Page 42 of Hurts So Good

And that’s the beauty and the danger of an event like this. We’re all here together, for one common purpose, and we all get reduced to that lowest common denominator where all social graces get stripped away. Being unable to escape physically thanks to my bonds is nothing compared to knowing how open I’ve left myself in other ways. I’m not only trusting my husband, who is wielding his flogger with increasingly sadistic delight, but myself. I’m trusting that I won’t collapse, break down, come unglued. Or maybe I’m trusting that I will do all those things, that I will walk away from this event a changed woman.

Maybe you’re wondering how all those thoughts can coalesce in my mind while I’m bound to the cross getting flogged and fucked with a dildo. If so, you don’t quite get me yet, and that’s okay. I’m hyperactive, type A squared, my mind constantly flying from one thought to the next. Sensation has to be extreme before I yield to it. Thankfully, Chuck knows this. The dildo stops, and soon I feel fingers approaching me there, between my wide open legs. They are gentler, and softer, and I know they are female. Chuck stops flogging me, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he wants to watch. He loosens the gag, pulling it down so it’s around my neck. Now that I’m free to scream, I have no desire to. I’d rather get praised for being strong enough to take it.

Chuck’s fingers grab my hair and pull me back while mystery woman’s lubed-up hand starts entering me. “How much do you want?” he asks me.

I have no idea at first what he’s trying to get at. “The whole thing?” I ask, because I’m not sure. There is an unbelievable pressure in my cunt, a small hand, a fist, rocking against me. I’ve taken a fist before but never in this position.

“That’s a given,” he says, releasing my head and pushing it forward. My head is pretty much the only part of me not strapped down to a piece of wood, yet my mouth, from here, is pretty much useless. I long to suck my husband off, but now is not the time.

“How does she feel, Gaia?” Chuck asks.

“She’s tight, but I think she could take even more,” I hear the woman say.

Then I do moan, not caring anymore about being stoic. It feels like she’s going to rip me in two, and then I also never want her to leave. She pulls out and adds more lube, and then slides back inside. The tension, that sweet, special tension, eases up just a little.

“Then give it to her,” Chuck says. I know if I could see, he’d be giving me a look telling me not to argue. So I don’t. And finally, all those messy, swirling thoughts give way, at least for the moment, as this Gaia woman slides her other hand up inside me. Where it goes I’m not sure, but I know it’s there. At first, my instinct is to tighten up even more, but then I let go. I try to spread my legs, though I know that’s pointless. I experiment with every way I can think of to ease the pressure, and only when I totally sink into the warmth and heat and fullness of her hands do I appreciate the gift my husband has given me.

There is a completely different energy in the room now. Instead of wondering what the others think, I feel at one with them. We are all getting double-fisted together, fucked in holes we never knew we had, in ways we couldn’t have conceived of. We are all in this together, and when I come, practically pushing her hands out of me, the room stirs, the air around me chilling my already cool skin. My orgasm is like a flame setting a wick on fire, rising from my toes to my head, blue to orange to black smoke. When she exits, it’s like I’ve given birth to her.

The room is quiet, and it’s not until the blindfold comes off that I realize I’m crying. Not crying, really, but tears are there, seeping out of me. Chuck folds me into a blanket and whisks me back to our room. He’s probably arranged for some pretty sub to clean up after us in the hope of a spanking later.

Losing the bet taught me so many lessons, but one of the greatest was that when it comes to kink, it’s not a matter of who comes the fastest but who comes the hardest. And in that I had certainly won.

MY MAINSTREAM GIRLFRIEND

Stephen Elliott

Listen. I always thought I was kinky. I’ve always read bondage porn and jerked off to videos of women wrestling or stories of teachers blackmailed into sexual servitude by their students. I used to stand in the bookstore rereading Eric Stanton comics until I finally saved the eighty dollars to buy the Taschen coffee-table book. But yesterday my girlfriend came over and something happened that made me think I might not be kinky anymore. She was wearing ruby slippers, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. But she was also wearing torn fishnets with a garter belt, sexy underwear, a long black dress over a lacy slip. A lot of women would feel self-conscious dressed so sexy, but I have an awesome girlfriend.

We do a lot of stuff that some people might think is outside the mainstream. Like, we’ll go to a party and she’ll sit on the couch and point to the floor and I’ll sit on the floor in front of her. It’s a power thing. There’ll be colleagues from the university I teach at, other writers. Some of my friends think it’s weird. But it’s not really that weird. Also, sometimes she’ll put a collar on my neck and I’ll wear it around the house. I talked to my roommates about it. I told them to keep in mind that I clean the bathroom when she comes over, so if they want a clean bathroom they have to be OK with the other stuff.

Often she’ll spank me really hard, or hit me with a whip. If she wants me to be emotionally vulnerable she’ll kick me out of the bed and make me sleep on the floor for a while. It doesn’t take long before I start to break. I’m not an emotionally strong person. A lot of times when she ties me up and she’s hurting me, smacking my balls or my face or pulling really hard on my nipples, I’ll start to cry. I’ll think about my father or some of the things that happened when I was a kid. It’s called trauma play: I eroticize my childhood abuse.

