The chill of Austria’s winter was a fitting prelude to the week that lay ahead. I had been invited, at his expense, for an exploration of his love for ice hockey, woven into sessions that would challenge and fulfill in ways only the ice could understand. Before diving into the depths of our shared journey, we met in a space that was both familiar and neutral: his local rink.
The ice was our icebreaker, quite literally. He had zero experience of kink. He wanted me to take it all very slowly over the full week experience that he had booked.
Clad in everyday clothing, we skated together, the cold air a sharp contrast to the warmth we’d soon share. Over the laughter and the sound of steel blades on ice, we discussed our approach, his desires, his limits, and where he stood with this unique form of play. It was an opening dialogue, an hour on the ice that set the tone for what was to come. After our skate, he took me for lunch, our conversation flowing from the personal to the professional, from his games of hockey to the intricacies of the non-sexual BDSM play that he had encountered in the past. Dinner followed, the night a tapestry of anticipation, all paid for by him, sealing our connection in a social context before the sessions began.
The next day, the suite was a stark contrast to the cold world outside, warm yet with an aura of the rink. I wore my full hockey protective gear, minus the jersey and socks, a homage to the sport we both revered. The pads, the helmet, the gloves – all were a tactile memory of the ice.
He knelt, his eyes covered by a blindfold of duct tape, his world reduced to touch and sound. The feel of the hockey pads against his skin was his first introduction to this week’s theme. I guided him, my voice a coach’s command, through basic positions, letting him feel the contours of the gear, the hard shell, the soft padding underneath. His breath quickened with each touch, the mental image of the hockey player taking shape in his mind. We paused for lunch, discussing his reactions, his feelings, ensuring the journey was consensual and fulfilling.
By the third day, his trust had deepened. I introduced a hood, crafted from canvas, pulling it over his head, sealing him in darkness. His sensory world now focused on the texture of the gear, the sound of my movements, the metallic clink of my equipment. I used the stick, not for play but as an extension of my presence, tapping it against the floor, a rhythm to match his heartbeat.
I guided him through more complex movements, simulating drills, the stick occasionally brushing against him, a reminder of the game, of the control I wielded. His body responded, the silence of his hooded world amplifying the sensation of the gear against him. We shared dinner, discussing the session’s impact, allowing for reflection and adjustment.
The fourth day was an escalation, introducing bondage elements, tying him with ropes in binding patterns inspired by the laces of hockey skates, intricate and tight. The hood remained, but now his mouth was filled with a gag, a mute whistle, symbolising the quiet moments on the ice.
In this state, I began a more intense scene, using my hockey stick not for a game but as an implement of discipline. The stick’s contact was deliberate, measured, each strike a lesson in endurance, in submission to the sport’s physical demands. His reactions were guided by the stick, my commands unspoken, known only through the impact of the flexible carbon composite against flesh. Aftercare was thorough, over a shared lunch, ensuring his comfort and understanding of the experience.
The final day was the climax of our week. I bound him with ropes again, of course. The hood was back too, but now with industrial noise cancelling headphones, his world further narrowed to touch alone. The session was intense, the stick’s use more pronounced, each strike a testament to his ability to endure, to submit to the physicality of our shared passion.
We concluded with a dinner where we reflected on the journey, the progression, the trust built, and the boundaries explored. Here, we celebrated not just the physical intensity but the emotional and psychological journey we had undertaken together.
The experience in Austria was more than sessions; it was an exploration of identity, of passion turned into art. He left with not just the temporary physical marks of our encounters but with memories of the ice, of the connection we’d forged. This week was a testament to the power of combining passion with profession, of understanding one’s desires in the most unexpected of settings.
