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Subject: Title story: "The List_4" Author: Nurse Jones 45416179
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Date: Sat, 04 Jun 2005 20:16:26 +0000
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Column 1
Item 8
The next day, Sunday, we went to the excersise spa. He had brought my old leo's
from my bags, with my shorts to wear over them to hide my chain which would
otherwise have made lumps. There's not much to relate, and besides, I don't have
a lot of time since I have to get ready for San Francisco.
J is going to let me go shopping on my own tomorrow, and the next day we leave.
Today, I have to depilate again.
So, a short note on the spa. I went as his guest.
The exercise machines are arranged in two parallel rows.
We went down the two rows side by side, each of us doing our own weights, and he
absolutely wore me out. I was sweating by the time I got to the end of my row,
and he made me start the stair machine with him.
When I thought I was all through, we did another round on the weight machines.
By then, I was absolutely drenched in sweat, my hair sticking to my head, my
leos to my body. He had completely exhausted me on purpose.
I need to get into a regular exercise routine.
We drove home and showered together, but this time no hanky- panky -- well, a
little hanky maybe.
I wore one of his sleeveless tank-top t-shirts; it was more comfortable than
anything of mine.
He wanted to talk, and he wanted me relaxed. After lunch, tired out and with a
meal and two glasses of wine inside me, I tend to get sleepy.
He sat me down on the sofa (I have to sit gingerly these days, settling around
my chain to avoid it pressing on my coccyx.
This is especially a problem on the exercise machines. The exercycle is out of
the question.
"I want you to understand something clearly," he said.
"I am going to continue as I have been.
At the end of the month I
will possess you like a piece of property.
Everything I do to you is directed toward that goal. I'm not going to ask you to
like what I do, but I'm asking -- correction -- ordering you to tell me: do you
want to be posessed in this way?
You haven't said so yet."
I didn't know how to respond. On one level, this whole routine sounded like I
had always imagined a grade z porn movie to sound.
He sounded like he was reading from a script again. But the reality was so ...
Well, the reality was what went on in my mind and that wasn't grade z.
Even _I_ have to admit that last bit of dialogue is grade z, but that's what
he actually said, more or less, so that's what I wrote. I wonder if he
rehearsed it.
I adopted an equally formal and artificial conversational tone. I told him I
liked the idea of belonging to him, that I wanted that but the things he had
done were too much for me.
I needed time to get used to this.
It was all too new. Anyone
listening would have thought we were bad actors.
"You understand that won't change what I do," he said.
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, suddenly suspicious. I had the
feeling he was planning something.
"You already know: I'm going to make you mine."
"I mean what things are you going to do to me? Specifically."
"You have the List. Beyond that you're going to have to live with not knowing."
-*-
That
first week had been a very intense week for me.
I think that if I had encountered new sexual experiences at that rate for much
longer, I would have been unable to continue. But things slowed down during the
next week, and J didn't introduce anything new into my life, just variations on
the same themes he had already established.
Once he tied me gagged and immobile in a wooden armchair so I could do nothing
but turn my head; he teased me unmercifully with feathers and fingers until I
was exhausted. At the end, behind the gag, he couldn't tell if I was laughing or
crying. I couldn't either.
And once he had me hanging by my spread ankles with my wrists tied by ropes to
the same overhead rings so I was doubled up and looking down at my own crotch
(I'm pretty flexible -- yoga and all that) My bottom was just resting on the bed
enough to take my weight off my arms and I had to watch helplessly while he put
...things... in me. You know what things. I had no choice but to watch.
I'm getting used to this more cosmopolitan and liberalized attitude toward sex.
It IS sex, I think, even when he just watches me walk around the house in my
chain and nothing else. I know it doesn't sound like it, but I get turned on by
the restraints and control.
One new thing happened, though.
He said he was "totally charmed" by my inept attempt to strip seductively, and
asked if I would, to please him,
learn "the moves." I said yes, and on Monday evening, he came home with four
video tapes: three x-rated ones that had professional strippers doing their
thing, and one "how to" tape with lessons on exotic dancing.
I have been practicing.
Not the tassle-twirling kind of stuff that people with names like "Boom-Boom"
and "Treasure Chest" (Bang Bang LaDesh, Marsha Dimes, Irma the Body) do, but
more seductive stuff.
I feel silly at home alone, writhing on the sofa, grinding my hips, wiggling my
chest and peeling my clothse off an inch at a time, but right now, I would feel
still sillier if he were watching.
Soon, maybe I'll be able to do it for him. The belly dancing is more challenging
and fun to learn.
It takes a lot more coordination than I would have thought.
