The Long Goodbye

"When was the first time you realized you enjoyed pain," he asked me as we lay together in the bed with just enough space between us for our hands to easily explore each other's soft, clean skin. He washed me quite carefully while we were in the tub, in a moment of stark contrast with his forceful nature. The change was nice. For the first time, I found myself hoping that I could keep up with my lover instead of the other way around. A break in the action, however small, gave a welcome reprieve to gather my thoughts and appreciate the moment -- the now, as he called it.

"I don't know that it's really the pain that gets me off," I replied, my eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He lay there propped up on one elbow, his finger tips tracing along my neck and collarbone. "But the sensation is different," I thought for a moment, distracted by the feeling of him dragging the backside of his carefully kept finger nails across my chest. "I started reading about it -- about masochism -- a couple years ago. I wanted to try it, just to see what it was like."

"A curious kitten," he said and nudged the underside of my chin with his fingers.

I smiled playfully at him and then closed the space between us. I wanted to be held and he was more than willing to oblige. "Very," I said. "I don't want to miss out on something I might like just because it could be scary. So, when I turned eighteen I got my first tattoo -- my oleander," I showed him again, "and that was the first time I felt a kind of joy from it."

He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat as he stroked my hair. I couldn't see his face from where I was, but I suspect he wore a particular grin while thought of the many possibilities. "So, it's the experience that gets you, not necessarily the pain itself," he said, then expanded. "You wouldn't enjoy some random person coming up and smacking your backside -- that wouldn't turn you on."

"Right," I replied.

He paused for a moment and his eyes wandered elsewhere around the room. "I'd like to try something with you," he said, "but I need to be certain you understand what I'm about. You've read my book, so I assume you know what sensory play is."

"I do," I said as I searched his face. My hands were on his shoulders, raking little furrows in his muscle with the tips of my finger nails. Sensory play featured very heavily in the first part of the book as a way for Mariana and her lover to explore the different kinds of touch that brought her pleasure. It was her gateway to harder things -- Shibari, flagellation, suspension, and piercing among them, not all of them on my interest list -- and also sparked her desire to yield herself completely to the man she eventually called Master. Where all this would head, I wasn't sure, but the experience was one I didn't want to pass up. I knew it always started the same way. "You want to tie me up and blindfold me?"

"It's a big ask for someone you just met, I know," he said. "Even light submission like this requires a foundation of trust and consent, which is why I am asking if you would let me."

"No piercing," I said, striking a limit.

"Oh, no, definitely not. Nothing that would open the skin," he said shaking his head. "I haven't done that in years, and it would require a much more controlled environment than a hotel room. Besides -- you're only just a kitten, baby girl. And that is pro-level shit. No, we'll stick with the basics. A few pieces of kit I keep with me, and," he looked about the room again, "a few found items. If you feel the need to stop, all you need to do is say it."

"So no gag," I teased.

He smiled. "Not when we're still getting to know each other. If we'd been playing regularly, I'd feel more comfortable with it. Besides," he leaned in and kissed me on the mouth again, "I like hearing you beg."

I bit his lower lip playfully and purred. Break time was over for me. "I like it when you make me beg, daddy."

"Then you," he pulled away and moved me to the center of the bed without much effort and slid a towel underneath my hips, "are really going to like what happens next."

He took a moment to bind my hands again with the belt, though this time he kept them raised over my head. He managed a solid knot around the top edge of the platform bed frame. "Give that a good tug for me," he said, and I complied as best as I could. Then he tickled me under my arms and I started laughing and writhing uncontrollably. The knot held, so he stopped and gave me little kiss on the lips to soothe my distempered attitude. "You have a beautiful laugh," he said as he walked off to the opposite side of the room where he kept his luggage. He took two small black bags out of the larger wheeled case. One he set on the side table, the other he opened and withdrew three short sections of pole, two of which had a weird looking nylon loop and D-ring at the end.

"What is that?" I asked, but he didn't answer right away. He assembled the pieces into one, then put my feet into the loops at either end and cinched them tight around my ankles. They held tight as I tested them out. I could not get my legs to close, even though I could move the bar freely.

