1950s Monday

September 15th, 2011

Nervous anticipation. We have Plans, it’ll be alright. We’ve gone shopping and have everything we need. Packing, checking, dressing, checking again. Don’t forget it at home! Go back, get the food out of the kitchen. Okay. I’m there. Need to calm down. Kneel on the wooden floor til toy arrives. It only takes her a few minutes, still bubbling over. Cleaning first. Put away dishes, wash up a couple. Floors, sweep and vacuum. Toy does the tables, couches and garbage. What else? Spot check the house. All looks good.

Okay, clothes. Latex panties first. Ah, Mother Nature, why do you hate women so? All shined up, but for how long? Stockings, not too bad considering their age (they got progressively worse as the night went on). Okay, corset-y thing. No support at all, but it’s cute and lacy and it has garter-y things. Toy, help, I can’t get the top hooks closed. Okay, now for those garter-y things. Strangest clothing accessory ever. What’s so sexy about suspenders for stockings? Success. Okay, dress. Toy, need your help zipping it up. Shoes and it’s too hot for the sweater.

Out to the kitchen, it’s nearly six, hurry hurry. Aprons on. Coffee, toy. I fiddle with the oven and we decided 350 will just have to do. Coffee, toy! She starts cutting up the chicken. Can you do the coffee, Miss? Okay, 8 scoops? Can’t get it to turn on… oh, hey, what’s this piece? There, that works. Coffee. And the cookies go in. What else? Steam the broccoli. Won’t that ruin the coffee/cookie smell? Oh well. He isn’t on time, thank gods, hurry coffee! Pans found, chicken wrapped. Cookies done. Wait, not long enough, falling apart. Wait. Better. Coffee done. Plate two cookies, mug of coffee, robe. It’s way too hot for a robe. And here he comes.

She with his coffee, me with cookies. He comes in, and takes us in, all grins. Hug and a kiss, hug and a kiss. We flutter a little over a spill and then head down to the couch. Sweater on now I’ve cooled off. Pulling off his shoes and socks, toy cradles his feet and we snuggle and talk about our weekends. Quite a lot to talk about, and then it’s late and dinner isn’t cooking, yet. Where’s my dinner, toy? Not cooked yet, Sir. And she’s over his knee for a spanking. He lets her up to go cook and I stand to follow, and follow I do, right over his knee for my spanking. Ah, the echo of smacking latex mixed with moans, delicious. Ass warmed, I head upstairs.

Turn the oven back on, cut the bread, garlic butter it and pop it in. Apron, Miss? Oh, yeah. Salads next,lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and croutons. Dressing on the table so they don’t get soggy. Stir the boiling pasta, make the sauce/chicken/broccoli mixtures. Toy is minding all the pots on the stove. Five minutes, Sir. Set the table, plate the pasta, put out the bread. Toy sauces their plates and I sauce mine. Marinara to their Alfredo. On the table, aprons off and call him up.

We begin discussing work, and toy drips something. Napkins! I realize and get up to get them as he realizes their lack as well. I return and toy is looking upset. Why’re you upset, I was the one that set the table. But he misunderstands, thinking it was her job. Out by the hair and over the couch he takes her for another spanking. She returns, fidgeting with her dress and garters, and distracting, forgetting to Sir him. He offers me a chance to help her and I try to give her a hint, but it doesn’t get through, back to the couch for another and he leaves her there a moment.

Deciding the spanking isn’t enough deterrent, he gets the flyswatter. We both whimper and twitch as he brings it to the table. Is this the thing he owns that makes me most skittish? Those weren’t the words, but they got lost in the following conversation and I can’t remember them exactly now. Yes, Sir. But, Miss, what about needles? No, toy, those take time, preparation. This he can just whip out and hit me with. But he catches the thread and runs. Hey, an idea. You both roll a d6 and whatever number toy rolls, Miss takes that many needles, and whatever number Miss rolls, toy takes that many. I’m shuddering, but game. Toy, however says no, Sir. He goes on about increasing the die each week, eventually getting to doubles. Toy just keeps saying no, until she finally says it’s upsetting her stomach to talk about it, so he stops, reminding her that if she tries to throw me under the bus, she’s falling, too.

Finished with dinner, we don our aprons again to clean up. He decides they would definitely be enough coverage alone. I agree, but toy just keeps cleaning. We get the food put away and the dishes done again, and then head downstairs. He has cotton ropes and red silk strips laid out on the couch. I sit down by them. Toy takes his shoes upstairs and then we wait for him to reappear, with more ropes. He starts with ankles, one rope a piece and then pulls us to our feet. Time to play a game.

“Toy, what’s Miss’s birthday?”

She stares and stutters, as he counts down on his fingers from five. She cannot remember. Off comes my sweater.

“What was my previous nickname?”

