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<pre>

My "Images" (a term I stole from Suki) are short ideas, images,
and sketches written for the amusement of and offered as tribute 
to my Liege and Lady.  They were always longer and never so well
crafted as Suki's short masterpieces, and over time, my Images
files began to include various email excerpts and other works
in progress or ideas for works and became more journal than art,
so some juxtapositions may seem odd.


Some of my Images follow.  They are generally cruel and 
nonconsensual and of interest only to sickphuxs, so please 
read no further if such doesn't appeal to you.

The Images are impurely the products of a warped imagination, and
should not be seen as a reflection of the scene, nor should they be 
imitated by anyone not interested in a protracted term as the ward 
of the state.

Steven S. Davis


---------------------------------------------

My Images are going to the dogs


These might perhaps be a bit off the track you'll find at
all interesting, but on the chance that they might possibly 
amuse:



1) An electrified wall with a man in a standing spreadeagle
   cuffed to it.  His cuffs are insulated so he isn't shocked 
   by them, but if he doesn't keep away from that wall he gets
   painfully shocked.  No biggie, except that the dog that his 
   Lady has trained to attack his crotch is leashed right in
   front of him, growling, and leaps at him whenever he moves
   a tiny bit forwards, forcing him to stay pressed against
   the wall squirming and moaning and occasionally pleading 
   with the bitch for mercy, and neither bitch has any mercy 
   for him, his Lady won't move the dog or turn off the 
   electricity and her "Lady" never takes her eyes off him
   and knows whenever he moves forwards even a little (and
   they *both* seem to find it very amusing when he backs up
   into the current and shrieks).

2) Lady's training by his lady includes both "attack the slave's
   crotch" and "hold the slave's cock".  In the latter, she
   takes it in her mouth and holds tight while eyeing her Mistress
   for the order "rip him up".  He's seen the result of of that
   command in training sessions (after he's been forced to put
   his scent on the crotch of the dummy - OK, he's the one putting
   up with this, so who's the dummy (but the other dummy is immune
   to her coos and sighs and smiles and pouts and happy looks, and
   he's not)) and knows that however much Lady seems to like him
   when she's not sicced on him, she will rip him up if his lady
   gives the order.  Good thing she seems to like him too; he's
   going to make sure that continues.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Gunplay

I'd done some pondering yesterday and today between sardines.
(note: "sardines" are my term for the pesky tasks at work
which keep one from ever getting any work done).  I probably 
have never mentioned before that probably my biggest fear is 
foot torture, because of my vulnerabilities.  Much as I go on 
about butterfly boards and CBT, the thing that would really 
scare me would be having my Mistress order me to a set of 
stocks next to a hot brazier and instruct me to take of my 
shoes and socks and put my ankles in the stock.  It's also, 
partly because I've always found the topic very hot when 
someone else is the victim, and partly because I *am* so 
vulnerable there, something that's very powerful for me 
(and, I would hope it would be for her; it wouldn't be for 
anyone, or be easy for me with anyone, my putting my ankles 
in those stocks and letting myself be locked in).


I'm not sure how I got to loaded weapons play.  I think
because that too is something where for me to consider
it, I'd have to *know* that I was safe with her (and
finding out that I'd made a mistake would be emotionally
devastating (though in the case of the gunplay, I might
never know my mistake; BTW, I do realize how absolutely
horrified my lady would be if she was playing with my bare
bound feet, a knife, a stiff brush, and several tapered
candles, and she did actually let me get burned or cut)).
Which got me wondering about danger when one knows one
is safe, a paradox we've discussed before.

I'm not really sure how I'd react to being held at gunpoint
by my mistress (probably depend on many things, including
her familiarity with guns).  I suspect that my initial
surprise would probably be the key.  For any sort of play
like this to work, I have to trust her utterly, for this
I have to believe that I know her and she knows me.  If
I didn't expect such a thing from her - and I probably
would not be involved with someone I would expect it from -
then simply her having the gun in her hand would mean that
I didn't know her as well as I thought, and so how could I 
trust her so completely.

