The Violet Wand
October 9th, 2011
“Do you enjoy this?” “You’re having fun, aren’t you?” “How’d you get this job?”
Questions I get asked every weekend. I do violet wand scenes for strangers, and friends, almost every weekend. It’s volunteer, it’s not a job, though occasionally it feels like it. I do it for fun, for my chosen family, and for those random strangers who walk in off the street and are curious, drunkenly brave, or scared but pressured by their friends. Even the most macho of drunken frat boys gets a little jumpy the first time a glowing violet bulb comes near his skin.
I got the ‘job’ by showing up. By helping out, by wanting to be around, to participate, to learn, teach and share. I found family and they accepted me. They taught me, they shared so many things with me. And what could I do, but join them, and pass on what I had been given? Life, for me, is about experiences. The best gifts I have received have not been things, but adventures. Roller coasters, festivals, conferences, conventions. Flying through the air, held only by a few hemp ropes. The thrill of the first glowing bulb on my skin. The crazy run of emotions in all sorts of scenes. The first time I asked for something I wasn’t sure I really wanted, to make him happy, or because I was curious. The joy of my first virgin scene, and the one after, and the one after…
There’s nothing like that. Introducing someone to something new. Showing them there’s nothing to be afraid of, or that the fear can be intoxicating. Helping them enjoy themselves, let go a little, relax. Getting them to want more. I can’t even count the number of people who’ve sat down in the chair terrified, and got up planning to browse eBay for their very own wand. That’s why I do it. That’s what I enjoy.
And more. When they come back week after week, month after month. The ones who really enjoy it, really get into it. The ones who have no where else to go to get this particular feeling. I do it for them, too. The ones that squirm in their seat, giggle or moan. The ones who clearly enjoy themselves and give back the energy to me.
It keeps me going on nights when the macho men feel like they have to sit perfectly still and show no reaction. Or the girls are too afraid to let their boys see how much they like it. Or the ones that just feel embarrassed by their pleasure and sit stiff and nervous. I don’t mind the ones that don’t like it. I share with them the experience, the range of sensations, and if we can’t find one they like, no problem. Not everyone enjoys electricity. But the ones that don’t react at all are draining. I’ve learned to read people and I do the best I can, but when all the energy is going out and being absorbed with no return, it can be a very long night.
But even on those nights, I keep on going. I still enjoy it. Because I know, some of them will still come back. Still try again, and maybe next time, they will be calmer, more relaxed, give something back. And even on those nights, most of them still thank me, and smile when I’m done. And almost every one of those nights, I get a scene that makes up for it. A new, excited, squirmy, giggling, moaning virgin, who exudes pleasure and recharges me as I charge them up. And if all else fails, I’ve still got my family around me, and with just a few pokes and tickles, I get the energy I need to keep going.
Masochist Brain
September 30th, 2011
So, Thursday’s story sent my brain off into more dark directions. It decided I was being too nice. That scene was made up of things I would do and enjoy (for the most part). My brain decided That for better fear and helplessness, the bondage chair should be removed. That somehow, the girl should be suspended in the air, touching as little as possible, but without the restraints causing undo strain or sensation. I ran through several scenarios, even drawing some out, until I decided the best I could come up with (between helping customers at work, I haven’t stopped thinking), was to tie someone standing up, spread eagle in the center of the room.
The blindfold stays, but not the headphones. For the specific reason that all the tortures needed to be upgraded. And all the upgrades required sound to have the greatest impact. Instead of the TENs, start with an electric flyswatter. The high pitched whine of its charging, and sudden jolting shocks. Move on to a stun gun instead of a violet wand. The crackling sound can make me cry faster than the pain it inflicts. The clothespin zippers being replaced by a dragontail or single tail. The crack makes me twitch even when it’s used on someone else. The final straw – well, needles terrify me, sure enough, hard to top that. But if we’re going for sounds, it would have to be sparklers.
Ah, the brain of a masochist. It also pondered a snake to top it off, they hiss and all. But then the animal brain kicks in, forgets it’s a fantasy and says, no way, that’s just too much at the end of a hard scene. And tosses the masochist in a cage.