Oh, I know I’ve heard this story, but I can’t remember either. Off comes toy’s belt.

“Okay toy, who is my kink hero?”

“The Insex guy…. JD?”

Nope, off comes my dress. He very much likes what he finds beneath, and realizes that’s as far as I’ve got without ruining the look, and ties my arms behind my back.

“Do you know?”
“PD.” I answer and he nods, my question next.

“How did I get my rank?”

I toss out a couple things, all wrong, and toy loses her skirt.

“What year did I meet my wife?”

“1995?” She tries.

“No. You?”
“2001?” I think.

“Nope.” And her shirt came off, to finish her under outfit.

Our underclothes revealed, he stops to enjoy the view and pulls us together for hugs and kisses. Blindfold next, he picks up a strip of the red silk and ties it around my head. I close my eyes behind blindfolds, so I don’t know how effective it is when he asks. It’s keeping my eyes closed, good? They murmur appreciatively at the site of white, black and red. Doesn’t she look sexy? Yes, Sir. He puts another strip over my mouth, but then decides to knot it up to make a gag. I panic for a few moments, coughing and gasping and he grabs my throat as I bite down on the gag.

“Are you going to panic anymore?”
“o, ir.” I mumble through the silk.

“Is the gag on top of your tongue?”

“o, ir.”

“Under it?”

“o, ir. I uh uhh.” I’m trying to say in front of, but the gag takes away vowels. I never let my tongue get trapped by a gag, I always pull it back and that was super easy to do with the silk knots.

He lifts me up and lays me out on the couch. Comfy? Yes, Sir.

And then goes to tie up toy. I hear the rustle of ropes, occasionally a tail tossed over my legs, dragged across the stockings. I relax, listening to the music and to him tying her up. Eventually I feel pressure on the cushion at my feet, she must have joined me on the couch.

The rattle of the plastic drapes and he returns with a cane. Swatting thighs, I squeal and squirm. Up to breasts, yipping with tender nipples. He pulls them free for better aim. Shrieking and whimpering. He moves down again. Shoes come off and he hits the soles of my feet, much better. Then he canes toy for a bit, and then back and forth. Kisses and caning. Shrieks and squealing. Squirming and writhing.

Silence and more drape-rattling. I hear something click open. I think it’s a TENS, but then zap. I squeal at the unexpected shock of the Violet Wand – paintbrush attachment. He paints up and down my legs and breasts. I squirm too much, and he takes firm hold of my right breast, painting the nipple, I can barely feel it over his grip, and then the left. I moan and squirm happily as he moves back down to my legs, again and holds my feet to tickle them while I squeal. Then over to toy. I listen to her whimpers, he goes back and forth a little and then puts that away, too.

I hear the rustle of a bag, oh god, my nipples are so tender. He attaches clips, they’re too strong for the cloverleafs, I don’t even register that there isn’t a chain against my chest. I scream and squeal and thrash, shaking my head, kicking my feet. They hurt so much, oh god they hurt so much. Gasping and crying and screaming, trying to process. Growling at myself because I feel like I can’t, because the rational side of my brain is screaming red, and the pain slut side is saying no way, not like last time, I will get through this pain. Toy’s done something. I hear her say she was worried about me and didn’t know where he was. She must have peeked. Really, toy? He can hear my screams just as well as you, he didn’t go far. Silly, worried toy. He comments about leaving them on longer. I squeal in panic. I start coughing on the gag and spit it out. Able to draw a full breath, I calm down. Breathing deeply, I stop screaming. My legs still swaying to process the pain, but not thrashing anymore. I try to get the gag back. Sticking out my tongue, no good. Pressing it against the couch, nope. He isn’t commenting or shoving it back in. Must be okay. I certainly appreciate the breath, so I don’t ask for it back either.

I focus back on them, a vibrator, he’s using a vibrator on her. Leaves her with it and comes back to me. Rubbing the latex with his fingers, whispering appreciatively. Toy, are you going to orgasm? Miss won’t get to unless you do. I’m tormenting her, but she can’t unless you do. You better convince her to. I beg and plead, to no avail. He goes back over to her to try to help, but she can’t, too much pressure. He adds another clip to each nipple. I scream and shake and breathe deeply to get it under control again. Toy, please, toy, please. I beg, it’s not working, he tries to help, but she’s not quite there. A third clip and I keep it under control, this last one only adds a little to the pain already blooming there. I change my tact. Reminding toy to think of the ropes and the (is she?) blindfold and the vibrator. He goes over again to help, asking her what she needs. She just moans, unable to answer. Toy, please answer toy. Apparently the clips aren’t enough, he gets the flyswatter and I scream. Toy, oh god, please toy, answer his question. He zaps me a couple times before she blurts something out. He goes to her, and together they figure out where she wants the vibrator and what she needs. She has two and then one more powerful to save me.

