Posing for K so he can decide what I’m to wear tonight at our first play party together. Excited/nervous!
The Kink of the Week is “Breasts,” and of course today is Friday so it’s Boobday! I thought about taking the easy way out, and just posting a pictire of my tiny-but-powerful titties, but…well…I actually have some words about them. I know – surprise! right? But first, okay, since you asked so nicely…
I recently watched the video of myself that this clip came from. It was hot, and weird, and sexy, and uncomfortable watching myself do lewd things on video. I’ve got lots of images, and I’ve made more than a couple Marco Polos, but there’s not a whole hell of a lot of video of me doing nasty things out there, and less often do I watch them myself. The topic of this video – and the way it came about – was particularly kinky, and something I haven’t yet decided to share. But what I did want to share was this image of my breasts.
I’ve always loved my nipples. Perky, delightfully-shaped, delicate in color and oh-so-sensitive – I am a fan of them, as are and have been most of my lovers, once they discover their secret. And sometimes even if they don’t.
My breasts, on the other hand…
I’m not a hater of tiny titties. I have loved quite a few in my days as a lover-of-women. And there are times when I see them and think, okay, they are kinda cute. I love having them manhandled, mashed and pulled and squeezed and pinched. I like them bound and clothespinned, tied in rope and cropped with canes. I’ve enjoyed having them flogged and whipped with a singletail and splattered with hot wax. I’m not a huge fan of having them bit or slapped, though truth-to-tell even that I enjoy if only for the perverse joy in taking it for my Top. But all that is mostly enjoying them for what they can do, or have done to them. I don’t often look at them and think, “Wow, pretty!”
They are a little lopsided. They aren’t quite round, and they aren’t really much of a handful. They don’t spill out of my tops or fill out my bras; I’m not exactly a candidate for giving a good tittie fucking. Sometimes – especially when I see others’ beautiful breasts in all their full, rounded, luscious glory – I feel…less-than. Found lacking; unfeminine. Not always – it’s not like I dwell on it. But sometimes.
But then, as I did the other day when made to watch the video above, I see them as beautiful. So sexy and so female that I was mesmerized for a moment, as though I was watching someone else. They bounced and jiggled so delightfully, I loved the creamy tecture of their skin, and that smattering of freckles – wow, they are beautiful.
They may not be “perfect,” but that’s okay. I’m a fan. How about you?
I am sitting here in my dining room where I like to blog, cozy jammies and fuzzy llama socks on, a bowl of Lucky Charms in front of me, avoiding my office for the moment because it feels like I need some aftercare. Strange since I am alone. LOL
I have just had the most mind-blowing orgasms. (Edit: this “mind-blowing orgasms” thing will become a theme.) Three of them. In the middle of the day. In the middle of a work day.
Okay, I was technically on lunch, clocked-out, not on company time. But still.
Those of you that have been around here for awhile might recall my Work from Home Days with W. Days spent working at his house, often in chains or bondage of some sort, always in high heels, frequently in some sort of predicament. If I recall, WFH was usually just one day a week then. It gradually increased until I was WFH full-time for the last year I was at my previous job; when I moved to this job there was no WFH time, and I sorely missed it. Then W died, and even though I went full-time remote at the beginning of the pandemic, I had no one to play those kinds of games with me. Well, I won’t say it never happened…there was a short, intense period with V where we played with each other over text and Messenger during work hours, but (now that I think of it) that was almost never when I was WFH.
Seriously – I love having my Dom insert himself into my work days. I think that might have been a primary reason that I wanted to WFH at least one day a week way back when. And now – most magical of magical things – I have a Dominant who likes playing with me when I am WFH as much as I enjoy being played with! Our play is much more of the remote/instructions variety, as I don’t work with him or in his home like I did with W. But it’s no less exciting, and it’s just as often a day-long “scene,” even if he isn’t right here.
He feels “right here.” Oftentimes he is with his voice. Or I am there with pictures or video. Most times it is with instructions that he gives me and that I strive to obey to the letter.
Occasionally it is a small, directed act of correction.
But more often it is a set of instructions that build upon one another.
This last was supposed to be our first play-at-the-office-play date, although at the time I didn’t know it. We’d played for the first time in my basement that night, and I was high and hazy from that, and the next morning all I knew were his instructions. So – although I got up late and realized I wouldn’t make it into the office, I still dressed as he had instructed.
This may have resulted in my panties behing on the desktop while I had one after the other unscheduled Zoom calls.
I’m up at 5 a.m. because I realized, late late last night, that I haven’t written or posted anything since…Sunday? I’d say I’m just crazy busy (and I am!) but it’s not entirely that. I had time last night when I could have sat myself down and written something. And I have a lot of somethings to write about! But I get distracted, or veg in front of the TV wih Adam instead (that happened last night.) And no writing gets done.