She just tried to escape again. Talking to toy about make up and it being too messy. Masochist brain tried to grab that and run off to design an torturously gooey scene with my dislike of messiness. I quickly slammed the cage shut and decided to write this to keep it quiet.
I Know What You Did Last Night
September 29th, 2011
Blackness.
She tried to blink, but couldn’t. Coming more fully awake, she realized her head was covered in fabric. Tight. It wasn’t a headache, her head was tightly wrapped. Her ears hurt. Not badly, just a mild ache. Static. There were headphones over the wrappings, playing white noise. She tried to move. Nothing. Taking a breath to stem the rising panic, she realized she was at least free to do that, nothing blocked her nose or mouth. Something at least. She focused on breathing for a few moments.
Sitting.
She sent out her conscious the the rest of her body. She was sitting up, arms bound to the arms of a chair, wrist and elbow. Metal chair and legs bound to the legs, ankle and knee. Her head and waist were secured, as well. Naked. Completely naked. She shivered, though it was not cold.
She still felt groggy. What had happened? Where was she? She remembered the club. Out for a night on the town while her partner was away. Business trip. Back on Sunday. Was it Sunday yet? It had been Friday night. Was it only Saturday? She danced and drank with her girlfriends. They mainly ignored the men trying to pick them up. Ladies night out.
There had been one man. Persistent. Dark. Handsome. He’d caught her eye a few times. Sent her a drink. Oh god. What had been in that drink? Had she gone home with him? She remembered him staring at her while she accepted and tipped back the shot. Hot, hungry eyes. She didn’t remember anything after that.
Cold.
She gasped as a cool breeze passed over her body, mirroring the cold shiver running down her spine. She felt air moving around her, goosebumps covered her arms and legs. Someone was near her. Was it him? What did he want? Why was he doing this?
“Who’s there?” She called into the silence. “What do you want?”
She felt small pads being placed on her body. Two on each breast. Two on each arm. Two on each thigh. Two on each calf. Wires tickled her skin. She tried to turn her head, tried to thrash free, but there was no slack anywhere. Her body started to tingle and she froze. The tingling grew, first in her breasts until she yelped. Then those stayed steady and each limb’s tingling grew, one at a time, until she made a sound of pain, then stopped. Then it all stopped.
Breathe.
She reminded herself to breathe, and the white noise stopped, replaced by a voice.
“Where were you last night?” A computerized voice, loud and harsh.
“At… at the club. Syrens.”
“What did you do there?”
“I danced, and drank with the girls.”
“Then what?”
“I… I don’t know. Someone sent me a shot. I don’t know.”
Pain. All of the pads sprang to life at once. Her muscles clenched and she screamed.
“Who sent you the shot?” The pain stopped.
“I… don’t… a man. Tall, dark, black hair, blue eyes. He was wearing a black suit and a red tie.”
“Did you know him?”
“No.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. I don’t know. Not before he sent me the drink.”
“What was the drink?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you drink it?”
“Yes.”
Pain erupted again. Pulsing this time, making her muscles jerk out of her control, breasts feeling like they were being stabbed.
“You drank something, sent by a stranger, without even knowing what it was?”
“Yes!” She couldn’t help but scream.
The pain surged for a moment and then relented.
“Then what?”
“I…” she gasped for breath, terrified of the answer she had to give. “I don’t know. I woke up here.”
Just her legs this time, higher than before. It felt like they were trying to curl into the chair. She clenched her jaw and growled at the pain.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” She grunted.
“Maybe more pain will clear away the fog.”
All the pads sprang to life, in a wave of pain, from her calves up her thighs to her breasts and then out her arms. The pain growing and receding up and down her body. She writhed against the bonds, straining her tortured muscles even more. Her feet did not touch the floor, but curled helplessly in the air. Her hands clenched at nothing, just beyond the arms of the chair. She growled and grunted, screamed and whimpered. She had no idea how long it lasted, almost started counting the waves once, but gave up as pain overwhelmed her. Finally, it stopped.
“Now, what did you do after you drank the shot?”
