Posted at 13:40 on 6 Jul 2019 by Pandora / Blake
It was very strange, packing a bag with toys and BDSM equipment, showering and grooming myself, and preparing to leave the house - for the sake of a session where I was going to be the one paying, rather than the one being paid.
Normally when I'm packing implements to see a client, if I'm going to be receiving, I choose toys that I like. This time, I was explicitly picking the implements I hate. Playing with a trusted friend, I wanted to go deeper than I can when I'm with a client, and explore some of the sensations that make me more afraid.
In a way, it was relaxing knowing that this appointment was for me. I didn't bother wearing makeup, I threw on comfy clothes, and I didn't have to re-read anyone's emails to refresh my memory about what they wanted. Driving to Faye Summer's apartment just south of the river, my mind was calm. Rather than anticipating the appointment, I enjoyed the sunshine and listened to music, my thoughts clear.
That was another thing that surprised me. For the last few months, the same few themes have recurred time and again in my fantasies: breast bondage, intense anal penetration, hard CP combined with bondage. My BDSM cravings have been so intense at times that I've felt almost perpetually horny, a part of me unable to be satisfied by sensual, vanilla sex. But as soon as I made plans with Faye to bring my fantasies to life, the intensity of the desire ebbed a little. It was as if my fantasies were more intense the more out of reach they felt. Putting these plans into motion had a calming effect. The flame of my desire was still burning, but at a lower heat.
I'd wondered if I'd fantasise about the session obsessively beforehand, anticipating it and imagining what might take place; but actually, in the week or two before the day came around, I barely fantasised at all. I was looking forward to it, but felt very happy to wait and let the experience unfurl however it would.
When I arrived at her elegant apartment, Faye greeted me at the door wearing a strappy black lingerie ensemble which beautifully showed off her figure. My heart beat a little faster as it sunk home that this wasn't just a friendly hangout: we were actually doing this. She made me feel welcome, and we spent a while chatting, going through our toys, talking about limits and preferences, and ensuring we were both on the same page. I started to feel excited.
She began the scene by ordering me to undress. I stepped out of my baggy pants and tshirt until I was completely naked. She got me to sit on the bed (initially she had me kneeling, but that wasn't super comfortable) and turned her attention to my breasts.
As my pregnancy has progressed they've become more and more sensitive, and they've got significantly bigger. My nipples in particular are larger, fuller and softer than they used to be. The round tip of the nipple is almost unbearably sensitive, at least until I'm really turned on; the part that feels nicest is actually the areola, just at the base of the nipple. I also really like having my breasts squeezed and tugged.
In fact, the sensations I've been discovering as most erotic over the last few months turn out to be exactly how you hand express milk. It's surprising and delightful to feel my body telling me what it wants and needs, and to find that my erotic tastes are changing to keep up with my pregnancy and parenting journey.
Faye cooed over my breasts, seeming to very much enjoy how they felt in her hands - and the reactions her touch elicited. I could feel a blush rising to my cheeks as she played with me. I felt a little shy, but also very much enjoying her attentions. The vibe was relaxed and sexy, and I enjoyed Faye's pert comments as she teased me.
She took out a shoelace, and used it to bind my right breast tightly, tying it behind the mammary gland until the whole boob was round and firm. I shivered as she caressed the bound breast, enjoying the increased sensitivity. The other breast got the same treatment, although I know from previous attempts at breast bondage that my left breast is harder to bind than the right, so I wasn't too surprised when the lacing slipped off and needed to be retied even tighter.
Faye's eyes sparkled as she bent to her work, teasing me with her fingertips. I whimpered with surprise when she got out a third lace, and used it to tie my breasts closer together at the font, until my swollen nipples were pointing straight forward. I loved the feeling of being trussed and presented, how prominent and vulnerable it made my nipples feel.
She picked up a small cane, and spent some time teasing me with it, dropping light taps on the taut skin of my breasts above the nipple, tracing patterns on me with the tip. I enjoyed my flicker of fear when she feinted with the cane, eyes dancing, as if she was going to land a harder stroke. I felt very safe in her hands. That fear reared up again stronger when she put the cane down and returned with a wicked looking small black rod.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked.
"Yes," I gulped, "it's a misery stick." I'd heard of these: that they really hurt, that they left fiendish marks. I'd never experienced one myself, though.
Faye proceeded to greatly enjoy taking my misery stick virginity. None of the flicks and strokes she gave me were too hard, but they were quite hard enough to make me gasp and writhe, and to leave pink marks decorating my tightly bound breasts. I could feel myself getting turned on.
At some point while she was playing with the misery stick, the lace on my left boob had slipped off again. Faye untied me, declaring that it was high time my nipples were clamped. I'd brought a pair with me, but she preferred to use her own. When she put them on, I could see why. The pads were soft and large enough to encompass my puffy nipples, and the pressure was intense, but not excruciating - not yet, anyway. I gasped as they went on, the piercing sensation instantly sending jolts of pleasure to my cunt.
From there, Faye bid me get on the bed on all fours, the clamps and chain dangling down and swinging softly between my sensitive nipples. She secured my wrists in front of me with leather cuffs, and bound my ankles at either end of a spreader bar so I couldn't close my legs. I was feeling exquisitely exposed.
I writhed as she spanked me, each smack of her palm and fingers stinging unbearably. Something about the position, the situation, and my helplessness made every sensation heightened, and the spanking seem that much more painful.
This was the point at which I had cause to regret the implements I'd brought.
