I want to share you with one of my sadist friends.
You'll know well before the planned date so you can prepare. Your hair and nails done, shopping for something new and lacy to match the rope we'll bind you in. Mentally you'll need to prepare as well. This is going to be one of the most intense nights of your life, sweet girl. You'll need to remember your breathing exercises.
Introductions will be brief. You thoughtlessly extend your trust to anyone I do. So as I smile and welcome her into my arms, you'll relax. This is someone I'm deeply friendly with. I'd never trust you with anyone that didn't have your best interests in mind, right?
We enter the play room and you can't help but notice the tools waiting for you. All neatly hung and cleaned. Plenty of room for the wide swings that some toys necessitate.
We'll undress you, catching up like old friends as the outfit you worked so hard to put together is tossed aside. The conversation will eventually focus on you. She'll compliment your form, your blush, the lace I dressed you in. She'll go through the safety check in. “Tell me your safe word. Show me your non verbal sign.”
After, you won't need to say anything. In fact, we're going to talk over you, openly discussing our favorite parts of you. Where we want to see marks. How much we think you could handle. You may be tempted to speak up, to offer what you think we may like. ‘Your ass carries stripes so well, but your back is difficult to mark’. We'll look at you like wolves being offered cuts from the lamb we're getting ready to butcher. Your eagerness is noticed, appreciated, but unneeded. We have the experience to carve you up, little girl.
Finally we come to an agreement. We bind your wrists together, anchoring them to the ceiling, chattering excitedly at each other as we work. Carefully a pair of blackout contacts are slipped into each of your eyes. We'll each take half of you. A side of lamb each to treat as a canvas.
Together we are more than the sum of our parts. When dommes enjoy working together, they start to learn each other's rhythm, and, more importantly, how to egg the other on.
Imagine being strung up in the dark. Blind and helpless, balancing on the tips of your toes. The only safety net you have is in the trust you have in me. One domme, you don't know who, gives you a gentle tap on your side only for the other to respond, lashing a crop into the arch of your body as it tries to escape the first.
Back and forth we'll tease you, building up our strikes before switching to crueler and more intense implements. You'll hear us excitedly offer the other tips to improve our swing, or offer spots that might be fun to hit. No part of you would be off limits as we work to turn you from a blank canvas, to art.
Our art. Our sobbing, shaking, broken art. When we're done we'll haul you down, hold you between us and slip the contacts from your eyes. Your first vision will be your naked body reflected back at you, carried between us, every inch of you decorated.
Between us we'll care for you the hours, the days it takes to heal. Kissing and praising you in unison. We'll tell you how proud we are. How perfectly you performed for us.
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