Back in the Swing

February 26th, 2017

MP&C is getting back into the swing of things. We’ve had a few weeks of really good numbers <knock, knock> this month. Getting people in from WW, from FFF, from Meetup (change your password if you use this site), from 50 Shades Darker, and from all the various word of mouth and newbie groups/meetings. We’re kicking into gear getting presenters (contact group leaders if you want to teach) for both Wednesdays and our Fetnights. And more crew is coming out each week, too.

He and I have been getting back into the swing of Wednesdays, too. We had some really great rope practice, trying out a different waist harness, in a couple different ways. I found it extremely painful, but I expected it, so could stay in it for a bit while we sorted out why. Then he tied me up old-school style, and I had a really great flight. Soaring up into the air, high enough to pull slight screams of delight as my tummy flip-flopped.

 

This past week, we had fun on the floor. The high points were full of people all night, working on rigs and ties, or just enjoying themselves. He decided to clean out his bag and I went to sit with him. He found his bag of clips and clamps and I ended up with clamps on my nipples and little red clips scattered about my body. Then he put one on my ear, on the cartilage at the front of my ear. This one just kept sinking deeper and deeper and brought me to tears in no time. I couldn’t keep my hand from reaching for it, but I didn’t want to actually touch it, so my fingers stroked my cheek and jaw right in front of it. Once he finally took it off my ear, the last of the clips and clamps he removed, he put it on my nipple. Then he ordered me to do five jumping jacks. It took me at least a minute or two to get to my feet and do it, my nipple so tender already.

The bag also held a bunch of Mr Malaprop toys, so he beat me about the thighs with those as well, as I sat beside him. He also pulled out Uncle for a few strikes to my thighs, chest and back, while I howled in pain. Both left some lovely bruises decorating my flesh. He also decided to use some of his favorite toys, that he always has with him – his hands. And squeezed the shit out of my calves, causing me to writhe screaming and crying on the floor. While I was there, he also smacked my ass, since it was right there in view, with a paddle or two. Squeezing my calves to hold me in place if I tried to squirm away from the strikes.

After repacking most of his things away, he kept out a bundle of rope and considered me. Motioning my shirt off, and saying not yet when I asked about the skirt, he began to tie. Rope tight around my chest first, and then around each breast. Cupcaking them for, either the first, or one of the few times in my life. Holding me tight against his chest while he tied and I moaned in pain leaning into him. He even put in a fuck-you line to complete the pain and difficult breathing.

Then he pulled out his whip and we were off to the corner of the room, so he had room to swing. With the tie, it was difficult to get my hands behind my back, but I mostly managed to keep them out of the way. He laid line after line into my breasts, while I squealed and screamed. He even had me turn to one side and the other, so he could catch just my nipples in the swing. A few off-target strikes here and there, but still today, my breasts are coated in red lines.

It was an excellent night of connection, pain, screams, tears, and love.

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Rope, Beatings, and Service

February 10th, 2017

I had a really nice time at WW last weekend. I got to hang out with many members of my chosen family, and one even offered me a bed, so I didn’t have to drive home in the middle of the nights. It was fun to hang out and snuggle and go to classes together.  I even got to do some rope with him when we went to afternoon classes, including one very intense, randomly generated groundwork tie.

I had two scenes over the weekend, one each night. One a reprise of a last year’s scene with an old friend. This time with more pressure points than body drumming, but a good mix of both. He pulled much writhing and many squeals of pleasureful pain out of me with pushing his nails into points on my calves and thighs.

The other, with him, our usual, extremely enjoyable flogging, beating, whipping mixture. Pounding my back to the beat of the music. Spinning me round for whip kisses while he looks into my eyes. And a good few hard shots with a leather cock to lay some nice defined bruising on my thighs. I even asked for a light dragon tail tip cool down to settle me back to earth, since there wasn’t enough room for the full whip. Then we went to the rope room to sit and chill while I rested my head on his thigh and he occasionally stroked my hair. We saw many beautiful rope scenes while we relaxed together.

There was also service throughout the weekend. Fetching drinks and chocolate, monitoring his space when he flogged others, helping with tools and clean-up, watching his bags when needed. I also did a little bootblacking for the friend who scened with me. He had shiny boots, so I actually got to use polish on real leather boots that weren’t my own.

