March 3rd, 2011
A year ago tomorrow, I wrote a post about needles. Last night I experience needle play for the first time. He put one needle in each breast, and he and hubby pulled them out at the same time. Here is my story.
We’re going to need you. Toy and I. Physically and mentally, we’re going to need your support tonight, to watch the demo portion of the needle class. A hard limit for us both, but we are curious and want to learn the information. I’ve been preparing for needle play for over a year. She barely wants to go.
He is prepared, has a plan, and restraints. The class gathers and he cuffs our wrists to each other, my right to Toy’s left. Then shackles me to a riser, left ankle to a handle on solid wood. There are blindfolds nearby, should watching become more than we can handle. I’m already halfway through a glass of water when the class begins.
Safety first. Always. Cleaning supplies, gloves, first aid. Listening intently, safety quiets the panic. Veins and nerves must be avoided – like rope, I tell myself. Health inspectors and the law, public versus private.
The doll gets naked as we learn about the needles. The types of needles, the parts, the shape. The bevel could be like an airplane, but maybe backwards – don’t ask, it’s origami gone horribly wrong.
We get demonstration of cleaning and preparing, the site and the sub. Remember to breathe, always remember to breathe, and remind them to breathe.
The movement of the needle described in detail, I cannot watch. I have to watch. Toy is hiding against me. Oh god, I can’t watch that. Different sizes, higher numbers are smaller – I have 25s, they’re apparently for babies. I’m okay with that.
He sits in front of us, I hold his shoulder, pet his hair, finding comfort in his solidity.
You can run line through the needles, leave it there and take the needles out. Oh god, now there’s blood. Toy and I hide against each other. He tells us to watch.
Ribbon now, connecting them all together into a pretty corset. Pretty from here, if you don’t look too close. And now he ties the center of the ribbons all together and tugs. We’re hiding again and he’s pulling our eyes back to the scene. Look at that blood. Didn’t someone tell me needle holes weren’t supposed to bleed. I swear someone said that once. Oh gods, why do they keep pulling on it?
He’s uncuffed my ankle at some point, I don’t remember when, and cuffed it to another girl who is enjoying the show, though she arrived late. Class is over on time and now it’s time for folks to try it out.
He unshackles me, collars her and leaves us sit with the needleplay box I gave him last year. We curl up and chat with folk, the only part of the room not filled with needle tossing. Calming and relaxing, I warn her, he has plans. She just says no.
He gets an experienced bottom, tosses two in a pain button and calls us over. We watch him put in the next two. Double dipping pain button, and then she offers him a 14. Oh dear gods, look at that thing, it’s HUGE. I can hardly look at it, let alone watch it go in her, under the other two. Dear gods it’s huge. There is a screaming contest and then a quiet contest. Then he cleans her up.
Our turn. Toy shakes her head. But just one? If you do one, Toy, she’ll have to do two. Are you okay with that? I’ve already agreed to a couple, sure. Okay. One for Toy, two for me. We hop up on the table, hands still cuffed, fingers intertwining.
Where, Toy? Thigh, below the writing, above the knee. Help her breathe. I am terrified, we look at each other and I control the breath. Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… and on and on. He puts hers in, double dipping through her thigh. She does well, cringing but not screaming. Feels like a fucking needle in her thigh. But she is fine and breathing.
Now me. Where? I don’t know. Scared, confused, not very fleshy. Hubby says breasts, so I take off my shirt and bra, one handed. He taps my chest. Here? No, lower, please. Aww… He offers hubby first kiss. I kiss hubby, near tears. He kisses me, too, then turns my head to Toy. Breathe in… Breathe out… she intones. I am freaking out more than she did. Choking breaths. Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… One needle in, I barely felt it. Breathe in… Breathe out… The second one he does less deep and I squeal. Breathe in… Breathe out… and squeal again… Breathe in… Breathe out… Two needles in. One in each breast. I snap my head back to him, he is grinning and happy and bouncy as he has been since the first needle that night. I’m breathing too hard. Slow down. My hands are numb. That’s okay, don’t breathe so hard. Breathe in… Breathe out… Kisses again. You know that if you went deeper on that second one, it wouldn’t have hurt her so much, hubby notes. Yes, he says, I wanted it to hurt.
So, your hubby gets two as well? No. Speak up? Two more? No more. I heard One more, speak up. No more. Please, no more right now. So, I can leave those in for a while? Light headed. Breathe, don’t hyperventilate. My arms are numb from the elbow down. Okay so should I take them out one at a time? Or hubby and I both take one at the same time. Yes, that, both. On three. One, two, three. I squeal again. Another kiss. Thank you. Toy’s comes out, too, after we convince her that out hurts less.
