Special Request
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.”
“Yes, sir.”
“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, what?”
“Please, I want you.”
“Oh?”
“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.”
“Yes, sir.”
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.”
“Yes?”
“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?”
“No, headmaster.”
“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?”
“Yes, headmaster.”
“Did you know the man who left here this morning?”
“Yes, headmaster.”
“I see. And did you know he was in your room?”
“Yes, headmaster.”
“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?”
“No, headmaster.”
“Tell me.”
“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?”
“Yes, headmaster.”
“By rights, you should be expelled and a letter sent home to your parents.”
“Yes, headmaster.”
“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?”
“Yes, headmaster.”
“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, what?”
“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.
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
December 22nd, 2011
A silly little story for the holidays.
“Come here, young lady, sit on Santa’s lap.”
He didn’t look like any Santa she had ever seen before. Sure he was dressed in a fur-lined red hat, and black fur-lined boots, but that’s where the similarities stopped. He had on tight red leather pants and an unbuttoned red leather vest. And his short trimmed beard was far from white. Oh, his eyes twinkled with merriment, but his stomach certainly did not resemble jelly.
She walked forward slowly, chewing on her lower lip, eyes darting from the floor up to him and back down again. What was he playing at? She sat down on his knee, tugging belatedly on the hem of her very short red silk dress.
“There now, have you been a good little girl this year?”
“I…” She looked into his eyes, crinkling with laughter and made a decision. “I’ve been good at it.”
“Oh-ho-ho. Have you, now?”
“Yes.” She sat up straighter.
“Good at what, precisely, little girl?”
“At being naughty, Santa. Isn’t that why you’re here?” She grinned at him as he laughed again.
“Yes, yes it is. You’re right at the top of the naughty list, and I thought a personal visit might be in order.”
“I’m flattered. The top of the list, you say? Very flattered.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed herself against his chest.
“Yes, I’m sure you are.” He snaked one hand up her back and settled it on her neck. “But I haven’t come for a demonstration.” He spun her around and over the knee she had been sitting on, and lifted her skirt. “I didn’t think coal would quite get the message across this year.”
She squirmed and spluttered, but he held her fast with his left hand as his right lifted the back of her dress and then pulled down her black silk panties. The first smack sent shivers through her body and she yelped. He did not pause, but when straight to his work, spanking her harder and harder, til her yelps turned to moans and her moans turned to tears. She writhed in his lap, not daring to put her hands behind her, crying as her ass turned as red as his clothing.
“Oh, and I must not forget your present.” He paused and reached into the sack beside him, pulling out a wooden paddle. Engraved on one side was the word Naughty and on the other, Nice. “Just so you remember.”
He flipped the paddle so that Nice was facing her already bruise bottom and brought it down hard. She screamed and flailed, but he held her tightly and brought it down again, in exactly the same spot. Over and over, creating a purple outline of Nice in the reddened flesh. She slumped in his lap, sobbing but accepting as he took a couple more shots, just to make sure it would last. Then he let her slide to the floor, and kneel with her eyes on his boots.
After a few minutes, she collected herself and looked up at him. “Thank you, Santa.”
“You’re welcome, young lady. Now, which list will you be on next year?”
“With that paddle, Santa, I think I’ll try and make the top of Both lists.”
He laughed and scooped her up into a hug and a deep kiss.
Merry Christmas, Happy Yule and whatever other holidays you may celebrate, may they be filled with love, laughter and kinkiness.
Lessons and Going Home
July 7th, 2011
Been a busy time lately, sorry for not posting last week. Here’s what should have gone up, a silly little post of lessons learned.
Had a good time at practice, and learned a few lessons. Let me share them with you.
- The correct answer to “Do you think I can hit your nose with this Dragon Tail?” is “Yes, I do, but please don’t.” instead of nodding and standing very still, hoping he’ll just snap it in front of you a few times.
- Dragon Tail strikes to the mouth a) hurt like hell, b) are scary, and c) leave the area feeling indented. The first two made me cry instantly, the third was a very odd sensation.
- I am not fond of the use of an extra large shoe horn as a paddle.
- “For love and service” is a good phrase that I learned from hubby’s girlfriend, to describe why one might still take the shoe horn even if one doesn’t particularly like it. I agree with these reasons, but also tend to take things because the after affects are what I’m really after.