One of the classes I went to in the morning, before he arrived, was on Service, given by Mollena. It was a really fun, engaging, and educational class. She spoke not only about giving service gracefully, but receiving it gracefully, as well. She talked about how service is part of a power Exchange – heavy emphasis on the exchange. If you, as a service giver, are not getting anything from the one receiving service, then it is not an Exchange. There are many ways to create this exchange, and it’s important to figure out what you need, not just what you can give.

Sometimes what you are getting is the attention of the person you are serving. She gave a great in-class example. She asked someone in the back for a glass of water, and while they got it, she went on talking. When the woman handed her the water. She then looked right at her and asked for another, and then paid full attention to the woman the entire time she went and came back with the glass of water. Holding her with her eyes when the woman gave her the water and as she thanked her for it. The entire class felt the difference.

She also talked about being your True Self. How some of her early service relationships/trainers had her providing service that she was unfit for or uninterested in providing. She told some really horrible stories about the results of that service. She advocates for deciding for yourself what service you have to offer, and finding the person who wishes to receive that service. Being a slave, she told us, isn’t about becoming what someone else wants you to be, but about being yourself and connecting with those whose needs match what you can offer them.

Let’s not forget the Prime Directive either, which I have talked about here in other words: “It is the primary responsibility of the slave to protect the master’s property at all times, up to and including protecting the property from their master.” This is not only about speaking up for yourself, and making sure that you are being taken care of, but it is also about self care. That is one thing I struggle with every day.

It was an excellent class, and I still have more processing to do on it.

All in all, it was a very good weekend.

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“You Are Loved and Desired”

November 24th, 2016

He does a very good job of making me feel loved. When he sent me the above message today, I nearly cried. But let’s be honest, I cry so very easily, especially in stressful times. He always makes me feel loved and appreciated. Desired, however, is a harder one. Do I know that he enjoys playing with me? Yes. Do I know he enjoys my company? Yes. Do I know he enjoys both my suffering and my service? Yes. Do I often feel desired by him? No?

Desired is a loaded word, for me, I guess.  English Oxford Living Dictionary defines it as: 1) A strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen, 2) strong sexual feeling or appetite. My overthinking, self-judgmental brain tends to focus on the latter of these definitions, and as he and I have a “non-romantic/sexual” relationship, desire is not a word I often use for his feelings for me. I desire him in this way, always have, always will, but I put it on hold and keep it at bay, to keep expectations managed and balanced. Over the years, it has wobbled up and down, depending on what’s going on, and his testing various waters. But it tends to return to this balance.

Today, he sent me that message. Tonight, after his initial plans were dashed by unexpected class set-up, he got me aside for a flogging.

Leather mop warm-ups. Good and steady, get me bobbing and swaying, into the zone. Eyes closed, just feeling it, and him. Fingertips make me shiver. Then off to get the big deer flogger, gods, I’ve missed that. But solid thumps. Heavy sounding thwacks. Pounding me into the wall. Knocking groans out of my chest. Then snaps. Sting. Not the whip, not the tips, heavier. Squeals of pain. I have a vague notion, but it’s not until he lays it over my arms in front of me that I’m sure it’s the dragon tail. A few more heavy hits, and then the deer flogger is over my arms, as well.

He bring up the rubber mops. Ready for this? It’s been a long time. Too long. Let’s find out. Surprisingly, I am. They feel good, heavy, solid. Slamming out more groans, eyes squeezed shut makes balance occasionally hard, but keeps me deep. Tipping Florentine brings out more squeals, then heavy, deep double blows, rock me into the wall. He counts me up to orgasm a few times. Thank you, Sir! Do you feel desired? He asks between them. Yes, Sir. And we go right back into it. I last a lot longer than I expect to, though we both know our old endurance challenge is probably a bad idea. It feels so good, slamming my back, pulling out screams with the tips, groaning with the big hits. I know he lifted me by the hair at one point, but I can’t even place where that was. Finger tips on hot flesh send me gasping. He spanks me to another counted orgasm as we finish up. Kisses and hugs and thank you. He grabs my back a few more times in the evening, even another counted orgasm before we’re through. A very nice Thanksgiving night.

