Whack Board

I promised I’d tell the tale of my red bum. Well, my first red bum. There’s since been more bottom-reddening events, much to my immense pleasure, but this is a fun story that I’ve been meaning to share.

So. Let me preface this by admitting that I have the worst memory on the face of the planet, and, as this is now a couple weekends ago, and it seems like a LOT has happened in these last couple of weeks, I may have some of the details wrong. (I’m pretty sure K will tease me about any errors I have made.) ;-) But as I recall, it was a Saturday night, the weekend after K had gotten back from a weeklong trip. He’d stayed over Friday night, and we had reacquainted ourselves with each other until quite late that night, and then had spent the next day together too. I believe it was the Saturday he agreed to go shopping with me and I got patio furniture and we brought it back in his truck and put it together while Ad napped after getting off work… though I could be confusing it with a different Saturday.

Ad had worked until 2:30 that day, and though I hadn’t planned it originally, I ended up asking them if we could all do dinner together and go see the new Top Gun movie. We wound up at a local bar & grill that Ad and I like, and, as is our habit, Ad and I brought along a bar game to play while we waited for dinner to arrive. We usually play cribbage, but since there were three of us, we brought Pass the Pigs instead.

Pass the Pigs is a simple enough game where you roll two “pigs” to earn points, and the first one to 100 wins. But, to make it more interesting, I suggested we play for whacks – specifically, whacks on my butt – based on how many points I won or lost by.

Either way, I was a winner.

This is where the details get hazy. I think it was decided that whatever amount of points they each won by would be added up, and that was how many whacks I would receive with whichever implement they chose. There was some other magic formula (I believe) if I won, but I don’t recall how exactly that was supposed to work. I think I lost, anyway.

As Ad always does, he decided to have the math-challenged girl keep score – that scrap of paper up there is where I did the “whack totals” after the game. Grand total: 119 whacks. But the math wasn’t over yet. Because there were two of them I had to halve the total, to equal 59 1/2 whacks each. And naturally I had to keep track while they were smacking me – Ad with a wooden spoon, K with a rattan cane.

I thought I was clever and putting one over on them by keeping track in twenties – counting 1-20 and then keeping track on my fingers how many twenties I counted so that I didn’t have to count clear to 119, which can be a challenge when endorphins hit. But apparently even in that I wasn’t clever enough – K said afterward that I had forgotten or missed a whole set, and so ended up with 139. Or so. And then there was also something about counting the half twice…

Or something. I’m still not entirely clear on that.

It was all very confusing and hilarious and great fun. We laughed and I squealed and wriggled and yelped and tried to keep count, and, in the end, ended up with that lovely red bottom.

Viva la pig-passing-counting-games!

Feral

How sweet, he says.
But no…

I am claws and teeth and sharp, aching need
Howls and snarls
Desire, made manifest.

Wet and panting and wanting, wanting, wanting.
No sweet kitten
No purring pet.

Panties in the corner
Legs spread wide
Fingers deep in my wet, wet cunt.

His words on the screen
a voice in my head
A growl
A demand
Teeth sharp against a bared throat.

A whispered word
A gentling hand
Breath caught and held
Command given and taken.

Guided back to quiesence once more.


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.

An Unexpected Gift

 (This was written on Thanksgiving, but because the Missy and I are in the backwoods of Missouri for the weekend, internet connectivity has been sketchy, so it’s taken me til now to upload it.)

I am grateful today. Grateful for the unexpected gift of a beating.

I know, that sounds odd (or maybe not, if you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time.) But it’s true.  And I know, it’s Thanksgiving, there is no gift-giving on Thanksgiving. But this gift has me filled with such gratitude that I have to share it here with you, and I believe it fulfills the “what am I thankful for” requirement, though this isn’t something I could share around the dinner table with my bio family. But you all? Why yes, yes I can. And I should (after all, you haven’t heard from me for real in days.) And so I will.

I went over to W’s Wednesday feeling unsure about a lot of things. I left his house later that day feeling re-centered, full of hope and joy and a certainty that everything would be okay. And I know, the fact that he played with me, tied me up and whipped me and said nasty things to me and fucked me, shouldn’t be the content of a “Thanksgiving” post, right? But the other kind, the more conventional kind, where I tell you all about the amazing weekend I spent with my daughter, and the joy and gratitude I feel for my family and loved ones, that will come in a later post.  But now, right this minute, this is what I want to tell you about.

Have you ever heard the saying, “If you say it often enough, it becomes truth?” Most times it’s used when child-rearing. Tell a child often enough he is a worthless piece of shit, and eventually he believes he is worthless. It works when we do it to ourselves, as well. Eventually we internalize the tapes that we play in our heads: “I’m unattractive,” “I’m unlovable,” “I don’t deserve it.”

(As an aside, there is a fantastic book, one of the first feel-good self-help books that came out in the 1960’s, called Psycho-Cybernetics, that addresses this exact phenomena. I found a dog-eared copy in a pile of my father’s books when I was going through his things many years after he died, and though I don’t read the genre for the most part, I found reading this book to be a life-changing event. So if any of what I said rings true to you, go and read it. Seriously.)

Moving on.

There is a thing that W always says used to say but doesn’t so often anymore, that he said from perhaps Day One of our relationship, and that is that becoming familiar with each other, becoming lovers, becoming friends, becoming comfortable with each other, is a kink-killer. Oh, maybe he didn’t say it quite that way. I think what he actually said is that once you know each other well, once you have established a relationship, the edge is gone. And for him, for kink to be really hot, there has to be that edge, of the unknown, of uncertainty. Maybe even, for certain types of play, of fear. Once that’s gone, once you know each other, the edge is gone. That doesn’t mean that the kink won’t be good, but, well, it won’t have the sharpness – the edge – that it once did.

I have spent the last 3 years of our 4-year long relationship trying to prove him wrong. And, I think, succeeding for the most part, showing him the error of that thinking, as I think he has come to see that the deeper you know someone, the deeper you can go, and there, too is an edge to play on. The edge of the abyss: deep and dark beyond imagining (and a far more powerful place, in my opinion.)

And so, in many ways, that tape has been quieted. Not silenced; I hear it raise its querulous voice occasionally still, especially when I see the sharp desire in his face to play with someone new, someone unknown, and I know that he is hearing its siren call, playing that tape in his head again. And…I have learned to accept that. I have learned that, as long as he acknowledges that it is not the only edge to play on (and thus lost to us forever), I can acknowledge that for him, it is an edge that he wants and needs to occasionally explore.

But that is not the only tape that he plays in regards to relationships, and how they work (or don’t.) The other one he says is, “Familiarity breeds vanilla.” In other words, after having been with someone long enough, the kink dies, or at least dwindles. Kind of like long-term marriage kills sex, right? Newlyweds start out fucking like bunnies twice a day, then eventually it dwindles to twice a week, then twice a month, and finally, twice a year. (I just read this line to my daughter. “The solution to that is obvious: don’t get married,” she said. In my head I replied, “Or get kinky.” But I digress.)

Personally I refuse to believe it. Or at least subscribe to it. (And have said so many, many times to W, loudly, vociferously, and at times, petulantly.)

