Morning Sex, W’s version

Morning sex with W is a different thing altogether.  After an night of play, of pain and sex and predicament and pictures and teasing and talking and more sex, we wake slowly together to the clank of chain, the feel of each other’s skin, gray morning a glow in the windows.

I turn from my side, where I have lain through the night, the shackles tight at throat, ankles and wrists, to my back; feel his warmth all along my side, feel the length of chain heavy across my chest and belly, between my legs.

His hand, heavy on the chain, on me.  He pulls on the chain, feels along it where it runs between my legs.  He squeezes my breasts, one and then the other, testing, perhaps, if they are tender from last night’s clothespins.  They are, but the pain now is sweet, almost tender.  He pulls me closer to him, until I am snugged against him, and, eyes closed, he strokes me, my hair and face, my arms, my legs, the heavy metal ring around my throat, the wet warm spot between my thighs.

I turn into him. “Hi,” I say.  He opens his eyes and looks into mine for a long moment.  “Hi,” he says back, and smiles.  There is so much more I want to say, but I don’t, I just kiss him, press my body against him, feel the chain warming between us.

He rolls and presses me onto my back.  My hands are caught between us, my movements hindered by the shackles and chain.  He grips the ring at my throat, holds me still with one hand; with the other he cups my sex, capturing the links of chain between his hand and the tender, bruised flesh of my labia.  I am still tender and swollen from the night before, and he presses the chain against me, but not too hard; his goal here is pleasure, I think, not pain.

I sigh and open myself to him.  He presses his fingers into me, grinding the palm of his hand against my newly-shaven, too sensitive mound.  I moan and push against him.  I feel his fingers dig into me, and the throbbing discomfort I feel as he spreads his fingers inside me, as he invades me, fuels my lust–I begin to move against him in earnest, turning, twisting, writhing.  Grinding.

I fuck his hand, pull and grind against it as he digs his fingers into me, insensible and blind with need.  I come quickly, shuddering against him, holding his hand to me, remembering the night before, the feel of his mouth on my shoulder as I knelt, arms tied crucifix-style, clothespins covering me from armpit to armpit.

And then…

He is on top of me, pressing me back into the mattress and pillows.  His hands are everywhere, in my hair, pulling my head back, at my throat, encircling the shackle there, on my breasts and hips and thighs, pinching, mauling, forcing my acquiescence, forcing me to open to him.  My legs are akimbo beneath him because that is the only way I can be open to him with the chains restricting my movements.   I grasp his cock in my hand and run the tip of it along my wet, swollen slit.

“Put it in,” he tells me, his voice a growl.  I do, wanting him inside me desperately, needing him inside me.  “You’re such a slut,” he says, “such a good little whore.”  And I think about myself as I was moments ago, grinding blindly against his hand like an animal in heat, and I know it’s true.

“Yes,” I say.

He thrusts into me, grinding the chain between us.  He tells me how dirty I am, tells me I am fuckmeat, his cunt to do with as he pleases.  “You’ll fuck anyone I tell you to,” he says, and I know it is true.  My hands are between us, and I am squeezing myself and him at the same time.  He is whispering in my ear, telling me the dirtiest things, thrusting against me as I push up against him, feeling him and the chain and his hands and his voice in my ear and I am agreeing to every word he says.  I am his slut, his cunt, his whore.  I will do whatever and whomever he wants, now, tomorrow, whenever.  And yes, I will come back, slimed with their seed, in my cunt, in my ass, in my hair or on my face and present myself to him, if that is what he wants. Yes, yes and yes.

And then, as I begin my rise to another orgasm, as I ride the edge and begin to strain for whatever-it-is that will tip me over, I feel his excitement rise, I feel him letting himself go there as well, and as he comes inside me, as I feel him shudder, I explode in an orgasm as well, panting, squeezing, sucking him in.

After, I slide the chain between my legs again, deliberately coating it with our fluid, and I smile.

Morning Sex, J's Version

I wake before he does. We are sleeping back-to-back, touching from shoulder to hip, one of my feet entwined with his. I turn over, curl around him, press against his warmth, his solidity, breathe in the morning scent of him. He sighs in his sleep and rolls to his back, pulling me tighter against him, curving an arm around me.

