Abandonment Scenes

June 7th, 2012

Abandonment was mentioned last night when talking about fear play. A very valid form of fear play, but it got me thinking about my own relationship with abandonment. I’m not afraid of scene-abandonment, as such. I mean, tie me up and leave me somewhere? I’ll happily fall asleep, or meditate, or just glow happily in bondage. Tie me up and tell me to escape? Sure! I’ll wiggle and squirm free, and then curl up happily with the rope.

It’s when pain enters the picture that the abandonment means something to me. A very long time ago, long before kink, I wrote a diary entry about fear. In it I listed the things I was afraid of: snakes, needles, sparks. But I got a little more introspective after that. I noted that being in pain and being unable to do anything about it scares me a helluva lot, too. My phobias are flight responses. This one is a bit more complicated. This one leads to a different kind of break down of my psyche.

I am a masochist. I like pain. I enjoy it. I can get off on it. But I also like control. I like someone to be in control. Of me, of the scene, of the pain. Random, uncontrolled or unintentional pain is not cool. If you know me well enough and long enough, you’ll see me break down over my RA pain on occasion.

To be put in a painful bondage and then left, abandoned, causes the adrenaline rush. I’m in pain, I can’t stop the pain. No one is there to stop the pain. What if it becomes too much? What if I can’t take it anymore? What if I pass out from the pain? What if I panic? Am I already panicking? And on and on.

Near the beginning of the life of this blog, I posted Abandoned and Rescued. In that scene, I knew my white knight was coming to save me. I knew he would come and stop the pain. So I was left in a bigger predicament, his arrival had the chance of causing More pain, excruciating pain. And unless I could call out loudly enough and warn him, I would have no way to stop it. Later, I was threatened with being left in a similar situation, without the trap, with no one coming to save me, except maybe the hotel’s housekeeping staff, who I’m pretty sure would have just run away. Terrified, I begged my way out of it.

So, for me, abandonment works as a form of fear play, but it has to be painful. Otherwise, it’s just a happy bondage scene, which can also be fun.


Jealousy & Fear

August 3rd, 2011

I was going to do the posts close together, but things keep getting busy. So, here’s the second post on The Ethical Slut, part II. This one focuses on Jealousy and Fear.

“No one can own another person.” (117) An important thing to remember, whether or not you are poly. You do not own your partner. (We aren’t talking about Master/slave ownership agreements here, that’s another discussion.) You are not responsible for their actions, and your every moment is not about each other. It would be a rather boring life for most of us to spend every waking moment with only one other person. There are jobs, and friends, and family and hobbies and a myriad of other things that are part of life. You share your life, poly or not, with many people, things and activities.

“Jealousy may be an expression of insecurity, of fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, feeling left out, feeling not good enough, or feeling inadequate.” (134) “[Jealousy] is a part of you, a way that you express fear and hurt.” (137) Jealousy is a normal human emotion. Everyone has jealousy at some point in their lives over something. It’s natural. And it can tell you when something is important to you. If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t react to it.

“We imagine we know his thoughts, when in fact we are thinking about our fears.” (121) Our imaginations are great creators of fear. Sometimes, our imagination just leads us to silence or inaction. I can’t be that, he’ll say this. I can’t do that, she’ll think this. I can’t ask that, he’ll say no. How do we know? We don’t, we’re just projecting our fears onto our partner.

“You actually don’t know what your partner is doing. The images you see in your mind are the perfect reflection of your own fears.” (149) Our imagination gives us false impressions of what our partner is doing with others, or while out of our sight. We are afraid of what they are doing, afraid we’ll be hurt by it. “It helps to ask, “What am I afraid might happen?”” (131) We might imagine that the other person is better at it than we are. That they’ll enjoy it more with that other person. That we will pale in comparison. We might be afraid that he won’t want us anymore, or won’t want to do a certain thing with us anymore. We can really let our imaginations run away with us. That’s why communication is so important, before and after. So that we can stay in touch with the reality of a situation.

“What are the specific images that disturb me the most?” (148) It is important to figure out what triggers your fears, insecurities and jealousy the most. To identify major issues, so they can be named(often this, is enough to take the power away), discussed and perhaps disarmed. Or, if not disarmed, perhaps agreements can be made around them, to the benefit of all involved. No one wants to make their partners unhappy.

“Jealous might actually be envy.” (134) “When I’m not taking care of getting what I want, it’s easy to get jealous and think that someone else is getting what I am not.” (137) Are there things that you want that others appear to be getting? Are you asking for those things? Can you work out a way to have the experience you are missing so that you aren’t envious of the other person? It is important to take care of yourself, and your wants and needs. Don’t give jealousy any more footholds than it already has.