That’s what desire means for us, between us. A different kind of energy – the smack of flogger on flesh, the screams and groans, the rocking and tapping and swinging. The pushing back and forth of our energy. The gleam in his eye as a crumple against the wall, squealing at the lash. The grin on his face when I pop back up and present my back again, and again. The one, two, three…. Thank you, Sir. The touch of fingertips on burning skin, and the rough grab and squeeze to get one more squeal.

I forget that sometimes, when I let my brain run on. It is still very programmed with societal norms. There are things I still want to find in my life, to add to my life. But I am extremely lucky and blessed by what I do have. A partner who loves, appreciates, and yes, desires me, in our own special way.

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Sometimes It’s Just A Leg

August 25th, 2016

Listening to class on Wednesday. He’s practicing a single column tie, on my wrist. Pulling hard to make sure it doesn’t collapse, bouncing my arm like a puppet. A half dozen times. Then he grabs an ankle and does the same thing.

Only this time, he starts tickling my foot. I cover my mouth and squirm, but his tie is firm, and he’s grinning happily, tickling it just lightly to watch me react. Then he decides to go for more.

He starts tying my foot at a hard 90 degree angle, then runs the rope up over the top of my calf muscle, taking wraps Tightly down my leg back to my ankle. Tighter with every wrap. It reminds me of the Torture with Twine class, where I tied my own leg like this, but with much thinner stuff. I tighten my hand over my mouth, trying to keep my squeals of pain in, but then managed to switch over to processing with breath – gasping and breathing heavily as he squeezes the muscle tighter.

Then he starts tickling again. I clap my hand over my mouth as my brain tries to process the two opposing sensations at once without screaming. My eyes are wide as I stare up at him, and his eyes and mouth are full of sadistic amusement. And he tickles and tickles, and then squeezes the torture calf, and I have to muffle screams again. Light touches driving me mad, my hands are flapping helplessly, but I can’t fight, I can’t move my leg. He tries to straighten it a few times, pulling gasps and squelched groans out of me. It just can’t move. I try to move my toes, they feel so odd forced up like that, assuring there’s no problem, just strangeness.

Eventually, he unties that leg, and we both admire the markings the rope has left. Then he grabs the other and starts up again. Tight and tickles, pain and weirdness. Gasps and flappy hands. So much fun with one little rope. Together.

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Fun Times Don’t Have to be Big

August 25th, 2016

He decided we should play on Saturday. I’d offered on Friday, but we were all much too busy with the crowd.

He walked up to where I was sitting, and slapped me. I gasped and gazed up at him, and he leaded me over to the flogging station. The nice old mop floggers were his weapon of choice. Starting out low and slow, getting me nodding and rocking to the beat. Switching up to six-count to get my whole body moving. And then the heavy strikes, shoving me forward into gasping groans and screams. Riding up and down a few waves, to crest in louder screams.

“Are you awake now?” Yes. “What?” Yes. “What?” Yes, Sir.

Then he had me over his knee, pulling up the bottom of my fishnet dress, as I clutched the chair and balanced my toes. Spanking me, hard and stinging, solid and thuddy, punching and slapping, making me squeal and scream, and moan. Counting me up. Thank you, Sir.

Then he shoved me to the floor. And I lay there, gasping for breath. Looking up at his glittering eyes, and wide grin. I love you. “I love you, too.”  Finally catching my breath, I reach out to clutch the toe of his boot. The cool floor feels good. Calming. He grins down, asking me questions I no longer remember. Then he mentions getting a paddle.

I whimper as he helps me up, and puts me back up at the rig. He grabs the sorority paddle we snagged from a thrift shop years ago. “That was for you, this is for me.” His eyes are still sparkling as he lines up, and bends me over.

I clutch the cold metal poles, my dress falling back down, as he smacks into my ass. Screaming with every strike, rising up and then settling back down. Trying to keep my ass even instead of cocked to one side. He tries to imprint the Greek letters into my flesh. I scream louder and louder, flinching even when he doesn’t strike.

“One. Two…. THREE!” I scream louder than ever, orgasming through the pain.

Thank you, Sir, I gasp out as I finish.

 

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Energy

May 1st, 2016

I meant to post a thing about energy. Been meaning to since Wednesday night. I even meant to have a conversation about it this weekend. But I’ve just been so busy/exhausted. Irony, oh how I love you. So, let’s get this going.

