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“Oh, yes. I’ve never had a black man.”
“I know.”
“Oh, but I shouldn’t want anyone but you.” She looks up at me sadly as though she’s done something terribly wrong.
“It’s unrealistic, Delia. Remember that.”
“But why? Why can’t it be just you and me?”
“I don’t think I’d be happy.”
“You wouldn’t? Just with me?”
“It’s a good reason to play in the culture we do. We can have other partners without regrets or subterfuge.”
“Oh, I see.”
I know she doesn’t like this. “Don’t be hypocritical. You love what you did with Calvin this afternoon. And I wanted you to want him. He’s different than I am.”
“But you won’t give me away often,” she says as if she’s reassuring herself.
“No, no, I won’t. Besides, I’ll have to punish you for that much enthusiasm. That should damper your eagerness a little.”
“Punish me how?” she asks.
“I’m trying decide. When I do, trust me, you’ll be the first to know.”
It’s the next day before I wreck havoc on her. Neither of us believes the punishment is real. But I am feeling particularly nasty. She relished Calvin even more than I imagined she would. And Calvin—he’d have her any time she was offered. A call from Bernard the next morning confirmed that fact. Of course, he generally loves women in any package they come in—in any way they’re given, offered, or he can take them. His foreign appearance and the accent he’s cultivated from spending most of his life in Jamaica make him particularly appealing to women who love what’s exotic.
I punish Delia beginning with bondage. She sits in a straight-back chair with her hands roped behind her, while her legs are spread and tied to the legs of the chair. Her neck is collared with a with a four inch leather strap that makes it impossible for her to look down, to see how her breasts sit proudly atop a black corset, her nipples bared. I attach a ribbon of clothespins across her pushed up flesh and they rise and fall like an ocean wave as she breathes deep and anxiously. Each new pin is another new sensation, a fresh striking pain that soon settles in with the others creating an abiding roar of discomfort.
She looks into my face, begging with her eyes. I’ve ordered her not to speak, and she bites her lip trying to get my attention and some mercy. She knows this will hurt even more before the scene ends. The tiny rope behind these pins will rip away in one brutal tear, leaving a swathe of pain that will pound through her for minutes. Until then, she waits, as the tension builds. The skin at the top of her breasts grows more taut and strained with each new acquisition to her collection of tiny tortures. When there are fifteen clothespins pinching her undulating flesh, I stop.
“It’s what you want, Delia, enjoy.” My sub pants anxiously as the pain steadily rises at each crimped pin.
She becomes frantic seeing me walk toward the door, “But Heinrich!”
“Shush! You bark at me, I’ll only add more.”
“Oh, no!” She clamps her mouth shut seeing my glare, and I walk out of the room to let her linger with the agony for a while.
Sometimes I think Delia’s too cloying and attentive. She needs to off and I need to enforce my distance. These scenes ensure that. She may sulk and whine, but she’ll stay clear of annoying me for a few days, as long as the residual pain from this ribbon remains to jar her memory.
By the time I return to the bedroom, Delia’s frantic, wondering just how long I’ll stretch out the scene. She peers up at me as though she’s profoundly hurt, and bites her lip in mortal dread as I reach for the rope that connects the clothespins.
With the other hand, I touch her soft face, play with her black curls, and then wipe a bead or two of sweat from her lip.
“Are you telling me you don’t want this?”
“I do, but I’m afraid.”
She should be. She has no idea how this will hurt since it’
s the first such ribbon she’s been required to endure. A pin or two at a time is all she’s managed. With all these now, she’s actually doing quite well. Though I only left her for ten minutes, to her brain, it must seem like forever.
I tug at the end of the rope, play with it teasingly, then with an abruptness she’s come to expect from such things, I rip the clothespins open—all fifteen in a matter of two seconds.
She screams and her body clenches as though she’s just endured electric shock. The pains send a burst of passion to her crotch, and she’ll be horny for hours because of this sensation.
