Wondering Woman

June 2nd, 2017

You know you’ve been away from your blog too long when you’ve missed five version updates of the CMS. It’s June already, and I’ve only made 4 posts this year. I am going to stop giving all the excuses of those posts. My heart just isn’t in it lately. My life is busy and crazy, and blogging has lost its shine. Even my weekly blog to my family missed a few posts in May. And it’s the only thing keeping me from the traditional weekly call at 4pm on Sunday.

I’m just home from watching Wonder Woman. I left work early so I could go see it before going to the bowling munch tonight, sure that it would be on everyone’s mind and lips. Went by myself, as is usual of late, and pondered the idea of a Movie Daddy… like a sugar daddy, only, he just takes me to the movies every week. <Smirk>

SPOILERS AHEAD….. Read the rest of this entry »

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We Aim to Misbehave

November 20th, 2016

I have Captain Mal’s speech in my head this evening. Only, it isn’t really about misbehaving – it’s about fighting for what is right. In this country, in these times, in our communities – we have a wide variety of people, of opinions, of opportunities – and we must all stand up for each other, for what is right for all of us. That’s not an easy thing to do. To be the first one to stand up, to be the first one to speak up, to be the light shining into the darkness. A lot of times, I see people afraid to speak up for themselves – asking other people to speak up for them. And I get it, it isn’t easy to say the unpopular thing, to call out a leader, to say what needs to be said. But when there is so much wrong in this country that someone like Trump can be elected President, we have to start working harder, fighting harder, to make the changes that are needed.

This happens on a local level, too. Not just on the national stage. And that is where we need to work the hardest. We need to work in our communities, in our neighborhoods, in our cities, in our states. The kinds of changes we need to make, they aren’t just national. They aren’t just in Congress. The folks at the top can say whatever they want, do whatever they want, but if we don’t create change everywhere, these problems are just going to continue.

Our leaders cannot do it alone. We chose them to lead us, but they have to have our help, our support, our voices, to know where to lead. They have to have us working just as hard to make the changes we want them to create. Our leaders are nothing without us, if we are not behind them 100%, they will have no one to lead. And if they are not leading us in the direction we want to go, they need to know that, too. If they knowingly lead us in the opposite direction, then we need to get new leaders.

Many respected figures have stated that they are not giving up, that now is not the time to walk away, that the best way to create change is to stay and do the work. Aside from the few who are walking away, the rest of us have a duty to do that work. It doesn’t end when the decision is made, when the voting is over. Unhappy with the results? Fine, do the work to create change you wish to see. Happy with the results? Fine, do the work to solve the problems that brought you here.

Complacency has brought us to where we are today. No more. It is time to take productive action. To have the hard conversations. To stand up and be heard. To not just shine a light into the darkness, but to bring the light in, and chase the darkness away.

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Struggle

September 3rd, 2016

Do you ever have those days, when you just want to fight? But you’re not a fighter, so it’s more like you want to struggle, need to struggle. As a rope bottom, and masochist, to me, this means I want to Eel. And not just eel. Not just, tie me up, and let me get out. But tie me up tight, painful, torture me while I wriggle and writhe. Maybe I can’t even get out at all, but it’s the fight I want, the struggle.

He told ex-Lover the other day, that I was due some nipple clamps and a straitjacket. It’s been a Long time. He has used the straitjacket with me twice that I can remember – once for a nice zone out, and once to be eyes for an artificially blinded engineer. Once inside, one cannot really fight a straitjacket, but I’ve written at least once about fighting ex-Lover putting it on.

I am full of stress at things, and working on letting it go. Pain helps – we’ve had some fun pain lately, especially with whip practices this month. He was even practicing a new long stroke this past week – more like what you see in movies of someone at a post – though without the blood, of course. But as things build up, I’m feeling the need for a struggle. Now, to figure out where and how.

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Fighting Spirit

May 2nd, 2013

There is something growling inside her tonight. She’s looking for a fight. Not an argument, not to win, she just wants to fight, to struggle, and to be beaten down, held down, forced to surrender.

He sees the gleam in her eyes, the set of her jaw. He can sense the tightness in her body, as she comes to the bedside. Usually, he would just point to the floor and she would kneel and relax, but he knows that isn’t going to work tonight.

