Caning Sometime?

October 13th, 2014

It’s been a long time. Long time since I hurt so much the next day, and the next. Purple from above the knee all the way to the top of the ass. Various marks scattered around the rest of the body. Lines on left thigh. Bits of bruising elsewhere.

Been a long time since I dropped that way, too. Dropped hard when I got home, alone. The fate of a single secondary. Thank gods for best friends to email and a fluffy black papasan to curl up into. Woke up eight hours later, completely drained. Thank gods for boyfriends and scene partners who check in, and an extra day off this week so I could go out into a beautiful day and relax and buy groceries instead of doing homework.

The scene was so much fun. We’d been messaging for a couple months now. I’d been watching him scene with his partner for years. I knew it would be fun. I knew it would be safe. I watched him scene with an ex-metamore before I took my turn. She had ginger. Not my thing.

Nearly naked on a spanking bench. Towels of comfort under my head, thanks to his partner. He pulled out a selection of canes. Thick, medium, thin, steel, a bundle. Started with the bundle wide open for warm up. Back, ass, thighs, calves, feet. Up and down, relaxing. Moving the ring further and further up to tighten the bundle. Kneel up, with your hands behind your back. And gentle pounding on my breasts and belly, too.

Tightened it all the way to a firm bundle and a few yips began. Nipples so sensitive, I started twisting. Grinning so big all the while. His partner tossing in comments at him. He points out my smile. I’m laughing, it must be at him, he says. Warm hands stroking me back down to calm. Warmed up now? Yes.

We move on to the canes. Back, ass, thighs, calves, feet, breasts, belly, hips, front of thighs. He starts gentle, tapping, tapping. Then whap! And I straighten up, yipping, cursing, and laughing at myself. Tapping, tapping, tapping, whap! It’s a fun game of anticipation. I hearing him laughing, I am smiling and laughing, too. Between curses and yipes. What was that? Fuck, fuck, fuck! He laughs again. Warm hands stroking my tender skin. Nails digging into the bruises.

A thinner cane and we’re back at it. So tender, much more yipping now. The swearing gets louder. People are so close on my right. I only look left. Lying down, kneeling up, he plays my body back and forth. Breasts, chest, belly, back, ass, thighs, calves (so much swearing), feet (oh gods my feet feel so good). His warm hands soothing, his nails pulling sharper yips. My feet are tapping, my head is nodding. To the rhythm of the canes, to the rhythm of the music.

I can’t remember which came next, there was the tiny thin cane of oh my god stingy. He barely had to swing, so much stingy. I sit on my feet and he goes to the front of the thighs. This I know, this I breathe. Which do you want, calves or thighs? Thighs. So, I’ll do the calves some more. Of course you will. Cursing, yipping, so much sting.

And the steel cane. So heavy, so wonderful. I loved it. Such deep pain. I was flying high, yelping and swearing, twisting and clenching. Anticipating. His partner was cringing for me. Still smiling, still laughing. How’s your butt? Very warm.

At some point, I’ve tossed a few of the towels away, they weren’t folded right. And she took them and brought a bigger towel for my belly. She’s brought more toys, too. And a rabbit fur. I can barely feel it.

He’s got a stick now. A couple inches wide, curved. Ass so tender now, it stings. She tells him to turn it around. The yips have all turned to Fuck now. Two in a row? Okay. I lay down and brace. Tap, tap, tap until I relax and then two, hard and quick. My hands are flailing as I kneel up. Laughing. Three? Okay. I stay up. Fuckfuckfuck. More? I nod and lay down, looking for purchase. Warm hands. Tapping, Fuckfuckfuck. Five in a row? Oh gods… okay. Down, relax, warm. Shooting skyward, and then I’m sitting on my heels again.

Warm hands on my back, and I float back down, slowly, back into my body. Landing. More or are you done? Warm hands as I think, I am awake now, fully awake as I look up at him. I think I’m done. Okay. I hug him. Thank you. Thank you. He puts the stick down and rubs my neck and shoulders. So nice. I like this aftercare. Words come fully back, and I lean over to grab my dress. Standing for another hug. Thank you. And thank you, too. That was great.

