Interrogation is, ahem, "sew" much fun!

The leadup to that Friday night was... interesting... to say the least.

I was told that I would be forever changed and that I was ready for some next-level BDSM play. I was assured that when the night was over, I would experience new things and be ready for more elite play. I interpreted elite to mean not only the intensity of the play but the players themselves.

On more than one occasion, Deviant offered and then declined to tell me what I was facing. In part because I know that he, too, was excited, but in part - I have zero doubt - to fuck with my head. He's good at that, if you haven't noticed, and had me wondering, pondering, even fantasizing about what I would go through during our session.

I arrived a few minutes early. After greetings and hugs I spent some time chatting with his wife before he joined us in the kitchen. We continued talking for a short while longer and then it was time for us to begin. I made my way up to the play room and lit the candles. There was music already playing... but not in the play room. I found that a bit strange - we usually play music from an iPod docked in the room with us - but it wasn't totally foreign. Aside from the initial consideration, I didn't give it another thought until I saw the iPod on the bondage table.

Sensory deprivation was on the menu. I didn't need any more confirmation than that.

I looked around the room to see if anything needed to be put away or straightened up, and I made sure that my butt plugs, headphones, and gag were readily available so that Deviant would not be inconvenienced. I waited patiently for him to join me.

When he came into the play room he hugged me again and asked me how I was doing. He asked if I was ready. I said I trusted him. He asked if I was nervous and I affirmed that I was.

"Good."

Pause.

"You should be."

He again told me I had no idea what was in store for me. He also said that he knew I could handle it. That I was ready. It was a sweet moment, truth be told, which at once put me at ease but also instilled a slight fear... it was almost like he was being too sweet (in the best way, I assure you), like I needed more preparation than what I had. [insert more mindfuckery here] My head was again spinning. What was going to happen tonight that I needed to be handled with such kid gloves in the moments leading up to it?

Wasting no time, Deviant immediately reached for the straight jacket. I removed my cardigan and placed it on my bag. He strapped me into the heavy leather, binding my arms tight and leaving the leg strap undone. I love the feeling of that jacket. A warm weight on my body. A shell, a cocoon. He then brought over the gas mask and placed it on me, employing some light breath play as he adjusted it to his liking.

He helped me onto the bondage table and strapped me down across the chest and top-most pelvic bone, then spread my legs wide and strapped them down. He placed over the gas mask a black cotton blindfold, making sure I couldn't see anything but for a little light at the edges (a little was unavoidable, as long as I couldn't see around the room). I was blind like this, I assured him. He then tucked my earphones into my ears and turned up the volume to his iPod. I think he asked if I could hear him, but I could only tell from his closeness and some vibration that he was speaking... I couldn't make out any words. I told him as much, and he patted my shoulders.

I could feel him move to the end of the table and then I felt...

The Hitachi.

He knew just where to put it, where to hold it. He always does. I was gyrating (as much as I could while strapped down) with the vibrator against my clit, moving against it, so thankful and yet wary of a session starting with the potential for multiple orgasms (it's a Hitachi and it's me... multiples are pretty much a given. Plot point. Keep that in mind. Moving on.). We had some rough spots recently - not between us really, but we were both affected by some things I had to process. Starting tonight's session with this made me feel... back on track. It was reassuring, freeing, and I felt... I felt amazing. Ready to take on the world!

His free hand was running over my body, pushing me into the table, squeezing my breasts, covering the gas mask for the breath play.

I was so there, so ready. I could feel it building. I felt both his hands on me now, the Hitachi still strong against my clit.

Wait, what?

How?

And then I remembered the rig he made to hold the Hitachi on me while I was in the bondage chair. His hands massaging my body, the vibrator massaging my pussy... I was in heaven. Once again I was ready, almost there. His hands were strong on my arms, my face, my stomach. His hands squeezed my neck lightly and then my breasts and my shoulders while his other hand turned the Hitachi from fast to faster...

Wait, WHAT?

How many hands does this man have?!

I stiffened up. His rig couldn't control the Hitachi... just hold it against me. Right?

RIGHT?!

