The Physical Price

I forget, at times, that along with the expected emotional toll that hard scening sometimes takes (subdrop, neediness, clinginess, etc.) there is also a physical toll. Aching body. Various and sundry hurts and  pains.

It’s all good. Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade even one of my aches and pains away–and my marks? Never. I cherish them. I look at them with affection and joy and use them to remind myself of the scene that caused them.  I poke at them and rub on them and love them.

But still…they hurt. Tonight I am sore, and achy, and finding all kinds of muscles I never knew I had. Combine that with the beginning of subdrop and…sigh…you have a sad Jade.

And, dammit, I have W back in St. Louis, but he’s still there, and I’m here.

We had a spectacular weekend though.

W, Ad and I had been signed up for quite awhile for the St. Louis Lewbari Weekend Intensive with the fantastic rigger and bondage educator Lew Rubens, when Jay and Georgia of Fit to Be Tied emailed us that they, too, were coming into town for the event. Lew’s original demo bottom apparently couldn’t make it, so he’d texted her to see if she was available. If she’s anything like me, I’m sure she would have cancelled just about any other plans to get to be Lew’s demo bunny.  As it was, we invited them to stay with us if they needed a place to stay while they were here, and they did.

It’s so cool meeting people from this space, and then parlaying that into a RL friendship. Jay had first recognized me at another conference-or unconference, as Graydancer calls them-the Grue in the ‘Lou, last year. It was another one of those odd moments. Someone sees or hears my name, they do a doubletake as the face registers as well, and recognition lights their faces. “Oh! You’re that Jade! I’ve seen your pictures (or read your blog)…” And I have a few moments of trying to get my mind around the fact (and get over the embarrassment in the knowledge) that the person talking to me has probably seen me naked, or read my words here as I exposed far more of myself than I ever would in person. But once I am over my initial embarrassment it is, of course, a pleasure to be recognized.

After the Grue, at which W, Ad and I got to know Jay and Georgia a little, we kept in touch via Twitter & Fetlife, occasionally throwing out the idea of having them down for a party or us going up there for one. So it was a natural to have them stay with us at W’s, and a pleasure to actually get to spend time with them outside of the weekend classes and play party.

The Lewbari Intensive was just an amazing weekend. Lew is a fantastic educator, and more than that, a really stand-up guy. W had told me about him before, having met him and spent some time with him at other events, and I had of course seen his work on his Fetlife profile and knew of his enormous popularity, so I was prepared for a “celebrity,” even though W insisted that he was as low-key and not-celebrity-ish as a person can be.  But still. How could the kind of adulation that people heap on him not go to his head?

I’m here to tell you you could not find a more down-to-earth, personable and friendly person around. He reminds me of W in a way, actually. With a quiet kind of authority that comes with experience and knowledge, not self-aggrandizement. And he’s as quick to admit his own foibles as he is to acknowledge when he’s done something truly spectacular. The man has such an incredible wealth of knowledge, and yet he still encourages others to find their own way, applauds ingenuity and fosters a feeling of collaboration, a collaboration that he welcomes and seeks.

It was that feeling of being allowed to collaborate in the experience that made it so unusual this weekend.  Most of the time I don’t want to play a part in steering where a scene goes. I know that W, and Ad to a degree, will use my reactions to inform the direction in which they move a scene. Occasionally I will request that we do a certain thing that I have seen, or try something out. But mostly, as W says, I go there and he does things to me. That’s the way we both like it.  But since this was a learning experience for Ad, and for W in some ways, I was allowed–and encouraged–to help, to advise, to ask for and suggest things.

Interestingly enough (but probably not so odd, when you think about it) I think that is what led to the very intense resistance-play scene we had at the play party Saturday night.

I didn’t intend to fight back. As you all know by now, I tend to become very submissive when W is Topping me.  I love that surrender, that release, and seldom fight back. (Actually, come to think of it, most of the times we’ve had resistance play in scenes has been when we’ve played with Ad. Resistance play during sex is very much more frequent.) But this weekend was about rope, not impact or pain play.  And further, in some ways, “gentle” rope. Making rope comfortable for the bottom, which has its place, certainly, if what you want to do is prolong a scene.  As Lew says, anyone can make rope hurt, but knowing how to make it comfortable or tolerable is a different skill, and by doing a few simple things to make it so, you can increase your bottom’s tolerance and ability to play longer.  But…W and I usually like it a little rough. LOL  Still, I was prepared to do some kind of rope scene, maybe even a suspension, something showy but still playful, because I can’t imagine the guys doing a scene without some kind of stress/duress or pain. That would be too far outside what we do, and…well, bottom line for me…boring.