“Sometimes jealousy has at its root feelings of grief or loss.” (134) This goes back to economics of starvation, for me. Feeling like I’m losing something if someone else gets the same. Jealousy over fear of loss. I have to remind myself that someone else getting something does not take away from what I already have. And, it can even strengthen it.

“If you try to pretend that you are not jealous when you are, others will perceive you as dishonest, or worse yet, they may believe you, and see no need to support and protect you.” (138) “Denying your jealousy can lead you to act out harsh feelings in ways you will regret later.” (138) Expressing jealousy can be painful, but denying it can be damaging. It isn’t easy to admit you are feeling negatively about your partner, but letting negativity fester only makes things worse. If you can admit to it, you can then talk about it, and get through it. Together. A shared burden is easier to carry.

“The way to unlearn jealousy is to be willing to experience it.” (139) “You can feel jealousy without acting on it.” (140) Like any other emotion, jealousy does not have to take over. You can feel it and see it and deal with it, without letting it control you. This can take practice though, and time. And you have to want to. You are in control of you, even when you feel out of control. Ask for help when you need it, and jealousy is nothing to be afraid of.

“You and your partners need to practice talking about jealousy.” (151) I’m not sure how to practice, but talking about jealousy is the best way I know to get through it. Getting your feelings out, having them acknowledged and supported, if not agreed with, and then having help getting through them, is a great feeling. But that’s the next blog post, Emotions and Validation.


Rope Scenes

July 14th, 2011

I’ve posted a lot about rope. About why I like it, what I like about it, about scenes I’ve had with it, about buying it, about learning to tie it. There have been a lot of classes on rope lately, with more coming up, especially at COPE in September. The most recent was on Eeling. And he said he learned more about me by attending than about the subject, because he and I don’t play like that. Way back when we first met, he challenged me to get out of a tie, but not since. Our scenes are about other things that escape. So, it brought to mind today, what kinds of rope scenes are there, what kinds do I enjoy, and what do I get out of the different kinds?

Suspension is one, well, two really. There are high-flying suspensions, and there are static.

High-flying suspensions I have written about a few times, describing particular scenes or the freedom in it. The care for comfort of the tie, and the attention to detail of the rigging are very important. Swinging from a point 15-20′ in the air by thin ropes tied around the body is a feeling like no other I’ve ever experienced. We compare it to a swing set of childhood, or a roller coaster ride. But it is so much more than the first, and so much more sensual than the second. It is about trust and control. Giving it all to the person tying and flying you. One mistake and bad things could happen. But when it’s done right, with care and attention. The energy, the joy, the sense of freedom, is incredible. The dizziness from spinning well worth the feeling of the spin. The rope marks can last for days, bright red lines where the ropes lay, holding you in the sky. And for me, the scene doesn’t end when I’m back on the ground. I float as he unties, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, leaving burns with the lines. And then I sink back down to earth, surrounded by the rope, coiling it up, breathing it in. Landing mentally, only when it is all put away again.

Static suspensions share a lot of the same sensations and feelings with high-flying ones. But they tend to be more sensual for me. More about the rope touching and holding. More about the feel of him close to me, often playing with me while I’m suspended. Static lends to deeper space, less wide-eyed excitement. I sink into rope space whenever I am tied, but when left to hang in it, my mind sinks deeper into my body. Feeling everything. And floats out to him, feeling the energy and the exchange.

A similar state is achieved through floor scenes. When he ties me, not to a suspension point, but into a ball, or a hog-tie or some such, self-contained tie. These, though, have me grounded, literally, and mentally. I am not floating away, finding the freedom of being suspended. I am tied into myself, molded into the shape he wishes. I am made vulnerable in a completely different way. No longer is my life hanging by a thread, but rather, I am at his mercy. I am where and what he wants me to be. I am bound and helpless, and available for whatever he wants to do, with less safety concerns to distract. (Yes, there are always safety concerns, but not maintaining steady breathing, or a numb limb isn’t going to end a ground scene nearly as quickly as a suspension.) Floor scenes can be as simple as tying and leaving to melt, whether in a ball on the floor, or walking around with just the upper body bound. Or tying and then tormenting – whips, floggers, paddles, pinches, nipple clamps, tickling, what have you. A fully sensual and power exchange scene for me.

