Dog Days / Blog Days

I have no idea if I have participated in the “Blogs Days of Summer” meme before, though the title is familiar so it’s possible I have.

Or maybe I just recall seeing it around the blogosphere, I dunno.

In any case, here I am giving it a go, because I am all about having a reason to try and blog daily (I mean more than just “because.”) I’m not going to get my panties in a twist if I don’t manage it, but, you know, it’d be nice to hit that 3x week task assignment, now wouldn’t it?

Speaking of that, I did not make that goal/complete that task last week. There were reasons…the Hypnotist and I spent a lot of (wonderful, blissful, sexy, hypnotic, kinky and even *gasp* “normal people”) time together, more than usual, this past week, so it was hard to squeeze in that one last blog post of the required three. BUT…better time management on my part in the beginning of the week is what was called for, so it was my responsibility to make sure it happened. And as a result…apparently I have a correction coming. I have no idea what form that might take. Aside from a couple thigh pinches we haven’t done this before, nor really discussed what that might look like. And I’m okay with that. I need consistency, and I want to be held accountable (and to hold myself accountable) and…course corrections are part of that. I’ll accept my just due (or “comeuppance,” as the Canadian often terms it) in good grace. I have no doubt that K will be fair in its meting out.

On a related topic, I’ve surprised myself at how much receiving his “good girl” has come to mean to me. I got up this AM to run – even though my bed was sooo comfy – because I wanted to read his “Good girl!” text to me. I made sure I got out the door on time the other day for the same reason. I had wondered before if it would feel patronizing on some level. But it hasn’t, and the good feeling I get only gets stronger as we go along. And then, hearing him say “there’s my girl,” or that I’m his girl? Squishies all over the place, from my head to my toes and all the special places in between. I am apparently becoming programmed.

(Haha, I know he will appreciate this – I was struggling for the word for what Pavlov did with his dogs (conditioned behavior) and put in “programmed” in the Thesaurus and it gave me “brainwashed.” Now there’s some warm, wet squishies.)

Anywaaaaay…watch this space. I hope to be around here a lot this August!

A Mexican Upskirt

I’m in Puerto Vallarta for five days with my daughter. We came here 12 years ago when she was 18 and we are reprising the trip now for her 30th, even going on the same hike from Boca de Tomatlan to Las Animas beach on Tuesday.

I have been tasked by Sir while I am away to document my changes of outfits for him. A very vanilla task as he was not sure how much privacy I would have. Of course when I had the opportunity I had to make it a little less vanilla…

The Writing Task

I have been tasked with writing/posting here three times a week. It is not an onerous task (in fact it is one I am quite grateful for and delighted to be tasked with) but it does challenge me. I’m trying to remember how I used to write so much when I was with W. It seemed there were hours and hours a day to compose, edit and polish my posts.

I don’t see K quite as much as I did W – as he and Ad used to joke, they each had 50% custody of me – but the times that we do spend together are intensely focused. Oh, we go shopping, or do yardwork, or go bowling or play board games and go out to eat and spend time with Ad – all time that is punctuated by hours of play and sex and kink and just generally loving and touching on each other – but we haven’t yet built in the kind of side-by-side downtime that I used to have with W, time that used to be for writing (me) or working on his now-defunct website, Bondage Demons (him.) Also, to be fair, my 9-5 job was a LOT less demanding, so much of the pre-writing that typically happens before I actually polish and publish a blog post happened during work hours, and, generally, that’s just not possible in my current position.

BUT – I am loving having things I want to write about again! I am loving feeling free to write, to express myself, and not feeling afraid of censure, of garnering someone’s displeasure, of not having yet more holes punched in the boat of a relationship that was always on the verge of sinking. I lived so much of my life in that space in that relationship. How did I survive six years that way? Feeling my light dimmed, my self diminished every day; living on eggshells; desperately trying to please and knowing it was never enough. I am not talking about V or my relationship with him in particular. There was a lot of good in that (if frenetic at times.) It was the relationship structure that was so damaging.

