cutting | Velvet Thoughts by Aemilia Hawk

Whump, whump, whump, whump.

Time tends to slow down when you are in the moment. Everything seems to be in high definition and the only things that matter are the sensations. The sound and wind created by the dual floggers cutting through the air, the scent of sweat and leather, the feel of every impact sending vibrations through the body and the burn that penetrates every muscle from the exertion.

You can feel the eyes on you. The excitement in the air is like a drug. Addictive for an extrovert like myself.

With the beat of the music pumping through the club and influencing motion and impact, it swiftly turns into a dance. Erotic and sensual. This in turn attracts more eyes and the play becomes heavier. More visual. A performance to feed the spectators who are in turn feeding the extroverted desires.

By this point, the only way to stop the cycle is for the music to end. I am having too much fun.

Whump, whump, whump, whump.

With his arms raised and restrained to a Shibari ring that dangled from the ceiling, his back and shoulders are taking the majority of the beatings. Florentine style to be exact. Rash reddened and sore, he will bruise. But he too is being emotionally fed. Everyone is.

He raises his index fingers to the sky. Our prearranged signal that I am pushing beyond his threshold. I am oblivious to it. I know him and what he can take. The music had not stopped yet. He could endure. He ‘would’ endure. Limits are always best when at their extremities.

Now the thuds are louder than the music.

Whump… whump… whump… whump…

As the beat slows, so do the impacts. Breath is heavy. Sweat sheens the skin. The heat is comfortably uncomfortable as the world around phases back.

And then the music ends. I twirl the floggers to untangle them before clipping them to my waist. A spinning motion like a carousel. An elegant way to end. Aesthetically pleasing.

With a sure foot and gentle hip sway, I close the distance towards him to inspect the damage more closely. The skin looks tender. Tempting. Inviting. I gently run my claws down his neck and back. He shivers and groans at the sensation. A perfect finale.

With a short motion, I unclip his wrists and he slumps forward slightly. Drained. He turns, rests his head on my breast and I gently stroke the back of his neck. He had taken more punishment than originally intended. He deserved my gentler touch and aftercare. He had done exceedingly well.

Nothing needed to be said. Actions always speak far louder than any word. He attentively kissed my cheek. A “thank you”.

After a cigarette and a drink, maybe we would go at it again with a new song.

I do so love an audience.

The sound was like running a wet finger over the rim of a crystal wine glass. A steady, single toned hum cutting through the dungeons background music. A Bakes Rosebud Dilator being stroked up the shaft with a moist disinfectant towel. I have come to appreciate the soft echos they make.

I am always meticulous about hygiene, but when it comes to urethral sounding, I am overly cautious. A single speck of dust can cause infection to set in. Every sounding rod is cleaned thoroughly before and after use. It has become a ritual and part of the play. It aroused him every time. There is something incredibly erotic about being chained to a wall while a scantily clad dominant woman strokes phallic shaped metal rods in front of you. He was erect and eager, watching me slowly clean my toys and waiting with anticipation.

“Number 5 and number 6 Bakes, 7/8mm Hegar, Vibrating UD, Wartenberg wheel”, my thoughts while adhering to the ritual sounded oddly mathematic and the medical instruments being laid out neatly on the small, tissue clothed spanking stool next to where he was restrained made it look like I was preparing to operate on his vital organ. I was taking my time and could smell the trepidation building within him, but the look on my face remained peaceful and serene, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

I gently placed the last of my cleaned tools onto the stool and lined it up neatly with the rest. I was ready to begin.

Turning sharply towards him and grabbing his manhood roughly, I leaned in close to his face with my teeth on show. He inhaled deeply and his body went taut as my claws gently prickled his sensitive skin.

“Mine” I growled through a clenched jaw as I tightened my grip.

His voice broke and shuddered as he nervously released the air in his lungs. “Y-yes Mistress”

Keeping eye contact, I gentled my grip and slid my hand up towards his tip, my fingers cradling the meatus of his penis while my other hand grabbed the 7mm Hegar from the makeshift medical table. His arousal was evident and was oozing pre-ejaculate.

I slid the 7mm Hegar sounding rod into his urethra. After months of practice my hand was expert and precise, I no longer needed my eyes to see what I was doing, I simply felt my way along the tract and his natural fluids supplied the lubricant. A slight twist at the bend of the rod and within seconds it was inside at the full length. His eyes widened at having been penetrated so forcefully, surgically and swiftly. His attempts to lean forward were dulled by the restraints and my relaxed facial expression turned to one of smiling pleasure as I held the rod steady and watched him finally give that shaky exhale that I have grown to expect and enjoy whenever something impacts his system.

The first rod is always the simplest. Easy, quick, pleasurably shocking and it stretches the ducts slightly for more complex play later. His clear liquid oozed through my fingertips as I held the rod in place and with my unsullied hand I lovingly ran my claws through the hair behind his ear.

It was going to be a long and very pleasurable evening.

And I was just getting started.

Hegar Urethral sounds