Death by Orgasm

“So what are you thinking about for the weekend schedule?” he asked in an email.
Hmm…
This is what my perfect weekend would look like:

• I come in and my collar is locked around my neck. I’m told to put high heels and slutwear on, and then allowed to work on the computer while he finishes his dinner.
• After dinner he makes me do my yoga poses for him, naked, by candlelight, on his newly finished, beautifully glowing wood floor. After which he ties me into an “assisted” yoga pose that is NOT an assistance at all. But it’s by candlelight, so how bad can it be?
• Then he flogs and singletails me until I fall (melt?) literally into a puddle on the floor. I wind up in bed with my collar still on and the ropes on my wrists, and sleep the sleep of the dead (or deeply subspaced) all night.
• I wake to him holding me by the ropes on my wrists as he fucks me. I have a vague memory of him taking the collar off in the night but am absurdly pleased that he left the ropes on, and as I come awake I realize that I have been smelling the hemp all night, and taking pleasure and comfort in it even in my sleep.
• We walk to the newly-opened coffee/waffle/ice cream shop  down the street and have lattes and waffles and bask in the pleasure of being able to spend two whole days/nights together.
• On the walk back we decide to do a Rope on the Run “Y” shot, go back to the house to get our stuff and then head back out. The weather is perfect, for a walk and the set-up and shot is perfect. Neither one of us is ready to go back inside when we’re done though, so we walk home by way of a little hole-in-the-wall bar that none-the-less has a tiny, delightful patio with a huge oak tree in it, get a couple beers, and have a sit in the warm shade.
• That night we have been invited to a party, but decide to stay on our own. Neither one of us wants to dilute the weekend with other people.
• W decides I need to experience the GirlBox, and it turns into a game that neither of us expected, and both thoroughly enjoy. I discover the surprising desire to find a girl to put in the Girlbox myself and this idea becomes an on-again off-again topic of conversation over the weekend.
• We go out to a favorite Mexican restaurant for dinner – the long way around, and with me in my metal bra – and come home to give each other long, sensual massages before crawling blissfully into bed.
• We have vanilla(!) sex in the AM. And love it!
• After a shared bubble bath and coffee, we spend the late morning/afternoon working companionably on our own projects – me surfing for a place for the Missy’s and my upcoming retreat in November, him updating Bondage Demons.
• He takes me into the basement and proceeds to tie me into a predicament involving the wooden pony, a lot of rope, two evil spiky balls, clothespins and a spreader bar. After Phase 1 of this, he asks, “Are you done?” “No!” I say. He is amused. “And you say I’m the messed up one,” he replies.
• He proceeds to make me done.
• We take a dinner-and-Jade-recuperation break, after which he says, “Okay, what kind of scene would you like?” “One with lots of orgasms!” I say (famous last words.) Back down into the basement we go, where he proceeds to fuck me with a water heater.
• And a Hitachi.
• Until I think I might die by orgasm. It turns out that the predicament bondage didn’t do me in, orgasms did.
• I come home to Ad and relay the weekend’s events. At the end he says, “So W finally discovered that Baldy can be a torture device, huh?” “Yeah,” I say, “I think my cunt is broke.”
• He shows me that it’s not.

And that would be my perfect weekend. You know, if I could have scripted it.  Too bad I didn’t see W’s email until I got home and checked my email.