In terms of our relationship, because our relationship is both kink and vanilla, a little less kink isn’t necessarily a relationship-killer.  Even if we aren’t as kinky as often as we once were, we still have vanilla, and we actually like vanilla with each other an awful lot. We like each other, we still have hot sex (though admittedly less often) and when we do play, it’s still intense and as hot and ferocious as ever. But…as he has said, it’s easy to fall into vanilla when you see someone all the time, because you know that there is all the time in the world to play. There’s always tomorrow, or next week. There is not the aegis to do something that you have when you only see someone once a month for a weekend, the imperative to playplayplay! because that’s all you’ll get for a month or more. So you fall into routine and habit (an enjoyable routine and habit, but still…) and the kink becomes something you do every other time you see each other, and then every third time, and then maybe once every couple of weeks. Or the scenes you do become shorter, and where once you might have walked in the door and found yourself in some kind of play scenario all weekend long, going from one thing to another with vanilla time interspersed between scenes, the scene becomes a two-hour event interspersed between everything else vanilla you do that weekend. Or where once he made you wear heels and shackles to bed, or attached a chain to your ankle while you worked at the computer, the shackles now hang on the wall as decoration, your heels are only put on to scene, and the chain, well, who even knows where that is anymore?

And eventually you are proving the adage to be true. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

And that is the sad part. I don’t believe it’s a truth, but because he says it so often, because he listens to the tape in his head, sometimes he makes it true.

We have addressed this, and are working together on ways to combat it. Things that make us both feel connected to our kink and each other, such as setting up some low-key protocols for when I come over to his house. They fulfill my need to know that the kink is still there, while not placing a burden on W to do anything except enjoy the fruits of my submission. ;-) Since these are things that he doesn’t actively have to do (well except for one, small part that I don’t think he minds), and since they are things that have grown naturally out of our four years of knowing each other, and lastly since they aren’t hard and fast “rules” (a concept that always squicks W out somewhat) it has worked pretty well.

But…I do still miss playing more often, and in the ways that we used to. I can’t help it, he is my Dominant, my Owner, my Kinky Partner, the one that makes my kink-o-meter run and my juices flow. It is through kink, when we are in that space deeply together, that I feel our connection the strongest, and in a way that no one else has ever made me feel, not even the Ex.

Also, I’m a ball of kinky energy; I like to play. So, yes, this “we have all the time in the world to do things, we can just enjoy each other’s company,” is terrific, but I need my kink. And frankly, our proximity to each other (living in the same town), or the fact that we see each other every week, should NOT mean that we allow ourselves to settle into 90% vanilla. I just don’t think familiarity has to mean that.

This is how I see it. In a vanilla marriage, yes you could let your sexual interactions become routine. You could let it be a chore. That’s easy to do, and you hear about that all the time (hell, I lived it, before kink, with the Ex.) But it doesn’t have to be that way. Successful couples make the effort to keep things fresh, to stoke the other’s interest and their own in each other. It can, and is done.

Kink couples are no different. And we have such a wider range to play with, to explore with, to experience with each other. Unless we just aren’t feeling it anymore (and that happens to) why wouldn’t you want to play with each other as often as possible? I’m not talking about elaborate, four-hour long or weekend-long scenes. I’m talking about little bits of play here and there, or small scenes, or even just the “bend over I’m going to fuck you in the ass, cunt,” kind of scenes. (Though yeah, the four-hour long going-from-one-thing-to-another type are amazing and sorely missed as well.)  But, as I said, there are ways to combat that. With some effort, with some desire. As we have started to do with the aforementioned protocols-that-aren’t-really-protocols.

What? You want to know what those things are? Okay, I’ll spill:

  1. He chooses a pair of heels and places them at the door for me to change in to as soon I come in.
  2. Before I leave his house for home, I am to grind beans for a pot of coffee and leave his coffee pot ready to go. (I was so fuzzed when I left yesterday I forgot!) :-(
  3. I am to make him hard each morning that we wake together, if he doesn’t already wake that way.

As I said, these are not hard and fast rules, and I don’t get punished if I don’t do them (although I might wish to be, LOL) but they have become part of our routine, and a part that I cherish, not just because of the way it makes me feel to do them, or even because I know that these are not arbitrary rules he just made up to appease me, but because by implementing them, he acknowledged and validated my need for them, and found a way to feed that need while pleasing himself.

This truly is what relationship is about, and this is what makes our relationship so fucking good.

But it’s insidious, that little saying. It worms its way into a person’s brain, into our belief-system, and soon even I start to wonder. And worry. Are we really at that point, the point of such familiarity that kink is no longer interesting?  Or is it (my worse fear, the one that my own “I’m not good enough,” tapes hit on) is it me he isn’t interested in anymore? Maybe I just don’t turn him on anymore, at least in that fearsome, hot, aggressively kinky way that I love?  And that is where I have been lately, wondering and worrying if he just doesn’t feel…the passion…in what we do anymore. But as he is always telling me, I have an overly dramatic sense of things. I read, “He doesn’t want me anymore!” into an innocuous event that meant nothing. Again, my own negative tapes playing. And maybe that’s all that’s going on. Me reading shit into things that don’t mean…shit.

Travel presents a particular challenge for me. For some reason, when we mix vanilla and kink, and when we travel in particular, the kink part of his brain shuts down – whereas it throws mine into overdrive. This is how my head works when I am thinking about traveling:

  • Yay! Road trip! That means Kinky Car Games! I envision playing a game in which I am told to flash truckers (juvenile, I know) or we stop to take bondage pictures, or I am made to use Baldy, with the game being that I have to start or stop every time we pass a truck or come to a certain number sign. You get the drift.
  • Yay! Hotel! That means Kinky Hotel Play! In the bed, in the bath, on the floor, in the window, wherever!! The last time I mentioned this, W said, “It’s just another hotel room. There’s nothing ‘special’ about it.” To me, anywhere that is not home is special. And the added spice of trying to do something nasty in a hotel room and not get heard, well that makes it all the more ‘special’. It has nothing to do with the actual space.
  • Yay! Event! Kinky Event Play! Play before, during and after! Being displayed, being used, being played with off and on, whether we are doing it on the sly at dinner somewhere vanilla or he makes me wear or do something that only we know about, or blatantly at the actual event…I look at an event as an opportunity for full-on, 24/7 kink and/or sex slave play and/or slutty-girl time. And lastly…
  • Yay! A new city/country/place to explore! Places to pervert with clandestine kinky play, or guerrilla rope bondage, or just being made to be aware that even there, in the vanilla world, I am still his slut, still his sex toy, and could possibly be made to do nasty things. Even there.

I don’t expect that these things will be happening 24/7 while we travel, and in fact, W and I both agree that it would get tiring to be doing it all the time, but honestly, for me, sometimes just being told to “keep my legs apart during dinner,” or to wear my chain and lock when we go out that day is enough. It’s the symbolism. It is that he knows about it, that he wants me to do it, that he wants me reminded of our dynamic. For me, if we aren’t actually playing, the symbols are often enough. At least to tide me over. ;-)

I love love LOVE travel with W. We are so very much alike in how we travel, the things we enjoy doing and seeing, and we both enjoy exposing the other to new experiences, places and ideas. We truly delight in each other so much as traveling companions. But that is all on the vanilla plane. As I mentioned above, for me travel is an excuse to mix in the kink, and really instigates and intensifies kink for me. And I very much want and expect it…or I have in the past, until I realized how much W disconnects the two. I have slowly come to realize that kink (and consequently sex) is the farthest thing from his mind when he travels. Even to a kink event. It is not until he gets into “kink space” that he throws himself into that frame of mind. And yes, this has been an issue for me every time we have traveled, although I have tried to circumvent it by making up the travel games, or giving hints, or asking outright for play, which works to a degree.

