Terpsikori
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Joined: 7/23/2013
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This is from my early days…I still feel this way about my scene life...Terpsikori 27/07/2013... ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Kaleidoscope--(Story) Date: 7/24/94 My stories don't seem to me to be terrible 'hot'--rather tame, by some standards, I'll warrant. But I do get a lot of pleasure out of writing them. I LIKE what I write, so it is satisfying. They may not be to the taste of many, but perhaps a few kind souls will enjoy them. So, here is another that I've kept on the back burner for a while. It has very mild D/s and s/m, with slight sexual references. Don't read it if that bothers you. Feel free to download and/or copy, leaving the text intact, though. I invite comment and/or good criticism. PS: These events actually occurred at a large private party at Paddles in NYC.
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Kaleidoscope By Terpsikori
Suddenly, the laughter and hugs and kaleidoscopic brilliance that has come to define the scene for me fades into the background. My senses home in on a singular presence. I had been lying to myself, feeling falsely self-assured that it didn't matter whether or not you'd be there. Denying my denial that it mattered. I am surrounded by affectionate acquaintances, old and new; even several loving friends who bring me joy just to know they are around. There are exquisite and sweet subs and bottoms to play with and a round of delicious scenes to share. But everything stops for me as I catch your eye across the crowd.
I expect only to wave and nod a polite hello, to exchange friendly and non-engaging smiles. Self-discipline snaps into place with the same adrenaline usually reserved for avoiding car crashes and other imminent disasters as I watch you stand, excusing yourself from the small group of people engaging your attention. To my surprise, you thread your way over to me. I look over my shoulder, quickly, to see if there is someone else nearby toward whom you might be heading. Somehow my body has given me the choice of freeze or run and I am caught in your gaze like a wary animal dazed by headlights on the road. It's not supposed to work like this. I'm the Dominant, dammit. Fearless. In control. But seldom does such an object of desire cross my path. You know, the kind that for no apparent reason makes your head swim? Ridiculous. Powerful. Terrible and wonderful. Ah, the memory of your straining, open thighs beneath my crop--fair takes my breath away.
You say 'hi', I say 'hi how areya glad to see you could make it what are you up to these days' and generally carry on the banal exchanges people do. Everything is friendly enough, but you are one of those who shy away from my intensity and I can't seem to dim the wattage down enough to make our exchanges easy. But this time you do not run away. You smile at me and all the cliches I usually disown mock me with abandon and, suddenly, there is no one else in the room.
Gawd, how corny can you get?! With an ongoing internal monologue berating my foolishness, I manage to maintain a small degree of cool. I've stared down worse in my life.
Then, gently, you offer yourself for play--maybe--if I need to work off some of my 'sadistic energies'. We laugh and I just as gently accept. Meanwhile, my breathing has become--not quite ragged.
Together we wander over to a chair where you sit. My hand seems to move of its own volition to touch your hair. It's all I can do to stop the transition into focused headspace. There's been too much distance, misunderstanding, disparity of energies. You look up at me softly and I can no longer deny the burning in my chest and the spreading desire I feel. I hate it, but you are one of the very few and special individuals who make me tremble. Standing next to you, I can barely breathe. Tears threaten my vision, tears usually reserved for the work of great artists or the painful beauty of the Oregon coastline and such. Maudlin, perhaps. But I can feel the power of your submissive self, as if I were able to touch light. It pulls at me, compelling all my senses to open.
"Are you sure?" I ask, touching no more than the air around your face. Your nearly inaudible "yes" is almost lost as you press your head to my breast. A wicked grin teases your eyes as you peer up at me, while you nuzzle my cleavage. Suddenly, the iron band that usually is clamped around my chest when you are around disappears. I impulsively lean over and kiss the top of your head as I continue to stroke your hair. A momentary happiness, a joy, washes over me. Then my fingers twine in your hair and my eyes burn into yours. Your smile remains but changes. You give me a nearly imperceptible nod as my expression alters. I feel a cruel pleasure course through me as I watch your eyes register a momentary fear, the pain of my grip on your hair pulling you into your submission.
