Routine Maintenance, pt. 2

Over the next 18 hours, the bulbous red slashes across her buttocks yielded to a siege of violet discoloration, morphing into a bruised stigmata that spread across the lower curve of her cheeks. A thing of pure beauty. A purple cloud with yellow accents that symbolized the storm that had raged across her flesh. I examined it while she slumbered in the early dawn of morning, stirred by the transference of my emotional energy into this hemorrhage.

My desire beget
cane in my hand, which beget
strokes across her ass, which beget
crimson welts, which beget
these anamorphic bruises

She wore, branded into her skin, my need in its physical manifestation. Every time she sat, the tinge of pain articulated the fever i carry to lash her behind. Her choice of dress, and even her embarrassment over the fact that were she to swim, someone might ask her about the bruises, magnified this intense intimacy we share.

I adored - and more - i was extremely grateful for this. Recognizing my gratitude as i studied the contusion, i realized my ego had softened which made me feel confident that we could proceed with the zipper as i had originally wanted. I didn't take dictation from a greedy, horny demon, but rather, a prescient need to connect with my girl stood behind the appetite for the device.

My clothespin contraption consists of anywhere between 18 and 72 wooden fasteners (depending on her tolerance level and my willingness to prep), threaded onto a 9 meter length of brown leather chord. Because of her previous episode with the cane, we negotiated for 36 pins. I had her strip, then wrapped a silk blindfold over her eyes. With a coil of recently conditioned hemp rope, i bound her elbows behind her back until they touched, and continued to secure her wrists together. I noticed that the temperature in the room had risen, and even though she was naked, her body radiated warmth which led me to turn on the overhead fan. Standing in front of me, nude and armless, her physical self let her mental entity slip deep inside. When i began clamping the pins onto her flesh, her minuscule reaction to the pinch confirmed how deep in shadow her mind had drifted. Even her verbal response sounded little, uncertain.

"ow..."

An afterthought, a formality.

I drew a sinuous line of leather and wood starting from her left armpit, attaching a clamp every few inches. I bit into the pink epidermis on the underside of her tit, following the round suggestion of her mammary.

"ow..."

When there wasn't much skin to pinch, i plied a fold with my finger and thumb and viced onto the base of this tug. Across her belly, down her thigh, then suddenly jackknifing up towards her panting, hairless cunt. I teased her, rubbing the coarse texture of the pin along her sensitive inner groin, inches from her slit before i took purchase with a wooden nip.

"ow..."

I stamped a pin on her left cunt lip, then mirrored this on her right. Looking up at her while paying attention to the elapsed time, i saw that her face showed no sign of cognizance. I counted out the number of the pin i was at.

"24, darlin..."

I continued to dress her with the zipper, when suddenly, she took a step forward, moving herself away from her held position.

"What are you doing? Get back to where you were."

She didn't respond. She took another, less certain, wavering step. I knew something was wrong. And then...

...she collapsed.

I caught her in my arms, worried that the pressure between our bodies was stabbing the attached clothespins into her. I spoke with her.

"Baby...baby, are you okay?"

Thinking as quick as i could, i ripped off the pins that remained. This jolt brought her to the forefront. She gasped, then mumbled some inarticulate phrase. I whipped off the blindfold, then looked into her eyes. Her pupils weren't dilated, she just held the gaze of someone in extreme relaxation.

"W-w-what happened?"

"You collapsed."

"I don't even remember anything after the first clip." I brought her to the bed, and lay her down, telling her to just rest.

I've always been attracted to the image of the hero that saves the damsel in distress, and many times my girl has said she views me this way when i release her from an extended binding. It's odd but also funny that i must put my damsel in the predicaments in order to play the role of savior. However, in this instance, i wasn't saving her from some scenario i placed her in. Rather, i caught her, without any thought, as she fell. If we hadn't spent all of these years learning eachother, growing close, and developing trust, who knows if i would've made the catch.