The Kilt and a Prom Dress

October 19th, 2013

He wore his kilt! Finally! In public even. And he looked awesome. I wore my old prom dress, bright red, sleeveless and down to my ankles, with black thigh-high stockings and the old red heels. The engineer in a pretty sprarkly blue dress finished out our trio. I wore mine because he promised to cut it off, I’d been trying to plan that kind of scene for years, and it was worth the wait.

 

I was sitting with a group, to the side of the stage when he came over, big knife in hand. He grabbed some fabric in my lap and sliced it down through the hem. I must have move, because his finger slipped over the hilt and he cut himself on the back corner of the blade. Not bad enough to stop the scene, mentions of the first aid kit were made, but he dragged me up and out to the middle of the stage.

Circling like a shark, he grabbed bits of cloth and slice through. A shoulder strap fell to the floor, the other was sliced, but still lay across my shoulder, keeping the dress in place. Back cleared, the knife tip made a few light passes on skin. Delicious. Down to the skirt again. Stockings, too? Whatever you want. And the knife slid through nylon and tore through elastic. Bit by bit, the dress and stockings were shredded. Until it finally slid to the floor, and was tossed aside.

Still circling, he spoke to the crowd of another thing he loved about his big knife. Smack across my ass. Yelping and he continued to smack. Spinning because I had nothing to brace against, he kept circling for a bit. Then grabbed hold, braced himself and pulled me over his knee. I flailed and squirmed and squealed, trying to find balance and he paddled my ass. Finally giving up and slumping over his knee, he paddled harder, til I slid to the floor.

Kneeling now. He continued to circle, and I lose continuity. He cut loose a bit of remaining stocking, grabbed me around the throat a moment and then tied it round my right breast. Then beat on it with the knife while I screamed. Smacked my inner thighs a few times for good measure, too.

He tore up my dress with his hands, making a long strip and gagged me with it. Holding me still, he drug the knife across my back, in slow stripes. I whimpered after he finished each one, afraid to move while the blade touched me. Then he pulled me backwards, held me tight and cut the gagging strips away.

He was up again, grabbing bits of the dress, circling around behind. Nervous, but not moving, I waited. He tried snapping a piece, like a whip, but it was too light and not shaped right. So he knotted it instead, and it made a nice bludgeon. Far heavier than I thought that dress could become. He beat my back while I arched happily into it. Then around to my thighs. More screaming and squirming. Ow! Wooden floor hurts the top of my feet.

There was also the kicking. Booted feet, kicking my thighs further apart, kicking my crotch and my inner thighs. He pointed down at his boot once, and I kissed it and then moved forward to kneel on it, not sure which he intended. Then there was more kicking, and grinding of the boot heel into my thigh.

He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the wall, pulling me up, he had to give a verbal command to get me to my feet. Then he pinned me to the wall, spanking my ass while I yelped and writhed. 1. 2. 3. Orgasming in sudden stillness. I barely mumbled Thank you, Sir, before I was tossed back to the ground.

Kneeling again, dizzy and breathless. He knelt behind me, grabbing me tight, and I think there were a few more scratches across my back. Then he bent my head back and kissed me. I smiled up at him and kissed him again. So happy.

 

I cleaned up and discovered I had put the bodice with garter straps in the wrong bag, put on my red fishnet thigh-highs anyway, and wandered for a bit. He asked if I needed anything, and I said when I got cold, I’d probably want to borrow his jacket. He gave me his black button-up shirt instead. Perfect. About the time he started negotiating with the engineer for her scene, he tossed me into the circle shackles to keep my buzz going all night long.

Edit: There was also face slapping during this scene, but I still can’t remember where it fit into the rest, not that the last few paragraphs are in very good order, but still. I kinda lose my brain when he slaps me, right down into subspace in an instant. So very, very tasty and lovely, but it wreaks havoc on my memory and sense of time.

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1950s Monday

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.

“No. You?”
“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.”

“Under it?”

“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.

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Lessons in Negotiation

December 30th, 2010

These last few weeks have provided many lessons in Negotiation. First as an observer and then as an active participant. I watched several new people learn their first lessons in trying to fence with him, and in trying to assist one of them, became part of the scene. Bear with me and I’ll tell you all about what I ended up agreeing to do. So, what have I learned?

No wishing for more wishes. This seems simple enough, most of us remember Robin Williams’ genie quoting this to Aladdin. But in the heat of the moment, when you don’t have any better ideas. A blank check, while dangerous, seems simple enough. You must, however, remember to stipulate, that it cannot be cashed in for more blank checks, otherwise, a single scene at his whim becomes many more.

Don’t forget your limits. Not that you might forget your limits such as they are, but always remember to include them in a negotiation. Whether it is telling a new partner what your limits are, or stipulating that the above blank check(s) cannot violate them. It is all well and good to push your limits when you want to, but make sure you want to.

Be specific. At all points of the negotiation, be clear and precise. What are you offering, what are you getting, what are the terms and the rules and the boundaries. “Test me!” might be a fun thing for an excited student to shout, but it behooves one to specify what they want to be tested on. “School girl outfit” can mean different things to different people. “Skirts” come in many different lengths and styles. “Tied together” sounds fun, but do you really want to leave the binding material up to his imagination? Stockings, hose, fishnets, knee-highs, socks all very important distinctions in how much leg is covered or uncovered.

Offer something of value. Different people value different things from different people. Some people value sex. Some people value service. Some people value suffering. Some value the passing of knowledge. Learn what it is that will be of value and find ways to offer it.