- Keep still – Don’t move the target he is aiming at. I (re)learned this rule, and also that I really can do it when properly motivated.
- Canes on the top of the feet/toes hurt a helluva lot.
- The toe next to my big toe acts as a fulcrum to a cane, and thus gets the most bruised.
This past weekend, I went home. Well, to the closest thing I have to “going home.” I went to visit a few friends from High School. One who I still consider one of my best friends, and a couple that I still see/talk to on occasion, and their respective families and friends. Hubby and his girlfriend were going up, too, though they were going elsewhere the first evening.
The couple was hosting a 4th of July picnic. I didn’t know who was going to be there, and spent the drive wondering if maybe some others from school would be. I was also pretty sure I had not spoken to them since I began this journey into kink and poly. I had some Dragon Tail kisses on my thighs and some bruises on my calves. It was warm out, but I decided that the marks were a little too much and wore jeans. Hubby and his girlfriend were just dropping me off, so I wasn’t really worried about questions, but we did discuss that she was just a friend for the weekend in reference to anyone from home.
People didn’t question my jeans, especially as the weather was rather windy and stormy, and no one asked about the random girl in the car. But I felt uncomfortable. I was careful what I said around everyone, but my best friend who was thankfully there, as well. I only made one poly-oriented comment, and no one took it seriously. As I stared into the campfire, later in the evening, I found my shoulders tensing quite badly. I was around a lot of people I didn’t know and I was having to hide who I was. It was good to see my friends, but I did not like putting that mask back on.
That night and the next day were somewhat better. The marks had faded a little more, and I was only going to be around my best friend and her parents, so I could wear shorts while kayaking. Hubby and his girlfriend would be there, too, but though my best friend knows the truth, her parents easily accepted that she was just a friend. Her dad did ask once, possibly due to the high heeled boots in the car, but accepted the story I gave him. The crowd of strangers that were expected to canoe with us got ahead and we never caught them, so that stress stayed away. I was still wearing a mask this day, but it was less strenuous than the night before.
Beaten in/to Submission
June 16th, 2011
They tell me that I don’t let things go. I don’t like letting things go. I’ve let too many things go already. Not Things – hubby will tell you I purge junk from our home far more than he approves of, usually followed or preceded by moving, which he also thinks we do too much of. But I don’t let of of people very easily. I don’t let go of negative feelings very easily – I tend to bury them if I don’t get them out quickly and they come back to haunt me. I do this with stress, too. I have very wonderful support and help solving problems and rectifying situations, but I hold onto the stress. I can’t solve other people’s problems, but I hold onto the stress created by the problem. Occasionally, it becomes too much. I am set adrift by my own emotions and hormones and I start drowning in the stress. At times like these, I run to the woods, I yearn for campfires, I want to cry, I want someone to draw the stress out of me, I want to be beaten to a pulp or tied too tight into a little ball.
Last week, I ran to the woods. I found quiet in the trees. But it was cold, and there was marching band practice nearby, and an organ and a piano. So, after watching some black-winged damsel flies for as long as I could stand it, I went for a drive in the country. Going a little too fast, but not dangerously so, and enjoyed the sunshine and the peace of having nowhere to be.
This week, I was beaten in/to submission.
When I was meditating early in the evening, my brain was wandering. Should I be Miss? Aren’t toy and I fairly equal come down to it on Monday night? Does Miss disrupt my subspace? Where do I find my submission to him these days? In my meditation, in the rubber bands, in my clothing choices, in my service to him. And lately, in our Monday nights, it has been a growing opportunity for subspace again. Something to talk about when renegotiation comes up.
He, toy and I played a bit. Seeing if I could keep a rubber mallet type thing going on her ass while he smacked us both with various things. Dragon tails kissing our flesh as we squealed. An electric flyswatter that had us whimpering before he even got near. A wicked stick. A paddle. Even the cricket bat that I immediately knelt up to receive. Then the order to snuggle while he had a conversation elsewhere.
Hubby’s girl was practicing flogging while hubby worked on my laptop. He was watching and called me over to be a practice bottom for her. Shirt off, bra off, glasses off, hold the cross. Show her where her aim was. A few strikes, she was nervous, he showed her his strikes, and they practiced a bit more. I love watching him teach. This is one skill I haven’t tried to pick up yet, as a top, anyway, though I occasionally ponder it’s physical benefits, if not my ability to top a flogging scene. Then he leaves her to her own devices and turns to me.