Okay, I am going to admit it here and now. I am not a big fan of suspension. Yeah, it’s pretty, but…after that…so what? I mean, I want stuff to be done to me. I like it rough, I like it active.  I don’t just want to be a piece of art. I want to be tied up and helpless and bound tightly and subjugated so that you can use and abuse my body, not so that you can hang me up like a picture.  W’s the same way, and so even when he does suspend me, there is usually a predicament element, or some other distress he is causing me. So it’s all good.

We got to the playspace and everyone was doing their thing.  Lots and lots of scenes going on with lots of rope, as expected. And I was still in this…I don’t want to call it Top space, because never, even when I was helping during the classes, did I feel toppy to either of them, but I certainly wasn’t in my quiet, good-girl submissive headspace. I think…I needed to be taken down.  I needed to have that power, that control that I had been allowed during the classes, to be stripped from me.

And was it ever.

I don’t actually remember many specifics about the scene. Things got pretty fuzzy pretty fast.
I do know it started out quiet enough.  I started out compliant.  But then…I don’t know when it turned. Suddenly…I was fighting the rope and them.  I fought and twisted and swore and kicked. And they grabbed me, and pinned me, and finally tied me roughly to a post.  Then they caned me and whipped me and cropped me until there was no more fight in me.  Until, finally, I surrendered.

My clearest memory: W pressing me hard against the post behind me, my arms stretched painfully back around it and tied tightly with rope, the rough wood scraping my back.  He has one hand at my throat, cutting off my air and lifting me onto my toes. His breathing rasps in my ear as he runs his other hand over my body with an intimacy that shuts out the rest of the room and freezes us in that moment.

And I am more alive in that moment than I have been all month.

Later, as he loosened the ropes moments before I collapsed into his arms, I recall saying to him, “I won’t kick you anymore.” To my befuddled mind, it seemed very important that he know that.  He paused for a moment and then, with a laugh, replied, “I know.”

Today, I have marks and bruises all over my thighs, ankles and calves, from rope and crops and canes, and my body aches in a myriad of places.  I am paying the physical price for our play. And I am as deliriously happy as I can be.

30 Days of Kink: Day 4 – Early Signs

Day 4: Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?

I was such a shy, withdrawn teenager.  All I thought about was my horse & reading. And boys, but less so.  Kink would have been right outta there.

There were two things that might have indicated where my future interests would lie, however. One I don’t consider “kink” but definitely is my sexuality, the other is definitely kink, but it’s hard for me to say that any 14 year old that read what I did wouldn’t become aroused…

I lived in a small mountain town with my mother and stepfather and spent summers with my father in Berkeley, CA. One summer, when I was about 14, and just becoming aware of myself as a sexual being, I was in a park near my dad’s apartment. I saw two women kissing there, and holding hands, and just acting like a normal couple.  I watched them, surreptitiously, for a long time.  I was deeply aroused, and also ashamed by that arousal. But I was also something else…something I can’t really name.  It was the first time I had ever considered women loving each other, both sexually and romantically. It was an eye–and heart–opening moment for me.

Later that week I looked up in an alternative paper where the local Gay/Lesbian Center was, and I walked by it several times that summer, but never worked up the nerve to go in.

The second memory has to do more directly with kink. I found a copy of Nancy Friday’s My Secret Garden, in which women told their sexual fantasies. The ones I remember most? The enema and alien sex ones. LOL But I remember paging through the book to get to the kinky ones, in whatever form.

Check out the list below for other kinky blogger’s answers to Day 4’s question!

Cinnamon

Scarlet Lotus

Mistress Says

Pornocracy

He Says She Says

Nimues World

Roles Defining Rules

Deviante

Perverted Imp

There’s also someone new doing the 30 Days, and though she hasn’t gotten to Day 4 yet, I wanted to point out her blog, because it’s lots of fun (and okay, hot and sexy too…):

Molly’s Daily Kiss

Task 1 – Sex and Blood

I’ve talked about lots of things here, but one of the things I haven’t talked about (much) is blood.

No, not the kind that happens when you cut yourself (or someone cuts you), or vampire play, or even bloodletting and the like. Neither W or I has a thing for that kind of play (for the most part–I’d like to experience cutting at some point, but that’s not really about the blood for me.)

I’m talking about “Auntie Flo.” My “period.” (I’ve always wondered why we use the word “period.”) Menstrual blood.

