Thursday, April 17, 2014

The Predicament of Pain and Pleasure

Predicament bondage. When someone is bound in such a way that they end up causing themselves pain when they move. There's lots of ways to do it, and (when done safely) it can be fantastic. But usually it's just one person in bondage. One person forced to stand on her toes to avoid being choked, or one person forced to pull on his balls in order to avoid sitting on ice.

But what if there were two? And their predicament was... combined?

That's the idea behind today's tale.

Predicament of Pain and Pleasure


            It’s different when the ball gag isn’t made of rubber. A rubber gag has flexibility, give. You can sink your teeth into it, let your jaw move around a bit. A wooden ball just doesn’t have the bounce.

            Then again, you can’t screw an eyelet into a rubber ball. Not one that will hold any weight. So there’d be no way to attach a chain a rubber ball gag, not one that actually pulled against another person.

            Pleasure or pain. Usually, such an easy question. Should she cause herself pleasure and him pain, or cause him pleasure and her pain? Neither one is intense enough. Not as easy a question.

            If she pulled back, the clips on the other side of the chain would pull on his nipple piercings. He’d whimper in pain, as much pain as she wanted to cause. And with a little bit of slack, she could press herself against the little egg and feel the agonizingly slow vibration pulse through her. Or she could lean forward, pulling at her own nipple piercings but letting his prostate press against his own little egg.

            Pain or pleasure. Hurt herself and make him feel good, or hurt him and make herself feel good? She knew that an hour against the egg wouldn’t make her cum. An hour of pulling on his nipples wouldn’t get her off, and an hour of letting her own be pulled wouldn’t get him off.

            And an hour of them pulling against each other wouldn’t help anyone. It would just make their jaws sore.

            Maybe he was looking at her, trying to see what she was going to do. Maybe he was trying to balance things out, a little bit of pain with a little bit of pleasure, or even trying to find that neutral space with neither pain nor pleasure. Maybe he was giving her a pleading look, or suggesting something with his eyes.

            But the leather over her face stopped her from seeing him. She wondered if he was in a hood of his own. Were they both just two faceless bodies with wooden ball gags in their mouths, chains linked to each other like they were sharing a chaste little kiss? Was he in the same position as her?

            She rolled her shoulders. The cuffs were attached to each other with eighteen inches of chain. But the chain ran through a ring on her collar. A ring that had been turned to the back of her collar. Her arms pulled back into just enough of an arm bar to be uncomfortable, but not necessarily painful. She could stretch them one at a time, but to do that, she had to bend the other arm farther up. To get relief for one arm, she had to put more pressure, more pain, on the other.

            She wondered if he was bound the same way. Men usually aren’t as flexible. It might be worse for him. Did that mean he deserved the pleasure? Should she let herself hurt more to make up for whatever pain he was in? Was it worth it?

            She twitched when the wax dripped onto her back. It wasn’t all that hot; the candle was far enough up that it had time to cool before hitting her skin. It still hurt, but it wouldn’t actually cause any damage. If she wanted it to hurt more, she just had to sit up further. But that meant pulling on her own chain and on his. A little more pain from the candle meant a lot more pain for both of them. An easy enough decision.

            Unless he was a masochist. If he is a masochist, he might try for the greater pain, the more intense sensation. Which would mean more pain for her. Wouldn’t it be better to get a bit of pleasure?

            Or should she wait to see what he does, and then let either punish or reward him? If he presses towards her, letting her feel pleasure, then she could return the favor. She could make him feel pleasure for a little bit, then give a gentle tug so he knows his time is over. She could train him to take pleasure and pain in small doses. And if he takes too long, if he refuses to give up the pleasure, she could just push herself towards the candle. Force him into pain for a little while. Teach him. Train him.

            Or is that what he was going to do to her? Was he going to tease her with little bursts of pleasure and little shots of pain, so she would do what he wanted?

            If neither of them pulled, neither would feel pain. Neither would feel pleasure. They could remain just as they were, uncomfortable but not in pain. She could stay here, slightly off balance as she leaned forward but comfortable on her knees and her shins, and just avoid any real pain. They both could. They could support one another’s balance with their link, with the connecting chain between their wooden ball gags. It didn’t take much. Her abs would get tired of holding her up, but that was just discomfort. Discomfort isn’t the same as pain.

            Her legs were spread far enough apart to keep that balance. As long as she had her shins and her feet against the floor, she could keep her balance. She could keep herself in the middle distance, without pain or pleasure, with just mild discomfort. Maybe she could stay that way the whole hour. Maybe she just had to wait until he gave out, until he lost the will to fight. Then she could have all the pleasure she wanted.

            It was just a waiting game. Maybe things really were that simple. Just hold still, wait for him to start shaking, wait for his back to cramp, for his abs to strain. Wait for him to fall forward, to let the chain pull at his sore nipples. Then lean back and let the vibrator pulse through her. Easy enough. All she had to do was out wait him. She could do that, even in heels.

            It’s not like she had to stand on the heels. Her feet were pressed a bit more pointed than she liked, the tendons straining just a little bit, but it didn’t hurt; it was just uncomfortable. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Nothing she couldn’t endure.

            Another drop of wax hit her back. How long did it take for each drop to hit? Was that five minutes? Ten? Was it just a few seconds? She couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t hear anything other than the soft buzz of the vibrators or the shifting of chain.

            Or the string sliding between her heel and her foot, that thin rope that slid back and forth, wrapping around first her left heel then her right. There wasn’t any pressure there. Just the feel of rope going back and forth. Discomfort. Not pain.

            Then the rope went taught. And pulled up. Pulled her feet up at a painful angle, forcing her to balance on just her knees. She blinked against the black leather of her mask and set her jaw, trying to hold still. The weight was all forward. Soon her balance would give, and she’d lean forward. She’d end up almost face down on the floor, her nipples pulled so tight that the piercings would feel like they were ripping out of her skin. She’d fall forward, and he’d get to lean back. He’d be able to keep his balance, and feel the pleasure.

            If he was able to settle back, she’d never be able to stop him. She wouldn’t be able to put them both into pain, wouldn’t be able to stop his pleasure, and wouldn’t be able to even slow her agony. She’d just have to suffer.

            But if she leaned back, if she force him into pain, then he would suffer and she would feel pleasure.

            She wouldn’t be able to stop, either. She’d be so off balance that she couldn’t lean forward if she wanted to. Wouldn’t be able to feel anything but pleasure. Meaning he wouldn’t be able to feel anything but pain. He would suffer as the vibrator teased her, as it rubbed her well enough for her to forget the discomfort in her feet and in her arms. It wouldn’t get her off, but it would feel better than the pain.

            So either he would suffer or she would. No balance in the middle. No back and forth. However much longer they had, one of them was going to spend it in pain.

            Maybe someone else would have suffered for him. Maybe someone else would have told herself she was a masochist, that she would enjoy the pain as much as the pleasure. Or maybe someone else would have felt it was their task, their place, to be in pain. Maybe someone else would be selfless.

            Maybe.

            But she wasn’t someone else.

            And the vibrator really did feel good.

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