He struck hard and fast, just heavy, short leather floggers, though I could have sworn he’d grabbed the rubber mops. I clutched the cross and screamed and groaned and gasped and moaned. He dropped me fast, and I pulled myself back up the first few times. In tears so quickly. He changed rhythm, backed off, came on. Then I dropped to my knees and he kept going, so I curled up, offering my back, but unable to stand and he kept going. I worried that he would stop because I wasn’t standing, but he kept going.
I knelt, I crumbled, I twisted, turned and cried. He backed off for a moment and I dragged myself back up the cross. On he came, three strikes and I was down again. And he kept going. This time I managed to kneel properly a few times, between curling up into a ball and sprawling on the floor. Always conscious of where he was and trying to keep my back offered to him. I could not stand, but I did not want him to stop.
Toy was being teased for wanting to rescue me, just a little.
“Do you want rescued, Miss?”
“No, Toy!”
“Well, if you want more, you have to get up.” He chimed in. “If you fall again, we’re done.”
I got to my knees, not good enough, up onto the cross. Clutching it for dear life as he tore back into me. Screaming and shaking the cross, I don’t know how many I lasted, it was more than three, but not by much. I fell again, in tears, but not disappointed. Toy was there, against my side. I caught a breath, thanked her and asked for a moment alone. She went to get water, and I cowered for a moment longer, and then knelt properly, before the cross and just let myself cry. Just tears, no remorse, no upset, just tears.
I notice hubby’s girl didn’t stop the entire time. With all my screaming and thrashing right beside her, she kept on practicing. Good on her.
“Is that what you needed?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, so much.” Hugs and kisses.
Toy is nearby, with water. I go to her, snuggle and stroke her hair. I won’t go to the bed yet, I’m not ready to collapse. Stubborn, I drink the water, waiting for the shaking to start. Teasing and tickling for a few moments. Coming back to reality before I crash.
And I do. We go to the couch, she wraps me up and holds me tight while the cold and shivers run through me. It’s late though, so we’re up again in no time, packing up and heading home.
So, why did I say I was beaten in/to submission? What do I mean? I was flogged while in my submissive state. I was in subspace, standing there half dressed at the cross. I was in subspace, offering him my back, as best I could, no matter where I was. I was in subspace, unaware of the rest of the dungeon unless it intruded quite loudly. I was also beaten to submission. To points when I didn’t know if I could take anymore and let him decide. And eventually, to the point where I gave up completely, without any regret that I had not gone far enough. He even commented later that I’d given up. I agreed, he was tipping the floggers a lot and the sting became too much. But I was not disappointed in myself like I might have been other times. I went as long and as far as I could that night, and he stayed with me the entire way, taking every bit that I would give him.
Some people ask why I get flogged, more especially, why I sometimes get flogged like that. No long and gentle warm up, no tender cool down, no rhythmic six count to the music. Just rough and tumble, heavy strikes, sharp strikes, relentless strikes. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the former, too. But the answer is because sometimes, I need it. I need a cathartic release so powerful and strong, that nothing else will do. I need the stress to be ripped violently from my body because I cling to it so tightly that I can’t just let it go. I am so grateful that he is able to do that for me. And I love the marks and the residual pain that keep me glowing for days after.
So, readers, what do you do to relieve/release stress? Kinky or vanilla?
First Monday
May 12th, 2011
Tonight is Rope, maybe even suspension.
We arrive on time, head in and start cleaning. Check list complete, change clothes and cuddle up to talk and wait. He is home, a couple minutes to spare. We have a short talk about the cleaning and what it brought up. Toy and I go downstairs with tub #1, but he calls us back up because we’re giggling and he’s making himself dinner.
Down again when he’s done and into the recently cleaned playspace. I sit on one leg of the bishop’s chair and toy curls up at my feet. He likes the image of us there, and puts up the suspension ring.
Toy is pulled out to the mat, put on her knees, blindfolded and her arms bound in bondage tape. She immediately begins fidgeting with it. Up to the bishop’s chair, strapped in securely. Told to listen, be aware and think.