Wednesday night, we had a class entitled: Sacred Touch. Every fall, at COPE, there is a space called: The Scarlet Sanctuary. Both were about a practice of sensual, but not sexual, touch between (usually) two givers and one receiver. The receiver lies on a (massage) table, face up. The givers proceed with light touch all over the body of the receiver. There is negotiation first, and removal of whatever clothing the receiver wishes. The idea, as I understood it being explained this week, is that with four hands on one’s body, the brain cannot process it all and it can put the receiver into a floaty or subspace kind of zone. The experience is different for everyone involved, every time it occurs, I am told. This week was the first time I experienced it.

I have said that I’m not a very “woo” person, but this may be inaccurate. I have faith in a God above, and to some, that’s a very “woo” thing. I believe in personal energy, and that can be a very “woo” thing. I’m not into the seeing auras, and reading futures, because that’s not part of my personal life. But I do feel energy, sometimes to an extreme. I do enjoy the energy circle created by sex or by scenes. I do, on occasion, worry that my energy is too needy, or that I’m in danger of being an energy vampire when I’m sad, lonely, or upset. Other times, I am repulse by the energy of others, or overwhelmed by the energy of a large group or gathering.

Because of these latter two, I often keep my energy bubble in tight. I stay inside myself. I exhibit the usual closed body language – arms and legs crossed, curled in upon myself. Afraid to let it go. Afraid to mix my energy with others. Even those I love, for fear of being a drain on them and their energy. In some situations, they pull me out of, or crack my shell. When he and I have intense scenes, or he sends me flying, my bubble bursts wide open. When my new lover and I have sex, he peels away the outer layer and our energies flow together. But after, I always put myself back together, zip it back up, keep it tight.

So, I wanted to try this sacred touch, this opening up, this letting go with people whose goal it is to not just let me, but to make a space for it, for the mingling and releasing of energies. Three people were leading tables, with each guiding a new volunteer with each scene, so people could try out giving as well as receiving. I requested the leader that is a dear friend of mine, but not one I’d ever scened with, other than helping him tease her. I didn’t know the other two leaders, except by face, and I trust her. The volunteer giver was someone I knew by face, but not much beyond, but that was unimportant, I felt I could let go with her there.

After negotiations, she helped me peel down (part of the service) to bra and panties, and they both helped me onto the table. It started slow, just feeling out my skin, as I told myself to relax, to release my shoulders, to just give in. An odd chime sounded as part of the music, sounding like the chime used to end meditation at the Open Sangha and I laughed to myself and dropped back down into the music and touch. I repeated to myself over and over: “It’s okay, it’s ____, just let go” until I believed it.

Tears dripped out of my eyes and down my cheeks, as I let go of stress and balled up energy. She held my head, wiped away a tear or two, touched my forehead. Reassuring. More tears fell, not hard, just a trickle out of my eyes as stress left my chest. And their hands kept running over my skin. The trickle stopped, for the most part, and I started vibrating. I do this in scenes sometimes, sensation breaks me open, and I just start shaking with the energy. I laughed a little bit, trying to breathe it out, as the session came to an end. Just take your time, she told me, and I nodded, still shaking.

After a few moments, I took their hands and sat up, shivering more than shaking now. Breathing deeply to settle myself back down. I thanked them both as I settled back into my body. Cold now, so she helped me back into my clothes, and when I returned to my seat, I grabbed my jacket, too.

It was an oddly peaceful feeling, when it was all done and the final ceremony to release the gathered extra energy was done. I felt, not empty, but calmed. As though my energy had been smoothed out, like released muscles after a good massage. He commented that I was extra quiet when I dropped by to return the gear afterwards. I was floating, I told him. It was like floating, in a clear, calm pool.

I went into my weekend up north with much more calm than I usually do, eager to be going, certainly, but without the desperate need I have been feeling, to escape from the stresses of home. It was nice to be there, in a calmer state than usual, and left me better able to be supportive of him. Doing my best to keep that calm state for the coming week, with a local convention where another group I’m involved in will be running parties.

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A Learning Experience

February 9th, 2016

A different needles experience this year. After the con was over, back at our own place. Rounding out the weekend, with what we could not do there.