And by trying to tamp down my expectations.

So then we went on this cruise.

You can see where this is heading, can’t you?  I am already in an anxious frame of mind, worrying about where we are as a kink couple, and then to top it off, we go and do something that is bound to kick all my anxieties into high gear, because I am (being me) naturally going to have all those expectations, and he is (being him) going to do this compartmentalization thing: “this is not kink,” and…it’s going to exacerbate the anxiety I am already feeling. I probably should have said something, but I didn’t want to make him feel pressured, I wanted him to just be him, and I wanted to try and manage my own expectations (in other words lower them by a WHOLE lot.) I even considered asking him not to bring kink toys, but then we had been pretty vocal about the dungeon space on the ship, and Ad was getting into the idea, and…well, fuck. As I said, for me, travel IS kinky.

And, additionally, there was the obvious point that the whole point of this cruise was to be sexual and kinky with a whole lot of other open, sexual, kinky people.  So of course W would feel it, right?

I was so excited. The opportunity to be slutty and kinky and sexual with my Guys in public, in front of everyone, every day – I couldn’t wait! I imagined that W would have me wear things on my rings (I even made some pretty beaded danglies on the way down) and tell me what a nasty, sexy slut I was, and make me behave in just-this-side of inappropriate ways on board. I imagined sex and being tied up every morning in our cabin, and later in the dungeon, and maybe even in the bars on the ship. I imagined playing every night and every afternoon, either in the dungeon or in the sex rooms.

As you have probably guessed, the reality was quite a bit more…tame…than that. We went to the dungeon a total of twice, and the sex rooms twice, with three of those times at my behest. Ad woke up ready for sex every morning, but W…well…it seemed like he had kind of shut down. He was his usual vanilla self, but his sexy/kink self? Didn’t seem to be there. And when it was, it only seemed to be triggered by the possibility of play with others. I was glad to give him that experience, but the knowledge that he just wasn’t interested in doing those things with just me? Kinda made me feel…well, all that stuff from before all that more acutely.

His words, “Familiarity breeds vanilla,” rang loudly in my head on the cruise.

This paints a worse picture than I wish to convey. In all ways except kink, this was an amazing trip.  We had a great time, had some wonderful adventures, and even popped a couple sexual cherries (we three had sex in the playrooms and W and I actually had a “swinging” scene in the playrooms.) The places we went, the relaxation and pleasure in each others company…it was heavenly.  If we had been a regular old vanilla couple or triad, it would have been absolutely perfect.  But honestly, I left the ship wondering even more than before where W’s and my kink relationship was headed. Wondering if he really was bored with me, if he had become so familiar with me that he was no longer interested in kink with me. If he had internalized that tape in his head to the point that it couldn’t be changed.

I will admit to my own fault in all this. When W didn’t seem interested in me sexually or in a kink way, I turned that off too. I made excuses not to want to do things, so that he wouldn’t feel pressured, and so that I wouldn’t be disappointed and feel rejected. And by the end of the cruise, I had decided (and even mentioned to Ad) that on our next vacation, even if it is on a lifestyle cruise, I would ask W not to bring his kink toys. Then I wouldn’t fight so hard for something that he obviously didn’t want. I wouldn’t have expectations then, and be disappointed.

That was what I thought about that last evening on the ship, and as we drove home. What if that was the case? Could I give up wanting those things as much as I did? Could I live with 90% vanilla, if that is what he wanted? I could go on a vacation and live without kink during it (I think) but to give in to a relationship that was mostly vanilla, or in which I was the driving force, the instigator, of our kink…could I do that? I knew that I could make it happen that way – be the instigator – if I could accept that role. He would do it, play with me, if I asked. Gladly. And well. And enjoy it.

But that isn’t what our relationship is predicated on. I even put it in my profile: “I show up, and he does things to me.” That’s the relationship I wanted, and missed.

The damn thing is that even when I am the one saying, “Let’s do this,” it is still good. I still want it. But it’s not enough.  And it’s not why I started things with him. I can get that with Ad, or any other number of play partners. I can bottom to anyone. What I want and need is someone that wants and needs to do those things to me.  And it felt on the ship as if…perhaps that was lost. Whether he had internalized his own tapes, or really just didn’t feel it toward me anymore, I no longer felt that I “show up and he does things to me.”

Once I asked him, “If I didn’t want to be kinky anymore, would you be satisfied with our relationship?”

He had answered truthfully. “No, I want a kink partner.” But now I was asking myself that very question. Could I be happy with someone that I had to ask to play with me every time? That I didn’t feel wanted me with the same intensity that I wanted him?

This has nothing to do with love. I have absolutely no doubt that he loves me as deeply as I love him. But as entwined in a love relationship as our kink is, it is still its own element, and important in its own right. Pull that out – and more specifically, pull out the essential element of our kink, coercion play – and could I be satisfied?

So Wednesday after the cruise came. I had spent all day Tuesday pondering this, and wondering if I should say anything to W. Wondering how to address it, or if I should. Was I just being a selfish, greedy bitch, always wanting more? Was W right, that this was just the price we had to pay for being “too familiar?” Words he had said earlier on the ship when I had brought it up came to mind though: “We have to fight against it,” he said. They gave me hope that perhaps it was just circumstances (his inexplicable inability to mix kink and vanilla) and allowing himself to believe his own rhetoric. Maybe we could fight it. But I was tired. Tired of wanting and not getting, tired of having expectations and having them unmet. So when I went to his house Wednesday I had decided two things:

  1. I was NOT going to bring it up. W knows how I feel, and to bring it up again would only make him unhappy; and
  2. I was not going to have expectations.

What this meant was that I wasn’t going to treat going over to work with him like a potential play date. I got ready to go to his house, and I didn’t do the things I normally do, in anticipation of even the possibility of play (shave my cooch, wear something sexy or at least wear a thong, put on make-up, do my hair.)

No expectations. Not even my heels at the door.

Until I saw them there. I don’t think the sound of my heart jumping in my chest when I saw them was audible, but it sounded deafening in my own ears. My mouth went dry and for a moment, tears actually obscured my vision. I know, ridiculously emotional reaction, but one that I couldn’t help. I walked quickly into the other room to hide my reaction. Then I returned, put on my heels, and we had our work day. It was a lovely day, and every time I moved I felt my heels on my feet, and every time I walked I felt them, and my heart soared and I felt light as air.

Still, when he said something about me needing a sound thrashing before I left, I didn’t let myself get my hopes up. He’d said that before and nothing came of it, and I didn’t want to want it so bad that I asked for it. If it happened, it had to come from him. It wouldn’t work any other way.

