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?”
“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?
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.
February 3rd, 2011
I’ve had a stressful week and I wanted to have a cathartic release last night. But, life happens, and things did not add up to that. I did, however, manage to find a comfort, and pain and solace. First, in a little hand held TENs, run along my lower arms for a few minutes, to let me get lost in sensation and relax a little. Second, in curling up between friends, warmth and snuggles to just not worry about things for a while. Third, in poking him and getting poked back, first a few pressure points, and then his hand in my hair. He held me tightly, dragging my head around to wherever he wanted it. Eyes closed, mouth open, gasping and losing myself in the intense sensation and bliss of his hand in my hair.
It was not a lot, but it was enough. Enough to give me some relief. Enough to make me feel loved. Enough to lighten my load and make me smile and fill me with gratitude.
December 17th, 2010
“Do you want to go a round?”
He had the jute in his hand and on his belt. He let me smell it, natural smell – not hemp, but not synthetic or horses, either. Holding it, he looked me up and down, considering. Turned me to face away and put my arms into a box tie.
“How are your shoulders?”
“Right’s a little pinchy, but much better than they have been lately.”
Tie the wrists, the bite of the natural fibers makes me happy, smiling as he warps it around me. Two lengths of eight meters around my arms and chest, wrapping, cinching down, tight, but so very comfortable.
A bit of a length left when he has me secure, and up between the legs, catching the skirt to protect the rope. Yelping as he yanks and then led around the room.
“Keep up, that’s my bad shoulder. Is it in the right place?”
The grin as he yanks a few more times and then lets it go, finishing it off in the back. Turning me to inspect and show off the work, he stops in front of me. A hand to the throat and he pushes me quickly back into the other room and tosses me on the couch.
“Feet up, prisoner tie.”
I scoot back on the couch, cross my booted ankles, trying to balance and get comfortable for what is sure to be a long tie. The third and final piece quickly secures my ankles to each other and then around to my neck. A comfortable bend for the moment, the jute biting into my skin. So delicious.
Off he goes again, returning with a Japanese washcloth to blindfold me, covering most of my face. And a leather gag to go underneath. The gag is small and flat so my moment of panic is minimized as I adjust, digging my teeth into it.
And here I lose coherent time line. I remember sinking into the rope, into the darkness, listening to conversations around me. I remember changing positions for more comfort, for legs, for back, for neck. I don’t remember how the nipple clamps arrived, but they did. I don’t remember how the other girl came to be tied, but I think it was after the nipple clamps were handed off to another girl to tug on. There was talk of envy of my position. There was talk of requests to be made. And there was tugging and pain and squeaking from me as he tied the her beside me.
I was unbalanced on the couch, squirming to try and move back, my hips were getting strange pressure. When he got her done, he lifted and shoved me further back onto the couch. Gratitude mumbled through the gag.
The tied one wanted to help pull the chain. Something caught his attention from the outer room. He left me, I heard him walk away, his voice leaving the room, but still audible. Panic, kept in check, but bubbling, as I strained to keep his voice in my ears while the first assistant continued to torment my nipples. The one beside me wanted to help, but her hands were tied. Someone else got involved and they moved her into position, got her head in my lap, so she could pull on it with her teeth. His voice returned.
“I was only gone a couple minutes and look at this…”
Multiple people were involved now, a chain of torment starting at my nipples and ending with his amusement. Blindfolded and squealing I had no clear picture of what was going on. It was a writhing mass of energy in front of me, I could identify the players, but not the actions. I knew only that the tied girl was delighted to have the chain in her teeth.
Positions changed and people moved, and there was a slip. I caught a shoulder in the throat. Instant panic and pain, but not the pain I expected. He was there, his voice breaking through my coughing, making sure I was alright. Yes, but still coughing, still panicking, fighting for control. He grabbed it, shoved me back into my place and helped me find my control again.
Camera flashes now. Our photographer capturing the scene. Teeth on chain, both of us squirming and writhing, squeaking and squealing from me. They encourage her to pull harder. I think she was the first to pull one off. The other is yanked free, and they are reset while I whimper.
He sits beside me, landing on a joint and I cringe at the bad pain, but he drops me back into the good pain and rope once more. Her phone rings and her time is up. The first one takes back the chain as he unties.
She sets back to it, testing what sounds she can cause. Enjoying the squeals and the screams. I fall into pain space and breathing and she frowns. She wants squeals. It takes sudden yanks, but she gets what she wants. He hears where I am, and leans in close.
And he counts for me, very quietly, right in my ear. She yanks at his direction, sending me higher. Surprised by my command performance. He counts several times, and I focus and use the pain.
The clamps are yanked and twisted and ripped off and replaced a few more times. I shake and gasp when they are removed.
“Did you just orgasm from pain?”
I shake my head, my fingers spelling out “not without permission,” but no one sees. The shaking is the release of energy so as not to orgasm. She pulls and twists some more. My screams grow louder, the gag slides most of the way out at the harshest of the screams.
“Get that back in! You’re not done yet.”
He grabs me by the hair as she twists and pushes. Tears begin to form.
“Go on, cry.”
He holds tight and she presses harder. I scream and gasp and bite down on the gag, trying to keep it in and breathe and cry. The pain swells, and they push, and I tip over the edge. Tears falling freely and they let me go. Leave me to my release.
I cry myself out and then curl up on myself. He is sitting in front of me while they talk, I curl up my head on my own knee, but touching his shoulder. Spacing out again, in rope and darkness.
They return to the couch, either side of me after short while. Conversation continues, but my hips are starting to protest strongly. I get his attention and mumble through my gag until he understands the problem. He frees my legs, and it is enough. She holds and pets me while they continue to talk.
I shift positions, not ready to give up, but with my legs free, I can now lean back and this puts pressure on my arms. I lean forward and back, and into her and away. Finding comfort in different ways for a while longer.
Eventually, it is enough. My wrist is in too much pain. I lean forward and turn my head towards him, waiting. He asks if I am done. I nod. He asks if my arms are numb. I shake my head. He asks what the problem is, and I try a few times, but I really am done, so I spit out the gag and tell him my wrist hurts too much, from its own swelling combined with the pressure of the rope.
He asks me to stand and I try, but am still unsteady so he has me kneel instead. The ropes come off, then the blindfold and discarded gag. The last trappings of the scene gone, I begin to shake. I take the blanket, which was covering my legs through the scene, to wrap around my shoulders. He invites me back to the couch and I snuggle back into her until the shaking passes while he puts away the rope. It is still cold and I stay snuggled between them until he has to attend to other things, another girl takes his place andI am kept warm while I come fully awake. He returns and I thank him for the wonderful scene.
Warmer clothes and breakfast, bits of teasing and discussion. I am still high and spacy, but awake and aware, and so very happy. A great scene that kept us all entertained on a cold, slow night. I felt like his canvas again. Used for his art – for his rope art, for his sadism, his instigation, and his use of mental control. Given the gifts I enjoy – tight bondage, teethy rope, nipple clamps, intensity, pain, pushing boundaries, control, hair pulling, orgasms, and release to the point of tears. Incredibly grateful for the gift of that scene.