But let's assume for the moment that it's something that
we've discussed often and sort of worked around to where
when she tell me to go get her gun and load it for her 
and hand it to her, I'm not surprised; perhaps discussions
about how the *idea* of keeping me at gunpoint is hot for
her, something that I'd have no problems with, might lead
us towards that day.

The idea of danger within safety intrigues.  A loaded gun
pointed at one is scary no matter what the circumstances
(or so I imagine) and held with menace even more so.  I
would, of course, know that she wouldn't want to shoot me,
and wouldn't allow a situation to exist in which I could
be shot.  She'd know that I was going to obey her, even
doing something I didn't like doing, not because of the
gun but because I was so inclined (but I do have to admit
the gun would help; I really can imagine how, in the right
circumstances, the presence of a loaded gun in a scene 
could seriously effect both our minds, putting me into a
special subspace and her into a special domspace (I can also
see the introduction of one in other circumstances totally
taking me out of any such space)).  She's not going to order
me to do anything I wouldn't do, and I'm going to obey her.
So, in a sense my knowing she's not going to shoot me isn't
any different than a scene with someone who might (except
that I could better sink into the scene with that background 
knowledge): as long as I obey I don't get shot, and I'm going
to obey.

I wonder if, perhaps, this might get intense enough and seem
real enough that if I *did* disobey the shock and outrage
she felt would cause her to pull the trigger.  I doubt it.
I suspect that the shock of me disobeying would take her out
of that place she was in and make the gun in her hand suddenly
a very different and scary thing that she didn't want to be
pointing at me.  As would, I suspect, any knocking at the door
or anything else which took us out of our very private, intimate,
and intense space (the dimly remembered Thomas de Quincey essay
"On the Knocking at Gate in Macbeth" did come to mind).


So I can see how a loaded gun scene - and it would really have
to be a loaded gun scene, anything other than a gun which was
definitely known to be functional and loaded would not create
the same effect - could be extraordinarily intense, no matter
how much trust one had in one's partner.  

Not saying I'd do one; as said, it'd take a lot of building
up to to be at the point where, when she leveled the gun at
me, I'd be going into the proper frame of mind and not wondering
who in the hell this person was.

But with enough preparation, when we were both feeling
calm and when we weren't hurried and the mood was right,
and she said "Bring me the Ruger" and I went to her gun
cabinet and got the box containing the Ruger, and brought
it to her, wondering if she was going to have me clean
this one too, the way the last four or five times she
gave such an order she had me clean another of her collection
of pistols, or if she might actually want to do that gun scene
she'd been talking about for months, being especially anxious
because this is one of the ones with the detachable sights, and 
when I got back to her she told me to take the gun out, and then 
handed me the test firing cartridges and told me to test the
action, and then told me to take out the actual bullets and 
said "Load it" and when I did she said "Hand it to me", and 
then she stood back several steps and leveled it at me and 
said "Get on your feet, slut.  Hands behind your head.  Mouth shut; 
when I want it open I'll tell you. Let's go someplace private
where loud noises, like gunshots and screams, won't be heard.
Start walking", and she moved the gun so I knew where I was
to go and she took to the her basement room and had me get 
against the wall as she locked the door, and then she told
me "Strip, boy" and watched me with an evil gleam as I undressed,
and then she ordered me to kneel in the bench, facing the wall,
and came over and handcuffed and shackled me, them took me by
the hair and stood me up them forced me to my knees and walked
around me prodding me with the barrel of her gun and rubbing
it against me, stopping to reach down and stroke and heft my
cock and say "Mine's longer and harder than yours, isn't it
boy ?  Does that mean I'm more than you ?  Well, of course
I am.  But don't you boys always say that we ladies should
want to worship the bigger cock ?  Well, OK, don't some boys
say that ?  Well, I think they're right.  At least I do just
now, when I've had your cock in my hand and my cock in my hand
and my cock is a lot more potent, boy.  So get ready to worship
my cock, boy.  Open wide, boy - I said I'd tell you - and suck
my cock.  I want my cock staying nice and clean so let me put
this condom over it.  You can be sure, boy, that if my cock
fires it's load that rubber won't be any protection for you.
Now suck it boy, suck it good.  Worship it, boy, it's so big
and long and hard and deadly, take it all the way in, all the
way, boy, that's good, now show me how much you love it and
how much you want to please it, show me how you worship it.

