Читать книгу The Magical World of BDSM - Андрей Ганеша - Страница 6

My third acquaintance in the chat with a woman already had everything to do with BDSM in the usual sense of this term, and even confirmed my guesses that BDSM games in the style of BDSM can cause a persistent psychological dependence.

When I met Olga in the chat, she and her husband lived and worked in Senegal. In the course of our correspondence, she described her lovers. One of them was a black guy who raped her on a white Rolls-Royce, and at the end of the action, the condom on his huge black cock was torn. Another lover was a special services officer who worked at the embassy. I really think that she invented these stories about her lovers. Sometimes it was very interesting to communicate with her and we were on the same wave, so to speak, while at other moments her messages seemed full of delirium to me. Therefore I think that while in Africa Olga was abusing alcohol.

In addition, Olga sent me photos of beautiful African landscapes or photos from the Paris – Dakar race. We discussed books, work, films and, of course, our erotic fantasies with each other. And then one summer she came back and invited me to a cafe near Vernadskii Prospekt.

There, she was sipping coffee with a young friend. I liked Olga: smiling, relaxed, with a small, neat little beer belly. Olga’s friend did not like me, though: slightly carelessly dressed, a bit tense from the fact that I expected there would just be two of us.

After having coffee, the friend left us, and Olga and I went for a walk to the neighboring park named after the 50th anniversary of October. Several years later I would often walk past this park on my way to the swing club “Adam and Eve”, and back then, Olga and I found some bushes, which were a rare sight in this small park. While in the thick of the bushes, I bit my lips into her nipple, which was facilitated by the fact that Olga did not wear a bra, and stroked her stomach with my hand. Olga bent down and unzipped my jeans. The pleasure of her initiative and fearlessness caused an attack of passion in me, and so, clasping her black hair with the palm of my hand, I pressed her head against my pants. Since the park is small and cramped, we were soon interrupted by some passing boys. Fiddling with my hand inside Olga’s panties a bit, I said good-bye and agreed to meet her in a more suitable setting.

Our next meeting took place at the Central House of Artists. Near the CHA was a large number of abandoned building houses, as the construction of the “Museon” park was underway, adjacent to the CHA. We spent about an hour there, engaged with oral sex until we were scared off by a worker who passed by, as if we were not there. Or as if he routinely sees people fucking here. Well, maybe that’s true, who knows…

Excited, I went with Olga to the Central House of Artists, whose entire building was given to the avant-garde artist Kulik. The building was being prepared for repair, and avant-garde statues rose on the ground floor, all made from scrap metal. In general, I did not even notice any artistic subtleties in Kulik’s work, although I was pretty impressed by a stand dedicated to Inner Mongolia. The steppe and simplicity of the surrounding nature created a special kind of mysticism, and the CHA itself looked very unusual. All the floors were imbued in semi-darkness, chairs and furniture were missing, but there were mattresses lying on the floors on which one could lie in the dark. This kind of romanticism did not appeal to Olga. After examining the exhibition, I ran into the toilet, where I met Kulik himself, he was squeezing toothpaste out of the tube into his hand and brushed his teeth. “A real genius,” I thought. He did not create anything special, but that’s how life is sometimes, just bark a bit at a woman while naked, take a nice shit in a museum, roll down naked on a tarp and bang, you are in the pantheon of contemporary artists. After the CHA, I invited Olga to take a walk along the Neskuchnii Garden, but she was not attracted by the cheap romanticism anymore.

Next time I rented a large spacious sauna on Leninskii Prospekt. I bought a leather whip before our meeting. I was happy to see my new girlfriend. Several seconds passed, and I’m already pulling off her brown jeans and a white T-shirt. Slapping Olga a little on the ass with a whip, uttering various curses, I began to gently kiss her body.

And so, our three-hour sex marathon began. From the bed, we moved to the shower, where our sexual games continued. I liked how trickles of water went down Olga’s body. Sometimes the water prevented me from breathing, and we moved to the pool table. Saunas in Moscow probably exist for drinking bouts, secret meetings with lovers, prostitutes and for playing pool. The balls rolled out from the work of my hips, and Olga liked how we changed positions and locations of our sexual games. Getting bored by the pool table, we moved back to the bedroom.

Satisfied and happy, we parted, agreeing to meet in a week. The next meeting was to take place at my house, and Olga asked me to buy her some cognac. She came very drunk and a bit messed up or something. At that time I still did not know how strong her addiction to alcohol and how ruthless and mad female alcoholism was. I watched my brother’s girlfriend slowly killing herself this way. Unable to stop her drinking with either a sense of duty or sleeping pills, every day she found some reason to drink, and eventually died at thirty.