I trail one hand over his chest, kneading my fingers into the springy hair there, across his belly, and down, between his legs. He is soft still, still asleep, and I cup him in my hand, cock and balls, like a bird, holding him. He begins to grow hard almost immediately. I hold him tighter, squeeze, enjoy the feel of this growth, so foreign and beautiful and fascinating. I stroke gently down the length of his shaft and back to the tip, and he moans and stirs, waking.

“What do you want, little girl?” he asks in a sleep-rough voice.

I shiver. He knows just the tone, just the words I need this morning. He saw me come in last night, with my bruised ass, and knows that there was no sexual gratification in it for me. And he knows how much I need that, need a man’s cock inside me, need to be desired and filled and fucked after I have been beat.

I grind my hips against him and grip his cock tighter. “You,” I say.

He brings a hand to the back of my head and gently grabs a handful of hair. Not enough for pain, just enough to…remind me…who is in charge. “Where?” he says, softly. It’s not a question, though, it’s a demand, and I shiver again.

“Inside me,” I say.

“Where?” he says again, a little sharper, his hand tightening just a bit on the back of my head. I swallow. He’s going to make me say it.

“Please,” I say, hoping that will be enough.

It is not.

“Say it,” he says, implacable. Because he knows this is what I need.

I grind against him, pull on him, stroke his impossibly hard cock. I turn my face against his neck, needing to hide the embarrassment I feel even in the half-light of early morning. “My pussy,” I breathe. “Please, fuck my pussy.”

He chuckles and pulls me on top of him. I strip off the nightgown I had been wearing over my head and look down to see him watching me, smiling slightly. Slowly I settle down on him. I am slippery but tight, since I haven’t had sex in a few days, and he lets me take my time, pulling him partway into me, and then further and further until finally, with a groan, he thrusts up into me, filling me, filling me, until I sigh.

God I love him inside me. I lay down over him for a few minutes, arms wrapped around him, mouth at his neck, tasting his skin, relishing how full I feel with him inside me. Then he pushes me upright and, hands on my hips, begins to stroke me up and down his shaft, pulling me up and forward and then sliding me back and down. I moan, I can’t help it…

I take his hands in mine and move them to my breasts. I look down and see the shadows playing across our bodies in the early morning light and am overcome with love and desire and awe. And as we move, and as my excitement builds, he reaches around and grabs my ass in the spots that are bruised. Because he knows I need that. And with that, and with him pushing me roughly down on him, with the deep ache of his fingers pressing the bruises in my flesh, I come.

Morning Sex, A’s Version

He rolls over into my warm, sleepy body, curling around me on my side, breath on the back of my neck, hand on my belly, spooning.  I feel his cock at half-mast pressing gently against my ass. Soon his hand begins to move, slowly, dreamily, cupping my breasts, trailing down over my belly to the warmth between my legs.   I feel his cock begin to grow harder, the nudge more insistent.

I lay still, not responding, docile.

He slides a hand inside my panties from the back and pulls them down, just past the curve of my ass.  I feel him shift as he pulls out his cock; now he is pressing against me, skin to skin, his hardness against my ass.  His breathing is still quiet, though, nothing urgent in it, and I am still half-asleep, though the half that is awake is deliberately still, waiting.  He reaches up and gets the lube and I realize he is not going to take the time to wake me fully, to coax my not-a-morning-sex-girl body into full response, he is going to use my body while I am still half-asleep.

I love this, this early-morning use of my body. I love the quiet way he does it, too, nothing harsh or taking in the act, just the slow warm glide of his body into mine, easily, gently almost.  And then he lays still for a moment, his body inside mine, holding me from the outside and inside.  His hands move up to my shoulders, but when I start to shift to open myself more fully to him he puts a leg over mine: he wants me still, he wants me closed, just a soft warm hole to slide into, no assistance from me.  I sigh happily and relax, and he begins to stroke himself into me, slowly, deeply, the way he strokes his cock when he masturbates.  I remain quiet, hardly breathing. His breath quickens, his movements become slightly more pronounced, I feel myself tensing in excitement as he does, too.  And then his breath catches, his hands tighten on my shoulders, and he shudders, thrusting deeply into me before he grows still again.  His mouth comes down on my neck, moves over my skin, a kiss, a benediction.

He lays still inside me for a moment longer, and then he slides out and pulls away, pulling my panties up and patting my ass as he does.  He kisses my cheek and rolls out of the bed.  I squeeze my thighs together, feel the warmth he has left inside me, and drift back into sleep.

