Genesis of a Scene

Curvaceous Dee commented here on my last HNT about the “hint of wood” you can see just on the right side of the photo, so I thought I’d share a little more of the scene, let ya’ll see what that piece of wood is, and what else was going on.
This is a more complete side view of it.

And this is the device from the front.  It is a breastpress, an ingenious little torture device that W may not have invented, but that he makes. (Ain’t he clever?)

The Breast Press
Every time we scene it is different.  The cadence, the tempo, whether he builds it slowly or jumps in with everything he’s got…I never know what to expect, and even when I think I might know what’s coming, things often change on the fly, as he reacts to me, as his mood shifts, as energy builds between us.
This particular time was meant to be more of a “try-out” for us both…he wanted to size a breast press on me that he had made, and to gauge my reaction/tolerances to it before I wore it at an event we were scheduled to attend.

The fun part of this scene was that although it started out more as “let’s see if this will work” kind of thing, it ended up building into something very intense as he slowly added each piece, building the scene like stacking blocks one on top of the other. This is something that he excels at – the slow, methodical building of a scene, element by element, until it reaches a crescendo that leaves me shaking and spent in his arms.

I was pretty relaxed at first.  We were joking, chatting about inconsequential things.  A little bit of rope, the spreader bar…  I liked the breast press, though I had never had one on before then. Of course I wasn’t thinking at that point about those bolts on the sides, and what they were for…

I also didn’t anticipate that he might want to add a couple of clothespins to the ordeal.

He showed me exactly what the bolts were for soon enough…taking great pleasure in tightening the clamps down on my sensitized breasts.

And in pinching my swollen, tender nipples.

I swear I was being good, being quiet, but apparently not quiet enough: he eventually gagged me.

And added some more rope…

Then I could whine and whimper all I needed to, and I wouldn’t disturb the neighbors.

But he seldom hurts me without making it pleasurable…and this time was no exception.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell if it’s pleasure or pain that’s happening, even for me, in the moment.  Sometimes there is no distinction.  It simply rolls from one to the other in waves, again and again.

If you’d like to see more of the scene, W should have it up soon over at BD.  I’ll link it when he does.