The charm of our first meetings immediately faded from the slight of the drunken girl. To occupy ourselves somehow, we began to drink cognac. When the cognac was over, I started my sadistic games. Undressing Olga and laying her on the couch, I began to work on her ass, at first slightly, and then with strong and sweeping strokes.

– You filthy whore, slut, take that! … You want more?! Do you love me? Say that you love me, – I cried, feeling the warmth caused by cognac growing inside me. I cried like an avid sadist, although I had never beaten anyone this way before.

– Yes, I do, – she answered with a drunken voice…

I did not feel any joy from our sadomasochistic games; rather I was interested in how far Olga was ready to go. If there was any feeling in me at the moment, it was rather a feeling of disappointment in my worthless life and some anger at the drunken Olga. As for her, she seemed to enjoy the process; she went crazy from my pronounced strokes and voluptuously moaned every time the whip touched her ass. Sometimes I even managed to hit Olga between the legs and when I did, she sobbed with pleasure. Unable to get excited at the sight of this defenseless creature, I began to fuck Olga with the same whip that a moment ago was whipping her ass. Olga did not resist, she was ready to accept anything from me.

– You know, a prostitute taught me how to do blowjob; do you want me to kiss you? – She asked.

– Shut up, you whore! – I shouted, accepting the rules of the game and striking her the ass sonorously with a whip, making her squeal.

At that moment, my friend Mitia called me and I told him that I had a whore at home and if he wanted to, she could provide a complete service to him as well. To my surprise, Mitia agreed. Actually, his type of relationship is a sexual drama, excess emotions from an intelligent kind of girl with glasses. He was aroused by tears and drama, not easy prey that went straight into the net.

Nevertheless, Mitia came, and who opened the door to him was naked Olga. She was completely unafraid of her nudity and a complete stranger seeing her in this situation.

I handed the whip to Mitia and said: “If you want love, beat her.” Mitia reluctantly applied a couple of soft blows to Olga on the ass. He was reluctant to beat Olga, he was surprised to see my new girlfriend. And that’s quite understandable because it’s not every day that you see an unfamiliar naked woman who is absolutely ok with her nudity. Mitia even kissed Olga, but he, too, did not want to fuck with a drunken woman. Olga told Mitia about life in Africa, Mitia liked to listen to different stories.

When the effect of alcohol began to end, we called another friend of mine Volodia and asked him to buy some cognac and come to fuck. Knowing me, Volodia somehow immediately realized that I was not joking, and fifty minutes later, he was standing on my doorstep with a bottle of cognac. I, Mitia and Olga drank another shot each and went to the living room, where I showed a true sex show to Volodia. I heavily slapped Olga with a whip, who was moaning from pleasure, and then I fucked Olga with the help of the whip, suggesting that he did the same thing with her. Volodia refused, and I incidentally whipped him with a whip, too. I did apologize, though.

We went to the kitchen again, in order to sip some cognac once again, after which Volodia dragged naked Olga into the bedroom. A minute later, I decided to peek over their sex, and maybe even join them. Volodia was fucking Olga, who was standing on all fours; I went up and stroked her on the head. At that moment, Volodia snorted and took out his cock from Olga. The condom was filled. My show must have made a strong impression on Volodia.

We now have a lot of fun drinking Volodia’a cognac. He is the only one who does not drink. For this, we punish him, saying jokes about his fire rate.

– Here’s to the fucking rabbit, I proclaim another toast.

Volodia does not like such jokes, and, having received his portion of affection, he soon leaves. As for me, I do not know what to do with Olga, it’s evening, she cannot get home alone, even by taxi, and I cannot keep her at home, as her husband is waiting for her at home. I’m calling her friend who was at our first meeting at the cafe to consult her as to what to do in this situation. Should I let Olga stay for the night, or to go by taxi with her and hand her over to her husband? The friend does not want to know shit, she yells into the phone that I’d drive Olga home, and that’s what I did.

I called a taxi, and Mitia and I accompanied Olga on her way home. Not knowing the nature of her husband, I grabbed a means of self-defense “The Blow”, which shoots a jet of some vigorous gas. You know, just in case. A few moments later, and we are on Udaltsova Street. The elevator brought us right to Olga’s floor, and she pushes the bell button. Nobody opens the door. I’m a little nervous, while Mitia carelessly kisses Olga on her staircase. “Asshole,” I think to myself. First of all, one should not insult her husband, and besides, who knows what he risks at this moment, the husband may come out and bite off his head. After a while, the husband did appear, and Mitia and I hurried to the elevator, whose door I was prudently holding open with my foot.

