January 17th, 2013
They led her, one on each side, down the dock. It was humiliating, but it was nothing compared to what would come next. She’d been caught trying to pick a fight again and he was not going to be happy. She could feel him watching her, those piercing eyes boring into the top of her skull. She kept her head down all the way there, even when they stopped and she felt him land in front of her, having lept off his perch.
”What now?” he asked her guards.
”Your girl’s picking fights again. Two this time, tried to get one of them to be a lookout.”
He flipped a quarter to each of them. “Tell them thank you, and she’ll be around to apologize later.”
They nodded and left her there.
”Look at me Krys.” His voice was hard as stone.
She lifted her eyes to his, and could not help but take a step back at the anger shining there.
”What do you think you’re doing? You know they aren’t allowed to fight you.”
She dropped her eyes, and he slapped her, just hard enough to bring her attention back to him, and loosen her tongue.
”They think I’m weak, sir. They don’t respect me. I’m just your girl, not one of them.”
”And this is how you think to earn their respect? By getting them in trouble with me? By tempting them to disobey direct orders? Did you ever think that it’s only making them think less of you? Keeping you apart from them?”
She stared at him, he was right, of course he was.
”You want to fight someone, you fight me.” He stepped in close, so that they were nose to nose. “Do you want to fight with me?”
”Then, knock it off, because next time, you won’t have a choice.”
He pointed to a nearby crate that was about waist high, and she went over to it, her face flushing with embarrassment. She bent over, putting her palms on the top of the crate and spreading her feet to brace herself. He joined her, putting his left hand on the small of her back and hefting his walking stick in the other.
By five, there were tears, by ten she could barely get the numbers out, by fifteen she was wet, and by twenty she was fighting back moans. He grabbed her hair and pulled her back upright, then marched her away, his grip on her hair keeping her fully aroused.
”You will apologize to those two, when we’re done.” he whispered in her ear.
He led her off to the warehouse loft where they always went after he punished her publicly, or to punish her privately. Today had required a public scene, but it didn’t always. When they arrived he released her.
”Pants off, hands and knees.” He said to her, voice softer now, hungry.
”Yes, sir.” She stripped off her pants and got down on all fours.
He knelt down beside her, stroking her bruised ass.
”Why do you do these things? You know I hate to embarrass you like that.”
”I’m sorry, sir.” she shivered at his gentle strokes.
”Promise me you won’t do that again?”
”Yes, sir, I promise.”
”Good, girl.” He smacked her bare ass with his hand. “Very good, girl.” He smacked her ass again.
”Thank you, sir.” she gasped.
He spanked her bare, bruised ass, while she moaned. Bringing them both back to full arousal after the scolding. Squeezing and spanking her tender ass, while she arched and and groaned. He dipped his fingers lower, finding her dripping wet.
”Do you want me?” he breathed
”Yes, sir, oh yes, sir.”
”Show me.” he said, dropping his pants and turning her to face him.
She took him in her mouth, sucking hungrily while he continued to smack her ass. He shoved himself deeper into her mouth, and she accepted him eagerly. His hand in her hair guiding her as he wished. Then he pulled her away and spun her around again, sliding in to fuck her.
”Oh, thank you sir.” she groaned.
”Such a good girl.” he moaned as they fell together on the floor.
March 8th, 2012
And a special, bonus post, by special request of him, just in case two posts isn’t enough to fulfill your craving this week.
The movie was over, they hadn’t really watched it, too distracted by each other, but they had to go now. They had to get back to her dorm for bed check before midnight. The all-girls, private prep school she attended had very strict rules about being out of bed past curfew. She was eighteen years old, but her parents were not quite ready to let her go to college out in the real world, yet. So they’d sent her here, where she’d met the man of her dreams, and broke every rule to see him.
Heading back to the school, they crossed through a wooded area before the wide open grounds. He grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her neck. She leaned back against him happily. They had a few minutes before they had to be back, she decided.
“You’re such a bad girl.” He breathed into her ear.
“Yes, sir.” She smiled at his mock stern tone.
“Wandering through the woods at this time of night. Good girls are all in bed. But you’re out with a man in the forest.”
“You know what we do with naughty girls, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” She shivered as his belt slid free.
He turned and put left foot up on a fallen tree and bent her over his knee. Pulling up her skirt, and down her panties, he exposed her bare ass. Stroking it with his folded belt, he put his hand on her back to hold her steady. Then brought the belt to bear.
