Twisted Tryst Pics & Write-Up

I’m never very good at doing a comprehensive write-up when we go to events. While I’m there I’m either too busy, to tired from being so busy, or there isn’t WIFI, or my brain isn’t thinking about writing about what’s happening, I’m just experiencing it.  By the time I get home I’m either recovering or catching up, and then we’re doing new stuff, and life moves on, and pretty soon it’s three weeks later and I can’t remember everything we did!  So I never seem to get anything worthwhile down on paper (or in computer, as it were.)

Twisted Tryst was no exception.

We did get a few more pictures this time, however, so I’ll be able to walk down memory lane a little bit with you via the pics…

Tryst was held in a new place this year, for both the early (June) camp and the later camp, which was in September this year (coincidentally over my birthday.) We had considered going to the earlier one, since it was closer geographically, and the campground was reputed to be nicer than the original spot, but there was some conflict in scheduling and, at the time, we thought the later camp was also going to be at this new campground.  That didn’t end up being the case, so we ended up at a campground in Northern WI in the middle of September. It could have been nice weather…we were hoping for warmer temperatures…but it was cold. Too fucking cold to be running around half-naked. Or all the way naked, as I had at the previous Tryst.  Trying to stay in fet-mode without my usual slutwear and high heels is…a challenge. We did manage, but…not nearly as well as we would have if the weather had been just a little nicer.  That said, we both agreed that next year we’ll try to attend the earlier camp at the more southern location. I’m no wuss when it comes to camping, but actual camping isn’t what I go to Camp for, if you get my meaning.  Regardless, we did manage to have some fun. ;-)

Day 1 – Up North We Go

The first day wasn’t actually a Tryst day.  On Wednesday before the event, we drove up to W’s aunt’s house, which was about 3 hours away from Tryst. What an odd juxtaposition! I had to be the regular–not poly, not kinky (of course)–girlfriend, meeting his aunt, cousin, brother, and mom for the first time.  I think I passed as a normal girl okay.

A couple “road pics,” playing with my webcam.

First morning.
I discover that I can use the webcam as a mirror, and apply makeup in it.

And meeting his family for the first time was nice.  He’s a very…reserved…person about his family, and doesn’t even share much of himself with them, so it was a real honor that he actually introduced me to them.

It couldn’t be totally vanilla though.  That night, sleeping on the air mattress in his aunt’s basement, his brother sleeping only a few feet away, he finger fucked me and made me keep him hard, all the while growling in my ear, “Don’t make a sound.”

Sooo hot.

The REAL Day 1 – At Camp

Our little house (the yellow mansion on the right.)

It wasn’t as lonely as it looks, especially when our friend Bruce arrived with his real mansion-on-wheels, a giant RV. (God love him. Fresh coffee! Warmth! A bathroom!)  We were on the far end of the campgrounds, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, as I always need to be able to get away from people for short periods to recharge.

I actually love camping. I love setting up our “little house” as I call it.  W gave me a funny look at one point as I was rhapsodizing about our little tent-home. “You really are a nester, aren’t you?” Yup. But, as mentioned before, I don’t actually come to Camp to camp. So I was a little bit shell-shocked when the temps got down to the low 30’s that night (and never rose above the mid 40’s that first day.) I wanted to be naked, dammit! Not wearing 12 layers of clothes and huddling around a campfire.

Sigh.

Okay, enough complaining. Our tent was cozy, and we had an electric blanket, which was a god-send. And we did go up to the main tent-cum-dungeon to get warm thaw out play. This actually turned out to be a nice scene, though we didn’t get any pics of the meat of it (me trussed up and sucking W’s cock in the middle of the dungeon.)

Day 2 – Birthday!

The highlight of Camp (for me) was having orchestrated a group spanking scene for my birthday. To my delight, the whole Tryst team seemed to want to help make this scene happen, and helped spread the word in so many ways. One of those ways was to have W tie me up on the back of the golf cart and drive me around, announcing my birthday spanking time and place and inviting all and sundry to participate.

Tied to the cart. “Safety first,” Ad said when he saw the pic.
A birthday ass waiting to be spanked!