She gasped for breath, drenched in sweat, shaking with leftover energy. Panicked and still without an answer. She wracked her brain, having been incapable of thought while he tormented her. She saw his eyes, remembered tossing back the shot. It burned. Her head swam.
“I sat down. He came over.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I… I must have. I don’t remember. It was Ladies’ Night. I wasn’t supposed to. I must have.”
“Then what?”
“I…” She didn’t want to say she didn’t know, she tried to think, she wondered if he’d know if she was lying. “We danced.” She tried, not sure if it was a lie or not.
Stabbing pain in her breasts, her arms seized. She screamed and it was gone.
“Do not lie to me. What did you do after he came over to talk?”
“I don’t know.” She was shaking and gasping, fear and pain warring for dominance.
The white noise came back in her ears. Her body started tingling. All the way back down to the beginning, all at once, and built slowly up. They did not stop for her screams this time, but kept building until she was thrashing and sobbing as much as her bonds would allow. Then he pulled the pads off, one by one. Starting at the top. Until all were gone. The tension released, only the restraints kept her from sliding to the floor. Tears soaked the fabric around her eyes, her lips moved, but only breath escaped.
Darkness. Static. Nothing.
She regained control of herself. Got her breath and heartbeat back to normal. Calm for just a moment. Still nothing. Panic started bubbling up again. She focused inward, no injury or lasting pain. Outward, she felt no movement, no breezes, nothing. Was he gone? What did he want her to say? She couldn’t remember what had happened. What if that wasn’t good enough? Was he mad she didn’t remember him? Why was he doing this? Her mind spun in useless circles. She had only the vaguest impression of him coming towards her after the drink and then nothing.
“Let’s start again. What time did you go to the club last night?”
“9 o’clock.” Grateful to have a question she could answer.
“Who did you go with?”
“Erika, Sarah, and Heather.”
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Two glasses of cider, a cosmo, and that shot.” She shivered a little, hoping she hadn’t had more after the shot, but not knowing.
“When did you leave?”
“I…” Panic. “I don’t know.”
“Who did you leave with?”
“I don’t know.”
Shocking pain ran down her left thigh.
“Not good enough.”
“I don’t. I had the shot. He came towards me. And I don’t know.”
Her right thigh this time, a straight rod delivering high voltage directly to her skin. She squealed.
“Tell me what happened after the shot.”
“I don’t know, I can’t remember.”
She cringed against the chair as the rod delivered shocks across her breasts, right over the nipples, crying out and trying to wrench free.
“You do remember.”
“No, I don’t, I can’t.”
The electricity crackled from her left hand, up her arm, across her collar bone and back down to her right hand. She screamed, then gasped for breath.
“Tell me.”
She bit her lip. “I…” What could she say?
The rod ran down her chest, over the left nipple, down to her clit and back up again, right nipple not spared. She swore vehemently, but he only did it again, in the opposite direction.
“Such language. Now, tell me what happened.”
“I looked over at him, lifted the shot in a salute, drank it down. It burned my throat, and hit hard. I sat down on my stool and looked back at him. He had gotten up, and was walking towards me.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know!”
He ran the electricity over her arms, chest and legs in big zigzagging motions. She screamed in protest, trying to thrash, or move, or jerk, or anything but sit there perfectly still, except for her hands and feet clenching and curling in the air.
“You do know, you just won’t tell me. This would all end, if you would just tell me what happened next. Don’t you want me to stop?” He zapped her clit.
“Yes, please. I do. But I don’t know. I can’t tell you. I don’t remember.”
He answered with more electricity. Fingertips, toes, one by one. Up the side of her calves, the inside of her thighs, circles around her clit and her nipples. Tell me, echoing in her ears with each shock. She squealed and clenched her fists and fought the urge to curse. He zapped her earlobes and the tip of her nose and she forgot herself, spitting curses until he zapped her lips. She snapped her mouth shut and breathed heavily through her nose, curling her lips inward and licking them.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“No.” She gave up on insisting she couldn’t, he didn’t seem to care.
“Then remember, you could have stopped this.”
Static. Darkness. Cold.