"A portable Pilates gym," he said. "There are resistance tubes that connect to these," he pointed to the D-rings.

I chuckled at him. It almost seemed absurd. "You bought a Pilates set to use for this?"

"No," he admitted as he went back for the other bag and produced a short length of nylon rope. "I bought a portable Pilates gym because I sometimes travel places that don't make it easy to stay in shape, and I like my routine. This," he went on as he made an intricate knot around one end of the pole and fed the rope under the bed, "is just a convenient bonus use I thought up while I was packing it away one day. So, now I bring it with me everywhere when I travel, just to be prepared."

"You don't seem like Boy Scout material," I teased him as he opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a little black sleep mask, the kind I supposed a fancy hotel like this one would make available to its guests.

"Where do you think my fascination with knot tying started?" he asked as he climbed onto the bed and then straddled my chest. His cock, still limp for the moment, and balls lay just between my breasts where he knelt. If I strained my neck, I could almost reach the tip of him with my tongue. I tried, but he grabbed me by the throat and forced my head back to the mattress. I gave a strangled gasp of surprise as he did it. "Now, now," he said. "That's not what this is about right now. This is for you, my sweet little girl. Do you understand?"

"Yes, daddy," I said. "I understand. I'm sorry; I promise to be good."

"Good," he said and let me go and slipped the sleep mask around my head and over my eyes.

The mask had a little gel padding around the eyes to make it more comfortable and help seal out the light. It did a wonderful job, as I couldn't see anything at all; not even the haze of light through the material of the mask. I felt him kiss me then and slide down the length of me. "I have a few more things to make ready," he whispered. "Don't move; stay nice and still." I felt the bed shift as he moved to the floor, but then the room went silent.

"Yes, daddy," I said and gave my restraints a little tug. They weren't going anywhere. He really must have been a Boy Scout at one point. I lay quietly, as still as I could manage. I tried to gauge my surroundings, listening for him, but there were noises that billowed up from the street outside the window. Cars, people milling about, the occasional horn or distant sirens. That mixed with the white noise of the air conditioner running to make it almost impossible to hear his careful footfalls. There were other sounds, though -- a light clink of glass, the slow opening of a drawstring bag, and the rummaging about of things. The striking of a match.

"Do you hear what I hear," he whispered, so close to my ear that I could feel his breath against my skin, hot and humid like a blast of summer heat that sent a shiver down my spine. "A serenade." I felt his tongue graze against the spot where my ear met my jaw and then he whispered again and whimpered. "Stay nice and quiet and see if you hear it, too."

I held my breath, heard my pulse for a moment, and then, beneath the other sounds of the city, the subtle strains of a saxophone off in the distance. "Someone playing jazz in the street," I said with some uncertainty.

"Very good," he whispered, now on the other ear. My head tilted into him, but he was nowhere to be found. "Here's a treat for my special girl." Cold metal touched my lips, coated in something creamy and sweet -- the sweet wine gelato he'd bought earlier in the evening. I opened my mouth and he fed it to me. I licked the spoon clean and he commended my appetite.

I couldn't say how, but I knew he was gone again; heard him settle the tub of gelato and spoon on the nightstand and then disappear. Then a scent filled the air, like he'd applied a fresh daub of his cologne. I inhaled deeply through my nose. I wanted to memorize that intoxicating fragrance. My chest rose into the action, and then I felt the ice cube on my nipple and gasped. It traveled in little circles, trailing dribbles of cold water down every side of my delicate handfuls. He made a wide spiral out from the tip, around my areola, and then down my sternum. Then it vanished again, all but the icy wet trail of the cube's journey. Then it passed over my lips. I opened my mouth, greedily trying to suck his fingers into me. He let me catch him, and I suckled at his fingers as I would his luscious cock. The little satisfied sound I made was cut quickly short, though, as another ice cube met the other nipple and made the same journey around. Only this time when his fingers came to my mouth, there was more of the sweet cream on them. The sticky stuff made cleaning him more difficult, but more delectable as well. I thanked him for feeding me. "I feel bad, though," I whispered, whimpering as he flicked my nipple rings one at a time. "I don't want you to miss out on the dessert."