I am awed by your trust, since we have not discussed our play. But I have already tempered my soul with the details of your wants, needs, and fears. I have burned to press you deeper, to submerge myself in the particular and unique experience that you seem to be for me. Without further hesitation, we begin.
Your hair is the lever by which I move you, slowly, inexorably, off the chair to your knees. I hold your eyes with mine, forcing your gaze to continue with a rough shake of your head by your hair when you would look away. A kiss, prolonged and deep, seals the bargain we have made.
It seems to shine up at me. Your face.
No warning and I slap you, hard, to the floor. There is a momentary rebellion I can see in the set of your body. Your head is turned away, neck arched in offering. This particular mannerism of yours, your long, slight body, now elegant, falling into a delectibly submissive curve, always elicits a thrill, exciting smoldering cruelty from the dark corners of my psyche. But you start to get up, to straighten yourself.
'No!' is my sharp and husky-voiced command. I step behind you to yank your head back. You are tall so I needn't bend over far to throw my elbow around your neck. Choking you and pulling you against me and off balance, I whisper, "You are mine and I'm going to hurt you. You will give me all that you have to give. Now."
I release you, stepping back slightly to allow me to place my booted foot between your shoulder blades. Before you can get your balance, a quick shove forces you to your face. Pulled by your hair again, onto your back, you look up at me, eyes wide as I rest my black boot against your throat. I am dimly aware of people moving back to give us space and a circle of quiet surrounds us. Out of the corner of my eye, I note a stocky man, wearing a biker's cap and leather vest over his bare torso, put finger to lips, shushing some noisy people moving into the circle. But nothing else slips through the cone of energy growing between us.
And that's not all that's growing. Your jeans do not quite conceal your very physical response to your position. I am pleased. My smile feels ironic and sweetly cruel. How I love to sip slowly from this cup. You return my gaze but not my smile, your eyes still and seeking, your hand ever so tentatively not quite daring to touch my heel.
With a quick, threatening pressure on your exposed throat, I push myself back, reach down and pull you by your hair to a kneeling position.
Guiding you without words throughout, I unbutton your shirt to reveal your naked torso. A lingering kiss stretches the moment.
I motion for you to remove your trousers and underwear, keeping you in a kneeling position. "Two!" I say, and you immediately sit back on your heels, knees wide, arms behind your head, eyes forward and down at a perfect 45 degrees. Ah, you remember! I lick my lips absent-mindedly as I circle you, admiring your concentration. "Five"--and you are forward onto your hands and knees, thighs wide and ass presented.
My smile certainly FEELS salacious as I gaze on your vulnerable, sweet cheeks, forced apart by your arched position. Oh, yes, my fist opens and closes, fingers itching to penetrate you. With a sigh, I push that thought aside--party rules, after all. Perhaps later...
Instead, I run my fingers over the stretched flesh. Kneeling on one knee, I bend to secure a strap on your scrotum. As I fumble with the fastening, I again note the physical manifestion of your response.
Without warning, you are on your back again, beneath my boot. A simple gesture commands you to raise first one arm, then the other, to accept my cuffs. I use your hair like a leash to pull you up and onto your hands and knees, while I search the space for an appropriate attachment.
Ah ha. A nice pole is free and I lead you over to it, hauling you to your feet before attaching your wrists to the hook above your head. I cannot resist running my hands over your back, shoulders, and arms, my face close to your skin so that I may inhale your scent. My lips caress your warm skin, my tongue tasting you before I bite. A long, slow, steadily deeper bite. This brings a whimper from you, causing me to smile around my teeth--and the first love bite bruises your pale skin. I continue to bite, leaving a red and angry initial on your shoulder, my signature mark to remain with you for days. There are already tears in your eyes.
