The waiting is always the worst of it.
anticipation
I fantasize a lot about just being left somewhere to be used. Like, chained to a wall or tied to a bed, and just left there to wait until someone was ready to pleasure themselves with me. Except, in practice, I know I get pretty bored pretty fast just being made to wait. Anticipation doesn’t do all that much for me unless there’s some sense of activeness to it – being blindfolded, being in predicament bondage, etc – and otherwise I just want the action to start up already. But, in fantasies, at least, I like imagining just being a little fixture, made to wait.
The waiting is always the worst of it.
It’s not so much about the pain
as it is about the anticipation.
That’s what hurts the most.
It’s been almost a year now since the last time I tried waxplay.
The last time, I had to perform it on myself while the thief watched. There’s something a lot more daunting about doing it that way. You would think that being in relative control of the candle would make the experience a little less intimidating, but you tend to actually have a lot less control over the candle when your hand is shaking than you’d like.
We started with it over my breasts, on my nipples. I shivered when started to drip onto my thighs. I protested when he suggested I put it on my clit. I had never done that before or had anyone put the wax there. When I finally agreed, I swear I saw white the moment the wax made contact with my clit. I cried out, my body shook, and I wound up spilling more wax on my thigh and over my slit.
“I’m proud,” the thief said, “and, damn, that looks awesome.” He gestured to the wax that covered my body. I blushed and chuckled.
I think I am way overdue for another experience like that.
All of this.
“I have no idea what’s awaiting me, or what will happen when this all ends.”
―Albert Camus
The First Time Ivy Tried Knifeplay, Part 2
(part 1 can be found here)
“Oh, God, Ivy. I told you not to open your eyes.”
It was too late. It was this massive, cold, harsh serrated blade, something a little less menacing than a meat cleaver. She held in in her fist like she was in some kind of slasher movie with how my t-shirt had been destroyed. I swallowed dry air and shuddered.
I have to say I was mildly surprised to notice the wetness that had puddled beneath me. I bit down hard on my lower lip for a moment, gazing up at my girlfriend who was still holding the knife as if waiting for me to give her some sort of approval or to just freak out over the size of the thing.
I cleared my throat before finally saying, “I trust you.”
“Good,” she gave me a little smirk, “because now the real fun can start.” She set the knife down on my chest, the blade pointed straight at my throat. As long as I didn’t heave or start hyperventilating, I would be fine. “Hold that for me, would you?”
She chuckled as she walked over to her closet and looked through it for a moment before coming back with a winter scarf. She tucked the knife into the strap of my panties before starting to wind the scarf over my eyes. It was a bit scratchy, but it certainly served its purpose.
And suddenly I was in the dark again. The inescapable, unrelenting dark. She dragged the knife out from its spot in the strap of my panties, cutting the strap as she pulled. She started her rounds again of bringing the blade over my body, down my stomach, and up the sides of my neck. I quivered as she played it over my breasts through the holes in the shirt.
She brought the knife back down and sliced the other strap on my panties. I heard her set it down on the bedside table and breathed a huge sigh of relief.
“I don’t know what you’re so happy about,” she began as she slowly eased the front of my panties down, exposing my pussy. They were nearly stuck to it with my wetness. “You’ve gotten yourself all over my sheets."
A flush burned in my cheeks. "I’m…I’m very sorry, Miss,” I whispered as she gathered my panties up in her fist, their removal expedited by the fact that she had cut the straps. Her fist remained down between my legs, my panties soaking up even more of my wetness.
“No, dear,” she began as she raised her hand to push my panties into my mouth, “you don’t even know what sorry means yet."
The First Time Ivy Tried Knifeplay, Part 1
It was with a girlfriend. Initially, I was terrified of the concept and I dwelled on the idea that she would slip and I would wind up maimed and in the emergency room and my medical report would say I was in some kind of freaky sex accident and I really just couldn’t handle something like that. But, I had agreed earlier that day that I was opening to at least giving it a try. If I got too nervous, I had a safeword to fall back on.
That evening, as she finished getting ready for bed, I wandered around her bedroom in this old t-shirt from an event I went to and a pair of plain white cotton panties. She turned and looked me over for a moment before saying, “lie down.”
I laid down on top of the sheets, looking up at her expectantly. She smiled in this smug little cat-that-caught-the-canary way that she usually did when we were about to get into something sexy. She opened her drawer, pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and bent over me to slide them through a bar on the headboard before cuffing me to it. “Close your eyes."
The chuckle I let out was mostly nervous. There’s something absolutely torturous of having to close your eyes instead of being blindfolded. The option is right there and totally available for you to see what’s going on, but you want to keep your eyes closed, but the suspense is killing you, but…oh God.
I felt something cold drag across the exposed skin of my forearm. Somehow, in my panicking over keeping my eyes closed, she’d managed to sneak downstairs to the kitchen and get what I presumed to be a knife. It felt far too wide to be a butterknife, but I couldn’t really judge its size or much else about it.
I sucked in a breath as she went over my arms, my legs, teasing my body with the terribly cold blade. The harder I tried at holding myself still, the more I trembled. She moved her free hand over my t-shirt, gathering up some of it before I heard her sawing away at the fabric in various spots.
When she released the shirt, I judged by the rushes of cold air that she’d sliced over my breasts and my stomach. As she reached down and tore the cut over one of my breasts to be larger, I struggled with the enormous task of simply keeping my eyes closed. I had to see it. I couldn’t just keep them shut. I knew it was right there and I just had to know what she was working with.
And, so, I opened my eyes…
Once, he tied me down to my bed in a terribly vulnerable position and blindfolded me with one of my scarves. To top it off, he put a pair of headphones on me, which were playing a rather loud recording of a washing machine. And that was about it. I was trembling with anticipation. I was dripping, squirming, waiting to be played with, and yet I felt nothing. No hands sliding up my sides, no lips trailing over my neck and chest, nothing. Nothing for a while. I went to ask what was going on, and I got smacked. So I kept quiet from that point on. And then, more silence. And nothing.
It got to the point where I was fairly sure I was now alone in the room. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I was terribly disoriented. I could feel my sheets dampening beneath my exposed pussy. I could smell myself. But that was about anything sensory, besides the maddening sound of the washing machine and the chill of the air over my damp pussy.
And then I felt his hand slide underneath my chin and lift my head, the other occupied with guiding his cock into my mouth. He didn’t remove the blindfold or the handphones. But, it didn’t matter. I had all the comfort I needed.