My only disappointment was that although we got some good pictures of the golfcart ride, not one was taken of the actual event by any of the three photogs there.

It was an amazing scene.  I was tied outside the dungeon over a purple spanking bench that matched my purple corset. There were pink helium balloons (a genuine surprise!) tied to the frame that stood over me.  And, when I looked up from my perch over the bench, there were at least 30 – 40 people waiting in line to give me my birthday 46. With W calling out, “Next!” every time the previous one stepped away.  I could not believe it.  It was the best birthday ever.

And oh! did my ass get whacked!

Just after that was the “Prison” group scene that the folks at Tryst had set up. I had sent in my “prisoner” application, but I was pretty wiped out, and it was getting chilly again, so I hid out in my tent instead of letting myself get captured. Naptime was a necessity!

Bruce showed up that afternoon with the RV, and we got to spend some time with him and his companion, which was nice.  And after I had gotten rested from my spanking and warmed up in the RV, I was ready for another round! So back to the dungeon-tent we went…

That night he poked and prodded my new birthday spanking bruises with hard, unrelenting fingers, delighting in the squeals of pain he invoked.  And then he fucked me raw.

Day 2 – Finally, Sun & Warmth!

Saturday it finally warmed up for about two hours. But prior to that we  got Onyx out for a drive on the wooded trails.  Again, disappointed that there was only ONE picture, and in that I had my eyes closed! But, such is life, we had a lovely morning prance around in the woods, even if we did have to dress Onyx for arctic weather (which meant the super-cool new harness W made went unused. Sad face.) W is getting to be quite the ponygirl handler.

A warmly dressed Onyx.

It finally warmed up for real, though, and we headed out to a lovely, sun-dappled spot between two trees.

So he would could whip me with singletails.

I feel like there should be a judge behind us with a sign giving him points for form. He looks so very zen here. LOVE the way that man throws a whip. 10 pts for style!

What you don’t see is in the next moment, before the burn of the slash of the whip had even cooled, he was pressed against my back, his cock hard against my ass, his hand on my cunt, and I was panting and squirming back against him. And moments after that, if we hadn’t had to take a break due to an unexpected interruption, he’d have been fucking me, right there, standing up between those trees in the sunshine.  Alas, the moment was lost, but we resumed with the whipping twenty minutes later.  And it was good.  I’d forgotten how painful and lovely and searing and terror-invoking and just plain intense a singletail can be.

The sunshine was nice too.

That afternoon, while dinner cooked, I asked W to tie me again.

See how good I am getting at asking for what I want?

We almost didn’t go up to the dungeon space Saturday night. I was a little “peopled out” and felt kinda like hiding away. W convinced me to go up just to hang out, and once there, after observing for quite a while, we ended up next to a frame, with him in a chair and me at his feet, watching a friend’s scene and the general dungeon goings-on.  He tied my neck to the leg of the frame…and then…we just sat there.  Me kneeling next to him, as he alternately raped me with a rope between my legs, had me suck his cock until I gave myself ropeburn on my neck, grabbed a handful of my hair and twisted me this way and that, fucked me with his hand as I presented myself to him, on my knees, ass up, and then probed my mouth with his fingers.

His fingers in my mouth almost turned me inside out.

Those two quiet hours may have been the most intense of the entire weekend.

And back at our tent, for hours on end during the weekend, he fucked me. With his hands, with his cock. Probing, pushing, pressing, poking. Until I was so raw and tender and swollen I knew I’d never feel “vanilla” again.

It’s been a week now, and I am back to “normal,” whatever that is. I don’t want to be back in the cold again.  But back in that space, where we can and are our full, unhidden, kinky selves?  Yeah, I’d like to be there.

Wanton Wednesday – Bruises & a Scene

I started this post wanting to show off the pretty bruises I got at Dark Odyssey, but as I looked through the pictures of the scene, I thought it might be fun to show off more than just my bruised butt.

And yeah, I’m WAY late for Wanton Wednesday.  I kinda had a busy day working from W’s…which I’ll tell you all about later. ;-)

This is the beginning.
See those pretty bruises?  Those are more than a week old–the result of a very good spanking scene by a yummy new friend at Dark Odyssey. The sad part is that while I knew I’d gotten a walloping, I didn’t realize I had any bruises until I saw this picture. Think of all the mirror gazing & bragging rights I missed out on!