I was the most experienced receiver in the room. One had done none, one had only had two. So, he was in teaching mode. Being (mostly) kind, careful, and slow. A needle or two here, and needle or two there. We started me with 20s, them with 25s. There wasn’t a flow, it wasn’t that kind of scene. We encouraged them to go bigger and bigger, he and I. One got to 16s with me, the other to 18s. We had an observer, too. Not interested in pushing, but there for moral support.

We still all got high on tasty chemicals. He was bouncy now and then. We all breathed together. The needles still hurt, mostly coming out, but occasionally the whole way through. He made me look at every one. I think my 16 got turned around inside. Gods that took forever to come out. I only cried a little, the first time he pushed two, one right after the other. I didn’t scream as much as I usually do, they didn’t scream at all. It was a different kind of scene.

The pace was slow, but the needles stung more, keeping my high going, if only just, as I rocked and swung my feet. Asked him to run his finger over them, push me higher. Freezing whenever he pushed a needle. Resting my foot against his leg when he was pushing right next to me. Contact to keep me going. Only 13 in my thigh. Next time, we’ll all do more.

Out was worse than ever. Most of them hurt coming out, they don’t usually hurt at all. The high wasn’t high enough, I guess. The big one hurt a lot. I’m pretty sure I screamed.

And So Much Blood! I spouted in the middle of pulling them out. Panic, I tried to catch the blood, and only barely managed not to stab myself, half the needles still in. Shit! Blood all over me, blood dripping down to the floor. Fuck. So much watery blood. Why is it so thin? Pressing pads down over the holes as he cleans up. Sorry. We should have known, beaten legs bleed more. Breathe, drink, press, calm. Clean up everything. Stop the bleeding before I can sleep.

Thank you.

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Pressure Points and Pain

February 8th, 2016

First-time partner.

So, whatcha wanna do?

I dunno, whadda you wanna do?

I dunno, whaddya like to do?

Let’s go ask my wife.

Hey, what should we do?

Pressure points and pain.

So, off we go to try to find a spot. Quiet dungeon full. Main dungeon full. Side dungeon full. Wet and Warm dungeon has a few open tables. Sure, why not. We grab a table away from the fire players.

I start sitting up. We starts with some light touches and smiles. Wraps an arm around my neck, I turn my throat into the crook. Pokes become a bit more insistent. Kisses the back of my neck. Soft noises and shivers.

Lie down, face down. I turn and settle in, forehead on my hands. Rubs my shoulders, squeezes the tight muscles. Hard pokes, and nails dragging on skin, pulling moans from my throat. An occasional strike, a gasp and a groan. Trying not to tense, tense muscles hurt more. Lifting the leg he isn’t hurting, groans of mixed pleasure and pain. Fingers clenching as his dig into my flesh. He lifts my head gently by the hair and presses into my sternum, hard. I groan and try to fight a bit and he presses me back down.

Turn over on your back now. I smile up at him as he works my chest. Pressing strong fingers into tight points of pain. Groaning and arching my back as he works from shoulders to chest to sides. He pokes the top of my hand, because it’s me. Poking my arms, finding the points and then light slams of his fist. I flex my tingling fingers and grin up at him. He works down to my hips, eliciting deeper moans and more arching. Down to my thighs, strikes coming more often. Feet? Yes, they are just ticklish. He presses into my arches, exquisite pain. Back up to my thighs.

Now he is drumming. The strikes coming fast and hard. Arching, moaning, so intense. I grip the table, shaking and moaning, lost, almost flailing with the power of his strikes. Gasping as he stops, and pulls me gently back to sitting. Teeth find the back of the side of my neck, biting not-too-gently, as I cling to his arm, moaning softly, happily. When he’s done, I lean against him, breathing. Thank you.

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Scened All Night

February 8th, 2016

It started in the social area. Friends with a stun baton. She’s negotiating, afraid. Wants to see someone else be hit with it first. He of course, volunteers me. Zapping my leg, making me scream and squirm away, and scream some more. Her face in shock. His eyes light up.

Grab it. He holds it out. Grab it. Tears streaming down my face in an instant. Hand making grabby motions six inches above it. Grab it. Crying harder, more grabby motions. 3. Put your hand around it. 2. Do I need to give it back to him? 1. Grab it. More grabby motions and crying. Counting doesn’t overcome my fear, that’s not wired into me strongly enough. That Voice: Are you going to grab it or should I give it back to him. I look at his eyes, crestfallen. That’ll do it. Should I give it back to him. no… I couple more breaths and I wrap my fingers around it. Keeping my thumb on top, so I don’t get stuck clenching it.