I could feel two sets of hands on me now. One hand held the Hitachi while my legs were being massaged, one at a time, and at the same time he was massaging my torso, chest, and arms. I couldn't hear anything, I couldn't see anyone. I could only feel. I know I reacted, bucking as much as one can while strapped down this way. I wasn't crying... yet. I trust him so I knew I was safe. I knew he wouldn't invite anyone in to our session that wasn't high on the Awesome Person list we all carry in our own heads. And we have discussed bringing someone in that was "dear to him, a trusted a friend."

That still doesn't negate the shock of feeling four hands teasing my body when I went into that room owning two of the four hands I knew to exist in that moment.

The music stopped. I felt like I was shaking and, in truth, like I might lose it. What was going on? Who could see me like this and why were they here? While we had discussed someone joining us... his trusted friend, another person who wanted to watch, even some of my friends have asked... I didn't have any warning tonight. I wasn't prepared to deal with an additional energy - whether a source or a drain. Masochist, bottom, submissive, student, trainee... I am all of those things for Deviant, and while these are considered somewhat passive, service, even "target" roles in a session, I still need to maintain a certain connection, a certain trust, a level of energy of my own that easily and readily flows with him. Another person was a lot to consider and I worried about disappointing Deviant, his guest, and myself. I was second-guessing myself already, and I had been through nothing more than a panties-on almost-orgasm with a Hitachi.

From someone I didn't know. Someone strange.

Feeling him lean in close to me, I can sense his face close to mine. He all but whispers in my ear. "How are you?"

"Fff...fff...ffine?" I realize I am asking. I am unsure. I am... too many things all at once.

"Surprised?" he asks.

"Yessss, Sss...sss...Sir."

"I told you that you wouldn't be prepared for this."

As I do often, I think I agreed, but I may have only nodded... if even that. I could still feel four hands on me. Softer now, reassuring, calming. I can hear his voice, sense his warmth. He tells me to breathe and asks if I am OK. I tell him I trust him, that I know I am safe.

"Good girl," he tells me softly. "Good girl."

It's quiet for a moment. I assume he is communicating with the other person. I am still being caressed, calmed. I steady my breathing as I wait for.... well, what, I don't know. But I am confident that this meditative moment is much needed.

He leans down to me again, waiting a moment.

And then he says it.

"Tonight, I am going to sew your pussy shut."

I immediately started crying. There was no buildup of emotion or welling of tears, it was instantaneous. I tensed up. My head exploded with fear, excitement, apprehension, curiosity, confidence, vulnerability, strength, weakness... I tried to close my legs. I shook my head. I couldn't speak. My breathing was erratic.

I don't remember now the entire conversation, but I said I needed to know who it was. I needed to know who was going to be helping him do this to me. I had my ideas, I was 99 percent confident I knew who it would be. But still... I needed to hear it. I needed to know. Deviant asked me if it would help me to know. Make me feel more confident, relaxed? I said yes, and I meant it. Even if I didn't know who it was once they were introduced, having a name, a human connection to the person who was, at that moment, rubbing my legs. A connection to the person who nearly made me orgasm with the Hitachi. I felt so removed without this information that I was a little panicky.

OK, maybe more than a little. I hated this feeling not only for what it is on its own, but the vulnerability that goes with it, and the sense that I am somehow unable to handle this. I know that I can. I know that I can.

"Are you sure you want to know who it is?" he asked me again.

"Yes, please, Sir. I need to know."

He paused, and I heard her laugh. She has a distinct laugh. Even as he said her name, I relaxed.

I may have even smiled.

I breathed.

"It's Apryl," he confirmed my suspicions.

I cried as I said, "Hi, honey," and then I turned my head to him (I think I turned to him; I couldn't see).

"Thank you."

The heavy leather straps were removed and I was positioned as close to the bottom edge of the bondage table as possible. My legs were bent, knees up, legs spread wide. Apryl sat at the end of the table, between the open legs of the bondage table, and began preparing me. She was quick but thorough, even telling me what she was doing to ensure my safety, our safety, and prepare me for what she was going to do. She and I had some previous experience with suturing so it felt odd that the information sounded familiar, especially given the fact that my mind was still spinning at the thought of what was going to happen tonight. She sutured my breasts in the week or two previous and I was comfortable with her to do what Deviant had asked her to do.