What's the matter, boy, mouth dry ?  Is my little boy scared
of my big cock ?  You'd better get that rubber wet, boy,
I think you *really* want to get it wet.  Suck my cock boy,
suck it slut.  Still dry, eh ?  Well, where around here
will you find some fluid ?  Wherever might you find that,
slut ?" she said as she pushed me down and back and sat
across my face and said "Lick me, lover" and rode and smothered
my face as I lay atop my handcuffed hands and tried to pleasure
her and suck up her juices and she was getting hot and close
and to my surprise she jumped up, a bit shakily, and grabbed
my hair and with the gun under my chin got me up on my knees
and said "Now suck my cock properly, boy" and put the barrel
of the gun to my lips for me to worship more, and this time
I got it at least a little lubricated and with her face flushed
and her eyes gleaming she said "That will have to do, slut",
and stepped behind me and put the gun to the back of my head
and her knee and later her foot in my back as she forced me
down on my face and knelt on the pillow behind me and spread 
my lower cheeks and slipped a lubed finger in and around them 
and then put the barrel against my anus and said "Ready, boy ?  
Not that it matters" and started working the barrel into me, 
getting it inside me and moving it back and forth within me as 
her other hand went back and forth between my cock, saying, 
"Now, don't you shoot, boy, you don't want me getting any ideas", 
and her clit but soon she was spending much more time working
her clit as she somewhat artlessly shoved the gun against my ass
again and again, the barrel fully inside me, as she squeals and 
groaned and grunted and got hotter and hotter and I got more
and more worried about an involuntary spasm of her finger (which
I couldn't see was away from the barrel) and them the shoved
hard and deep into me, she grabbed my cock and stroked it hard
and long (which it already was, whether despite or because of
the gun in my ass I couldn't say and probably wouldn't if I could)
and then she shrieked happily and threw herself across me rubbing
her body into mine like she wanted to merge with me and sinking
her teeth into my neck and holding tight as her body spasmed
atop me and her energy ran through me and then we both lay
there panting and spent and fortunately, we were all that was
spent.....


...well, yes, I might be able to see the attraction of such a scene.

--------------------------------------
"The Beds"


Her eyes kept wandering over to her captive boy,
which would have pleased him, had he known.  But
the hood over his head allowed her to enjoy looking
at him as much as she wanted while still leaving 
him in the dark, so to speak, about whether she
was paying any attention to him.

It also made it more uncomfortable for him as
he struggled to hold himself up.  Naked except
for the hood and the cuffs on his wrists and
ankles and tape around his fingers, he strained 
to keep his hands and feet on the tubes which 
surrounded the bed of nails and thereby hold 
himself above the nails.  The nails weren't sharp 
enough to pierce his skin, at least not when his 
weight was spread out over so many of them (had he 
been told that he'd wish for more nails he'd have shocked,
but as he'd learned, the denser beds were actually
easier than this one, in which the nails were
just close enough to keep him from getting skewered
but spread out enough to make each nail biting
into his flesh a distinct and quite severe pain,
and so, of course, she preferred this one, except
when she was going to walk on him or sit on him
or lay upon or, sometimes, fuck him, as he lay
on the nails, in which cases she wanted the denser
spread; even aside from the fact that he knew
that when she directed him to this one there was
no chance of sex, he quite hated this bed and
it's few nails (though there seemed plenty of
them when he had to sharpen them, and the many
"pricks of pain" as she liked to say (usually
before inflicting some pain of prick) seemed
plenty when his strength failed and he fell
back upon them)).  They didn't pierce him, but
they hurt plenty, and he didn't want them touching
them, so he'd hold himself above them, crab-style,
for as long as he could, struggling to keep his
trembling arms and legs holding him up and his sweaty
hands and feet on the smooth round tubes.  It'd been
easier when he could grip the tubes, before she thought
to tape his fingers so he couldn't, and had to balance
on his increasingly sweaty palms.

