Piacere's Shock

Piacere’s Shock

by

Piacere

Q and I just recently began playing with electricity, so we are both learning. For him it’s understanding electricity, and, most importantly, how it can be used to excite, pleasure and torture without causing long-term injury or worse. For me, it is learning to enjoy the stimulation and varying sensations as well as training my body how to respond and accept the pain e-torture can create.

Until we began using a TENS unit and are now at the upper end of what’s available out there, I thought of pain as being just pain. My experience made me believe we could train our bodies and minds to accept pain up to a certain threshold, depending on how masochistic we are. I’m sure there is a big difference between the pain caused by someone carving their initials into my back compared to using that same knife to lop off a figure or ear lobe.

While I am into pain, usually pretty heavy pain, I do have a tolerance threshold which probably would kick in about the time someone decided it would be cool to cut off one of my nipples—at least I certainly hope it would kick in.

When we arranged our date Q told me he had downloaded some audio programs that could be used in his ET-312 power unit. For those not familiar with what I understand is the ultimate in e-stim power boxes, the unit includes several different pre-loaded programs. The 312 allows the user to vary programs as well as control the speed of the rhythm of each sensation.

Before I go further, I apologize to those of you who understand all this electricity stuff because I am sure that I am just butchering the terminology.

Q also controls the intensity which basically is the strength of the stimulation being put into the pad, clamp, needle or trode which is in contact with or inside of various body parts and places. Ok, enough of the technical (haha) jargon…

It had been two weeks since I last saw Q and we had a chance to play in his garage. To say I needed some of his handiwork would be the understatement of the century.

My husband and I are very happily married and have a beautiful life together. He is a wonderful provider, friend, and confidant—I am a very lucky woman. Unfortunately, there is, and it is my fault, one shortfall in our relationship—he just cannot meet my needs for sexual gratification.

I say it is my fault because he tried for years to pleasure me the way I needed pleasure. My only release, my freedom, the essence of my being can only be satiated through pain; and as time has passed so has the need for heavier, more intense and more serious types of pain; as well as the frequency with which it is administered.

Wow, looking back on what I just wrote I described the circular path of an addict.  An Addict!  Can that be possible? I am a strong, confident, well-educated and traveled, supremely independent woman. How can such a person be an addict? Yet I have to face the reality that like the druggie or alcoholic, the rhythm of my life depends on getting my pain fix and then counting the days until I can “shoot-up” again.

An addict!   Such a negative disparaging label. Well maybe not quite so negative when I think of myself as a confident, well-educated and traveled, supremely independent addict. OK, I can live with that.  No, I have to live with that because that is who and what I am. It is what I need to be whole, to cope with life and my place in it - -

Nude of course, I was made to lie on my back on Q’s old rough-finished workbench. My hands were in very tight steel cuffs, pulled over my head and shackled crisscrossed to the legs of the workbench. Because my arms were pinioned tightly against my ears my hearing was limited, but more importantly, I could not move my head side-to-side—how clever of Q.

Over time, the strain on my arms grew more severe as I tried to find a more comfortable position. The more I tried to stretch or find some relief, the more the cuffs abraded my wrists. It took almost a week for all the bruising on my wrists to go away--wore a lot of long sleeve blouses/sweaters.

An o-ring gag (my most favorite) was very tightly secured in my mouth. As always it did not take long before my jaw ached horribly, and it was difficult to swallow--almost a sense of drowning. I was not blindfolded--part of the scene is seeing what is happening to me. If it's really good, watching Q’s hands bind me or apply instruments of pain is almost an out-of-body experience.

Laying flat on my back, Q pushed my legs into a bent position so my heels were tight against my buttocks. He was pleased with himself as he secured my ankles with straps around my thighs just below the crease where legs and torso join. Thin ropes ran from my tightly bent knees to hooks on the sides of the table.  Q tightened the ropes pulling my legs as far apart as possible. I was totally and indefensibly exposed.

Lifting my head as far as he could, Q slid a strap under my head just above my shoulders.  Once he secured the strap under the table my head was raised just enough that by pressing my chin downward I could, with some effort watch as he worked on my lower body. 

Another strap went across my chest just below and pushing my breasts upward.  The third was secured over my tummy between my belly button and mons veneris. I was pretty well convinced that I wouldn’t be going anywhere unless Q wanted to do something else.

During the entire session, in spite of some pretty intense play, the part of me which ached constantly was my legs cramping. It would become particularly uncomfortable later into the session when I experienced involuntary spasms that, in a few instances, racked my entire body.