I heard him make a thoughtful sound from the other side of me. "You're right. Hold still for me, darling," he said, and then I felt a glob of something creamy and frigid settle in my belly button. The sudden cold made my stomach contract; I fought to hold those muscles as still as possible, but I could feel little rivulets of what I assumed to be gelato starting to make their way down my side. Then I felt his tongue cleaning up the errant drips with fast, hard, hot motions, and had to restrain myself anew. My toes curled as my knees tried to pull together; I felt the nylon loops dig into my ankles and the leather belt cinch tighter about my wrists.. I dared not let go too sudden a moan or cry out for fear of the mess I would make. He moved so swiftly, licking and slurping around my sides and across my pubic mound until at last he got the main part of it in my navel. His tongue flickered in and around the little button, and all I could think of was how he'd eaten my ass earlier in the evening with the same hunger. But the relief I felt when it was safe to make a sound more than a feeble whimper.

"Did I do good, daddy?" I asked him, pleading. And then I felt another glob of gelato settle in the little v-shaped notch where my throat met my collarbone, and his mouth was on me again, licking and lapping away at my skin as I tried desperately not to writhe under the exquisite feeling of him. I drew in slow breaths through my nostrils and endured it as well as I could. I could feel the wetness growing in me; felt it running down between the cleft of my buttocks. My thighs ached for nothing more than to rub together and satisfy the itch I felt down there, but there was no fighting his inventive little contraption.

"You are doing very well," he finally answered from somewhere above me. I heard him sip, swallow, then sip again. And then his mouth pressed to mine. I opened to receive him and felt the sweet tasting flood of champagne flow from him to me. Our tongues swirled together a moment, and I swallowed as soon as he drew back away from me again.

I could almost tell where he was by the strength of his odor, but I could hear him, as well, now in the sound of shifting cloth. An arm scooped under my backside and a pillow was tucked underneath me with the towel still an intermediary. The change in height put a bit more pressure on my extremities. He checked with me and, panting from the excitement, I nodded that all was well. Things went quiet for a moment, and completely still, until at last my breath settled. I licked my lips and called for daddy, then felt the gentle, silky smooth sensation of some satiny fabric drawn across my crotch towards my belly. The swatch of cloth grazed my swollen clit as it went backwards, and then forwards again between my legs. My legs tried again, in vain, to draw together; my hands clenched the belt with desperation and pulled, and my whole core tightened in surprise. I groaned through gritted teeth as the cloth went back and forth again and again in long, languorous passes across the sensitive little button and drove me out of my mind. Then the cloth made a final pass towards my legs, and snapped across my clit with a sudden jerking whip.

"FUCK," I screamed and shuddered against the restraints. The creak of the leather belt and the ropes holding the bar in place at my ankle made violent music as I climaxed, only to feel the swatch of cloth return mid convulsion to start again, even faster. The friction made my single orgasm double and spread through my entire body. Everything clenched, or tried to clench. My body wanted to double over on itself but couldn't, and my ragged breath was only punctuated by cries of blissful agony when he again snapped the cloth through its whipping pass and drove all thought completely out of my mind. I couldn't speak, couldn't beg him to stop even if I wanted to. I had devolved into a primal state of feral lust with every neuron and synapse firing in overload.

Exposed to the air, I felt the heat of the passing friction now while my body tried desperately to recover. "Does that sting a little, baby girl?" he asked me and I nodded, wordless, guttural grunts the closest thing I could render to actual language. "Poor thing. Let me help."

My lungs drew in a sharp breath through my mouth as he held an ice cube to me. The sudden change kept my body going. I was coming. Not again, I realized. Still. And then his fingers penetrated my pulsating twat with another ice cube and sent me once more for a ride. His fingers curled up wards and pressed the frosty little bit against the spongy flesh along the topside of my canal. It didn't stay long, the heat of me was no match for that ice cube, but his fingers lingered and curled into me, stroking that sensitive spot with forceful insistence. The wet, sucking sound of my own flesh filled the room as he fingered me.