She watched him trembling and knew he couldn't hold
out much longer, and when his strength gave out and
he fell the short distance onto the nails she heard
him shriek through his gag and hood and giggled happily.
The poor dear.  Now he'd lay on though nails, trying
not to squirm, until the burning pain from the dozens
of points exceeded the ache in his limbs and his 
aching fatigue and made him hoist himself up again.
She quite liked taking him to bed, in every way, and
liked not least the mix of fear and lust he showed
when she said she was going to bed him, as he wondered
which she meant this time, and when she would lead
him into her bedroom and have him stand before the
three beds, her bed of pleasure and this bed of sheer
pain and the other bed of nail, the one of pain with
some hope of pleasure and sit back, legs crossed and
foot swaying watching him watching her and hope for
her until she raised a hand and pointed, his look
of ecstasy when she pointed towards her soft bed
and his utter look of despair when she pointed towards
the bed of pain were both so delicious that often
she made him stand so long not just to torture him
- though that was fun - but because she genuinely
couldn't decide.  

But since either way meant delight for her, there
was no wrong choice.  Though she did sometimes
berate herself for her weakness in opting to take
him into her bed, which meant the pleasure would
be so much shorter.  There were, after all, limits
to how long even the most devoted and diligent boy
could pleasure her, even with her taking advantage
of all his instruments.  But there was no limit to
his suffering when she laid him on the bed of pain.
Nothing he could do would end the pain, all he could
do was shift back and forth between different sorts
of pain as each became unbearable in it's turn, until
finally he was too exhausted to do anything else no
matter how much it hurt.

This ability to take him *all* the way was the great
advantage over her former game, when she'd locked
his wrists and ankles to spreader bars and tied a
cord around his balls and raised it till he had to
hold himself up as his limbs shook and his muscles
ached.  She'd always worried too much that if his
strength failed and he fell back he'd be damaged,
and she didn't want him damaged - certainly not there -
she just wanted him to suffer.  Sure, she'd had fun
letting him down and then raising him up again, but
the worry and the need to watch him so intently all
the time - that was fun, but sometimes she did have
work to do - lest she miss when his was at his limit,
and the frustration of always having to stop before
he reached his limit, those drawbacks made the game less
fun than she wanted.

But now he wouldn't be damaged when his strength failed.
He'd just hurt a *lot*.  More than enough to make him
give all he could give and when he'd given it all,
that was so sexy.  And she could make him go on and
on and not have to watch him every second, just when
she wanted to - which was almost every second - and
not worry that a moment's inattention would damage
him.  She could enjoy his suffering for as long as
she wanted, knowing it got worse ever minute but it
would never have to end before she wanted it to end,
before her painlust was sated and her wish to be
tender with her precious boy would take over, at
which point he'd be safe and sound, or well, at
least intact.  And sometimes he surprised them both
by how functional he could still be after these
ordeals.  Other times, well, she'd have already 
come several times by then and her painlust and
her sexual lusts sated, just holding and comforting
him was the finest pleasure.

----------------------------------------------
"Are you sure ?"

The man lay on his stomach on the table, naked, his
legs spread and ankles secured to rings in the table,
his feet held securely in place despite his efforts
to move them, as the two rollers turned relentlessly
above them and keep their soft bristles constantly
moving against the arches of his feet.  A posture 
collar snug around his neck and a chain from the 
collar to a ring at the end of the table quite
taut, keeping his body stretched and helping to keep
his head still, though the board clamped to the table
and the two thin nails going through his extended tongue
and into the board also helped.  But the collar and
chain did help keep his head still, which was important
every 15 minutes when the digital timer a foot in front
of his face counted down to zero and shock went through
those nails before the timer reset and started counting
down again.

