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I tug until I almost feel the plug coming out. In my throes of orgasm,
as I hang impaled by pleasure, the clamp still tweezers on the very
tip, the most sensitive point. The flash-flood of pleasure receedes,
and as I come down from heaven, the clip slides until its rubber-coated
jaws cling to one single hair. This sends me almost up again.
Instead, I bow outwards, waiting. The sudden motion dislodges the
clip. I do not hear anything, except the booming rush of my blood as I
I awake looking into my owner’s rich, loving eyes. I passed out mere
seconds after my explosion, spent and hanging lax. I was gently laid
down, all the ropes and restraints removed, the mask, the gag and the
tape lying in a ball by my bed, and my partner, no longer my owner,
gingerly massaging color and warmth into my arms.