“It’s very pretty, Ma’am.” David’s transformation was stunning. He had the guileless look of a little boy now.
I clipped a leather dog lead to the ropes around David’s cock and used it to lead him over to a homemade padded sawhorse. I untied his wrists and had him lay, face-up, across the padding. I took my time fastening his wrists and ankles firmly to the contraption, pausing in between to pinch his nipples or swat playfully at his bound cock. I wanted to give David a variety of tastes so I lit a white candle and gave the wax a chance to melt while I stared intently into his eyes.
I could tell that he had no idea what I was going to do with the candle — his eyes gave it away. As I drew closer, the look of uncertainty turned to fear. Still, David said nothing. I stood next to him, letting the anticipation build while wax dripped over my fingers. Finally, I lifted the candle high and let a few drops spatter onto his chest.
David gasped as the wax fell and twitched when it hit him but didn’t utter a sound. I began pouring on more drops of wax, holding the candle closer and closer to his flesh, letting the drops spatter down more quickly until he was twisting and turning, gasping and moaning. Watching him writhe was really turning me on. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter as I tormented David. Fumbling the ropes off his cock with one hand, I continued to relentlessly drip wax across his chest and nipples with my other hand. I tossed the ropes aside and slowly, drop by drop, began coating his balls with wax.
The hot wax hitting such a sensitive part of his body carried David up several levels of submissive ecstasy and his moaning and twisting took on a deeper, richer tone. His eyes were dark pools of eternity and his throaty growls were rhythmic and animal. David was obviously flying far out in the reaches of trance space. I switched the candle from one hand to the other, careful not to interrupt the slow river of paced sensation, and reached for a bottle of lube. His cock glistened with reflected candlelight as I drizzled lube over it, and still I dripped the wax – alternating now between his balls and his nipples. David was oblivious, caught in a tempestuous sea of experiences.
I added pleasure to David’s pain, stroking his cock steadily in the way I knew he liked best. He was so far gone in delight that I couldn’t tell if my hand rubbing up and down added anything to the experience or not, but I didn’t have to wonder for long. His cock had been painfully erect for so long that it burst into rapture shortly after I began touching it. David’s entire body arched up off the sawhorse until I thought he might break it with the contractions that coursed through his whole body as he came and came and came.
I blew out the candle and set it aside, still stroking David’s cock, more slowly now. He was panting hard and fast like an Arabian that’s just been put through its paces and he was still hard as a rock, though starting to diminish slowly. I reached down and untied his ankles, keeping hold of his penis the whole time. I had to let go of him to untie his wrists, though. As I untied first one hand and then the other, he lifted himself shakily. I helped him up and he and I collapsed to the floor together.
David looked up into my face with sleepy, peaceful eyes and a nurturing instinct welled within me. I cradled him to me and his arms crept around my waist. Sighing with contentment, I stroked his hair, relishing the quiet connection between us.
The next time I ran into David, he blushed and looked at the ground. “You were a little too rough on me the last time we were together,” he said.
“Hey hot ass, what’s your name?” I asked him.
“Red,” he mumbled.
“When were you supposed to use it?”
“If things were more than I could handle.”
“Who should have stopped me from being too rough on you?”
“Me.” David kept looking at the ground, looking a little embarrassed now that he remembered that he could have stopped things at any time. “I guess it was my fault.”
I caught David’s chin and raised his face towards mine. “Just remember if it happens again – you are not a victim, you can choose what happens to you. I would not love you any less or respect you any less if you had used your safeword. That’s what it’s there for, silly.” I tousled his hair and gave him a big hug.
Sexworkers have a safeword, too. It’s built into the transaction. The exchange of money, besides being how a sexworker makes his or her living, is a means of setting boundaries. Yes, there are prostitutes who have been forced into the business by others, but the majority of sexworkers – at least in the United States – are in the business by choice. Those of us who have chosen this work have the opportunity to set strong boundaries because of the financial exchange. If we don’t want to do something – be it kissing, anal sex, saying “I love you” or whatever – we can either refuse to do it or charge so much for it that it’s worth relaxing the boundary if someone is willing to pay that much. Sex is such an intimate and personal thing for most people — sexwork accelerates our learning when it comes to the ability to say “no” because sex acts will hit strong boundary lines more quickly than almost anything. When a sexworker thinks that she has to do whatever a client wants, she’s being like David — forgetting the power of her “safeword,” the financial transaction.
Sexworkers who are versed in BDSM have a dual opportunity to learn the techniques of strong boundaries. Mistress Matisse, a dominatrix, agreed with me, adding, “A mental-healthcare worker friend of mine says I have the clearest boundaries of anyone she knows. I am sure it’s because of being a sex worker. I came into the biz with good self-esteem, and that helps a lot. And I got taken advantage of in relatively small ways the first few years. You know, pushy clients, bosses and co-workers being jerky – but it didn’t take too long before I had very clear lines about what was ok with me and what wasn’t. And I still do, on the job and in my life. And I have no guilt whatsoever about that.”
Now, I’m not necessarily suggesting that every woman needs to become a sexworker in order to learn how to set boundaries, but I do think that many of us set a good example of how a powerful, loving, self-actualized woman can be. No, we won’t do “anything for a buck.” For the right price, we just might consider it. Or we might say no outright. But that is our prerogative. So if you find yourself tempted to assume that a whore has no boundaries, think again. You’ll see that sexwork has built-in boundaries, if you just know how to look at it – and you’ll also see that playing with boundaries and safewords can still be incredibly hot.