I’ve been seeing Lady Lydia for a few weeks now and I couldn’t be happier.
For those who are only now joining this program already in progress, a brief recap. Lady Lydia is a professional Domme located in Seattle. She is stunningly beautiful: long red hair, piercing eyes, nice smile, curvaceous body, wonderful legs, and feet to die for. Let me emphasize this point: if you are a foot fetishist, like me, Lady Lydia is the living definition of the expression “a gift from God”. She’s the reason why the whole concept of ‘foot worship’ exists.
Every time I look at her perfect feet I am almost overwhelmed by the urge to drop down to the floor and kiss them. I don’t know how I resist every time, I never knew I had so much willpower. It’s like a Pavlovian reflex: see her feet, start salivating/swooning. When I die, I want to be reincarnated as the guy or girl who works at the place where she gets her pedicures.
But I digress. Back to my session review.
Like I said, I’ve seen her several times now and I have developed a sort of routine. Drive up to her studio about 15 minutes early (to allow for traffic/delays); sit in my car, reading a book; get out 2 minutes before the scheduled time, walk to her door; knock and wait for the door to open; get inside; experience a rush similar to what skydivers probably feel when jumping out of a plane when I turn around and see Lydia standing behind the door in one of her outfits, smiling at me with that “let’s see what got caught in my spider web this time”–look in her eyes.
Did I already say that the lady looks stunning? She would probably still look good in a burlap sack, so you can imagine how my heart starts to race when I see her in a corset and open toed high–heels or any other leather/fetish attire.
So last Monday I went through my little routine and entered her studio and got my adrenaline pumping, as usual. After exchanging pleasantries, I got undressed and was instructed to climb on a long, thin bondage table.
She then proceeded to mummify my body with a very tough plastic film, the polyvinyl kind that is used to wrap around crates and packages on palettes in warehouses.
First my torso, then my arms, legs, feet and head. She only left my cock exposed, which I took as a good sign because it meant that it would be soon subjected to the kind of torments that I enjoy so much.
After I was cocooned to the table, she took a big scary knife (which looked like the prop from the “This is a knife!” gag from Crocodile Dundee) and cut a slit in the plastic around my mouth, to allow me to speak and breathe, and around my nipples.
I enjoy nipple torture like some people enjoy chocolate: yes, too much of it is probably not good for you, but while you’re having it, you really don’t want to stop. By now Lady Lydia knows that torturing my nipples is a sure–fire way to get a rise out of me (metaphorically and literally, if you know what I mean), so she took two long forceps and clamped down my tits, then tied them to a hook hanging from the ceiling above the table. By now I felt like I was floating on a cloud, breathing hard in expectation of what would come next.
She tied up my cock, which at this point was dripping with pre–cum like a broken faucet, and tied it too to the hook connected to my nipple clamps. I couldn’t move a finger and couldn’t see anything because my head was tied down to the bench. I could only feel her go to work on my genitals while thinking that I was the luckiest man in the world.
During all this time, Lady Lydia kept talking to me with that beautiful, soothing voice of hers. She has an accent that I can’t quite place—for some strange reason at times her voice reminds me of actress Holly Hunter’s, even though she sounds different. Some people may prefer a more solemn atmosphere, with little or no conversation, or to be verbally humiliated. Me? I just love to hear her talk. It’s so reassuring when you are completely bound and can’t even turn your head. There is something very erotic in hearing a beautiful woman making small talk about the music playing in the background (Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major) while she’s tying up your cock in the shape of little sausage links.
The best was yet to come: after my penis was properly trussed up, I heard her walking around and getting some equipment out. She blindfolded me (even though I couldn’t see anything because I could only stare at the ceiling) and then I felt her attach something to the shaft (later I realized they were tiny, nasty clothespins) and to the tip of my cock.
Moments later I felt a weird, tingling sensation, like a tiny vibrator had been positioned against the glans. Except that I couldn’t feel any contact or pressure—it was like my cock had started vibrating on its own. The intensity started to increase, slowly but steadily. At this point I was moaning and rhythmically moving my hips under the plastic wrap. If before it felt like I was floating on a cloud, now I was definitely leaving Earth’s orbit and aiming straight for the moon and beyond. Lady Lydia asked me if I knew what she’d put on my cock but I couldn’t really tell her. I thought it was a vibrator, except that it didn’t feel like it, and I suspected it may have been an electrical device, except that it didn’t feel like any electrical play I had experienced in the past (and we’d played with a violet wand just the week before). Later I discovered that the source of this wonderful sensation were indeed two electrodes applied to the tip and the base of my cock and connected to a TENS–unit–like device which sent electric current through it.
There’s a point in every BDSM session where excitement, pain and pleasure become so intense that they start feeding each other. You are excited, so you want to experience more pleasure, so you want more pain, which in turns provides more pleasure, which leads you to ask for more pain, etc.
At this point I was fully in subspace and ready for anything. If she had told me that she was thinking of sticking needles in my nipples or in my cock, or violating my ass with a huge strap–on or beating me to a bloody pulp with her cane, I would have just grinned like an idiot and begged her for it. Anything to prolong or intensify the sensations I was experiencing.
And then I came. Not in the traditional sense, I didn’t ejaculate. But I had a strange orgasm all the same—with no contact or stimulation, completely induced by the electrical current rushing through my genitals, something that I had not experienced before. I felt more pre–cum drip off the tip of my penis and eventually the electrical clamp slipped off, interrupting the circuit. Undeterred, Lady Lydia repositioned the electrodes on my balls and turned up the juice again. She moved the clamps on my cock and tormented it some more while I was suddenly experiencing a religious awakening and thanking God and every deity I could think of for the wonderful gift I was experiencing.
After some more CBT, Lady Lydia removed the clamps from my nipples and the pain from the blood rushing back into them sent me into hyperdrive. She used the big scary knife to cut the plastic wrap and free my right arm, then started rubbing and pinching my nipples and she told me that I was finally allowed to properly relieve myself. Between the cock bondage, nipple torture and the electrical current rushing though my balls it took me only a few seconds to explode.
I spent the next few minutes with a stupid smile on my face while Lady Lydia cut the rest of the polystyrene film and freed me from my plastic prison. I was so happy and grateful that if she’d asked me to cut off my ear I would have politely asked to hand me the knife. I’m pretty sure that’s what really happened to Vincent Van Gogh: he wasn’t nuts, he just had a great session involving electrical play.
After getting dressed and thanking her for another superlative session, I waltzed back to my car thinking of ways to clear my schedule so that I could see her again as soon as possible. Which, unless an asteroid strikes the Earth or she needs to reschedule, is going to be in about 54 hours.
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