Degustation is a culinary term meaning "a careful, appreciative tasting of various foods" and focusing on the gustatory system, the senses, high culinary art and good company. (with thanks to wiki, full definition here)
The phone rings. It is Sir. He is here. They are here.
I race downstairs and walk up through the garage, peeking around the corner. He is standing at the car and beside him is her. We are not permitted to see each other so I step back waiting. She has on a pair of black stilettos, stockings, I think a long coat and has gorgeous bright red curly hair. I do not see her face and do not try. I hear him stride towards me. He smiles and all at once all of my 'what the fuck am I doings' are gone, swept up in his cool, calm and collected wake. I hand him the keys and give him the room number.
I go back to the elevator and up to the room, waiting in the master bedroom. I hear the door. I call out to Sir. He comes in and bids me kneel on the edge of the bed. He is gone again to the other room. I can scarcely breathe. He is back again, speaking. He smacks my arse hard with his hand. The sound ricochets around the walls like gunfire. His hand finds its mark over and over. 'Stay'. He is gone again. I hear the same sound coming from the other room. I can not describe how much it turns me on. The familiar sound - thwack, thwack, thwack. I feel myself brimming with lust. I am trembling. He is back. I am undressed. I hear him speak to her. She is in the room. I lift my head and for a second I see her standing, face against the wall, her sweet, fair skin sheathed in thigh high stockings and a black thong, then she is gone - blacked out by the blindfold.
As commanded, we lay on the bed beside each other, face down. As if an afterthought he pulls our hands together. I am clasping her hand. He is wielding the whip. Now comes the nervy part.
I know she can take a hiding - 200 cane strokes in fact. Sir tells me this partly I think as an inspirational story, a "this too can be you" and I am sure in part because he is proud of her and his training. I hear the immense joy in his voice when he speaks of her - almost awe - and it is beautiful.
I am in my head trying to have a rational conversation with myself - who, I might add at this point, is not a very rational person. I think: I haven't been caned in a while and I kind of miss it. I don't like it particularly but I love the marks. I remember the ones I had after our very first session - across the top of my back and arse...sigh...I do prefer the feel of the whip but...anyway this is the hardly the time for contemplating cane vs whip discussions with Sir. I don't know that I get much of a choice anyway. No that isn't true. I do. Fuck. I am lying naked on a bed next to someone I don't know, I can't see and Sir is about to whip me. Because she is here, will he push me? I hope not. Fuck. Back comes 'what the fuck am I doing'. I am not sure where this is going. Why the hell do I keep doing this? All of this inundates my head in about 3.2 seconds.
I feel the leather bite into my skin and it is delicious. All thinking is done for the day. One, two, three, four, five. I am fairly still and quiet, (considering I apparently whine). I hear them raining down on her. I note they sound harder. I have gotten to know the different sounds the whip makes. She does not move, I do not hear her breathe. Her hand does not twitch. She is perfectly still. He is right to be impressed. I am amazed. He moves between us, according lashings as he sees fit. He is kind. They are none too hard to endure though one or two make me twist and complain. Perhaps I do whinge - just a bit.
"Kiss her." We blindly find each other and she is there and soft and warm, her tongue firm and searching. I have not been directed to but I take a chance and reach my hands up around the back of her neck, kissing her mouth with more fervor. Her lips are soft. Her tongue slips in and out of my mouth. I suck her lip. I want very much to pull her to me, to lie her back, to drink her in, slowly and with abandon. Sir is there. I am waiting for him to speak. I am waiting desperately for his direction. My hands start to explore her body, touch the shape of her breasts, slip between her thighs.
I am waiting direction but I will not wait long - nor as it turns out do I have to.