Perhaps this is just me, finally healing from W’s loss. Perhaps those 6 years were so…so raw, so tormented…at times because I was still so broken. I was a gaping wound of exposed nerves and suffering that no amount of love, sex, alcohol, kink or pills could assuage. There were times in those years when I could feel myself beginning to open up again, beginning to struggle out of the chrysalis I had been bound in, but I was weakened by all that had come before, both in the aftermath of W’s death and within the relationship that came after, that my struggles to emerge were feeble, and soon abandoned.

And then there was the rage. So much rage.

I hadn’t known I had the capacity for that much anger, that much bitterness. I didn’t (don’t) know where it came from, or where it had been before. Yes, circumstances were, of course. But, looking back, I am still bewildered by the depth and breadth of it. So much pain, so much anger. I drowned in it and it consumed me: perhaps that relationship never stood a chance. In any case, my writing suffered, right along with my heart. I couldn’t find the words, and even when things were exciting and I wanted to share them, I was usually too traumatized and fearful of reprisal to do so.

And yet, now, here I am. It helps to have an appreciative audience. When I started writing my first blog, when Pieces of Jade was born – this space, ironically – I quite literally wrote for an audience of one: W. Or maybe two: the both of us. Blogging was as much a kink for me as photography was for him. He remembered with pictures, I remembered with words, and then when we got to combine the two: boom! We got to live and share the experiences several times over. Of course there was (and is) so much more to it than just remembering things. I used (and use) this space to memorialize, but also to understand my world, both the internal one and external one I inhabit. (I recently read a wonderful article in the Paris Review, “Why Write?” that spoke to a lot of that. Go on, read it, it’s worth the time.) I used it to communicate with W, and I use it now, if not to communicate with, at least to share, my thoughts with K. He seems interested in the thoughts in my head, and that makes me want to share them. He’s also shown an interest in helping me to create content, in the form of the Tree Hugger (and other) posts recently, and possibly in other ways in the future. Our blossoming relationship has certainly been fodder for a lot of my musings – both salacious and philisophical.

And now here we are, me sitting in front of a blank screen, wondering how I will find the time to write all the words that my life generates. Well, at least three days a week’s worth.

Somehow I think I might just figure it out.

The Casual Panty-Check

He opens the passenger side door for me. I slide in and get myself situated while he shuts the door and gets into the driver side.

(An aside: this door-opening thing: it’s not just gentlemanly, though it is certainly that. And it’s not a “rule” – he says it’s a “preference,” though when I forget and open my door myself, I always feel a little frisson of having done something wrong, even though he doesn’t say that. But there is a subtle power dynamic in it. It makes me feel cared for in what would certainly be the way that an old-school feminist would hate – being treated as something to be taken care of, as something delicate and treasured. Something that places my wellbeing in his large, capable hands, as exhibited by something as mundane as opening the car door for me.)

Once he has settled himself in the driver’s seat, and I in the passenger’s, he reaches over and casually lifts the hem of my skirt, until he can see my panties. Then drops it and continues putting the car in reverse or drive, checking the mirrors, etc. in preparation for driving. “You were saying?” he asks, slanting an amused look my way. But I don’t know what I was saying because my breath has caught and all thinking has been halted by this action. It wasn’t overtly sexual (tho of course it was.) It wasn’t overtly dominating (tho of course it was.) It was – exquisitely, deliciously – a violation of my bodily autonomy.

I am his to look at, when and where he pleases. It doesn’t have to be a scene.  He doesn’t have to say anything. It’s not part of a rule structure. He doesn’t even draw attention to it. It is just him deciding that this is what he is going to do, and by the time I have registered that he is doing it, he has already turned his attention elsewhere.

I am not sure why this affects me as viscerally as it does. It’s hot, of course. And it has the mark of dominance and control, of course. But it is more than that. It is reminder that my body – my self – is his – distilled into this one, small, deliberate, action.