She yelped, and he swung again. Her yelping soon turned to moans of pleasure as she writhed over his leg. He reddened her pale skin, with harder and harder strokes. Until she began to beg.
“Please, oh please, sir.”
“Please, I want you.”
“Please, sir, please.”
He stopped and let her go, she dropped to her knees in front of him. Pulled his pants open the rest of the way and eagerly took him in her mouth. He gasped and entwined his fingers in her hair, guiding her eagerness. She moaned as he groaned, and when they were done, he pulled her to her feet, and held her tight.
After a moment to breathe, they were off again, racing towards the dorm, and up the fire escape to here room. Her roommate was in the infirmary for the night, so they had it all to themselves. She shooed him under the bed until bed check came through a few minutes later, and then pulled him back up. Collapsing on the bed, he pulled her close.
“Such a bad girl, pulling a man’s pants down out in the open like that.”
“Yes, sir.” She expected him to be sleepy, but he seemed far from it.
“And now, you’ve snuck him into your bedroom, into a girls only dorm.”
He sat up and pulled her over his lap, keeping her skirt down to muffle the noise, he took his hand to her this time. Spanking the already tender flesh. She buried her face in the blankets to cover her moans. She squirmed against his lap, but he held her tight, spanking her tender bottom until her moans got so loud, the blankets could not stop them.
“Please, sir, oh gods, please sir.”
“Please, take me, sir.”
He gave her a few more swats that nearly made her scream before flipping her around and back onto the bed, shedding his clothes and then pulling her free of hers. He joined her back in bed and covered her mouth with his to keep her moans of pleasure from waking her dorm mates while he rode her to exhaustion.
The alarm went off early the next morning and she shooed him under the bed again for morning check. Then she got ready and went down to breakfast. He snuck out the window while everyone was eating and she spent the rest of the day in a happy haze. Until the end of her last class, when the teacher stopped her.
“Headmaster wants to see you. Come with me.”
He led her towards the dorm, however and up to her room, where she saw the headmaster waiting. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she dreaded what was to come. He must have been seen leaving.
“Come in. Tell me, is anything amiss?”
“Is anything missing? Anything at all?”
“No, headmaster.” She knew better than to lie. If she said yes, her boyfriend would be arrested for theft.
“Strange. A man was seen climbing out of this window this morning, during breakfast. We assumed he was a thief. Are you sure that nothing is missing?”
“Did you know the man who left here this morning?”
“I see. And did you know he was in your room?”
“Would you mind telling me what he was doing here?”
“Yes, headmaster.” She blushed furiously and glanced at the teacher in the doorway.
“Thank you, that will be all.” The headmaster dismissed the teacher and closed the door before turning back to her. “What was he doing here?”
She stared at his shoes, too embarrassed to answer.
“We could continue this conversation in my office, with a cane, if you would prefer?”
“No, headmaster. I.. I invited him up, headmaster. We had a date last night and I brought him back here.”
“I see. Tell me about it.”
“We… we went to the movies, and then we came back here to sleep.”
“Is that all? You saw a movie and you slept?”
“We… um… on the way back, he put me over his knee and spanked me with his belt and I went down on him. After bed check, he spanked me again, with his hand, and then we had sex before we went to sleep.”
“I see. You like that do you?”
“Yes, headmaster.” She was mortified, but lying would only make things worse.
“But you chose to continue the conversation here and not in my office with the cane?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t really like canes, sir.”
“I see. Well, let’s see how he did, then. Turn around and show me your bottom.”
What could she do, she turned around, bent over and lifted her skirt and pulled down her panties.
“It’s barely red at all. He must not have tried very hard.” The headmaster patted her bare ass. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that. Don’t you think?”
“By rights, you should be expelled and a letter sent home to your parents.”
“But that won’t do anyone any good, so how about this. You’ll march down to my office with me, and I’ll redden that ass of yours properly, you can even thank me for it, like you did him in the woods. And once I’m satisfied, we’ll forget this ever happened. Is that alright with you?”
“Go on then.” He pulled her up and opened the door, motioning her to go ahead of him.
She walked down the hallways, her face bright red and her eyes on the floor. Those she passed knew she had been caught out, but very few of them knew what for. When they got to his office she went inside. He followed and locked the door behind him. Walking to his desk, he pulled off his belt and put it on the left side, then pulled out a paddle and put it in the middle and then a cane on the right hand side.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl.” He told her and sat down, motioning her over. “Take off that skirt, it will only be in the way, and the panties.”