Now, he says, turning to her. You have to push the button. I’m still twitching, and she’s shaking her head. You have to push the button, or I’ll hold it down much longer. I can’t, she says, I don’t hurt people. You got her into this, you have to push it. Do you want me to hold it down, I’ll do it much longer than you. I didn’t mean for it to be her, she looks terrified. Maybe you should ask her if it’s okay. She does, I tell her yes. If you don’t press it, I’ll hold it down for at least three seconds. Okay, she agrees, but she’s still twitching almost as much as me. Do it, come on, press the button.

She does, and I scream, and jerk my hand away, shaking it rapidly. She covers her face, aghast at what she has done. He pulls me against his chest in a tight hug. You okay? Yeah. I squeeze him tight. I shake my hand a bit more. Hey, it’s okay, it really is, I tell her. And now it’s her turn to play with her partner at it.

This gets his energy up and we go get dressed and bring the toybag up from our room.

What are you up for? I asked you to beat the stress out of me. Okay.

He grabs me from kneeling and pulls me over his lap and starts pounding on my upper back. Still chatting with those around us. Drumming with his hands. Punching the persistent knots. Knocking the breath out of me more than once. By the time he’s done, I am more than warmed up. Grinning up at him. Alright, now we’re ready to go.

We head to the dungeon, looking for a good piece of furniture. He sends me to the other one, to find the ladder he likes. I find the wrong one, in the right spot and wait. The right one is being used. I stretch and bounce, and he arrives with his other scene. I set out the floggers while they prepare, then kneel to watch and guard for unwary walkers. They have a good scene together, and I clean up while he escorts her back to her partner.

My Turn.

He starts with the soft pair. Thumps and rhythm, florentine. It feels good, rewarming my back. I bob my head to the music, but its strange in this space. We up to the next set of floggers, heavier. Still trying to bob to the beat, but he seems to be hitting on the up while I nod on the down. I sync up with him, groans of happy when he slams down hard. Florentine is sharper now, leading to louder moans. Floggers pounding me into the ladder.

Next pair, some long rubber ones. Sharp and stingy, have me screaming quickly. Writhing on the ladder. Squirming and dropping with screams of pain. He switches up again, to the thinner ones, he can make good thumps with these, but the florentine is so stingy I am screaming again. And too quickly, my back is bleeding, a small scab pulled off by the tips. He bandaids it and notices my bare ass, neither of us ready to be done.

Grabs up a Malaprop multi-layered stick. Strikes having me screaming and dropping, and standing up again. Double thumper, less stingy, but still pulls screams. Hold onto the ladder, don’t let go. Then he finds the devil pop, and lays about my ass and thighs, leaving its very distinctive marks with every scream. Next he pulls out a paddle, Five. Okay. Tap, tap, tap, tap, SMACK. Screaming and dropping, he motions me back up. Tap, tap, tap, tap, SMACK, scream, SMACK! Scream, tap, tap, SMACK, SMACK! He giggles as he digs for another toy.

Dragon tail! His grin is as wide as my rueful smile, as I face him, and hold on to the ladder. Snapping and screaming and twisting, and dropping. He motions me up every time I fall. My hands tight on the ladder instead of grabbing the places he hits, pulling myself up. Legs coming up protectively instead, and he just snaps them, too. Breasts and thighs and hips, and a few right down the middle. How’s my aim? Very good, Sir. Every snap pulling a scream or a squeal. Alright, turn around. Ass, and shoulders, and back and thighs. Snapping and cracking and screaming and squirming.

And then he is standing by my side, happy and hot. I lean over and kiss him. I love you. I love you, too. I reach for him and kiss him again. Thank you. He smiles, all bouncy and happy, and I clean up our toys.

