I'm writing this exorbitantly long review having just recently reassembled the strewn bits of me left after seeing Kris Clark for the first time. While many a glowing word has been written about Kris by others, I'm about to reveal a dark side to her few others have been privileged (or foolhardy) enough to witness.
Let me explain.
I met Kris Thursday afternoon after a few weeks of intriguing dialogue over webcam and e-mail. While she was making nice with others in chat, I subtly brought up a recurring interest of mine, domination sessions. My ulterior interest was exploring whether she had a dark side, and, if she did, whether she was interested in letting it loose on me.
To my surprise, she was was receptive to the prospect. Her eyes alighted with mischief when I brought it up. This led to a series of PMs and e-mail exchanges that steadily ramped up in intensity. I found that this sweet, lovely, honey-kissed blonde sugar cube had a sadistic side every bit as fervent as my masochism. Naturally, this had to be explored, culminating in a (quite literal) knockout session from which I'm still recovering.
It started innocently enough.
Every session day is different. With this one, I came to her hotel rather relaxed, neither hyping up nor ramping down my expectations. Even the usual pre-session nervous sweat was gone, replaced instead by the sweat from a rather muggy NYC day. Still wiping it from my brow, I knocked on Kris' door and she ushered me in politely.
The first thing that stood out was her beaming and demure charm. She's so lovely and gracious that for a moment I was temporarily disarmed, like a goofy schoolboy in the presence of a hot teacher. It only took another second before I took a more thorough look at what was facing me. Her tanned physique, framed in frilly black lace, was as silky in complexion as it was stacked with slabs of marble-like muscle.
But that pretty much finished my time to stand and admire.
From the moment she began to peel off my shirt, she was completely in control.
She started by popping her phenomenally peaked biceps in my face, as both objects of my admiration and as warning. They leaped majestically on her arm, almost defying my worship with sheer volume. She reveled in it, taunting my awed expression at her complete physical superiority. Content with my docile demeanor, she spun me around and quickly forced a collar around my neck.
Duly restrained, I was introduced to Kris' pecs, more specifically, her pec smother. Unreal. Her chest was as solid as rock, yet bedecked with skin as soft as a baby's bottom. Best of all, she was all natural. Such a treasure needs no enhancement. She devoured my head with a muffling squeeze. It's such a deceptively simple maneuver that it looks fake when you see some schmoe squirming and flailing when it's applied in videos. Up close, however, my nose was scrunched against a wall, feeling close to cracking into pieces. With no chance to breath, I had to open my mouth. But the squeezing continued. When she was finished, I could see impressions of my teeth molded into her skin. I apologized profusely, fearful of wicked retribution. Her casual response said it all, "Does it seem like I mind?". What an Iron Woman!
I reeled and stammered after her pec thrust when, suddenly, WHAP WHAP WHAP! Three of four heavy cuffs to the face. She pressed up against me menacingly, daring me to look her in the eye. She started to terrorize me, like a lurking predator, stalking up against me and giving me a verbal taste of what was to come. THUD THUD THUD, a few more shots, this time with iron fists to the gut. HOLY SHIT! I knew I was in for it, just I had hoped she would bring it. Yet I would soon begin to question my decision making.
From her walloping thuds, I was shoved down to the base of the bed with efficient strength. Just as my knees touched down on the carpet, she trapped me into a restraining scissors, clawing at my shorts to pull them down. I dutifully finished the job of stripping myself, still trapped in her legs. No sooner was I naked did she tease my ass with a few spanking slaps to my bare bottom. Damn, does she hit hard!
But what came next made her slaps seem like a picnic by comparison.
She settled behind me and clamped a fierce headlock/choke hold around my neck. The pressure was instant and devastating. I tried to resist, then conserve myself and my shallow breaths. I could feel myself fading.
The funny thing about being on the brink of passing out is how you almost feel a sense of settling in, enduring the torture and getting used to it. The next thing you know, you're daydreaming about being in bed with the TV on, wondering who's trying to wake you up by slapping you hard in the ass. I came to facedown on the mattress, stunned and disoriented, and fearful that there was still a long way to go.
