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I need pain.
My eyes fly open only to find him already looking at me, his eyes on fire. “Stone,” I gasp, bolting upright. “I uh,” I hesitate, feeling uncomfortable. No, I’m safe in this room, with him. “Can I ask you something?” He cocks his head to the side, considering me, before nodding. “You said people who like to give pain are Sadists and those who need pain are Masochists, right?” he nods again, slowly, as if he’s confused. “Do masochistsneedthe pain to have pleasure?”
“Not necessarily, but some do. Some just enjoy pain with their pleasure. It’s not always a requirement.” He eyes me in a way that makes me feel not only vulnerable but seen. Really seen. Like he can see inside of me and he’s trying to put together the broken and lost pieces of my soul.Good luck with that. “Do you require pain to be able to orgasm?”
“Yes,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks heat at the conversation now turning to me and my damage. “I always kind of thought I was just broken and couldn’t, you know, get there. But then I realized that I can if I’m hurting myself.”
“Does the pain feel good to you?” he questions as he comes forward and leans his hip on the side of the bed. I think about his question. I know the answer but it’s not a simple black and white response.
“No, not really. I don’t like to be in pain. It's not like I get turned on from being hurt but sometimes it’s good pain, like,” my blush deepens when I think of Maddox biting and pinching my breasts. “When someone else does it, especially my nipples or breasts, I like it. I like when,” I swallow, “when someone slaps my ass.” I shrug and lift my hands, covering my beet-red cheeks.
Stone laughs, deep and sweet. “Gage, right?” he mutters while smiling wide. “Don’t be nervous to talk about sex with me Isabella. Especially here. You’re literally sitting in my sex dungeon,” he chuckles, waving the hand not holding the rope around the room. “But to get back to your question. Do you feel that the pain helps you to stay present? Keeping your mind in the room so that you can focus on the pleasure and actually cum?”
How did he know that? My eyes widen in his direction.
“Yeah, I thought so. It’s not abnormal and it’s actually one of the reasons I got into Masochism. I need it as well, to stay present when being touched by someone else. A lot of people do. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but also needing the pain like that doesn’t make you a Masochist and if it does, who cares? You don’t need to label shit. Just acknowledge what you enjoy, what youneed, and utilize it to have incredible sexual experiences. No one needs to identify you as anything unless you’re going to a sex club which I don’t foresee you doing anytime soon.”
Stone gives me a lopsided grin and the expression feels so familiar. It tugs on something deep in my mind that I can't quite reach but it also reminds me how utterly safe I truly feel with him.
“Tie me up, please,” I say, my voice breathy but sure, as I lay back down and relax my body as though I’m an offering.
Chilled Cream-Blank&Jones
Stone wastes no time after that. He steps into me and glides his hands down my legs, making a shiver dance over me. He moves slowly, methodically, only stopping when he reaches my feet. His eyes never leave mine as he makes quick work of removing my shoes and socks, leaving me barefoot. I’m wearing stretchy leggings and a long, loose sweater. A fact that I’m thankful for when he grabs hold of my feet and pushes my knees up toward my body. My heels stay flat on the bed but they are now pressed up against my ass, leaving my center open and exposed.
I really feel like I’m at the Gyno now.
“What are the safe words, Ella?” Stone murmurs, darting his eyes up to mine. His hands are quickly doing something with the rope as though the motion is second nature and doesn't actually require his attention.
“Green is good, yellow is pause and red is stop,” I say, my voice calm as I recall what he said before. He nods before asking where I’m at anxiety-wise right now. I reply with a three, which in all honestly, is probably my normal level as of late.
“I’m going to start with something called a Futomomo. It means that I’m going to bind your lower leg to your thigh in a bent position. Let me know if this causes your knee or joints any pain but other than that, I want you to just close your eyes, lay back, and relax. Focus on the feelings in your body and mind, your breathing, and the release you get from the experience. Don’t look at me or the room.”
Stone’s voice has now taken on a different quality. One I noticed earlier in my room when I was freaking out about the rope. It reminds me of Gage when he’s barking orders. Commanding, steady, powerful, dominant. It instantly alleviates any residual apprehension within me. I inhale deeply, relaxing my hands loosely on my lower stomach, and exhale, closing my eyes once more.
I do my best to focus on my breathing, almost as though I’m meditating. My mind is constantly attempting to wonder, honing in on the small noises the rope makes in Stone’s hands, his light and gentle breaths filling the room and mixing with mine. The only things I can hear are noises coming from within this room, which tells me that it’s soundproofed. Again, my heart rate kicks up as my brain whispers that no one would hear me if I screamed.
“Relax, Isabella,” Stone commands softly.
“I am,” I protest defensively, knowing damn well that my mind just took a dark turn. Stone laughs quietly but doesn’t respond.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, and once again focus on what’s happening right now. I force out all negative and outside thoughts and attempt to stay in the moment.
I narrow my attention to the feeling of Stone’s hands as he wraps one of my legs in the rope. His movements are deliberate and efficient. I don’t need to be looking at him to know that he is well versed in this. He moves without pause, his hands continually wrapping, gliding, pulling. This rope is more coarse than the one at home. I can also tell it’s thicker and stronger.
Or, maybe it’s just the way he’s using it.
Again, my mind wanders. This time, it’s not negative thoughts or fear. No, this time, it’s on Stone. No longer am I paying attention to the tightness of the bonds, but to the man placing them on my body. His hands skate smoothly over my legs while he works on his task. The process began at my ankle and has since worked its way up my bent leg, almost to my knee. The more he wraps and ties, the more my calf becomes one with my thigh. I like it. It feels restricting but in a good way.
Stone’s fingers trail over my legging-covered flesh, but the material is thin and heat radiates off of his skin in a way that makes me feel as though there is nothing between us. He reaches the top of my knee before sliding his hands down the outer crease of my legs. I can feel him pulling the rope away from my body and pressing against the muscle, as though he’s tucking the ropes together. Tying knots maybe?
I’m not sure. All I know is that the action causes his hands to press even deeper into me and my body is responding to his proximity, his touch. I feel a shutter work through me and as much as I try, I don’t think I hide it very well. He pauses for a moment but I don’t open my eyes to acknowledge what’s happening to me. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I don’t know what’s happening, just that it feels good. Really good.
He feels really good.
Stone finishes what he’s doing on my right leg. He pulls the bindings away before sliding something under them, making the whole contraption tighten with each tug. I can tell when he finishes because he stops completely but doesn’t step away or remove his hands. They linger on my bent and tied leg, braced on top of my knee and thigh before slowly drifting downward, toward my pelvis.
His hands are light, barely there with minimal pressure, as they dance along my body. His fingers glide delicately, edging closer to the apex of my thigh. With my eyes closed, one leg completely immobile, the room silent except for our breathing, his touch feels erotic. I fight the urge to moan at the sensation but a breathy gasp escapes me before I can catch it.
