Kira Tales Ch. 04: Master Knows – BDSM – Free Sex Story

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I am here.

In front of you. Undressed. Exposed.

I am the heat and light you know,

I am muscle, organ, skin, bone.

I am colossal

More alive than ever myself entirely and alone.

Outside and Inside? They cum together now

Though others may be nearby. No matter. I thrive.

For you are the only one who sees me

Fully alive.

When I was younger I let my body make choices for me. I didn’t trust my mind to tell me how to behave. Mind was good to me when it came to memorizing things. But behaving well? No. Body was the key to rewarding behavior. Mind was just a lens into how things were organized so people wouldn’t stray.

Mind led me to studying biology. Well, paleontology, really. Ok, ok, so I became a dinosaurologist.

Go ahead and laugh; I’ve seen the smirks and sideways glances. ‘Really? This girl?’

Disbelievers. I can tell you the names of just about every dino discovered — and that’s a lot — how long ago they lived and their part of the dinosaur family tree. I can name every bone or even fragments of bone and tell you which family or maybe even which species it likely belongs to. I can tell you which parts of the planet a dino occupied and for how long a species lived. I can talk for an hour or two about the tragic day — a single day! — when nearly every dinosaur on the planet died after a hundred and sixty five million years of dominating the planet. Caused by, you know, that extraplanetary thing that crashed into the earth just off the coast of Mexico.

Chicxulub.

It’s my best cocktail conversation. Till you turn green.

But other than with memorizing things, Mind was mostly boring. It kept telling me to do reasonable things. It tried to keep me on the straight and narrow. My parents were Mind people.

Body, on the other hand, was ‘bery bery good to me.’ It wanted me to chase pleasure. To jump on board that wagon and not get off. …~ heh… you know what I mean.

My point is… Body has always been the opposite of boring.

I found pleasures of every sort and as much of them as an attractive girl could have. From the time when I learned about the joys of hands and fingers on my bare skin — oh my god, so young — I started paying more and more attention to Body’s whisperings. I mean, have you ever stopped to take inventory? ALL the ways we can indulge in yummy, enervating, sensation-stretching, mind-expanding p l e a s u r e?

Makes me want to cum just thinking about it. But, yeah… visual pleasures, olfactory pleasures, aural pleasures, gustatory pleasures… god bless the head where all those senses are centered. Right?

Oh, but then there are the somatosensory pleasures. Ooo…

For me, that’s where Body has truly been my best friend.

…And, just to be clear, I associate all those skin-to-brain-and-back sensations with Sex.

Fucking. Cumming. Some call it Love making and I’m okay with that but I’d rather call it Sex-bonding. That’s really what’s going on. Sentiment comes into the picture, softening the impact-play we engage in. So that fucking can turn into skin-to-heart-to-brain-and-back sensation play.

And the bonding? At the level I’m talking about? Timeless. Forever. If a bus runs over me tomorrow I swear I will know Sir again whether in heaven or another cycle thru the hell realms on some planet. Physical existence, I mean. Rebirth. He and I will come together again. So we can cum together again. It’s inevitable, for we are that tightly bonded, skin to hearts to brains. And back. Maybe Spirit has something to say about all that. But for another tale, not this one.

Where was I? Oh yed, the four somatosensory pleasures… Let’s start with pressure.

There are so many different pressure-pleasures. Just think of them. Soft pressure, or hard. Rough pressure or smooth. There’s external pressure. Then there’s internal pressure… at the end, usually.

And we can’t leave out pressure’s opposite (I’m going to say it slowly here ’cause the word is gorgeous that way…),

r e – l e e a s s e…

I’m not talking about Cumming. Not yet. I’m talking about the feeling that comes when pressure eases off. When it’s released.

Here’s an example you girls will appreciate — when a cock pressures you from the inside, pushing deep as it can go, then pulls back. Eases off. Re-leasing that gorgeous cunt-strangling force you were feeling while it was in there. Then pulling back — like, all the way to the head? Ssss… so good, so good, right girls? The midpoint when it’s not quite pulling at the walls of your Pussy, it’s not quite pushing, it’s just trapped there by your tight pelvic floor muscles and the mushroom shaped glans? Right?

Splendid sensation.