That Sunday night, though, I was spread-eagled on the bed, blindfolded and
gagged -- not with that awful ball-shaped gag, he just uses that for punishment
-- while he teased me with half- melted ice cubes.
While he was driving me crazy this way, he whispered in my ear that the time
would come, before the end of the List, when he would make me a proper slave,
and I would voluntarily call him "master." He knew I wasn't ready then, but he
told me to think, as an exercise, once a day, of the circumstances it would
take. He knew instinctively that I would associate that word with the kind of
B&D scenarios that had already made me (to my immediate regret) laugh. He knew I
hadn't gotten deeply involved enough to use such a word and mean it, even within
the limited context of the List.
But what he said registered.
I'm still thinking about it. I fantasize about the circumstances in which I
could say it, but would still not be able to SAY it without thinking it faintly
ridiculous, like Nazis in black socks with dust on the soles of the feet.
I haven't talked about one aspect yet: the limitations set by the List. Of
course, he won't do anything that's not on the List, but there is a lot of
latitude in HOW he does what IS there.
(Witness how he put on my chain: that blowtorch was very scary.) It is in this
grey area that I have to trust him to be sensitive enough to approach and even
exceed my verbally admitted
limits without exceeding my true threshold.
I'm beginning to learn that this takes enormous sensitivity.
And I thought the primary requirement for the dominant figure in this kind of
relationship was that he/she be INsensitive.
The other limit for the List is a long-term time limit.
We agreed to a strict limit of four weeks for each column.
Sounds like a couple of lawyers, I know, but we decided that it couldn't be
shorter and be still be meaningful: I wanted the feeling I was really plunging
in to something serious.
Somehow, in
my fantasies about this, it was serious, not play.
And a strict time limit gives me something to cling to as an "out" without
letting me frivolously interrupt the process.
There is comfort in knowing there is nothing on the List that can do me any real
physiological damage, but I know that the cumulative discomfort of that gag (it
is by far the worst) adds up to actual pain, and I trust him not to overdo it.
At some point you have to trust, I guess.
We leave for San Francisco tomorrow.
-*-
Well, we're back from San Francisco now, and do I have a story to tell. It's
Saturday morning, and we got back late last night.
He had to take my chain off for the plane trip, and for a few minutes it
actually felt strange to be without it.
Not naked, exactly, but like something was missing. He had me wear my tight knit
dress with nothing underneath, and once we were in the air, he took a collar and
lock out of his hand luggage and told me to go into the restroom and put it on
under the turtle- neck of my dress. I couldn't have worn my chain through the
metal detector, although he said he thought about making me do that and letting
the female guard search me to find out why I set it off. That would have been
crossing the line between embarrasment and public humiliation, I think. Still,
what could they do? Arrest me for chain smuggling?
Once we were in our hotel room (it was pretty nice: someone else was paying for
it), he put the chain on me again, this time locking all three loose ends with
the little padlock. I could have put the chain on while on the plane, I suppose,
but it would have showed through that knit dress, even with a belt to conceal
it. Trust me, that dress is form-fitting everywhere.
The plane trip was uneventful. We arrived at the airport, rented a car, and he
went to his meeting while I had a few hours of almost-freedom to drive around
town, buy lunch and pick him up again. I was wearing jeans and a sweater, so my
chain didn't show.
That evening, chain off, dress and collar on again, we went to Sausalito and had
a great dinner in an intimate little restaraunt right on the water. We had great
sex that night, but only great.
I wore only the collar; somehow a hotel room, no matter how luxurious, is just
not the right setting.
And the collar wasn't enough, somehow. It seemed out of place, a weak
reminder, a tenuous connection to something stronger elsewhere. My nesting
instinct has been perverted to a longing for the familiarity and safety of a
dungeon, I think.
I wanted to be back "home". I almost felt like that big empty cavern of a house
was waiting for me.
It was afterwards, after we had showered and he had relocked my chain, that he
broke the news to me. The next day, I was to get my nipples pierced. We had put
this on the List, but I had considered it more as a theoretical possibility,
since I have inverted nipples.
Not so. He had talked to the woman that runs the business and she said there was
nothing she hadn't seen, including my problem.
I have pierced ears (one three times, the other twice) but the thought of
piercing my nipples made me cringe. J was careful to explain to me that he
didn't want me to do this to inflict pain on me, rather he wanted me pierced as
another way of binding me to him. It would mark me as his, like removing my
pubic hair. I could have a local if I wanted, even.
Reminding me of that helped calm me down a little, but I was still nervous. I
had heard of this kind of piercing, and admit I was curious -- maybe more than
curious about it. I had thought about it on more than one occasion, and as a
matter of fact, I was the one that suggested it for the List, partly to see his
reaction to something I had been thinking about.
