Elephant

This story is also told by Lolita.

“Here, smell this.” Lolita held a coil of rope under my nose.

“Mmmm,” I whiffed. “Elephant dung.”

Lolita took back the rope and smelled it. “I haven’t heard that before,” she sniffed. “You really smell an elephant? It’s hemp. I have someone make it for me.”

She dropped the cord to the dungeon’s wooden floor and reached back into her bag. Several more lengths were added to a pile, each meticulously wrapped and tied.

“This is the O ring I’ll use to support you,” she said, holding forward a small piece of hardware. “It comes from a marine specialty store. It's used to hold bigger fish than you.”

I laughed. Lolita was trying to set me at ease as she introduced me to each item she would use to fulfill our handshake agreement of the previous day.

She was going to bind and suspend me in midair.

I stood in my best posture, feeling a little formal about this initiation.

It was mid-morning on a bright late summer Sunday—just about the time church services get underway.

The weather was splendid. Lolita had considered lashing me to a tree branch outdoors, she told me, but decided better of it. Given that this was my first experience on the receiving end of bondage, she thought I might prefer the relative intimacy of the dungeon.

I appreciated that, I replied, as I stood nude under metal scaffolding. My clothes were abandoned on a nearby folding chair. Selina and Viviane sat on others, watching us.

Lolita and I spoke in quiet voices.

“I’m not an expert in this,” she explained, unloading more rope. “I mean, I know what I’m doing, and I’ve done it many times. But the real experts are the people I’ve studied with, people like Midori. Suspension is really her specialty.”

In this show of modesty, Lolita was affirming what I already knew: she was more than competent to this task.

Lolita ran her hands over my torso, looking at my naked flesh as she touched, soothing me with her low tone. “I really love your body, Jefferson. You are in such great shape, and your skin is very smooth, very soft . . . does it hurt when I press here? Or here?”

I shook my head.

“What’s this small lump on your back? Anything I should worry about?”

I shook my head.

As she toured my body with her sight and touch, Lolita was letting me know what I already knew: I was safe, and in good hands.

Lolita came around my body to face me. She put her mouth to mine. My cock stirred.

“Hmmmm,” she moaned. She stood back and laughed, her laugh giving way to a light growl. “I like that,” she smiled.

“Me too, Lolita,” I said, resting a hand on her naked breast. “Me too.”

As she stole a kiss, she was reassuring me of something that was not in question. We were here, now, because we were more than a little enamored of one another. We talked about liking one another’s kisses as a way of sidestepping the elephant in the room: we had just met but we already liked each other—considerably.

It was palpable. I could feel it in her kiss and in my body’s response to it. I could feel it in the way Viviane and Selina watched, each quietly enraptured of our burgeoning crush.

It made Lolita slightly giddy. She stepped lightly, making little jokes. When I had undressed, she followed suit by removing her top, an odd snug-fitting garment she had made herself from a stretchy white cotton fabric meant to be used, she explained, to wrap a limb before setting it with a cast.

She kept the short skirt made from the same material. It clung tightly to the form of her hips and ass.

As she unwrapped a coil of rope, my eyes fell to the bite marks I had left on her breast when she removed her top.

I was aroused but trying to relax and give myself over to the moment—which is to say, to give myself over to Lolita. I breathed deeply, speaking only when spoken to, nodding or shaking my head when that would suffice.

I let her quiet monologue sooth me like a lullaby.

“Put your arms on your head,” She told me. I did, and she began to bind my chest, wrapping it in loops of hemp. “I’m using more rope because this is your first time,” she said. “That will put less stress on each part of your body.” I nodded, trusting her to know best.

“What knot are you using?” Viviane asked, stepping over for a closer look.

“Um, it’s a Lark’s Head, just a basic thing,” Lolita answered. She began to demonstrate how to tie the knot, but then stopped. “I’m sorry, I can show you how to do this sometime, and I will, but I can’t now. This is a scene, not a lesson. It’s got to be between me and him.”

“A trance,” Selina said.