She did as he instructed and then he pulled her over his lap. He started with his bare hand, spanking her equally bare ass.
“This is for sneaking out last night.”
He started out soft and built up, harder and harder. Gauging her moans and squeals, occasionally checking to see how wet she was. She squirmed on his lap, embarrassed but increasingly aroused. He spanked her harder and harder until she was gasping and screaming for him.
“Please, headmaster, please!”
“Please, stop and let me thank you.” She begged, remembering his words.
He gave her a few more swats and then let her up. She dropped to her knees under his desk and fumbled his pants open. His erection was waiting. She took him eagerly, and he let her, fingers in her hair, but stopped her short of finishing him off and pulled her roughly back over his lap.
He picked up the belt next, but paused, giving them both a few moments to breathe.
“This is for having oral sex in the school forest.”
He swatted her ass with the belt, pulling a gasp, and then another. He beat her already red ass into a deeper shade of crimson. She moaned and writhed harder against him, but he held her tight. His strokes slower than the first spanking. Enjoying the fullness of her reaction. When he had her screaming again and begging, he let her up a second time. And she sunk to the floor, moaning against his cock as she sucked on him.
He only gave her a few minutes this time before pulling her back up and picking up the paddle.
“This is for sneaking a boy into the dorm.”
He struck hard and firm, leaving it against her ass as she cried out. He smiled down at her. Loving the sound of the paddle the most. He struck again, and again. She arched and cried and tried to get away. Her ass sore and bruised already. He counted down from ten, and she screamed with each one. Then he dragged her to her feet and bent her over the desk, picking up the cane.
“And this is for having sex in your dorm room.”
He took the cane to the back of her thighs and her highly abused ass. Counting down from twenty, he held her in place by her hair. Giving her time to process each strike. Screaming into the desk and stamping her feet. She cried as she dug her fingers into the wooden edge.
When he was done, he pulled her back down to the floor beneath his desk and she took him a third time, this time to completion. And then collapsed into a puddle on the floor. He redid his pants, put away his tools and let her come back to herself before sending her back to her room.
“Next time you want a spanking, just ask.” He said as he opened the door and sent her on her way.
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.
“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. 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.
July 21st, 2011
So, this extra post is inspired by a several things. One, it’s my birthday on Sunday. Two, toy was giving me a hard time about not asking for things I want (for my birthday). And three, he made a comment the other day that a lot of our play has been about things that he likes(it’s awesome and fortunate, that our kinks match up so well), and due to various things over the last week, he’s curious to try some of the stuff that I like. Thus the straitjacket on Monday. So, without further ado, here’s a short list of scene ideas that came to mind when I thought about my upcoming birthday… while at work… and bored… in the order they came to me.
- Obviously, over the knee, barehanded birthday spankings. This one’s just a given. It’s tradition in all parts of life, to give birthday spankings. So, I want bare hand on bare ass and dear gods, please over the knee, but hey. Girl’s gotta have something special.
- Clothes cut off. I have had this in my head for a while now, but I never really thought too much on it. But when I was writing this list it was second to come to mind. I realized that Every kidnap fantasy I have, they cut off my clothes. This is one I’ve never indulged (it requires pre-planning or the sacrifice of cute clothes), but apparently is a huge turn-on for me.
- Suspension. It’s just all kinds of wonderful and always on my mind. He suspended me last week, quick and dirty, but oh so nice, and spacy. Lovely. So, I think this wish has been nicely fulfilled.
- Sex. Oral. Masturbation. Well, duh, it’s fun. (I’ll get a little more creative further down the page.)
- Intense rope scene. You know the kind. Tied up tight, rope after rope, losing freedom bit by bit. Digging in, dropping down, nothing but you, him and the rope. Eeling optional. The kind of eeling that when you get something free, he just ties it down tighter. And you’re both exhausted by the time the last rope is removed.
- Electric oral. I’ve been curious about this for ages. Since the first time he mentioned it. In that kind of terrified, but oh so curious kind of way.
- TENS masturbation. I want to find the right places. I’ve played with TENS units on various occasions in various ways, but I’ve never found The Spots. Yeah, we’ve turned me all tingly and what not, but I hear stories of more and better. Of getting it to cross the clit. Of getting it to cause orgasms. So very curious.
- Vibrator orgasms until collapse. Writing this made me laugh, then blush. There’s nothing like a Hitachi going on and on until you’ve had so many orgasms that you’re begging for it to stop. And then being forced to have more.