The afternoon wore on, and finally I was done with work, and he mentioned turning the heaters on upstairs. He mentioned play again, and though I smiled, I schooled myself not to react too much. While the heaters kicked on, we sat downstairs and talked and I fed us ice cream. Until he said, “Hand me some rope.”

Just that casually.

My heart did a stutter-step and I swallowed as I reached for his bag. I want him so very very badly that it is like this for me, painful, when he decides he wants me too. But I played it cool, and dug out rope. I don’t know if he saw my hands shaking when I handed it to him. And soon it didn’t matter, because he was doing something that made any shaking impossible: tying my hands around his hard cock.

It started as silly play, with us both laughing and joking about what he was doing. Then suddenly it wasn’t silly.  Suddenly an amusement turned into something more for him, and I could feel the change, in the air, in him, in myself. My pussy clenched, and I could feel the wetness between my legs.  We spent the next hour with him forcing my mouth down on his cock and forcing me to pump him with the hands that he had tied excruciatingly tight around his cock. I ended up with rope around my ankles and waist and neck. I ended up exhausted, with a sore jaw and fantasies that he put in my mind of being made to do this to other men. I heard his words, and felt how hard he was, and realized I had instigated none of this, it was all him.  And then he untied me, and told me to turn around and get on my hands and knees so he could fuck me from behind. First in my cunt, then in my ass. “Make it come,” he said, over and over, as I struggled to use hands that he had rendered useless. “Do it, you little whore,” he commanded, whipping me across the back and shoulders. And I did, whimpering in pain and ecstasy. Then he got out Baldy and made me do it again, and again, all the time telling me to “Come! Do it, slut,” until his words and the words in my fantasy (being made to masturbate in front of a roomful of people) were one and the same. I was shaking, and sore, and exhausted, by the time he let me up off my hands and knees.

But he wasn’t done yet. Without a word he yanked me up and tied me between the posts in his downstairs front room, my legs shaking from my orgasms earlier and my thoughts fuzzy. And he flogged me ferociously until I could barely stand. Until I was shaking like a leaf and begging him to stop.

It was an incredible, blissful, wonderful afternoon. And all weekend, I have been holding my knees open, my ankles crossed, while I write. And thinking about him, and our afternoon, and smiling.

So what was this gift that I mentioned in the beginning? It’s simple. It was the gift of hope, and of him showing me he still wants to do those things to me, and that maybe we don’t have to accept that “familiarity=vanilla.” He’s right, it could mean that. But it doesn’t have to. And I don’t think he wants it to any more than I do.

No wonder I forgot to make his damn coffee, right?

750 Words

Look at me, I’m writing. 750 words, to be exact. Well possibly more, but not less. Because there’s this damn website, 750words.com, that I love, and I am on a 6-day streak, and unlike yoga (which I can allow myself to beg out of due to excessive stress placed upon my body yesterday and an awesome massage today) I do not have an excuse to not do.

Or I won’t give myself an excuse.

Actually what I want to do is snuggle up in my warm covers and go to sleep. But I’ve started this damn daily writing thing, and just for once, I’d like to last longer than five days at it, yanno? Besides which, there are badges. Currently I am a penguin. I want whatever comes next. I’m competitive that way. I also want to get the little “You’re awesome, Jade!” pop up when I get my 750 words. Cuz I’m sooo needy of approval. Even if it’s by a mindless piece of software.

So guess what?? You get to read (or don’t, because it’s bound to be painful) the ramblings of a dozy, still-halfway-spaced-out-after-an-awesome-scene-last-night Jade.

So yeah, last night. Wow.

It didn’t start out the best. We went over to W’s and got ready for our local kink group’s monthly party, which, of course, was a Halloween party. We haven’t been in a few months, due to scheduling conflicts and what-not, but I hadn’t actually missed it too much. While I love the core group of people we know, to be honest, not many of them actually play anymore (at least at this particular party), and the folks that do play we don’t know well…in fact we don’t know a majority of the people there anymore. So…there’s a bit of a feeling of disconnection.  Also…the space leaves a bit to be desired. I want a playspace like there used to be here, before it was shut down. Like I have seen in Chicago or Memphis. I am kind of done with this one, to be honest, though since it is the only public play party we have, I suppose (unless I can talk W into heading down to Memphis or to Chicago once every 4 or 6 weeks), it’s all we got.

Anyway…the weather just turned cold here, rather abruptly (as in it was 80 degrees one afternoon, and within an hour or so it had dropped to the low 50’s) and…I wasn’t ready for it! Hell, it’s the end of October, I SHOULD be ready for it, right? It’s not like it’s a surprise or anything for St. Louis to be cold by Halloween, but…I dunno. I just wasn’t ready! (insert stompy feet here)

I hate being cold. I don’t mind the snow, in fact I love the snow – when I can be inside, warm and snug. And I don’t mind thunderstorms, love them in fact, or even just generally crappy weather at all – when I can be inside. But I ABHOR being cold, and wet and cold?? Yikes. There is nothing to turn my mood sour quicker. That really is one outside influence that I let grab hold and bug me (even though I know I shouldn’t and do fight against it.)  But it’s a battle I can’t win, and I get crabby.  So yeah, I was crabby.

Our costumes were two cowboys and a pony, and we were going to bring Topaz out to play, since the Guys were going to be rustling a wild little filly. Originally I was going to wear my usual Topaz get-up: brown panties, bra and boots. But there was NO WAY I was wearing next-to-nothing in that cold – I knew they would keep the playspace too cold (they always do) and getting from the car to the playspace would be miserable. So I changed my outfit to something warmer (but decidedly less sexy) and was feeling…well…decidedly unsexy. And since I was feeling pissy, I told the Guys I didn’t want to get into the rest of my pony gear (rope harness and bit) once we got there, so I wasn’t even feeling in ponyspace, or even like I looked very interesting. (Yep, I was feeling like the ugly duckling wallflower.) And I didn’t know anyone, and there were technical difficulties which meant that the scene that I had wanted wasn’t going to happen…

And I was pissy and just plain wanted to leave about five minutes after we got there.

The Guys, though…they looked great. Ad makes a DAMN fine looking cowboy, let me tell you. :-D

So how did we get from that fairly pissy, bad-tempered Jade to a “still-halfway-spaced-out-after-an-awesome-scene-last-night” Jade?

Well, W of course. He said, “Okay, we’ll go, but first let me tie you a bit.” Then, once he had my arms tied (nice and tight…in fact he had tied them once, and then RETIED them to tighten them.) Even that was perfectly done, because moments before I was thinking that they were just pulled back, no big deal, la-di-da, and I wasn’t really even in the right mindset. Until I felt him cinch those ropes down tight, and my shoulders get yanked back, and my elbows come together.  And then he put the bit in my mouth before I could protest, and a rope around my neck, and he got the quirt out…

And suddenly, everything was different.

Oops! There’s my 750 words. (A few more, actually.) Looks like it’s off to beddie bye for me. Sorry to leave you hanging.  You can imagine the rest, though, can’t you?

Death by Orgasm

“So what are you thinking about for the weekend schedule?” he asked in an email.

