Figging Hell?

Recently I mentioned figging on an online forum, and I have been besieged by questions about it.  The context of my mentioning it was a question posed asking what I’d found unexpectedly enjoyable.  I never expected to enjoy figging but in reality I loved it.

If you Google figging it sounds like the least enjoyable experience imaginable: “Figging is the practice of inserting a piece of skinned ginger root into the human anus or the vagina in order to generate an acute burning sensation.  Historically this was a method of punishment, but has since been adopted as a practice of BDSM”, Wikipedia.  Doesn’t sound all that enjoyable I guess.

C was only on Alt occasionally, but we happened to meet on IM and we got chatting not long after I’d joined.  I was still exploring but was ready for instruction, and I liked the security of phone call/IM play – if I felt uncomfortable with anything it would be the work of an instant to hang up or exit the chat.

We’d spoken a couple of times when we made a “date” to play together on IM over a weekend.  He asked me to log in at midday on Saturday, but asked me to prepare myself first.  In hindsight, it strikes me that I was preparing my body exactly as I would if I was meeting a new lover.  My vulva was to be waxed smooth, legs freshly epilated, underarms shaved smooth.  My body was to be bathed and every inch of skin was to be moisturised.  I was to give myself a facial, a manicure, a pedicure, to use a hair mask.  I was to apply my makeup and style my hair, to be perfumed and groomed, then I was to dress in my nicest set of underwear (not sexiest or sluttiest, he specified nicest and left it to me to interpret that).

I chose my favourite set of underwear, a matching bra and knicker set in electric blue silk with a black lace overlay, a black suspender belt and sheer black stockings.  He asked about heels, but I didn’t have any as I don’t wear them, so I was to be shoeless.  It took me the whole morning to get ready, but the whole time I was becoming more and more aroused at the thought of preparing my body for him.

At noon, I logged on, feeling more sexually powerful than I ever had before and very aware of my body and how it felt.  C thanked me for being on time, but in truth, it hadn’t occurred to me to be otherwise, it wasn’t a conscious thing.  He asked me to list all the toys I had.  Over the previous twelve months I’d built quite a collection, and the feeling of pride in my sexual awakening was battling a feeling of embarrassment.  I’d never really taken stock of my collection in quite that way, listing wands and rabbits and dildos and buttplugs, latex and rubber and glass and steel, restraints and estim kits, ropes and whips.  I have disposable income and live alone – I’ve no need to be discreet and can afford to indulge my curiosity when it comes to toys.

He asked me to insert a remote-control egg and put it onto its lowest setting, then stand with my legs just slightly more than shoulder-width apart, my hands behind my head.  He told me to close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing for three minutes, focusing on the sensations as they passed through my body, then report back to him how I felt, how my body felt, how I felt emotionally.  He teased me like that for over an hour, having me stand in different positions and focus, then report back to him each time on the sensations and my feelings.

Eventually C told me to remove my knickers and bra.  The knickers were soaked, and I wasn’t sure whether to be proud or embarrassed.  He asked me to tie them round my mouth as a gag, so I could smell the scent of my sex.  I expected that to feel awkward, but it felt delicious, and I told him so.  I could taste myself, and that aroused me even more.

He had asked me to gather some things together and have them ready; strange things, whose purpose I didn’t see.  Chilli paste, a peeled finger of ginger, chocolate, leather gloves, clothes pegs, an odd mixture.  I had them at the side of the bed, but I didn’t see why.  When he asked me to take a dab of the chilli paste and stroke it around the rim of my anus, I did so, before following his instruction to work it all the way across my labia to my clit.  The thudding, deep, intense heat almost made me climax then and there. He then told me to insert the ginger into my anus.  It stung with a much sharper heat than the chilli, and was even more intense due to my rim already being tender from the chilli.  The whole time he was asking about the sensations, taking careful note of my responses, looking for any signs of hesitation.  It didn’t occur to me to hesitate - as long as it continued to feel good I would follow in trust.

My instinct was to clench against the sting in my anus, but that just made it worse.  The sharpness of the heat felt so good I was just getting hotter and wetter against the egg the whole time.  When he’d worked me into a frenzy he allowed me to lie on the bed and remove the ginger.  He asked me to smear chilli onto the head of the smallest full-size vibrator I have, and then push it into my lubricated anus.  The deep, slow burn after the sting of the ginger felt fabulous, and it wasn’t long before I was shaking.

He told me to place my suction cups onto my nipples, as tight as they would go.  By now we’d been playing for over three hours, and I was shaking with need and desperate for my climax but just couldn’t quite tip myself over the edge.  When we discussed this he told me to smear chilli onto my favourite vibrator and push it into my pussy, pushing the love egg further into me, feeling the sensation of the three different vibrations inside me, the egg and the vibrator in my pussy and the vibrator in my arse.

Once my vagina was hot from the chilli he told me to remove the egg and push the vibrator deep inside me.  It is a rabbit type, and as soon as the clit piece touched I started to orgasm and couldn’t stop.  It was the most intense orgasm I can ever remember even now, and I couldn’t come down from it.  I was still climaxing ten minutes later, rolling round the bed, writhing and jerking, crying from the intensity.

