What Do I Get Out Of This?

So I was asked “What do you get out of this?” in a text conversation recently – “this” being BDSM. It seemed too wide-ranging a topic for a text message, and it’s something I have thought a lot about, before, during and since my relationship and subsequent break-up with V, and then also during my short-lived dynamic with SirQ. Hell it’s something I’ve thought about from the beginning of my explorations into BDSM, because to be able to answer that is to know What I Want, which seems to be the perennial question. If I know what I get out of it, and thus what I want, then I can find, or craft, the perfect relationship(s), right?

Yeah, maybe not. There’s really no such thing as “perfect,” and frankly, things would probably be pretty boring if they were. It’s the journey that matters, after all, not so much the destination. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t value in pondering on the question, in seeking out answers for myself.

Author’s note: I started this post WAY back when, weeks ago while my daughter and I were on vacation together., so some of the time references reflect that.

I wanted to blog on the topic at the beginning of the week, because it kind of fit in with that week’s Kink of the Week (Punishment) and MPB’s Five Questions (Impact Play) but, alas, time got away from me as I spent vacation time with my daughter exploring the Pacific Northwest, and both prompts are now over. I am still there in fact – we just settled into our last AirBnB here on a farm in Damascus (just outside Portland, Oregon) – but I finally have some down time to write, so, regardless of prompts, I’m going to set myself to answering the burning question: What do I get out of this?

There are many so different aspects of WIITWD (What It Is That We Do) that appeal to me, all in different ways. Here are a few.

Impact / Pain Play
So, yeah, there is definitely a headspace that goes along with impact and pain play: feeling small, feeling overpowered, feeling overwhelmed. I like the feeling of being beaten down, into a small, helpless ball, a puddle at my Top’s feet, with absolutely nothing in my mind but him (or her.) There are times I crave that, to be in that abject physical space, to be panting and gulping and shaking, dreading the next strike, and so relieved when it doesn’t come…only to be disappointed that it hasn’t come in the next instant. I want it, I don’t want it, I crave it, I’m afraid of it. I want to be reduced to that puddle of goo that can’t form a thought – even as I fear it and fight it. I want to be pushed into that space, driven there by someone more powerful than me. Someone in control that isn’t me – to have no choice but to endure.

But there are also the times that not feeling overwhelmed is the object – when I want to know that the person inflicting pain on me is so in-tune with me that they know exactly where my edge is, how far and how long to push, until I reach the exact state of almost-but-not-quite overwhelm, and pull me back from the brink and into their arms to feel safe and cared for once again. It’s a question, it’s a test – do they really know me? Do they really know when I am not going to act in my own best interests, and push myself to take more more more? Because it is also a challenge I set myself. Can I take it? Will I take it?

Then there is that other headspace, the one that is about submission, that is all about him (or her) and what they want. Will they do exactly what they desire? Do they desire it? Is this just to please me, or do they truly get off on it? Because that is so damn important to me – that it’s not just because I want it. And that ties back to the previous – because if I know they want it – and if I am feeling truly submissive to them – the more I want to please them – the more I will take, the more I want to take. The more I will push myself to take. So they have to know me – I have to trust them to know me – enough to give into that space, to let the control go.

The not-being-in-control part is huge, too. Not having a say, not having to say, not being the initiator or driver. Just being, because whoever is on the other side of the whip wants to control me, the situation, to make a thing happen – whether it’s giving me pleasure, pain, embarrassment, pride, making me obey or reveling in my obedience and willing submission. I can let my mind quiet, because I don’t have a choice. He or she and I are all there is in those moments.

And then, of course, it’s also about the endorphins. Flying, subspace, the intensity of emotional and chemical soup that we float around in during a pain or impact scene. It’s there that I find release, an exhalation, a breath, and room to breathe. A place to find quiet, to float.

And last but certainly not least, it’s about connection. The intense connection that only comes in those moments between the moments – so sharp and so clear it’s like melting into one another, sharing blood and bone and thought and desire. I crave this more than anything else, and in the end, that’s what it’s all about.

D/s
Impact and pain play can be a part of D/s, but doesn’t have to be. I prefer it to be a part of the relationship, but it doesn’t have to be…

Or does it? Can I subsist on domination that doesn’t have a physical element to it?

Hmm…no, I don’t think so. I think I need the physical, in some form. Maybe not daily, or even weekly…but it has to be there in some way. But…that’s another discussion for another time.