Hmm…

This is what my perfect weekend would look like:

  • I come in and my collar is locked around my neck. I’m told to put high heels and slutwear on, and then allowed to work on the computer while he finishes his dinner.
  • After dinner he makes me do my yoga poses for him, naked, by candlelight, on his newly finished, beautifully glowing wood floor. After which he ties me into an “assisted” yoga pose that is NOT an assistance at all. But it’s by candlelight, so how bad can it be?
  • Then he flogs and singletails me until I fall (melt?) literally into a puddle on the floor. I wind up in bed with my collar still on and the ropes on my wrists, and sleep the sleep of the dead (or deeply subspaced) all night.
  • I wake to him holding me by the ropes on my wrists as he fucks me. I have a vague memory of him taking the collar off in the night but am absurdly pleased that he left the ropes on, and as I come awake I realize that I have been smelling the hemp all night, and taking pleasure and comfort in it even in my sleep.
  • We walk to the newly-opened coffee/waffle/ice cream shop  down the street and have lattes and waffles and bask in the pleasure of being able to spend two whole days/nights together.
  • On the walk back we decide to do a Rope on the Run “Y” shot, go back to the house to get our stuff and then head back out. The weather is perfect, for a walk and the set-up and shot is perfect. Neither one of us is ready to go back inside when we’re done though, so we walk home by way of a little hole-in-the-wall bar that none-the-less has a tiny, delightful patio with a huge oak tree in it, get a couple beers, and have a sit in the warm shade.
  • That night we have been invited to a party, but decide to stay on our own. Neither one of us wants to dilute the weekend with other people.
  • W decides I need to experience the GirlBox, and it turns into a game that neither of us expected, and both thoroughly enjoy. I discover the surprising desire to find a girl to put in the Girlbox myself and this idea becomes an on-again off-again topic of conversation over the weekend.
  • We go out to a favorite Mexican restaurant for dinner – the long way around, and with me in my metal bra – and come home to give each other long, sensual massages before crawling blissfully into bed.
  • We have vanilla(!) sex in the AM. And love it!
  • After a shared bubble bath and coffee, we spend the late morning/afternoon working companionably on our own projects – me surfing for a place for the Missy’s and my upcoming retreat in November, him updating Bondage Demons.
  • He takes me into the basement and proceeds to tie me into a predicament involving the wooden pony, a lot of rope, two evil spiky balls, clothespins and a spreader bar. After Phase 1 of this, he asks, “Are you done?” “No!” I say. He is amused. “And you say I’m the messed up one,” he replies.
  • He proceeds to make me done.
  • We take a dinner-and-Jade-recuperation break, after which he says, “Okay, what kind of scene would you like?” “One with lots of orgasms!” I say (famous last words.) Back down into the basement we go, where he proceeds to fuck me with a water heater.
  • And a Hitachi.
  • Until I think I might die by orgasm. It turns out that the predicament bondage didn’t do me in, orgasms did.
  • I come home to Ad and relay the weekend’s events. At the end he says, “So W finally discovered that Baldy can be a torture device, huh?” “Yeah,” I say, “I think my cunt is broke.”
  • He shows me that it’s not.

And that would be my perfect weekend. You know, if I could have scripted it.  Too bad I didn’t see W’s email until I got home and checked my email.

The Long-Anticipated Gangbang Post

(Continued from this post.)

We’d talked about parameters, limits, desires, fears, boundaries & hopes, and then I put it all in W’s hands to arrange: a “kidnapping,” or “abduction” scene at Fusion. The year before he had set it up, but I had injured my shoulder just before we went, and we were both leery of allowing others to manhandle me, even with prior knowledge of the injury.

And we both wanted me manhandled.

Actually, thinking about what I wanted to happen in the scene, I don’t think I used that exact word. I had a hard time verbalizing what exactly I wanted, to be honest. Not quite a “take-down,” but not a gentle leading-by-the-hand, either. I wasn’t ready for an all-out battle, emotionally or physically. But I didn’t want to go down without a fight.

W and I often engage in resistance play, usually during sex, with me struggling against him, resisting but not actually fighting, and him pinning or holding me down with his hands, rope, or the weight of his body. It always manages to get my motor running, my body reacting and responding instinctively, even if I wasn’t all that revved up to begin with. If we wanted to get all psychological about it, I could talk about it being a “safe” place and way to fight back – and it is. I’ve been in a position where fighting back wasn’t an option, because it would mean being seriously hurt; so yes, this is cathartic and hot.

But I wasn’t thinking about that on that afternoon. What I was thinking was that I wasn’t all that bothered by watching W with this chick as he played his part in (what I thought was) her abduction scene. I wasn’t sure how exactly I fit in to this game, but since W had told me he wanted me there to be a fluffer, I assumed he would let me know when he needed me.

I was also checking out the 8 or 10 or 12 other men there, thinking about how I had told W once that I’d like to be the mouth in a glory hole, and wondering if maybe I’d be required to fluff more than him, and how would that work, and how would I react to that?  Little did I know that in moments I would get to find out – but not as a fluffer.

As I stood on the sidelines, kind of keeping an eye on W but also making sure to do self-care by not making myself pay too close attention, as that might trigger some of my more negative, knee-jerk responses, Jr approached me.

“How does it make you feel when you watch W play with someone else?” he asked, apropos of nothing except what was in my head (which I assumed he couldn’t hear, so it was kind of odd to hear him ask me about it.)

I paused, thinking. If people haven’t read my thoughts and the processing I do here on the topic, to say outright that it makes me uncomfortable – especially in a situation and place where being uncomfortable with this kind of thing could cause issues for W later if he did want to play with others, would be unfair to him. I was still castigating myself over my earlier failure to deal with things in a non-destructive way when I had set up the situation with K, and I wanted to be very careful not to give any hint of a poor reaction again. But JR was (on the way) to becoming something of a friend, and I wanted to be honest. Also, perhaps getting to talk it through with someone “outside,” someone who I understood was familiar with sharing dynamics, would bring clarity to my own mixed emotions.

“Honestly, kind of uncomfortable,” I said. I paused again, then opened my mouth to expound a bit on it, especially on my burgeoning realization that I wasn’t as bothered by what he was doing now–

I never got the opportunity, because suddenly JR grabbed me by the shoulder and a handful of hair and pulled me around to face him.  “You won’t need to worry about it,” he said. “You’re going to be too busy to worry about what he is doing.”

I stared at him, stunned speechless. I am sure I must have had the “deer-the-headlights” look, because I had no idea what was going on. Had W arranged for JR to play with me while he did the abduction scene? If not, would he be okay with me playing with JR? I couldn’t even remember seeing JR play before, so I had no idea what he might be interested in.  But this didn’t feel like a “negotiation” anyway, this didn’t feel like getting “asked” to play.  And, knowing what I did about this group that we had fallen in with at DO, it seemed really odd that he would be handling me like this if he didn’t have prior consent.  A moment later he cleared everything up:  I wasn’t going to be watching because they had other plans in mind. The other woman/abduction was a decoy, and this was actually my abduction.