I am brought to the mat, stripped down, pesky new skirt takes some effort. He grabs a couple lengths of hemp. Arms bound behind the back, and then ropes around the upper arm, near the shoulder and then near the elbow. A simple box-tie, and then up to the ring. He grabs my legs and I’m in the air. Wow, interesting, ow, not so nice, squeezing the arms. Remember to breathe in between moans, and down again. So nice to be experimenting again, I tell him where it hurt and he moves some the ropes down a bit. Up again, the pressure shifted, better, but still uncomfortable, but oh so interesting. And then I’m upside down, and he’s giggling. Breathing ever so irregular, but it doesn’t really matter. I feel secure and bound. He drops one leg, but I don’t touch down until he lowers the other.
Order gets fuzzy here. He opens the chest of toys. I think the riding crop comes out first. Swats toy’s thighs and then my legs. Mmm, nice little riding crop. He digs deeper, finds the paddle with speed holes. A few swats on my ass. So painful, I spin and squeal. He digs again, nipple clamps this time, it’s a kind I’ve never tried. I yelp and he says he doesn’t have to be nice here. No, Sir. My heart races. He digs out clips for toy as well. Uncle comes out then. Oh how I’ve missed it. Ass, thighs, breasts. Are you ready, toy? Toy gets a few swats as well. He scolds me to be quiet for the neighbors. He doesn’t have to be nice here, but I should be quieter. Yanks on the chain. One comes off. The other is for Uncle. I whimper, my eyes pleading. He doesn’t have to be nice here. No, Sir. And off it comes. Leaves me to stew. Something scary that she’s going to like, toy says. And he pulls out the TENs, puts in on her thighs. I watch intently, curious how she’ll find it. She doesn’t say much. Intriguing and a few whimpers.
Toy’s hand has gone numb from the tape. He cuts her out, unstraps her from the chair and sets me off the mat. Grabs the sawhorse to put behind me and lays her down on it. Ties one hand with jute and then comes back to me. Takes me down, unties the rope, hands it to me. I drop to my knees to coil it while he ties her more securely. Jute on the wrists and cuffs on the ankles.
We tickle her first, one at either end. He pinches her sore nipples, she squeals and squirms, quite trapped and helpless. He gets a Violet Wand. Paintbrush attachment. I hear happy trees in my head as he starts painting her skin. I tickle a little at first, but then notice I’m getting mild vibration in my fingertips, so I just run them lightly on her skin, not sure if she can even tell, or if her mind is totally captured by the shocks. He asks her questions and she struggles to answer. Teases, and plays, we grin over her helpless form. He threatens a straight rod, but grabs a bulb with a coil inside, playing over her skin. We circle her, still questioning. She loses track, forgets to answer, forgets the questions. He turns it off, torments more, she still can’t answer, forgets more questions. I know the questions, I can help, I mustn’t. We could leave her there, go for a drive… He turns out the light and we back off, watching. Waiting, tasty energy. She can’t remember the question, Sir. He sends me off for Gatorade. I return, still watching and get dressed.
The light goes back on and he unties her hands, sits her up on the horse. Bends me over the end she just emptied and pulls out the speed hole paddle again. Paddles me as I squeal and squirm. Quiet not forgotten, but nearly impossible. I even cover my mouth with my hands a few times. He has me hold the paddle. It’s light, Sir. What? Light wood, Sir. I want to apologize, it hurts like hell, but the wood and the holes make it lighter than I expected. Should she have more, toy? Yes, Sir. And more come, skirt up this time. Stings so much, and I start to slip into painspace. Yelps turning to moans and heavy breathing. But then he undoes her ankles and bends her over, too. Swats her ass some.
There are twenty more, toy. Do you want them? Or does she get them? Or do you want to share?
I want to tell her we should share, but he’s asking toy, I have to be quiet.
Toy’ll take them.
As hard as I can swing?
And then she starts using my name and I add to the torment.
Oh, no, Sir. She can have them.
I thought I was Miss, toy?
She can have them.
I thought I was Miss, toy?
Oh, no, sorry, Miss. Toy’ll take them.
All forty?
Oh no, Sir.
No? So, she gets them? I thought you liked protecting people, toy? Don’t you want to protect her? Her ass is already quite bruised.
