NeW YeaRS eVe

What I did for new years eve.

I met up with a visiting friend from the UK, she's a lecturer from a uni over there, very fuckin smart but also very fucking funny and perverted. We had a few drinks talked shit then headed off to Abode
Midnight was shit, as usual, had to tell a drunken woman to fuck off after she wouldnt leave my friend alone wanting a drunken midnight kiss.
They eventually opened the upstairs play area. I showed my friend around and she liked the equipment up there. After a bit of wandering around, she decided she needed some pain. I had to oblige

here's the full story:
NewYearsEve:
She asks me if I’m okay with this, making sure its cool. I am.
I haven't done with someone this serious before, usually its friends who like to experiment, not a true pain freak. I’m a bit scared but my mind enters a zone. Its hard to describe, its sort of like when I used to paint or draw. Your mind blocks out everything else but what you are doing. You are aware of your surroundings but they don’t really matter. I am the artist and she is the canvas.
First is the tying up, adjusting of the ropes to be tight but not too much. We chat as I get the equipment ready. I decide not to use the knives, the vodka's have decided that, I do not trust myself with them now. Tonight we will start with the whip. I undo her corset and bra, carefully putting them aside but within view, those fuckers are expensive.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes”
It begins.
I hold the whip tightly, my wrist twists this way and that, warming up. The first blow hits her back, she tenses, preparing herself for what she knows will keep coming. Left, right, left, right, the whip crosses her back, with each blow her pale back reddens. I stop, start, stop and start, varying blows, hard, soft, quick, slow.
But it was during the breaks between beatings she showed her true side. My long nails across her back made her react more than the whip. My long metal rings, the affectionately named eye gougers, scraped across her back, and my pinwheel glided across her back, she bit her bottom lip trying not to show her secret desire.
But I knew, she would be teased, the whip would come back. More and more her pale back reddened but between the beatings she would get what she really wanted. My nails scraped up and down her back, my nails, metallic rings and pinwheel leaving long red lines and sometimes a small amount of blood. But eventually I would go back to the whip again and again, but her scratches made her back more and more sensitive, the breaks she needed between the two got closer and closer.
Eventually we had to stop. I untied her and I helped her back into her bra and corset. I packed away my equipment and sat down. My brain was tired, my arms felt okay, I looked across at her, she was still in the weird high after a beating. We both felt good, our inner demons fed.
The club was packed, it was new years but they where mostly downstairs, drugged up, dancing, and pretty boring. The members area usually closed was open all night, but it was just the usual crowd of boring fetish farts with clothes that cost to much, bondage freaks who when you talk to them are boring and you’d wish they had a ball gag in, drugged up clubbers, naked people and the occasional goth.
We chatted, walked around a bit, the music was too clubby and the dance floor too full. There seemed to be a lot of people just standing around talking. Typical bloody new years, a lot of hype but not much different from the rest of the year, except maybe more people. We went back upstairs, people doing various things in dark corners. Somehow we ended back up in the room from before. She noticed something. Her eyes lit up like a kid on Xmas day. She was drawn to it. It was a sort of kneeler, something that would maybe be used in a confessional in a church. She loved it. She wanted to use it. It was delightful in its sacrilegious perversity. I quickly went back downstairs to get my equipment. When I got back she was staring at it. What do people who don’t go to religious school have to fetishize. One of the few good things about religion is that it gives you so much to twist and fuck up into dirty little fantasies.
The kneeler faced a wall of bars that separated to 2 halves of the room. We began to prepare, I got the equipment ready, and then undid her tops. I went to the other side of the bars. I pulled out a set of nipple clamps and attached them to her already erect nipples, but I put them around the bars. She wouldn't‚’t be able to lean back or move too much now.
As she knelt I decided to not use the whip, it’s was beyond that now. I knew what she wanted. First my metal rings scraped across her back, the cold metal rubbing against her already red back. I pulled out the pinwheel, it’s little spiky wheel made tiny puncture marks across her body. She reacted, she liked it. I alternated them, left, right, left, right, across, up, down, crossing over and reaching around to her ribs.
I love the ribs, they are often forgotten with the back taking most of the abuse, but the smallest touch in the right area can make the toughest person flinch and twitch.
I needed to feel flesh, the use of implements often takes away from the visceral delights of the flesh.
I've had long nails for as long as I remember, it’s just something I've always had since school. Not the skanky coke snorting, nose picking long pinkie nail, they’re all long and all deadly.
As I ran my nails across her back I felt her body move, every rib, every muscle, every twist and contortion and it felt good, and not just for me. I became more vicious and my hands move across her back, her ribs, her ass, the long lines on her back became dark and raw. I decided she was ready, her body told me, she needed more.
I went into my pocket and pulled out the ring. My nightbreed ring. Fashioned after the one used to peel off the skin of Narcisse in the film Nightbreed. It was nasty piece of work, big, scary and sharp.
The ring ran across her back, she twisted away, then back for more. She offered her back to me and I returned the favor, with both the ring and my bare hand. She arched her back again, pulling away from the pain but yet again offering it when her mind regained control. The body and mind fighting within her, the mental need for pain vs. the instinctual running from it.
My hands explored her body, her neck, ass, ribs, scratching and slicing as I went. The sides and undersides of her breasts where ripe for some pain, like the ribs, an area often forgotten. The ring was beginning to do some damage, her back was raw, my fingernails scraping the skin off. But she still wanted more, and as a friend I obliged. The nightbreed ring tasted blood for the first time, it became thirsty, each stroke drawing small amount of blood, I now had my friend’s blood under my nails. She was half standing, half kneeling, moaning and crying out loud with each slice. She became louder, her body twisting and contorting with each scratch. Her body was a mass of scratches, dark lines with the occasional droplet of blood marking her once pale skin. Eventually she had to stop, I was waiting for a sign, but she wanted more. I became vicious. My mind was focused totally on her, on her body, on her reactions. I knew when to hold back, when to keep going, when to push her to her limits and beyond. She eventually could take no more, her body slowly lowering itself onto the kneeler. I had already slowed and it didn’t take long to stop.
I helped her dress, we hugged and sat down while I packed up my equipment. She adjusted her clothing, she was a bit tender, so it took longer than usual. We sat there in a daze, my body was okay but mind was tired. Eventually when we were ready. It was time for a drink, a vodka for me and a beer for her.
It was a celebratory drink, for the New Year and friendship and trust forged by skin and blood.