At that moment, thinking about getting dressed and rushing W down to the barn, I almost laughed out loud.  I had dressed up and hurried W along to my own abduction! He must be getting a good laugh. But then I looked around, and saw all the men that had been standing around converging on JR and I. And I realized that every one of those men was going to use me, either vaginally or orally, or both. I knew that they weren’t there to watch.  My stomach clenched at that thought, but not in lust or excitement – not yet, anyway.

I looked around wildly for W. Was he sure he wanted this? I didn’t see him, and suddenly I was afraid. What if part of it for him was leaving me there? We had talked about parameters, sure, and I thought we had agreed that him being there, watching, was part of the hotness for us both, and something I needed to feel safe. But maybe he’d decided to make it scary for me.  Maybe he had changed the set-up.  Even while I was rejecting that thought, fairly certain that he would be there, somewhere, I couldn’t see him. I needed to see him, to know it was okay.

By this time they were dragging me to a bench, where they started to tie my arms and legs down. I struggled and grew more frantic.  I didn’t want to be pinned, I didn’t want to be unable to protect myself (and my rings) if W wasn’t there. There were hands everywhere, and men’s faces looking down at me – so many of them. I started to feel real panic then. What if they actually hurt me? What if W didn’t know they were hurting me? What if he wanted them to hurt me? Again, I didn’t know what he’d told them was okay and what wasn’t.

And there were so many of them. Looming over me, crowding me, staring down at me.  My breath started to come harder, in frantic little pants.

Later, I would realize that that uncertainty – the not knowing what was going to happen, what specifically he had told them – was what made the scene hot.  But at that moment, I really needed W there to tell me what to do, so that all I had to do was to obey, and whatever happened after that would be all right.

And suddenly he was there, grabbing me roughly by the chin, holding my face still so he could lean down and look into my eyes and speak very quietly to me. “You’re a slut, and these men are going to use you exactly as I want them to. I’m going to let them fuck your cunt and your mouth, do you understand?”

I gulped air and stared up at him. Yes. This was what he wanted, this scene, this way.  This was what I had agreed to. I nodded; breathed in his calm.  It was okay. This was the game we were playing.

So okay, I know I said I wasn’t going to get all psychobabbly, but I do have to take a moment to parse out what was going on in my head, before W came over with his calm, controlled presence. How, as sometimes happens, even when we know it’s a game, that it’s all in fun, that it’s what we want, sometimes our lizard brain takes over, and all that logic flies out the window.

I alluded to, and have talked in other posts about, having been in situations where I couldn’t fight back, and that is why being able to do so, safely, is something that I often seek out. That it also trips a sexual trigger is another interesting aspect. The person that this happened with was my first husband, someone I have talked about here occasionally (this is not “the Ex.”) I believe that I subconsciously sought out someone to fulfill my sexual and kink inclinations, that were even then – without me knowing it – deeply rooted in a desire for rough sex, for being overwhelmed, overtaken, manhandled, coerced. Unfortunately I didn’t know the difference between what we do and abuse, or rather I knew what he did was abusive, but I was still excited by it (and deeply ashamed of my excitement), and so for a while (almost two years) I lived on that roller coaster that is an abusive relationship.

Now I don’t pretend or intend BDSM play to be therapeutic. I don’t use it to chase away or conquer any demons. But if those demons happen to be in my way – and if I am able to use those demons to fuel my own and my partners’ heat – I am more than willing to use them. For some people, fear and anxiety can be a powerful aphrodisiac, and I’ve long since passed the stage where I am ashamed of those feelings/associations. They are as much mine as any other emotions and feelings, and when I can use them for something positive, well, that only increases my own power.  One of those left-over demons involves an image: my first husband, so much larger than me (6’3″ to my 5’3″ and twice as heavy) looming over me, pinning me down with his gaze as I cowered before him, waiting for – whatever was to come.  I never knew if this time he would lose control, or turn away and leave me alone. He used his size to intimidate me, and, I think, he enjoyed that power over me.

That was the image that crowded out reality when those men were crowding around me, looming over me. And in that moment of panic, that was where I went.  Until W was there, who is always in control, is always calm, even in the deepest heat of the moment.

In thinking about it, I realize what a heavy burden that is for him to carry, and I am grateful all the more for his wide shoulders and bravery in being willing to accept that burden. And even more grateful to have found someone that likes to play on those same edges, because in him I found someone that allows me to play there as well, and return safely after doing so.

And so to continue on…

For the next hour or two they all took their turns with me, one after the other. Most times I had a cock in my mouth and in at least one hand while another was shoved into my cunt; sometimes I even managed a cock in each hand, in my mouth and in my cunt. That was a little frustrating, to be honest, because I have been trained to be a good fuck – and I like to fuck – but I couldn’t concentrate on any one cock, on giving any of them “good service.” But that is exactly what W wanted: I wasn’t there to fuck, I wasn’t there to pleasure them, I was there to have my holes used and be used in the most base way by these men. Any time I could get my head into that space, I got excited, and was able to come several times that way.

The afternoon, and all that happened is a little hazy. I lost count of the men, the cocks, the different times they used me. Occasionally I would get overwhelmed by it all, all those men, and JR or W would have to talk me into calmness again, into acquiescence, into remembering that that is why I was there: I was just a fuckhole, there to be used. Once it started to feel almost vanilla (except for the fact that there was a line of them waiting), and JR turned up the heat by manhandling me, by slapping my thighs open and then by putting me on my hands and knees on a mattress on the floor. This little bit of degradation, it turned out, was good for my twisted mind, because I was soon back to panting and grunting like an animal while they fucked me from behind. W even fucked me at some point, his fist in my hair and his nasty words in my ear. And, surprisingly, a girl with a strap-on joined in (the same one who had been the decoy) and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

And then, finally, it was over, and I was handed back to W, a little (or a lot) used, but not broken.

I had succeeded at my first gangbang.

Wicked Wednesday: Floggings, Singletails, Clothespins & Fisting – Oh My!

Whew, what a crazy weekend. Sooo much fun, starting with this, and continuing on to fun and games and play Saturday, and still more fun and games and play (of a different sort) Sunday.

This was the kind of fun we had Saturday:

And this:

And this:

And then, after we got home from a lovely dinner with our new-found play-friends Saturday night, Ad, W and I had our own fun, pics of which I’ll share at some future time.

As for Saturday, I don’t even know where to start. I guess from where I left off on Saturday morning, huh?

So there we were, waiting for the couple, Lyn & Carl – longdistancesub and her Master – to arrive. They were people we’d met through blogging. I had followed longdistancesub’s blog for some time (submission & shoes -what could be better?) when we met in person at Kinky Kollege about two years ago.  She had mentioned, either in her blog or on Fetlife, that she was wanting to get a few women together to do a “shoe photo shoot” in their hotel room while there.  Well THAT was a no-brainer! This post of hers (and several after) is from that afternoon.  We became friends after that, and kept in touch off and on through our blogs, email and IM.  We often talked about getting together again, but it didn’t happen, for one reason or another, until this past Saturday.