If you’ve read here long you know that I have a squeamishness about menstrual blood. I sincerely hate that I do. It’s so antithetical to me and what I am about and who I am that it really really bothers me to feel this way. But it’s a gut reaction, a deep shame that I feel when confronted with the possibility of those I am involved with seeing it–much less touching it!–and I can’t seem to shake it.

A long time ago W said to me, “One day I’m going to fuck you bloody.” I kinda thought he meant fuck me til I bleed, and, hey, that was kind of a hot thought! But of course he didn’t. And, since I know that he doesn’t usually say things unless he means to do them, I knew that eventually that day would come.

I never thought that it would be a day that I would ask for it.

I know! How does it happen that the one thing I really really don’t want to do winds up being something I ask for?!?

This past weekend was W’s and my last chance to spend time together before he had to be away for a month, so naturally, I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him.

And equally as naturally, that’s when my period decided to show up.  It always happens to me. Whenever I have something special planned, here comes Aunt Flo… This weekend was no different.  Sunday morning I woke up and there it was. ~sigh~ I told W, but right from the start I had a feeling this might well be the weekend he decided he’d had enough of my squeamishness.  What I didn’t expect was that I’d end up throwing that squeamishness out the window as well.  Well, maybe not throwing it out, but, um…”closing my eyes to it.” So to speak.

Okay, since I’m talking about menstrual blood here, it should be a given that this conversation may get a little TMI…so if you have an issue with that, skip ahead! But honestly, the whole thing was seriously hot, so if you can get past that, you might want to read on.

Later Sunday morning W decided to put me in some bondage.  I don’t usually use tampons, but wasn’t worried about making a mess at that point, because my period usually starts slow enough that I need only light protection the first day. So I wasn’t using anything when he started to get me set up. And honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about bleeding, I was just in “play” mode.  It wasn’t until he had me up in the corner of his bedroom, hanging from ropes that spread my legs wide open for his viewing pleasure, that I remembered that little fact.

“Hey…um…” I stammered. “Could you, um…I didn’t think about the fact that you were putting me up like this…could you, um…”

He didn’t help me out. “Yes?” he asked, snapping pictures and raising an eyebrow at me.

“Umm. Well, could you make sure that…you know…there’s no, um…” I swear I caught a smirk on his lips at my continued stuttering, so I took a deep breath and prepared to act like an adult (yes I am well aware of my childishness about this.) “Will you make sure that there’s no BLOOD showing?!? Please?” I asked through gritted teeth.

He really did smirk then. “Okay. Oh, except for that big drop there…” he said. Of course I gasped and squirmed to tried to see (I couldn’t), but had no idea if I really was hanging there with blood pouring out of my vagina.

And then I realized that it didn’t matter anyway. What could I do about it if there was? I was helpless.

Just like I wanted to be.

He continued to take some pictures, even taking some with my cellphone for my Twitterfeed. No exposure for those, thank goodness.  He preserved my modesty by covering up the naked bits–and presumably any blood–with my robe.

And then he climbed up on the bed and stood in front of me. “I’ve never fucked you in a suspension before, have I?” he asked.

I shook my head, but I wasn’t thinking about the suspension. I was thinking about being bloody, and making a mess…and knowing I couldn’t do a thing to change it.  But when he did it, as he pushed his way past my rings and my protests, as he shoved me against the wall and spread my cuntlips with the head of his cock, suddenly I didn’t care about that, either. I just wanted him inside me, fucking me, like he always did. I stopped thinking about being a mess and gave myself over to the moment, to him.  For the first time ever I wanted to be fucked while I was on my period.

Or at least he made me forget that I didn’t want to be fucked.

After I came, though, clinging to him, I could feel the slide of fluid following his cock as he pulled out of me, and memory returned.  I could feel how open and swollen my pussy was, a wet, hungry mouth greedy and gasping for more, and I was ashamed.

I shuddered as he lifted the camera again, knowing what he was taking a picture of.  Knowing it was deliberate.  I couldn’t meet his eyes.

I thought I got smart the next time we played.

Again he tied me up naked, with my legs spread. This time, however, I had inserted a tampon. I thought I was clever. What I didn’t realize was that although I’d thought I’d tucked the string up inside myself where it couldn’t be seen, it had come out.  I didn’t know what he was about when he knelt down next to me on the floor.  When he reached a hand out toward my crotch I flinched and tried to pull away.  Did he not realize I had a tampon in? He couldn’t want to…touch…it, could he?  What if he did??   But just as casual as you please, he reached between my legs tucked the string back in. Tucked and shoved and thrust his fingers against the tampon, pushing it deeper inside me, while I sat there, mute with humiliation, unable to stop him.  His very matter-of-factness was more embarrassing than the actual doing of it, I think, or maybe that’s just because I forced myself not to think of it while he was doing it (“close your eyes and think of England.”)  He fixed it, and continued what he was doing, and it was only later, upon seeing the pictures before he had tucked the string back in, that I even remembered him doing it. It was like I had blocked the memory from my mind.

