From: [email protected]
Subject: Nurse Jones on stretching exercises
Date: 4 Mar 92 00:33:55 GMT
Nurse Jones,
Another snapshot from my album.
Jay made a new (smaller) ball gag in honor of my inability to tolerate
the old one for very long. I'm well past the wisdom teeth episode, and
we're back to business as usual.
Which included:
He put me on the futon and locked my wrists to my ankles with those
soft, oiled cowhide cuffs, which put my knees in the air, legs bent;
and then he buckled the surprise gag on me--but he didn't lock it on.
Given enough time, I could have gotten into a position (however
ungraceful) to get it off, but he passed a rope under the bed and tied
it to each of my knees and pulled them apart. Way apart. So far apart
that the tendons and muscles on the insides of my thighs stood out,
corded and strained.
For some reason, he likes putting me in a predicament that I can
*almost* get out of. I was held down, flat on my back, by just two
ropes, one tied to each knee. They were just tight enough to keep me
from trying to sit up and rearrange myself. It hurt if I did.
It seemed like he teased me for hours. It's so hard to have an orgasm
when you aren't free to move. Even though I had that gag in, I kept
begging, "Harder, harder," but I was totally unintelligible. I'm sure
he knew, though. He kissed me all around the gag. I think he must have
read one of my earlier posts about how Anita kissed my lips where they
were stretched around the other ball gag. He kept me on the edge
deliberately, being too gentle and slow, and then switching to strong
and slow. Everything happened in slow motion. Just when I wanted him
to go faster, he slowed even more.
-*-
What is it about the limits bondage sets? Why is there such freedom
when there are limits?
When I'm gagged, I feel free to shout and moan and complain and
whimper and say things I could never say ungagged.
When I am restrained, I feel free to struggle and fight and resist and
try to do physical things I would never do unrestrained.
When I am blindfolded I feel free to be an exhibitionist because
somehow if I can't see myself it's not embarrassing and I'm not
responsible.
Why are the best orgasms the ones I try to resist having, but he makes
me?
Or the ones that are denied and denied and denied until I'm dying to
have him inside me -- absolutely dying -- and then finally, because I
have somehow earned an entitlement to a rip roaring one, it comes...
Why is it best when you're pushing against a limit?
I think that as a child I was afraid to be too wild in case I
discovered that I was stronger then my parents. I depended on their
restraint for my own sense of security.
Maybe everyone wants to be completely irresponsible and needs to know
they can do it safely, within limits?
-*-
Anyway, the next time we made love, he tied me in the same position:
on my back, knees in the air, sharply bent, and pulled as far apart as
my poor muscles would stand. But this time he left my hands free. The
rope looped around my knee in a knot, but both ends of the rope were
tied tight to the ring under the bed, knots completely out of reach. I
couldn't really go anywhere, but the fact that my hands were free gave
the illusion that I could almost get away. In fact, all I could do was
half sit up. I could reach down to cover myself, and I could touch
myself anywhere; I held the corded muscles on the insides of my poor
overstressed thighs, but I couldn't take the strain off them. They
didn't really hurt, but they were stretched apart to the very limit of
my flexibility. All I could do was look at them.
Yet I had this illusory freedom, since my hands were not tied.
I was trying unsuccessfully to push my knees back together to relieve
the strain when I looked down at the foot of the bed and realized he
was watching me discover what he already knew.
I realized the game wasn't "Can she get away?" It was, "How will she
react when she realizes she can't?"
Something clicked inside me. I became embarrassed, which for me is an
extremely erotic state of mind, so I became bold as well. How can you
be brazen and embarrassed at the same time?
I kept my eyes on his and slid my hands from my knees, slowly down the
insides of my thighs, over the straining muscles to my sex; I covered
myself with both hands. That was all I could do.
Still, he watched my face and I watched his. Then I uncovered myself,
let my head fall back, closed my eyes and waited.
-*-
Up against another limit. He let me feel I was almost all the way
free, but still held by that last cobweb that, maddeningly, I could
not break. He watched me like a spider might watch a moth struggling
to exhaustion to escape the web, free but for that last tiny strand
that frantic fluttering couldn't overcome.
I could reach myself, but not the knots.
He could have immobilized me completely with leather and chains and
blindfolds and gags, but instead he kept me on a gossamer leash, just
barely enough, but enough.
-*-
I get the feeling I am learning something new about limits, but I
don't know what. I know I much prefer something solid and unforgiving
to fight against. I had no gag. I could have cried out, complained,
begged, lied to him and said I couldn't stand it. But I didn't. I
restrained myself, and I didn't like it. That's the point. When he
finally fell slowly onto me, into me, he put his hands on my wrists,
pinning them down, and I felt relief, and wished for a gag; he put his
lips over mine and that was enough.
Have I gathered some tiny new grain of insight into the nature of
limits?
Does this near-freedom show me that I don't like freedom anymore? Or
is this minimalism? Are we into avant garde bondage?
Maybe I need to be restrained so that I don't have to bother to
restrain my(midwestern)self?
I was frantic to have him inside me, but I couldn't say so. I wanted
to beg him but I was ashamed for him to hear me beg. I wanted the gag
to hide behind, the leather cuffs to fight against.
Nurse Jones,
Manic
repressive.
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