Toy’ll take them.
All forty?
Yes, Sir.
Will you count for me, toy?
Yes, Sir.
And forty whacks, she counts beautifully.
Paddle goes down, he gives instructions for clean up and goes to the couch. Toy and I clean up, putting everything away but the cuffs on her ankles. He says they can stay. Then we join him on the couch. Snuggles, light chat, and Human Cent-Ipad. Toy is a bit traumatized, so we watch Children’s Hospital which is all sorts of odd, and silly. He sets up the chair and we start in on his back and shoulders. My wrists are being funky. He asks me to set up the table. We move over and I have a better angle. I mirror toy, her hands are stronger, but I do my best. Turns over and we finish working his arms. Then he grabs toy and torments her with logic, while I stroke his hair and giggle. She is aroused and I am amused. We finish aftercare between the kitchen and the couch. Talking, Dr. Who and snuggling, a great first night.
Day One – Define Your Kinky Self
January 1st, 2011
To start the New Year, I am going to attempt the meme: 30 Days of Kink. This is Day One, that I wrote as a guest post for Insatiable Desire.
Dom, sub, switch? What parts of BDSM interest you? Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self for us.
The first question seems simple. The second question leaves things far more wide open. The third asks for specifics. And the last oversimplifies the whole thing. Defining oneself is an ongoing process made up of all the other questions. So, one at a time, shall we?
Dom, sub, switch? Sub. I am a submissive in my kinky journey. I am submissive to my partners to varying degrees. I relish giving control to those I love and trust. I have no desire to be dominant. I have no desire to take control in a kinky setting. I do provide service topping for electric scenes, but even then, I am in the role of pleasing the person I am working on, providing for what they want.
What parts of BDSM interest you? Well, let’s break down that acornym. Bondage – yes. I enjoy bondage in rope, leather, chains, canvas, plastic, tape, and mental bondage. Discipline – yes. I enjoy having rules and penalties for breaking said rules. Dominance – yes. Submission – yes. As I said, I am submissive and enjoy giving control up to the dominants in my life. Sadism – yes. Masochism – yes. I am a masochist, and enjoy the sadistic tendencies of my partners. So, all parts of BDSM interest me in the very narrow definition of each of those letters, but let’s move on to more specifics.
Give us an interesting in depth definition of what that means to you. BDSM, to me, means exploration. It means pushing and learning and sharing and teaching. It means spending hours in ropes and straitjackets. It means nipple clamps and clothes pins. It means floggers and paddles and canes and drumsticks. It means blindfolds and hoods and collars and shackles. It means knives and needles and sparklers and snakes. It means single tails and dragon tails and stun guns and violet wands. It means giving up control of my body and my mind. It means kneeling for half an hour every day. It means standing back up after every strike that knocks me to my knees. It means relaxing in a cocoon of duct tape and saran wrap. It means pinches and smacks and slaps and bites and punches and kicks. It means cuts and bruises and scabs and scars. It means screams and tears and squeaks and laughter. It means massages and boot blacking and taking care of his gear. It means love and joy and connection. It means experiences so wonderful, awesome and intense that there are not enough words to express them. And it means trying anyway, because it is too important not to share.
Basically define your kinky self for us. I am kinky, submissive, polyamorous, a pain slut, a rope slut, a slave, a brat, a smart-assed masochist, a bottom, a service top and a service submissive.
Joy in Pain
July 8th, 2010
Last night was an wonderful scene. It started out as teaching a new person about how we flog. He dragged me up from kneeling by the hair and asked if this piece of meat would do. She agreed and I was tossed up on the cross, shirt pulled up and targets drawn on my back. She had very light flogs and he had a set of heavy rubber ones. It was a good warm up, heavy hits between teaching and light swings. Hands as well as flogs. I enjoy helping teach new people, even if I don’t have the skill myself, I’ve learned to give feedback as a bottom. She went out to smoke and he took back the scene.
He used his hands, the heavy flogs, the really big deerskin flog(mmm… oh how I’ve missed that one), some slappers and paddles and a cane, the dragon tail, the stun gun and the electric fly swatter and a leather strap – on my back, my ass, my legs, my breasts, my feet, my arms, my crotch. It was a heavy scene, but not a full throttle flogging. He let me react to the hits – scream, jerk, fall, twitch – however I wanted to. He waited for me to return to position. I love that, I love holding myself on the cross, and getting back up to offer my body to him again and again.