But still, I was nervous.
Both nipples at once was really jumping in at the deep end for me.
The front room of her home in the (to me) famous Mission district had lots of
jewelery on display, some of it custom, and she had a little clinic in the back
where she did it.
She was very careful about hygene, and I could tell right away that she had lots
of experience. She had a ring in her nose, in her lower lip, several in each
ear, and, she said, a surprisingly large number elsewhere. Twenty-something in
all. I was curious, okay?
It took a lot of self control for me to make myself watch, but I wanted to be
sure I knew what she was doing -- and that she knew too.
She was very gentle and reassuringly efficient. Obvoiusly, my nipples will
protrude even when they aren't erect if they are held out -- which they were.
Since even normal nipples have to be held during the procedure anyway, it didn't
really matter that mine were inverted. They went erect and stood out on their
own anyway. I think they were cringing.
I wanted a local anesthetic, but she said that would sting at least as much as
the piercing needle. She also said that for some people the act of piercing
itself was more important than the jewelery they wore afterward. She had
customers that let their piercings close deliberately and be
repierced.
She convinced me.
She had an instrument I had never seen before, a sort of forceps with slots
in the jaws.
She held me from the sides and this hollow needle went right through both me and
the clamp. The rings followed through after the needle. She let J stay with me,
holding my hand.
It was over quickly with almost no bleeding. Just seconds for each piercing. It
did sting a little, but less than an injection of local xylocane to remove a
mole. Really it wasn't much different than getting my ears done.
It was nothing compared to the gag.
I wasn't wearing a bra, so she put bandaids on. Aspirin was enough to make me
comfortable, she said, but I didn't really need any.
I don't think this is something I would do myself. I have thought about it, and
I think I could -- as an RN I suppose I am qualified, but there is nothing like
experience.
We had time before going to the airport to do some shopping, and J took me to a
place that specializes in the kinky appliances and stuff he has been using.
He had me try on some shoes and boots, and then told me to wait in the car.
He had a couple of pretty big bags of packages when he came out. I wonder what
the x-ray security monitor at the airport thought of the contents. She probably
figured we were just more midwesterners on our way back home from San Francisco.
We drove to the airport and waited for the plane.
The flight back was uneventful. When we finally arrived home it was late, and we
both went straight to bed.
I took aspirin to help me sleep, more to counteract the coffee I had on the
plane than because of my nipples (aspirin puts me to sleep).
This morning, I inspected myself. The bandaids were the "ouchless" variety,
thank goodness. I am a little swollen, and the swelling makes me look a little
deformed. Maybe I should say deformed in a different way, since inverted nipples
are not exactly normal anyway. But at least before, my nipples were identical;
now they are swollen in different ways, so that one nipple partly protrudes from
the areola, while the other is less swollen. This makes me nervous.
I don't want to be permanently this way.
I can only wait for the swelling to go down, though. I heal quickly, and then
we'll know. I guess I can always remove them. I disinfected myself again and put
on some of the Neosporin she had given me, and fresh bandaids.
The rings are small circular gold ones. She said they were a fine gauge, but I
don't remember what size they are. Sha also said I can enlarge the holes easily
later. I don't think I will want to.
Well,
maybe. We'll see.
J is very sympathetic and caring, and it makes me think maybe he really does
like my nipples the way they are.
I know that sounds funny, since he had just changed them, but he wanted to
decorate me there, draw attention to them, not hide them. It's a very private
kind of feeling, since I am still not publically proud of them, but if this
works out I think I will be proud to show myself off to J.
In the meantime, I am practicing my exotic dancing. I hope the swelling goes
down soon, though.
-*-
Sunday: J has just told me an interesting bit of news.
He says he's going to send this to a computer bulletin board or something.
I don't know how this works yet, but he says the people in his department are
tied into it and read it. Thank God I've left out anything that might connect us
to this story.
He d****d well better be right when he says he can send it in so no- one finds
out where it came from!
I'm going to have to go back
over it and make sure I didn't leave any clues.
Computer nerds
are usually pretty smart fellas.
Maybe I should say "You guys (maybe gals too?) are..." since I now know who my
audience is. I know you aren't ALL geeks.
I remember some pretty cute guys hanging around the computer center when I was
in school.
I am living with one, come to think of it. And he is effing smart.
And maybe I'll spruce up the literary style a bit while I'm at it.
He suggested the format for the chapter headings, so you now know where that
came from.
Also that I capitalize the word "List".
Already I have a sense of power. But, folks, I won't make anything up.
Promise. Besides, he wouldn't let me. Well, well. An anonymous audience.
Enjoy, people.
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