Eat

Bondage Berry Pie

But this was only the beginning… As ferocious and frightening as the dragon may be, it is warm in the embrace of its wings.

Story by Teo J. Babini - teo@citizenbrooklyn.com Photos ©Christian Torres

photo©Christian Torres

It was just another weeknight meeting in the Burg. We met at the ol’ Commodore and took turns pitchin’ in for pitchers for the table. The meeting started early enough that by the time we finished talking biz there was still room for some evening marauding before much needed beauty sleep. Unfortunately for me, the majority of the squad lives in Prospect Heights and therefore decided to venture deeper into the Brooklyn night. For fear of waking up in foreign lands far from my workplace, I had to decline.

So there I was, draggin’ my feet off the L train feeling dejected, lonely, and just buzzed enough to want a couple more adult beverages. I passed by the tattoo parlor on my block and saw the apprentice tattooing. I knew him because he worked with my gypsy friend, Baby Dragon, at the restaurant down the street. So I knocked on the glass and the owner of the shop unlocked the door. She, in a less then friendly manor, informed me that the shop was closed and he’s an apprentice, etc. Somehow I was unable to communicate my intentions, none of which included getting tattooed. The apprentice finally noticed me when he looked up from the calf he was needling and simply said: “He’s here for me”. I knew this kid was a drunk, so when I told him I wanted to get drinks, he was all for it and he’d meet me at my place in thirty-five to forty-five. So I headed to the nest and tucked into some whiskey and an episode of Boardwalk Empire. The kid called me from downstairs, but I told him to come up and taste some twelve year Jameson in honor of his first tat at the shop. He asked me if I mind if his friend, the tattoo canvas, comes up. No problem.

photo©Christian Torres

So they came up and we drank that good god water. Turned out I knew this girl’s name. A name I’d heard flying around the restaurant as an ex-employee who everyone loved. Baby Dragon and her pill junkie boss had suggested that I check her out, apparently we’d do well together. Around the time I came to this realization, she says something to the effect of: “Oh, YOUR Teo…” This let me know that she’d been warmed up to my existence same way I’d been warmed up to hers. And with glasses drained, we ventured to the local watering hole.

Upon arrival, the apprentice immediately headed to the bar to kick game to a rather large bartender (This kid is a hundred pounds soaking wet with boots on). This left me with the tattoo recipient and we struck up a conversation about her being a chef. Now, I love food, but it is very uncommon in the general talking about food that I don’t bring up pie, and so I did. We had a detailed discussion on my belief in seasonal pies (Fall: Pecan, Winter: Blueberry, Spring: Key Lime, Summer: Apple) and her affinity for strawberry rhubarb. She appreciated my love for pie and decided she wanted to come over and bake me one… The following evening. I accepted, of course, ’cause I would otherwise be an insane person (Not in a good way).

photo©Christian Torres

That being said and done, I asked her what she fancied and she said, matter of factly: “I like to get beat.” I nodded my head a bit and said: “Care to elaborate?”. She went on to tell me that she is heavily involved in the BDSM scene (That’s Bondage/Discipline, Domination/Submission, and Sadism/Masochism for you church folk). Her particular pleasure is to be severely beaten with blunt objects i.e. an aluminum rod. I took it in stride, which she was particularly impressed with. I went home with a crooked smile on my face, and some very dark thoughts in my brain as to what the following evening would bring.

The next day, I rushed outta work at six o’ clock on the dot and picked up some supplies on the way home including: one bottle Tullamore Dew Irish whiskey, one two liter Canada Dry ginger ale, and two for three loosies. I jumped in the shower, hopped out, and fixed meself a stiff drink. She arrived with half a kitchen in a backpack; pie tray, blueberries, a particularly sexy rolling pin, etc. She was missing some supplies, so I financially contributed to the pie with some missing ingredients and we picked up some club soda ’cause she couldn’t have anything with sugar. Now, no matter how obviously someone wants to sleep with me, I never assume this to be the case. So we got to bakin’ in my submarine kitchen (very small with everything on one side). I was on blueberry duty and she worked the crust. She said that it was most essential that I stir without crushing the berries, much harder than you might think (Especially when focusing on a beautiful little Italian gal rolling dough with a big rolling pin).

photo©Christian Torres

Anyway, once the pie was in the oven we drank and talked and she brought out this corset she’d had custom-tailored for some bloody ball she’d be attending and I said: “Well, now that you showed it to me, your gonna hafta try it on for me.” At which point she removed her top in plain sight and strapped on the corset, which I had the pleasure of lacing up. This was followed by the even greater pleasure of unlacing the corset and removing all the rest of her clothes along with it. And my god did this midnight angel have a perfect body with slew of sexy ink scattered across it. She was petite, but shapely in all the right places. Her hands and arms were full of cooking scars and her thighs marred by fresh bruises from one of her regular “playmates”. And so went the foreplay, I uncharacteristically had her nani as an appetizer. This delicacy is usually reserved for ladies I’m dating seriously. She also had a sampling of my Italian sausage platter and then we rolled into sweet naked sexual bliss like a couple of wild animals. I did a little hair pulling, flirted with hands on neck, and kissed her cheeks (top and bottom ones) with soft slaps. Some gentle nips of the ear and collar bone. Obviously, my main goal was to show her that my sexual bravado could trump her need for a side order of pain with her pleasure, so I hit the majority of my most acrobatic positions. She asked me to “fuck her like an object”, I obliged her with that and some dirty talk. By the end we were both “well satisfied” and the pie was ready to be tasted.