We hold each other for a bit on the table, she starts to drop and we move to the bed. Snuggles, all three of us curled up together. Warm, happy, crazy. We did needles tonight. First time ever. OMG, we did needles. He strokes and pinches and pets. Comfort, love and quiet.
Head hurts, ears are leaking, but oh so incredibly happy. We made his week. He made mine. Hubby even helped. Will I offer it again? As punishment? Yes, I can see offering it again. It made him so happy and bouncy. I like playing with fear, and offering limits as atonement.
Dear gods, I had needles in my breasts last night. Wow. Still buzzing.
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?
September 23rd, 2009
There was a recent discussion that masochists aren’t into “pain” they are into intense sensations. Based on the fact that we don’t get off on just any pain we suffer. Stubbing a toe, chronic pain, headaches, sore throats are all types of pain, but they are (generally) not turn ons for masochists. It’s intense sensations that we like, from a broad range of stimuli. This is very true for me, I enjoy the rush of intense pain and pleasure, and the mingling of those sensations all together.
Someone asked recently about processing pain. I want to turn that into a discussion of processing intense sensations of all kinds. I process in various ways, internally and externally. I process by making noise, by breath, by physical connection, by visual connection and by orgasm. Let me take these one at a time.
Noise. Anyone who has been around when I play knows that I am not quiet. I have been called tortured puppy, a mouse and delicious for the sounds I make. The type of noise changes depending on what is happening and how I’m dealing with it. Whimpers of anticipation. Begging in fear. Yips of pain. Moans of pleasure. Safe words when it is too much. I get louder with the intensity of the stimuli, until it crests over into needing another form of processing. I start with noise and then move on.
Breath. When noise is no longer enough, I process through breathing. Breathing with the waves, breathing the intensity in and out of my body, processing by focusing on my breath. I breathe with each strike or each stroke, take deep breaths to find control, catch my breath to narrow focus momentarily. Most importantly, keep breathing so it can all go on and on, moving all the energy through my body with every breath.
Physical connection. The next step for me is physical connection. It helps me to be touching the person causing the sensations. Having that physical link, to feel him there, to be connected to the source. It grounds me, gives me focus. If I am tied or cuffed or restrained in such a way that this is not possible, I take the physical connection from my bonds. It is not as good, but pulling on the bonds can also give me a focus, a physical link to the person who put me there.
Visual connection. If I can look into his eyes, I can take even more. That connection is stronger for me than physical. Looking into his eyes, seeing the joy, the love, the sadistic glee. Being able to share that mental energy directly, feeding back and forth. It is incredible.
Orgasm. This is one that is totally at his whim. Often though, my partners allow me to orgasm to help me process. Bringing me high and then giving me permission. I am then able to focus all the sensation down and actually release it. Let it flow through and out instead of maintaining the cycle and having it build higher and higher.
June 20th, 2009
I want to be tied up so tightly, I cannot move. I want to feel the bite of the rope in my skin. I want it to be hemp – cotton and the blends are too soft – I want to feel the teeth of the rope.
I often have the desire to be tied up and tossed in the corner, but I’ve never indulged it. I usually feel this way when things are out of control and/or full of drama. I just want a break from it – a “sorry, can’t help you, I’m a bit tied up right now,” excuse. Tossed in a corner so everyone will just leave me alone. But I never get to do it. I have made the request a couple times, but whenever I do, he asks what is wrong and we talk it out. He knows I don’t really want to be ignored and tossed aside.
This is different. It isn’t the warm wrap, or the sense of safety. I want the tying – the wrapping, the tugging, the roughness, the attention. Attention to the rope, the knots, the pattern, to my body, to my mind, to my need for the rope. I want to feel not just secure, but restrained. I don’t want to be tied to something. I just want the rope, tight and secure – only rope. Mummified would take too much rope, I don’t need to be covered in it, I just want to be completely immobilized.
Why? Because I haven’t gotten to sink into the rope for awhile. Because I play with rope a lot, but lately it hasn’t been about the rope. It’s been about escape, or pain, or sex or flying, or discipline. Sometimes I just want it to be about the rope. About the fibers digging in and taking complete control of me. About the feel of the rope on my skin, the touch of his hand as he ties, the smell of the hemp, and the strength of the wraps.