Morning Sex, A's Version

He rolls over into my warm, sleepy body, curling around me on my side, breath on the back of my neck, hand on my belly, spooning.  I feel his cock at half-mast pressing gently against my ass. Soon his hand begins to move, slowly, dreamily, cupping my breasts, trailing down over my belly to the warmth between my legs.   I feel his cock begin to grow harder, the nudge more insistent.

I lay still, not responding, docile.

He slides a hand inside my panties from the back and pulls them down, just past the curve of my ass.  I feel him shift as he pulls out his cock; now he is pressing against me, skin to skin, his hardness against my ass.  His breathing is still quiet, though, nothing urgent in it, and I am still half-asleep, though the half that is awake is deliberately still, waiting.  He reaches up and gets the lube and I realize he is not going to take the time to wake me fully, to coax my not-a-morning-sex-girl body into full response, he is going to use my body while I am still half-asleep.

I love this, this early-morning use of my body. I love the quiet way he does it, too, nothing harsh or taking in the act, just the slow warm glide of his body into mine, easily, gently almost.  And then he lays still for a moment, his body inside mine, holding me from the outside and inside.  His hands move up to my shoulders, but when I start to shift to open myself more fully to him he puts a leg over mine: he wants me still, he wants me closed, just a soft warm hole to slide into, no assistance from me.  I sigh happily and relax, and he begins to stroke himself into me, slowly, deeply, the way he strokes his cock when he masturbates.  I remain quiet, hardly breathing. His breath quickens, his movements become slightly more pronounced, I feel myself tensing in excitement as he does, too.  And then his breath catches, his hands tighten on my shoulders, and he shudders, thrusting deeply into me before he grows still again.  His mouth comes down on my neck, moves over my skin, a kiss, a benediction.

He lays still inside me for a moment longer, and then he slides out and pulls away, pulling my panties up and patting my ass as he does.  He kisses my cheek and rolls out of the bed.  I squeeze my thighs together, feel the warmth he has left inside me, and drift back into sleep.

Reconnection

I realized something about myself last night. I need to reconnect, to decompress and re-establish myself with W as a human being, as a lover–as opposed to a piece of fuckmeat, a cunthole–as much after an intensely sexual scene (or series of scenes) as I do after an intensely painful scene.

I am balanced again today. In a good headspace, “me” again, after a weekend-long scene that took me from incredible, mind-blowing 3-way sex to fucking in a taboo place; from a deep, satisfying beating that mixed romance and pain in equal measures to a panting mindless clawing need to have him inside me as he filled me with steel balls and proceeded to fuck them inside me; from feeling him shudder & spend himself for the first time inside me as he held the shackle at my throat to opening myself up to him in a way I never have with anyone–my body literally pulling his hand inside my cunt before expelling it in a birthlike orgasm that left me in tears. Not to mention being strung up like a side of beef and “examined” in minute detail and with meticulous note-taking (some of it on my ass) by a mad scientist or being taken to a restaurant with a buttplug up my ass. And the while being told I was a cunt, fuckmeat, a slut for his–and others’–use, a hole to be filled & used in whatever way he wanted. By the time he finished with me here at our house, in the taboo bed (my son’s room, how fucked up is that?) I was so deep in the place he’d put me it was like waking in a dream, the edges of my world soft and blurred, my perceptions of self no longer anything I recognized.

Because I am not those things. I like sex, love it, revel in it and in my femaleness, revel in the whole of myself as a sexual being along with all the other pieces of me, but I am not always comfortable with the edges of my sexuality, with the grasping reaching fuckhole that I become, with the woman that will allow her body to be used in any way he wishes. Maybe even craves it. That open, gaping hole of need that is both me and other, that is at the center of myself, the desire for simple mindless fucking that transports me from this person in my head to something both lesser, and more.

And so, when I am transported there…just as when I am transported out of myself by pain…I need to be brought back. I need to return to myself, to a self that I recognize; and I need to know that he still cares, that even though I have done these awful things (or allowed them to be done to me), I am still lovable, he still wants to look at me, he still “respects me in the morning.” lol

I didn’t realize that this kind of reconnect was necessary for the sexual stuff. But then I have never been taken to the places he takes me, that he took me this past weekend. I really really needed to look at him & talk to him, see that I still interested him, delighted him, could make him laugh. That he still wants me as me, that he still likes me.

