Un-Brattied

I was a brat Saturday night. Well, Saturday day, too, leading into the Saturday night play party. Where, quite effectively, I was un-brattied.

I’ve talked about the fact that we don’t have a punishment dynamic. When W or Ad want to hurt me, they do, in whatever way suits them, whether I have been “good,” “bad,” or indifferent. In fact neither of them places parental-type judgment on my behavior, for which I am eternally grateful. To me, being submissive doesn’t equal being a child; my Top or Dominant is not a parent figure.

And yet, I do enjoy the kind of teasing, poking “brat play” meant to provoke a bit, and both of the guys seem to enjoy it as well. Granted, it is a playstyle I use with Ad more frequently, as that tends to be our “default” dynamic, but, especially when Ad is around, it tends to bleed over into my dynamic with W as well.

The interesting thing is that although this sort of behavior inspires playfulness in them both, the results (in me) are startlingly different.

This:

is very much more likely to be the end result of bratting Ad: laughter, silliness, more sassing, a mock-subduing of me, with the occasional hard smack for emphasis.  Ad plays with me, teases me back, instigates further attitude from me.

This:

is more likely to be the result of me bratting W: a subdued, compliant, oftentimes immobilized and usually gagged, Jade.  Because, while W seems to enjoy my sassiness, he also enjoys un-sassying me.  He enjoys dominating me, by force of hand or rope or implement.  He is much more likely to find a way to force my compliance and take the sass right out of me.

Emotionally, the space is totally different as well. With Ad I get uppity, I strut and taunt, although, eventually, I am worn out and finally quiet. With W, he puts me right into submissive mode, demanding my submission, breaking down the brat-girl facade until I am stripped, bare, beneath him.

I love the teasing and play, but I crave the submission. I crave that place that W takes me to.

On Saturday night, I was with them both–also an interesting dynamic. I’d been pushing and instigating Ad all day, which carried into that night at W’s before the party, and then into the party itself.  Nothing disrespectful, just the usual Jade-Brat.  I even had a necklace (which Ad ordered me to make & wear) that said, “BRAT.”

I did my usual social butterfly thing for awhile, catching up with friends, teasing, flirting, making the rounds.  The usual.  And then, finally, it was time to play.

PLAY PLAY PLAY! Hooray!

They took me up to the frame in front of the crowd of 150 or so people convened in the room.  As they tied me, I continued to tease, to run my mouth a bit, to act up and act out playfully. And I could see W giving me that “considering” look he gives me as I did.

So, back to the crave.  I’ve been craving that space.  I’ve been craving a good, hard, deep scene. Not necessarily a physically brutal scene, although that can certainly take me there, but a scene that takes me down, down, down into myself, into that no-place where I can sink, quiet and still, and let everything else pass me by. The empty place, where nothing exists except the tiniest, most vulnerable bit of myself, and even that bit is so small she barely has a voice.  It’s a space where all I have to do, all I need to, all I can do, is to breathe. Breathe and exist.  In, out. One breath at a time. Existence. Nothing more.

I seldom go that deep at a playparty. In fact, the only times I go there are when W and I are alone, usually. When I can let myself fly free, let myself be open enough and vulnerable enough to find that space. I do find subspace in parties, but this is even deeper than that, and I need to be in a special headspace for it to happen, or be driven there by the force of W’s domination.

So there we were, going along like we do, me not expecting more than some good fun, when it happened.

I have a thing about my mouth.  It is such an incredibly intimate part of the body: open, wet, sensual and sexual, and yet also able to convey all the most intimate thoughts and desires.  Or be used against you. Or be stuffed, or silenced or spread open…

It happened when I pretended to snap at W’s hand as he tied my wrists.  Or maybe I actually bit him (lightly, I’m not stupid.)  I don’t really remember if I actually bit him or not.  What I do remember is W looking into my eyes, and this sort of bemusement in his face. Like, “Is she really doing that?” And then, with a shake of his head, a shake that said, “I’m going to put a stop to this right now,” he went to the bag.

That’s always an anxious moment, when I can’t see what he’s doing. I waited, holding my breath. Suddenly I felt his arms around me, holding me still, and then his hand in my hair, pulling my head sharply back. I expected a ball gag.  What I got was cold, hard metal:

Instead of sealing my mouth, he spread it open, exposing my tongue and teeth and throat.  I was exposed in a way I never had been before to a roomful of people I didn’t know, my mouth open, saliva dripping down my chin.

I was instantly, totally silenced.  And I dropped right down into “that” space, that submissive, quiet, surrendered space so quickly I am surprised the sound wasn’t heard across the room.

They tied me, and hung me, and played with me. And I lived in that floating space, almost unaware of them, but so intensely aware of my mouth, open in a silent scream, that piece of metal opening me up to all those people.  I couldn’t have felt more exposed if I had been laying there naked, legs spread, speculum opening my cunt.

When they brought me down I was stunned, silent, compliant. I don’t recall if we did our usual after-party run to City Diner or not. I can barely recall anything after the gag, in fact, except in pieces, in images: rope on my legs, a crop maybe, a whip, twisting and floating in the bonds that held me.  Saying something to someone else later in the hall, and then, even later, falling into bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep between them.

Completely unbrattied.

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