Coming off floor scenes, there are bed scenes. Tied down to a bed, for sex and torment. To be tied completely open and vulnerable. These have a different feel from ground scenes, for various reasons. One, obviously, if the intent is sex, is quite a bit different than the above feelings. But the other, for torment, is still different, too. Tied in a ground tie, immobilized and tormented is one thing. Often you can’t see what’s coming, or you can curl and squirm at the very least. Tied out spread eagle, unable to even pretend you can protect or defend yourself. Waiting, watching, often enduring torment that you can do nothing about. It is a similar, but uniquely delicious space. For me, there is far less sinking into the rope in these scenes. Sometimes I use pulling on the rope to process the pain, or as a focus point, but these scenes do not take me to rope space nearly as much as a ground tie.

The last type, I want to talk about is what sparked this post. Eeling. Getting out of the rope you were put in. I used to do this type of scene with the other a lot, or folks on the crew, just playing around when we were bored. See how long it took to escape a particular tie. Or tie myself up so the other could watch me escape. Or be tied up and left to escape on my own. Or one particular friend like to keep adding rope as I would untie the first few. These were interesting scenes for me. Scenes of challenge. I like challenges, challenging myself, being challenged. The ties were puzzles to be solved. And learned from. I love learning, too. I started learning suspension ties by untying them. I learned a lot about floor and bed ties by untying myself. There was discussion about what about eeling turns eels on, and about the rollercoaster that eeling scenes can be. For me – the joy of being tied, the thrill of the challenge set before me, the frustration of a difficult (or improbable to escape) tie, the thrill of getting a knot undone or getting some slack, the frustration that it did no good, continuing on to either end with the satisfaction of escaping, or the arousal of surrender. These scenes can be very tricky. The frustration can overwhelm, or the eel can cause themselves physical injury, or panic can set in (especially when combined with abandonment). But if the balance can be maintained, the frustration can be channeled and the panic controlled, and injury avoided, I enjoy these scenes very much if it is what the top is also after. I am not one to get out of any rope put on me just to see if I can. I like being in it far too much for that.

Are there any other types you enjoy? Do you have a favorite? What about the different types do you like?


Jute, Nipple Clamps & Tears

December 17th, 2010

“Do you want to go a round?”


He had the jute in his hand and on his belt. He let me smell it, natural smell – not hemp, but not synthetic or horses, either. Holding it, he looked me up and down, considering. Turned me to face away and put my arms into a box tie.

“How are your shoulders?”

“Right’s a little pinchy, but much better than they have been lately.”

Tie the wrists, the bite of the natural fibers makes me happy, smiling as he warps it around me. Two lengths of eight meters around my arms and chest, wrapping, cinching down, tight, but so very comfortable.

A bit of a length left when he has me secure, and up between the legs, catching the skirt to protect the rope. Yelping as he yanks and then led around the room.

“Keep up, that’s my bad shoulder. Is it in the right place?”


The grin as he yanks a few more times and then lets it go, finishing it off in the back. Turning me to inspect and show off the work, he stops in front of me. A hand to the throat and he pushes me quickly back into the other room and tosses me on the couch.

“Feet up, prisoner tie.”

I scoot back on the couch, cross my booted ankles, trying to balance and get comfortable for what is sure to be a long tie. The third and final piece quickly secures my ankles to each other and then around to my neck. A comfortable bend for the moment, the jute biting into my skin. So delicious.

Off he goes again, returning with a Japanese washcloth to blindfold me, covering most of my face. And a leather gag to go underneath. The gag is small and flat so my moment of panic is minimized as I adjust, digging my teeth into it.

And here I lose coherent time line. I remember sinking into the rope, into the darkness, listening to conversations around me. I remember changing positions for more comfort, for legs, for back, for neck. I don’t remember how the nipple clamps arrived, but they did. I don’t remember how the other girl came to be tied, but I think it was after the nipple clamps were handed off to another girl to tug on. There was talk of envy of my position. There was talk of requests to be made. And there was tugging and pain and squeaking from me as he tied the her beside me.

I was unbalanced on the couch, squirming to try and move back, my hips were getting strange pressure. When he got her done, he lifted and shoved me further back onto the couch. Gratitude mumbled through the gag.

The tied one wanted to help pull the chain. Something caught his attention from the outer room. He left me, I heard him walk away, his voice leaving the room, but still audible. Panic, kept in check, but bubbling, as I strained to keep his voice in my ears while the first assistant continued to torment my nipples. The one beside me wanted to help, but her hands were tied. Someone else got involved and they moved her into position, got her head in my lap, so she could pull on it with her teeth. His voice returned.

“I was only gone a couple minutes and look at this…”

Multiple people were involved now, a chain of torment starting at my nipples and ending with his amusement. Blindfolded and squealing I had no clear picture of what was going on. It was a writhing mass of energy in front of me, I could identify the players, but not the actions. I knew only that the tied girl was delighted to have the chain in her teeth.