Or rather, I wanted to be comfortable. I just kept repeating to myself that I trusted them, I knew I was safe.
I am breathing, almost meditating. Deviant is occasionally pressing his hands against me, over the jacket and the mask, keeping a connection. He turns the music back on and I stiffen again. He notices.

"Music or no?" he asks, turning the music off again.

"No music. Please." I explain, I think I am saying it aloud, that I want to hear them talk to me, I need to have that sense about me. I can hear the music playing from the other room... if I need to focus on music, I know I can focus on that.

"Are you ready?" Apryl asks me.

"You can do this," Deviant tells me. "You can handle this."

"Yes, thank you. Yes, Sir."

They tell me to breathe, to relax. He is holding one of my legs and I can feel her fingers manipulating my labia. "Here we go," she says. I try to not stiffen up (again) and I try to breathe. I love needle play, I know - generally - what to expect, and I am prepared for this.

Or rather, I think I am prepared for this.

"You can do this," Deviant tells me again. "Breathe. Breathe."

I feel the needle against my skin, pushing through sharply.

Holy shit.

I started doubting this immediately.

I wasn't sure if I could handle this.

I was going to disappoint them, I knew it.

I started crying... hard.

I all but scream in pain, clench my jaw shut, and aaaauuuggghhhh my way through the piercing. They both tell me I can do this, that I am doing well. I unclench my jaw and I yell out. She has to finish pushing through and then pull the thread. The pain is slightly less intense... though I wonder what I am feeling anymore. I feel slightly disconnected from my own pussy, and for a brief moment it feels as if I cannot feel... like it's not mine, not happening to me. Tears are streaming down the sides of my face, still encased in the gas mask. I am biting my lips and my tongue and the inside of my cheeks.

Deviant leans his body against my shoulder and holds my hand. “You can do this.”

She keeps going.

She pierces me again and I scream, I try to breathe, I try to control my reaction and I feel like I am failing at that. Deviant is reassuring me, telling me I am a good girl, that this is so awesome to see, and that he knows I can handle this. I sense strength not only in him, but from him. Apryl is also championing me, supporting me...
... and making me scream.

Again.

She has done four of them now, and I feel Deviant move away. When he returns, I hear the shutter of his camera.

I am crying, breathing erratically, and trying to calm down before each new stick of the needle. The pain of each piercing is worse, not better - I sometimes get to a space or a physical numbness with needle play that I am not reaching tonight - and I am conflicted, torn between hating and loving this moment. At once I both want it to end and I want to beg them to keep going.

It is this conflict that breaks my concentration and, to a degree, breaks me. Vulnerability and pain have taken on new meaning, and I begin to sob. I cry for wanting to quit and disappoint my Sir. I cry for feeling and appearing weak to my play partner. I cry for myself and for breaking down. They are comforting me, telling me I am strong... and I am crying.

"Breathe."

I do.

"Breathe."

In and out.

"Breathe."

Controlled, calmly.

"Breathe."

I do.

"Good girl."

Apryl is rubbing my leg, Deviant is rubbing my arms through the leather straight jacket. "Can you do two more?"

I am unsure. I am scared.

I am a cocky bitch.

"I can do four if you need more," I say through my tears.

I think they laugh at me. The irony isn't lost on them: breaking down during this experience and then puffing up my chest and challenging them to do more. I couldn't help but think of an old TV game show.... "I can name that song in 2 notes!"

What the hell was I thinking?!

"I think we'll only need two," Apryl says, "but we'll see how it goes."

She pierces me again and I scream. I cry. I breathe. I say, "Thank you." I regret offering my labia for four additional piercings. I'd quit right now if given the opportunity.

But I am not. She pierces me again.

I scream.

I cry.

In my head, if not aloud, I beg for no more piercings.

"It's OK," she says. Did I say it out loud? "I said two," she continues, "we've got them."

She and Deviant talk about tightening the thread, knotting it, and leaving me in it for a while. As she works, he takes more photos. She pulls on the threads, pulls on me. She makes me cry and moan. The pain is pleasurable at times, unbearably sharp at others, and the feeling of the threads across my skin is surreal.