We head back to the social area, find friends to sit with. He pokes around in his bag showing off some toys. Then comes up with the Irish 8s. Snaps them on my wrists as I smile. Oh, how I’ve missed these. A bit more chatting and he digs around some more. Comes up with the gas mask, shows it off a bit, and then onto my head it goes. Shows how it works. Then grabs some ear plugs, plops them in my ears. Then ties a blindfold around the eyes of the mask. Can you see? Only the lights if I look at the ceiling. He chats, and I can hear his voice clearly, but not the other ones around me, he is the only one right in front of me. Occasionally cutting off my airflow. Tightening the mask when it gaps. I have to keep my head down or the chin gaps when I breathe. So tight on my forehead. Chatting and playing with my air. Waiting til I just start to panic to let me breathe. The cuffs keep me mindful and I don’t reach up to stop him. Occasionally, though, I rub my forehead.

It gets late, and he asks if I’m done. Yes. He pulls off the blindfold, out the earplugs, and off the mask. I rub my forehead and work my jaw back into place. Take the bag back to the room, and bring the keys back with you. I stand and he pulls my dress down for me, and I set off. Halfway back to the room, my dress is back around my waist. Silly shiny thing. I get some compliments from a few in the hall. Thanks, I call back. Drop the bag, grab the keys, I can’t get the cuffs off to put on a robe, so I just throw it over my shoulders and head back, keys and robe edges in my hands in front of me.

I get back to where he was, but he’s gone. I head down to Cookies and Cocoa, but he’s not there, either. So, I head back to wait for him. Realizing he’s outside, in the cold, with the smoke. I wait for a while, listening to the muffled chatter and laughter. I can hear him. Eventually I get bored, and head back down for chocolate. He arrives a bit later, and I get him cocoa, only spilling a bit of water with my cuffed hands. We hang out and chat some, until we’re ready to go.

He grabs me by the hair, dragging me up onto tiptoe, pulling me down the hall beside him. Mouth open, moaning with pleasure. 1. 2. 3. Orgasm. Thank you, sir. He drags me up the stairs, through the halls, down the stairs and through another hall to our room. Groaning and squealing with pleasure and pain at the tightness of his grip as he pulls me along by the hair. Pushing me into the room. I gasp and shake for a moment, before he removes the handcuffs and we head to bed.

Amazing night full of pleasure and pain and love.

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Post COPE Post

September 19th, 2015

It was a different event this year. A different crowd, a different feel, a different energy. He had a lot of requests, I was just planning on one scene with him. I demo-bottomed for one part of one class, attended one demo, and sat with him for part of a third. I did my usual service thing, cleaned his boots before opening ceremonies, got him drinks and food, lugged the gear, claimed furniture, and knelt/sat attentively for his scenes. It was a quieter weekend for us. The scenes went really well, for all of us. Four flogging scenes in a row Friday night, mine being the finale, and one more on Saturday. All very good and energetic scenes.

I usually do scene write-ups after big events, but I haven’t really got it in me this time. It was a good scene, it was what I wanted and needed. Flogging, paddling, even a jolt of electricity. There were screams and groans and tears, by the end I was floating high. But I don’t have the words for it. It wasn’t a journey of distinctive parts. I could probably identify most of the tools he used – floggers, the new butt hammer, thumper and paddle, and the stun gun. I can’t, however, remember the order, or the flow. It isn’t a stream of consciousness like I usually get in my head. It is more like a nice, hot, comfortable whirlpool of love, emotion, and connection. Except for the cross we used… that was fucking awkward. 😉 But we made it work, together.

I had another scene-ish thing this week, too. At practice, which in the near future, will be more like old practice once again. He was teaching people six-count. One of them was doing really well, so he gave her my back, to test just how well. They took turns, her more than him, and her aim was pretty good. Trying different floggers for weight and feel. It was nice to be doing that again. He even had me turn around to show her breast flogging. Doing quite the number on my chest between them.

Then he pulled out the dragontail, and they traded that off for a while. I pointed out to her at one point that she was the only person other than him who I let him me with that thing. He was teaching her to watch body language, processing and reactions. I only let her do it because he was teaching. She, who had not wanted to “hurt me” with the floggers, really got into laying red lines and spots with the tail.

Then she got into another conversation, and he proceeded to go through the toy bag to hit me with other things. He grinned at me at one point, “Do you feel thanked enough for your service this weekend?” He had not left a lot of marks on my during our scene at COPE, but he sure made up for it that night. Even going so far as to lay Uncle grid marks on my thighs at the end. Gods, I love him so much. I even got in some snuggles after, while he surfed the net, and we waited for the night to wind down.

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