One Hot Weekend

Oh that could be taken so many ways. This past weekend, it can be taken in all the ways.

  1. Hot House. The A/C went out at our house Thursday and we couldn’t get it serviced until Tuesday, after what were forecasted to be 95+ degree temps over the 4th. We (K and I) went down to my friend’s lake house Friday night instead of staying at the Hot House. Originally we were all supposed to go down together, Ad, K and I, on Saturday, but Adam had to stay to work his Saturday shift, so K and I went down early so we could avoid some of the heat. It wasn’t that big a departure from we would have been doing anyway, since Friday night was a date night with K – we just spent our date night grocery shopping, then driving to the lake, and then introducing him to my friends.
  2. Hot Weather. As mentioned, the temps were in the high 90’s all weekend. One of the days it was even 100 degrees I think. We solved this problem by spending as much time in the water as possible. We boated and swam and I jumped off a really high platform and the side of the boat and lounged around on a froggy pad. I showed K how to kayak, one of my favorite water sports, and we rode wave runners – my girlfriend V (not my ex V, lol) terrifying me as always (I’m always the passenger) before handing me off to K (“Here, do you want to take the giggle-puss?” He did want to.) He did not terrify me as much as she had, and in fact warned me when he was going to spin us around or go stupid fast (which I greatly appreciated.) And throughout it all I managed not to sunburn, though I am sure my skin cancer doc will not be happy about the amount of freckles I am sporting. I, however, adore them.
  3. Hot Spankings. Did I mention that this was supposed to be a vanilla weekend? No kink, and K was supposed to be a friend of ours, not my lover, not my Dom. But because K and I had gone down a night early, we didn’t have to pretend (it was only for our hosts’ family, who were coming down late Saturday.) It was a birthday weekend for M, V’s husband. The past two years I have offered my ass up to him for his bday spankings, but due to pandemic and all, I never got to take them. So, you know, me being me, I offered to take them all at once before the rest of the guests arrived. Because of course! K had fun watching me do the math, and then we were off…paddles and hands and spoons and giggles and whacks and me counting…somewhat coherently. Well, for awhile. At some point I lost count, or maybe I lost how to count, and started in by 10’s (it made sense in my head.) And then, I don’t know what happened, I just started spewing randomish numbers. I mean, they were in the vacinity of the right numbers…like 150 or something. I know this because I have been told the story by K, who gets a devilish amusement from it. I assume it made sense in my head at the time. Maths are hard, okay?! But then, finally, it was K’s turn. Because, see, up to this point M & V had been giving me the bday spankings. But K had decided to use his belt for his turn, and they got to the end before he took a turn. “But I want his belt!!” I may have wailed. Or whined, or begged. Because I love it when he hurts me. I love all the things about it. I may have to talk about that more. (I hope I have lots more opportunity to talk about it lots more!) Anyway…yeah. Um, I got his belt. And it hurt. And I yelped and danced and whined and loved it, every minute. And that was the “hot” part of the hot spankings.
  4. Hot Sex. You knew I was going to get to it, didn’t you? Here’s some highlights:
    • Getting fingered under the stars on the back deck overlooking the lake, then reciprocating by giving him head right there too, the sweet taste of his cum on my tongue. (I might be a cock whore. I want to be his cock whore.)
    • Mornings spent rolling around with each other in the bed until the bedsheets were completely turned around and half off the bed (all his fault), his mouth between my legs or his fingers in my cunt, me writhing and panting and moaning and pleading to be allowed to come. And his cock in my mouth again, my greedy mouth, sucking and swallowing and feeling him tense and listening to his breath catch and then “fuck yes,” and then on a gasp: “I’m coming,” and then he does, holding my head down, pushing up into my mouth, my greedy mouth.
    • Or later, in the shower, his body soapy, my hands all over him, not intending to start anything but wanting to tease and touch and feel him. But then … I am not sure how we got to this exact place … but I had his cock between my legs, rubbing its soapy slippery length on my clit and my labia, and he must have made the suggestion that what I would feel was his cock inside me, because suddenly, oh yeah, he was fucking me or maybe I was fucking him, and I could feel him pushing inside me, and I was sliding down on him, my cuntlips opening, gulping him in that other greedy mouth, my cunt-mouth, sliding him in and out, and I was wet with my own juice, my own need, and then with his cum as he exploded inside me and I came all over his cock as he whispered in my ear, or in my mind, “That’s it, that’s it, cum on my cock…” (And Jesus fuck but I am getting wet remembering it.) And here’s the thing: it was all in my head, it was all mindplay, but it was so real and so fucking hot. And as we dried off he told me I’d keep feeling his cum inside me for awhile, and for the next hour or more, every time I dipped my fingers into my cunt – which I found myself doing far more than was probably considered polite (haha, how often is it “polite” to put your fingers into your pussy?) I could feel it and taste him.
    • And then there is his hand touching my knee while he drove and my legs falling open without hesitation, without volition even, waiting for him to touch me, whether it was with his voice or his fingers.
    • And the feeling of him being in my mind, just there at the edge, and my own mind opening up to him, waiting for his instruction. “Cum for me – now,” and I do. Whether or not he’s been touching me. My body just…reacts. Convulses, as the orgasm washes over me.
    • Later, after Adam finally makes it to the lake, and we are in the bed, all three of us. We have just co-slept for the first time, and it was natural and comfortable and I couldn’t believe we were doing it – I was there in the bed with both my men. And they are both teasing me, and then Ad is slapping my pussy, not hard, just enough to arouse me, so that when he stops I say no, keep doing it, and he does. And K is on my other side and he starts pinching my nipple. And I am riding between pleasure and pain, my brain and my body trying to process both at once, but it can’t, and finally I beg them to stop, because I can’t, I just can’t.
    • And oh – when did this happen? in the bed or in the car – K pushes back the hood to my clitoris to expose its sensitive nub and then he rolls and squeezes it between his thumb and finger, pulsing, gently and maybe not so gently. And it is painful and pleasureable and somehow makes me feel vulnerable and so very exposed and he makes me cum again.
    • Or another time, his hand around my throat, squeezing, and I am gasping, gulping for air, and I fight, staring into eyes, until I don’t fight anymore, I just … surrender. And it is okay, because surrender is what I want. Every time. And the way that he gets it, the way that he gets me there is such a bewildering, delightful mixture of mind and body and sex and kink and desire and submission, and…damn it…falling in love. But that’s for another post, isn’t it?
This was the vanilla portion of the weekend.