And he goes back to pounding you. Presses that cock inside, sometimes all the way to the cervix…

Then again. And a-gain. And a-gain. In a rhythm…

flock, flock, flock

Ok, now I’m ready to talk about Cumming.

Wait, just kidding. But s’cuse me while I get a Kleenex…

Better now.

So. A second type of somato-pleasure is heat. The pleasures of being warm, or the act of being warmed. Or the friction of skin rubbing against skin, whether outside the body or inside where cock skin is stretching tight against the walled surface of our pussies, girls. Or the slick sides of our mouths. Our even our dry, tight asses.

…Oh shut up, most of you have done that and been fine with it. Many of you relish it. Some of you cum that way — one of the great mysteries of Sex if you ask me.

But there I go again, talking about Cumming. Jeez…

So, have you ever been touched by hands or fingers that felt Hot? Woo… There’s another somatosensory moment for you. That’s, like, a mystical thing. When someone can focus their mind so keenly that the nerves and blood vessels concentrate heat like a laser beam. Amazing. Especially along the spine… yikes!

And we can’t forget, can we, that nerve-shattering thing called fire play. Using candle wax or combustible fluids. Or those other delights called impact play, where a cane or whip or flogger bites Hot against the skin. Sometimes the smack of a palm on an Ass cheek has the same effect. Hot pain.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Third in the list of somatosensory pleasures is cold. The pleasure of being cool. ~ snap ~ No, not that kind of cool… …Dudes. Stay with me now. I’m talking about the pleasure of being cooled. Chilled. Ventilated when you’re sweating. Oh and we can’t forget, can we, the absolute giggly joy of having ice cubes run across your body as foreplay before fucking. Followed by, of course, Cumming. Which has to happen in any sane pleasure-based scenario, or else…

There I go again. Someone slap me please.

Last on the list — and the one that always makes me cringey goose-bumpy breathless, as if you didn’t already know from all the above — is…

Pain.

Consensual pleasure-pain, I’m talking about. The visceral, neuropathic, corporeal, even psychologically pain-full experiences we voluntarily surrender ourselves to, especially as submissives. Or consensual slaves if you’re lucky enough. In the hands of an experienced, skilled Sir (or Madam). Who can take the pain we crave to exquisite sensory heights.

Before we cum in buckets like we never knew we could do because we’d never been taken there before until Sir decided we were ready and made all the arrangements before blindfolding us then taking us step by step deep into the underworld where we could finally confront our Shadow Self on its own turf. opening our legs and begging, I mean begging to be used…

Oh my god. Sorry… The distractions are many… Be right back. Need another tissue.

Consent is key. To a successful Power Exchange relationship, I mean, where bondage, discipline and sado-masochistic practices are the framework on which everything done together is laid.

BDSM is the basis for the power exchange, Master-slave lifestyle Sir and I now lead.

At this point he knows so much about what works for me and what doesn’t work… he knows me inside-out, body mind and spirit and therefore owns every part of my being. Seriously. His intention, his command for me… I will submit to anything and everything he asks — without reservation or hesitation — knowing that he will never put me in any real jeopardy, never really harm me… and that the ambiguity, the vague meaning of ‘jeopardy’ and ‘harm,’ makes life with him a constant knife’s-edge joy!

Am I at risk, suddenly topless and legs apart in a restaurant full of people?

Am I at risk, in a room full of a dozen men I’ve never met, all of whom will fuck me senseless over the next five or six hours?

Am I at risk, being dropped off naked in a wilderness setting, on my own for the next week?

Am I at risk, bound spread eagled to a knee-high table, drugged and subjected to ritual use on one of the High Holidays?

I have done all of these things. …And so many more scenes like this, I couldn’t begin to recount them.

I have been to dark, lonely pits of pleasure-pain and orgasmic release — places I never knew existed — looking Satan in the eye. Only to discover myself staring back.

I have soared to heights of ecstasy and expansive Being that people cannot easily conceive. These are places… levels upon levels of transcendent self-knowledge… where Creation makes itself known. Leaving me so filled with wonderment it took days to recover.

…That upcoming story I promised; stay tuned!

———-

I will admit it wasn’t always like this. I was in my late twenties when I met Sir and finally turned things around. My adolescence had been a mess; I was more interested in masturbating than anything school could teach me. My teens had been a mess; I became a fuck toy like no other (even my teachers told me so). I was lucky to get into college but outside the lecture hall I drank and smoked and of course fucked like no girl. Men, women, couples, groups, even one or two professors… it didn’t matter. But after college I just didn’t have a plan. Mind had completely abandoned me, and it was probably my fault.