(And now I am remembering the first time my ex and I ever played with someone else. It was a “mentoring” experience. I was (surprise!) on my period that time too, and had a tampon in then too.  A friend was showing him the “ropes” so to speak, on me.  I was tied face down on a sawhorse, my legs around the body of it, my ass exposed to them both, but felt little anxiety about being on my period, or having this relative stranger in that “area” during such a sensitive time, as I had on a thong and felt very “safe.” Suddenly they were pulling my thong aside, which revealed my (gaping I am sure, I was quite excited) pussy. “What do we have here?” asked the other Dominant, tugging gently in the string.  I gasped and buried my head against my arm.  He turned to my ex. “Can I pull it out?” My ex said “Sure!” and before I could protest, or maybe while I was, the other Top did just that. I still to this day do not know if either of them knew how humiliating that was to me.  I never brought it up after because I was too embarrassed. And yet…even then…that embarrassment was a trigger for excitement.  And it is an incident that I will never forget.)

Fast forward to late the next evening. That day he had taken me upstairs, tied me down on the floor, and, holding my head still between his feet, whipped me.  It was a powerful scene, both physically and mentally:  he had tied me down but he used his body, hands and feet to shove me around and pin me, all the while whipping me with floggers, a singletail, canes and paddles. It felt almost like a punishment scene: tied face down, my arms stretched out to either side, and him physically restraining me with his body was a heady mixture of mental and physical methods to beat me down and subjugate me.  He had had plans for another beating, but when it came time, I asked instead for some quiet time with him on the couch. It hadn’t been the most brutal weekend we’d ever spent, but physical brutality is not the only thing I respond to, and I was exhausted, physically, emotionally and mentally. He granted my request and we lay on the couch for awhile, just being still together.

And all I could think of was that I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to come inside me, something he hadn’t done all weekend. I wanted to feel that moment when he lost control and gave in to his body’s demand to release himself into me, just once, before he left for the month.

I lay there in his lap, knowing that he while he probably would fuck me later, I wanted him to know that, at last, I wanted him bad enough to override my own instinctual resistance.

“Please,” I said, barely able to choke the words out, and stopping and starting several times, “please will you fuck me?  Even though…”  My voice dropped to a whisper.  “…it’ll be messy.”

He granted that request as well.

He always knows just the right note, just the right spin to put on things. I had expected to somehow be in control of the situation.  I’d asked, right?  Now I would get to choose how and when…

Not a chance. I didn’t get to take a nice warm bath and clean myself as thoroughly as possible beforehand.  I didn’t  get to lay out a towel to lay on and have a cloth nearby.  I didn’t get to choose anything. He stood me up right there and told me to lean over the cage (which was still in the living room from play Saturday morning) with my legs spread.  I must have hesitated, or made some small sound of protest, because he grabbed me roughly and yanked me over to the end of the cage and shoved me face down over it.

Then he leaned against my backside and told me to get him hard and put his cock in my ass.

I was shaking so hard and was so nervous and tight at the thought of him fucking me on my period that I could barely get him inside me, but I don’t think an ass-fucking was the point anyway.  After a few minutes of me trying, and only barely getting the head of his cock inside me, he pulled away and told me to put his cock in my cunt.

With only a momentary hesitation, I did.

(And yep, before all the safety police shout about going from ass to vag, I’m well aware of the health risks involved, as he is. Sometimes, the risk is worth it.)

He leaned over me as I opened myself to him, as I guided him into my dirty, bloody hole, and told me how he was going to fuck me, any time, anywhere. In my ass dry, in my cunt bloody, anyway he chose. He whispered a story in my ear about leaning me over the bar during the cruise we are going on and inviting men to fuck me as I lay there, face down, unable to see who was behind me. They would just use me, a hole, open and wet, and then pass by.  Just as he was using me. And–god help me–I envisioned his cock, wet with my juices and my blood, sliding in and out of me, and then theirs’, these anonymous men, his slime, his come, mixing with theirs, dripping down between my thighs in pink rivulets.