"Here, honey," he said in a tone that almost mocked the paternal, and fed me another spoonful of gelato. I made a mess with it, unable to keep steady enough to catch the spoon properly as my body continued to writhe unbidden from my own will. He licked my cheeks and lips and gathered everything back to my mouth as his hand vigorously fucked those two fingers in and out of me, until at last I'd had every drop from his mouth and he extricated his fingers. He gave my sopping wet slit a hearty pat that sent another electric jolt up my spine and rubbed my clit with the flat of his palm. I became suddenly aware of the fact that I was crying when he slowed then stopped and planted gentle kisses all over my face and neck and chest. "There, there, baby," he soothed me, stroking my hair. He hushed me and I finally started to come down from the constant electric sensation that had wracked my body for I didn't even know how long.

"Oh my," I heaved, "fucking God," as soon as I felt present enough in my own mind to form words. His hands traced lines down my abdomen and across my legs. "That was... I don't even... That was..."

"Was?" I heard him say above the sound of knots being broken. "Honey, I'm not done yet." He grabbed my ankles above the restraints and turned me over with a single strong twisting motion. The mattress bounced as I landed. "Not by a long shot." The ropes were tied again and he adjusted the pillow, now under my belly, and replaced the towel with a clean one. "Are you?"

I breathed for a moment, lost in the sudden change of direction. I shook my head, but it wasn't enough.

He smacked my ass with his open hand. "Say it."

And I knew what he wanted. "Daddy, please don't stop," I begged, my voice a ragged, sobbing mess as drenched with ecstasy as the towel he'd discarded was with my juices. "Please give me more; I want it. I need you, daddy!"

I heard a metallic flicking sound, like a pocket knife being opened. I tensed. "Do you trust me to keep my word?" he asked, his lips close to my ear again.

"Yes, daddy." I let go a deep sigh and did my best to let my body release that extra tension.

I felt the tip of the knife touch just above the knob of my neck and my shoulders tensed ever so slightly. Slowly, carefully, he drew it down along the length of my spine. The amount of pressure was minuscule, as though he relied only on the weight of the blade. When it touched the cleft of my backside I realized he was using the dull back edge of the knife -- just enough to give the sensation without actually cutting me. Then he followed the same line with another ice cube. Sharp, then smooth. He traced little S patterns along my back with the tip of the blade, and did the same with the ice. It tickled -- almost. But not in a way that made me laugh.

I sighed, relaxed completely with the third pass of the blade and ice. He kissed his way down my spine and my worry melted into a smile. His trail of kisses wandered farther down and met my puckered little butthole. He lapped at it gently, then I felt him disappear again for a moment. Then an ice cube pushed into my backside, followed by his finger -- first one, then two -- and I groaned with delight. He gently worked them in and out of me. "You've been such a brave little girl," he said as he brushed my hair to the side of my neck.

"One last thing," he whispered, and then something hot dripped onto my shoulders. Wax. I shuddered with each little splatter as he worked his way down the length of my spine, following the same s-shaped pattern but in the opposite direction. It felt a little like being tattooed; that was the closest similarity my mind could draw as my breath hitched in my throat and I fought to bear back into his fingers as he delved into my backside, twisting and turning and stretching me apart. I clenched, then, involuntarily on his digits. I was coming again as the hot wax pushed me over the edge, and I let go a primal growling moan as my body gave into his plying once again. He held me there, fingers deep in me while I found my shivering way back to earth once more.

"How are you doing, little girl," he asked as he removed his fingers from my anus.

"Oh," my voice returned slowly through heavy breaths, muffled slightly by the comforter and the position of my arms above my head. "You know, just...fucking amazing, daddy."

He chuckled and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Good. Stay right there," he said and slapped my cunt as he rose off the bed once more. I shuddered and tried to catch my breath. If my throat wasn't sore enough from swallowing his cock earlier, the screaming I'd been doing would finish the job. He came back a moment later and I heard a familiar popping sound, followed by what sounded like hand sanitizer being squirted into a hand. "Do you trust me?" he asked as he sidled up behind me once more. I nodded vigorously. I couldn't speak. He guided his fingers back into me, and they went even smoother than before. Lubricant.