Tuesday, December 12, 2006

In Which More Stuff Comes to Pass (Part II of II)

Later we lolled around, discussing whether we should watch a movie. “Do you want to stay over?” Jefferson asked.


I had thought that was the plan, anyway. “Yeah,” I said.

We kissed and rolled around, while the Todd Rundgren album played in the other room. “I feel like I’m making out in someone’s basement,” I said dreamily.

“Teenage sex,” agreed Jefferson.

After a while I said, shyly, “You could hit me, of you want.”

“Yeah?”

I shrugged. I was ambivalent, but surely this time would be better. "Just..." I swallowed. "You hit my face,” I reminded him. I was still smarting (geddit? Smarting!) over that.

“It’s OK, I’ve got a better idea now,” Jefferson said.

I saw him bend over and drag a box out from under his bed. I caught a quick peek of a pair of handcuffs.

He laid me on my stomach, across his bed. “Do you trust me?”

“Yep.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t worry; I won’t be rough.”

“Hmmph,” I said.

He laughed.

I felt something drag lightly across my ass – a tasseled leather tool of some kind. Lightly, quickly, he slapped my ass. OK. I breathed.

He hit me again, and again; now harder. When it grew very painful I said, “You have to stop; please,” and he did. Then he took out another tasseled leather thing, much like the previous instrument, but bigger. He slid it through my legs, just brushing my pussy and, I couldn’t help it, I thought – does he clean this thing? Stop thinking! I ordered my brain. But when I wasn’t thinking, I was in danger of being in pain.

He hit me across my ass, and then against my back. Actually, when it wasn’t too hard I rather liked that – it felt like a firm massage. But again, it got painful, and when I couldn’t stand it anymore I pleaded for him to stop, which he did.

Then Jefferson gently pushed me back onto the mattress and covered my head with a pillow, so I couldn’t see. I heard a crack, like a whip cutting the skin of the air in the room. Good lord.

“I’m going to do this very lightly,” Jefferson promised. I felt a thwack against the backs of my calves. It was a cane. Hey! It didn’t hurt, or rather, it wasn’t so bad. Then he lifted the stick from my legs and the sting was unbearable.

“Jesus Christ!” I said.

“I know,” said Jefferson. “It doesn’t really hurt while you’re being hit, it hurts afterwards.”

Was that some kind of Zen thing? Jefferson hit me again, across my back, then across my ass, and again, eventually, I begged him to stop. Then I sat up. “Jesus Christ!” I said again. “That’s unbelievable!” I meant how the cane hurts when it’s over, not during the actual caning.

“I know.” Jefferson held up the stick for my inspection.

“Is that wood?”

“Bamboo.”

I shook my head. “This is what Victorian schoolboys got punished with?” He nodded. “Those headmasters must have been complete pervs. OK,” I said at last. “So what else did you hit me with?”


“Well,” he brandished a long braided black leather switch. “This is a cat of nine tails.”

I knew that, thanks to a long-ago production of The H.M.S. Pinafore. Again, Victorians: total pervs! Just in case you don’t know, a cat o’nine tails is a leather whip, which has nine braided leathers “tails” attached to the body of the whip. “I didn’t even hit you with the braided part,” said Jefferson, “Just the ends.”


“Oh,” I said. Apparently I hadn’t been able to manage the braided part. Sigh. “And what’s this?” I pointed to the first thing he had hit me with, which looked like a cat, only smaller.

“That’s a flogger,” he said dismissively. It looked like an oversized chenille pillow tassel.


“Oh.” Well. I hadn’t gotten very far, and I didn’t feel like this had been much fun for him, what with me making him stop every minute or so. Nonetheless.

Then he pulled out his box from under the bed and brought out a little cord, attached to two lipstick-shaped tubes. “A bullet vibrator,” he explained. “Have you used one?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never used a vibrator.”

“What? Never?”

It was like a replay of my conversation with Daniel. “No, never.”

“How do you masturbate?”

“With my hand,” I sighed. “And I wear my underwear, cause I like the friction. Most of my underwear is worn through by the crotch.”

“I bet that’s hot.” Jefferson smiled. “I’d like to see that.”

I was embarrassed: “There’s nothing much to see, really. I just lie on my stomach.”

“Oh, I could tell you were the type who lay on her stomach to masturbate!” Jefferson sounded pleased at the idea. “Do you use a pillow?”