It was that image that pushed me over the edge, and I screamed as I came, clutching the bars of the cage, trying to keep myself upright as he slammed against me, harder and harder, until finally he came himself, shuddering against me, his breathing harsh in my ears.

The feel of his cock as it softened and slid out of me, slick with his come and my blood, was one of the most sensuous and erotic feelings I have ever experienced.

************************************************

(This post, while not written specifically for it, meets the requirements of the first task on my “Task List” that W has created for me to accomplish while he is gone.  This is a new game for us, and one that I will be sharing with you all as the month goes on (at least in part.)  I’ll talk more about the game  in a subsequent post.)

Don’t Change Me!

I was reading a post in one of my favorite discussion groups on Fet, “Not Quite Ready for Polite Company M/sers”–

Oh, wait. I’m not in an M/s relationship, so maybe I shouldn’t be part of the group, or comment in it. Actually, for the most part, I don’t comment much, due to the above, and feeling that since I am not in the dynamic they speak of, I really don’t have any place to comment. But I like the group’s (for the most part) no-nonsense approach to M/s relationships, and willingness to say what they think without a lot of the pussy-footing around that goes on in some of the other discussion groups.  I mean seriously–if you say you’re in a Master/slave relationship, then, um, haven’t you consented to give up those very rights that so many “slaves” claim to still have (and then bitch and moan about not having, or being asked to give up?)

I’m not talking about the person that says they’d jump in front of a bus if their Master told them to, but simple things, like…cutting or changing the color of their hair. Wearing (or not wearing) certain items of clothing. Wearing nail polish, shaving themselves a certain way, losing weight, eating certain foods, learning to do certain things to please their Master/Owner.  I mean, isn’t that what this type of relationship is about–submitting to the wishes and desires of another?  And that’s just in a D/s relationship, where, in my opinion, there is still “wiggle room” as one commenter said.  I mean, it’s submission, right? In an M/s or O/p relationship, the very basis of the relationship is slavehood, being owned, by the other. Within that context, it seems pretty simple to me. Any, and every, aspect of my appearance is subject to pleasing him and to submitting to his desire.

Having come from a D/s background when I met W, I was actually a little disconcerted/nonplussed that he didn’t have any requirements about such to me. But I soon learned that not having requirements didn’t mean he didn’t have a preference. I paid attention and have tried to incorporate the things he does prefer into the way I present myself to him.

Toenail polish was one. If you look at my pictures from two years ago, I am not wearing toenail polish in any of them. Then one summer day I got a pedicure and went over to his house. His reaction was overwhelmingly positive–and to this day I am seldom without it when I go to see him.  Yeah, sometimes that means I have to sit at my desk and paint my toenails just before I head over to his house–and I’m okay with that. ;-)  And the other day I was wearing fingernail polish–and he noticed, and made a point of praising it. I was ridiculously pleased that he had noticed, and though I had heard him remark that he liked painted fingernails before, it wasn’t really driven home until he noticed the other day.  Nail polish on my fingernails is harder to keep up in my profession, but I am already pretty certain that as often as I can, especially if we are going out somewhere, I’ll be doing them now too.

And then there’s my labia piercings. Do I even need to go into those?

But all that isn’t so much about submitting to his stated desires.  He doesn’t tell me to do those things, and is not upset when I don’t.  I do them because  I like to please him. I consider it a function of my submission to him to find the the things that please him and do those things for him. Pro-active submission? Maybe. But within the context of our dynamic, it works.

And he has made adjustments in his approach to this thing that we do as well. I have learned to be pro-active, yes, but he also recognizes my own need to, occasionally, have specific things that I am told to do.  He gives me more direction now on what to wear, and if I ask his preference directly, he will usually tell me.

And of course there’s the heels. ;-)

If our dynamic was different, though, if he did like to dictate my appearance, I would have no problem acceding to his wishes.  I know without a shadow of a doubt that he could tell me tomorrow to cut my hair off, dye it purple, get a new tattoo, remove an old one, pierce any part of my body, only wear skirts and fuzzy sweaters from now on…etc., etc., and I’d do so. Our agreement–the parameters of our O/p relationship–ostensibly only covers my sexuality, but my own internal parameters go far beyond that.  Internal slavery? Perhaps.

The point is, this is about submission. Submitting to the desires of another. And what could be more basic than submitting to their desire for how you should look? It’s a no-brainer, IMO.

30 Days of Kink: Day 3 – Discovering Myself

Day 3: How did you discover you were kinky?