As I’ve mentioned before, W isn’t a big planner, and prefers to just go with the flow of things, but after some discussion with Carl, he had a few things specifically in mind for this play date.  The first was that I would be tied and gagged upstairs when they arrived (safety measures in place.) At the last minute, in spite of the fact that I could release myself from the bondage if needed, he decided not to gag me. It was the right decision, as we were playing with people we didn’t know well and who might not realize how very meticulous and careful of safety that he is, but I was disappointed: being denied the ability to “chat” with them would have put a whole different, more objectifying, spin on things, and would have started me out in an entirely different headspace, a headspace I have been craving, and had been especially looking for in this scene. I wanted to be an object, a plaything, with no voice or volition – not his girlfriend or the hostess.

But I was determined not to make this about me. I had cost W a good deal of pleasure when I had reacted poorly before, and I wanted this to be as perfect for him – and for them – as I could make it. So, I relaxed into the situation, even if it wasn’t exactly as I had fantasized.

And it turned out that even with the ability to converse, it was still hot. W brought her up in handcuffs and a gag and proceeded to “inspect” her, while inviting Carl to do the same to me. I think my inspection was a bit more cursory, as both he and I were focused on the two of them, but he found and explored my rings a bit, and ran his hands over me, and we talked quietly as W continued his exploration of Lyn. I did not feel the slightest twinge of jealousy, tho I do recall at one time wishing he would at least notice me standing, tied up, over in the corner. You know, come over & pull my hair, slap me, growl at me about what a little slut I was, and was watching him fuck her with his hands making me hot? (It was.) But one thing I so love about playing with W is his intense, single-minded focus. How could I deny her that? So I was (mostly) quiet and patient, knowing that eventually his attention would turn to me.

And it did. And oh my, when it did…we had the most incredibly hot flogging and singletailing scene. I was revved up and turned on by watching him with her – and ecstatic to once again be the focus of his attention. Every stroke of the whip was a caress, a kiss, that drove me higher and higher. I can’t think of a time that I have wanted to be fucked so badly after a severe whipping. Alas, that was not to be…but I was okay with that, as we moved onto other play, play that allowed me to attack her with my mouth while W and Carl worked on her with floggers and the singletail.

And by attack, I mean exactly that. She had on fishnet hose that were entirely too much in the way – so I bit through them with my teeth. (Hey, ya work with what ya got! I’d have pulled them down with my hands, but they were tied. So…teeth it was.) Things really got hot when W grabbed a fistful of my hair and shoved my face into her, grinding my mouth into her pussy as he smacked me over and over with a belt, telling me not to stop licking her.

At some point they stopped things and we took a breather, but then it was back to playtime. Carl likes clothespins, so W tied Lyn up again and Carl used them on her breasts. I know I was supposed to be just watching and waiting patiently, but we all know patience has never been my strong suit when it comes to play.

This is me, being a good, patient girl.

“Please, W, a zipper?” I begged.

He obliged.

After that, while we were resting and W was noodling on what he wanted to do next, Lyn mentioned that she had never been fisted, but that my hands looked small enough to give it a try. So we did.

I love fisting a woman. I love the feel of her body opening up to me – and then clamping down. All the delicious hidden spaces to explore! I had forgotten how hot and sexy – and deeply, deeply intimate – it is.

But there was still more. Lyn said that she would like W to flog her. I was so glad that she said so. I did not know what kind of play she liked, in terms of impact play, etc., but I was hoping that she would want W to do an impact scene with her. I was so comfortable with the play so far that I was curious about how I would feel to watch him play – really play – with someone else.

So Carl and I settled onto the floor pillow to watch.

Truth is, I didn’t get to “watch” much, because Carl occupied a lot of my attention, which was a lovely, delicious, surprise. It was the first time that I have been fucked while W works another girl over – and it was freakin’ HOT. Being fucked by her partner, while catching glimpses of W’s intensely focused face as he whipped her and hearing her whimpers and cries and moans, was intensely erotic. Later W said he had much the same reaction, knowing Carl was fucking me while he whipped Lyn (so I guess he was aware of me.) Somehow it bound us all together in the scene and made it one scene that we were all in together. And when I came, it was in tandem to her cries, my own echoing hers. Apparently, just as the sounds of sex are such a turn-on, in the right circumstances the sounds of pain are too.

And this was the right circumstance.

I still don’t know why this time, as opposed to others, worked so well. I have a few ideas that I am still noodling on. But the bottom line was that I had no angst, no twinges of jealousy, no anxiety. It was wonderful, and such a relief (I’m sure to us both.) And watching him do what he does so well – to her – made me hot and made me proud to be his.

Also, in a weird way, making the scene about him and them, working so hard to make it good for him and making her the center of attention, was deeply satisfying to my lil subbie soul, in spite of being such an attention slut. It felt a little bit like…service. No, I wasn’t the mindless fucktoy to be used and abused as I had fantasized about, and the scene really wasn’t even about me, but I still got a good deal of pleasure from it.

There really is a submissive lurking in there somewhere.

A Bouncing Start to the Weekend

Sheesh, it’s 6am and I am up with the birds! But what the heck, a girl doesn’t need more than 5 hours sleep, does she?

Okay, maybe she does. But, as the saying goes, there’ll be time enough for sleep when I’m dead.  And honey, I ain’t dead yet!

Such a big weekend. Last night: radio interview with Kendra for her debut show on Sirius radio. Then an awesome flogging scene (to disco, no less!) by both guys, then sex with anal beads. And this morning, more sex with those same beads, since I’d crashed (literally, at 1am, BOOM and I was asleep) with them still in me.  Yep, slept with anal beads in me all night.  They were pulled out by W this morning as I rode him, grinding myself against Baldy and having a screaming orgasm. And today/tonight, a couple we know are coming in to town to play with W and I, then we’re doing dinner out with them and Ad. And tomorrow…well, we haven’t made those plans yet. But I hope they involve bike riding. And sex. Definitely sex. Maybe not in that order.

So last night…

Yeah, wow. Still flying. The radio interview has been in the works for a while. Kendra had asked if I would consider talking with her for her debut sex-talk show, and, somewhat tentatively, I said yes, contingent upon talking with her first so I could get a feel for what she was after. The agreed-upon meeting date was rescheduled though, due to timing conflicts, and I had to make my decision about whether or not to go on it without meeting her first.

It’s not like I hadn’t met her (several times) over the past years. We both kind of came on the local blogging scene around the same timeframe (she was a year or two before me, I think) and her blog was actually one of the first local ones that I ran across. It also happened that we knew some of the same people, my lovely, on-again/off-again first girl-love crush, and a couple that I dated and am still close friends with. But for whatever reason, though we inhabited the same (small) local scene that encompasses all of us sexual deviants here in the Lou, we never really go to know each other. Possibly because I became so heavily involved in the local kink scene (and W and Ad, which relationships take up much more time than hanging out with the locals) and she moves more in the sex-positive community.

Funny that those two seem to separate themselves at times, and a shame.

But when I had to make my decision about the radio interview, I went over and read a lot of her blog. I hadn’t been following her (it’s hard to keep up with any blogs at times) and so I wanted to get a feel for the kind of person she might be, or at least as much of her as I could glean from her writings. And I was impressed. She is straightforward, vociferously and emphatically sex-positive, intelligent and well-spoken. Even though our styles were quite different, and we have some differing points of view, I felt that we could have an interesting conversation.

And we did. Both in person, several days before the radio show, and on the show itself.