Later, almost the end of the night, back with boyfriend after his scene. Talking. He has brought out the Pennsic Bastard to show it off. I am cringing and he strikes. A second one, straight to the crotch and I am down on the floor. He pounces. I am spinning and he is striking, I am swearing and he is grinning. Keeps hitting the same sore spots, so I keep turning. Hands on my belly and he hits one. I grab onto him, tears. We figure it out and I spin away, more strikes and more swearing. See, I played with you. As the Dancing Queen comes on. And he leads me through the dance.

I sit and watch the tear down. If I don’t move, it doesn’t hurt. Exhausted, time to go home. Another hug and more thank yous with the caner. One last hug and kiss from him. Good night, I love you. And then I drive.

Share

Two Hours of Bliss

September 17th, 2014

Getting ready for the party. She wants a long slow burn. Do we want beat together or separately? Together seems like a better chance of a longer scene, trading off. We go in search of furniture, but end up in an alcove, against a wall, side by side.

That wall becomes my friend, my anchor, my focus.

He has 8 new wooden toys, plus all his floggers, and the cocks, and the dragontail, and the stun gun. He uses them All.

We start with floggers, warming up the skin, sinking into our heads and our bodies. I am nodding, hands searching the wall for purchase, for best position, shoulders tense and tired. We find our stride, slow and steady.

He comes forward, pulls our shirts off our shoulders, for a better view. There is more moaning and screaming now as floggers hit bare skin. Arms trapped, my hands now have a place, forehead sometimes against the wall. Heels tapping and body rocking and head nodding with the strikes.

Skirts pulled down next, revealing asses for the new paddles. Screams and jumping, twisting, but keep facing the wall. Falling deeper inside now, there is some growling and more stomping.

He pulls giant rubberbands down our bodies and around our asses. Oh, the screaming and swearing, whimpering and arching. Stop turning! Am not trying to turn, am bracing against the pull, but I don’t argue. He is giggling so much.

Put in the corner, marinating, breathing, sinking, floating. And he is back.

Toys keep switching, turn around, time for thighs and breasts. The joy and huge smile on his face is excellent. I grin right back, she is sobbing. I freak out a bit at heavy breast hits, hard to kept my hands down. Wall sits. What? She shows, okay. Beating thighs. So good.

Zap. Zappity, zap. The stun gun makes me twitch, a lot. The horrible noise of death. Even him zapping her, I am whimpering and twitching. Choice time, stun gun or dragontail. She takes stun gun. I take the tail. Her first, I cringe and twitch in the corner, and then leaves her holding it. So many kisses of the tail. Nope, no blood. The shirt is slipping, so I let it drop. Oh really? He snaps my hip. Fuck you! What? Sir… many more snaps and much screaming.

Turns us into the corners. I am so high! The texture of the wall is super interesting, feels so good on my fingertips. This is how people describe ecstasy. My whole body is humming. And we are not done. Skirt is completely gone, when I did that happen? Before the shirt fell, I think.

Paddles, floggers, and whips, oh my! Up and down we go. Filling the space with screaming and pain and giggles and tears. Floating and shaking and now, I cannot see the texture of the wall. My eyes and words don’t work.

We just keep going. Sticks and cocks and paddles and popper and floggers and dragontail. Oh, his nails and hands feel so good on raw flesh. So deep in my body, gone from my mind. The wall is so comfy and nice to lean on.

How am I going to blog this, with pictures of all the toys? And now I am giggling again. Or a running description of the wall? Hey, look, I can see the wall again.

She is screaming and crying, and I am giggling. We are facing him again. He snaps the rubberband on my thighs. She is begging no. Knees. We don’t get it. On Your Knees. We both drop. Come here. We each curl up on an arm as we come down. I am feeling great. Happy pool of goo, covered in pretty red and purple. 

 

Share

Weeeeeeee!

July 20th, 2014

Brain running all over the place. It’s almost still Saturday, so I should post. Or something. Legs have pretty bruises, from practice, where our resident woodwoorker brought new toys for everyone to try. “Wicked sticks” of two different thicknesses, a variety of lengths, and solid wooden handles. We had a lot of fun testing them out. I was told I should teach a class on how to not scream. There’s a gag-rule in place at our weekly venue, but we rarely pull out the gags. Reminds me of a comment from last weekend, a friend was talking about being shushed without being given a reason. I take shushing as a challenge, myself. Still having trouble with my hands though. He kept having to order me to stop touching him. My instinct to touch, if not stop, incoming hands has grown stronger and needs to be stamped down again.