That’s lack of self-discipline.
I have spent the last three weekends with K. Adam has been a part of that time off and on too, dinners and hanging out, but a lot of that time K and I have been pretty focused on each other. Which is good and normal, especially in a newly-minted relationship, but which can lead to some pretty intense NRE and even some droppy feelings when we aren’t together. I wrestled with that last week even as I looked forward to our weekend away, and now I am dealing with it as I resume my (normal for now) life of needing to do things to help out my parents, and he does his normal social stuff. I don’t actually want to spend every minute of every day/night with him (okay there is part of my brain that says, “yes! every minute!” but that’s a result of the chemical soup my brain is simmering in – lol.) But I definitely have a healthy dose of FOMO, especially when he spends time with mutual acquaintances who have maybe not yet seen us as a “couple.” Now that we have acknowledged that – couplehood, and a formal D/s dynamic – to ourselves/each other, I want others to know too. I’m sure most of that can be attributed to some weird leftover biological/societal programming, and I need to resist it, but… *shrug*. It is what it is.
All this is mostly by way of musing…figuring out the why’s of my head. Yeah, navel-gazing, more-or-less. But it’s what I do. I think he might have said, “Don’t overthink things,” at some point this last weekend. And I just cocked my head and thought (or maybe said) “Do you know me?” lol This is the woman that has taken the art of thinking out loud, of at-times overthinking out loud, to the nth degree, having been doing so here and in my various other internet spaces fairly faithfully for over 20 years. Hah.
But seriously. It’s all really really good. Being “out” with his friends will come. Being together at social functions will come too, though I will have to make myself not throw myself into all the activities he takes part in, as he is far more social than I am. I need to set boundaries for myself and honor my need for space away from other hoomans to recharge. Otherwise I will burn out eventually. And don’t no one want a burnt-out Jade.
On the flip side of that, however, is the reality of coming out of the past two years, and finding a need to be more social, to reestablish friendships and more-ships, to make up for lost time. I really took to hermitting pretty hard, and for awhile I thought that would be the way it would always be from now on, but the recent forays I have made into being a social creature again – hiking, bowling, game nights and play parties, going out and about in the world again – have been really positive, and not left me drained and feeling depleted.
I think balance is the key. Now I just have to figure out where that balance is, what it looks like in a post-pandemic world for me.
Gah. Here I have blathered on and on without sharing any of the fun juicy stuff, even though (judging by the title of the post) that was what I had intended to write about originally! Apparently my head had other words to get out first. I’m going to wrap up here for now, and maybe try to get to the fun stuff the rest of this week. ;-)
There is a story behind this (as there always is.) Hopefully I’ll find time to share with you soon.
See who else is Sinful this Sunday by clicking the link below.
So here’s the crux of it: I am too full of…all the thoughts, all the feels, all the everything…to compose a blog post coherently.
I’ve got a lot to say. OMG so much in my head. But I need to parse it. Need to ponder, need to let it simmer and marinade and stew a bit. Let the words settle in my head before I can put them to paper.
All good things. So many good things.
But right now? Right now I just want to savor this moment. Be in the moment, be present for it.
I know, it’s a cop out. But I’m okay with that.
Being poly/having multiple partners – if one doesn’t live with both/all – is (often) a game of anticipation. It can be both sweet and, while maybe not bitter, at least frustrating: a delicious ache of longing for the one(s) you aren’t with, even as you enjoy the time you are spending with the one(s) you are with. I’ve balanced on the edge of these seemingly disparate emotions for most of my adult romantic life (wow, it seems weird to even think that, but it’s true, I have been poly now longer than I was mono.) And I have managed them in a myriad of ways, sometimes effectively, sometimes not so much. Being in the present and enjoying the company of one partner and yet savoring the thought that I will soon be in my other’s presence = good; too much alcohol and too much pining, not appreciating what I have right in front of me = not so good.
In my two longest relationships of this type (both with Ad as one of my partners), these feelings manifested themselves differently and elicited different actions/interactions accordingly. I believe a lot of that had to do with how secure I felt in the relationships themselves. I almost always felt secure in my relationship with W; I seldom – even in the very beginning – felt that kind of security with V. Part of that could be the fact that V had a partner, and interactions with her – both mine and his – informed my anxieties and insecurities. The fact that he (V) was also prone to anxieties and insecruities, and his way of interacting with the world (and me) often fomented same, really exacerbated the situation. These aren’t excuses for my at-times poor behavior, but they are reasons that influenced my ability to cope with grace and an even temperment, or even to view our time apart as anything other than a misery.