photo©Christian Torres

She put on an apron (mostly for kicks) and cut me a piece. The pie was so hot that the filling had not fully cooled yet. It oozed onto my red plate like steaming blue lava. And there I lay cock strong with this little evening rose in an apron, scalding my mouth with the most delicious blueberry pie I’d ever tasted. But this was only the beginning… As ferocious and frightening as the dragon may be, it is warm in the embrace of its wings.

After that we went for a drink at the Coal Yard with Baby Dragon and the apprentice. The bondage baker began to immediately exclaim the sexual wonders we experienced. I tried to calm the apprentice who was pissy drunk talking jive to the bartender he was flirting with the night before while simultaneously fending off another drunk broad who kept swaying back and fourth between me and the bouncer in a desperate attempt to receive male attention. When I finally had things calmed down, I settled into a little chat with Baby Dragon and the next I knew… BOOM! A piano hand comes across my face in the form of a slap and rattles my calm. I knew it was her, and I’d certainly been hit harder before (by girls even), so I sorta ate it and smiled. The drunk lady tried to come to my rescue and as soon as I got her off me the baker jumps on and starts eating my face. She whispered in my ear: “That’s how I show affection. And that was fucking awesome.”

photo©Christian Torres

At this point, Baby Dragon decided she had to walk the apprentice home like small child before his mouth caused any more carnage and the baker needed some food. So we stopped at a bodega on the way home and this girl came out with all kinds of fruits and salad and random, drunken, edible decisions. Back at the pad, we went for round two, and this time I actually gave her a proper slap, which goes against every moral instinct in my soul and felt very strange. After that, I pinned her to the bed with my legs and fed her a fruit salad without the use of my hands. Mouth to mouth fruitification, and, let me tell ya, there is no better way to share your food.

Over the course of our six day sexcapade, I gradually delved deeper into the darkness. By the third day, I was choking her till her face turned blue as the pie filling which started it all and her eyes bloodshot with tears. She tried to choke me with her thighs, but she was so light I lifted her right off the bed with my neck. She would hit and kick me in an attempt to escape my large frame and wanted to be hit back. No matter how hard I tried to comply with her wishes, as a boxer I was just too nervous to really lay into her. I even tried to scare her by explaining the internal damage each blow would cause (broken ribs, fractured orbital, concussion, etc.), her response to which was only writhing with twisted pleasure. So I figured if I’m gonna do this thing, I’m gonna throw the gloves on… She loved it. It’s not just about punching her in the face, it’s about making her scared, making her feel punished, playing with her fragile mind. On the final day, we had a full on rape role-play, and I realized I was desensitized when the only thing that bothered me was that she wore incorrect footwear for the occasion (boots with knee high laces). Not that I was boundary-less, I still said no to requested knife on throat. In between gauntlets I had to bring her back down, help her turn it off. It’s hard to lay around in bed with someone who flinches every time you move.

photo©Christian Torres

During these more mellow moments, she would pour all kinds of interesting stories into my ears about the culture. For instance, she is usually what’s called a bottom. A bottom is someone who receives physical punishment and torture from a top, the inflictor of said pain. Now, with me, she was more of a sub (submissive) to my being a dom (dominant). The difference here is that there is more mental “play” and she is expected to struggle and fight back. When I asked about safety words she said that they are used more by “soft-core players”, apparently I fit into her category of “hardcore” and we would gauge the levels by feeling and unspoken body communication. She told me, I was able to bring her into “sub-space”, which is sort of like BDSM nirvana where you are able to completely lose mental consciousness of your body and surroundings in a trance like state. She was very complimentary in general, so I dunno if I was actually that good, but I sort of understood the concept. As a boxer you never really get into the fight until somebody tries to take your head off. In that moment, you experience this rush and it’s like: Okay, now we’re fightin’. And somehow you inexplicably love it, like some kind of blood lust. Blood is a big no no at parties though, and they are highly exclusive and private. She was one of the younger hardcore players on the scene and therefore a highly sought after playmate. I was even planning on attending an event with her, with a few stipulations of course, but we never really saw each other again. I was nervous for a while, thinking I had poisoned my sexual preference, but have since proven this not to be the case. Although… I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t think about it from time to time.

photo©Christian Torres

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