We played CAH tonight, and my brain was being too rational. Fortunately, it was a very loud and rambuncious group, so my logical comments did not make it through the noise. And because we played CAH, my mind was thinking about sex a lot, too. Which, on the drive home, turned into “conversations that must be had before sex with a new partner.” Don’t ask me why, it was after 1am. Things like: What is your definition of Sex, Total number of sexual partners, When were you last tested for STDs, What is your STD history, What are your thoughts on Birth Control/sexual barriers. Cuz, someday, I might actually have another partner again. (Yes, it’s after 2am now, brain needs sleep.)

Birthday this week, yay!

Good night.

Share

Bruises and Stun Guns

April 25th, 2013

And for something a little more fun, a little less serious, and a bit more kinky. Yay, bruises! I’ve got a collection of little bruises from our play last night. Right thigh bruises from his punching. Left arm bruises and a bit of missing skin from his pinching. And a few stray rope lines from the 8mm tight TK he put me in. No marks from the stun gun that I’ve found yet, that’s more about the fear, anyway. So glad he’s feeling better these days.

I had a hard time controlling my hands last night. He commented that I had forgotten my training, was being disrespectful, grabbing his hands when they came near me, squirming away from the stun gun, and such things. I’m out of practice, lost a bit of my calm, reptile brain reacts faster than the subbie brain. Fight or flight reactions need to be tamped back down.

That damn stun gun, though… and he wants a cattle prod, too. You put me near a Violet Wand and I’m all for it, top or bottom. TENs Unit, I love it. But fly-swatters made me whimper and stun guns make me lose it. It takes Serious Voice to make me still, and the whimpers have to be covered with hands or breath holding. And still, anywhere but an arm or a leg, and I’m more likely to beg than to submit. I’m not afraid of the pain, it’s the Idea of the thing. It’s the noise, and the knowledge that these are used for self-defense, to put someone down on the ground, to disrupt bodily function. That shit doesn’t belong near my heart, spine or brain. Freaks me out. Oh, and toes and fingers? Just hurt like hell, and usually spasm my hold arm or leg.

It’s a good toy for us though. I enjoy the hell out of fear, and he enjoys the hell out of my tears when I lose my shit. This post is a bit more swearing than normal, but trust me, it’s a lot Less swearing than I was doing last night when he had the thing out. It was an excellent evening.

Share

Special Words

October 4th, 2012

We talk to each other every day. We communicate with people on many levels. We show our love and appreciation through both action and words. We say ‘I love you’ as often as we can. Sometimes, we say it so often, or so casually, that it loses its power. We even say it as a reflex when someone else says it. Other times, we get it right. We say it at the moment it is needed most, or by looking into their eyes and really meaning every word. We say it by our actions, a hug of support, a tender kiss, or by making a masochist cry.

A lot of people speak without thinking. Responding on reflex can get you through life, but we were given brains for a reason. Filtering our thoughts, really thinking about a question, being conscious of our replies, will get us a lot further. Some people go by the three questions: ‘Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?’ If you cannot answer at least two of these three with Yes, you probably don’t need to say it.

When you are in multiple relationships, it can be a hard balance to show everyone how special they are to you. When you’re having a threesome, sexual or just kinky play, it can be difficult for everyone to feel special, or unique. It takes careful thought, and a little extra effort, to give each person a little something just for that one.

Last night, he was hitting us both with the leather cocks. We have very different reactions, and processing mechanisms, but he was basically doing the same thing to each of us. What gave me a feeling of special was towards the end of the play, he looked at me and said “How is my pain slut doing?” This made me feel good on a couple levels. I always enjoy the possessiveness implied by “my” in phrases like that, I am his, and he is the only one I currently receive pain from, no one else. And “pain slut” was an acknowledgment of my enjoyment and arousal caused by the pain, which is very different than the engineer’s reaction. I’m not going to assume he necessarily meant all of that when he said it, but he knows me, and he often chooses his words to make me smile.