Satisfied that I could not move, the artist Q began to paint on the canvas that was my body. He began by spreading my labia using stretchy cord tied through the ring in each outer pussy lip to a hook in the side of the workbench. He expertly adjusted the tension so there was a noticeable tug on the rings but not enough to, under normal conditions, injure or tear through my labia. The effect was not only exposing my womanhood but it would soon expose the inside of my pussy as well.

Q had used his homemade, open cylindrical-shaped, flexible metal ring just inside the mouth of my pussy several times before. Probably the best way to visualize that ring is to cut the rubber off a birth control diaphragm—what’s left is a flexible springy ring.

Heretofore, Q used the ring to keep my vagina wide open usually after he had tied my ankles above my shoulders while I was lying on my back. That position made my vagina and anus the uppermost parts of my body so they were very exposed, available and vulnerable.

Usually when I was bound that way there would be two old well-used small pans of melted candle wax being kept warm over the double burners of his camping stove. Q would alternate between the pans to keep the wax hot as he dripped the molten liquid over the tender undersides of my breast, down the inside of my thighs, onto my clit and asshole and if he felt particularly cruel or sensed I needed it, he dripped the hot wax into my gapping pussy.

This time, however, there was no candle wax heating on the camp stove.

So many different thoughts go through my mind whenever I am being bound and set up for an evening’s pleasure. Will hubby be horny thinking about what’s happening to me? Will he be pissed-off knowing another man is seeing and touching every inch of his wife? Will he be pissed-off enough to want to slam his cock into me or fuck my ass as hard as he can?

Sometimes, my thoughts can be about inane things as well. What’s waiting on my desk in the morning when I go to work? When is my pedicure scheduled? Does my car need servicing?

However, at that particular time, I was wondering what Q was intending to do to my vagina if he wasn’t going to warm it up with wax?

One more little detail remained before work could begin on the upper part of my body. Conductive gel was spread on a bi-polar butt plug which he then pushed into my asshole. The plug was about 6' long, with a tapered tip expanding to its mid-body circumference that was probably 5-6". That’s a guess, all I know, wrapping my hand around the middle of the plug felt like grabbing my husband’s cock and he is a pretty well-hung guy.

By this time, poor Q had worked up a sweat. He went into his kitchen grabbed a Warsteiner beer and went out the back door to smoke a cigarette.

Q is just about the perfect man for me. He’s tall (I’m 5’ 9” tall (+/- 6’ 2” when wearing 5” stiletto heel shoes or boots); he is intelligent, has an above average body and looks although I’ve never seen him entirely naked; the most piercing eyes imaginable; and a great sense of humor. Oh, and he is a dedicated sadist. That is, dedicated to causing me pain in all parts of my body until finally I can reach the crescendo of sexual gratification.

Q’s only fault, at least a fault that matters to me, is that he smokes. At least, even though it is his own house, he is courteous enough to smoke outside in deference to me. Well, there were times when he did smoke in the garage so, as he put it, the glowing end of the cigarette could be used to warm parts of my body that may be chilled.

When he returned, being the polite considerate man he is, Q asked if I was comfortable. There is hardly a thing Q does to me that I don’t like. But, I hate when he asks if I am comfortable when he knows damn well how I’m feeling.

Although my gurgling “ruk u” gave him pause, he must have been satisfied that I was, in his sense of the word, comfortable,

Removing my nipple rings he began massaging my now hard, standing-at-attention nipples using one of his homemade hot sauce concoctions. He then placed vacuum pump cylinders over my nips. Pumping them into the clear tubes he would leave my uncomfortably distended nipples for a few minutes then release the vacuum. He would again massage my nipples with his magic potion and again pump them into the cylinder.

He did the pump then release thing 3 or 4 times which, while it was happening, didn’t make any sense to me. That is, until the last time when he must have heard a slightest moan or seen a reaction from me. I always try to stay quiet and hide any signs of pain because I don’t want him to stop at that particular level of discomfort/pain.

I’ve experience chemical (and fire) heat before but never this intense. It felt as if dozens of super-heated, white-hot needles were pushed into every single pore of my nipples. Q later told me that pumping then releasing opened different pores so that when he was finished all of them had a good dose of heat.

Before he released the vacuum cylinders for the last time, Q pressed a long needle through each breast.  When the cylinders were removed the needles had passed through my breasts just under their areola. Being stuck with needles can be fairly painful depending on their size and length, and whether they are placed just below the skin surface which is like being pinched, or deeper into or through body tissue.

In this case, even though the needles were fairly large and went well into the tissue behind the areola, it was relatively painless, I guess, because my nipples were “on fire” and hurt a lot worse than a little needle stick.