My boyfriend and I split up; he went back down South and I went home to Rochester. That’s when I got into real trouble.

Like most people, I tried to side-step the really painful things, the involuntary, non-consensual things that hurt. But Body, too, eventually abandoned me. I mean, it led me astray. There were just too many side tracks on a path that was going nowhere anyway — one that bounced between all different kinds of heartaches, needs and desires, leading me towards what my pastor would have called mindless hedonism and depravity.

Dangerous dead ends.

I knew I was in big trouble one morning after the drugs had worn off.

I had no idea where I was. No idea where my clothes were or why I was alone. I remember it was a cold, rainy day and I woke long enough to know I was nude, scraped and bruised, lying on a filthy mattress laid out in what looked like a tiny, rat infested, pay-to-fuck trap house boarding room. Something I would have seen on one of those TV detective shows. Somewhere on the city’s North Side, I guessed, peering out the single filmy window at a ring of beat up brick brownstones staring back at me. Blankly. Like, they were just there. No lights, no sounds, no signs of life.

Exactly the way I was feeling. Blank. No thoughts, not even reactions. No feelings, barely sensations.

I could hardly open my eyes. A layer of dried cum covered my lips, tasting like iron. Like old blood. I rubbed at it with the back of my hand.

Heart still beating. Breathing. Smell of mildew.

My hips were stiff like they’d been overworked. Old blood, not my own but the real stuff, was smeared across my bare chest. Nits moved across my scalp as I pushed back matted hair so I could see…

Light against glass broken in the lower corner.

Sense ofgod, is this what pending death feels like? I tried not to panic. To reason things out.

What woke me, I realized, was a distant hollow sound. A door knock followed by muffled voices and the slow cryyy of rusted door hinges not too far away.

Footsteps approached from behind, then went still.

An empty voice said ‘Yeah, she’ll do.’

I swiveled on the mattress.

‘Twenty bucks,’ said another.

I couldn’t focus on either voice, either face; halos were glowing where clear sight should have been.

The space of a breath: two rough hands pushed me back, turned me over, spread me open, pinning me face down atop the dirty convict blue striped mattress. Coiled springs poked upwards before something fleshy-hard pushed into the brittle cunt that used to belong to me. It pushed harder, scraping drywall all around. Burning. I shouted out and was smacked from behind.

‘Shut up,’ my offender yelled.

So I did. Ragged breathing was the only sound. Besides his huffing… huffing… He was off of me a few strokes later, leaving sour smelling juice between my legs. A hand smacked my Ass — electric-Hot — once, twice, again.

I kept silent.

‘She’s good. Price is right. I’ll do her again tomorrow if I can busk another twenty.’

‘Sounds good man.’

‘Maybe clean her up a bit, I’ll do her Ass.’

Ass will be forty. Better hit the streets early.’

‘Forty? Shit… Ok, never mind. What about a face fuck? How much is that?’

‘Face is ten. She can do that shit all day, all night; I seen it. I make the same either way and it don’t take as long. Cum on her face then. Or in her throat.’

‘Alright. Shoot her up. Keep her quiet. I’ll be back.’

More footsteps on the floor and I was alone again. Conscious but… Groaning. Thirsty. Starving. Cold.

I raised my head to look around. There was nothing to cover up with so I curled my back against a pee-stained pillow trying to get warm. Trying to retreat. The smell of rain came through the broken filmy pane of glass. I slept.

*PRICK* …Something sharp jabbed between my toes. I blinked and jerked back.

‘Gotcha,’ that same voice said, tying a needle roll with a string.

Saliva drooled from the corner of my mouth. Next to me on the floor was a McDonalds bag. The smell of French fries had caused me to retch. A paper cup next to the bag sweated beads.

Footfalls echoed away to more silence.

A Coke! I sucked it down despite the roiling bubbles against my dry throat. The left over ice was soo good… but it couldn’t quench the layered thirst I felt.

I retched again… greasy potatoes were making me sick…er. I pushed the bag aside… and…

… …

Woke again, on my back, a hard cock pushing between my legs. This was gentler and the hands that came with it worked my clit. Light swam between my eyes; I mean left eye to right eye then back. Bewildering. Thoughts would not form in my head. Voices in the room were dim.