This morning was another example. As I was getting dressed and showing him the bruises, he looked at them and said “Now, those are big diamonds,” acknowledging one of my favorite Fetlife quotes: ‘Some girls get diamonds, my bruises are prettier.’ These bruises were his gifts to me, as my screams and moans, etc the night before, were my gifts to him. These are a particularly tender set of bruises, and I’ll enjoy them all the more. Most of mine don’t stay tender past a day, but these, I feel, will make me smile as I walk all through the weekend.

Be careful of words that you share with a partner. Just like the things that are personal to a relationship, words can be special, too. If there is a special nickname people use for each other, don’t assume you can use it, too. If you have a special call and response with a long-term partner, saying it to someone else can cause hurt feelings. If you are not sure, ask. Better to feel foolish than to trigger

Share

Lessons and Going Home

July 7th, 2011

Been a busy time lately, sorry for not posting last week. Here’s what should have gone up, a silly little post of lessons learned.

Had a good time at practice, and learned a few lessons. Let me share them with you.

 

  1. The correct answer to “Do you think I can hit your nose with this Dragon Tail?” is “Yes, I do, but please don’t.” instead of nodding and standing very still, hoping he’ll just snap it in front of you a few times.
  2. Dragon Tail strikes to the mouth a) hurt like hell, b) are scary, and c) leave the area feeling indented. The first two made me cry instantly, the third was a very odd sensation.
  3. I am not fond of the use of an extra large shoe horn as a paddle.
  4. “For love and service” is a good phrase that I learned from hubby’s girlfriend, to describe why one might still take the shoe horn even if one doesn’t particularly like it. I agree with these reasons, but also tend to take things because the after affects are what I’m really after.
  5. Keep still – Don’t move the target he is aiming at. I (re)learned this rule, and also that I really can do it when properly motivated.
  6. Canes on the top of the feet/toes hurt a helluva lot.
  7. The toe next to my big toe acts as a fulcrum to a cane, and thus gets the most bruised.

 

This past weekend, I went home. Well, to the closest thing I have to “going home.” I went to visit a few friends from High School. One who I still consider one of my best friends, and a couple that I still see/talk to on occasion, and their respective families and friends. Hubby and his girlfriend were going up, too, though they were going elsewhere the first evening.

The couple was hosting a 4th of July picnic. I didn’t know who was going to be there, and spent the drive wondering if maybe some others from school would be. I was also pretty sure I had not spoken to them since I began this journey into kink and poly. I had some Dragon Tail kisses on my thighs and some bruises on my calves. It was warm out, but I decided that the marks were a little too much and wore jeans. Hubby and his girlfriend were just dropping me off, so I wasn’t really worried about questions, but we did discuss that she was just a friend for the weekend in reference to anyone from home.

People didn’t question my jeans, especially as the weather was rather windy and stormy, and no one asked about the random girl in the car. But I felt uncomfortable. I was careful what I said around everyone, but my best friend who was thankfully there, as well. I only made one poly-oriented comment, and no one took it seriously. As I stared into the campfire, later in the evening, I found my shoulders tensing quite badly. I was around a lot of people I didn’t know and I was having to hide who I was. It was good to see my friends, but I did not like putting that mask back on.

That night and the next day were somewhat better. The marks had faded a little more, and I was only going to be around my best friend and her parents, so I could wear shorts while kayaking. Hubby and his girlfriend would be there, too, but though my best friend knows the truth, her parents easily accepted that she was just a friend. Her dad did ask once, possibly due to the high heeled boots in the car, but accepted the story I gave him. The crowd of strangers that were expected to canoe with us got ahead and we never caught them, so that stress stayed away. I was still wearing a mask this day, but it was less strenuous than the night before.

Share

Beaten in/to Submission

June 16th, 2011

They tell me that I don’t let things go. I don’t like letting things go. I’ve let too many things go already. Not Things – hubby will tell you I purge junk from our home far more than he approves of, usually followed or preceded by moving, which he also thinks we do too much of. But I don’t let of of people very easily. I don’t let go of negative feelings very easily – I tend to bury them if I don’t get them out quickly and they come back to haunt me. I do this with stress, too. I have very wonderful support and help solving problems and rectifying situations, but I hold onto the stress. I can’t solve other people’s problems, but I hold onto the stress created by the problem. Occasionally, it becomes too much. I am set adrift by my own emotions and hormones and I start drowning in the stress. At times like these, I run to the woods, I yearn for campfires, I want to cry, I want someone to draw the stress out of me, I want to be beaten to a pulp or tied too tight into a little ball.