He returns to me, asks if I can have six. Yes, Sir. One after each clip? Yes, Sir. He pulls four off, one at a time, an orgasm and thank you, Sir apiece. Shaking and curling and gasping with the pain and pleasure. Two left. You enjoying this. Yes, Sir. I should do this more often. Yes, Sir. Are you telling me what to do? I mean, please, Sir. Please, Sir. Which one hurts more? The left, Sir. So that one last. Yes, Sir. Please, Sir. Right one, off and orgasm, thank you, Sir. So, any 10s for you? No, Sir. What then? 7’s, Sir. So what gets you to 10? Usually oral, Sir. So, if I was licking you? Yes, Sir. He repositions, grabs the last, rips it off as he licks. I scream and gasp, writhing against him. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I am nearly in tears as I keep thanking him, shaking and riding the wave back down.

I hear him cleaning up, putting things away. He unties toy first. I feel the ropes across my legs again. Then it’s my turn, ankles first, then sitting up for my arms. Gag off my neck and then the blindfold. I blink in the light, looking at toy relaxing by my feet. He finishes cleaning up and sets up the massage table. Toy fetches her lotion. We join him and work his tired muscles, back, arms and legs. He turns and we go for chest, arms and thighs. Then snuggle in together, holding him and him holding us, before getting dressed and heading back to the couch for aftercare cookies, cuddles and chatting.

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Care of Kinky Clothing

April 15th, 2011

I went looking one day, for how to clean something, and I noticed that I couldn’t find a single site with information on all the different types of kinky clothing that I have. So, I decided to put one together myself. I did Google searches on Leather, Latex, Vinyl, Silk and Lace and found lots of article sites, a few FAQs, and some product sites with care tips. I gathered all this information together, took notes, organized and then created instructions from the gathered information. If you disagree with anything, or have other suggestions, please leave comments on the appropriate pages. I’ll be adding more as I go along. The first few will probably be boot blacking, corset care and maybe spandex for those zentai fans out there.

I’ve gathered a few retail sites as well, that sell both kinky clothing and clothing care products to add as affiliates. None of them have gotten back to me yet, but I will be adding them as they do. If anyone has suggestions drop me a note.

I also have a reference page with links to all the sites that I gathered information from, if you want to take a look at different perspectives.

DISCLAIMER
I am not a professional cleaner, nor should anything on this site be taken as gospel. Always follow the instructions that came with your garment and have care in trying new products. I am not responsible for damage caused by following any of the suggestions on this site.
DISCLAIMER

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Service

August 12th, 2010

He asked for an evening of service.

I began to plan. What types of things could I do for him? What would he enjoy? What would be most useful? He cautioned me to not get too specific, to have a general idea, and remember that things do not always go as planned. (Sometimes it feels like they do not Ever go as planned.)

This was easier, making general plans of service. I would be visiting at his, so I took each area of the house and came up with an offer of service, depending on where he wanted to be and what he wanted to do. Lawn work and gardening for outside. Organizing and cleaning for the basement. Dishes and cooking for the kitchen. Cup holder, foot stool, foot rubber and/or story teller for the living room. Oral pleasure for the bedroom.

Not having a structured plan, but simply offers made the evening go more smoothly than it might have otherwise. Work ran long, we got together late, and he spent some time reminding me that I cannot jump over the steps right in front of me to get to ones I think he wants instead. I did, however, get to serve him. I helped him a bit in the kitchen and I rubbed his feet in the living room. Most importantly, I got to spend time with him, but it got me thinking about service and what that means to me.

In the second post I ever made, Serving Him, I talked about him labeling me a service sub, my struggle with that label, and my acceptance of it through the joy of serving him. Last November, I wrote about Service Space – the warm fuzzy happy space I am in when I am serving and giving to others. In April, I wrote about including service in my Ritual to come out of object space.

What does service mean to me now? Why do I do it? How does it make me feel? Who do I serve? When do I serve? (Yes, I wanted to see if I could get all the question words in.)

One side of my service is serving in exchange for what I have been given. I was once thanked for taking care of him, and I simply responded, he takes care of me. I serve him because I am grateful for all that he does for me, and sometimes in gratitude for a specific thing/scene he has done for me. At work, I serve our customers in exchange for being paid. At the club, I am a Service Top in exchange for the chance to learn, teach, share and be part of the crew.

On the other side, serving makes me feel useful, gives me a purpose, a goal to achieve. I enjoy doing for others, and generally put a higher priority on that than on doing for myself. I was brought up to help others, to be a caretaker. The people in my life are very important to me, and if I can make things a little easier for them, or make them a little happier, by serving, then I feel fulfilled.