Aside from preserving his tongue, the tautness of his stretched
body helped keep the dozens of alligator clamps on his chest
and belly from being moved very much.  However, immobility
did only a little to help with either the pain from the stretching
of his balls, which were cruelly bound and from which hung
a basket full of women's footwear, though steel-toed boots
with insulated soles for working in steel plants were not
what he'd envisioned when this was mentioned.  It did help
some when the basket wasn't swaying; however, a strappy
stilletto heeled sandal kept giving the basket a push to
make it swing (which was not what he thought "do you like
swingers ?" would mean).  And his immobility did nothing
to help his arms, neither his well bound hands nor his
elbows tightly cinched in (formerly) wet raw leather which
as it dried was correcting his statement that his elbows
couldn't get any closer, nor his thumbcuffed thumbs tied
to the very taut cord passing through a ring above his head
then tied around a a bar that couldn't pass through the 
ring but which could get further from it as the cord which
went from it through the pulleys and to the 55 gallon drum,
partly filled with marbles, which the cord held off the ground 
just under a hose from which slowly trickled water into the
barrel and slowly raising the man's hands towards his head,
to the immense displeasure of his shoulders.  A displeasure
he'd almost briefly forget when the cat - the one in the 
cage under the table, just below the hole in which his penis, 
teased fully erect then locked in tight cock-rings, had been 
inserted - would notice some slight movement by his cock
and start batting it around again.

The woman leaned back against her pillows, watching his
predicament with a sweet smile that didn't quite match
the gleam in her eyes.


"Are you sure", she asked, pleasantly, "that you don't have 
any limits that I should know about ?"

---------------------------------
"Red Zone": Some thoughts on a future story



I've realized something (I was going to say discovered but that
would have been silly since I always really knew this and so
can't have discovered it).  While I find the concept of a 
merciless domme hot, I don't really want to serve one.  And
not in the way I usually think of this, which is that I want
to serve someone whose painlust is inside my limits and who
therefore never needs to offer me mercy (and who I have less
reason to fear I will fail or frustrate with my poor pain
tolerance).  But that isn't really true.  I do want her showing
me mercy.  I'm just afraid that I might not be able to earn her mercy
and find the idea of her having to stop short because of my weakness
very scary so it's usually a safer fantasy to imagine that she
stops someplace she's happy with because our limits are so close.


But a doubly scary fantasy involves her *wanting* to push me hard
and see me break, even knowing that I'm very scared to have her
see that (another of those paradoxes, and yet another case of
how much I, like so many male submissives, really do fail to
totally give myself over to her wishes and instead serve, at
least as much as I do her, my own idea of what submission is; 
so even knowing she wants to see me break I'd fear letting her
see that and think me weak and resist giving into the pain
(which she might like, and knowing me, probably wouldn't last 
long).  She wants me pushed hard and past my limits, which
is scary.  More scary - though a big thrill - is that (again,
probably unsubmissive of me (and no, I don't really think of
this as beating my domme)) she's the one who reaches her limits
and gives in.  And showers me with praise and care and attention
when she does call "Red" and stop this because she can't bear
to see me suffering that much any longer, even if it does get
her very aroused (I wonder would she be so impressed if she
realized how much I was holding out not because I want to
take pain for/from her, but because of my ego, and my fear of 
her losing respect for me if she succeeds in breaking me 
(which probably shows some lack of trust on my part)) and even 
if she had pushed on after she was very much beyond her comfort
zone because she knew I was close and she really wanted to
break me (how selfish is it of me to deny her that ?; but
would she want me to give in before I absolutely had to ?;
the point I guess, is holding out because of my fear and ego
(and insecurity, the companion of ego) rather than holding out
out of devotion to her (how much would it matter to her why
I was taking the pain a little longer when I was obviously
in distress ?; probably a lot)).  