He often came around in front of me, behind the cross to look at my face, to smile at me, and ask if I was crying yet. I was almost always smiling. He commented on it, he was not hurting me enough, I was still smiling. Where were the tears? It was such a joyous scene for me.
I was happy. I was not looking for a cathartic release, it had been a good week. I wanted to play with him, I wanted to submit to him, to give him my body for our pleasure. I did not need to be moved to tears, beaten to a pulp so I could relax. I always enjoy our scenes, find joy in our scenes. But last night it made me smile from start to finish. The kind of smiles that once drove a photographer crazy.
Even when I cried, triggered by a painful strike and continued by fear of the stun gun, it did not last very long. I was too happy and the energy was not the kind for tears. At the end, when I Sir-ed him, and said I wanted to please him by pleasuring his cock, and forgot the Sir. I was, even then, grinning and happy and full of joy and love for him.
What Turns You On?
April 15th, 2010
I often think of this question in terms of the physical. What can he DO to turn me on? This is often the easy answer, the safe answer. It involves the surface of my being. Often it involves involuntary physical reactions. Kissing, licking, sucking, touching, groping – these things are meant to turn us on. Spanking, pinching, biting, paddling, caning, whipping, squeezing, grabbing, holding, restraining – these things turn on a masochist, it is no secret.
But what about mentally,what about my fantasies, what do I think about to get turned on? This is more risky territory. These are things that aren’t straight forward, are more vulnerable and personal. Not that I think my fantasies are unique to me, if you can imagine it, you can find it on the internet, after all. But to offer my thoughts and my mind has always been riskier than offering my body. The hurt when my thoughts are rejected is far higher than when my physical desires are rejected.
So, what are my fantasies? What are my daydreams? What do I think about to get turned on?
School girl. Kidnap victim. Slave girl. Are my top three.
1)School girl. Typical short skirt, white panties, button up top. It always involves getting in trouble and being made to bend over a desk for a spanking or paddling. It then generally devolves into sex on the desk. Sometimes it begins by being caught having sex on school grounds. Sometimes it involves bad grades or incomplete assignments, and trying to trade favors for good grades.
2)Kidnap victim. Blindfold, duct tape, handcuffs, rope, being driven off in the back of a van. Stripped naked, threat of violence for noncompliance. Photos or video taken as blackmail. Forced to pose or perform sexual acts seemingly willingly for the camera.
3)Slave girl. Collar, shackles, little else. Taught to please and serve. Often involves being raised specifically for this purpose and and may start with meeting the one I was raised to serve, or being shown and tested to find a buyer. Occasionally, involves being taken prisoner and forced into slavery for a more rebellious and discipline oriented fantasy.
So, what turns you on?
Control
June 10th, 2009
Control. I look for control in my life, control of my life. In the day to day, there are lots of things out of my control. There are also things I am trying to take more control over: my career, my health, my future. In the scene, I am drawn to people who are in control: of themselves, of their surroundings, of their lives.
I enjoy bondage, giving up control of my body, of movement. In suspension, I am giving up even more control, I may be able to control my spin or the swing to some extent, but only if my rigger allows it. Bondage is freedom, as many say. It is, to me, giving up all physical control and a setting free of the mind. Therefore my rigger needs to be someone who I can give up that control to, needs to be someone I view as in complete control of himself and his surroundings.
The same goes for pain scenes. I must believe he is in complete control of himself, the scene, of the pain he is causing. In harder scenes, I also need him in control of me either mentally or physically, and sometimes both.
My scene at the play party was a good example. He strung me up quickly and securely, and went straight to the flogger. It wrapped around my hip, but I knew he was doing it on purpose and he even teased me about it, letting the peanut gallery know he was in complete control as well. The paddles struck hard and as I spun and yelped he grinned and kept my eyes, growling softly, stalking me, planning each strike. As he grabbed for the leather tails to finish, and I dropped into pain space, breathing heavily, he caught me with his eyes and held me as firmly as the rope on my wrists. Then we finished with his favorite, forced, controlled orgasms as I hung, exhausted from the ring. A scene in less than fifteen minutes, start to finish, and completely controlled.