Positions changed and people moved, and there was a slip. I caught a shoulder in the throat. Instant panic and pain, but not the pain I expected. He was there, his voice breaking through my coughing, making sure I was alright. Yes, but still coughing, still panicking, fighting for control. He grabbed it, shoved me back into my place and helped me find my control again.

Camera flashes now. Our photographer capturing the scene. Teeth on chain, both of us squirming and writhing, squeaking and squealing from me. They encourage her to pull harder. I think she was the first to pull one off. The other is yanked free, and they are reset while I whimper.

He sits beside me, landing on a joint and I cringe at the bad pain, but he drops me back into the good pain and rope once more. Her phone rings and her time is up. The first one takes back the chain as he unties.

She sets back to it, testing what sounds she can cause. Enjoying the squeals and the screams. I fall into pain space and breathing and she frowns. She wants squeals. It takes sudden yanks, but she gets what she wants. He hears where I am, and leans in close.

“Watch this…”

And he counts for me, very quietly, right in my ear. She yanks at his direction, sending me higher. Surprised by my command performance. He counts several times, and I focus and use the pain.

The clamps are yanked and twisted and ripped off and replaced a few more times. I shake and gasp when they are removed.

“Did you just orgasm from pain?”
I shake my head, my fingers spelling out “not without permission,” but no one sees. The shaking is the release of energy so as not to orgasm. She pulls and twists some more. My screams grow louder, the gag slides most of the way out at the harshest of the screams.

“Get that back in! You’re not done yet.”

He grabs me by the hair as she twists and pushes. Tears begin to form.

“Go on, cry.”

He holds tight and she presses harder. I scream and gasp and bite down on the gag, trying to keep it in and breathe and cry. The pain swells, and they push, and I tip over the edge. Tears falling freely and they let me go. Leave me to my release.

I cry myself out and then curl up on myself. He is sitting in front of me while they talk, I curl up my head on my own knee, but touching his shoulder. Spacing out again, in rope and darkness.

They return to the couch, either side of me after short while. Conversation continues, but my hips are starting to protest strongly. I get his attention and mumble through my gag until he understands the problem. He frees my legs, and it is enough. She holds and pets me while they continue to talk.

I shift positions, not ready to give up, but with my legs free, I can now lean back and this puts pressure on my arms. I lean forward and back, and into her and away. Finding comfort in different ways for a while longer.

Eventually, it is enough. My wrist is in too much pain. I lean forward and turn my head towards him, waiting. He asks if I am done. I nod. He asks if my arms are numb. I shake my head. He asks what the problem is, and I try a few times, but I really am done, so I spit out the gag and tell him my wrist hurts too much, from its own swelling combined with the pressure of the rope.

He asks me to stand and I try, but am still unsteady so he has me kneel instead. The ropes come off, then the blindfold and discarded gag. The last trappings of the scene gone, I begin to shake. I take the blanket, which was covering my legs through the scene, to wrap around my shoulders. He invites me back to the couch and I snuggle back into her until the shaking passes while he puts away the rope. It is still cold and I stay snuggled between them until he has to attend to other things, another girl takes his place andI am kept warm while I come fully awake. He returns and I thank him for the wonderful scene.

Warmer clothes and breakfast, bits of teasing and discussion. I am still high and spacy, but awake and aware, and so very happy. A great scene that kept us all entertained on a cold, slow night. I felt like his canvas again. Used for his art – for his rope art, for his sadism, his instigation, and his use of mental control. Given the gifts I enjoy – tight bondage, teethy rope, nipple clamps, intensity, pain, pushing boundaries, control, hair pulling, orgasms, and release to the point of tears. Incredibly grateful for the gift of that scene.



July 23rd, 2009

“Sir? she called out, her voice wavering. “Sir, please Sir. Be careful, Sir.”

Pain coursed through her body, the clamps were digging in, settling into her tender flesh. Nipples aching as they pressed and rubbed against the jacket with every breath. She tried to be still, but it did nothing for the agony. Turning her head carefully, she strained to hear him coming, hear anything.

“Sir? Are you there, Sir? Please, Sir.” Her voice broke with half a sob. “Please be careful, Sir. It’s a trap, please, Sir.”

A sharp knock on the door rang in the silence, and she froze.

“Careful!” She cried, bracing for the pain.

Some slight tugs on the rope and the pressure was gone. She started shaking as he weight settled on the bed beside her. He murmured, but she couldn’t make out the words. He touched her face and she pressed against the contact. Slowly, he unwound her head. She blinked in the light and remembered to breathe again as she saw the concern in his eyes.

