurt anyone in any way.

As you said, it was in many ways a feeling of freedom. I am incredulous as to the workings of the mind and the instinctive reactions of the human body as I feel myself harden, shuddering violently when you apply the salve to my damaged skin.

Suddenly I sense a change in your demeanor, I can't quite label your new manner but then again I am unable to see your eyes or the seemingly evil smile on your face.

If I had I would have been perhaps more prepared...

evil smile? Well... yeah, actually, evil.

I heft a flogger. One of my big indulgences, I like Jeanette Heartwood's floggers for their workmanship and colors- this one is Elkhide, like the cuffs, and she painted the dyes on, black at the roots, reds oranges and yellows towards the tips. It looks like flames, and feels like them too, gentle, warming flames, as I stand on the bed over you, whirling it. The tips stroke your skin, fast as the centrifugal force forces them. I bring the flogger closer slowly, so that the streamers are hitting you harder, with more and more of their length. They leave red streaks now, down your back as your skin warms. It must be tingling by now!

I love the way you are moving under the lash, sensually dancing. Your chains clink as you shift your hands against the head-rail. That sound hits me right in my pussy. I move the flogger down your body, skimming over your ass- the welts have lost some color, thanks to the salve- and concentrating, gently, on your thighs. You seem to like that, raising your hips, and I let the flogger slip between curling around each leg to stroke the front as well.

I tense as I feel the bed move when you stand up and over my body. I can't see the flogger but I can hear the whirling sound that it makes as you wield it, your experienced hands manipulating the instrument, causing me to squirm with excitement and apprehension long before I feel the lashes as they slowly but ever so surely warm my body.

The warming sensation turns to a tingling sensation as you continue to stroke my back, venturing further down, to slide across the already violated skin on my ass, further down still the lashes begin to work on my thighs. I like this as my thighs are fresh and the sensation is deeply arousing, forcing me to raise my hips as I become more and more aroused, my bonds tense when I pull, reminding me that I am completely at your mercy.

My breathing becomes more labored as the highly erotic scene begins to play out, just as the lashes start to cause a slightly more than stimulating sensation on my thighs, I feel them curl between my legs, with my hips raised they begin to stroke my inner thighs, occasionally licking my hardening balls and teasing my thickening penis right around the base. I gasp, wanting more, I hear you laugh, almost silently; my sexual release is beginning to become necessary, my arousal starting to torment my body...

YESSS! Just the kind of bottom I love!

Foreplay with a flogger, killing you with kindness.

I am secretly relieved to see you reacting this way. I know how far I went past your limits at the very first. And, as I said, my own lust is mastering me. Every time I touch your cock and balls with the tips of the thick, heavy leather streamers- I feel it myself.

So, I know when you are nearly ready to come. And I don't like that- no more fun. I move away from your legs to your shoulders again, switch to a heavier, harder flogger.

I am oh so close to coming when you stop working anywhere near my cock and balls, moving your manipulations back to my shoulders. I groan in frustration and desire, longing to feel the pressure and pain across my sex. Needing to come but relishing the control that you have taken, my body trembling with excitement and yes, fear. I watch you return the flogger to a locked cupboard, removing a somewhat larger, heavier flogger.

My mouth goes dry...

This flogger bites in. I manipulate it over your shoulders, the small of your back, enjoying the way you twist, helplessly, unable to get away from it. I can tell how hard you're getting, too, pushing against my bed. I want to put a stop to that.

I drop the flogger alongside you- your head whips around to see what hit the mattress- and come down to the footrails, unlocking your ankles. At my command you turn yourself, a little awkwardly since your hands are above your head. As I reattach your ankles, I let my gaze roam over your chest and belly- and that very nice hardon you carry. The big muscles in your thighs twitch under my stare. You are a playground for my fun.

Nice nipples, Joey.

I produce a handful of wooden clothespins....

I tense as I feel the larger flogger bite into my skin, on my shoulders and the small of my back.

"Fuck", I mumble under my breath, feverishly trying to escape the tassels as they seem to swish or zing through the air just before making contact with my skin, causing me to suck air.

This flogging is beginning to arouse me more and more and I attempt to grind my hips into the hard mattress, anything to get some relief, my hard cock wet with precome. Each time I have started the inevitable process of release you have waited until just before that "there's no turning back now point " and then stopped my orgasm. I am frustrated and at your mercy, trying desperately to hide my attempts at self-pleasure. This time is no different, as I attain some form of a rhythm, grinding my cock into your bed, you drop the flogger beside me, startling me. I feel my ankles being released and comply when you tell me to turn over, my shoulders straining with the effort.

I close my eyes under your direct gaze, quite aware of my rock hard penis and swollen balls, my stomach seeming to quiver as I try to control my breathing. Opening my eyes, your gaze is still locked on my body and I flinch without you striking me, you grin, commenting on my hard nipples, you show me the wooden clothespins...

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