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Do you feel like sometimes you want to be a little more than just half naked? A bit more than just slightly suggestive? For the weeks you want to play with the wicked & wanton crowd, feel free to join us on Wednesdays. Words, photos, whatever you want to share that is Wanton will fit right in.

Check out the rest of the wantonness at the link below…

In need…

Oh. My. God.

A while back I posted about wanting/needing a good thrashing. Ummm…oh yeah, here. And, lo and behold, I got one! Two even.  Well, the first was a mini-thrashing, or maybe only just a warm-up to a thrashing, the real thrashing came after, and came hard…and godDAMN it was good. Leave it to the Mean Guy to take the concept of a good old over the knee edge of the couch spanking and pervert it into something FAR more intense.

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In any case…I am there NOW. Need need need want want want…it is an ache between my ears and between my legs.

Please. Now?

Mission: Accomplished

I was kneeling between A’s thighs, his cock slippery and wet in my hand, my mouth and tongue playing with his red, swollen head.

“Do you remember the first time I came in your mouth?” he asked.  I felt his cock jump in my hand as he spoke.  He remembered, obviously.  And oh yes, I remembered as well.  I felt myself getting wet just thinking about it.

An eternity ago, A and I were involved as a triad with my now-ex-husband.  They were good friends, but not sexually or romantically involved–we just had some hot, kinky, three-way sex. We (my ex and I) had introduced A to poly and BDSM.  At the point that this adventure took place, I had been dating A for several weeks.  We had acknowledged deep feelings for each other, were hot for each other, and were just beginning to explore BDSM as a three with the ex.  The problem was that he (A) and I hadn’t quite…synced yet, sexually.

Oh, he had my number all right.  But he was a harder nut to crack, so to speak. I hadn’t learned his triggers yet, I didn’t know just how to push him over the edge, what his buttons were, as I do now.  Much of being “good in bed” is simply learning each other’s rhythm and adapting to it. In A’s case, there was also the barrier of his brain…he hadn’t yet allowed himself to go there, into total release, with me.  He couldn’t quite let go enough to get over the edge.

But I felt confident we’d get there.  I am nothing if not persistent.

This evening my ex and A and I had been playing BDSM-wise for most of the evening. The ex had tied me, cropped and flogged me and fucked me while A watched. Then, when the ex had finally spent himself inside me, he pushed me over toward A, who was laying next to us, hugely aroused, but quiescent.  Willing to watch as he stroked his cock.

“Suck him,” he said. “Make him come in your mouth.” The ex knew that I hadn’t accomplished that feat yet.  We’d talked about it, and he wanted it to happen as much as I did, but neither of us was sure how to make it happen.  Now there was an edge to his voice–it was a command. It was, possibly, a test.  My eyes met A’s.  He didn’t say anything, just watched as I moved over to him and took him in my mouth.  I think he felt some anxiety about it though, because his hard-on had begun to soften just a bit.

When I knelt between his thighs, the ex stood up and came around to the other side of the bed where A lay, and then stood there, just behind me.  I could feel him watching me slide my mouth up and down the shaft of A’s cock, working him back to tumescence.

“Lift your ass,” the ex abruptly said.

I stopped sucking A’s cock and looked back at him.  He slapped my thigh, hard.  “Do it.”  A’s cock jumped in my hand. I looked back up at A and saw something new in his eyes, in his face.  A taut excitement.  I raised myself hesitantly.  The ex grabbed a handful of my hair and shoved my head back down onto A’s cock.

“Do your job, slut,” he growled, and slapped my ass once, then again.  I felt A’s cock getting harder, felt his excitement growing.

I began to work on A’s cock in earnest now, and the ex started to spank me.  Hard, resounding, punishing slaps, smacks that drove me forward, shoving A’s cock into my mouth, down my throat, choking me.  At one point I stopped, gasping, pulled away.

“Don’t stop,” the ex snarled. “Keep sucking his cock, you little whore.  Keep sucking it till he comes!”