Kinky Bucket List Revisited

Someone on Twitter recently made a comment about my Kinky Bucket List. Honestly, it’s been a minute since I originally wrote that – I posted it in 2012! Ten years? Whew! There’s still a lot of things I haven’t done, and a lot of things that still resonate with me, but others…maybe not so much. I’ll probably need to go over it again at some point and update it; maybe revise it a bit. But if you’re interested in what kinds of kinky fuckery I get up to in my head, feel free to take a gander over there.

What I am interested in now though, what surprised (and delighted) me, was finding this on my list:

Experiencing erotic hypnosis – the ultimate scene would involve being hypnotized to believe that I have been drugged and have no control over my body, then to be used by several men, unable to move or help myself.

I had told K in one of our early hikes that I was interested in it. I’d seen it on his Fet profile after I’d met him in our kinky hiking group and I had wandered over to Fet to find out more about him. Just about every nerve ending stood bolt upright when I read that he was into it. But it still felt…transgressive…to talk to him about it. I had to steel up the nerves to do so. Erotic hypnosis – hypnokink – has been a hot button for me since the very beginning (as evidenced by my Kinky Bucket List!) But none of my other partners had been interested in it. (Now I am wondering where that book I bought V on the topic is…) To actually be talking to someone that was actually interested in the topic? Maybe not just interested, but practicing it??