One of my first memories of being aroused sexually was while I was reading one of those “bodice ripper” romances. I don’t remember the title, but I do remember the exact scene: a highwayman waylays a young gentlewoman’s carriage and proceeds to rape her.  Roughly, and yet gently too, and of course she climaxes as well, and she can never forget him, and, after a lot of rough, steamy, half-raping sex, they admit their love for one another and live happily ever after.  Heh, now that I think about it, I recall that it even had elements of one of W’s fantasies: blackmail. She offers herself to him if he will let her brother live, or maybe keep him out of jail or something, and later he uses that against her to affect her acquiescence several more times, until she discovers that his supposed hold over her is all a lie…and well, it’s a smarmy romance.  You get the idea.

That’s not actually when I “discovered” I was kinky, but in looking back it certainly is a pretty clear indication of one of my kinks. I remember feeling ashamed of my arousal even then.  I don’t know if my shame was about being aroused, about feeling sexual, or if it was shame over what had aroused me, though.

It seems that I have felt shame over being sexual, feeling sexual & liking sex for as long as I have been sexual.  I’ve been doing some cogitating and talking about that with W and Ad…working thru some of my own hang-ups, parsing out why I am me, and why I react/feel the way I do about certain things. Hopefully some of that will make it’s way here, although it’s an awful lot to digest in one sitting, so who knows.

In any case, I was introduced “properly” to kink via a couple that I dated for a short time. They weren’t kinky per se, but he was quite dominant, and did some dominating things to her sexually when we were together that I was at first shocked to witness, and then surprised to discover I really liked and that really turned me on. That was my first inkling. Then when I went to one of the websites that she recommended and started reading about this so-called “lifestyle,” well it was like a lightbulb turned on in my head. I was so fired up in fact, that I didn’t even bother with the 12 months of exploring in secret online and instead jumped right into the local, real life scene. When I saw a woman get tied up at a PEP meeting as the demo bottom, I knew right then that I’d found my place. I was “home.” And I haven’t looked back since.

For the rest of this series, and to see who else is participating, visit here: 30 Days of Kink.

Two-Timing

I’ve been working on this picture post about a scene that W and I and Ad had…hours long it was, and they took a couple hundred pics between them.  It was an amazing scene, and those pictures show so much of what it is that I love about being the property–and lover, and toy, and play partner–of two men.  So I’ve been weeding through pictures and trying to capture and illuminate the essence of each photo and of the scene itself, which has been a long process.  In the process of doing that, though, I started kind of musing on how we got here, to this place where we all play together.  And so goddamned well.

One thing that I really like about having both guys play with me is the multi-layered, multi-part dimension to the play. Each session tends to have two or more distinct “scenes” within it, each with its own intensity all by itself, but combined, what I end up with is a feeling of perpetual play, of concerted and focused intensity, sometimes for hours at a time.  We move and flow from one activity to another, from one style of play to another, my body and my sex and my self being handed off from one to the other of them, back and forth, until finally, at some point in time discernible only to them, they deem me “finis,” and I collapse in a heap at their feet, or on the floor, or in bed, or in their outstretched arms (outstretched specifically to keep me from falling, usually.)

From what they’ve said afterward, these scenes are seldom actively choreographed.  They don’t actually plan to go from A to B to C, but from within it, from where I sit, it all happens so seamlessly that it might as well be.  And in the end I get these lovely, long, drawn-out scenes in which I have peaks and valleys and more peaks, another valley, another peak…until I am an exhausted (happy) mess on the floor.

This is one of the things that I was first attracted to in playing with W, as a matter of fact: right from that first time we played at his house he moved me through a succession of mini-scenes within the larger session, something I had never experienced in quite that way before.  He was as tirelessly enthusiastic for placing me in one bondage predicament after another, for going from one painful–or bone-shudderingly orgasmic–activity after another, for pushing me until I was clearly and glaringly “done,” unable to handle one thing more, as I was to have him do so.  And while it is true that we have fewer of those long, drawn out, mutli-part sessions than we did in the beginning, it is probably a consequence of having the opportunity to play more often, though in shorter duration, than we used to, as opposed to less of a desire to do so.  This isn’t in and of itself a bad thing–we just have the opportunity to do many shorter scenes over several days, nights or weeks, as opposed to all in one or two nights in a row.