And I did.  Over and over his slaps pushed me down onto A’s cock, forcing it into the back of my throat.  He swelled hugely in my mouth and began thrusting up in rhythm to the slaps.  In a weird chemistry, the ex seemed to recognize and respond to A’s rhythm, and soon, his smacks were not as punishing, they were more rhythmic, meeting and driving A’s rhythm.  A’s breathing became ragged.  So did the ex’s.  I was soaked, girljuice flowing down my thighs, my excitement almost painful.  Suddenly A grabbed the back of my head and shoved his cock as deep as it would go into my throat, choking me.  An inarticulate moan escaped him as held me and then, finally, it happened: he squirted hot, sweet come into my mouth.

I barely had time to look up at A in triumph or to register that the spanking had stopped before the ex drug me away from A and pushed me across the side of the bed, putting my ass and pussy at the perfect height for him to shove into me, which he did immediately, without a word.  In moments I was climaxing and then he was too.  “You fucking slut,” he said as he came.

When I came back to reality a few moments later I looked up to see the two of them grinning at each other over my head.

Mission: accomplished.

Bits and Pieces

Thought maybe I’d share some “real world” stuff, cuz you know, I’m not all sex and kink.  Like, I have a dog.  No, really.  And no, I don’t have sex with him.  Though I do have a saved post on Taboo Fantasies, none of them involve THIS particular dog.  (~ppfftt)

This is my pup ( I know–awww.)

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Anyhow, my dog has social anxiety.  I have tried everything, but he likes nothing that normal dogs do.  Like, he doesn’t like to go to the park, doesn’t like to go beyond our backyard, acts like he wants to go for walks and then tries to crawl between my legs while walking. Today I tried to take him running.  I’ve been running on the treadmill lately, and have enjoyed it immensely, but want to start running in the real, outside world.  I watched the Dog Whisperer (or whatever his name is) once where he advised a dog owner that had similar issues with his dog to run him, and it worked.  Happy dog!

My dog about killed me. He crisscrossed back and forth, he tried to run between my legs, in general he was a menace.  Made me very sad.  I really really want a dog that I can take places, take hiking and to the park and that will run with me, you know, act like a real dog.  Guess it’s too late to trade my pup in on a new model though.  Besides, I kinda love him, even if he IS flawed.  Thank goodness my guys don’t want to trade me in, huh?


I am seriously behind on reading blogs.  I have found a few interesting tidbits in my initial morning perusal of my RSS feeds though.  Carrie Ann talks about pre-party anxiety here:  A View from the Floor. I sooo know what she is talking about.  In my case, that also extends to dates with new people, play dates, and meeting new potential play partners. Even when we go to our local monthly play party, a place that I am quite comfortable in, I have all kinds of anxiety all day thinking about it. A large part of it is, as she notes, not knowing what’s going to happen.  Will there be play?  Will it be humiliating, will it be painful?  And my guys don’t plan out elaborate scenes either, preferring to go with the flow of things in general, or if they do have something in mind, they don’t often share it with me.  I prefer it that way, and yes, I guess the corollary is that I enjoy the fissure of anxiety. I enjoy that feeling, the anxious breath, the worried thoughts, the dread and anticipation.

On the other hand, the anxiety when I am going on a date, or to meet someone for a play date, often translates into me going back and forth about whether or not I will actually do it at all.  A dozen times I will vacillate between “I’m going, and I’m excited” and “I can’t do this, why did I say I want to do this?” It happens when I am going with the guys to events as well, and even when I am heading over to W’s if I know we will play, but usually I don’t actually have the option then of bailing.  The new-date thing means I have to really choose to go through with it…and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I disgust myself and bail.

I didn’t last night though – and I am very glad.  I had a first play date with someone that (I hope) will become an occasional, but regular, play partner. He is heavily into spanking, something that I have long enjoyed, and I definitely enjoyed it last night.  ;-)  But yeah, I had that back-and-forth thing prior to the date, but finally overcame it and showed up. I guess a little anxiety works well there too, cuz I thoroughly enjoyed the date, from a yummy dinner with enjoyable, interesting conversation, to the anticipation he engendered by setting up a “game” before we left for dinner and letting me have a glimpse of it before we left to give me “something to think about” while we ate.  I don’t know if he knows how often my thoughts strayed to that array of implements I glimpsed on his bed and on the floor while we talked about other things.  (grin) Heh…I guess anxious anticipation works in all kinds of ways.