A sort of a "Red Zone scene, both dom and sub seriously past 
their limits both suffering both wanting it to be over but she 
keeps pushing because she wants me broken and she's so close and 
she can't stop now and I keep somehow holding out, biting back
the "Mercy, Mistress" or even somehow managing to squeeze
"May I have another" out past my sobs when I can finally
make myself unclench my jaws long enough, and somehow 
manage not to crack when she escalates the pain even more,
when I can see, or could see if not for my tears (which
I might not have wanted her to see and should have learned
that since she didn't lose respect for or interest in me
when she saw me sobbing that we won't lose respect for me
- is that "we" instead of "she" a typo or a freudian slip ? -
when she makes me give in - and perhaps she aches to show
me this, to break me and then show me such sweet tenderness
and acceptance, but I can't yet give her this and she can't
yet take it from me) the way determination and painlust
struggle in her face with her own fear that I'm going to
get harmed - perhaps my interest in female fear comes out
here, with seeing lust and power mixed with growing fear,
but not fear for herself, fear for me (and maybe fear of
herself) - and maybe that she's risking losing me if she 
keeps going and certainly that she's getting to the point 
where each additional scream from me is raising her fear 
and decreasing her lust and instead of it being, as it is 
in some of my fantasies, a woman submissive struggling with 
terror and desire balancing so precariously, it's a woman dominant
whose fear and lust are struggling with each other until
one last additional shock of pain and one last scream
and spasm and then she safewords, her lust no longer 
restraining her fear, and she stops the torture and
hugs and kisses me while saying she's so proud of me
and she's so sorry she went so far and she's going to
take such good care of me now.  

And when I can, my own guilt at my mixed and too
weak and selfish reasons for holding out so long
effecting me, reassure her and tell her not to
be sorry and that I'm OK, but of course not so
forcefully that all that aftercare and praise would
get interrupted.

And maybe, though not anytime soon, neither of
us could handle that for awhile, she'll want to
try again, a little more familiar now with her
Red Zone and with mine, and maybe sometime we'll 
both be sure enough of each other and brave enough 
ourselves that she can stay in her Red Zone long
enough for me to let her push me out of mine.
 

Well, I'll have to ponder for awhile before I
try writing "Red Zone".

--------------------------------------
"Agree ?"

He stood there grimacing slightly, and slightly more
whenever she moved, and she was moving a lot.  The
canvas strip with the piece of fur sewn on it wasn't
as comfortable a foot rest as she'd thought it would 
be.  But while she wasn't enjoying resting her feet 
upon it as much as she'd expected to, she was enjoying
his discomfort.  With his hands tied behind his back
and his ankles in a spreader bar and acting as one pole
supporting her "foot hammock", one end of which was tied
to a ring in the wall and the other end was tied to his
balls, her feet resting in the hammock as she leaned
back in her chair to look up at him (and give him a nice
look at her stretched out below him) were putting the
weight of her legs on his scrotum, and while that might
not be much - and she was so going to enjoy playing with
him when he made some small comment about the weight
and she'd pout at him and ask "Are you saying that my 
legs are too heavy ?" - it was hurting him and hurting him
more the longer it went on.  So she had no plan to kick
off her stilletto heels and curl her legs under her any
time soon, though she'd have been more comfortable that way.
Her enjoyment both of his discomfort and of the way his eyes
were going up and down her were too great for that.  And
her squirming and turning, which relieved strain on her
extended legs, both increased his pain and by giving him
shifting views of her, stoked his desire, and what could
be better than what increased both his pain and his lust ?

"I thought perhaps you might want to know what I have planned
for you", she said.  "Of course, I wouldn't dream of doing
anything to you that you didn't want me to do - you do still
want me to rest my legs in this hammock, don't you ?  Good.
I was thinking that I'd start with a single-tail and put
many welts on your back and buttocks.  Then, after running
my nails over them for awhile - whether I mean my fingernails
or something else I'll let you ponder - I'm going to line
the welts with those delightful little clamps.  Then I'll
have you lay on your back a top those clamps, and tie you down
on a table, with a thin mat over it. So those clamps won't 
scratch the table, of course."