- Clothespin challenge. I wrote this at work with ?’s around it because most of my thoughts were not around painful scenes. The idea popped into my head, inspired by Monday, and spurred on by memories of a game show. How many clothes pins would it take? How many is too many? I think lying down I could take more than standing up. I have this problem with breathing. And then what about taking them off? One by one? Or a big long zipper?
- Sensual flogging or drumming. The rhythmic kind, meant for spacing out and massage. Not the pain of catharsis, not looking for tears or challenge. Just music and thumping and letting go.
- Full body massage. This goes on the same line. Just soft sensation, of touching and caring and love.
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.
August 5th, 2010
Phobia – an irrational, intense and persistent fear. I have three. Two have been tested recently. The third, needles, I am still working towards. Sparklers were used in the most recent scene. A snake was used some weeks ago. I knew these fears were strong, but I didn’t know how much.
We were moving flats in the backyard. A small garter snake was curled up under one and I quickly moved away.
I pointed at it and he picks it up, bringing it towards me. I circle in the opposite direction, keeping the distance between us. He gets to where I was and looks up. Arms crossed, heart pounding, I grimace back at him. The snake is running through his gloved hands and he starts towards me again. I try to be still, but I keep backing up, whimpering and twitching my eyes between him and the ground.
I shake my head, harder than my body already is.
I whimper and take a step, but only one. He steps forward and I back.
Another step towards me and I tense my whole body to stay still. Another step and my foot slides back.
Stop or I will throw it on you.
I force my foot a step towards him. Eyes tight to the ground, filling with tears. Overflowing as he walks towards me. Sobbing by the time he is beside me. But I stay still. Then he takes it away. He puts it near the woodpile. I calm some – enough to move the last flat to the pile. He frees me and checks in. With the snake gone, I can breathe again and the terror melts away.
Stripped, handcuffed and tossed to the ground. Ankles tied together. Lover is counting and spanking and fucking.
I know you know the box score.
I cannot stop the laughter.
I know you are keeping track. At least the third box.
The laughter continues.
I know you are know the answer. At least a good guess. I have these sparklers here.
The flick of a lighter and I twitch away.
The lighter flicks again.
They’re old. Might not light.
I writhe, trying to throw him off me.
Yes, unless you know the number of 3′s.
I laugh again, desperation, now. More flicking of the lighter. I whimper and squirm. Lover has mercy.
How about a deal? Plus or minus two if you agree to sleep in your straitjacket with my cock in your mouth.
It won’t help. The straitjacket is okay.
Yes or no?
It won’t help.
Alright, how about plus or minus four? You’re a good guesser. I’m sure you have some idea.
My answer hasn’t changed.
Then I’ll just have to light the sparklers. Here, hold it for me.
Lover puts it in my cuffed hand. I writhe and try to let go, breaking it with my other hand to get it away. He plants it in the carpet in front of me.
Look at it. I’m going to light it if you don’t give me an answer.
Lover pulls my head up, and I look at the sparkler.
Don’t burn my carpet.
Laughter, not mine this time.
What’s your answer?
It hasn’t changed. The straitjacket is okay, but it doesn’t matter, I don’t know.
I’ll have to light it then.
He picks it up and flicks the lighter, while I squirm beneath him. The flare of the sparkler lighting and I scream and cry, face in the carpet. Trying to force him off my back, but helpless.
The sparks are dropping on you. In your hair.
No, no, no, no, no.
Fizz of water and it’s out. Gasping for air and shaking beneath him.
So? What’s your answer?
It hasn’t changed. It doesn’t matter, I don’t know the number.
Another one then?
Yes, or agree to the deal?
It doesn’t matter.
The flick of the lighter and the second is burning above me. Lower this time the sparks hitting my bare flesh. Hands brushing at the sparks. Sobbing into the carpet. Struggling to get away, to not get burned as he tells me where they are falling. Sizzle and it is out. Lover lets me sob for a little while, until I can breathe and speak again.
So, what’s your answer, or do I light another one. I have four more.
No. Sure. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.
Are you agreeing? Agreement needs to come with a number.
Oh, very good. Good girl. Very good girl. If you had guessed just a little higher…
Thank you, Sir.
Fears faced, but not diminished. The terror is still there, deeply there. I have faced them and sobbed my eyes out. I have faced them and been overwhelmed. I have faced them and surrendered. But facing them has not made them less.
