Scened All Night

February 8th, 2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amazing night full of pleasure and pain and love.

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Wicked Fun and Tim Minchin

October 31st, 2010

A very busy week, and another missed deadline. I did not even touch a computer on Thursday. With Halloween comes a big goth and fetish party in town and the crowd there is far bigger than any we see all year at the club. Close to fifteen hundred people come crowding into a very big, very creative venue, and about a tenth of them sign up for our show. We had gear to reorganize, furniture to rebuild or build new, and twenty-five crew members to get to the same place at the same time. During the event, we had seven stations to keep running constantly and smoothly and some of the violet wands being over eighty years old, this was not always a simple task. We had a suspension beam, two corporal stations, three electric stations and a fire cupping station.  It was a wonderful and successful event where we performed nearly one hundred twenty individual scenes. Followed by two moderately busy nights at our usual club. The violet wands kept humming, and the floggers kept flowing and we kept moving. Sleep was in very sparse supply, but the energy was fantastic. The phrase, “no rest for the wicked,” comes to mind, but today, on Halloween, we are all taking our rest, to recover from a very epic week of wicked fun.

On that note, I want to do something a little different and a little odd today. Tim Minchin is an Australian comic whose comedy is mostly highly inappropriate (in polite circles) songs and beat poems. I want to share a few of them with you for sarcastic amusement and silliness. All links go to YouTube.

On the topic of the all-consuming and overwhelming nature of love:

On the topic of romanticizing love:

On the topic of doing for the one you love:

On the topic of marriage:

On the topic of lust overriding rational thought:

On the topic of inflatable sex dolls:

In a couple weeks, my story Inspired by the Storm, will be available in the anthology Daily Flashes of Erotica Quarterly (Jaunary – March). It was sent to the printer today, and I will post links when it goes on sale.

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It’s a Crying Shame

December 2nd, 2009

Some months ago, I wanted to cry and I was ashamed of that desire. Not just cry, I wanted to be Made to cry. I wanted to be pushed so hard that tears came bursting forth in and uncontrollable fury. But I was afraid. I was afraid that this was a ridiculous desire. That it was childish to want to cry for no particular reason. That wanting the release and cleansing of flowing tears was simply weakness. I was afraid that it would change things, too, with whoever made me cry. I had never gone there before and it looked terribly dark. I did not want that unknowable change in my marriage, and that was a difficult decision and a difficult discussion. My lover, more experienced than either myself or my husband, became the giver of those tears. It was the release I needed at the time, and nothing was changed or broken in the giving.

Since then, my edges and the darkness have been moved and pushed and shoved. Tears are no longer shameful to me, but they still have a specific place in my play. There is still darkness when I think of bringing them into my home. The tenderness and love between my husband and myself seems incompatible to a tearful scene.

My lover, more often than not, gets the tears through fear these days. Threats of freshly remembered intense pain or of heightening the current level of pain can drive me over the edge. (Nipple clamps of various varieties are usually present in these threats.) Tearfully begging for mercy or for the pain to stop. Sometimes he grants it, and sometimes not, driving me further into tears or into complete surrender where the tears stop and soft stillness comes.

My other partner has only brought out tears twice. Both were corporal scenes, but they had a heavy mental elements that had more to do with the tearful response. In both situations, expectations were set, and tears came when I failed to meet those expectations. The pain levels were high, but it was the mental game that was more costly.

In the first, I was given a task, an object that was not to be dropped. It fell twice and tears fell swiftly behind it, but were gone again when he gave me another chance after a few choice strikes for the drop. It was an incredibly intense scene, the tears just one more spice in the delicious flavor.

The second, was a flogging scene set to music, and the final song came on, and he said he would flog the whole song at the same tempo and strength. I soon began to falter under the heavy strikes, and tears welled up as I thought I would not make the entire song. As I fell down and stood back up several times, his strikes never missed. Tears were flowing freely as I fell the final time, turning slightly towards him, but my back still raised to accept his strikes. He stopped then, accepting my surrender and my tears. His acceptance washed away my tearful disappointment in myself, and I smiled when he said I would do better next time.

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Altered States

November 4th, 2009

Some people drink or do drugs to alter their states. Other people meditate or chant to alter their state. Some people do power moves or jump and shout to alter their state. Then there are those that use BDSM to alter their state.

First, though, I want to briefly talk about alcohol and BDSM, or at least SM, because that is relevant to my current experience. Big play parties that I go to, alcohol is forbidden anywhere near the play space. It dulls the senses and can lead to bad judgment and injury. But I volunteer at a club where people experiment with corporal and electric play, bottoming to the completely sober crew while often under the influence themselves. We are careful to gauge their level of intoxication, and even more careful to do no harm regardless.  But I wonder about what it takes to get drunk and then want to do a scene. Some think they need the liquid courage, I guess. Some just don’t realize the danger. And I imagine some just don’t realize how drunk they are. Personally, I can’t imagine mixing alcohol with the sensation play we do. Occasional drunk sex, sure, but SM while dulled and out of control makes me shudder.

All that aside, the altered states provided by BDSM in and of itself are amazing. I’ve talked before about surrender. Other spaces I enjoy are rope space, sub space, pain space, service space. At least that’s how I can best name them today.

1) Rope space – I’ve talked a lot about rope, described scenes and fibers and all. The space that rope creates for me is one of warmth. No matter how cold the room is, the first run of rope on my body instantly creates warmth. If there is rope tied around me, I am warm. It is a soft space, my body gives in, relaxes. The tie might be restrictive, painful, gentle, or loose, but my body molds to it, making it part of me. I have to be careful of this when I’m doing suspension. I have to pay attention because I’m learning the ties. I have to be aware of my body so that I don’t sink to far into the ropes and hurt myself. But even then, I can find my rope space and enjoy it thoroughly.

2)Sub space – People use this term a lot, to mean different things. Today, to me, it is the space of being deep in a scene, letting go of my will in favor of his. It is a quiet state for me, when my mind goes still, and I am at peace. In this state, I can still say no, I can still safe word, but only when absolutely needed. I will not resist simply because I don’t want to do something. I will do my best to do whatever he wants me to. I will take whatever he gives until I cannot take anymore. This state sometimes turns into surrender, but not always.

3)Pain space – I am a picky pain slut. But when I am getting the pain I want, enjoying the pain I’m getting, I slip right into pain space. Pain space is an intense state for me. My body is buzzing and my heart is pounding. I am gasping or screaming or moaning. I lose my sense of the word and just exist in my body, in the sensation being given to me. I can feel him even if I cannot touch him. This is the hardest state for me to come out of once I’m there. It is the one that leads to drop most often.

4)Service space – This is my D/s space, the space that I find outside of scenes. The space that makes me feel warm and fuzzy when I’m helping, being useful, doing for others, but especially doing for him. I get a little bit of this in scenes when I’m Service Topping as well. When I am giving pleasure to others, and sharing with them or teaching them.

All these states are delicious to me. Not to mention Far more appealing that drunkenness or getting high.

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