I am still, though more quietly now, crying. As Apryl cleans up her med kit, Deviant places the headphones back into my ears and turns on the music. I lay on the table, still blind, still bound in the straight jacket. I am afraid to move for fear I will tear something, rip something out, and cause myself even more pain. In truth, this session hasn't lasted very long and I am afraid that they are considering ending it. This is not to say that the play hasn't been intense, but it feels... unfinished. I feel less accomplished than I thought I would.

I feel the bondage table, with me still on it, being moved across the floor. The music is turned off again. Deviant says he is going to help me up and off the table. Sitting up and moving isn't nearly as scary as I thought it would be with my pussy sewn shut, and I am soon standing. He removes the gas mask and blindfold and I see him smile. He gives me some water.

"Hot fucking mess," he says as I drink, no doubt commenting on my streaked makeup, tear stained cheeks, wet eyes, and ruined hair. "I love it."

The straight jacket is removed and I feel that my skirt is bunched up. I reach down to fix it and realize my panties were around my body, cut off of me by Apryl so she could work. I pull them off completely and toss them into my bag.

He guides me backwards and helps me to sit on the bondage chair. He places around my neck the heavy leather collar and then attaches it to the chair's adjustable rig in the back. He makes it tight, pulling slightly up on my neck and chin, and I am immobile. He doesn't bind my legs or arms. He doesn't have to. I am going nowhere.

I am told to close my eyes and I hear some movement in the room. They are talking quietly and I allow myself some time to breathe, think, and process. I keep wondering what will be done to me in this position and by whom. My pussy is sewn shut, though exposed by the chair's custom seat; my limbs are free, but I am immobilized at the neck. I think about the stitching, wondering if I could have taken more.

I can see through my closed eyes a bright light and I am told to open my eyes.

I flutter them open and close them again immediately. The light is blinding, painful.

"Open. Your. Eyes." Deviant commands.

"No."

"What?!" he asks. "I said 'open your eyes.' Now, open your eyes."

I open my eyes and cringe. My eyes are still wet with tears, and now I can feel more tears and a stinging sensation as they react to the strong light.

“So,” he begins…

… and I am whipped. I cry out.

“So,” he starts again. “You had an… interesting… week.”

He hits me again. Is it a whip? A strap? All I know is that it hurts. I try to breathe through it.

“Sssss….. sorry?” I need clarification.

He goes over some of the events that had transpired that week. Asking me questions, asking me for clarification. Making sure that my missteps and mistakes from before were well and truly ingrained in my head… making sure I had made progress.

He was testing me and, at the same time, teaching me. Helping me. He would push me verbally, lights bright, forcing me to keep my eyes open. He hit me, whipped me. Sharp physical pains and mental calisthenics fought each other for focus and I fought them for clarity.

I wanted to fight back at some of the words thrown at me, but I knew I was strong… I was stronger and better than what I had done before. I accepted that punishment and I made my way out of it a better partner, a better woman, a better person.

This moment, even under the blinding, hot light… this time, this conversation… I was better, I was clear.

“Good.”

He knows.

“Let’s change the subject,” he says. He exposes my breasts so that he can pull on my rings. He twists, he pulls.

I cry out in pain.

whip

“Aaaauuggh! Yessss, yes, Sir.”

“You met a boy.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What’s his name?”

I tell him.

“And you’ve gone out with him?”

I say that yes, we have gone out. I mention, and Apryl acknowledges, some of my friends meeting him.

whip

Apryl gets close and hits me, with what I am not sure. I keep closing my eyes now. They are both hitting me as Deviant is asking questions. My legs, my breasts, even my feet.

I am crying again but I am not entirely sure if it’s the pain, the questioning, my sutured pussy, the light… I am still a little beside myself for having a third person in the session. All of it became heavy, an almost tangible weight on my heart, my body, and my mind.

“Has he fucked you?”

My eyes open. I am defiant. “No, Sir.”

“Why not?”

whip

“We…” I cry out. “We haven’t….” I am hit and I stop. I am crying for the pain now.

“Do you like him?”

“So far, yessss…” whip

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Yes,” I say. “I think so.”

“Where is your phone?” Deviant asks me. I tell him it is in my bag and he brings it to me. “Give me his number.”