What ensued was a painful, precise, and, for Kris at least, very pleasurable lesson in pain.
She worked me over with nipple torture the likes of which I'd never felt (I swore she would sever them, as tightly as she trapped and pulled them), several more series of face slaps and gut punches, headlocks that I feared would clean crush my windpipe, and mangling leg scissors between her solid tanned pillars.
It was with one of those scissors that she trapped me once more, this time with my knees on the carpet and her back plushly reclined on the mattress. The disparity in our comfort couldn't be more obvious at this moment, yet there was still a lot for me to enjoy. I buried my face deep in her abs, licking and kissing her smooth, sweat-glistened skin while marveling at her underlying firmness. Her nipples poked up high above her thick pecs -- My God, her pecs! I lurched up to worship her nipples, then back down to pay homage to her abs. As I ventured down further to reach the tops of her thighs, she nimbly raised her legs and slipped off her lacy thong. It was time for me to get to work. And if there was any residual doubt, she punctuated her growling threats to pleasure her with a few extra bolts to my skull.
After she got off, I thought I was in the clear, only to feel her head popping power even more in the afterglow. Shit! I thought she might go raving mad after climax and really hammer me. Luckily, she let me loose. But I was not in the clear by any stretch.
She continued her scissor torture, mercilessly grinding away at my resistance until I was grunting so loud that I must've been heard throughout the floor. Kris was endlessly amused by my suffering. She followed up one grinding set with another, trading her scissors for series of headlock chokes.
By this time, my resistance was waning. Any hold around my head and neck was a matter of life and death. I flailed and flopped like a beached fish at low tide, gurgling my pleas for her to ease up. With phlegm bubbling up, it felt like drowning. Gone was any thought of easing into the hold and gently being rocked asleep. My life was literally in her arms.
In my 10 years of sessions, with all of the ladies I've been lucky enough to meet, I've only been truly scared of a few ladies' dangerous devices: Brigita's headlocks, Jana's nipple torture, Hot Legs Holly's scissors, and Alina's pec smothers (and overall gleeful sadism). What I never imagined was having all of those aspects present in one woman. As dazzling as Kris is to see, to meet, to speak to, make no mistake. She can be near lethal if you ask her to abandon her inhibitions and go wild on you. I did, and I paid a sore price for the exhilaration.
Just to give you an idea of how brutally she worked me over, towards the lingering final minutes of our unrushed dalliance, she dragged me to the mattress, rose imperiously above me (a sight to behold naked and flexing), and tried to finish me with a HJ. But after over an hour of being smacked, crushed, punched, squeezed, bullied and knocked out, sadly, my poor brain didn't have a molecule of oxygen left to spare for my other head. The only let down, and only because I was too wasted to do anything but recapture my wind.
Having never witnessed or experienced some of the legendary session women and their notorious attributes -- Karla Nelson and her squeezes, the punching power of Sondra Faas, or Gabrielle Hames' naked aggression -- I feel as though I received the next best of everything while suffering under what Kris laid on me. The only thing we didn't do was wrestle, though I imagine if I had asked for that, she would've woman-handled me that way all the same.
Kris deserves nothing but the highest of accolades.
Not just because she seized my nuts and twisted them until, again, I was begging and pleading with her. Nor because of the finishing touch she applied to my carotids with but two pinching fingers, sending me out a second time before she brought me back to a warm smile. And not because of the finishing pec smother after I was worn beyond the nub, when I had no other choice but to desperately rise from my knees to break the hold, much to her glowering disappointment.
Instead, she deserves all praises already given and further due to her because she can be all things: the kindest, sweetest woman you could ever hope to meet, and the most vicious, tyrannical domina you could conjure from your vivid, lurid imaginings. She's can be as soft and sultry, or as hard and unyielding as you desire. Her kiss is pure bliss, yet she can slap you and whup your ass to kingdom come. You get the picture.
Between Kris and my first ever session, with Blonde Isabelle almost a decade ago, the best sessions I've ever had.