A horn honked on the street outside the window.

Jittery. Hollow. Blank.

But I came anyway. Not a big cum but enough to make me cry out loud and grab at his shirt. The cock kept fucking me. Swish, swish, swish… I was slick by then. It lifted high against the back of my cunt then pulled out almost all the way. Oh no! I instinctively clutched at the head, pulling till it plunged back in. I cried out a second time.

…Breath like oil fumes. Hands on my tits. A grunt. A pause. Hot cum in me. So much it ran onto the mattress. Mouth on a nipple…

I came again, this time tears running down my cheeks.

Oh my goddd… can’t it ever NOT do that?

My rapist pulled himself up. I heard a zipper and a belt fastening back. ‘She feels good. Pretty too. Nice body I guess. And I like it when they cum.’

‘Twenty bucks.’

‘Yeah, yeah. But I only got ten this time. Wait… here’s another five.’

‘Twenty bucks.’

‘I only got fifteen!’

Scuffling, shouting.

‘Gimme twenty bucks. I’ll break your bones.’

Fists hitting flesh. The fighting spilled out the door into the hall.

My eyes squirted open spying a dark blue sweater laid across the back of a nearby chair.

A junkie chair, a watcher’s chair. A pimp’s chair. With something warm on it.

I barely made it to my elbows to crawl the few feet it took to reach the sweater. Pulling it towards me, I rolled over so my arms could fill the sleeves. Sat up. Maybe I can get out of here. I didn’t think I could stand up but I was ready to use hands and knees if I had to. Instead, the nearby chair seat braced me. I raised up some. Then, one foot underneath, hands pulling at the back of the chair, I managed to sit.

I’m soo tired… Can I stand up?

Could I? How long had it been since I walked on two feet? I raised up from my hands. I pushed from below…

…and did it!

Off balance. Head swimming. Heart beating hard between my breasts. Still alive.

The sweater had two buttons left in the middle; I covered myself best I could, stumbling across the wooden floor into the scat-house hallway. A rat ran off into the shadows. I spied a broken glass EX T sign above a distant door. I leaned against the wall following the rat’s footprints in the fine lint on the floor. To the stairwell, down two dizzying flights and OUT the side door!

Daylight in my eyes! I shielded them with an arm. I collapsed on concrete. It was raining still. Twilight. The alleyway was empty except for a big black trash bin. There was no way I was going to hide inside it; forget the rain soaked stench rolling out, I couldn’t lift the lid, climb inside.

Look! An empty niche behind the bin… Large enough for me to squeeze in there?

I pushed aside a half-empty paper bag. Trash spilled out. There at my feet was the little sack of fries from a few days ago. Ugh. But it was something. I hugged the sweater to me and crouched low between the bricks and cold black metal. The fries tasted like moldy cardboard.

Rain dribbled down.

———-

There are plenty of trap house whores like I once was. How they… we… got there differs from woman to woman. Some were this, others were that before they fell into that hell.

What matters more is how they survived.

My Sir.

It wasn’t in his money or the way that he dressed. It wasn’t in his aged look — the grey edges at his temples, beard and mustache, the crow’s feet, the furrows between his eyebrows. It wasn’t even in the way he obsessed over stupid things like sports or art or which rock was which in his impressive mineral collection. It was in his stance and stature. His quiet confidence.

And the way he looked at me.

My brothers and father looked at me as if they wondered what it would be like if… They knew me as the fuck girl I was, growing up. That’s all they knew.

Sir looked at me as if he already knew the woman I would become.

He had undressed hundreds of women prior to me. He had wrestled with their demons and twisted reasons why. He had traveled them, wined and dined them, fucked them… He knew.

Our first date we talked about his interests. His business. He explained the difference between a pinot and a merlot. I didn’t talk much. Didn’t see how he could possibly be interested in me. Except as, you know… Except for the Sex.

Only we didn’t. He took me back to my room at the parent’s house, kissed me on the cheek as I slid out of his Lexus. Asked if he could see me in again in a day or two. I said sure but didn’t expect him to call.

Second date, a movie, he held my hand for a while. Afterwards we went to get a drink. Sitting across from each other at a booth he was impressed that I ordered a double whiskey. Then the conversation turned.

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