Stepping back, I reach into the bag that a friend I've signaled has brought to me. A small leather, two-strap slapper comes to my hand. A nice little warmup toy and I use it at first gently, just tapping it lightly over back of your shoulders, in between motions running my other hand over your skin in a brushing motion. While the strokes get harder and sharper, my hand keeps a constant caressing contact with your skin.
Now the chamois, my sweet, soft flogger that is almost too gentle for most to feel. Yet to your tender skin, it is hard enough. I build into a rhythm, alternating shoulders until there is a nice red, well-shaped square, where the strokes have landed. Then, tossing the chamois aside, I reach for the suede, heavier, with relatively short tails and a longer grip. I like this one because I can aim it so easily, as I will aim it at your body so beautifully bent and shaped now with the pain. I start easy again and note that you are somewhat startled at the new whip, since I've never used it on you before. A 'medium' whip, by most standards, but pain is not your primary goal and you have sensitive skin. That's a pleasure, because then I don't have to work so hard to get the effect I want.
Soon you are crying out, against your will. Since I know that you are trying hard to please and be strong, I savor your gift, drinking your suffering like heady wine.
I intersperse the flogging with gentle touches of my hands, my lips, then my nails--making you cry out again. Then a fur piece across your skin elicits a soft moan of pleasure from your throat as you mold yourself back against me. I gently place a kiss on your neck, then move around your side, gripping your chin to turn your face to me. This moment, one of my favorite tiny instants of the ecstatic--I kiss you long and deep, as you are trussed with arms above your head, legs spread, deep into your pain.
Stepping back from you, I take pleasure in your reaching toward me with your mouth and body, reluctant for me to leave you. I begin the flogging again, gently, then harder, repeating the whole process over again, though somewhat faster this time.
I mouth instructions to a bystander to get me a condom from my bag, which is speedily done. You have become enormously engorged, to my delight, and are beginning to drip pre-cum. So, I will cover you for my next sweet torture.
Flogging your ass first gently, then vigorously, warms your sweet cheeks. Your hips move of themselves. I grab my large, round paddle, somewhat like a ping pong paddle only about twice the surface. Grasping your latex covered dick in my left hand, I paddle you with my right. Each time I strike you, your hips push forward, forcing a back and forth motion of your dick through my fist. It is a delight to watch you shudder with the mixed pain of the paddling and the pleasure in your sex.
"Tell me when you are about to cum," I whisper. You nod vaguely and say , "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet," I chuckle.
More strokes against your ass, faster and harder. You can't take both the pleasure and pain, cry out, and then "I'm cumming!"
At which time, I stop paddling and pinch your cock behind the glans. With a gulp, you find that your orgasm is stopped suddenly. "Please," you beg. And I say no, releasing your cock to unfasten your cuffs from the pole. Someone passes me a soft blanket to wrap around you, and I lead you off to a comfortable couch.
You murmer against me as I hold you, "Why, why?" We share a deep kiss, embraces, and more kisses, and I stroke your sweating brow. "Because, I want more from you, my pet."
Your eyes brighten. The scene wasn't so deep that you are in shock, really quite a light one, actually. A sly grin molds my face as you chirp, "You mean we can go on?" "Of course. But what I want to do can't be done at this party, so we'll have to go elsewhere."
You abruptly slide out of my arms, pushing off the couch into kneeling position at my feet, grabbing my hand to kiss it. "Thank you, my Lady. May I please go get dressed so that I won't delay you in any way for us to leave?" At my expression, you waver, "But only if it pleases you, of course. . .?"
With solid laughter, I let you help me put my toy bag back together and then get your clothes together. Making appropriate excuses to the hosts and friends, we depart. We promise to be back. Fortunately, the party will be going on very, very late. . . =========== Terpsicho
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KALEIDOSCOPE - A STORY BY TERPSIKORI - 
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