God I wanted him to fuck my mind. (Just typing that makes me throb, makes me ache, makes me catch my breath.)

And now…now he is. Now he does. Fuck my mind. Now I am in a relationship in which hypnosis plays a large – a very large – part. K incorporates erotic hypnosis into our relationship, for play and deeper aspects of (consensual) conditioning and control. No, we haven’t played out the fantasy above (if that would even be possible) but we’ve played on some every hot edges and he’s trained(?) conditioned(?) me to orgasm on command, without any stimulation (except him in my head – which is really freaking stimulating, lol.)

I’ve spoken before about how keyed I get to my Dominant when in a D/s relationship. His desires become mine, his fantasies become mine. I am not subsumed by him, but I get so deeply tied to him that even when I don’t want to get turned on by the shit that turns him on, I do. It wasn’t until I started talking to K about hypnosis that I began to see a connection between allowing – maybe even wanting – myself to be conditioned by my D/s partner in this way and the things I find incredibly compelling about hypnosis. I’ve realized that I probably have a “very serious” kink for it. (Surprising to no one I’ve ever talked to about it, and K least of all, lol.)

So, here we are. Me, in my dining room writing to you, hot and bothered just thinking about him in my head, fucking my mind…controlling me; conditioning me this way. You, out there, probably wondering, is it real?

I can’t speak for anyone else’s experience. Sometimes I can barely find the words for my own. I could turn this into an argument about the nature of reality… What is “real”? We perceive everything through the filter of our minds… everything. So if he is between my legs, but not touching me with his hands, or cock, or anything else…and my mind is open to him, my subconscious, below the level of my thinking mind…and he is telling me that I am feeling him fucking me, feeling his cock press against my opening, feeling him pushing inside me… And I do, I feel him rocking against me, the weight of him, the pressure of him inside me…and my mind is telling me that these things are real… How is that any less real than my mind telling me that the sky is blue or water is wet?

Or if we are walking down a busy pathway to the river, and he tells me that I can feel the Lush inside me, feel it buzzing, as we walk, and my mind tells me that I can

There is a part of me now that is always open, always receptive, waiting to listen to him. To what he says to me, to what he doesn’t say, to what he wants, to what he tells me my body is doing, even if it is not something I am aware of actually doing until I am already there. I think, during our extended times together, that I am falling in and out of trance the whole time. I find myself focusing on the tracing of his fingers on my skin, or the sound of his voice, or his eyes, and suddenly I am there…tho it doesn’t feel sudden. It feels like a slow, dreamy slide into a place of waiting. Waiting to be commanded, to be controlled.

And I love it there.

I feel good.

I feel good, and excited about the future – romance, sex, kink, friends, family and travel. I feel like things are rounding a corner, and round that corner it’s easy to peek into a future that looks brighter, less-traumatizing, healthier, happier.

Maybe having (hot) sex on the regular helps with my outlook, lol.

But it’s so much more than that. Ever since getting back from Utah I have felt my inner and outer world shifting, coming back into alignment. And a lot of it is due to a releasing of expectations, a sense of letting go and letting be.

Not to say that I am not very actively pursuing my needs, wants and desires. Or that I am letting life “happen” to me: as always I am the architect of my life. But I am also not trying to force life to be what I want and I am allowing myself to flow along with it, which has garnered some surprisingly pleasing – and pleasingly surprising – results. (See: hot sex.)

But also so much more than that.

I feel good in my head and in my heart and in my body. I feel ready and excited about what comes next – without placing any expectations on it. I like who I have become, who I am becoming.

There was a pool party this past weekend. It was at the house of a lover/play partner/FWB of K’s, someone he started seeing right about the time we started going out. Since then he and I have developed a D/s dynamic and have established much more than just a “play partner” relationship, but still…I had some insecurities about going.