He grabs her roughly by the hair, fingers tight against her skull and forces her down to the floor. He gauges her resistance by her hands on his, instead of in her lap, the tension in her neck, and then he pulls her back up and shoves her onto the bed. Usually, she would stay where he put her.

Tonight, she scrambles up onto the bed and turns to face him. He glances down at his toybag, considering his options. Rope. Metal. Canvas. Clamps. Gag. Hood. Tape. One step at a time, he scoops up the handcuffs.

He grabs her arm and snaps one cuff on before she can pull away. Now she does, but he is stronger, holding the captured limb, while he tries to grab the other. She squirms and holds it out as far away as she can, so he twists the one he has behind her back, forcing her onto her stomach, and pins it with a knee. Using both hands, he captures and twists the other to meet the first, locking it in.

Off the bed again, for the next item. She rolls back up to her knees, glaring at him. The familiar jingle of nipple clamps has her growling out loud as he returns to the bed. Hands, trapped, she face-plants, spreading her legs wide to keep him from rolling her over.

He straddles her ass, grabbing a shoulder in one hand and a breast in the other. She wriggles against him, cursing now, through her growls. But a nipple is freed and quickly clamped and she freezes, not wanting to squish it back into the bed. Breathing hard, teeth gritted, whimpering, waiting for it to sink in.

He gives her a choice, keep turning or get it shoved back down. He’s stronger than her, she knows it, turns over, the other clamp is put in place. More cursing and growling and whimpering, she bucks her hips to give him extra momentum in dismounting her this time.

She barely notices as he picks up rope next, but when a loop drops down over her ankle, she yanks it away. Too late, he yanks back, wrapping the rope under the bed, he has the leverage, and is already at the other corner. Her free leg is curled up, but a quick yank on the nipple clamps and she, screaming, relinquishes the ankle. Tied off and he’s back at the bag.

Returns with a gag and hood. She clenches her teeth, hates gags. Choking and panic and oh gods, the drool. He holds it in front of her mouth, she shakes her head. He cocks an eyebrow, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. Pressure points and her mouth cracks open, thumb in over her teeth, forcing her wider. The gag replaces fingers, tight grip keeps the tension while he buckles it on. She bites down hard, trying to stay calm, breathing already rushing in panic. His hand on her throat and she freezes. Breathe, eyes locked with hers. And the hood comes down over all.

He goes back to the bag, one last time. She hears the click of large buckles, suddenly her burning nipples return to the front of her mind. She sits bolt upright, leaning forward, trying to curl into a little ball. Oh o, o, o, o. She can’t form an N through the gag. He is behind her, the straitjacket in hand. Cursing and writhing, she rocks back hard against him, pushing, shaking.

He grabs her hands, unlocks one wrist, pinning the cuff with a leg to control the still-cuffed arm. He grabs the free arm, threading it into the jacket. She tries to throw it off, tries to bungle it up, tries to push him off the bed. But she moving too much and her nipples are screaming, and she is coughing on the gag. Once her arm is in, she has to stop, has to breathe.

He slips a hand up the back of the nylon hood and grabs her hair, yanking her up out of her defensive curl, drapes the jacket in front of her and then lets her go again. She does not move, does not want to press the clamps against the canvas. Carefully, he uncuffs the other arm, and starts to maneuver it into place. She fights weakly, whimpering and moaning with pain, trying just to keep her arm still, but slowly, he pushes it down into the sleeve.

He yanks the back closed and she is bucking and screaming again. There’s no stopping the pain now, so she is no longer careful. Shoving back against him. Shaking back and forth. Rocking side to side. He wraps his legs around her to pin her in place, yanking each buckle tight as she groans through the gag and hood. Her arms are out to either side, straight out and locked tight.

He grabs on, pressure points and bent, and wrapped, pinned with a leg. Then the other, forcing it around. Nice big hug. Buckles together and her struggling weakens. Pulled tight one big scream. Head shaking, teeth clenching, hood soaked in tears and drool. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her tight against his chest, pulling her to lie down on top of him. Her whimpers turn to sobs, struggles to shaking, and then all to stillness.

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