“Yeah, well, it’s just private,” Lolita went on. “It’s fine if you watch, but I can’t really talk to you while we’re doing it.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m sorry,” Viviane said, moving back to a chair. “I was just curious. You can show me later.”

I closed my eyes, mentally checking out of the discussion.

I had invited my friends to watch, taking care to point out that this was an experience more than an exhibition.

I remembered the first times I had observed “scenes” (a word that still felt odd in my mouth) where the most extreme things might appear to be happening, but the timing and pacing eventually left me bored. I understood that a scene was not about fulfilling the requirements of spectators by putting on a show, but about fulfilling the back-and-forth bond between participants.

That’s why I was here. Lolita had agreed to give me her best, and I wanted to give her mine. This was, as she said, about her and me.

I knew this scene would last for as long as it lasted.

Selina and Viviane had followed me to meet Lolita after breakfast. Marcus was to join us as well, but as we walked to the dungeon, he was distracted by a handsome nude man sunbathing in the grass.

“I’ll be with you guys in a minute,” he said, parting company.

As I was being bound, Marcus was swapping blowjobs with the sunbather.

Lolita began to wrap my left thigh, quietly explaining which parts of my body would become stress points for the suspension.

I heard footsteps and looked up, expecting to see Marcus. Instead, I saw Barbara Nitke, smiling as she approached.

Two large SLR digital cameras hung around her neck.

Barbara was the official camp photographer. No cameras were permitted at sex camp, but Barbara had earned an exemption: for over two decades, she has been photographing people involved in BDSM, including Lolita and many of her friends. Barbara’s work is respected by those in the community for its sensitivity, and it is admired in the art world for its beauty and technical mastery.

She’s also a lovely person.

A lovely person with cameras.

“Why do I feel like I’m being set up?” I wondered aloud.

“Now, Jefferson, I wouldn’t do that,” Lolita smiled, rubbing my back. “I’ve known Barbara for years and years. She just wanted to be here to witness your first time.”

“Really, Jefferson,” Barbara said, throwing up her hands. “I’m just here to watch.”

“I’m teasing, Barbara,” I said. “I trust you. And we all know, you like to watch.”

I did trust Barbara, and her discretion is unquestioned. Practically everyone at sex camp could attest for her honor. But personally, I had my own reason to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I’ve also known her for years.

I’ve known her in a different context, and long admired her photography. She had been surprised to find me at camp, as she had known nothing about my recent immersion into sex and BDSM. Without giving away my secret identity, Barbara told Lolita that she had always considered me to be rather conservative and restrained, certainly not the sort of person one encounters by surprise at a retreat for perverts.

And yet, here I was. Barbara, the one person with a camera, was in on my secret, and therefore knew the damage that could be done by a photograph of me in a compromising position.

Yet, I knew I was as safe in her hands as I was in Lolita’s.

Mind you, this didn’t stop her from teasing me. “Too bad about that red band,” Barbara said, referring the wristband identifying me as someone who was not to be photographed. “I know you’re going to look great hanging from those ropes.”

“I’m using my best knots!” Lolita chirped as she tied off my hips.

“Well, Barbara, I’m going to make your day and break your heart,” I said. “I don’t mind if you take pictures of Lolita or even my body, but . . .”

“No photographs of your face,” Barbara finished. “I hear that all the time. Well, if you are really okay with that, I would love to shoot Lolita as she plays with you.”

Lolita looked up at me and grinned. “Are you okay with that?”

“As long as I’m an anonymous prop, I don’t mind. Heck, you can shoot my face if you want—you just can’t use the images.”

“No thanks,” she said, looking up at the dungeon lights. She made an adjustment to her camera. “If I do that, they will become my favorite pictures and I’ll be miserable. I’ll only take photos I can use.”

I smiled and then looked back to the ropes being fashioned on my body. I fell quiet again, focusing on the feel of hemp and Lolita’s hands, contemplating my imminent suspension.

It takes time to restrain someone. As the morning wore on, Viviane and Selina left, hoping to catch part of a class on cocksucking. It was already apparent that Lolita was not going to rush through a scene. Tying me up was part of her pleasure.

