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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Bedtime Thoughts

November 30th, 2016

It’s bedtime, so of course, my brain has woken up. It started with – I haven’t written in a couple days because of Busy. Then it went to, it’s the end of the month. Then, what haven’t I written about from my initial list. Hard Limits and Cuckqueaning came to mind.

Cuckqueaning had come into my head when I first wrote that list, as I thought about revising my hard limits list. Cuckqueaning – the female version of cuckolding – for a woman’s partner to have sex with another woman. In the kink sense, this is often done with the full knowledge, and sometimes in front of the cuckqueaned partner, where that partner derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s relations with another.  For me, this isn’t just “not my thing,” it feels emotionally harmful to me. Not other people doing it for their own pleasure, but if a partner of mine was to do it to me, as a sadomasochistic thing.

This isn’t about my partners playing with other people, or my partners having other partners. There have been teasing “threats” in the past of sitting me on one side of the room (in various states), while a partner did sexual things on the other side of the room with someone else. It was usually laughed off, and never followed through with. A comment earlier this year, teasingly suggesting I find someone other than myself to sexually please a partner triggered extremely negative feelings. Other things were going on, and it was part of the “no time to deal with this now” phase I had myself in, so I let it go and pushed it away to deal with later. I think this is all hitting on my degradation hard limit. To me, this falls into that category of not good for me. Along with the “not ____ enough” bullshit my mind throws up with no outside help.

So, my Hard Limits are pretty simple these days, with him: Nothing that would likely end up with me in hospital or jail or morgue. No physical, emotional, mental, or financial Harm. With other people, I think my post from November 17th, 2013 is still pretty valid. Every now and then, I just find new things that fall under the currently listed categories.

 

What else haven’t I touched on? Whipping Post. Skin Time. Private Time. Art. I think I’ve touched on all the rest of the list, in one way or another. So, let’s take these, one at a time, to finish up the month. (There might be another post later today, depending on how things go.)

Whipping Post. He’s been practicing a lot with his whip lately – I mentioned this earlier this month. Trying out some new swings – one that’s really heavy. It reminds me of whipping post scenes from movies, like in Mockingjay. Obviously, he’s not taking my skin off – that’s a no-no around here, plus I can barely stand for the strikes as they are. I want to stand up to the strikes, but we’re generally out in the middle of a big empty room, nothing to brace against. Not to mention it is cold and I’m usually not terribly warmed up for that sort of thing when we’re doing it. But there’s an inkling of curiosity, morbid though it may be.

Skin Time. One of the things I really enjoy with my unlabeled partner(I really need to pick an alias of some sort) is skin time. Time to just be naked with one another. Our skin touching, fingertips brushing lightly, hands warming bare flesh. The feeling of us together, pressed close, sharing warmth and sensation fully. It is a completely different type of connection than just snuggling up fully clothed (also a nice thing to share). And it is more precious to me than I realized before I was without it for so long.

Private Time. In our busy lives, it is often hard to find private time with him. We have poly family nights, and we have practice/class nights, and we have club nights. Given our schedules and the relative locations of our homes and venues, we hardly ever ride to things together any more. Lately, though, his wife has had things to do early on our family nights, so we’ve had time to catch up before she gets home. But it’s always with the knowledge that her arrival, if not imminent, is still fairly soon.

I know, should I need to have a conversation, or some such, I can let him know, and time will be made. But the yearning is different than that, and too undefined for me to form a request. I miss having time for just us, but I haven’t the slightest idea where we could create it these days. Or what we would do with it, given everything. Once again, I’m back to the sentiments from my Asking post – figure out what I’m looking for, and remember to ask.

Art. Writing is my art. It is my passion. It is my way of putting little bits of my soul into the world. It creates happiness within me, and brings me peace. I have very much enjoyed getting so many thoughts down on “paper” and out into the world this month. Of locking my inner critic up, for the most part, and just letting myself speak my truths. At this point I’m crossing 9,500 words, not anywhere near the NaNo goal of 50K, but it has been good for me, and I hope to continue it forward. I hope you, dear readers, have enjoyed this month as much as I have.