It is too soon to know how our by-neccessity separations are going to play out in the long run in my new relationship. Right now it’s an ache hightened by the excitement of knowing we’ll be together over the weekend, and punctuated by remote playtime, texting off and on, and a good deal of flirting. It seems to be a healthy – and at times heady – mix. Not too overwhelming, but not so little that I begin to fret. Also, even when he is with another partner, I don’t feel…forgotten or neglected. He’s good at finding the right balance there – not catering to my sometimes-insecure side, while gently reminding me that I am important to him.
Falling down rabbit holes – especially these days – usually consists of discovering and or exploring something new, something wicked and fun, or maybe something – what were the words I used this morning? Oh yeah: craven and lascivious. The one I fell down just now wasn’t either of those things, though. Even if I was perusing Fetlife.
I haven’t spent a lot of time on Fet since W died, because it was just too hard to see our images, to see that beloved face. These days – almost 10 years on – I can look at most of the images I have there, images that span the entirety of my relationship with W, without pain. I don’t feel the hitch in my heart; I just feel…grateful that in my deepest grief I didn’t delete them all.
It was a close thing.
Lately when I do get on Fet I am on to check out the Events section, to see what’s happening where. I was on today because I wanted to doublecheck the date for a play party. Instead what I stumbled on, what sent me down a rabbit hole of reading, pondering, spiraling a little and reading some more, was someone’s post on Fet. Someone I didn’t know writing about the death last year of someone I did know, if only peripherally. It was anguished and heartbreaking, the death an accident cutting off a life in its prime. We expect death in the elderly. Even I accepted that W would die long before I did. But that doesn’t make it easier. I felt every word she had written as if they were my own. The sorrow, the denial, the anger. The bite of it has gone, and yes, I can look at pictures again, I can even read some of my writings again, but those other feelings are a part of who I am now.
And yet…where I landed, after all that, was in acceptance. Sad, yes, but that’s okay. I can be sad sometimes and then not-sad.
It’s been a criminally long time since I’ve felt like painting my toenails.
I promised I’d tell the tale of my red bum. Well, my first red bum. There’s since been more bottom-reddening events, much to my immense pleasure, but this is a fun story that I’ve been meaning to share.
So. Let me preface this by admitting that I have the worst memory on the face of the planet, and, as this is now a couple weekends ago, and it seems like a LOT has happened in these last couple of weeks, I may have some of the details wrong. (I’m pretty sure K will tease me about any errors I have made.) ;-) But as I recall, it was a Saturday night, the weekend after K had gotten back from a weeklong trip. He’d stayed over Friday night, and we had reacquainted ourselves with each other until quite late that night, and then had spent the next day together too. I believe it was the Saturday he agreed to go shopping with me and I got patio furniture and we brought it back in his truck and put it together while Ad napped after getting off work… though I could be confusing it with a different Saturday.
Ad had worked until 2:30 that day, and though I hadn’t planned it originally, I ended up asking them if we could all do dinner together and go see the new Top Gun movie. We wound up at a local bar & grill that Ad and I like, and, as is our habit, Ad and I brought along a bar game to play while we waited for dinner to arrive. We usually play cribbage, but since there were three of us, we brought Pass the Pigs instead.
Pass the Pigs is a simple enough game where you roll two “pigs” to earn points, and the first one to 100 wins. But, to make it more interesting, I suggested we play for whacks – specifically, whacks on my butt – based on how many points I won or lost by.
Either way, I was a winner.
This is where the details get hazy. I think it was decided that whatever amount of points they each won by would be added up, and that was how many whacks I would receive with whichever implement they chose. There was some other magic formula (I believe) if I won, but I don’t recall how exactly that was supposed to work. I think I lost, anyway.
As Ad always does, he decided to have the math-challenged girl keep score – that scrap of paper up there is where I did the “whack totals” after the game. Grand total: 119 whacks. But the math wasn’t over yet. Because there were two of them I had to halve the total, to equal 59 1/2 whacks each. And naturally I had to keep track while they were smacking me – Ad with a wooden spoon, K with a rattan cane.
I thought I was clever and putting one over on them by keeping track in twenties – counting 1-20 and then keeping track on my fingers how many twenties I counted so that I didn’t have to count clear to 119, which can be a challenge when endorphins hit. But apparently even in that I wasn’t clever enough – K said afterward that I had forgotten or missed a whole set, and so ended up with 139. Or so. And then there was also something about counting the half twice…
Or something. I’m still not entirely clear on that.
It was all very confusing and hilarious and great fun. We laughed and I squealed and wriggled and yelped and tried to keep count, and, in the end, ended up with that lovely red bottom.
Viva la pig-passing-counting-games!