What a fantastic experience!  Here’s the thing you gotta know about it: I was terrified of doing it.  I don’t know if there were 10 people listening, or 100, or a million. (Okay, I’m fairly certain there weren’t a million. But at least 10, as I think that was how many callers we had.  But you know what I mean.) But the number didn’t matter, this was public speaking, and it was way beyond my comfort zone.

And that, of course, is why I did it.

I love to talk about this thing we do.  I love to talk about relationships and sex and kink and choices and living this life that we have chosen.  Mostly, I talk here, through my fingers. Sometimes I get the opportunity to talk to people in person, which I also love. Occasionally I get roped into (or rope myself into) talking to a group of people. Public speaking both terrifies and excites me, it charges me up and makes me high and I love it – when I am in the middle of it, and afterwards. In the beginning? Sheer, utter terror. Like pacing, wringing my hands, throwing-up terror.

But damn, when I get in the groove, when I’ve conquered the fear, I am in the zone, flying high and loving it.

I was there last night. We talked about sex and kink and blow-jobs and 50 Shades and anal and more sex and more kink, and talked to callers and it was just like having an extended phone conversation. It was soooo much fun.

So much so that I was bouncing off the walls afterward, a ball of pent-up energy that needed to express itself, which it did. “A beating? Please? Play play play?!?” (bounce bounce)

The Guys obliged. And OMG we had a great scene. I was soundly flogged, birched, wooden-spooned and sweat-scrapered. (Yeah, you read that right. It’s an old favorite of mine that I haven’t seen in AGES.  It’s an actual sweat scraper that they use on horses.  I bought it from a tack store years ago – with the Ex, I believe. Love love love it!) And all to the sounds of the disco playlist I made for W. And yup, you read that right, too: disco. I think I’ve mentioned before that my Mean Guy is a disco-lovin’ fool. So I made him a playlist, and they whipped me to the beat of “Staying Alive,” “I Will Survive,” “How Deep Is Your Love,” “Bad Boys,” and other favorites. Twenty-five songs worth! I was dancing in the ropes, waggling my ass and back at them, asking for it, more, harder, faster…

It was some kind of fun.

But I was still wound up (though I had been quieted for awhile) by the time Ad left.

“It’s still Anal August,” I said to W. “Can we do something – something on the ‘nice’ list – for Anal August?” Anal beads, which I have always enjoyed, it was, with the promise to use them “nicely” (ie not rip them out to make me scream.)  The fun part? W had never used them! I got to introduce him to a new toy/kind of play. How fun is that?

That’s not really that unusual, to be honest. He has lots and lots of experience with torture devices, with pain toys and things that make a girl squirm and wince and scream, but the pleasure toys? The sex toys? Not so much.

I’ve made it my relationship-mission to bring him over to the pleasure side. ;-)

So yeah, there was that. Though we didn’t actually get to the “pulling them out while I come” part, which is the particular pleasure of anal beads, because I had an orgasm while he was pushing them in, and then…we both, promptly, passed out. Anal beads still tucked up inside me.

So I have my love affair with W’s chime balls. And when I woke up with the beads still inside me this morning, it occurred to me, as I did my morning “task” (making him hard as he slept) that possibly fucking him with the beads in there might also be yummy. So I grabbed Baldy and climbed on top of him.

Oh yeah, cock in cunt and beads in ass – especially with me on top, so that I can roll them inside of me as I rock back and forth on him – exquisite! I was rocking to an orgasm in minutes. And just as I got there, he leaned up and grabbed the pull string for the beads and pulled them out, one by one, making that delicious popping feeling that is quintessentially anal beads.

Perfection.

And then I left him to go back to sleep and I came down here, because I have so much in my head to write about that I couldn’t sit still another minute. Also, we have those friends coming in to town, who will be here in a matter of hours. W has said I will be used and played with hard…I am nervous and excited. Playing with others is always anxiety-making. And I have to finish getting the house ready. And then myself. And then…

Well we shall see what we shall see, right?

But don’t fret, I am sure I will share it all with you when it is over. Because that’s what I do. ;-)

Oh, before I go, for your Saturday morning listening (and viewing) pleasure:

Some days, it IS about the pain…

…although the pictures in this post might not make it seem so. ;-)

So yeah, last night I finally got whacked something good.

And tied.

And embarrassed.

And made to suck cock.

And fucked with W’s new ass slapper.

And had my ass probed and stretched as a prelude to W’s new brainchild, “Anal August.” (Watch this space for details. I believe there may be something for all you out there in the blogoverse to contribute, if you feel so inclined.) ;-)

The night started out with drinks and dinner, which led to much hilarity, and this.

(Excuse the blurriness in some of these. Ad took them with his cell phone.  He said a minute ago when I complained about it, “You’re damn hard to make stand still! Sometimes you get a bit…full of yourself.”  What! Moi? Anyway, blurry or not, the pics are too much fun not to share.)

The end result wasn’t bad though:

Actually that was only the beginning. And my favorite part was still to come. Having W push me to my knees, shove his cock in my mouth and tell Ad to whip me was hot (especially because it made W get hard as a rock.) And having Ad bend me over and hold my ass open for disgusting pictures was embarrassing (and therefore hot.) Listening to them banter back and forth, hearing their laughter was fun.

But what I needed was the pain.

Sometimes, it is the pain that I want, that I need.

W says I am not a masochist, as he understands the term. And perhaps I am not. There are times when I read what people that need pain write and I get acutely uncomfortable.  That’s not me, I don’t need pain for pain’s sake. I don’t crave it.  Most times, I think pain is a vehicle for me. A vehicle to that endorphin-induced high.  To finding my submission, to finding my courage, to finding my self. To finding that place inside me where I open up and soar. And yes, sometimes it is about pleasure, and I get turned on by the pain, and the pain translates to “fuck me now!” But W is probably right, strictly speaking, it’s not about the pain for me.

Except when it is. Like last night.

Sometimes pain has a purity to it, a clarity and a sharpness that I can taste, like clear, cold, spring-fed water on the back of my tongue, as it happens. And as soon as it’s gone, as soon as I’ve swallowed it down, I want another taste. This isn’t a blooming pain, it isn’t a warm, enveloping pain. It’s sharp, and jagged, and startling. I don’t float and glow and let it curl around me like smoke; I convulse with it, my body a lightening rod as it sears through me, burning with the cold clarity of lightening, electrifying me for that one, heart-stopping moment, before it’s gone and I can breathe again.

Breathe and ask for more, because that’s exactly what I did.

W had pulled me back between his legs with my back against the couch. He had one hand on my throat, holding my head tipped back, exerting the slightest bit of pressure, and with the other he used his new toy between my thighs. On the insides of each thigh, over and over, and on my cunt, the sides of it, almost on the clit, even my be-ringed lips, although he was very careful there. I gasped and jerked in his hand, and felt his hand tighten, felt my breath coming shorter. And felt the tap of his toy, lightly but insistently reminding me to open my legs to him. To welcome the pain, to ask for it.

And I did, over and over.

And then, when he stopped, I asked for it again. For real. With my words.  I was soaring high on the jagged edges of that lightening, and I never wanted it to end.

It did, eventually, but I had the red marks all day to look at, to remind me.