Right now I’m talking about what I get from D/s. I will define that as the act of giving up control to another person – not in a physical sense, as in an impact scene, for instance, but as in various aspects of my life. Obedience, submission, doing what I am told simply because I am told to do so. The hot kinky stuff: asking for permission to orgasm, being told to reveal fantasies, being made to edge or wear a buttplug or video myself… The more mundane things: what to wear, how to speak, what to eat, when to sleep, how much to exercise. I need both in a D/s dynamic. I want to be the kinky sex toy, but I also want to have a real-world dynamic. Structure and rules make me feel safe and confident in a relationship, especially when I know that these things matter to the other person as well. And especially in a relationship in which we aren’t physically in the same space every day or night, it helps me to feel connected to them.

Rules & Punishment
I don’t term these as play, because, to me, they aren’t. And they are (in some ways) outside of D/s. I mean, not really, but they have their own space because (I think) you could have D/s without rules, punishment & corrections.

I don’t need a lot of rules in my “real” life. I do pretty much as please, when I please, and with whom I please (I mean, aside from showing up to work and to fulfill my obligations to my family). I live with Adam, but I don’t ask permission to do anything (though I am respectful of his time and needs.) We’ve been together long enough, and I have been independent long enough, that it’s not really a question anymore. But in a D/s relationship, I need to know there are rules. I need to know what they are, that there are boundaries, and I need to know that I have followed the rules and instructions – or that I have not. I need expectations to live up to. And I need consequences if I have not. Punishment – preferably corporal – fulfills that need. I feel renewed, refreshed, forgiven and relieved when it is over. I have paid for my error, and we can move on.

Shame/Embarrassment/Humiliation
I’ve played a lot at the edges of humiliation/degradation play before, though my preference is in the lighter side of those kinds of play : sexual embarrassment and shame as opposed to degradation. Of course, that all depends on how you define those things, though, doesn’t it? Is it degrading to be pissed on? To be called degrading names, to be given away or forced to perform sex acts? These things are hot to me: making me display myself or ordering me to perform sexually, calling me a slut or a cunt or whore, treating me as a sex object, as “holes” to be used or filled. In this kind of play, words are as exciting as the acts, and what I get out of it is pretty basic: it fuels my arousal. It doesn’t often go deeper than that. Now that I’ve said that, though, I have to admit to one kind of “degradation” play that is both a physical turn-on and does something deeper in my brain: piss play. Being pissed on, or in. It makes me feel small and…something like humiliated, but at the same time deeply owned and marked. The only thing I specifically requested of W that I only do with him was drink his pee. Of all the things we did together, that was the only one I didn’t want to do with anyone else. In thinking about it, I think that this kind of play – and how I perceive it – is very much contingent upon the relationship.

Pet Play
Those of you that have read me for a long time will remember my pony persona, Onyx, who was W’s, and my wild pony, Topaz, who was her own wild self, but who came out to play with Adam. And with V there was kitty, though I never truly embraced a kitty persona of my own. It was more like…bringing to life one of the catgirls he fantasized about – for him, not me. But being pony was a special place for me. I didn’t have to be me anymore…Onyx was a parade pony, a show pony, proud and a little skittish, flighty and high-strung. And I could just melt into her, and know that W would take care of her and adored her. It was a lovely space to be in. Topaz, on the other hand (or hoof), was wild and unruly. She fought being tamed and that wildness – that fighting back – was an integral part of the kind of play Adam and W did with her, and it let me not be obedient, it let me step outside my submissive self and into that other space.

There are so many more nuances to WIITWD, but that kind of sums of the big ones. Maybe I will revisit later, if other kinds of play become a topic of their own.

February Photofest – Day 8

I played with filters today!

The game last night was to try to make my stripes as bright pink as this lovely little slip of a thong, which we came close to doing. And the filter just saturates the colors so much, I love it. Also, check out that round ass!

This was the result of our second night of cribbage. We played for whacks. The first night, I made the rule that whatever the spread in points was – no matter who won – would be the number of whacks I would get, using my second favorite implement, a tool I call the jambock. It’s a dense, solid leather toy that really packs a wallop.

Jambock on the right, warm-up tool on the left.

I only got four whacks with the jambock, though, which the Canadian was disappointed by, so this night, he made the rules for our cribbage game. This time, it was the spread – no matter who won – between the winning peg and the furthest back peg, which turned out to be a lot more than four. But I got to choose the implement – my favorite, the 3-whip!

The difference was 48 – and trust me, we’re both of us too competitive to throw the game one way or the other.