From that moment, though Olga hit the drinking-bout, she felt a kind of psychological affection for me. I did virtually nothing. I mean, I beat her with a whip on the ass, saying all kinds of curses, but for her, it meant so much more than for me. From that moment on she was attached to me with something that I myself did not fully understand. And I do not understand until now what illusions the whip in my hand was generating in her drunken female head.

Freedom

My next experience in BDSM happened a few years later. At that time I lived with a young girl called Vika. Our relations could be considered very free and strange. Despite the fact that we lived together, we did not have a common life. Both of us arranged our own way of life and leisure, as we saw convenient. At home, I was taking care of cooking, while Vika cleaned the house and ironed my shirts when it was necessary. Sometimes we visited swing clubs, where we indulged in love games with various partners; sometimes Vika visited her lovers without me. It’s not that it was a betrayal, it’s just that none of us wanted to be tied by any additional responsibilities, we both wanted to just enjoy life.

Since the book is devoted to BDSM relations, I would like to tell a bit about this aspect of our relations. In its purest form, I am neither a sadist nor a dominant, I like to give people freedom in life, in sex, relationships and attachments. Therefore, although we did use a whip, handcuffs and other goods from the sex shop in our intimate relationship with Vika, it was rather for sexual fun, not as an expression of master-slave relationship. Sometimes I would make made Vika grunt during sex, sometimes we experimented with asphyxiation or with blindfolding, often I would slap her with my hand on the ass, which she especially liked, and she didn’t learn all of this from me, very far from it. It’s just that Vika loved hard sex and masculine attention. She probably wasn’t a masochist, and I did not aspire to make her into one. One day, something happened to us that made me think again that after all, a woman’s sincere passion is felt towards those who torment her.

One day, Vika’s mother came from Baku, and Vika decided to introduce me. By coincidence, the meeting took place in the same cafe as our first meeting with Vika. Vika came slightly drunk to our meeting with her mother, accompanied by a friend called Natasha. Natasha’s surname was pretty notorious – Svoboda (Russian for “freedom”). Just like Vika, Natasha was under the slight influence. In order to avoid becoming bored communicating with drunken girls, I bought a seven hundred gram bottle of vodka. As there were no snacks to speak of, I quickly reached Vika’s and Natasha’s state of drunkenness, and communication began to flow easily and not without a share of romance between me and Natasha. There was a spark between our eyes, and for me, it was a fresh, invigorating experience. Vicka is eighteen years younger than me, and we grew up in different cultural environments and even in different countries. Although I did love Vika, we did not communicate well, and I was afraid to stress Vika with complicated conversations, so we were slowly degrading in each other’s company. It’s hard not to when you only seek pleasures in life. Natasha, on the other hand, was five years older than me, and we both were representatives of the last Soviet generation, who grew up and formed during the Soviet era. It seemed to me that Natasha and I somehow understood each other at once. She used to live in Smolensk and I, too, spent a part of my childhood there, and my father still lives there.

We had something to remember and talk about with Natasha. In many ways, this excessive talk and the feeling that you are being understood were caused by alcohol. I was so carried away by Natasha that I completely forgot about Vika’s mother, who unexpectedly reacted neutrally to the fact that her daughter had such an old fiancé. Formally, I could be considered a fiancé, because we had already spent about four years together at that point and had already lived together for a year.

After dinner, I was in high spirits and even wanted to take a walk on the Red Square, but when I saw that Natasha was barely standing on her feet, so Vika and I invited her to our apartment, as she would not reach home alone. I arranged a seasoned, fifty-year-old gipsy cab driver to take us home. On the way, Natasha laughed and demanded that she’d be provided with a man. I offered our taxi driver as a sex partner. Generally, I do not like representatives of cynical professions, such as cops, taxi drivers, prostitutes but the idea of the upcoming erotic show warmed me, and besides, what other way there is to calm down a raging woman, if not sex.

The taxi driver did not object to join our orgy and was even ready not to charge money for this trip on this occasion. And it can be understood: despite her 47 years, Natasha looked cool, and alcohol gave her some special, exquisite debauchery. Slutty, cheerful, well-groomed and beautiful blonde – I’m sure that the bull-taxi driver has not experienced this combination before. Initially, Natasha accepted the idea of having sex with an unknown taxi driver with restrained enthusiasm, but in the end, the latter was rejected.