Barbara stayed, sitting on the edge of the gymnasium stage, watching.

“Okay.” Lolita’s voice brought me back to reality. I was unaware of having zoned out. “Okay, Jefferson, you’re bound. Are you comfortable?”

I wriggled inside the ropes. “Yeah,” I said quietly.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just, you know, relaxed, I guess.”

“Good! That’s great. Now, I’m going to help you lay on the mat. I want you to be face down, okay?”

Lolita guided my body to my knees, and then helped me forward. My flesh pressed against the textures of hemp and plastic. I was unable to move more than my head.

A mechanical noise whirred overhead. I closed my eyes as a motor lowered a wench.

Metal clinked on metal as Lolita secured her binding to the wench.

“Jefferson?” she asked. “Are you ready?”

“Umm mmmm,” I murmured.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I heard my voice say, “I’m ready, Lolita.”

“Okay.” The motor whirred. I felt a slight tug on my ribcage and then, suddenly, I was lifted from the mat.

The motor stopped. I was suspended just inches from the ground.

“Okay, now relax a minute,” Lolita said. “How do you feel? Any tension? Pain?”

I closed my eyes and did a mental inventory of the sensations buzzing across my body. “No, Lolita, I’m fine.”

“All right, I’m taking you higher.”

The motor whirred. I looked down. The mat receded beneath me. I turned my head to look at Lolita. She was smiling. I was waist high and rising.

She stopped the motor when I reached the height of her shoulders.

I was suspended. My body was entirely horizontal, swaying gently from the ceased movement. I looked back to Lolita.

“Wow,” I grinned.

“You sure you are okay? No tension or anything? No trouble breathing?”

“No, no, I’m fine, really. Wow.”

Lolita left the motor’s controls and took my head in her hands. She brought my lips to hers and kissed me.

My head felt light in her hands, as light as my body in air. When she released me, my skull fell forward, once again responsible for its own weight.

Barbara stood from the stage.

Lolita strolled my body, touching me, talking to me.

I nodded, not listening. My body was calling me elsewhere.

I felt a shove on my feet. My body rocked in air. I gave into the sensation of swaying, head to toe, to and fro.

Lolita crouched and then shimmied her body under mine, like a mechanic investigating the undersides of an automobile.

“You look great,” she grinned.

“You’re too cute,” I smiled.

A flash exploded.

“There’s so much energy between you two,” Barbara said. "It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, I like him,” Lolita replied. She laughed suddenly, her voice echoing in the dungeon.

From somewhere to her side, Lolita produced a length of pink shoestring. She held it between her fingers and stretched it across her eyes.

“Know what this is?” she asked.

“String?” I answered.

“See, I like that you are so smart. Yes, it is string. It’s going to help me do what I want.”

Lolita scooted down. I could feel her toying with my cock and balls, but I was unable to see what she was doing.

“There,” she said. “All pretty in pink.”

I felt a tug on my scrotum. My body began to sway again. She had bound my cock and was using it to move me overhead.

Blood rushed to my head.

Lolita tugged me, bring my cock to her mouth. She gobbled it quickly before I swayed back in the other direction like the pendulum I had become.

Electricity shot up my spine.

A flash exploded.

“I’m a lazy cocksucker,” Lolita laughed as my cock sailed back into her mouth.

I decided I would no longer try to hold up my head. I closed my eyes, pretending that this had been my decision more than a necessary acknowledgment of gravity’s force.

My body was weightless, my head made of lead.

My cock sparked in her mouth, then grew confused without her.

I swayed, head to toe, to and fro.

My eyelids reddened with flashes.

“Yes, that’s it . . . that’s so hot, it looks so fantastic . . .”

I opened my eyes to see Barbara lying beneath me. She saw me through her camera lens, pointed down the length of my body.

I closed my eyes again, retreating, helpless, exposed, content. My mind emptied. I was reduced to a heavy head, alone in space.

I floated.

Before I zoned out, I set an internal alarm clock. I wanted to let this last as long as it lasted, but I was concerned about putting too much strain on my body. This was, after all, the first time I had asked my body to do this.