It sounds pitiful put that way. The little girl eternally craving love and acceptance. And you know what? That’s okay.

Christmas Eve fun

Santa didn’t come to my house for Christmas Eve. Oh no, something much better than that happened…A and I started a new Christmas Eve tradition: I got tied up and spanked! My old tradition was to go with the ex & the kids over to his parents’ house–visiting the ex-Dragon-in-Law is a joy I am glad to be rid of forever.

So I was in the bedroom, getting out the gifts that we still had to wrap, when A came in and said he was going to throw a wrench into my plans for the evening. I’m a chronic scheduler. It’s an incurable, deep-seated need to plan things. No really, it’s a sickness. So our evening was all planned out…drop kids at their Dad’s, go to the grocer for appetizer makings for the next day, get home, throw dinner in and wrap gifts til midnight, snuggle a bit, sleep. Apparently A had other plans.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Well, Dad’s going over to so-and-so’s house,” he says. “That gives me about an hour to beat your ass while we wait for dinner to cook.”

I get all squishy when he starts sweet-talking me that way.

It didn’t start out great though.

I wanted…well, I wanted that fissure of excitement, that kind of knot I get in my belly when W moves towards me, when he gets that purposeful look in his face, when I know things are going through his mind…things about what he wants to do to me, how he is going to touch me, or tie me, or hurt me or use me or fuck me. It’s like a stillness just settles over me, over my mind, like I fall into this waiting place, a place where anxiety lives, but just under the surface, almost too deep to acknowledge. I feel like my breath can’t quite be caught, where my mind, just under the stillness, kind of skitters on the edge of “what if? what if?” But with Ad, it’s not like that. He’s not confident in himself enough yet to approach me in that way. But…he’s getting there. Just as massage therapy has been amazing for his self-esteem, for how he feels about himself, carries himself, holds himself, this does too. Having me respond to him, knowing how much I enjoy what he’s doing, knowing that he can do that to me, make me feel that way by doing that to me…it all adds up. I see the changes.

In any case, eventually he had me undressed–except for my socks. No really, look, he let me keep my socks onSnowflakes, socks and a red butt–and then wanted to take a picture of me in them, once I’d convinced him to take a picture. So he’s pretty cute, I mean even when he’s “beating me” he is cute–it’s hard to feel that gasp of shock or “oh no!”…but what I do feel is happiness and heat and wetness and joy that he is loving me this way, in a way that I love.

And he wasn’t all niceness. He got down to business with a leather flogger that he hadn’t used before and then with this sort of hard rubber bat and a little cane-like thing. But my favorite part was when I asked him to take a couple pictures, “please? For W…” So he helped me in something that I knew would please my D/s lover…THAT’s what poly is all about. “Gotta make your butt a nice red,” he said, and proceeded to whack me a lot more to get it just right. Then, best part of all, I asked him to take a picture of himself fucking me…a shot of his cock inside me…and he DID. Heck I don’t know if W will find that hot, but he always talks about seeing me get fucked, so…I thought I’d send him a picture. And A did, and I did! “You don’t have to ask me twice to get naked and fuck a sexy, naked girl tied over a couch,” he said. And then slapped my ass a few more times just for good measure.

Next year, I want bondage with the tinsely ribbon.

“It all works…”

It isn’t always easy to believe that it will all work out when you first embark on something new. You hope, you dream, you try to set everything into place in a way that will give it the highest chance of success, but there’s always the chance that things will go wrong, that they might not work they way you had in your head; that the unthinkable could happen.

I think I know my men. I know why I am with each of them, and what they bring to me and my life; I think I know what I bring to theirs. But life is changeable, what we want/desire changes too, people change.

A has always been my stability, my place to come home to, the one that loves me in spite of my faults (and sometimes because of them), who lets me be me, who comforts me and supports me and, simply, loves me. W is the “mean guy”, the one that brings me pleasure in the sweet danger of living on the edge, of exploring those dark parts of myself that I sometimes don’t even want to acknowledge exist. He pushes me to find those places and then to allow myself to accept them. In that way, strangely enough, he, too, is a nurturer, because he makes me feel safe enough to go to those places, knowing that he will be there to bring me back; that he will love me and hold me in spite of the fact that–or perhaps because–I have gone there, with him, for him.