“Uh, no.”

“Really?” He sounded disappointed.

“No, no pillow.”

He slipped a condom on one of the bullets, and slid it inside me. Then he placed the other bullet over my clit, and turned the vibrator on, handing me the lever to turn it off. “You never use a pillow?”

“No, sorry.”

“I’ll be back,” Jefferson said, and disappeared.

So there I was, with a vibrating piece of plastic inside me like a tampon, and another device thrust against my groin. Hmmm. Nothing much going on. At last I realized that I could adjust the pressure on the vibrator: aha! I turned it up. Still not much of a reaction… a little more. For an instant, I felt a shudder through me, but my body adjusted quickly. I turned it up a bit more, and again, a restless twitch shook me before I grew used to the humming. I looked at the switch; it was almost on the highest speed. I turned it all the way up.

Gah! Ow. I flicked it down a bit, and lay there. It occurred to me that Jefferson had introduced this vibrator to many people’s orifices. He’d put a condom over the bit inside me, but what about the part currently snuggling up against my clit? Did that part also go into various anuses and cunts and whatnot? Oh, God, what a thought.

Eventually Jefferson returned. “I didn’t realize I could turn it all the way up,” I explained, turning the vibrator off and yanking the bullet out. “Um, does this part always go here?” I meant, does this particular bullet always go inside? Which part gets covered by a condom, etc?

They can go anywhere,” Jefferson lectured, “This can go in your clit, or your ass, or…”

“I know, I mean, do you put condoms on the other parts? I mean, this part,” – I pointed to the bullet that had been rubbing my clit, “Could go into someone’s ass, you know? I mean--”

“Well, that would be a problem if I didn’t clean my things,” Jefferson twinkled.

“Ah.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

“Do you have Diet Coke?"

“Yes, but it’s been up someone’s ASS!” Jefferson hooted with laughter, and collapsed on top of me. I smirked, relieved he wasn’t offended that I’d worried about his sex hygiene.

He pushed me against the mattress and lay on top of me, shoving his body against me. “You know I’m going to fuck your ass,” he crooned in my ear, “And you’re going to say, ‘Oh, Jefferson, don’t stop!’” Here he switched into falsetto, presumably imitating my voice. “And I’ll say [and here Jefferson lowered his voice to a bass rumble,] ‘Yeah, take it!’”

I snorted against the pillow. “That’s very sexy.”

Jefferson continued in this vein for a while, acting out a dialogue in which I moaned with delight and he grunted macho platitudes. It was like I had been transported to Planet of the 14-Year Old Boy. It was pretty ridiculous. “Do you do this with everyone you sleep with?” I gulped with laughter. “Cause I can see it must be a huge turn on.”

Eventually we fell asleep. I am a light sleeper, and a restless one. At one point Jefferson woke me up: “Suck my cock,” he said. His voice was thick and dark with sleep.

I slid right down and took his cock in my mouth. First the lesson, now the practical! I was strangely nervous.

He shoved his dick into my mouth, all the way in. I could hear the saliva slap against his dick. I kept gagging and choking, it was sloppy and loud and I went at it eagerly.

Eventually Jefferson pulled his cock out of my mouth and groaned. He came, and came and came, with a series of sighs and jerks, a long spume of liquid. It was everywhere. I was leaning over him, watching his face as he came, and his come was all over my stomach. It got into the ends of my hair, my face, even my right nostril. I blew my nose.

It got light and we lay close together. I stroked his thinning hair, which stood up around his head like a crown. “I love your hair,” I smiled

Eventually he said, “I’m going to have to kick you out soon,” – I gathered he had someone else to entertain. It was about 10:00am. I struggled into my clothes. It was a raw, grey morning, and out on the street I shivered in the wet air, sipping a Diet coke and holding my umbrella close against the rain.

3 comments:

greenlacewing said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
greenlacewing said...

I want to know how he knows which women masturbate on their stomachs. And I like the part where he comes. It's interesting to see your perspective on Jefferson--different from everyone else's. (I trust you more.)

Lily said...

Hi Greenlacewing! Thanks for your comment. I will ask Jefferson about the stomach thing. When I first read Jefferson's blog I really liked it cause he kind of gives the impression of being half in love with every woman he dates. Unabashed admiration is a very appealing quality in a man.