“Thank you, Sir.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You are welcome, little one.”

He surveyed her body, hand running lightly down her chest to the clothespins. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir.” She gasped for breath, not ready at all.

He held her eyes and plucked them off, one at a time. She groaned at each one, forcing out a Thank you, Sir, as the pain came in waves. When the were all off he stroked her and kissed her softly.

“Such a good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She trembled against him.

Then he got up and moved around to her feet. The ropes were tight, but came undone swiftly. He pulled them off, kissing each ankle and slid her legs together, crawling up the bed beside her. Trailing his fingers up her legs, he stroked her gently, grinning at her whimpers.

“Time for the jacket, roll on your side, little one.”

Gritting her teeth to stifle moans, she rolled onto her side, unable to stop the cry as the clamps shifted and the jacket pressed against her sore nipples. He pulled the straps loose and she whimpered and tried to hold her breath. Pushing the fabric off her shoulders, he rolled her onto her back and freed her from the confining fabric.

“Well look at that, whatever did you do to deserve those, little one?”  He grinned and tugged lightly on the chain, then caught her eyes, moving his fingers to one clamp. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kissing her hard, he swallowed her scream as he removed the clamp. She shook against him, gasping for breath, and managed a weak Thank you, Sir. He took hold of the other, diving onto her mouth again as she screamed with its removal, pinning her down with his body as another spasm wracked her frame.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re welcome, little one. You are wonderful.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her against his chest, stroking her hair and back as she clung to him. “Such a good girl.”



July 15th, 2009

“So, your white knight is coming to save you, is he?” He towered over her, pulling things out of his black leather bag.

“Yes, sir.” She knelt, head down beside the bed.

“Well, then, we must be creative, can’t have it go easy on him, or you, for that matter.”

“Yes, sir.” She shivered at the distinctive metallic sound of nipple clamps being pulled from the midst of rope and tossed on the bed.

“We’ll need to set a trap, won’t we, just to teach him caution.”

Whimpers were her only answer as he pulled a small bag of wooden clothespins out and set them aside. She kept her eyes on the floor, tracking his movements by sound as he piled up his tools beside her, ropes, clamps, a straitjacket and a five pound weight. Her breathing already growing fast while she struggled to remain calm.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet, spinning her around to face away from the bed. He chose the nipple clamps first, cloverleaf-style, and slips them on, listening to her soft squeak of pain. The rustle of fabric behind her and the clink of metal rings as he opens the straitjacket in front of her. She dutifully puts her arms in, and he spins her a quarter turn to strap it up. She whimpers, her breath catching sharply as the fabric pulls against her pinched nipples. Leaving the crotch straps free for the moment, he picks a small piece of rope and kneels beside her. He reaches up inside the jacket and quickly ties it off to the chain between the clamps, giving it a gentle tug just to hear her squeal. Then back on his feet, he quickly secures the last two straps and give her a quick shove onto the bed.

“Lie back, head at the top, spread your legs.”

“Yes, sir.” She squirmed on the bed, arms secured across her belly, whimpering at every move as the clamps rubbed against the jacket until she was in place.

“Good girl, spread wide.” He grabbed the rope cuffs and quickly tied her ankles to the corners of the bed. “Now then, the trap needs a bit more bite, I think.” He scooped up a handful of clothespins and another thin rope.

He carefully threaded the rope through six clothespins and then attached three to each side of her pussy. She groaned as they sank in, whimpering at the glee in his eyes as he tied the rope from the clamps to the rope attached to the clothespins. Grabbing a longer rope, he set up a pulley between her, the bedroom door and the weight. If the door was not opened with the utmost care, and the weight stopped from falling, it would yank all the clamps off of her tender flesh.

“Do you see? You’ll have to yell for him, warn him to be careful. You wouldn’t want him to come rushing in, eager to save you, would you? Yank all those clothespins, not to mention the clamps, all at once, you’d never survive.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” She was shaking and gasping, fear and adrenaline coursing through her.

“But we can’t make this too easy, can we?” He grabbed some bondage tape from his bag and began wrapping it around her head, covering her eyes and ears. “Don’t want you to be able to hear him arrive, do we? You’ll just have to start yelling for him as soon as I leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you ready? I have to go. Are you ready to scream for you white knight?”

She whimpered in response, trying to catch a steady breath, struggling to feel him one more time before he left.

“Oh, do you want a kiss before I go?” He leaned forward, pressing a hand down on her clamped breast, eliciting a scream as he kissed her. “Very good. Now scream for him or you’ll regret it. Good bye.” He kissed her one more time and then carefully exited, setting the trap behind him.