I won, but then so did he. And then so did I. ;-)

I also got to pick where he used the whip, which was my ass, thighs and a little bit of my belly. He got in a few bonus whacks on my puss. NOT my favorite place for sure! But I was proud of myself for taking it with only a few high-pitched squeals. And he made it worth my while. ;-)

February Photofest – Day 6

M is for…
Merry Masochist

Today is Sunday – and it is week 565 of Sinful Sunday, the incredibly popular weekly meme hosted by friend and fellow blogger Molly, of Molly’s Daily Kiss. The first Sunday of the month is always a prompt day, with today’s prompt being the Letter M: “the idea of this prompt is to pick a word that, in this case begins with the Letter M and create an image inspired by it.” (You can see all the participants for the letters A – L by clicking here.)

I haven’t participated much in Sinful Sunday the last few years, I’m sad to say, but I’ve really been enjoying getting my toes wet again in my blog through February Photofest, and it seems only natural to link up the two memes. Too, it helps enormously to have a partner that appreciates me blogging, and in fact insists on it as part of my mental/emotional health regimen.

So yeah…it’s hard to find a better word for the letter M than masochist. And adding that “merry” on there just seems to fit, as I am often smiling and laughing while playing. Not always – I also crave the dark, moody, breaking-me-down kinds of scenes – but more often than not lately my scenes seem to have an element of merriment or playfulness. Perhaps because the space I play in emotionally is lighter? Or more like playing as a bottom? With Sir we are still exploring each other as playpartners and as D/s partners – we are learning about each other and where our edges, boundaries and desires lie; with my Canadian it is without the D/s but from a place of deep affection and respect for each other as Top and bottom. Both spaces call to the masochist in me, but she is a delighted, joyful masochist (even when processing the pain – perhaps even more so then.) Processing pain as something positive, even pleasurable, is what makes me a masochist; embracing it with a joyful attitude is what earns the “merry” moniker.

So, first, my February Photofest image. M (the Canadian) called this “hot-crossed buns” which name I love, and the capturing of which, while exquisitely painful, was also a lot of fun. It doesn’t look like much, but trust me – they had to be hard strikes on a cold ass to get the stripes to come up – ouch! And…yumm!

The perfect panties for a little X-ing-with-a-cane action!

This second image is for Sinful Sunday – after the above image M took it upon himself to administer my daily “maintenance” spanking via cane, and the masochist in me took over, reveling in the searing, blooming pain in each strike of the cane.

Now that’s what I’m talking about…
Sinful Sunday

Click the icons above to see more Sunday Sinners and participants in February Photofest.

February Photofest – Day 4

“Our willingness to wait reveals the value we place on what we’re waiting for.”

Waiting for Sir

Unfortunately I’ll be waiting awhile – I’m off to Mexico to spend a week, maybe two, with my Canadian, who is a snowbird and winters in the tropics to avoid the snow and ice up north. I’m fortunate to be able to join him a few weeks each year, even if my freckle-and-sunburn prone skin won’t let me soak up the sun as much as I’d like. I’m taking a whole pile of panties with me, though – hopeful that we’ll have opportunity to take some pics for February Photofest! Stand by…

It’s Been a Minute

All right, more than one. And yes, it seems like every time I come back I say, “hey, I’ve been gone awhile, but I’m trying to come back!” And then I never really do. Call it a lack of inspiration…the pandemic…the breakup…a loss of my sense of self as a kinky person, as a sexual person. Or laziness or fear or… I don’t know what, or why. I guess the thing to do is to stop trying to analyze it and just…do it.

Or don’t. That’s also acceptable.

I’d been thinking about doing a 2021 retrospective. To try to sum up all the things that happened over the year, gain some perspective on them, move beyond them. But damn, it was such a shitty year in so many ways. Not just for me and mine, but for the world. I am so over raking through all of it in my head. I got over that shit, damn it. I don’t need to stab myself in the heart anymore.

I have finally reached a place where I am not stabbing myself in the heart all the time. Yeah, regrets poke at me occasionally, but…there are many – many – times that I think, “I’m glad it’s over.” I’m glad I am free of the angst of six difficult years. I am glad for what I learned from it, and for who I have become in the aftermath – and I won’t ever regret loving him, or all the fun and high-jinx we got up to – but, at least the last two years, maybe three, all that was wrong overshadowed the rest.

I don’t blame him – or her – or me, for that matter, for what happened to us. We were all complicit in our own ways. I wish I’d known…well so much more. But I guess that is what experiences are for, to teach us, if we will learn.

So, the year has passed, and here we all are. New beginnings, and all that.