Constant cold air was blowing on her now. But he had stopped hurting her. Stopped asking questions. She wasn’t even sure if he was there anymore. What now? What else was he going to do to her? Why didn’t he believe her? What else could she say? She wracked her brain, trying to pull up more of last night, but there was nothing. A big black hole in her memory. Why hadn’t her friends saved her? Why had they not been there for her? How had they let her end up here? Did they even know what had happened to her? Had they seen her leave? Had they told anyone she was missing? Was anyone looking for her?
“Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Will you tell me what I want to know?”
“I… no.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth. What happened after you drank the shot?”
“He came towards me. And then I don’t know what happened.”
“Wrong.”
Pinching pain seared through her nipples, causing her to gasp, but this pain didn’t go away, and she started to whimper.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I can’t.”
More pinching around her nipples.
“Two clothespins for every lie. What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Now there were three on each breast and she was panting and squirming with the pain, tapping her feet in mid-air and clenching her fists.
“Tell me.”
“He came toward me. He must have sat down. We must have talked. We didn’t dance. But I don’t know.”
Two more, above her nipples. Strong and small. She breathed quickly with the pain, whimpering with every exhale.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t, you know I can’t. Please, I don’t know.”
Two more at the top of her breasts.
“You can, I know you can.”
“No, please, why are you doing this?”
Two more just below the collarbone.
“Tell me, now. I just want the truth.”
“I don’t know. That’s the truth.”
Ripping pain as he yanked all the clothespins off at once. She drew a sharp breath and then screamed. Shaking, and shivering against the chair.
“Apparently I’m being too nice.”
Cold liquid splashed over her chest, then arms and legs. It smelled like alcohol. He ran a wet cloth over her exposed skin. She shivered harder, terror rising bile into her throat.
“What, please, what… I don’t know what you want. Please…”
“Only the truth. That’s all I’ve ever asked for.”
Stabbing pain in her left breast, sicking sliding under the skin and another burst of pain. A needle, he’d just slid a needle through her skin.
“Oh god, please. Don’t, please.”
“Then tell me.”
Pain in her right breast, she could only focus on the horrible feel of the needle sliding through her skin.
“Tell me the truth.”
“Please, please, please. I don’t.. I.. please, I…”
Pain lower, right above the nipple, slower, sharper.
“Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“I.. please… don’t, I… please.”
The other breast again, right above the nipple, matching sets of fear and pain.
“Tell me what happened after you drank the shot.”
“I don’t know, I woke up here, I must have passed out. I don’t know.”
“Good girl.”
The needles came out fast and clean. She was crying and shaking as he wiped down her breasts with alcohol. The headphones came off, the wrapping around her head started to unwind. She was dizzy, she didn’t understand. What happened? Light began to assault her eyelids, she cringed away and found she could move her head. The restraints were coming off her arms, then her legs. His body was in front of her lifting her, carrying her, a hood still on her head, but thin. Softness beneath her, a bed. It was darker here and he slid the hood off. Stroking her hair.
“Such a good girl.”
She opened her eyes, startled by her partner’s voice after so long with the computerized one.
“What?”
“Shhhh. You did so very well.” He wrapped her in his arms and she curled up against his chest, sobbing with relief. “Such a good girl.” He repeated.
“Thank you, Sir.” She whispered, as she fell into an exhausted sleep against him.
“You’re welcome, little one.”
Service, Boot Licking and Throat Grabbing
September 15th, 2011
I’ve got a few other thoughts floating in my head I’d like to share this week. First, thoughts from two of the classes I took this past weekend. And then an answer I gave to toy after she read my Monday reflection.
The thoughts from Bootpig’s service class were many. First, you have to do what they ask before you can add to it or improve it. Second, it isn’t service if they don’t want it. Third, between A and F, there are a whole lot of other letters. And regardless of how well I do something, he will still love me. Fourth, ask and keep track. If I want to do something for him, ask if he wants it, and take no for an answer. But if he says yes, or if there are things he wants/likes, keep track and remember to do them.