Last week, I ran to the woods. I found quiet in the trees. But it was cold, and there was marching band practice nearby, and an organ and a piano. So, after watching some black-winged damsel flies for as long as I could stand it, I went for a drive in the country. Going a little too fast, but not dangerously so, and enjoyed the sunshine and the peace of having nowhere to be.

This week, I was beaten in/to submission.

When I was meditating early in the evening, my brain was wandering. Should I be Miss? Aren’t toy and I fairly equal come down to it on Monday night? Does Miss disrupt my subspace? Where do I find my submission to him these days? In my meditation, in the rubber bands, in my clothing choices, in my service to him. And lately, in our Monday nights, it has been a growing opportunity for subspace again. Something to talk about when renegotiation comes up.

He, toy and I played a bit. Seeing if I could keep a rubber mallet type thing going on her ass while he smacked us both with various things. Dragon tails kissing our flesh as we squealed. An electric flyswatter that had us whimpering before he even got near. A wicked stick. A paddle. Even the cricket bat that I immediately knelt up to receive. Then the order to snuggle while he had a conversation elsewhere.

Hubby’s girl was practicing flogging while hubby worked on my laptop. He was watching and called me over to be a practice bottom for her. Shirt off, bra off, glasses off, hold the cross. Show her where her aim was. A few strikes, she was nervous, he showed her his strikes, and they practiced a bit more. I love watching him teach. This is one skill I haven’t tried to pick up yet, as a top, anyway, though I occasionally ponder it’s physical benefits, if not my ability to top a flogging scene. Then he leaves her to her own devices and turns to me.

He struck hard and fast, just heavy, short leather floggers, though I could have sworn he’d grabbed the rubber mops. I clutched the cross and screamed and groaned and gasped and moaned. He dropped me fast, and I pulled myself back up the first few times. In tears so quickly. He changed rhythm, backed off, came on. Then I dropped to my knees and he kept going, so I curled up, offering my back, but unable to stand and he kept going. I worried that he would stop because I wasn’t standing, but he kept going.

I knelt, I crumbled, I twisted, turned and cried. He backed off for a moment and I dragged myself back up the cross. On he came, three strikes and I was down again. And he kept going. This time I managed to kneel properly a few times, between curling up into a ball and sprawling on the floor. Always conscious of where he was and trying to keep my back offered to him. I could not stand, but I did not want him to stop.

Toy was being teased for wanting to rescue me, just a little.

“Do you want rescued, Miss?”
“No, Toy!”

“Well, if you want more, you have to get up.” He chimed in. “If you fall again, we’re done.”

I got to my knees, not good enough, up onto the cross. Clutching it for dear life as he tore back into me. Screaming and shaking the cross, I don’t know how many I lasted, it was more than three, but not by much. I fell again, in tears, but not disappointed. Toy was there, against my side. I caught a breath, thanked her and asked for a moment alone. She went to get water, and I cowered for a moment longer, and then knelt properly, before the cross and just let myself cry. Just tears, no remorse, no upset, just tears.

I notice hubby’s girl didn’t stop the entire time. With all my screaming and thrashing right beside her, she kept on practicing. Good on her.

“Is that what you needed?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, so much.” Hugs and kisses.

Toy is nearby, with water. I go to her, snuggle and stroke her hair. I won’t go to the bed yet, I’m not ready to collapse. Stubborn, I drink the water, waiting for the shaking to start. Teasing and tickling for a few moments. Coming back to reality before I crash.

And I do. We go to the couch, she wraps me up and holds me tight while the cold and shivers run through me. It’s late though, so we’re up again in no time, packing up and heading home.