Now, maybe my brain will let me go to sleep. 😉

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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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Not Just a Masochist

November 7th, 2016

I’ve talked about my masochism many times before. About how it’s not just about pain, but “intense sensation.” Especially controlled, intentional, intense sensation. I’ve talked about my RA, and how that pain is unwelcome, unsexy, and uncontrolled. I’ve talked about pleasurable stimuli, as well as painful stimuli.

Sometimes, though, it doesn’t even have to be intense. Light fingertips on my skin. Warm hands stroking my body. Whispers of breath on my neck. Lube rubbed over latex clothing. Rope pulled across skin, or wrapped around limbs. I like sensations.

But not just sensations. I, like most people, am far more complex than a single kink, or even two, or three.

I like power exchange. The way he can just look and point. Or grab me by the hair. Or smack my face. And I’m there, reeling into subspace.

I like roleplay. School girl, vampire, predator/prey. Fulfilling deep hidden desires as someone, something, else.

I like sex. Teasing, toying, hands, mouths, bodies, hours long sex.

I like bondage. Take down ties, corsets and clothing, prisoner ties, eeling, transitions, suspensions, flying, experimentation, encasement. With leather, metal, ropes, saran wrap, duct tape.

I like fear. Playing with breath play, needles, stun guns, sparklers.

And many more.

Sure, some of these things have the intensity in them, too. Though, not all, not always. Sometimes it’s about relaxing, spacing out. Letting go of the “real world” and delving into yourself, or each other. Making those connections that keep us grounded, secure, and happy. Or making connections that send us soaring into the sky, if only in those moments.

There’s no reason in this world to be just one thing. Be everything you want to be, everything you can dream.

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Struggle

September 3rd, 2016

Do you ever have those days, when you just want to fight? But you’re not a fighter, so it’s more like you want to struggle, need to struggle. As a rope bottom, and masochist, to me, this means I want to Eel. And not just eel. Not just, tie me up, and let me get out. But tie me up tight, painful, torture me while I wriggle and writhe. Maybe I can’t even get out at all, but it’s the fight I want, the struggle.

He told ex-Lover the other day, that I was due some nipple clamps and a straitjacket. It’s been a Long time. He has used the straitjacket with me twice that I can remember – once for a nice zone out, and once to be eyes for an artificially blinded engineer. Once inside, one cannot really fight a straitjacket, but I’ve written at least once about fighting ex-Lover putting it on.

I am full of stress at things, and working on letting it go. Pain helps – we’ve had some fun pain lately, especially with whip practices this month. He was even practicing a new long stroke this past week – more like what you see in movies of someone at a post – though without the blood, of course. But as things build up, I’m feeling the need for a struggle. Now, to figure out where and how.

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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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April Fools Day

April 1st, 2016

I’ve seen a few amusing stories today, a few good memes, and the usual roundup of new, amusing products from ThinkGeek. I don’t know that I’ve ever really taken this day to heart. I’m not a practical joker, I’m just sarcastic. But I noticed I haven’t posted in a while, so I figured, day aside, why not?

The new job(s) are filling my weekdays, and starting Sunday, half my weekend, too. It will be very good for me, financially. But I’m still working on finding a work-life-food-sleep balance. This coming week will be my first full, six-day workweek. I’ve gotta do better at lunch.

On the kinky side of things. I keep having thoughts of stuff to write late at night, I try to put notes in my bedside notebook, but they don’t make as much sense in the morning light.

We’ve got Wednesday nights again, and we’ve had some good flogging and whip practice here and there. I’ve had a balloon bondage scene on the burner ever since Wickedness, but the young lady and I haven’t quite managed to sync up yet.

I had an awesome spanking/paddling with him this past FFF.  Another friend was down to visit and they played, and then he pulled me down over them both. It was a very good night. We had other friends come out, as well, and there were more snuggles and hair playing. Want more like that. 🙂

This weekend I’m up with the boy, for some nice naked time, relaxing, and orgasms. As we both work on convincing the other of his/her attractiveness. 😉

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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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