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Flying Again

October 21st, 2009

 

I saw the strap swinging out of the corner of my eye. I looked, was it really there? Was it really the suspension strap? Oh gods, please say yes. I rushed out to see them with the extension ladder, putting up the clamp and strap. He asked me to get the rest of the gear and I bounced all the way back to the tub and brought out the rest. We hooked up the ring and then decided to move it over a little more. He put it more centered and then added the paper airplane that goes with the rig always. I grabbed the ring and began spinning gleefully. He laughed and took the pulleys off my shoulder and I spun even more. Then I swung, my feet slipping on the floor, back and forth on the ring, from hands out of practice, and my smile grew even wider. He took a few swings himself, let the bouncers have a pull and then tied it off to wait. There would be Flying tonight.

 

I was bouncy and giddy as the club opened, pouncing all my friends with glee at the prospect of suspension later. They giggled and hugged me back, understanding my excitement. Things got going and the club started filling, and then he asked me to check on the hemp, make sure it was all in one tub, and then bring it out to our stage. I brought it out and we grinned at each other. It had been a long time, but there was no doubt, he was going to make me fly again.

 

I bounced, unable to contain my energy as he began to tie. He quizzed me here and there, and I was happy to note I had been imagining the tie correctly these past couple weeks in anticipation of this moment. When it was time to rig me to the ring, I lay on the mat, my feet still bouncing on the floor, grinning over at a few familiar faces in the crowd. Our photographer was snapping photos of the whole thing, but he seemed to catch me at moments when I was sinking into the rope, eyes closed and mind floating. I had to stop tapping my toes when he got to my ankles, my my fingers started tapping instead. Finally fully rigged it was time to go up.

 

He pulled me off the ground and my eyes flew open and I was in heaven. He got me hooked into the strap and with a couple quick adjustments we were ready. The slightly higher ring than usual actually helped get the rigging even and level. With the pulley tied out of the way, he grabbed my shoulders. Was I ready, oh I’d been ready all evening. We grinned at each other as he started to push, and then I was off, flying through the air, arms and legs spread wide, soaring high above everything.

 

It had been a long time since I’d been up, even longer since I’d been flying. But it all came back, the breathlessness, the glorious freedom, the total rush of it all. The energy was incredible, he was pushing me higher and higher, spinning and twirling me through the air. I can barely describe how good it felt, how grateful I felt, the energy flowing between us.

 

My stamina is not what it once was and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer, but I asked to go for a spin. He happily obliged, twirling me faster and faster on the swivel. All the blood rushed to my head, harder that it had done in a very long time. But I wanted to go faster still. I forced my body to curl, and it actually made my head feel a little better, curled into my chest. Then I flattened out to try and slow, but it didn’t feel like it helped much at all. And then he was spinning me again, and I didn’t want it to stop. But when he went for a third round, I grabbed his arms and heard him laugh as I did stop myself.

 

He jumped back up, asking if I wanted another push, but I clung to him, getting my bearings and finally able to say I was done, my body would not forgive me if I pushed it any more that night. He quickly hooked the pulley up and had me down. I sank into the mats gasping for breath, not because I had forgotten to breathe, but because the energy was still raging through me and I was now on the ground in relative stillness. He quickly unrigged me from the ring and pulled me to my feet and I hugged him tight, so grateful, and needing to share the incredible energy he had given me. Finally able to take hold of the ring, he was able to untie me and pile up the ropes for me to take care of. When he was done, we hugged again, both relaxing down from the high of the scene, and still so very grateful.

 

He left me with the rope, to finish coming back to earth and take care of the hemp that had been holding my life by simple strands. I pulled it all to me, just feeling it in my hands for a few moments before sorting out the thinner lengths he’d used for my ankles. Starting with the big pieces, I ran them through my fingers, inspecting and feeling, enjoying the smell and the coarseness. Coiling and wrapping the rope and stacking it all together beside me, pausing occasionally to relax into myself.

 

I was nearly done, with just the little pieces left when one of the crowd could not stay away any longer. A girl came through the strapped off barrier and plopped down in front of me. She hadn’t seen the scene and wanted to know what I was doing, what the rope was for. So I explained the suspension and told her there were pictures in the back of other suspensions if she wanted to see what she missed. She picked up the rope I wasn’t working on and I motioned for her to put it down, barely not snatching it from her, I get more than a little protective of the rope, especially after a scene. She said she was just playing, coiled a little and then set it back down. When I picked it up to wrap it she told me her name and I told her mine and then she wandered off again. Finished cleaning up, I picked up all the coils and packed them away in the tub and then brought it back to our area to wait for the next scene.

 

I was buzzing with energy the rest of the night, eager to do my electric scenes, and very happy when he motioned me over be part of the second suspension as well. Remembering how her ties went made me very happy with myself. I grinned up at her as she flew, knowing she was feeling the same as I had earlier that night. There is nothing in this world like it.

 

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