Still, I miss those kind of sessions at times, and look forward, with hope and a certain avarice, to having them again.  Yes, it is all about greed in this case.  And, in fact, I keep trying to engineer a time frame where I can stay at W’s and we can explore this kind of scenario again, but it hasn’t worked out recently, for various reasons.  I’m ever hopeful, though. ;-)

I can see that it is a lot easier on W when he has someone he can pass me off to so he can take a break, though. Kind of like that sex thing, yanno?  Apparently, according to the guys, it takes a lot of energy to keep up with me. (I know, whodda thunk?)  I’m easy to please, in that I like just about everything, but I like a lot of it!  So I can see where having a teammate could be a relief.  LOL  (I say that as though it’s a hardship, a chore, having to play with me.  Like the guys are all “Oh, noooooes we have to go beat that girl again! ZOMG, she wants us to fuck her again!”  I think they might have a bit more fun at it than that.)

I think it’s interesting how this all came about, the way they play with me, and their incredible adeptness at it.  It really grew fairly organically, after some initial “getting to know each other” time. I do think that I had to set it in motion the first time, but after that it developed on its own.

Ad had been familiar with double-topping me, as he had done it on more than one occasion with my Ex and with the occasional play partner. He’s always enjoyed being the foil, the “assist,” but wasn’t as comfortable taking a front-and-center role. W’s original, hands-off approach to double-topping was actually perfect for this situation in the beginning, almost forcing Ad into a primary role (in the beginning either W or Ad would play camera man, while the other did naughty, nasty, depraved things to me, but not take an active role in the play) while still giving him the sense that W was there to assist if anything went wrong.  As Ad became more confident in what he was doing, as well as his own style–and became more cognizant of the differences in his style as compared to W’s–he even began enjoying being in the spotlight and showing off the way he plays.  I think this time period gave W some time to observe Ad’s playstyle as well, but it wasn’t until I told him that I wanted them to play with me together–not with one as an observer all the time–that he tried it at last.  And oh what a successful experiment that was!

And now, here we are.  A place where they each act as photographer occasionally, or sometimes double-up on me, as they did at a recent play party.  Joy both ways.

As usual, I seem to have lucked in to the best of both worlds. ;-)

Now, on to that picture post.  Keep an eye out for it soon.

30 Days of Kink: Day 2 – Kinks

Day 2: List your kinks.

Good heavens, what do I not find kinky? What doesn’t turn me on? Oh, hmmm…actually, there are a few things, as I discovered in talking with W the other night.  Although (sigh) I wonder if, in the middle of the things he does to me, in the middle of being taken, being used, being fucked, if even those things would turn me on. Sometimes I wonder…what are my limits?  Where are my boundaries?

But perhaps that should be discussed in a different post.

The short answer to the question is that there are too many to list.  But I’ll name a few off the top of my head.

  • Being controlled/loss of control. This is a big one, and probably informs everything else that follows.
  • Being forced to do things that I don’t want to
  • Being exhibited
  • Being given away or used by others
  • Being talked dirty to, whether that is being called names or being told dirty stories about what he wants to do to me/have me do/have others do to me
  • Hands on my mouth or throat
  • Being restrained, either by hand, with rope or any other material
  • Consensual non-consent
  • Rough sex/fighting back/being overpowered
  • Feeling small, humbled, embarrassed

Geez, the list seems so short. I guess I am trying to list things that specifically get me hot and bothered, as opposed to things that I just enjoy during BDSM play. I mean, I like gags, anal sex/toys, being filled and stretched, crops, canes and other implements, piss play, objectification, etc., but really, any of those things–as well as, let’s face it, any of the others listed–are all under the umbrella of having my control stripped from me. That is my true kink. And under that umbrella, if I was told to do, or forced to do, anything else, it could, and would, become kinky.

Here’s a few things that don’t really trip my sexual trigger (which is how I define a “kink”):

  • Ageplay
  • Playing a top
  • Blood play (although doing some things that might cause bleeding are hot, it’s not the blood itself that gets me)
  • Scat (although being enema’d is a huge turn on)
  • Death themes

And no, you don’t see anything on that list having to do with the truly non-consensual, because–duh.

There are some things that I do get off on from a non-sexual kink perspective. Needles would fall in that category. Some predicament bondage as well. And some pain play.  W usually eroticizes our pain play so that pain = some form of pleasure, but occasionally he does not, and yet I still enjoy it (enjoy not enjoying it, lol.)

Wanton Wednesday – Steel & Lace

I love the juxtaposition on steel and lace in this pic.  It was taken this week when I finally got a teeny bit of playtime, the first in weeks and weeks, because of W being out of town for a month and then me being on medical “hiatus.” I feel like I’m starting to get back to “normal” (whatever that is!) and later W helped me feel even more so by pushing the edges of the nice sweet pic that I had in mind with a twist of his own. (Bless the man.) Click thru to see his version of steel and lace.

