My Little Pony… or so I thought

Lady D. Oh Lady D. She is sweetness and mischief rolled up into hot. I turn into a puddle when she smiles at me. I credit this woman with pulling me out of my rut. (You know, that rut in which you haven’t crushed hard on someone for QUITE a while.) Because life is the way she is, Lady D is strictly hetero so that crush was slowly, well, crushed. It took us a bit but we made it back to friend status but she’s always going to be that platonic crush and I certainly hope that is okay with her. So when she asked me to come over to clean her kitchen, I was beyond delighted!

I texted her to ask if she wanted me to work on anything specific. My slight smile turned into a grin when she responded that I should check my e-mail. “Instructions”, read the subject line. Fuck, I didn’t know if she knew that would turn me on but it sure did. I thrive on instructions, rules and formality. It is the Emily Post in me. She gave me instructions on what she wanted done and ended her message with “I should be home around 7 to inspect your progress.” ::drool:: The day would not go by quickly enough but as soon as I could, I made my way to her home. Fucking traffic (Los Angeles staple) made the journey longer than what it needed to be but I made it by 5:30ish. Perfect. More than enough time to get the dishes, stove, countertops AND fridge. She laid out cleaning supplies for me (**squeal**) along with a new pair of gloves to protect my hands. Those gloves made me feel so special and more committed to impressing her with my mad skills. I started on the pile of dishes and stared out to the backyard. I saw the leaves that needed to be raked up and thought to myself that if there was time, I would do that too. I was so lost in my daydreams that before I realized it, the front door was opening and she was home. Fuck. She got home early and I was barely starting on the pans. Disappointment flooded my heart but I continued with my work as she prepared dinner. We chatted, shit-talked and giggled, the stuff girly girls are made of. For a second, I thought how Norman Rockwell-esque the scene must have been. Her mere presence was a distraction to my otherwise diligent cleaning. But I kept on. Just as I scrubbed the last inch of the counter, she had dinner already set on the table. During this time, I was playing the latest The Love Bite episode for her input and feedback. She frowned towards the end and asked if we had mentioned mummification. Briefly, I said, just in passing. “Do you wanted to be mummified?” I hesitated for a second and promptly responded with a “sure, why not?”

Thinking back at it now, I chuckle at how casually it was decided that we would do this. Other than being sexual with Lady D, I didn’t know what it was like to be completely vulnerable to her. Yet here I was, willing to be a guinea pig in what seemed like a fantastic learning experience. Something I could take back to my listeners. Uh huh. I cleared the table and washed a few wayward dishes. I could hear her setting up in the living room. What the fuck was she doing? I wanted to take a peek but was excited for the element of surprise. She had set up a massage table and the first thing that popped into my mind were images of Dexter and his elaborate kill room setup. I asked her what I should know as a bottom going into this for the first time. She told me I should remove my clothes, go pee-pee if I needed to. I stood nude (save for my undies) before her. Being undressed while others remained clothed had been something I wanted but wasn’t sure how to get. Well, here it was.

Just as I had observed her at the dungeon while using rope, she was methodical in how she went about wrapping me up. She had Listerine strips on hand and before encasing my breasts, she applied her saliva to each of my nipples and stuck a strip on each. She had a twinkle in her eye, the kind you get when you are too involved in a process to notice those around you. The excitement of being bound in a way I had never experienced was building up. Before the use of my arms was eliminated, she handed me a strip and asked me to place it on my clit. Whoa. Minty fresh pussy was in my immediate future. 

Once she finished up the top half of my body, she helped me up onto the massage table. I felt secure in her hands. I laid flat on my back and she pulled out a blindfold. There went my ability to see. The feel of the plastic wrap against my skin was like an embrace I did not want to go away. She started on my legs while I slowly started floating. The tingling sensation on my nipples and clit were the only stimulus to remind me I was still on Earth. My toes were the last to be wrapped. She ran her hands over me; such a strange sensation.

I felt free! I missed being restrained in some form and this was like that long awaited moment where my body was reunited with the immobilization that made me feel my best. Lady D seemed to know how I was responding and went into the next room to get dessert. I heard her sit in the chair next to me. We talked some more and the casual feel of it was a bit hysterical. There I was, wrapped from shoulders to toes while she had s’mores. There was a sense of normalcy.

I made the mistake of asking her what she could do with someone who was bound like this. And this is when I discovered I had also made the mistake of pegging her as the “My Little Pony” of dommes. No, no, no. Sure she was sweet. But I soon realized she has a “Dennis the Menace” streak in her. I felt a sharp instrument poking at my breasts. Shit. SHIT. She playfully made a comment about blaming her years from now about missing a nipple. Conversations like these prompt me to grab at my breasts in an attempt to shield them from painful ideas. Except I couldn’t do that because I was in a bit of a pickle.  She told me to stay still and I was not about to test her on that instruction. She teased me about not finishing the kitchen in time for her arrival and I felt something clamp down on my skin. Clothespins. Oh no. That dreaded item that can make me go to tears. The item that reminded me of the bad (unwanted) kind of pain I experienced in the past. In a split second, I felt like my blood froze and I voiced my concerns to her. She reassured me and promised I wouldn’t see them (of course, I was still blindfolded) and she would not be going anywhere near my naughty bits with them. I remained calm and regained my composure quickly. She warned me that it would hurt when they came off. Her voice was soothing and my trust in her told me it was okay.  And it WAS okay. In fact, I barely felt a thing when they came off. Soon thereafter, she cut me out of the plastic wrap. I felt like a noodle, just laying there in ecstasy. She covered me with a sheet and just let me be. I was in such a state of relaxation.

I slithered off the table and put my clothes back on. The s’mores were the cherry on top. She folded the massage table effortlessly and was soon lounging on the sofa across from me. Fuck. She is so special, more special than she realizes. I felt compelled to rub her feet, one of the ways I show gratitude. She talked of work and mundane items but soon her eyes began to close, indicating I was doing well. Lady D. My kinky kryptonite, my platonic crush.