I’d set the thermostat a few degrees lower than usual because soon I’d be sweating. My skin felt good against the cool, crisp sheets. It wouldn’t be long before the fresh-laundry scent I inhaled would be replaced by the smell of sex. I could hardly wait to hear his voice.

My cell phone rang at exactly the agreed-upon time. My Master was nothing if not precise. After I answered his call on my wireless headset with the mic, he opened the session by telling me to spank my ass with a wooden spoon. He used the tight, gruff voice I’d come to expect at the beginning of our sessions. I swatted my bottom cheeks one after the other.

“Louder. I want to hear that spoon slapping your flesh.”

“Yes, sir.” I applied more pressure. He probably could tell from my groans that the spoon hurt more than the plastic spatulas he usually had me use.

“Good,” he said after a dozen good smacks to each side. “Now lay your set of blocks out on your bed in a row, making a rectangle of them, and lie down next to them.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now I want you to insert your cock, the one attached to the plunger, and I want you to tape the bottom of the plunger to your ankles with your duct tape.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, lying on your back, I want you to get those forks and dig them into your nipples.”

“Yes, sir.” This was one of my favorite parts. The forks were my favorite toy, and the perfect symbol for that intoxicating intersection between pleasure and pain.

“Good girl. Now dig them in and twist.” The gravelly tenor of his voice heightened my senses and took me to a magical place that only included the two of us. His kingdom, where pleasure and pain melded together, and it was impossible to tease out which was which.

I forced the silver tines of the forks into my tender flesh and cried out. “Ahhh!” My cry embraced and repelled the sharp objects invading my body.

“That’s it. Dig them in hard. Twist!”

I did, and my complaints melted into mewls of lust.

“That’s a girl. Good job. Now roll over onto the blocks. Lie on them with your breasts and your stomach on top of them. Let the indentions of the blocks drive into that sensitive flesh of yours.”

Setting the forks aside, I flipped onto my belly, the pattern of the alphabet blocks marking my skin. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it was quite awkward and uncomfortable. The upside was that it was hot having him direct me into such a vulnerable position, and I liked him controlling me like that.

“Fuck yourself. Take that cock deep inside that greedy pussy of yours.”

“Yes, sir.” I wiggled my ankles up and down, driving the dildo into my cunt, the sharp edges of the blocks poking me with each stroke.

“Good girl. Now inch yourself up over the blocks so that only your stomach, and possibly your mound, is touching them. I want your breasts above them and free for you to play with them while you fuck yourself.”

Answering in the affirmative, I hoisted my left side, then my right, up on the bed, traversing over the blocks. My skin scraped the evil little divots and crevices of the blocks, and I muttered intelligible curses to whoever had made the retched things.

“What’s that?” he asked, amusement ringing in his voice.

“Nothing, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“All right. Now I want you to pinch those nipples, and keep fucking that hole. Do you hear me?” he snarled.

“Yes, sir.” A rush of blood charged to my vulva. Often the meaner he came across, the more aroused I became.

“Pull on your nipples, twist them, but pull them hard. Pull them away from your body, up to your chin as far as they can go. I want you to tug on them until you scream.”

I did as he said, pulling, twisting, and yanking them until I screeched in pain.

“Good. Again.”

Tugging them hard, I repeated the task until I hollered out again, and my body was covered with a light sheen in response to the exertion and pain. He commanded me to do it five times in total, and by the time I was finished I was panting.

“Tuck those fingers down underneath you, and I want you to diddle your clit until you come.”

“But the blocks…” The retched things jabbed against my forearm, distracting me from the task at hand.

“Do it!” he growled, and I knew he wanted me to fight through the discomfort and come for him.

“Yes, Sir,” I groused, but I meandered my fingers between my legs and rubbed hard circles across my little nub at the same time that I flipped my feet up hard, which thrust the cock deep into my vagina.

“I want to hear you when you come. I want you to tell me how greedy you are.”

“Yes, sir. I’m a greedy girl, and I need my cunt to come.” He’d drummed those words into my head so many times they came as readily as reciting the pledge of allegiance.

The tremors of my climax started in my thigh muscles. My legs began to tremble and my climax was building. “Oh yes, I’m going to come, sir! May I, please?”

“Do it.” His voice had taken on the hoarse quality that I associated with his orgasm, but surely he wasn’t about to come. He only did that at the end of our session. He’d usually take me through several orgasms during a session, but I’d only known him to come at the end, and I hoped we weren’t done for the night. I still wanted to try the candles.

A few more flicks of my fingers and I forgot, at least for the moment, everything except the spasms that wracked my body. “Oh, I’m coming. Thank you, sir.”

“God, I love to hear you come for me.”

“Yeesss,” I moaned in response.

“Keep playing with that little clit. Stroke it, make that cunt come again, longer.”

I did, and my orgasm seemed to go on and on. Wave after wave of bliss rippled over me, my body suspended in a dream world I never wanted to wake from. But eventually I came back down to earth and he said, “Move the blocks. Can you do that with the cock still embedded inside you?”

“Yes, they’re still in the cardboard box they came in, just without the top. I can slide them to the side.”

“Good. Do that and I want you to tape that candle to the back of the chair. Is the chair sitting next to your bed?”

“Yes. Just a minute.” As spent as I’d been a moment earlier, the possibility of finally exploring the wax gave me a fresh burst of energy. He explained how to position my body—lying on my back, cock still buried in my cunt. He wanted me to bind myself with the jump ropes that were tied to the posts on either side of my headboard.

He requested I light one of the candles then wrap the jump ropes around each wrist so that I was bound, his hapless prisoner. Symbolically, if not in actuality.

“I want you to fuck that cunt of yours, and don’t stop until I tell you. When those drops of wax start falling, you have permission to squirm, but keep those ropes wrapped around your wrists.”

The first drop of molten wax dripped on my abdomen just below my breast. “Oh!” Crap, that sucker hurt! I’d expected it to be hot, but not that hot.

Another drop fell near the first. “Ouch!” I shrieked.

“Where did it land?” he asked, and I recognized his desire to get a visual of the entire scene.

“My stomach.”

“Move around. Let it hit you in different places. Play with it.”

“Okay.” Afraid to let it hit my breast, I wriggled up slightly so the next drop hit my mound. It hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker. I let some fall on my arm. That was a slight improvement. After some gymnastic moves, I realized the pain was less intense when it fell on places where my skin was usually exposed to the world—like my arms and legs. And to my surprise it began to actually feel pretty good, especially when it landed on my breasts and nipples. But when I moved and it dripped on my ribs, it really seared.

For the rest of the session, MC told me what to do, instructing me where to let the wax dribble. It was intoxicating, the control he had over me. Without him, I wouldn’t have done any of this. I wouldn’t be sitting in my bedroom dripping scalding candle wax on myself. I loved him making me do these things, and feeling helpless. It was why I loved bondage. I’d found someone I trusted enough to allow him to control me and my sexuality. It was an amazing thing.