In her bootblacking class, I learned about boot licking. I went into the class, looking for technical pointers, but that’s not what she wanted to talk about. She talked about the different between boot licking and boot worship, and I found that the idea of conveying a nonverbal message or emotion through boot licking spoke to my heart. I only black his boots. I love him and want to please him, and have always enjoyed kneeling at or on his boots. So I enjoy taking care of them. The idea of licking them with emotional intent makes more sense to me than just ritually licking them, or licking them because it arouses something in me. She did give me advice about when to lick them (before putting on the black grease which would stain my tongue), for which I am also grateful.
Toy asked my why his grabbing my throat stopped the panic. I explained it to her thus: Grabbing my throat makes me stop. Full stop. It used to be a hard limit with everyone because sideways motion can easily put my windpipe out of place. Then it became fear play – used carefully by the other. Then he started using it to hold me down when we slept together, and I’d get all gaspy with fear, but then arousal and comfort was added into the mix. So, grabbing me by the throat still makes me stop, all focus goes to that hand on my throat in fear, and then it brings arousal and comfort.
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.
Fulfilling a Promise
August 18th, 2011
It has been a week. No, I’m not going to talk about details, but if you want to see reactions, take a look at my writing on Fetlife. Suffice it to say, I have a lot on my mind. Several of those things are fit to print. So there will be at least two, if not three posts made today, should time and brain power allow. The first will be the easiest and most amusing.
At the end of last year, I posted about Negotiation. I detailed a negotiation that really started our relationship with toy, and a scene that came out of it. Many months have passed, much life has happened, but we have never lost sight of that scene. Focus, yes, a few times. But that’s to be expected. The original agreed upon date came and went, due to out of state commitments. And things just kept not lining up, not to mention toy never could pin him down or negotiate a new time and place, due to a lot of factors.
However, a few weeks ago, he asked if we were ready. To perform and serve him this month. We agreed that a given Saturday was good for us all, and started practicing the song and dance again. Shortly thereafter, he poked toy about how much better this Friday would be than Saturday, given the venue and availability of our partner in crime and myself. So, it got changed to Friday. Tomorrow.
We’re ready. The night will be awesome, amazing and hilariously fun. I’m just a bit full of stage fright for the performance. I hope I keep breathing and don’t pass out. I think the dance will help with that part. Keep me moving and force me to breathe. And hey, he’ll be smiling, grinning and probably cackling with laughter. So will everyone else, I imagine. So it’ll be alright. Really, it will.
And of course, I’ll be making an after action post at some point, to share with you all, the highs and lows, the amusement, embarrassment, creativity, service, love, fun and torment of the evening. I can’t promise it this weekend, but next week at least. It is going to be Epic.
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.
Perverted Imp FAQ
June 2nd, 2011
Who is The Perverted Imp?
I am a 30-something woman with a degree in creative writing. Except for a three year stint out west, I’m a MidWestern girl. During college, I traveled to Ireland, England and Australia, as well as all over the US. I work with books in the morning and computers in the afternoon. By night, I am a social butterfly, hanging out with my loved ones, gaming, and participating in a kinky stage show. I enjoy most music in which I can comprehend the lyrics, movies that are not full of senseless gore, and books with interesting characters. I love forests, meadows and rivers. I have rheumatoid arthritis, and allergies to Neosporin, mice, dust and cats, in that order. My favorite color is cobalt blue, and I adore watermelon, pizza and bacon.
Who are the other people mentioned here?
Hubby – is my husband of nearly seven years as of this posting. He is my Master, the love of my life, and my rock. He is the one I come home to, the one who supports me no matter what. He understands me, protects me and takes care of me every day of our life together. I am in love with him, forever and always.
Him/he – is my boyfriend of about a year and a half now. Rigger, Dom, Mentor, Teacher, Sir, and friend. He guides me and helps me and challenges me to go places I never thought I could go. He holds up a mirror and a light, showing me myself and the path I have chosen. I am in love with him, may it last forever and always.
Toy – is an amazing young woman that he and I have taken under our protection. She has agreed to be our toy, to play with us, learn from us, and teach us about herself. Through her, I am learning a lot about myself. I love her dearly.