Turning over on her side, and showing him her derriere and
the backs of her legs and her bare back, which she knew he'd
be eyeing when the talk was of singletails and welts (he'd
never hurt her, but he couldn't help looking at any smooth
bare pale back without things of it as a canvas for a whip)
and in the press pushing hard on the canvas tied to his balls,
she continued: "Then I'll lay on you and kiss you for a long
time - for while I love hurting you, love, I do also so 
enjoy kissing you - and then get those clamps - I'm so glad
that so many of them were on sale - and put them all over
you.  A couple rows on each flank, and I think I'll put a
cord through them for quick removal later. Then a circle
on your belly, starting on your navel and spiralling outwards.
Then similar circles on each breast - would you prefer I call
them pecs, dear ? - breasts, then.  Now, we know it's bad
to leave clamps on any one spot for too long dear, and by
this time the ones on your sides will have been there for
a very long time.  Well, we'll just have to get them off you
as quickly as possible !  And then, well, the others can't
stay either.  But I think those spirals will look so pretty
- should I take pictures of those foxy spirals and send 
them to A ? - and I wouldn't want them gone so soon.  So
I'll just move them.  Just shift each clamp, take it off, 
move it over an inch, and put it on a new piece of skin.
By the time I get done the second chest spiral your first
nipple will have had some circulation and I can put a new clamp
on it, the aesthetics do require clamps on your nipples, dear.
And when I'm done your belly spiral the other nipple will have
had enough circulation to be ready for another clamp."

Rolling over to her other side and curling a little, pulling
the hammock towards her and also giving him a view down her
cleavage as she looked happily at him, she went on 
enthusiastically:  "Well, of course by then I'll have to start
moving the first set again, for your protection, of course.
It's good that those clamps have such small bites - but so tight
for such little things - I think that I can repeat this process 
three or four times before there's no new skin in the path.
Then I'm afraid we'll just have to take them off", she said,
feigning a look of great displeasure and kicking her feet;
it took a great effort not to giggle at his groans as she
kicked at the canvas.  But at least by then there'll be some
nice solid spiral lines on you, instead of broken ones.  That
will be a much prettier picture."

Rolling on her back she looked pensive and asked "But what to
do then ? It will be much too soon to stop, don't you agree ?
I know what I'd like to do, if you agree, of course.  I'd
like to ziggarat your cock.  Put a clamp on the base, and then
a few others circling around your shaft, and then move the
hole spiral, after ten minutes when your skin needs more 
circulation - I know some people say clamps can stay on longer
without harm, but I certainly don't want to risk harming your
cock, so for safety I say we use a ten minute, maximum, don't
you agree ? I figure that the spiral will be close to the top
after ten minutes - I mean, I will want to put them on very
carefully and it may take a long time and several tries to get
the thinnest possible piece of skin in the clamp's teeth and
have the clamp hold, so it will take some time - but with two 
or three 'marchs' up your shaft I should be putting a clamp
on the tip of your cock.  I think that will look so pretty.
And it will look so pretty after they come off, all those 
little steps circling round it."

Suddenly sitting up, bending her knees as she did and her
feet pressing down hard on the canvass and bringing him
to his knees literally as well as figuratively, she looked
so happily and earnestly into his eyes (fighting back the
urge to giggle at his pain and at her own brass in adopting
such an innocent look; well, some men like their submissives 
to play the schoolgirl, and she enjoyed playing schoolgirlish
with her sub), and asked: "Oh, it sounds like so much fun,
don't you agree ?  Can we do it, please ?  You know I wouldn't
do anything that you wouldn't agree to.  Would you please agree
to this ?", she asked, twisting in her chair and twisting
the hammock under her feet.  "It will make me so very happy.
Do you agree ?"

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