Reverting to his favorite “wrap some copper wire around it” trick, he looped thin copper wire around my significantly enlarged and tender nipples.  As he finished coiling the wire around my nipples, he checked be sure the wire and needle did not touch each other or else the current would short out.

Before I knew better, it would have been easy for me to think the needles through by breasts were there just to cause me pain.  That would have been a pretty good assumption. 

But the real reason was so that any current used above my waist would not jump over my heart which would be very risky and could be fatal. In other words, Q would never put the + end clip on one nipple and the – end clip on the other because the current could easily run through the heart. By hooking the + lead to my nipple and the – lead to the needle going through my tit, the current (and pain) was isolated to just one breast.

At that point, my wide-open pussy was being aired out, my ass was full of steel (or whatever metal it was), there was a needle through each tit and my nipples were wired for “sound". I was strapped in for the ride with my mouth held agape for whatever use he intended.

He didn’t keep me waiting long. Sticking his fingers which tasted like my sex, his hot sauce potion and god knows what else into my mouth he gripped my tongue. Grasping the post that pierces my tongue, he pulled it through the o-ring of my gag. Q then placed two chopstick-like small metal rods, one above and one below my tongue, just behind the protruding post. Using small rubber bands on each end of the rods he squeezed and trapped my tongue as it stuck out of the o-ring gag.

That was the first time Q ever gagged me like that and for some strange reason I felt a little panicky because it was almost impossible to swallow in that position. Since then he has used that method several times and when he does I find it challenging and exciting in a dark way.

Checking his handiwork Q was satisfied that all was ready.

He began connecting the wires from the various clips, plugs, needles etc to his e-stim boxes. My cramped legs were aching; my lower back was hurting because of the awkward position I was in; the butt plug was not particularly noteworthy, but it was just there; my nipples were beginning to throb in time with my heartbeat; and the back of my tongue just plain hurt being pulled and stretched so far out of my mouth.

Q was ready! I had no choice but to be ready…

Almost immediately I knew why my vagina was so open and vulnerable. Although I wasn’t blindfolded, there was not enough slack in my bindings and I did not possess the flexibility or strength to lift my head enough to see what was happening between my legs. In a flash, literally, it made no difference if I could see or not.

The unmistakable sharp bite and jolt of his hand-held hot shot probe well inside my pussy caused an involuntary contraction that I thought would grab his hand and crush it. Obviously, Q liked my reaction so he explored other areas of my spasming pussy with the metal prongs of his latest toy.

“Now that I have your undivided attention” he said, “are you still comfortable?” That damn &%#@$% question again. “Wad du u hink ashol?” was the best I could do with my tongue numb and stretched to its limit.

I must not have spoken as clearly and distinctly as Q thought I should. In an instant he was beside me holding the two metal prongs mere centimeters from my tongue. Once again the hated question, “are you still comfortable?” Once again, I said “wad du ….OOOOHHHH fruk” as the trobe seared the tip of my tongue. “That fuckin’ hurt, asshole”, I said to myself. Amazing how clearly we can speak in our head, it’s just those minor impediments to speech that screw us up.

“Are you still….” he began, “YETH, YEtheth, yeth, oh gud, yeth!” It was then that I caught his little “I got you” smile out of the corner of my right eye. I realized I hated that damn smile—smirk, whatever you wanted to call it, just as much as I hated his damn question. Maybe Q isn’t as perfect as I thought? Regardless I kept saying, well, more like moaning “yeth, yeth, yeth….”

As the searing abated in my pussy and on the tip of my tongue I felt like something had scratched my pussy lips. Obviously I wasn’t as immobilized as I thought—whether it was the jolts inside my vagina or the bite on the tip of my tongue, I jerked hard enough to put a pretty serious tug on the rings in my labia.

Q must have sensed my discomfort because he began to softly massage my wounded wings. Another observation if I may. We think our brain is a pretty powerful and speedy bunch of grey matter, well let me tell you, it is not that fast!

He must have been gently rubbing my labia for what seemed like minutes before the fire of his magic ointment registered in my brain. It was what seemed like half a minute before the same sweet, gentle rubbing on the roof of my vagina became what felt like a raging conflagration. What the fuck was Q planning to do, roast marshmallows between my legs?

No, not yet at least. He was reaching for his electric power box toys. In a moment I felt the first sensation of electricity on and through my nipple. On and off, butterfly wings were flapping on my nipples. Slowly, ever so slowly, Q moved the dials that made the interval between the pulses of electricity lengthen. Simultaneously, he increased the intensity of the electricity all the while watching my eyes for any reaction.

Q and I have been playing together for a long time, time enough for each of us to begin thinking and feeling the other’s thoughts and emotions. My pupils must have diluted or there was the tiniest flutter of an eyelash, but Q knew instantly when the intensity level moved from pleasurable caresses to the first pinches of pain.