This is one of the beautiful things about my life– the pieces all fit together. We all fit together, even though we don’t all fit together, I mean our relationships aren’t entwined so much as complementary. Our relationships, each of the four that there are (W and I, A and I, A and W, all three of us) have elements that are enhanced and reinforced by the others. When I say I want and need them both, and the specific things that each brings to me, I mean exactly that.  Being poly means not expecting one person to fulfill every part, every need, and I am sure it must be a relief to the two of them not to have to try and be everything to me.

But there are times when what one is collides with what the other is, when roles bump up against each other, and then I have a moment of unease, a moment of worry, a moment of “And how’s this going to work?” because one of the things I do is think too much, worry too much, overanalyze. No really, I do. It’s just one my adorable quirks.

And then, to my delight, “It all works out.”

That’s a reference to a comment made on one of the discussion threads on FetLife, my kinky online home. That particular thread talked about where we, as submissives/masochists/bottoms “like” to be flogged: our asses, our thighs, our shoulders? What’s our favorite? (Click here for thread.) My comment was to the effect of, “Does it matter what I like? I say, ‘I really like being flogged on the butt,’ and he says, ‘I know, that’s why I didn’t do it there.’ Umm, yeah. lol The other’s comment was similar, “it doesn’t matter what I like,” but put much more succinctly: “It all works out. He likes it when I fuss and I like to be broken.”

That’s so perfect, and the way it should be. We find the puzzle piece that fits, that mysterious “other” (or “others”) whose needs, desires, values & expectations fit with our own, and the world is a happy place. Everyone fulfilled, everyone’s needs met, life is good. Cuts back on a whole lotta heartache and drama. Course, judging by the number of people embroiled in drama & heartbreak, that’s obviously a lot easier said than done, but that’s another topic.

“It all works out…” and all that that implies in finding those mysterious other(s) that fit, applies to my relationships. And all that was wonderfully apparent the other night, regardless of my useless worrying.

What happened was that A and I went over to W’s and played. W took pictures (lots, I’ll post a couple here and if you’re really interested, they’ll be up eventually at Bondage Demons, along with a more detailed accounting of the session) while A tied me and spanked me. It wasn’t our—mine and W’s—usual kind of scene. W tends to be intense, focused, serious, intent on torment and torture, on pushing boundaries and playing on the edge. Our whole relationship isn’t like that, there’s a lot of love and laughter and play and discussion and just being lovers and friends too (we actually date, lol), but our BDSM play is different than A’s and mine. And frankly, I wasn’t sure a) how I would feel about playing with A in front of W; b) how A would feel about playing in front of W; and c) what W would think of it. I want my guys to like each other, to respect each other, to enjoy playing together with me (yeah, again, it’s all about ME)…would this damage/change that? What would W think of how silly Ad is at times, of how we tease and I push and it’s I playful? Would he enjoy our dynamic? Would Ad feel the need to act differently, to perform for W? Because that is something I don’t want, at all costs, for any of us. Although public play is “performance” to some degree, I don’t want our interactions, the inside of what goes on, in public or private play, to ever be. That is what I love about what it is we do, and who I do it with–the authenticity, the reality, of the emotion and the energy. And additionally, A has had issues about playing in front of people before, of being “on stage” so-to-speak, and I didn’t want that to be an issue either. So yeah, I worried about those things.

Turns out I didn’t need to worry at all. Ad “rose to the challenge”, and enjoyed every minute of it. He was shocked at how many pictures there were when I showed him the series because, as he said, he “didn’t even realize W was there at times,” he was so involved in what we were doing. At others he played off that interaction, and thoroughly enjoyed have W there, as part of it. He liked teasing me in front of W, he liked making me squeal, he liked W’s reactions. It became part of the excitement of the scene for him, although I don’t think he knew that it would be, going in. I had experienced this aspect to Ad once before, when I was with my ex, and the three of us had played, so I had wondered if it might hold true in this instance as well. I was intensely gratified to find that it did. And as for W…well, he loved it, too, loved the way we play, appreciated our dynamic, and enjoyed being a part of it. I think he enjoyed playing photographer/voyeur as well and found the whole experience as hot and stimulating as I did, and his presence of course added to my own enjoyment & excitement. And then later, after Ad had given me a pretty good spanking, they took me to the couch downstairs and, with Ad on one end of me and W on the other, pinched, pulled, fingered, bit and mauled me to a quaking, shaking orgasm. Oh yeah, my boys play well together. What the hell was I worried about??

