Handjob Heather

I stood in a room surrounded by dominant women and the men and women who served them. There was a table full of food, sodas and water, and at first glance it looked like any other type of meet-and-greet. People milled around talking and eating, the new submissives in the group meeting the Dommes and asking questions. What made the evening different for me was the person who “owned” me for the evening, a Domme. This night I was Timber’s toy, and although I had a vague understanding of what that involved, I had no idea what was going to actually happen besides a thorough beating by Timber and her rifle case full of implements.

We had spoken at length about what we liked in a scene and what we didn’t. She had coordinated with my sir, and they had both talked to me about our expectations for the night. I was wearing the outfit that Timber had picked out for me; a black silk skirt with pink beading that matched my pink bra and no panties. My hair was pulled into two pigtails and then pinned into low buns, and my makeup was done in pastel hues.

“Look what I brought tonight!” she told a friend. Introductions were made as my skirt was yanked to the side. Timber’s hand came down with a loud smack on my thigh, and I winced. “Doesn’t she mark up nicely? She’s going to be my Barbie doll for the evening.”

“Action Barbie?” I asked, trying to be helpful. Timber cocked her head and surveyed me for a moment like I was a piece of steak at the butcher.

“No, I think I’ll call you Handjob Heather.” Everyone laughed, me included, but I had a serious case of the butterflies.

Timber first caught my attention when I watched her manhandle a male submissive at rope class. Her energy and joy for domination were infectious, and it made me sit up and take notice. I felt the urge to sit at her feet and say, “pet me, pet me, pet me, pleasepleasepleaseplease!” There were very few dominant personalities that made me want to instinctively submit right out of the box, and Timber was one of them. I asked permission from sir to start a dialogue with her, and although she first thought I was contacting her for lessons in how to be dominant (yes, I’m still laughing about that) we soon began discussing a time/day to play. My first Timber experience happened at the fall Slave Hunt where she chewed up one of my sides and down the other, but it wasn’t until she borrowed me for the female domination evening that we experienced one-on-one play.

Timber sat on a couch and patted her lap. I perched on her knee until she pulled me back against her, one arm coming around me in a tight grip. She then motioned to a male submissive that I recognized from rope class. He had also been tied up to the post with me at the Slave Hunt, but we hadn’t had the opportunity to have a conversation.

“On your knees,” she ordered, and then she pulled up my skirt. I squeaked in surprise, and she smacked a hand over my mouth. “Dolls don’t speak,” she chided.

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as the submissive inched closer to my exposed pussy. Four or five people stood watching, but I couldn’t meet anybody’s gaze. It was mortifying and thrilling, and I knew I was wet.

“Closer,” Timber commanded. “You need to get familiar with this pussy. This is going to be the doll I use to teach you how to stimulate a clitoris like you would a penis. She should be able to feel your breath on her pussy lips. Get in there!” She grabbed him by the hair with one hand and shoved his face in between my spread thighs.

I felt a thousand things in that moment; embarrassed, objectified, desired, aroused… His breath felt cool against my hot skin, and I blushed even harder at the thought that he could smell my arousal. Then Timber told the sub he could stand, and everyone went back to their snacking and chatting. Timber stroked my hair and praised me for being a good toy. Part of me couldn’t believe that a strange man’s face had been millimeters from my vagina, but I was happy that Timber was pleased. I couldn’t wait to go home and tell sir all about my experience.

While we waited for people to start playing, Timber told me to lie down on a spanking bench. She smiled above me and began scratching at the skin beneath my collarbone.

“I’m going to brand you with a T. By the end of tonight you’ll be sweaty and smelling like me. Then your master is going to see this brand.” She laughed loudly at my expression. “It’s going to be like two bears scratching at the same tree!”

Somehow she didn’t break the skin, but when the ‘T’ was red and angry looking, she began snapping a rubber band along the outline. I held my breath and wished it was finished. When I was permitted to look down, a bright red T was emblazoned on my chest, a real scarlet letter.