I get the number up on the screen and hand the phone back to him.

Deviant laughs at me. “That was too easy.”

“He knows about you, about what we do. I met him while beating on him at a party.”

He laughs at me again. “And if I called him?”

“I don’t know.” I have told him everything. He even knew I was with Deviant at that moment. I don’t know what he would do if he received a phone call with an explanation of my current circumstances. Would he still understand? Would he be scared away?

“Should I?” he asks me. “Should I call him?”

“I don’t know,” I say again. And I don’t. I can’t make that decision, but I know I am not afraid of it. Whatever happens, happens. I have been honest with everyone. I can face that. “You can,” is the best answer I can come up with at that moment.

whip

“I know I can…” his voice sounds harder now.

I sigh. I didn’t mean to imply that he couldn’t do it.

“How will he fuck you if you are sewn shut?” he asks me.

I don’t say anything. I have no words. I just shake my head.

I cry.

They are taking turns hitting me, whipping me, even punching me. Apryl’s distinct laugh is contagious, even as I am being beaten, and I find myself sometimes laughing with her as she imposes sadistic tactics to make me jump and cry out.

Deviant puts the Hitachi against my pussy and I am immediately frustrated. I can feel it, but the sutures make it nearly impossible to feel it properly. It is a tease, a reminder of what sewing me shut means. A reminder of what I cannot have. A reminder of his control. A reminder of who we are, even, I am sure, a reminder of my past mistakes. I feel all of it applies, all of it is wrapped up in that thread barrier between my body and potential pleasure.

The light is still on my eyes. I am reminded to keep my eyes open whenever I close them as a reaction to the pain. I am being hit and slapped and punched and whipped and paddled.

Deviant tells me he is going to give Apryl six minutes of uninterrupted, unfettered, unlimited toys, unlimited time with me. I think I started crying again. Even she looked surprised. “How about six hits?” she suggests.

She has an acrylic paddle in her hands and hits my thigh hard. She grabs my breast and twists, slaps and punches it. She hits my legs up and down with the paddle and makes one of my calves cramp from the pain.

“I count four,” she says, and hits me hard on the inside of my thigh. “Five,” she says with a smile.

I feel weak. The light is too bright, the pain is too much, the energy in the room is fantastic, buzzing… but I am losing mine. I feel… I feel everything. My head is fuzzy, my heart aches a little, my body is screaming in stinging pain, my mouth is dry.

She hits me again, hard, follows it up with a punch, and he whips me when she moves out of the way.

I can’t take it anymore. I don’t say this, of course. I refuse to color out. I knew I could take this.

I am crying. Sad, pathetic tears. Tired tears. I slump a little.

I don’t have to say it. They can see it.

The light is turned off and I close my eyes. They hurt; they are dry, they are dehydrated from the light and heat and salty tears.

Deviant releases the collar from the chair and I lean forward on my arms a moment. He helps me up on to the bondage table and Apryl prepares to remove the sutures.

As she is doing this, he holds my hand.

And I break down.

My body melted into the table and I cried. I cried harder than I had cried in a while. The reminder of the punishment I had earned, the interrogation and renewal of the feelings and considerations I thought we had laid to rest. The questions and the pain and the new energy... it was so overwhelming. Even when Apryl was done, which she was quickly and near painlessly, I cried. I curled up on the table, one arm wrapped around my body, one hand in Deviant’s hand, and I cried. Fat, rolling tears that – I hoped – were carrying away the shock, the sadness, the tiredness and the pain. I cried because I was crying. I cried because I laughed earlier. I cried for him, and for her, as much as I was crying for me. I cried for a while, curled up like this, holding his hand. He moved away for a moment and brought me some tissue, then did what he needed to clean up around me.

The tears slowed, the pain ebbed, and I breathed.

In and out. In and out.

I sighed, sitting up and feeling a little - not a lot, just a little - embarrassed. But I was OK. I was more than OK.

He hugged me. He put his forehead to mine and said I did great. He said I was great. “I told you that you could do this.” I nodded. He sounded proud of me.

“Thank you, Deviant.” I am whispering.

He hugs me again.

“Good girl.”