I also ran across this post in Alison Tyler’s (really great) blog.  There were two things I liked about it.  First the idea of telling people the things you find wonderful about them.  Yes.  Definitely. I think sometimes we hesitate to do so because we have been acculturated to feel uncomfortable about accepting compliments in general, and so the flip of that is that sometimes we don’t compliment people, afraid of seeming insincere or trying to curry favor.  Don’t hesitate.  Do it.  Seriously.

The second part I liked is the clip of Ray Charles. I was surprised this past weekend to find that a friend of mine that I was visiting loves Stevie Wonder and abhors Ray Charles. I don’t know why I was so surprised, except that I am just the opposite.  Ray Charles has always seemed to me to be so much more…real, with more depth, than SW, who seems to me to be the homogenized version. I could be totally wrong about that, of course, not being that well-versed in music.  Anyway, her blog has an awesome clip of Ray doing “Georgia on My Mind.” Go watch it.

This brings to mind the past weekend I spent with my friend though, and why I hadn’t written anything here for a bit.  First, I was sick for the whole week before with strep throat.  Then, I went to FL to visit my sometime lover of this post. And…it was not a great weekend for me on a number of levels. It was difficult and in some ways heartbreaking, as I realized things about my relationship with him, hard things, things that changed the way I felt about being with him again in the future. It was also a growth experience for me (at least after I got back), as I realized that it is okay to require something in return for the love I give; and as I realized further that to give and give without the benefit of being “refilled” in the interaction is selfish and unfair to my other loves, the ones that do give back, fill me up, as much as I give to them.  Because if I drain myself dry in my interactions with someone that does nothing to replenish me, then I have nothing to give to those who do love me upon my return.

But all this happened in retrospective and introspective musings in the days after, and in discussions with W, A and my GF (I almost typed the New Girl, but she’s not really the New Girl anymore, she’s become part of my daily life even from afar, far more than the moniker that “The New Girl” implies.  Anyway, I digress.)  In those discussions and musings I realized–and truly appreciated–how reciprocal each of my core relationships is, how we each give and receive the things that fulfill and nurture us.  After I leave W, I am full to the brim, and bring that home to A. When we are with J (my (our?) GF) the energy flows between us all and feeds and sustains us all.  That is how it is with healthy multiple relationships–they fill you, not drain you. And after my weekend in FL, I was drained.  Depleted, with nothing to give A or anyone else, including myself.  Not good.

Plus, the only sex we had was vanilla sex, and, well, frankly, uninspired vanilla sex at that, perhaps due to my own ambivalence towards him by that time, I don’t know.  So where is the fun in writing about that??

In any case, I am still working through the ramifications of my visit and all that happened. I still care for St., but we may need to remain writing friends (as that is still a strong, positive things between us) as opposed to physical lovers.  And…I think that is okay too.  Relationships grow and change (or diminish and change, or simply change.) It’s part of the human experience. I will not mourn for what might have been, but accept what is.  What else can I do?


Today is a lazy day with A. Out of bed late, bookstore, breakfast out, napping.  Later maybe some hot sex, or at least writing about hot sex…no wait, I think there will be some too.  If I have my way.  And I usually do. ;-)

Things can always get worse…

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…or better, depending upon your perspective.  Mine, in this instance, is most definitely the latter.

There was a lot of banter/IMing, texting, Daddy/lil girl talk going on beforehand.  I can roleplay via non-FtF with the best of them.  But, once I got there, except for the plaid skirt, knee socks, Mary Janes, white blouse and navy tie, I was still myself, in my own bratty/bottoming head.  I was there for a spanking, dammit, I don’t need all the “Daddy’s bad girl” talk.  Though part of me does wish I could stay “in role.”  It seems like it would be fun…just not real do-able for the reality-based chick that I am.  Suspension of disbelief I can do (usually) during a movie, maybe a play, usually a book.  But in real life?  Not so much.  Probably why I am not an outrageously rich and famous actress, instead of the working drudge that I am.