I sat with that feeling for awhile. Acknowledged it; let myself feel and accept it. I told him how I was feeling, but in a measured, non-confrontational way, and also in a way that did not expect him to “fix” it for me: this is on me. This is work I need to do for myself. I gave myself the grace to not be up to the work though; allowed myself the out of not being comfortable with it enough to engage: I don’t have to conquer all the anxieties and insecurities today. And he was perfect and lovely: “I’d like you to go,” he said. But he didn’t insist, he didn’t push.

I am infuriatingly indecisive though. “Should I stay or should I go?” Staying I would despise myself for not facing my fears; I would imagine so much more than would probably ever happen; I would resent the situation. Going…well, going I could be found unlovely, unwanted. Ignored or treated with disdain or disinterest. Perhaps he would compare us, side by side, and realize…what. I don’t know. All the demons in my head brought to life: you are unworthy, uninteresting, unsexy, unloveable.

But: “I want you to go,” he said. And I don’t know if he realizes how much power, how much influence, that has on me, on my submissive heart. We’re new to this D/s together, he new to being with someone like me. So maybe he didn’t know what a profound effect those words would have on me. But they did, and I realized that, regardless of my own anxieties, if I am to be his – his submissive – then I must do as he desires. His desire becomes mine.

And so it did.

And I went. And it was a lot of fun. None of the scary things I had imagined came to be. A lot of really nice unexpected things did. I was so glad that I went. Somehow, submitting to the power that his will has over me, allowed me to…find my own power in the situation. Created a safe space for me to go, regardless of all the things in my head. Because I wasn’t there for anyone else, or even myself – I was there because he wanted me to be.

Here’s a little additonal aside though, and one of the achingly beautiful things I love about poly (or at least good poly): I told Ad how I was feeling. Didn’t expect him to be onboard with going because of his work schedule, but he didn’t hesitate: “Of course I’ll go!” So I got to be there with both my guys. And (huh) with lovely marks from an asked-for caning. And I flirted and laughed and got to snuggle with a warm, soft girl and hung out with our hostess and didn’t feel any of the weirdness I had expected. An afternoon of win.

WFH Days Revived

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.

Pinch yourself twice on each inner thigh…

But more often it is a set of instructions that build upon one another.

I like that peek of the bra. Pull your dress off your shoulders and show me the whole thing.
Wear something loose and modest.

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.

Take off your panties and put them on the desk where you can see them while you work.
No more than one layer of clothing covering any part of your body.
Insert the Lush and let me know when you have connected it to the app.
Touch yourself for me...
Cum for me.

Anticipation 1

“Touch yourself for me,” he said. “Trace your fingers where you wish mine would go, let them linger where you wish mine would be.”

I unzipped my jeans, right there in my office chair, and slid a hand down to the top of my lace-edged panties. Then I stopped. What I wanted was more than his fingers playing with my cunt. He has such long, almost delicate, fingers. They stroke my skin like a whisper, like a promise.

I raised my hands to my waist, to the sides of my ribcage. Stroked them up to the soft swell of my breasts, then across my nipples – yeah, those nipples that were already making themselves known by jutting against the fabric of my tank top. Then up to my face, along my throat and my jawline. My lips…

I want his fingers everywhere.

But I can’t reach everywhere – I can only anticipate his fingers roaming my body, stroking down my shoulders and my back, finding that perfect place and perfect pressure that stills all the noise inside me.

For now, I just send my fingers down, lower, inside the opening in my jeans, under my panties, tickling my clit for a moment before pushing between my labia and into the wet core of me.

Already slick.

I draw the wetness out and lave my lips with it, my clit. I think about another time of anticipation, when he lay between my legs, his mouth a breath away from my cunt, his breath warm, his tongue almost-but-not-quite touching me, until I told him what he wanted to hear.

I feel an almost painful anticipation that stretches on and on…a low hum that occasionally – when he permits – trandscends into a roar as he says “cum for me,” in my ear.