The part of this that I haven’t really touched on, the part of it that had me worried but that I didn’t really know I was worrying over, was this: would I feel differently about playing with Ad, after having played pretty heavily with W these past weeks? Would I feel strange, or that Ad was somehow “less than” because play with W has been so mind-blowing, so all-consuming, so much of what I have needed so much, what I had dreamed about doing all those years ago when I started all this crazy shit? Ad has only ever spanked me and fucked me lately…that’s one of the things I love about him, he’ll give me a good spank and fuck if I ask for it, making it all about MY pleasure…what would playing with him in a more “traditional” (HA! I love using that word in this context) setting be like? Would it even work?

There was real danger in this for me, emotional danger, possible danger to our relationship. It could have damaged how I felt about him, how I felt about allowing him to be part of this side of me, and how would I deal with it, if that was the case? What if he liked it and I didn’t? I love him, I could not have hurt him by saying, “you know, you really don’t do it right,” or “it just doesn’t work for me,” if he really enjoyed it. Especially as I am the one that is bringing him to it.

None of that worry was warranted either, though. Instead what I discovered is that I loved playing with him, I love this new dimension to him, and I love our dynamic. What I discovered is that I need this dynamic as much as I need W’s and mine, and that the two complement each other, both when we are all together and when I am with each separately. And that (whoa, how cool is this?) each bleeds into the other just a bit, in bits and pieces, and…it’s all okay. What I discovered is that all the pieces fit. “ It all works.”

I am one lucky bitch.

"It all works…"

It isn’t always easy to believe that it will all work out when you first embark on something new. You hope, you dream, you try to set everything into place in a way that will give it the highest chance of success, but there’s always the chance that things will go wrong, that they might not work they way you had in your head; that the unthinkable could happen.

I think I know my men. I know why I am with each of them, and what they bring to me and my life; I think I know what I bring to theirs. But life is changeable, what we want/desire changes too, people change.

A has always been my stability, my place to come home to, the one that loves me in spite of my faults (and sometimes because of them), who lets me be me, who comforts me and supports me and, simply, loves me. W is the “mean guy”, the one that brings me pleasure in the sweet danger of living on the edge, of exploring those dark parts of myself that I sometimes don’t even want to acknowledge exist. He pushes me to find those places and then to allow myself to accept them. In that way, strangely enough, he, too, is a nurturer, because he makes me feel safe enough to go to those places, knowing that he will be there to bring me back; that he will love me and hold me in spite of the fact that–or perhaps because–I have gone there, with him, for him.

This is one of the beautiful things about my life– the pieces all fit together. We all fit together, even though we don’t all fit together, I mean our relationships aren’t entwined so much as complementary. Our relationships, each of the four that there are (W and I, A and I, A and W, all three of us) have elements that are enhanced and reinforced by the others. When I say I want and need them both, and the specific things that each brings to me, I mean exactly that.  Being poly means not expecting one person to fulfill every part, every need, and I am sure it must be a relief to the two of them not to have to try and be everything to me.

But there are times when what one is collides with what the other is, when roles bump up against each other, and then I have a moment of unease, a moment of worry, a moment of “And how’s this going to work?” because one of the things I do is think too much, worry too much, overanalyze. No really, I do. It’s just one my adorable quirks.

And then, to my delight, “It all works out.”

That’s a reference to a comment made on one of the discussion threads on FetLife, my kinky online home. That particular thread talked about where we, as submissives/masochists/bottoms “like” to be flogged: our asses, our thighs, our shoulders? What’s our favorite? (Click here for thread.) My comment was to the effect of, “Does it matter what I like? I say, ‘I really like being flogged on the butt,’ and he says, ‘I know, that’s why I didn’t do it there.’ Umm, yeah. lol The other’s comment was similar, “it doesn’t matter what I like,” but put much more succinctly: “It all works out. He likes it when I fuss and I like to be broken.”

That’s so perfect, and the way it should be. We find the puzzle piece that fits, that mysterious “other” (or “others”) whose needs, desires, values & expectations fit with our own, and the world is a happy place. Everyone fulfilled, everyone’s needs met, life is good. Cuts back on a whole lotta heartache and drama. Course, judging by the number of people embroiled in drama & heartbreak, that’s obviously a lot easier said than done, but that’s another topic.