As an aside, I think most you probably saw my first 30 Days of Kink–Defining My Kinky Self post, in which I described my kinky self in terms of my relationship with submission. It is an emotional definition, because for me, the heart of kink is the emotional resonance it has for me.  That truly is why I do what I do.

There is another side though too. The purely physical side. The fun side. The side that loves gadgets and toys and restraints and play and dressing up and being tied up and the purely physical sensations of what it is we do.  The joy and laughter and pleasure and pain and flying and being high and crying and coming and just being alive and so in sync with another human being that for those moments, there is nothing else but the two (or three) of you.

Somehow I never got around to talking about that in that piece.

It’s all in these two pictures, though (at least for me.) It was all right there in that morning and the following evening as I started to stretch my physical wings again with W’s help.  (Or should that be “help.”) ;-)  Honest, I was having fun!

Happy Wanton Wednesday, everyone!

Check out who else played last week:

Sapio Slut
Dick Dyke Dick
SlipperyWhnWet
Mollyskiss
Screaming Violet
Virtual Sinner

Suburban Slut
Hubman
Rubyyy Jones
Coy Pink

And click on the icon below to see who else is playing this week!

30 Days of Kink: Day 1 – Defining My Kinky Self

So, I did it. Sent off my first day of the 30 Days of Kink meme to Rayne of Insatiabledesire to post as a guest on her blog.  You can see that post here: 30DoK: Define Your Kinky Self by Jade. Go on, take a look, and while you’re at it, catch up on all the other posts in the series. There are some bright, beautiful, interesting kinksters out there.

As I continue this meme, I’ll be updating and posting the links to a new Page I’ve created here: 30 Days of Kink.

In conjunction with that, here’s a different kind of snapshot of my kinky self than what I wrote there (I had to be all, like, intellectual there, yanno.)

I was at W’s for the first time since my surgery. Not quite feeling 100% yet, but just on the verge of feeling “good enough.” Earlier that morning he had managed to fend me off when I tried to force him to have sex with me, even going so far as to try and climb on top of him and put it in before he knew what I was doing. I’m so sneaky. ;-)  I didn’t succeed.  He has SO much willpower, the bastard. (This all makes sense if you understand that I was still on a “no sex” rule after my surgery, lol.)

Anyhow, I don’t know how it started. In fact everything before “The Radiator” is fuzzy to me. One minute we were sitting across from each other, each on our own computers, as sometimes we do in the afternoons, and the next…he had his hand in my hair and his cock down my throat as I crouched with my back against the radiator, trying to open my throat to him without gagging while managing to keep my head from smacking against the radiator with each thrust.  I didn’t succeed. (Apparently I was doomed to failure in everything I tried that weekend.) I gagged, he pressed harder, deeper; my head bobbed back and forth, slamming into the radiator every time he pushed himself deeper into my mouth.  I think at one point, he may have said something about enjoying ramming my head against it.  The bastard. (Did I already say that?)

And me? Oh yeah, I enjoyed every thrust. I savored the taste of him in my mouth, his musky man-smell in my nostrils, the feel of him filling my throat, of his hand gripping my hair in a tight fist and forcing me against him, holding me there when I struggled to pull away.  That and the knowledge that he could and would do this, any time, simply because he felt like it.

And then he pulled abruptly away, pushed me aside, and told me to get ready to go home.  I fell back on my butt and sat there, momentarily bemused; quiescent.

And wet.  So fucking wet.

My bemusement rapidly turned into a voracious “I wanna get fucked!”-ness and I stood up and wrapped myself around him, rubbing against him and panting and mewling against his throat as I tried to convince him that I really was ready for sex. No matter what that pesky doctor said. Again, I didn’t succeed.

Of course…this weekend was another story. ;-)

For more fun, here’s another snapshot, with something else stuck in my mouth (and a bit of wetness dribbling down my chin):

Wanton Wednesday – Grip

I have been working all week on a new post for W.  This is a “command performance”: W assigned me the task of writing about an event that happened while we were in Chicago.  He had invited an acquaintance of his to our hotel room and allowed him to use me.  And use me he did, in every way imaginable, while W took pictures (and occasionally participated.) Unfortunately for you, my lovely, faithful readers and friends, most of that post will probably be for his eyes only, for reasons I may expound upon at a later date.  But I think that I may bring tidbits of it out here, to use as Wanton Wednesday fodder and fuel, for the next several weeks.

This, then, is the first installment:

~click thru to see what the other hands were gripping~

Don’t forget to click on the link above to check out all the other Wednesday Wantonness!