In any case, once I had arrived I was led into the bedroom post-haste, turned over his knee without delay, and was given a solid hand-spanking, followed by a hairbrush paddling, and, at the end, by a couple whacks of his belt.  There is something about the sound of a belt snicking out of its belt loops that clenches my stomach like nothing else.  I was punished with a belt during a brief attempt at domestic discipline with my ex, and just that sound is enough to throw me back to those memories–not “fun” play at all.  But I was glad that it didn’t throw me into that bad headspace, merely touched on it enough to give the experience bite.  I have toyed with the idea of asking for a beating with a belt, one that will drive me through that space that the ex left in my head, and onto the other side, but am not sure about that.  Sometimes my “face your fears” attitude makes me bite off more than I can comfortably chew and swallow.

In any case, it was a satisfactory spanking.  It was also a spanking in which I was in control the whole time.  We pretended that he was, but I know, even if he doesn’t, that he wasn’t.

I mentioned in another post the conundrum of having to ask for whatever-it-is that I am wanting–pain, pleasure even, a spanking, a certain type of play.  A large part of the reason my interactions are so intense/successful with W is that I don’t have to ask for anything.  As I’ve said before: I show up; he does things to me.  It’s pretty basic, and that very simplicity is what makes it work.  I don’t have to want/need/ask for anything…I turn off that part of me (until he has me mindlessly begging, but that’s a different thing too) when I give up control of myself to him.  That’s the trigger…not what actually happens (although those things are filled with triggers as well), but that they happen with or without my will, and oftentimes against my will.  It is the lack of control that I need, and asking for a thing detracts from that.  Not enough to make this particular experience bad, though.  In fact, it was quite enjoyable, for what it was.

I happen to like spankings, and often wonder if I had been tossed into a different crowd at the beginnings of my explorations into BDSM if I wouldn’t have ended up a spanking “specialist”.  I’m glad I didn’t, because I like so very many things–how sad it would have been to have missed out on all the other awful torments that can be visited upon a girl’s body & mind!  But the physicality of a spanking, the very essence of a spanking being that intimate connection of the Top and bottom’s bodies, the soft, vulnerable belly against his thighs, his hard, hard hand against tender white skin, the feel of a leg holding mine down or a hand on the back of my head, or holding a wrist…it is all intimate in the extreme and combines to cause something extraordinary to happen: I can orgasm from a spanking. With very little stimulation of the “regular” sort (clitoral), I can come with a spanking.  It’s amazing to me that this can happen.

It didn’t this time, but I got very very close.  If he’d known that I was capable of such, perhaps he would have continued when I started seriously squirming and mewling, instead of backing down.  I didn’t really care, to be honest–I wasn’t there for an orgasm (and this is probably why I didn’t tell him, I didn’t want that to be his focus, either.)  But how very delightful to discover that about myself (I have had many many sexual spankings with A during which I orgasmed, but those always included overt sexual/clitoral stim as well.) To just blossom into an orgasm from the actually feeling of being spanked–wow!  Now that was a fun discovery.

So that was all fun, and good, and I would probably go back for more.  There is a part of me that likes to go into a scene knowing I can get what I want out of it, very specifically, and then walk away.  Kind of like a booty-call of another sort.  Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.  And in this case, it doesn’t even have the onus of sex, of being sexed or having sex, attached to it.  So that’s all good.

But of course, that wasn’t what I really wanted, was it?  That wasn’t what I was truly after, when this whole quest came about.  What I really wanted was both–the loss of control AND the feel-good of the actual spanking.  And guess what?  I got it!  But that piece will have to wait till later to be told.

Just remember…

Why do I get so wet just thinking about a spanking?  What is it in a person’s psyche that equates spanking with sex?  Or, at least MY psyche.

Tonight’s my spanking date.  I am excited, nervous, and yes…wet.  Sopping, actually.

I am nervous, though.  My head is not in the same space as it was before, when I craved a spanking like a smoker craves his next cigarette.  So…I am a little nervous.  Or maybe a lot.

Just remember, he said, you asked for this.