It was then that he did the totally unexpected. Usually, when he senses I am at the threshold of pain that becomes his starting point—the benchmark from which he will increase the intensity of whatever is causing that pain, be it the depth he will push a needle into my flesh, the force of the single-tail wrapping around my back so the tip kisses one of my nipples, or the level of electricity running through the pad, needle, clamp or trode tormenting my body.

Slowly, I could tell I was beginning to flow with the disparate sensations—hellish fire between my legs and eyelash kisses on my nipples. My journey through the astral slammed to a stop when I felt his fingers doing something with the metal rods holding my tongue, which by this time was very parched and felt very swollen.

He was putting an alligator clip on the end of one of the rods. Adrenalin coursed through my body! It was going into the fight or flight survival mode. If the tiny pin prick of the hot shot jolt brought tears to my eyes, what would happen when Q orchestrated unrelenting pain across my tongue?

It wasn’t long before I could answer that question! The feeling was like, well, like when a dentist is drilling away on a numbed tooth and all of a sudden the drill bit hits a nerve that was not quite numb—that surge of sharp lightening-like pain was what my tongue was struggling with. My problem was, the burning sensation wasn’t going to quit as quickly as when the dentist removed the drill from the tooth. My pain was going to last and change, and stop and start simply at the whim of the man in whose hands I placed my trust, my faith, and in a strange way, my love.

Pussy on fire, nipples pleasantly caressed, tongue dealing with varying levels and types of discomfort. I was once again day-dreaming as I soaked in all the sensations bathing my cold sweat-drenched body. Q left me in my bliss for some time, how long I could not even begin to tell you. The butt plug was now rhythmically fucking me in the ass as I thrust, as much as my bondage would permit, my pelvis onto the steel cock up my ass. If there is a heaven on this side of hell, I was walking through the pearly gates.

It wasn’t long before I felt something very cold and smooth rubbing my nipple. Q brought the object closer to my eyes so I could see it. It was a length of gleaming stainless steel with a wire at one end. It was an e-stim sound.

Q next generously coated the silver arrow with lubricant. Holding the sound in one hand I felt the fingers of the other hand feeling around my pussy until they found and began to probe their target—my piss hole. He was going to shove that pencil thickness metal rod into my urethra.

Gently, carefully, slowly I could feel the pressure Q was applying to the cool, soon to be alive, medal rod as it peeked into my pee hole before slithering into a place it had no business entering. Sliding the trobe in a little bit then out a little bit, in a little further, out a little bit, in some more, out… Q was fucking my pisser. Curious thing though, once I got use to the sensation, the feeling wasn’t all that bad.

Suddenly I heard a click and moments later the pulsing of electricity IN my pee tube. Like he did with the stimulation on my nipples, I could tell Q was very carefully adjusting the current penetrating my urethra. Just like my nipples, there was a butterfly flying inside of me whose wings were just touching the walls of my relief tunnel.

In and out, in and out, a little bit more of a burning sensation then some more in and out until I grew accustomed to that new level of pain. Then slowly in and out as the pain grew more intense. Moments later, using his special ointment, he re-lit the fire in my vaginal and on my labia which had cooled to just a smoldering heat.

I felt the electricity up my butt stop and the plug being removed. Seconds later, as if he changed his mind, the plug was back up my ass with the pulsating rhythm of current fucking that end of my world. Shortly after replacing the butt plug I understood why he took it out in the first place... The cock sucker had coated it with his fire-hot elixir...son-of-a-bitch that really burned.

Moving as much as I could, my pelvis was crushing down on the butt plug fucking my ass and then rose up to receive the inward thrust of the shiny metal rod fucking my piss hole. In – out, in – out, up – down, up – down, I was making love to my pain. To the only thing that could push me over that edge of release, of unbound bliss, of my body floating in its own sea of warmth, fogginess, aloneness with my pain—my pleasure.

I remember orgasms erupting through every fiber, every sinew, and every nerve in my body. Muscles straining against their bonds. Tongue, nipples, urethra, vagina, anus pushing, prodding, contracting, searching for the source and kiss of pain surging thought each part of my tense, cramped, pulsating body ....

Q had his left arm under my neck and shoulders gently lifting me to a sitting position. Somehow all the wires and needles and clamps were gone. All that remained was my sweat, drool and love juices intermingled on Q's now spent canvas.

My only sensation was the refreshingly cold feet of water as I gulped the glass dry. His arms around me, he was whispering in my ear…I don’t recall what he said, but whatever the words, they were soothing, caring, and in a strange way, loving…