Lover – is now an ex. He was my play partner, lover, or boyfriend for around two years. He taught me many things, about kink and poly as well as about finances, health and business. He made a great contribution to my life, though we are not together anymore. I will always have love for him.
Why am I blogging?
I hit two years recently. So, why am I still here? What brings me back every week? What fills my tummy with guilt if I don’t get a post done each Thursday? I don’t have a huge following. I don’t have comment conversations running into pages. I do have a handful of loyal readers who know and love me. But I could just as easily talk to them about my life. Why blog?
I read, as a child, to escape. I wrote a young woman to escape as well, and to give others escape. Then I joined this kinky world, and I didn’t need to escape anymore. My fantasies were real, my life was amazing. I wanted to share.
I wanted to let others know that they aren’t alone. I wanted to let others know that someone else made the mistakes they are making. That someone else made bigger mistakes. That someone else in this wide world feels like they do. That someone else wants what they want. That someone else enjoys the unusual things they enjoy. I wanted to reach out, and touch someone’s life, even if only for a moment, and even if I never knew. Occasionally, I get a note from a reader, letting me know I touched a life, and it makes me so happy. So here I am, and here I will be. Sharing for all who care to read.
How do poly and kink interact in my life? Would/could I be one without the other?
Poly is how I explore kink. No one person can be all. No one partner can satisfy every urge or desire or kink. I have different relationships, different dynamics with each of my partners. Every relationship I’ve ever had, has explored kink in a different way. Some had similarities, but they are all unique. I have a wide variety of interests, and I don’t want to try to fit it all into a single relationship. Fortunately, I don’t have to anymore. I have found poly to be part of who I am and am grateful to everyone who has helped me on this path. I have been kinky while being monogamous, but I don’t think I could ever again not be kinky or poly in nature, if not in fact.
What are my top kinks?
Rope Bondage – Hemp, jute, cotton, suspension, box ties, hog ties, prisoner ties. The smell of hemp from his tub, found nowhere else. Rope rubbing on skin, rope around the neck, rope through the crotch. Rope squeezing and holding and pressing. Rope marks, rope burn, rope tails whipping around. The feel of it holding me tight, letting me find freedom. Drifting off into space, secure and safe.
Intense Sensation – Over the knee spanking, bare asses spanking, slaps, flogging, dragon tails, single tails, paddles, cricket bats, canes, wicked sticks, violet wands, TENs Units, stun guns, stingers, flyswatters, biting, pinches, pokes, pressure points, forceps, nipple clamps, Leatherman tool, clothes pins, fire, fear.
Power Exchange – Kneeling(for him, at his feet, in submission, in meditation), behavior control(carry the drink just so, speak only when spoken to, eyes on the floor), hair pulling(his hand in my hair, taking complete control, mind and body), commands(with just a single word or motion, I am his), service(boot blacking, taking care of him and his things).
Sensory Deprivation – A blindfold to take a way sight. A hood or earplugs or earmuffs to take away sound. Tape or a gag to take away taste. Mittens or straitjacket or plastic wrap to take away touch. A hood to block smell. How many senses will you have left? How many do you need? Sense what you can, listen, taste, touch, hear and smell. So easily taken.
Random List of Words I Have Used Recently and My Attempt at Defining Them
Kink – a deviation from conventional practices in sexual behavior.
Polyamory/Poly – many loves. The practice of having or accepting more than one loving romantic relationship at a time, with full consent by all parties.
Limits – boundaries in kinky play. Soft limits are things you do not wish to do, but may do with certain partners or under certain circumstances. Hard limits are things that you do not wish to do at all. Limits can change with time.
Space – an altered state of mind caused by particular stimuli. Sub space, rope space, pain space.
Masochist – a person who enjoys receiving intense sensations for sexual pleasure. Colloquially a Pain Slut.
Sadist – a person who enjoys giving intense sensations for sexual pleasure.
Bondage – the use of restraints for sexual pleasure.
Power Exchange – the giving and taking of control, physically and mentally.
Sensory Deprivation – the removal of any or all of the five senses for sexual pleasure.
TENS Unit – a medical device in which electric current is used to stimulate nerves for therapeutic purposes, often to relieve pain.