“It all works out…” and all that that implies in finding those mysterious other(s) that fit, applies to my relationships. And all that was wonderfully apparent the other night, regardless of my useless worrying.

What happened was that A and I went over to W’s and played. W took pictures (lots, I’ll post a couple here and if you’re really interested, they’ll be up eventually at Bondage Demons, along with a more detailed accounting of the session) while A tied me and spanked me. It wasn’t our—mine and W’s—usual kind of scene. W tends to be intense, focused, serious, intent on torment and torture, on pushing boundaries and playing on the edge. Our whole relationship isn’t like that, there’s a lot of love and laughter and play and discussion and just being lovers and friends too (we actually date, lol), but our BDSM play is different than A’s and mine. And frankly, I wasn’t sure a) how I would feel about playing with A in front of W; b) how A would feel about playing in front of W; and c) what W would think of it. I want my guys to like each other, to respect each other, to enjoy playing together with me (yeah, again, it’s all about ME)…would this damage/change that? What would W think of how silly Ad is at times, of how we tease and I push and it’s I playful? Would he enjoy our dynamic? Would Ad feel the need to act differently, to perform for W? Because that is something I don’t want, at all costs, for any of us. Although public play is “performance” to some degree, I don’t want our interactions, the inside of what goes on, in public or private play, to ever be. That is what I love about what it is we do, and who I do it with–the authenticity, the reality, of the emotion and the energy. And additionally, A has had issues about playing in front of people before, of being “on stage” so-to-speak, and I didn’t want that to be an issue either. So yeah, I worried about those things.

Turns out I didn’t need to worry at all. Ad “rose to the challenge”, and enjoyed every minute of it. He was shocked at how many pictures there were when I showed him the series because, as he said, he “didn’t even realize W was there at times,” he was so involved in what we were doing. At others he played off that interaction, and thoroughly enjoyed have W there, as part of it. He liked teasing me in front of W, he liked making me squeal, he liked W’s reactions. It became part of the excitement of the scene for him, although I don’t think he knew that it would be, going in. I had experienced this aspect to Ad once before, when I was with my ex, and the three of us had played, so I had wondered if it might hold true in this instance as well. I was intensely gratified to find that it did. And as for W…well, he loved it, too, loved the way we play, appreciated our dynamic, and enjoyed being a part of it. I think he enjoyed playing photographer/voyeur as well and found the whole experience as hot and stimulating as I did, and his presence of course added to my own enjoyment & excitement. And then later, after Ad had given me a pretty good spanking, they took me to the couch downstairs and, with Ad on one end of me and W on the other, pinched, pulled, fingered, bit and mauled me to a quaking, shaking orgasm. Oh yeah, my boys play well together. What the hell was I worried about??

The part of this that I haven’t really touched on, the part of it that had me worried but that I didn’t really know I was worrying over, was this: would I feel differently about playing with Ad, after having played pretty heavily with W these past weeks? Would I feel strange, or that Ad was somehow “less than” because play with W has been so mind-blowing, so all-consuming, so much of what I have needed so much, what I had dreamed about doing all those years ago when I started all this crazy shit? Ad has only ever spanked me and fucked me lately…that’s one of the things I love about him, he’ll give me a good spank and fuck if I ask for it, making it all about MY pleasure…what would playing with him in a more “traditional” (HA! I love using that word in this context) setting be like? Would it even work?

There was real danger in this for me, emotional danger, possible danger to our relationship. It could have damaged how I felt about him, how I felt about allowing him to be part of this side of me, and how would I deal with it, if that was the case? What if he liked it and I didn’t? I love him, I could not have hurt him by saying, “you know, you really don’t do it right,” or “it just doesn’t work for me,” if he really enjoyed it. Especially as I am the one that is bringing him to it.

None of that worry was warranted either, though. Instead what I discovered is that I loved playing with him, I love this new dimension to him, and I love our dynamic. What I discovered is that I need this dynamic as much as I need W’s and mine, and that the two complement each other, both when we are all together and when I am with each separately. And that (whoa, how cool is this?) each bleeds into the other just a bit, in bits and pieces, and…it’s all okay. What I discovered is that all the pieces fit. “ It all works.”

I am one lucky bitch.