Here’s some fun stuff that happened toward the end of last year, Adam’s birthday, actually, and I think when I was just starting to know that I was going to be okay, I was going to survive my broken heart. I was going to be okay, even if I didn’t find someone new (although I did, quite by accident, but that’s another tale.) But this weekend happened to be the one that I said to myself, “I can do this.” It’s also the weekend that I “got my kink back.”

The border between the US and Canada had finally opened, and my Canadian Top, M, had come down to visit me. He stayed with us for two weeks, and I got to have someone share my bedroom with me (we built the house with a master bedroom and a separate “kinky” bedroom, for me.) Only V had been in it before, and…it had always been his and my bedroom in my mind, though he’d only stayed here three times before we broke up. But it left me feeling…conflicted…about the space. I love my bedroom, but I couldn’t sleep alone in it anymore. (I am a restless sleeper and had often started out in the big bedroom with Adam only to decamp to my room when I was unable to go back to sleep after awakening.) But when we broke up, it hurt to be in that room, imagining the last night we’d stayed there together, when I had thought we were just taking a break…only to break up completely 3 months later.

(Sometimes I wonder – was that his intent all along? Was he just too cowardly to make a clean break? But that’s the bitterness coming out. I have to believe he was as conflicted and confused as he purported to be, as I was, and intended that we would come back from that time away healthier in mind and spirit, with a desire to forge a stronger, healthier relationship. Of course there is also a part of me that recognizes and reminds myself that a “stronger, healthier” relationship wasn’t possible, for so many reasons – reasons that ultimately made me glad that it ended.)

But I digress.

M was here, and we shared the bedroom, and it helped banish the ghosts that V had left behind.

One of the weekends while he was here was Ad’s birthday. Adam and I had had a wonderful week away about a month earlier, that ended in an impromptu stay in Louisville, in which – because it was impromptu – we were unable to do the two things that I had wanted to do there: watch live racing at Churchill Downs and do a couple distillery tours. So, with M here (who I knew also enjoyed horse racing) we went back to Louisville and celebrated in style, going to the races, doing distillery tours, having amazing food, and – because I’m me, and a trip away always has to = kink in some form – a lovely kink session with the two of them.

The setup: I offered (sweet, giving woman that I am) to take Ad’s bday spankings. To accomplish this, I suggested that each of us choose 5 implements from my extensive collection of ass-beating toys. We all did.

And then, after a heart-pounding and amazingly exciting day at the races…

My shit-eating grin after winning on a horse called “A Girl with a Dream.”
Mint Juleps, because you have to, right?
Me losing (“Pink Horse”) and Adam winning.

And after some interesting distillery tours…

We ended up back at the AirBnB with me half naked and them with implements of destruction in their hands (I know, shocking.) Here’s the fun part: they offered to only do part of Adam’s fifty-six whacks with each implement – totaling fifty-six – but I said, no! Fifty-six whacks with EACH one…not adding up the total in my head because, well, I’m me… 15×56 in other words. And I had to count each one.

And much hilarity ensued.

Wicked Wednesday

kink of the week – love me some leather

The Canadian has requested that I do a scene write-up for the scene that I had in which I received these lovely marks. I figured it would be a fine write-up for leather as well, since all of these marks were made with leather implements.

I had spent the weekend with a couple who are friends of mine, and with whom I have played before. But much more than just play, they are beloved friends, and care for me as much as I do them. They had asked me what kind of weekend I wanted: friends only, boating, dinner, drinks, play? They know about The Hiatus and they did not want to push or to even suggest anything, not knowing where my head – and heart – was at.

“I really, really need to play,” I said. It had been months, and though I had had a couple other opportunities, they were not with people that I felt such a bond with. I wanted to feel safe, to feel loved, to feel appreciated – all while getting my ass beat.

And I did. We got back after being on the boat all day and having a sunset dinner and I laid out all the toys I had brought with me (they told me to bring toys I wanted to play with, that I felt comfortable with.) Then I laid down over this soft-sided coffee table, and then, first one, M, the husband, and then V, his wife, took turns. Floggers to warm up, crops to tease, paddles to punctuate. They would build up to a point and then back down, in tandem, back and forth. And then M took out his belt. That’s what got my butt so red. I LOVE a leather belt. In fact I had asked W several times to just get a variety of belts and do a whole scene of belting me. We never did, though I imagine in time we would have. So this was very satisfying. And mostly they stayed on my ass, which was good.

But then I knew I needed more. “Please,” I said, the jambock, on my thighs.” I needed the intensity of the heavy-cored, leather-braided implement.