Violet Wand – a quack medical device, in which low current, high voltage, high frequency electricity is applied to the body in a variety of ways.
Nipple Clamps – small clamps that are attached to the nipples to cause intense sensation and restrict blood flow. They come in many sizes and shapes.
Flogger – popularly known as a cat o’ nine tails, floggers can have any number of tails and be made of leather, fur, rubber or even rubber chickens. Uncle is made up of hard rubber conveyor belt cord.
Dragon Tail – a type of single-tailed whip, the Dragon tail is usually made by a wide piece of leather attached to a handle on one end and tapered to a thin tail on the other.
Bishop’s Chair – a bondage chair that is comprised of a tall back which the torso can be strapped to, crossed horizontally by a long plank which the arms can be strapped to, and a seat comprised of two planks set at a V, usually with eyelets on the legs for the ankles to be strapped to, leaving the victim spread wide, bound and vulnerable.
If you have any more questions, please ask.
Second Monday
May 25th, 2011
Chores done. Dressed and ready. He comes home, quick chat about the day and the state of things. The fly swatter is already out as he grabs a snack. Popping sparks. Toy backs away and is called forward, she still shies and is put on her knees. Earplugs, and headphones. Can you sign to her? But her glasses are off, I have to sign quite close. Can you hear him? No. He sends me for a blindfold. Blind and deaf now, I lead Toy downstairs.
Holding Toy’s hands in the playspace. I step away to put my glasses on a shelf, she reaches out for me, not quite frantically. He sets the music, I can’t tell if she hears the beat or is just fidgeting. The movements irregular. He gets on the leather ankle cuffs for her, and then the bondage mittens. Drags her to the cage and sets her in it.
Toy looks Hot!
She does, but there’s a frown on her face. I never fully enjoy it when they frown. But Toy does look hot, all bound and sensory deprived.
He gets out some hemp, 8mm. Starts to tie.
You know, it’s going to be your turn to be ignored first soon.
Yes, Sir. I’m okay with that.
Especially if it includes sense dep, I can sink into that, into whatever senses remain, spacing out the others. Delicious.
He gets an evil idea and grabs the TENs to distract Toy. Her breathing changes, but she stays fairly quiet. He returns to the rope, starting a drum tie. Slight panic in me as I realize I’ll be upside down. It’s been a long time, will I have the stamina? The tie is tight, secure. Rope burns as it passes. I can’t quite space, Toy is too distracting in her predicament.
He pauses between ropes to change up the TENs, we watch her reactions. She’s still quiet, not sure if she’s enjoying it or not. She’s not saying anything. It takes quite a few turns before we get any moans or whimpers.
Would I rather be in Toy’s place or mine? Mine, I like leather and sense dep, but here I have rope. He points out that when I’m upside down, certain tender bits will be quite open to Uncle. I panic a bit more. Gasping and whimpering slightly. Oh gods, that’ll hurt. The ‘biner is put in place, not as painfully as I’d feared. Then comes my blindfold.
Panic. Space. Floating. I won’t be able to see what’s coming. Fear. Breathe quickens. The blindfold is tight around my forehead. My eyes close automatically. I feel myself floating away, still standing. Calm down. But I’m gone, sub space take me away.
I feel him get the lift rope. He drops me to the mats and threads it, pulls and I am up. I fidget for a moment with my arms, settling for my hands on my head. He spins me. Focus, breathe. My hands are the solid point. I’m not really spinning, I tell myself. My hands are the solid point. I am stationary in regards to my hands. Keep breathing.
He goes to Toy and I hear rhythmic flogging. I hear her, too. Whimpers and moans. I think there were a couple swipes with Uncle then. Louder moaning.
I can hear metal tinkling. Nipple clamps, I think, later I find out how wrong I was. He bring some to me, too. Sharp, tiny stabbing pain. I think it’s the ones he used last time, but it hurts so much more. I squeal and gasp, curling upwards and grabbing the bottoms of my breasts. the usual reaction to keep nipple clamps from dropping, but useless in my upside down state. I dare not touch them. So much pain, my gasps turn to tears. I can’t do it, I am going to fail so soon, I am going to yellow. Oh gods, it hurts. But he takes them off before I am completely overwhelmed. And I hang, hands back on my head. Focus and breathing take longer to find. My hands are the solid point. I am not spinning. Breathe and listen.