My body and I have an understanding. It does anything I ask, so long as I remember that I am growing older and would like to continue to do so.

I remembered a long-ago adventure in rappelling.

My girlfriend Pablo and I were hiking when we came across a young Marine on a cliff. He was alone and rappelling from a deep sheer drop.

We watched for a while. He asked if we wanted to learn how to fall backwards from great heights.

Pablo refused. I was intrigued.

The Marine put me in a harness and showed me how to hold the ropes. He asked me to trust him. He had rich brown eyes, so I trusted him.

I put aside my vertigo, faced the sky, and plunged to the forest floor.

For the next few hours, he and I fell, over and again, as Pablo smoked and watched.

For the next two weeks, I could scarcely walk without assistance.

“You’re not the brightest bulb, are you?” Pablo asked as she helped me to pee.

“Lolita?”

“Yes, Jefferson?”

“I think I should come down now.”

Lolita took my face. “Are you in pain?”

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Smart boy.” Lolita kissed me before moving to the wench controls. A motor whirred above as the ground moved toward my face.

The motor stopped. Lolita came back to me and touched my calf. “You can stand now,” she said, pushing down on my legs.

Suddenly, I was vertical.

My head lost all its weight.

My toes clutched for the ground.

“Wow,” I said, blinking. “I’m pretty high, Lolita.”

“Should I lower you some more?”

“No, no, I mean . . . I’m high. Drunk. Wild.”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed. “That’ll happen.”

I lowered my head to her shoulder to kiss her flesh. My footing slipped and I was airborne. “Look,” I called. “I can fly!”

“Like Peter Pan!” Lolita said, twirling me.

“I’m Mary Martin!” I giggled at how incredibly gay I can be.

Lolita gathered me up, and stood me next to her. We kissed again and I was lost to the surrounding world.

Barbara said goodbye. I nodded and smiled.

Lolita attached clips to my scrotum. I nodded as she talked about cock and ball torture, untroubled by the pinching sensation somewhere below my belly.

I looked down and laughed to see my cock framed in so many brightly colored clips, all wrapped in a tidy pink bow.

“The thing about clips,” Lolita said, stroking my hair. “Is that its not safe word play. Once they are on, they have to come off . . . and the pain comes when they are removed.”

I nodded, smiling. “Your mouth is so cute, do you know that?”

“Thanks Jefferson. I like your mouth, too.” She kissed me and, without warning, a sudden pain tore across my flesh.

“Aaargh!” I screamed into her mouth. “Oooh, ow, ow, ow! What the fuck was that?”

Lolita held up a clip. “One.”

I looked down again. “There are, like, ten more on me . . . aaargh!” I twisted in the ropes. “Oh shit, ow, ow, ow . . .”

“Nine, actually,” Lolita said, holding two clips. “And the pain will be slightly more intense each time. You should breathe.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” I gasped. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, breathing as deeply as I could manage.

By the fifth clip, I was managing the pain.

“Do you like my hair today?” Lolita asked, pushing it from her eyes.

“Y-yes, I like your hair . . .”

She rubbed her hair in my face. “It’s still caked in your cum.”

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow . . . ow . . .”

By the eighth clip, I was sweating.

When there was one clip left, Lolita pulled me close.

“You know that picture on your blog?” she asked. “The one where you are chewing your thumb?”

“Y-yeah?”

Lolita touched the last clip. “That picture makes you look fat.”

I laughed. When I laughed, Lolita removed the last clip. My laughter mingled with howls, filling the gymnasium with the sound of my body in convulsions.

I let myself feel it. All of it. The laughter, the pain, the exuberance . . . and her kiss.

I went limp, exhausted.

Lolita took the pink string from my genitals and fashioned a choker around my neck. She pulled the string, bringing me to her.

“Now I can take you when I want to kiss.”

“Yes, Lolita,” I panted, licking her teeth. “Yes sir, you sure can.”

Visit Jefferson’s holiday wish list at Amazon, brought to you by candlelight.



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