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Painting by Erica Chappuis |
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Painting by Erica Chappuis |
A day to remember
pre- |
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07:30 |
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07:45 |
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09:00 |
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09:30 |
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11:40 |
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13:00 |
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14:00 |
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16:00 |
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17:30 |
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18:00 |
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later |
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20:00 |
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20:30 |
Ice on Fire |
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Plenty ice cubes in a large cup |
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Sit comfortably on a sofa |
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I fetch a crystal bowl with ice cubes, as I have been commanded, and sit down on the sofa. I look around me. Oh, the glorious candle light! |
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Take an ice cube |
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Watch the ice, the air in the ice, take your time |
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Lick the ice cube with the end of your tongue |
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Concentrate! Do not slip away! An ice cube. (Zen.) I see the icy vapour rise; the transparent, the opaque sections. I feel my thumb and index fingers become uncomfortably cold; I hold on. I lick the ice with my tongue; I press my tongue against it, until it too becomes too cold; I hold on until the melt water drips down my fingers. |
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Open gracefully your (very) deep neckline |
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Caress your nipples with the ice cube, slowly |
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Caress longly, I want cold hard nipples |
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Holding the ice cube between two fingers, with the other hand I lower the straps of my dress down my shoulders, until my nipples appear. (The red spots from the clothespins are still visible - they make my soft breasts look so fragile.) I then hold the ice against my first nipple. Cold shock, followed by a rather soothing feeling -the ice lessens the dormant pain from the clamps and pins-, followed by a pain that slowly, slowly creeps up and takes possession of the area. The nipple hardens, naturally, as required. I move it around - a much better, stimulating feeling. My legs which shut tight during the cold shock, open and release the heat in me. The cube drips and drips, wets my breast and I feel the water drops follow a cold, cold route down my torso. The second nipple; the history repeats itself: my legs clench tight, the pattern of pain, the re-emergence of my heat. Until the ice cube is gone... (Master, what divine torture you have devised! I hope you allow me this pleasure in pain.) |
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When the first ice cube is totally melt on your nipples. |
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Take a second ice cube |
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Lick it with the end of tongue too. |
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Slowly remove and open the slit of your dress |
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Caress your (open) sex with this second ice cube |
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The second piece of ice; I lick it. The shock, the soothing, the pain creeping up. This repetition - it does not lessen the hardship, the pleasure - these Siamese twins. My dress - I fold the front aside to expose my sex and I spread my legs. The touch of the ice-cube... Do I imagine it or do I really hear the hissing sound of ice and heat? Strangely, the ice does not lessen the heat; yet I try and try and keep on trying... until the ice is totally molten and my hand and sex are wet. I hold my sex with my hand and feel the phoenix-heat return. |
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When the second ice cube is totally melt on your sex |
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Take a third ice cube and insert it into your sex |
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Take a fourth ice cube and insert it into your sex |
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Then put your hand flat on your sex |
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Close your eyes, reverse your head |
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Let the 2 ice cubes meld in your sex |
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Don't move |
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Dream about ice on fire, about slavery |
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Fire and ice... It is impossible to distinguish the two, when I insert the third ice-cube inside my nether orifice. My cunt might as well be on fire. I close my thighs and bend over. I had totally underestimated this test. But then ... the fire cools quickly and the sensation becomes simply cold. Continue! Now! I muster up the courage to introduce the next piece of ice. Master! I am full of fire! I place my hand over my sex, lock my thighs and clench my teeth. I close my eyes and throw my head back. The cold ebbs away. Fire and ice... two opposites... yet similar, if only briefly. My sex is cold and my heat has finally been spent. Fire and Ice? Water! Will my slavery - yes, I am a slave!- will my slavery be as short-lived? A slave for a day? |
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When the ice is totally melt stand up |
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Let the cold water dropping from your sex on your legs |
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Walk around the room to feel your cold/burning enslaved sex |
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I open my eyes. The room and the soft, soft candle light bring me back to myself. I remove my hand from my sex and stand up. My vaginal sphincter relaxes. The cold water trickles down my legs ... trickling, tickling... down to my feet... But then, horror, the flow... I feel it is warm. I feel a warm trickle, the trickle growing, the trickle becoming a flood.... The pissing female dog! I can only stand there transfixed and let it flow, while both of my feet in their elegant shoes become wet and warm. Master! I have lost control. Have mercy! I sink to my feet and sob. |
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Change the music and come back to the sofa |
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On your knees on the sofa |
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Remove your dress to show your ass |
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The pissing female dog - incapable of licking herself clean, the poor bitch - gets back on her feet, without the heels. More than ever I need to belong. Master! I am nothing without you! Music! No more tangos. I need a lift. Old' Blue Eyes, quietly in the background. I hitch my dress up to above my buttocks and sit down on the sofa on my knees facing the back. The bowl of ice-cubes is beside me. I bend over, my head on the seat and expose the dirty bitch's ass. |
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Take one ice cube with your teeths |
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put the ice cube in your hand |
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Insert the ice cube in your anus |
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Take a second ice cube in your teeth |
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Insert it in your anus |
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Take a third ice cube and insert it into your anus |
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I dip my nose, my face in the bowl of ice-cubes. The frosty freshness clears me up. I open my mouth and my tongue stirs the pieces until my teeth can clinch a cube. They pick it up and drop it in my hand. The hand blindly searches for my tertiary opening. The touch is cold. My hand presses it inward but the anal sphincter resists. (I am a anal virgin, if you remember. Nothing has ever entered there.) I press on, I force this ice-cube inside me. The forcing hurts, but nothing can compare to the hellish fire of the ice-cube against my anal channel. I am consumed. Yet, the fire is brief and soon the feeling is nothing but cold. As quickly as I can I repeat the procedure for the second and third cube: my face, my tongue, my teeth, my hand, the pressing, the forcing (though less so - I am no longer a virgin!), the hell, the coldness. My ass is incredibly full now with this cold melting mass, which the sphincter firmly locks inside. |
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Then stand up slowly |
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Dance in middle of the room with your dress |
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Dance until you feel nothing within your ass |
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Master. I have overcome the ice-fire. I admire you immensely for the array of trials, all so different, that you have prepared for me. I raise my upper body, set one bare foot on the ground and stand up slowly, while I feel the dress drop down again, covering my ass. My breasts are still on display. They are yours, my Master. S' sings: Fly me to the moon. I dance with slow movements of my whole body, my limbs, my head, my hair, my butt. The chains around my ankles and neck add a strange element to the sound palette. I dance until I feel nothing inside my ass. That is: the temperature has returned to normal. I am still full, the water firmly locked inside. I relax my anus ever so slightly and once more feel water trickle down my legs, my feet. A seemingly endless endless trickle, until it does eventually stop. |
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22:00 |
Copyright by Vanna Vechian, 1999. Reproduction allowed only for personal use.
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