June 10th, 2010
My current hard limit around public sex is no intercourse with more than two other people present. I don’t do orgies. I don’t do penetrative play at parties. I don’t have sex with an audience. For me, this is about the intimacy of sex. Sexual intercourse is a private thing for me, it’s about a deep love and connection with my partner.
I play in public, at parties, at clubs, in dungeons. I get aroused, I get pushed into sub space, or pain space, I orgasm. And these scenes can be very much about connection and love. They can be very intimate, very personal.
Lately, I’ve been edging towards the line with him. Masturbation and oral while driving down the road, but that felt mostly private and it was a different kind of energy we were creating. Riding his boot in public while wearing a short skirt, with people around – a new edge for me, but not sex.
So, what’s the difference?
Sex, naked and completely vulnerable. Giving everything to each other, sharing everything. It has always involved a deeper level of trust for me. A deeper connection, that I don’t want to share with other people. I want to feel our energy, our connection, not that of other, unconnected people. I have trouble with playing at big parties where the energy of strangers is flowing everywhere, and people interrupt connections. It is even more important to me that sex, and the energy it creates with my partner, be kept private and personal.
April 8th, 2010
Sex was never discussed in my house growing up. Mom never had “the talk” with me, I had it at school from a silly video. It was mentioned by her twice in my life. Once, when a friend of hers had been embarrassed when her 8 year old daughter told her not to have sex if she didn’t want more kids and described the act very poorly because I had misinformed her, being only 9 and just previous to the talk at school when she had asked Me about it. So Mom asked if I knew how it really worked now, and I said yes and that was that. The second time was when we were out buying flowers for my wedding and she wanted to know if I had any questions and to tell me the first time might not be great. I rolled my eyes and said Mom… in that tone most of us perfect as teenagers. My Dad never discussed sex when I was growing up, though as he’s gotten older he’s discussed a lack of sex due to the ineffectualness of Viagra… thanks, Dad.
I only dated one boy for one weekend in High School, and that was only a couple phone conversations, so I’d never even been kissed before I got to college. My first three boyfriends freshman year took me from kissing through oral sex at a not-too-fast pace. It was not until the summer after my sophomore year that I had sex for the first time. Subsequent first visit to OB/GYN for birth control was a godsend as far as period control. I am now nearing 30 and have had a total of 8 sexual partners, 9 if you count 3 seconds of penetration as a sexual partner, I generally don’t. Only 4 of which were/are continuous sexual relationships. I had a few STD tests a couple years ago at the request of a life insurance company and in the past couple weeks, my new doc ran a full panel for me, results still pending, but I’m not expecting any surprises. (That’s why they’re called surprises, eh?)
So that background is all well and good, but what am I really on about? One of my hard limits is sex in public. Public generally being defined as more than two other people(other than the one I’m having sex with) being present. I blush when talking about sex, avoid using sexual terms in public and even in private sometimes. I’ll swear like a sailor, but ask me to say cock or admit I’m thinking about oral and I’m suddenly shy and flustered. Sex, to me, is a private thing, but even more than that, it’s something I find it difficult to be forward about.
One, on the private matter of sex. It is a personal thing, a private thing. Sex, to me, is an expression of intimacy shared between two people, maybe three. It’s a special kind of energy and I don’t fancy the intrusion of other energy into the mix. The excitement of having sex somewhere inappropriate and public has its allure, but the thought of other people watching and the threat of being arrested most often kills it for me. That’s not to say I haven’t had sex in a public park at night, but only when those two factors have been reduced to almost nil.
He asked me to go without panties recently and it was a huge deal. Let my most private and intimate bits be exposed under my skirt? Proper girls just don’t do that(when the hell did I become proper again?). What if someone sees? What if someone grabs me randomly? What if I get pulled over? It took some very serious conversation for me to get past the fear and realize that I was in control of myself, my safety and my personal space. Not to mention, my friends would be around me to protect me should anything go wrong. It was a very freeing experience, and the edge of fear kept under control was wonderful.
Two, on not being sexually forward. Communication is key. I’ve learned, though my journey in kink, that I have to ask for what I want, be clear about what I want and to accept what I want without being ashamed or embarrassed by it. Why hasn’t this transferred to sex as well? I looked back at my posts, even my erotica, I only mention fucking once at the very end. I don’t write overt sex scenes very often and it is even rarer that I share those that I do. I could blame my parents, I could blame my sheltered early life, I could blame being an introvert and generally shy, I could blame a Puritan society. Excuses, excuses, excuses. These are excuses I have let run my sex life.