So, why did I say I was beaten in/to submission? What do I mean? I was flogged while in my submissive state. I was in subspace, standing there half dressed at the cross. I was in subspace, offering him my back, as best I could, no matter where I was. I was in subspace, unaware of the rest of the dungeon unless it intruded quite loudly. I was also beaten to submission. To points when I didn’t know if I could take anymore and let him decide. And eventually, to the point where I gave up completely, without any regret that I had not gone far enough. He even commented later that I’d given up. I agreed, he was tipping the floggers a lot and the sting became too much. But I was not disappointed in myself like I might have been other times. I went as long and as far as I could that night, and he stayed with me the entire way, taking every bit that I would give him.

Some people ask why I get flogged, more especially, why I sometimes get flogged like that. No long and gentle warm up, no tender cool down, no rhythmic six count to the music. Just rough and tumble, heavy strikes, sharp strikes, relentless strikes. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the former, too. But the answer is because sometimes, I need it. I need a cathartic release so powerful and strong, that nothing else will do. I need the stress to be ripped violently from my body because I cling to it so tightly that I can’t just let it go. I am so grateful that he is able to do that for me. And I love the marks and the residual pain that keep me glowing for days after.

So, readers, what do you do to relieve/release stress? Kinky or vanilla?

 

Share

Day One – Define Your Kinky Self

January 1st, 2011

To start the New Year, I am going to attempt the meme: 30 Days of Kink. This is Day One, that I wrote as a guest post for Insatiable Desire.

Dom, sub, switch? What parts of BDSM interest you? Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self for us.

The first question seems simple. The second question leaves things far more wide open. The third asks for specifics. And the last oversimplifies the whole thing. Defining oneself is an ongoing process made up of all the other questions. So, one at a time, shall we?

Dom, sub, switch? Sub. I am a submissive in my kinky journey. I am submissive to my partners to varying degrees. I relish giving control to those I love and trust. I have no desire to be dominant. I have no desire to take control in a kinky setting. I do provide service topping for electric scenes, but even then, I am in the role of pleasing the person I am working on, providing for what they want.

What parts of BDSM interest you? Well, let’s break down that acornym. Bondage – yes. I enjoy bondage in rope, leather, chains, canvas, plastic, tape, and mental bondage. Discipline – yes. I enjoy having rules and penalties for breaking said rules. Dominance – yes. Submission – yes. As I said, I am submissive and enjoy giving control up to the dominants in my life. Sadism – yes. Masochism – yes. I am a masochist, and enjoy the sadistic tendencies of my partners. So, all parts of BDSM interest me in the very narrow definition of each of those letters, but let’s move on to more specifics.

Give us an interesting in depth definition of what that means to you. BDSM, to me, means exploration. It means pushing and learning and sharing and teaching. It means spending hours in ropes and straitjackets. It means nipple clamps and clothes pins. It means floggers and paddles and canes and drumsticks. It means blindfolds and hoods and collars and shackles. It means knives and needles and sparklers and snakes. It means single tails and dragon tails and stun guns and violet wands. It means giving up control of my body and my mind. It means kneeling for half an hour every day. It means standing back up after every strike that knocks me to my knees. It means relaxing in a cocoon of duct tape and saran wrap. It means pinches and smacks and slaps and bites and punches and kicks. It means cuts and bruises and scabs and scars. It means screams and tears and squeaks and laughter. It means massages and boot blacking and taking care of his gear. It means love and joy and connection. It means experiences so wonderful, awesome and intense that there are not enough words to express them. And it means trying anyway, because it is too important not to share.

Basically define your kinky self for us. I am kinky, submissive, polyamorous, a pain slut, a rope slut, a slave, a brat, a smart-assed masochist, a bottom, a service top and a service submissive.

My 30 Days of Kink

Share

Writing, Patience and Happiness

October 15th, 2010

I failed at the writing an extra post to make up for last week’s non-kinky post. I spend at least forty-five minutes every day, writing for him because I promised myself I would. Because I was having trouble communicating, and writing is the medium I feel most comfortable in, and I felt it would facilitate better communication over all. I think it does and I think it has, and so I keep my promise, to myself and to him, to write at least five hundred words every day. These writings are very personal, occasionally nonsensical, and include every day things and other people. Sometimes they are profound, sometimes they are flowery, and sometimes they are just as randomly off the wall as last week’s post on social networking. Some days I wish I could just get up in the morning and write all day, send him his words, send my other partners their own words, and write beautiful blog posts, and let the rest of the world just float by.

