The Portland Trip, Final

Dark clouds blot out the mild Portland afternoon as I lead her into the teahouse. We sit close, side by side in the corner and sip tea while she tells me about her other lovers. I ply her with more and more tea, she looks cold and the tea will warm her up, among other things.
“How do you feel, child?”
“Sir between the altoid and the rope… I’m wet to my knees. I really must use the bathroom soon.”
“No you will sit and enjoy your tea”
“But please Sir…”
“No, and do not ask again”

Our server, a cute 20 something that could best be described as “crunchy” (you know, that granola kind of girl that would make for a great shaving scene… but that is a story for another day), notices Abigail on my bag and comments. I tell her about the long and colorful history of Shibari and it’s many uses. All the while my left hand, hidden from her view, holds firmly to the dangling ends of her crotch rope. When our server comments, “My this must be amazing stuff to have such a history.” I give the rope a tug as trinket squeaks, “Yes! Oh yes it is certainly amazing stuff!”

We finish our tea and I lead her back out into the gardens for another pass. The sky has momentarily cleared and the sudden rain has worked to our advantage. The place is mostly empty. I know my window of opportunity is short so I must act quickly. I scan left, I scan right and when the time is right we slip past the “Staff Only” sign and behind one of the perimeter buildings. Now I wanted some privacy for this, but not too much. Having never actually been to the gardens before I lucked out. This location was perfect. While mostly hidden from the view of the main gardens a person walking along the street could see us if they peered through the ornate openings along the outer wall or if one of the garden patrons were to look too far around a corner. The sounds of the city pour past us as stood there.

Raising her skirt for me once again, I quickly remove the rope. She yips and protests as I pull the rope across her swollen sex and pull her pubic hair in the process. Stepping back to admire the results of 2 plus hours in a crotch rope I nod and smile at her ligature marks. Pale skin and tight rope make for some wonderful marks.

And now for the moment of truth. She asked me to humiliate her, to make her feel dirty and used. So far everything has been going pretty much to plan. The restaurant, the photos, her responses… but this. Well this was the final move, the big one. I said it before that this date was to be a test, both for her and I. She may claim her willingness to do “anything I demand of her” but I think we all know that words only go so far. Before I start asking my friends to participate in a Bukkake scene, I need to know just how serious she really is.

Stepping back I snap my fingers and point at the ground beneath her feet and say in low, even tones, a tone reserved for errant puppies.
“Piss. Here. Now.”

With out a pause she hikes her skirt up and squats for me. Her brown eyes, round and pleading for praise, She never breaks eye contact during the act. The only sounds I hear are my breathing and the splash of her urine on the dirty cobblestones. Once completed, before she has the chance to right herself, I reach down and take hold of the back of her neck. (I should note here that rope makers are known for having very strong forearms, mine are no exception) Grabbing a fist full of hair, I pick her up in one swift motion and kiss her mouth. No I don’t kiss her as much as I take her mouth with mine and force myself upon it. Kissing her hard and deep, never letting up on my grip. This was to be her reward for an afternoon’s service. A moment of unbridled, savage contact.

Then, as soon as it started, it was over. I hold her at arm’s length away from me and say. “Well done whore, I release you from your service”
“ Thank you… sir” she trembles
I then pull her back into my arms and hold her trembling form next to mine, stroking her hair and cooing praise in her ear as afternoon rain begins again.

Later, back again at Powell’s Books, we sit and talk about all that had just happened.
She confesses that in those last moments, he legs damp with sex and piss, she felt truly and completely used. Dirty beyond words and loving every moment of it, she tells me “I’ll do that again, and any thing else you would ask of me Sir”
Laughing, I warn her “Careful, my child, anything is a big word. I could ask you to do something foul like sweep the abbey naked”
“If that pleases you Sir, I would do that and more…”

Oh my.

Later, on the train home, I place two calls. The first is to my dearest Tambo. I tell her briefly of my day and she laughs, saying “I’m so glad you can do that… with someone ELSE!” We agree to meet up for late night Chinese food and proper re-telling of the tale when I get home in a few hours time.

The next call is to Dancer. I tell her of my day and she laughs. Congratulating me on my success she asks, “So, what did you learn today?”
My response?
“It’s much like making good sushi. The devil is in the details. With out the tiny details, those little flourishes, it is just raw fish on cold rice. However when one pays proper attention to the tiny details you can create something very cool. This however also requires a HUGE investment of time and energy. Dozens of hours of planning, cleaning and prep work are required to make a meal that will only last about 20 minutes. Not something I could do everyday…not even once a week, but for a special occasion… well for that perhaps I could be up for it.”

We kiss our goodnights as I return to my seat. Settling in to my seat, lulled by the rhythmic rocking of the train, I slowly drift off to sleep while my ipod plays Motorhead’s “I ain’t no nice guy after all”