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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.

 pussy sewing - pussy sewing stories - pussy sewn shutI 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.

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? 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. “I told you that you wouldn’t be prepared for this.”

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. He confirmed my suspicions.

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. She sat at the end of the table, between the open legs of the bondage table, and began preparing me.

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. They are 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.”

She 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,” she 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 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 so she could work. I pull them off completely and toss them into my bag.

 

Read the full blog post here: http://musingincolor.com/2011/01/15/interrogation-is-ahem-sew-much-fun/

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