Reconnected
February 11th, 2010
Do you want to do flogging or rope tonight?
Sure, get me the rope.
How much?
4, 8mm.
30s?
Yes.
Did you stretch?
No…and I stretch while he explains to her why.
Arms behind my back for a box tie. He wraps bands around my chest as well, a suspension-worthy box tie. Two lengths of 30′ and I could still eel out if I wanted to.
Do I feel screwed yet? No, I still have my feet.
He grabs the third. This one really constricts my movement, my arms cannot separate at all now, they move as a unit.
I still have my feet, but I know I’m screwed.
Up on the bed, legs crossed, he ties my ankles together, having to use a 30′ instead of a 15′ to make it sustainable, as the rope loops up around my neck. He wraps the rope between ankles and neck, tying it off to keep it from sliding. I have a wrapped handle on front and back and I’m proper fucked now.
He rolls me around, teasing, caning, Uncle. Writhing and squealing, gasping, trying to catch his eye through my legs, too close to the edge of the bed to protest too much.
He lets me breathe, then tests my trust. Balanced on the edge he lets me fall little bits, I shriek and he catches me, every time. I look into his eyes, the joy is there, the love is plain.
Time to test the new head box. He lifts me to the floor, setting me on the cold cement. The heavy box comes down, cutting me off. I am gasping, afraid Uncle will return. A stray comment and he is back, pulling my bra down and clamping my nipples. He pulls on the chain, pinches my thighs. I thrash and scream and he giggles. The box needs more padding, the hole is too big, I keep hitting my teeth on the edge. But it does a good job of isolation.
The box comes off, we give him feedback, he thanks us for trying it out.
Nipple clamps become a lead, he drags me across the floor, scooting and yelping. The right one keeps coming off, squeals when he puts it back on. Over to another chain, hooking them up above my head, I have to balance to keep from pulling them harshly. A bamboo cane now, ass and thighs, I roll and yelp and breathe with the strikes. He hits my breast and I squeal, my clamped nipple brings a scream as I find his eyes and his joy brings me solace.
My hips ache and he lets me down, having to reattached the pesky right one, yet again. Whimpering yelp. Rolling onto my back, pillow provided, the cane goes for the tender bits and thighs and ass. Then up to sitting again, he takes the clamps off, gasping and leaning against him. A moment’s reprieve.
The cane returns, I move wrong, blocking in a moment of weakness. He grabs my septum and scolds me, I cringe and grovel and force stillness as he returns to it harshly. I thrash, but keep his target clear.
If I feel teeth you’ll regret it.
I would never. My mouth is open with the pain, it will not close on flesh. Pain space is coming now, screams dwindle into heavy breathing. He moves around the body, I sink into it, and he lets me. Closing my eyes with a hand, he leaves me to drop into space.
The rope, holding me, cradling me, keeping me safe and leaving me vulnerable. My hands have shifted, but they still are held fast. My arms cannot move, but there is no pain. Circulation is complete, the problems easily solved. My neck begins to grow weary, I bring up a knee to rest it on. Not for long, I like the pull of the rope. The handle at my throat is not too close and pulls evenly.
I sink deep into the rope. I can hear the other scene, but I don’t care. I am here. I am happy. I am in His rope again. His hemp digging into my skin. Keeping me just how he wants me. Held in position, easily moved and open access to everything. A prisoner tie, and perfect.
He returned and freed my neck and ankles, ordered me to kneel, knees spread wide. He smacked my inner thighs, bright red hand prints. Pinching the bruises and putting me back into pain space.
Can I put needles in you?
I did not say no.
May I put needles in you?
Not tonight.
Yes or no.
I waffle, because my brain isn’t screaming no, and he wants to, and she has them, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. It’s been a big scene and I don’t know that I want to add that on top of it.
Yes or no.
No.
Was that hard?
Yes, my brain was arguing with itself.
My feet hurt from the pressure of kneeling. He pulls me up and begins untying.
The feel of the rope, shivers through my body. Murmuring, spacing. He drags it across my nipples and I whimper. Pure rope pleasure. One. Two. Three. So good to me.
The rope is off, we hug, just sharing the floating energy. The ropes are waiting, I sit with them, run them through my fingers, coil them and put them away.
Practice is over, everyone is gone. We sit for a few moments, reflecting.
Rope marks and bruises. Joy and love. We needed this. Reconnected.
Sub Drop
December 3rd, 2009
I am fairly secure in what I do. I enjoy my play. I enjoy my darkness and my light. I have the highest self esteem of my entire life. As noted previously, I enjoy my marks and bruises. The thing is, though, that drop happens. To everyone.
I often get drop triggered by people expressing concern or upset. When I’m not looking, my brain twists these emotions into very negative thoughts. There must be something Wrong with me if That Person is concerned about what I have done. I am a Bad Person if they are disturbed by what I did. He is Mad at me because what I had did limited what he can do. None of these statements are true, but they stick in my head sometimes.
I come out of drop faster than I used to. I can recognize it as drop, I can remind myself that those thoughts are false. I remember the scene and how much fun it was, and how happy it made us both. I write about the scene and explore the joy of the experience. I also, whenever possible, talk to both the person involved and the person who triggered the drop. Sometimes this is the same person, but not always, and when it’s not, I also remind myself that they did not get to witness the scene and are only judging the aftermath, from their own limited point of view.
Also Chocolate. Chocolate always helps.
I seem to have more readers now. It’s about time to get comment conversations going. How do you deal with drop? What are your triggers?
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.