There was no hesitation. V had M scoot around onto the ottoman we were using and pulled me up between his thighs so he could control me, and she took the jambock – and eventually, the dragontail – to my thighs. I had bruising for days, and a couple places where the dragontail had split the skin.

I didn’t think I was done when they stopped – then they stopped and I knew I had been done, I just hadn’t known it. I love it when a playpartner knows me that well. I curled into a ball at their feet and fairly purred for a half an hour, before standing gingerly, cleaning up my toys, and falling into bed.

As I mentioned, I love the feel of leather. Leather belts in particular bring an added emotional charge, but any kind of leather on my skin. Soft elkskin, hard leather straps, belts, tightly rolled crops, singletails, the falls of floggers. I don’t particularly like to wear leather, but I love to have it used on me. And I am grateful it was used on me that weekend so skillfully.

a to z challenge: w is for wants & needs

During this hiatus that my kink partner and I are on, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about wants and needs. What do I want in a kink relationship? What do I need? Do I need kink in my life? Do I need sex? I’m getting long-distance kink right now, and it’s lovely, but I miss hands-on kink. And sex. And feeling someone’s desire, at close range. I miss kissing and being held and being desired physically.

I asked Adam why we stopped playing. I had just read a post from this very blog (Mouth) in which I talked about going to a kink event with Ad – just he and I – and we played. A lot! And it was fun. But it’s been years since he took an active role in our kink life. Yes, he’s played with me with other kink partners, and he’s even played with me alone when I have asked him a couple times. But while he was never toppy or dominant before, now we don’t play at all.

The thing is, I thought it was me, not wanting to play with him because he’s not dominant enough But what he said was, “I’m just not in that headspace.” And that gave me pause. It’s not me (I’ve been feeling guilty.) He isn’t interested in kink. So my feeling that I just don’t have that connection with him is actually correct – and it’s no one’s fault, I knew all along that he wasn’t kinky for himself. He did it for me, because he dug the fact that it affected me so much. Not because he wanted/needed it. And that’s okay. We have other things we share. But…I do want those things. I think…maybe…that I need them. I mean, I’m pretty sure I need kink to get off. I’m just programmed that way.

Part of my issue right now is that I’ve just started a new anti-depressant. And I feel…a little dulled. The sharper edges of my libido, which had been ragged and snarly since I haven’t played with anyone or had sex in weeks with anyone, have been smoothed down. Is that just a result of getting used to not being with someone? Or is it the medication affecting me? I don’t know.

I’ve thought about playing with others. Dating others. In fact I have a few irons in the fire – an old flame; a girlfriend I’ve played with before; a new boy from OK Cupid. And I can honestly say that none of those situations are just me looking to (selfishly) scratch an itch. I genuinely care about the first two, the last is a flirtation that yes, I might not have entered into if my kink partner and I were seeing each other right now, but it’s fun and sexy and gives me a little spark. And then there’s my Canadian – topping me and tormenting me from afar.

But do I need any of this? For that matter, do I need it from my kink partner? If, when things settle down with him and we see each other again, if he was to say, “nope, don’t want that anymore,” what would I do?

I don’t know. Does a thing have to be a need? Can’t I just want it in my life? Can’t I just say, I want this in my life, and have that be enough.

I don’t know anymore.

I got to this topic by way of Marie’s post, Life happens, love binds, on the topic “When Life Gets in the Way,” from the “Tell Me About…” meme. That topic is over, but it still resonated with me. A lot of what I am going through is because life got in the way – of my kink, of my kink relationships. The pandemic, life going sideways, lockdowns and border closings, depression and anxiety, it’s all taken a heavy toll. I get that when the dust settles everything may – probably will – look different. But right now, life is standing there being a bully to us all. And so I sit here and wonder: What do I want? What do I need?

a to z challenge – v is for virtual date

So I had a virtual date with the Canadian the other night. Our 1st in a very long time – talk about life getting in the way of kink! He’s always very specific about my appearance and deportment while on our v-dates: for this one it was posture collar, stockings and a garter belt, stilettos, nude otherwise. He also directed me to have my Hitachi, a crop, a glass dildo and my metal buttplug handy.

And there was to be a correction, a consequence, because I had been unable to complete one of the tasks he had set for me for that week. But because I had a good reason, it was not a punishment, precisely, just s small reminder that rules are rules.

I had to do corner-time.

Jade being cornered.

I won’t share all the rest of the details of the rest of the date – I am sure you can imagine them, given the “what to bring to the date” list. But here’s a shot of the posture collar – and me after our date – to help with those imaginings.