Complete Shibari: Land and Sky is quickly rising to be my most popular post. It only has thirty views and two posts to topple until it reaches number one. I really wish I’d done a far better job with that post. Maybe I’ll actually get the books during the holidays and work up a better review. It’s not terrible, especially as I’ve never written a book review in my life, but I feel it doesn’t do the works justice. I’m eagerly awaiting his third book(Stars) to be released, too.

So far this post isn’t any better than last week. I keep thinking if I just keep writing, it’ll get better, I’ll come up with something intelligent to say, some great topic to post on, something insightful at the very least. I was chatting with a friend of mine earlier, saying that “Jealousy, Neediness and all those other things you try to ignore” was probably not a coherent topic. Last week I was dealing with bits of jealousy popping up. But instead of dwelling on them and letting them rule me, I quickly recognized and squashed them. With logic and compersion. Jealousy is not something we can get rid of, it reminds us what is important, but controlling it instead of being controlled by it is the key.

This week, I’m dealing with neediness. I hate it when I feel needy. Of course, I need other people and need love and attention. Sometimes, though, I feel like the need consumes me and jumps up and down like a five year old shouting for attention. It doesn’t help that this is an incredibly inconvenient time for that to rear its head. Five year olds rarely care if the time is right or horribly, horribly wrong. So, logic and empathy to squash that for now. I have many ways to fill my needs, and patience will get me everything I need in plenty. As proof, I’ll end this post with a list of things from the last three weeks that made me happy:

Over the knee spankings

Oral sex wherever we happen to be

Sleeping in

Kneeling

Rope

Suspension

Sex

Simple goals

Achieving them

Boot blacking

Second chances

Plans

Acknowledgment

Service

Carrying and holding a drink in my open palm

Drumming with anything that comes to hand

The leatherman on my skin

Bruises

Seeing and helping with someone’s first suspension

Teaching and sharing the violet wands

Fantasies

Massage

Cuddling

Sleep

A phone call from far away

A latex skirt

A kiss on the forehead

Feeling protected

Latex panties

An unexpected spanking

A relaxing evening

A good discussion

Share

No Limits

March 25th, 2010

I posted my limits list some time back. Recently, however, I asked him to take me into the darkness. Deep into it, past simple submission and into places where limits only get in the way.

I had face slapping as a hard limit and he stripped it away with logic and I let it go the rest of the way in a burst of confusion, but given the chance, I did not take it back. When I am in that space, I call him Sir, except when I fail to, which is more often than either of us would like, but that is another topic entirely. He convinced me to agree that I deserved to be slapped for forgetting to say Sir because I was disrespecting him by doing so. I agreed to this, feeling he was right, I deserved to be punished for these infractions. Not long after this, he asked if he could now slap me whenever he wanted, and I said Yes, Sir, thinking he meant as punishment as we had agreed. As he laughed at my quick agreement, I realized he meant for any reason, or for none. I fluttered and stammered, but did not take it back. We talked about one reason behind the limit being facial bruising. He even asked me, if I wished to take back my agreement and I said no. I trust him, I love him and I want to give up control to him. Face slapping does not turn me on, but it is one example of stripping away my limits to give him full control.

Giving up my limits, thus far, has been smoother than I thought. Though I still cling tightly to a few, knowing full well I will give them up, but still allowing fear to hold tight so far. He has been steadily working me up to longer whips, and harder floggers since we met, pushing me and my limits. As noted above, I gave up face slapping. Just a few weeks ago, I inadvertently gave up breaking the skin and blood when he used a grill brush on my thigh that did more damage than we planned. He called my limits a checklist, and he is not wrong.

I want to give up everything to him, I want to let go of all control and all choice when I am with him in that space. Limits have no place there. To truly submit to his will, I must be willing to do anything for him, without hesitation. This scares me, but I must not let fear take the control I want to give to him. I must be willing to let him slap me, poke me with needles, whip me, yes, even wrap a snake around me, if that is what will please him. Not just let him, but ask him, ask him to use me in whatever way serves his will. Fear and limits will only hold me back, I must let go.

Share