One time I cried when she had her hand in my ass. We had only just started dating. I was lying on a towel on my back and she was looking at me, watching me closely. She was wearing a latex glove and using a lot of lube. She slid one finger in, then another. I felt her reach inside me, curl her fingers. I started to panic. I told her it hurt. It burned. It always hurt but it was just two fingers. How much could a finger hurt? I told her I was worried. I confessed I was worried that I was dirty, that there would be shit on her finger. I didn’t even know it until I said it but the truth rolled across me like a plow. Then I told her I was more worried about that than anything in the world and I started crying and I cried for a long time. I thought, Man, I am so fucked up.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say. “Please don’t leave.”

She kept her hand inside me, stroking my hair with her other hand. “Look at me,” she said. She was leaning in close to me and I could see that she loved me on every line in her face. “I think you’re amazing,” she said, and I cried some more.

But now I don’t feel so self-conscious about my ass. Freud take note, maybe my girlfriend has taken me out of the anal stage? Recently she’s been fucking me with a strap-on. Which is what she did yesterday.

I’ve been fucked with a strap-on before. Often a really small one or just very briefly. Normally I start screaming right away: “It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” That hasn’t always stopped the other person.

The first time I really open up to her she has me tied to the table in the middle of my room. She’s good with knots, and she has lots of rope. Admittedly, being tied to a table and ass-fucked is pretty kinky. And it was only a week ago. And my whole point here is that maybe I’m not that kinky anymore, but I’m getting to that. I’m not there yet. Stay with me. So she’s fucking me. She goes in really slow, whispering me through it. “There’s no hurry,” she says. And for the first time it really doesn’t hurt. I can feel her going in and out of me and it just feels good. The cock is probably seven or eight inches long and average width. I can feel my asshole stretched around it. She’s picking up speed. I get this whole euphoric feeling. Like I’m on ecstasy or something. It washes across me. I feel so good. I feel great. I’m in love with everybody, and with my girlfriend in particular. My arms are pulled forward, nipple clamps run from my nipples to my wrists. The clamps pull on my nipples every time she slams into my ass. And I start talking all dirty. I’m like, “Oh, yeah. Please. Fuck. Me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” Like I’m in a porno or something. But it feels good to say. And she likes it.

I couldn’t believe it didn’t hurt.

So what happened yesterday is that my girlfriend came over dressed all sexy. There’s nothing kinky, I think, about admiring a woman who is dressed sexy. And she’s great looking all the time anyway. I mean, my girlfriend is super-hot. I’m not saying she’s not really smart, interesting, political, compelling, or caring. She is. But that’s not what I’m talking about here. What I’m trying to say is that my girlfriend has the kind of body that could stop a train. I’m lucky. She likes me. What am I supposed to do about that? Talk her out of it? No way.

So she came over and she wanted to fuck me. She’s leaving for two weeks to rebuild a Buddhist temple in Mississippi and she wanted to have sex before she left and by sex she meant she wanted to fuck my ass. I hadn’t known she was coming over and there was still a small piece of rope on the floor from the last time she tied me to the table and the table was still in the center of the room. I apologized for that and she hit me a couple of times with the rope. Then I went down on her.

Then she spread a towel on my bed and lubed up my ass. We use Liquid Silk. Elbo Grease lasts longer but Liquid Silk seems to work better. At least that’s been our experience together. Maybe different lubes work differently on different assholes. Hard to say.

She takes off her dress and her slip rises and falls across her knees. She takes that off and it’s just her beautiful vintage underwear, the naked tops of her thighs and her torn fishnets with the ivory garter and ruby slippers. I watch her put the harness on, sliding the black silicone cock into its binding, pulling the rubber over the head. “OK,” she says. “Ass up in the air.”

She’s fucking me again. She told me before that every guy wants something in his ass. She’s a sex worker so she would know. Apparently it’s the big secret among men, the thing men don’t talk about with each other. I brought it up earlier in the week with my friend Josh. Josh is a science writer and I was staying at his house in Los Angeles for a couple of days. There was a party I was down there for. I shook Bill Maher’s hand. That’s another story. But the point is I mentioned this to Josh, that my girlfriend had told me every guy wants something in his ass. He explained that there were all these nerve endings and that the prostate was like a male G-spot. He was dropping me off at the Burbank airport and I got the impression, though he didn’t come right out and say it, that he enjoyed having things in his ass, too. So I figure my girlfriend is right. She usually is. So you see what I’m saying? Nothing so kinky about what we’re doing here. She’s fucking me in the ass and it feels really good but then every guy wants something in his ass.

I look back at her. She’s still wearing her ruby slippers with their little heels. She has one knee down and the other knee up, like she’s being knighted. Her left foot is planted firmly on the bed to give her leverage and she’s gripping me by the hips, pulling me back into her. All I can see are her shoes and her legs in her fishnets. I wish I had a picture of it. On my end I’m just trying to keep the rhythm. I can’t help but let out all these little moans of pleasure. I’m having a really good time. Here’s what makes me think I’m not kinky anymore. This time, instead of thinking about my father and all the bad stuff that happened when I was younger, I’m thinking about what she looks like fucking me. I’m also thinking about a hamburger and a chocolate shake. I’m being fucked and it feels really good and I’m thinking, Oh man, I would love a chocolate shake right now. It’s a deep hunger, a deep sex hunger. That’s not just normal, that’s all-American.