She started by picking up a tawse, and flicking it over my bottom and thighs. Bound in position, bottom in the air and legs spread, I tried to squirm out of the way of the stinging strokes - to no avail. "I've barely started!" Faye exclaimed. She kept up a running commentary as she toyed with me, teasing me about how much I was enjoying it, what a dirty slut I was, and purring with delight as she found new ways to get a reaction. Between strokes of the tawse, she trailed her long, perfectly polished nails over my skin, making me wriggle and inciting even greater sensitivity. As the tawse slapped my arse and thighs, she found a new way to humiliate me: telling me that I was a little sissy who couldn't take it. My cheeks flared hot as I pressed my face into the mattress, my squeezed nipples chafing on the bedspread. I couldn't deny it.
Normally, when I'm receiving spanking for pleasure, I gravitate towards sensations I can sink into. Warm, thuddy licks with a leather strap or belt. Deep, muscular impacts with the cane. Slow. Measured. I breathe into the pain, embrace it as I feel the heat flooding through me. I can enter a trance state where the sensations feel like warm oil spreading over my body, my breath directing and guiding the energy of each stroke so it flows where I will.
This was the opposite of that. Stingy, sharp pain, inflicted unpredictably, interspersed with ticklish teasing. Bound and helpless, I wasn't in control. I couldn't anticipate the pain and breathe into it. Every stroke made me gasp and squirm. I felt unbearably sensitised. It was exactly what I'd been fantasising about, and what I'd asked for. And yes, in this context, I was a sissy. I couldn't take it. But then, that was the experience I'd wanted. I didn't want to be in the driving seat. I wanted to be frightened; overwhelmed.
Faye kept me exquisitely on edge as she moved onto a heavier tawse. I made a tremendous fuss each time she aimed a stroke at my thighs, but with the spreader bar there wasn't much I could do about it.
At some point she picked up a slender butt plug, lubed it up, and delicately opened my arsehole to push it inside. I whimpered as I felt it slide in one more piquant note of sensation.
I'm my own worst enemy: I hadn't only brought tawses. I'd also brought a selection of wooden paddles - a thin one with holes, two heavy ones, and a bathbrush. Selecting one, Faye made an arch comment about how brutal it seemed. I couldn't argue. Why did I think this would be a good idea?
In my fantasies, I'm bound with my bottom in the air - much as I was now - and subjected to a rhythmic wooden paddling, strokes alternating from one cheek to the other. In my fantasies I take it well, until my bottom is sore and bruised.
This is not how it worked out in reality. I didn't take it well. I flinched at every stroke. When she used a paddle or brush to smack my thighs, I howled, and couldn't help trying to squirm out of the way. She wasn't going particularly hard, and I knew it.
I was quivering with anticipation. The lack of regular rhythm, the periodic ticklish caress of her long nails trailing over my sensitive spanked flesh, all set my nerves afire. She chuckled with amusement at my wriggling, remarking how easy it was to get a reaction out of me, telling me what a sissy I was.
When she put the paddle down to ease out the smaller butt plug and replace it with a larger one, the erotic sensation of being filled and stretched was a welcome reprieve.
With each moment, the pain in my nipples was intensifying. What had started as a pleasant pinch was now a piercing, high-pitched note of pain, making everything else harder to endure. When she paused, I confessed that I was on the cusp of saying Amber about the nipple clamps. "Well, I think you've earned a little break," she said. Of course, each nipple hurt ten times more when she took the clamps off. Then I was bent back over for more swats with the paddle.
I could feel how wet I was, and she hadn't touched my cunt once. When she finally put the paddle down, I was aching to be touched. But that wasn't what I'd asked for. Instead, she turned her attention to my arse.
The broader plug came out - with a little difficulty - and she selected a slender dildo, sliding it easily all the way inside. "I'll just leave that there for a moment", she said, picking up the camera to take a picture.
I'd brought a couple of thick dildos with me, but once again Faye's selection trumped my own: she had a matching one to my Sh! Twista 2 large spiral dildo, only rather than being purple like mine is, hers was white with rainbow hearts, in honour of Pride month. I couldn't resist it. This was the cock that would go in my arse.
I normally struggle to take a thick toy in my arse, but Faye had warmed me up so skilfully that when she strapped on her Pride cock, slipped out the thinner dildo, and pushed the head of the rainbow heart cock against my hole, I opened up to her with almost no resistance at all. I felt stretched, full, every nerve singing.
My head swam and I gasped with pleasure as she fucked me in the arse, feeling the impossibly intense sensations of the dildo stimulating my most sensitive spots. She was fucking me hard, harder than I had been expecting, and it felt amazing. Without her ever touching my clit or my cunt, I found myself cumming on her cock, gushing squirt onto the bedcovers from anal pleasure alone.
After we were finished, she came close for a cuddle, and gently told me to take my time coming back to earth. I was totally spaced out: simultaneously charged up with sexual energy, and yet feeling sated. There was something immensely satisfying about a scene which built up my arousal and never released it by giving me genital touch - and which yet hit every note of the kinky submissive experience I'd asked for.
We hugged and talked for a bit, and Faye started to quietly tidy up while I sipped water and gradually came back to myself. I realised how hungry I was, and chowed down on a snack bar while we chatted about pregnancy, sex, sex work and sex education.
I drove away feeling nourished, contented, tired, and very ready for some introvert time. After I got home I ordered pizza, and spent the rest of the day curled up on the sofa with a book.
Booking a sex worker was a challenging milestone for me. I am so glad I did it. It scratched an itch that had been building for months, leaving me feeling replete and - once I'd had some rest - energised for days afterwards. It was not only a gorgeous birthday treat for myself, it was a delicious, self-indulgent experience to celebrate my last few weeks of freedom before the birth of my baby.
Faye Summers was the perfect choice for me - and although it was a professional interaction, I feel like it's deepened our friendship. To anyone considering booking a service provider to bring a fantasy to life, if you have the disposable income or can save up, I would say: do it. Treat yourself. You deserve it.