How do I stop that? How do I let go of fear and embarrassment? Why am I afraid? What am I afraid of? Rejection? Do I think that if I suggest sex or oral or say I’m thinking about your cock, he’s going to say “No, how could you? What kind of girl are you?” How ridiculous is that? Seriously, I can asked to be beat, set on fire, tied up and swung from the rafters, and yet sex, that pretty much everyone on the planet has, trips me up. How silly and neurotic is that? Talking about sex is my Boggart in the closet (yes, a Harry Potter reference). Laugh at the fear to make it go away.
September 16th, 2009
I helped a couple friends create scenes this weekend, and participated slightly in other informal scenes. Mostly I wandered around watching, being the voyeur. The first night I did not play at all. I just blinked at people reaching out to grab the ring on my collar. Whatever happened to respecting protocol?
Night Two. I had two scenes.
Lover asked what I wanted, and for once in my life, this weekend, I knew what I wanted and I asked for it. I wanted Rope. I wanted No Escape. I wanted as much rope as he could possibly use. We even dropped by my apartment and picked up all my new rope. There was a wooden frame laced with thick bungee cord into a spider web. He used all 150 feet of my new hemp to wrap me up. A chest harness, a corset, thighs wrapped, calves wrapped, arms wrapped. Then he used his own rope to secure every wrap of hemp to the web, as well as his rope cuffs to finish securing my hands, and a few extra ropes to lace my ankles to the eyelets on the frame. He pinched my nipples as he secured me, and then, with borrowed knife, he traced what flesh he had left exposed. He made me orgasm at knife point, over and over. Hard, soft, thrashing and still. The knife went away and he went back to pinching my nipples, taking his sweet torment while he made me orgasm for his pleasure. Then down to taste me, finish me with his tongue. He untied me slowly, pausing to steal orgasms ever now and then. Took me down, wrapped me up in his jacket and held me until we were both back to ourselves.
Master/Husband asked what I wanted, I told him I wanted sharp things. I wanted the Whartenberg Wheel, I wanted the two-pronged claw. He added a knife. He laid me out on the bed, and dragged the sharp metal along my skin. I yipped and screamed and moaned and gasped. Sensations wonderful, sharp, and delicious covering my body. He delighted in my sounds, repeating motions that created his favorite sounds. Drawing red designs in my flesh, but not cutting, never cutting, though oh did it feel like he was. Delighting in the twitching, tickling that drove me crazy, and the moan of satisfaction at the sharp stabbing that ended it. Until I could take no more, and raised my arms to him, and he entered them wrapping our arms around each other and just holding tight, sharing our love for each other.
And those were the good parts. But both scenes had parts that I will remember separately from the wonderfulness that I enjoyed with my partners. Both scenes had the intrusions that are the reason I shy away from public play. The beginning of the first scene was repeatedly intruded upon by our other lovers, poking and pinching me as though they were included in the scene by default, without asking. The second scene, others were invited to listen and comment on the noises I was making, and He held other conversations apart from our scene. Minor distractions and intrusion, but annoying to me, when I want to have a scene where I can lose myself in the scene and Be with my partner. Perhaps that is asking too much in public?
August 5th, 2009
Years ago, I began to learn orgasm control. I had Doms who required me to ask permission before orgasming, and I picked it up fairly quickly. About a year ago, I began learning to orgasm on command and to control them. To make them soft, or hard, to keep going or to stop short, depending on what was demanded of me. To even have orgasms, if commanded, in the middle of a crowded restaurant with very little stimuli other than his voice. Above all, to not orgasm without express permission while I am with him, no matter what. (No one has yet tried to control my activities when I am alone.)
All this considered, it is not to say that every commanded or permitted orgasm is equal. They are not all as intense or satisfying. I still get reliably better orgasms from fingers or tongue(depending on the wielder of such) than from intercourse. I can have incredibly intense orgasms out of painful pleasure, and softly satisfying ones from sex. That is not to say I don’t have great sex, or even occasional great orgasms during sex. It all depends on build up, mood and balancing everything just so.
A word about how I’ve been trained, as some people find it very interesting. I’ve been trained to orgasm on the count of three. Some people like to play with this, randomly counting to three, but it doesn’t work like that. As with many things in life and the scene, it is the intention behind the words and the control taken by the speaker and given by me. It is also a very vocal trigger at this point. I was recently asked if counting by showing fingers would work. I suppose I could learn to work off that as a trigger, but it is very much connected to the sound right now. I like to hear the words, the emotions and the command in his voice.