Uncle returns, slapping the undersides of my breasts. More squealing and curling. Forcing myself to drop my hands back to my head, exposing myself for more strikes. Promised strikes on exposed flesh, keep my legs where he puts them. Hits on the feet, solid, comforting.
Toy squeals too, but mostly I’m just listening to her for hints of new implements. A paddle, not the speed hole paddle, this one is longer and thinner, more solid. More like being hit with a big stick than a paddle. I’m at such an odd position for corporal.
I feel him untying the lift line, spinning it out. Focus on my hands. I am not spinning, my hands are the solid point. Breathe, relax. And I am in his arms and then on the ground. Gasping for breath, and toy squeals as he tosses her down behind and on top of me. Her arms and head over mine. Both of us gasping and ragged, he leaves us to recover.
The headphones are painful, but I do not protest. I twitch and she moves after a while. Thank you, Toy. But she cannot hear me. Finally, our breathing is calm. She readjusts for her own comfort, too. He returns, sits on the bishop’s chair silently. Leaves again. Returns this time with the flyswatter.
Up! Get up! He smacks us with the flyswatter.
I struggle off the floor. Toy gets up, behind me.
Kneel! Kneel properly! Show her how to kneel!
Smacking me with the flyswatter, I grab her knees, push them apart and place her mittened hands, then return to my own position. We kneel. I feel him sitting on the trunk in front of me. I can hear him stroking the flyswatter.
She’s fidgeting!
He pops me again, and I grab her hands in panic to stop her.
Is she kneeling properly?
Another pop and I grab her knees and push them apart again. Really, Toy? What are you doing?? But I say nothing and return to kneeling.
We stay there, it isn’t long, but I’m in a state of panic that she wills start fidgeting again. She doesn’t, and he takes off my blindfold.
Look up at me. Untie each other. Come meet me at the massage table.
Scene done, now for clean up and aftercare.
The Writing on My Thighs
March 17th, 2011
What’s really there is that I have an awesome boyfriend who loves me, who trusts me, and who wants to continue our journey together, in life and in kink.
What’s really there is several new paths we are taking, one including an awesome woman who has decided to be our toy.
What’s really there is stressful work and health situations that are not who we are, but simply things we are doing and dealing with.
What’s really there is drama in our worlds and families that we need to deal with and solve together, supporting each other.
What’s really there is amazing opportunities for love and companionship and play and fun together, that I never would have thought possible five years ago.
These sentences are currently written on my thighs. I wrote them in a chat yesterday, and we decided I ought to write them on myself for a little while. “Until the message sinks in,” you might say. I need practice focusing on the positive. I need to not let the negative build up and build up, because “it’s just a little thing,” until it becomes a whirlwind of fear, doubt and crazy. I’m a writer, a good thing, but also bad. I write stories in my head, make assumptions, fill in the blanks. I live inside my head a little too much. I need to remember there are other people out there, often right beside me, who have the real answers, the actual truth of the matter, and sometimes, a far better grip on reality than the tangled mess I sometimes get myself into. Speculative fiction is awesome to write and sell and share, but reality is strange enough without me getting creative on it.
So, lesson of the week: Communicate!
How many times have I written about communication? And yet…
Things are far easier to deal with and discount and conquer when they are small. And nothing is too small to mention. A grain of sand creates a pearl, but a fleck of metal can blind you and a single spark can burn down a forest. He is good at noticing when something is wrong or off, but I am not always so good at realizing he is right. So, communication. Don’t dismiss it when he questions, really look and try to shake loose the thought that is keeping me off balance by hiding in the corner. Life is always crazy and busy and stressful, but letting things bottle and build up is only going to make things worse. Explosions are far more damaging than a firecracker. Just don’t hang on too tight, toss it up in the air and see what it looks like in the light.
I am loved. I am wanted. I am needed. I am worthy.