When I was quivering, spent and wrecked, C had me remove the knicker-gag, both vibrators and the suction cups, drink some water, eat some chocolate and report back to him.  We replayed the entire session, discussing what I’d enjoyed, what my favourite bits were, what didn’t work quite so well.  Replaying the whole thing, remembering the intensity of it, looking at it almost as an outsider, thinking how I would have appeared to anyone who saw, I began to become aroused again.  My arousal was astonishing, unbelievable to me after so many hours spent working myself, and I was ridiculously proud of it.  C asked me to climax one more time for him, and I worked the vibrator frantically until I did.  The orgasm felt so pleasurable yet painful; I couldn’t distinguish between the pain and the pleasure.  My muscles were aching, my entire pubic area was burning, my nipples were obscenely swollen and hard, so sensitive from the suction.  By then it was 6pm, and we’d been playing since noon.  The sheets were a mess of my juices, sweat, chilli and ginger.  He asked me to send him pictures of the soiled bedding, which I did.

In all the times we played C never once asked for photos of me.  He would ask for photos that showed how I’d obeyed him – torn knickers, soiled bedding, a discarded wax cast of my breasts, vibrators wet with my cream, but he never once asked for anything that felt too personal.  Intimate, yes, but not personal – a paradox.

He asked me to meet him again on the Sunday at 6pm, and again, gave me very specific instructions.  I was allowed to wash the sheets, but wasn’t to shower until Sunday morning.  I was to sleep as I was, smelling of my sex, waking up aroused at the smell, still covered in my juices and feeling well-used, and I wasn’t to masturbate until we spoke on the Sunday.

I didn’t consider it a particularly submissive session, as he didn’t ask me to do anything I was uncomfortable doing, but every time he told me to do something I obeyed.  Despite the intensity of the session there was a friendliness and a humour that was reassuring.

By the time 6pm arrived I was horny as hell, acutely aware of my sex and my clit, my nipples and a multitude of erogenous zones I didn’t even know I had.  I found myself desperate to work something against my clit, get myself off somehow, hot as a bitch on heat.  This time he called me so he could hear me, and his voice on speaker could guide me.

Once again he had me gather some odd stuff together; an exfoliating glove, a sprig of fake holly from my Christmas decorations, the same tube of chilli and a fresh peeled finger of ginger, then he had me kneel on the bed, spine straight, thighs wide apart, feeling the vulnerability of having my most intimate areas so exposed.  My thighs were aching from day before and started protesting straight away but I obeyed.

He told me to apply one suction cup to my clit, tight to the point of pain, and the other he told me to apply to my right nipple, then to bind my left breast tight with scotch tape.  He told me to stroke my entire body except for my vulva with the exfoliating glove, describing every tremor of sensation the entire time, for what felt like an eternity but in reality was ten minutes.  Although I really wanted to push fingers into my wetness and bring myself to orgasm, I knew I wasn't allowed until C told me to, so I resisted.

C then made me stroke my skin with the plastic holly, paying particular attention to my collar bone and the rim of my arse.  The prickles were a torment where my rim was so tender from Saturday’s figging, but when C asked if I could carry on I said yes, so he had me continue for another ten minutes, until my skin felt hypersensitive.

All the while I was describing every flinch, every twitch, for his enjoyment.

When my skin was too sensitive for me to continue C had me stroke my inner thighs with the holly, not touching my genitals for ten minutes, before moving back to my rim when it had had a chance to settle slightly.

By now my thighs were screaming from holding a stress position for hours, muscles twitching, sweat beading with effort of holding myself still.  When I told C of the discomfort he had me smear the head of my vibrator with chilli and lube, then he told me to position it between my feet and to sit back on it, turned to low. The slow burn of the chilli in my anus faded next to the pain of my thighs.  Sitting back just made my thigh muscles even more painful, until they started to cramp.

C said his original plan was to have me sit on the vibrator for fifteen minutes, but given my level of discomfort he allowed me to drop to my hands and knees.  The immediate relief in my thigh muscles almost made me orgasm; the relief after the pain felt so very good.

By now we’d once again been playing for hours; I was desperate to climax and told C how badly I needed release.  He told me he would allow me to use my preferred rabbit, as long as I was careful not to dislodge the suction cup that was still making my clit swollen and tender.

C told me to follow the next set of instructions absolutely, to even the smallest of details.  Firstly I was to pull off the tape binding left breast, then pull off the suction cup on my right nipple.  Pull, not ease, tug it off, then do the same with the cup on my clit - just pull it straight off.  The combination of the tugging sensation and the cool air touching my engorged and sensitive flesh was so intense I almost collapsed, but I was ordered to keep my position.  Only then could I fully insert the rabbit. 

My clit was so swollen and so madly sensitive from the suction that as soon as the rabbit’s ears touched it I started to orgasm.  I didn't know whether I was feeling pleasure or pain, but the sensation was so intense that for the first time in my life I screamed during orgasm.

Although I could barely breathe I couldn't control it, couldn't stop it.  After 8 or 9 minutes of constant climax the anal vibrator worked its way out.  I couldn't stop to reinsert it as wave after wave of orgasm wracked my body, I just kept on climaxing until I collapsed in a twitching, whimpering heap, unable to move, just lying helpless as the sensations washed through me.

I felt used up, worn out.  It was 11pm and C made me talk to him for another hour, describing sensations, emotions, discussing what worked well and what didn't.

I never physically met C.  We lived on different continents, in a time before skype calls on smartphones.  The closest we came was phone call and instant messenger.  Nevertheless he was a vital part of my exploration, and we continued to play on and off until I received my cancer diagnosis in 2011.  I’ve never bothered with figging since those days with C, but it was huge fun and I think of the whole experience with great fondness.