When Timber indicated that it was time to play, I ended up naked and cuffed to a padded leather board. Timber set her case nearby on a stool and started throwing a flogger up and down my back and ass. It had a stingy thud that made the breath catch in my throat. I silently reminded myself to keep breathing and eventually there was a different flogger, then a wooden paddle, a crop and a dragon tail. There were other things, but I lost track. Timber checked in with me several times, and I thought I was managing, but the pain was intense. She favored the sensitive curve of skin right beneath my ass, and I knew from the throbbing heat along the back of my thighs that I wouldn’t be able to sit without remembering her attentions. I danced back and forth, pulling at the cuffs in a vain attempt to avoid Timber’s paddle. She laughed and encouraged me to continue, telling me that I was only giving her more flesh to hit. Playing with Timber felt like being buffeted by a hurricane. The intensity continued to build until I though I would yellow. Whether she knew it or not, Timber threw me a metaphorical lifesaver and told me to count down from twenty.

“I want everyone to hear you, Heather. Count and thank me for every hit.”

I did exactly what she told me, and having the numbers to focus on gave me the reassurance that there was an end in sight. A floaty feeling descended as I entered subspace that was amplified when the beating stopped. Timber uncuffed me. She gently turned me around, and I saw my quilt spread out on the floor. I looked at her questioningly. She smiled and told me to lie down. Apparently the demonstration part of our scene was about to start.

It took a few moments to get situated. I laid on my back with my head between Timber’s legs. C, the submissive man from earlier, knelt at my side and held the Hitachi. It was one of those moments where the mind fuck trumped all the physical. I wasn’t thinking straight because of my endorphin high. I was unable to think in any logical order. My thoughts were all over the place, and I eyed the Hitachi like a King Cobra. I had a love/hate relationship with it, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted an orgasm or not. See what I mean about not thinking straight?!

First Timber fastened the clover clamps on my nipples, and then she started instructing C about how she wanted him to stroke my clit. Pleasure arched through me, a golden shimmer between the undulations of pain from my nipples. I begged for permission to come, but she denied me. C’s fingers continued their teasing torment, and I begged again. Finally she gave me permission, and I shouted with release.

I thought it was over. I was counting on it being over, but Timber placed the chain of the clamps in my teeth. “You’re going to show me how badly you want to come by pulling off the clamps using your teeth. C, turn on the Hitachi.”

She offered me hell and heaven in that moment. The clamps were excruciating, and pulling them in increments was the worst kind of agony, but I couldn’t fight the building pressure of the orgasm. My teeth ached from biting down and with a final jerk of my head I was free. I barely had time to announce it before the orgasm swept over me.

There were people watching. I could feel the crowd around us, but my focus was entirely on Timber and what she wanted me to do. Even when she produced the thin cane and started hitting my breasts, I was ready to orgasm again. The pain, the pleasure, being watched and used… it all combined into this cacophony of sensation. I felt boneless, the heat of my bruised body combining with the heat created by C’s pleasurable fingers. I came apart in the best possible way, and there was nothing to be done but orgasm and plead for mercy.

Eventually the demonstration ended, and Timber wrapped me in my quilt and cuddled me on the couch. She had made food for me, so when we got back to her place, we rehashed the evening while I drank water and ate chicken bites wrapped in bacon. It was some of the best aftercare I’ve ever received. By the time I drove home to sir, I was feeling like myself. Well, a beaten and orgasm-saturated version of myself, that is. He was in bed but not asleep, and after kissing him hello, he told me to strip. I gingerly pulled off my yoga pants and t-shirt (my going home outfit) and turned in a full circle so he could see all the welts and bruises.

“I don’t think I authorized all that,” he said, deadpan. I promptly burst into laughter, and then he demanded to see what was on my chest.

“It’s a T for Timber,” I said.

“Come here so I can turn it into something else.”

I couldn’t help myself, and I started to giggle again. “Timber was right,” I said as I laid down beside him. “Two bears scratching the same tree.”

And here’s the proof…