Be creative and then be even more creative. Don’t offer things you have already given or things he already has. Offer something new, offer something bigger, offer something more interesting. Start with new and interesting offers, and then push them one step further. And don’t be afraid to make them well rounded – paint the full picture, not just the center of it. Bootblacking is good, but bootblacking while naked and kneeling is better, and bootblacking while naked and kneeling followed by some boot worship is even more interesting.

Don’t let other people negotiate for you. Stay in control of your side of the negotiation. Keep your wits about you and keep your mouth moving. If you want to be happy with what is agreed to, stay actively engaged in the discussion. Stick up for yourself and stand your ground when you have to. You do not have to agree to everything they say, keep seeking compromises that work for both parties. Unless agreements to the contrary are already in place, you can always say no, and most times even then.

Be reasonable and trust the other people in the negotiation. If you have a real problem with something, explain it, trust that they care about you and will listen. (If you don’t trust them or they don’t care about you, well, that’s another entry entirely.) Then, negotiate to find a way to make it work for everyone. Try not to just say no, that is impossible. Look for solutions that benefit everyone. Most problems are only little bumps in the road.

Be flexible and open minded. Understand that everything is not going to go the way you want it to. Understand that your definitions may not be the same as his definitions. Accept that sometimes comfort zones are meant to be left behind, it is how you can grow. I am incredibly curious, sometimes I have to let the curiosity override the fear.

Relax and enjoy it. Negotiation is where you get to learn about the other person. You get to see how their mind works, what they like and don’t like, how they feel, what their state is. You get to know them, and get to share yourself with them. You are not going to get it all right, but you’re not going to get it all wrong,either. But if you’re both/all happy when it is over, then everyone wins. Keep talking until you’re happy.

So, I promised to let you know what I got myself into. A new friend was starting a negotiation with him, and I was offering some advice. When he was presented with that fact, he suggested that since I was trying to help out, perhaps I should join the negotiation. Her fate and mine became intertwined. We spent most of the rest of the night negotiating. When it was all said and done, we had quite the scene lined up:

Three of us, dressed as school girls (clothing was one of the largest parts of the negotiation) – Japanese, American and British, respectively (I hear there may be a chalkboard hung high up on the wall for sentence writing). We may not say no for the entire night (creativity will be flowing). The evening will start with bootblacking, and we will be available at any time for massage. At his leisure, he may put us in the dog cage (with a violet wand kit nearby), or bind us all together (quite possibly with saran wrap, followed by ice and then hot wax). And at some point during the evening, there will be a Japanese song and dance (whaddya mean I have to dance when I’m sober?) in front of an audience of undetermined size (our voluntary third musketeer is joyfully plotting choreography to the song chosen last night).

It shall be a Very interesting evening. I can hardly wait.

What are you thoughts on Negotiation? What traps have you fallen into?

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Beauty is Pain

December 9th, 2010

A lot on my mind this week, so I may end up with several posts, just going to start typing and see where I end up.

I had a couple random ideas last week. The first being around forced feminization. Wikipedia defines it as: when a man is forced to put on women’s clothes and instructed how to behave and talk Yes, I am a girl, yes, I previously owned skirts and dresses. But I only wore them for Very special occasions – weddings for the most part, once I got out of school, and the Renaissance Festivals. Currently, at his request, and because it is too cold for shorts in December, I wear skirts four days a week, not always the entire day, but two of those days, it is generally two different skirts or dresses.

I regularly have people bring me skirts and dresses to increase my “girlish” wardrobe. I am often teasingly scolded for my lack of stockings. At play parties, I am often told I need more appropriate footwear. One of the groups I’m involved with in town has caused me to buy more lingerie in two years than I have ever owned in my entire life. Last time my mother visited, I even let her take me shopping to buy multiple skirts, and bought a couple on my own at a thrift store, and I don’t even buy clothes for myself normally. As noted last week, skirts and other girl clothes are big items on my wish list this year.

I think Wikipedia would consider all this to be consensual feminization, but every now and then I pause and wonder. Wow, when did I become such a girl? And then I feel better about myself when I get an invitation to shopping event involving make-up, manicures, perfume and other such things, and I remember that I am not that much of a girlie girl. Nothing wrong with all those things, they are just not me. I’ll stick with dressing more like a girl, because it not only makes the men happy, but it also helps me feel good about myself and my body.

Second random thought was about masochism and sadism. Back to Wikipedia: Sadism is pleasure in infliction of pain or humiliation upon another person, while masochism is pleasure in receiving the pain. I went to a class taught by Midori earlier this year, where she discussed the term pain, and her preference for “intense stimulation” instead because pain can encompass so many things that are not pleasurable. But that is neither here nor there, my thoughts were running along the lines of what am I really? I identify as a pain slut, so masochist is obvious.

But I also top violet wand scenes, delight in watching him giving others intense sensations and find entertainment in my own intense sensations causing distress in others. Does this make me a sadist? The latter two are not me inflicting pain or sensation, just enjoying the results of someone else doing so. When I top electric scenes, I am not doing so to cause pain. I enjoy making people squirm and squeak, but usually I’m trying to ticklish spot. I do not go for the screaming and the expressions of pain. It is intense stimulation, I agree, but I’m doing it to teach and share my experiences and enjoyable stimulation. I do not get joy out of Causing pain and am hesitant to even try, though I can be enlisted as restraints, tickler or biter.

So, perhaps, I’m a voyeuristic sadist, enjoying watching the pain of others and occasionally being a tool to assist in the causing of the pain. I think part of that also comes from knowing how much I enjoy the sensation they are receiving. So it is a sympathetic or empathetic enjoyment, as well as enjoying the interactions for themselves and the people involved.

I think I will stop there for the moment. I have another topic to write about, but it is much bigger and more personal. So I’ll post this as it’s own post, and work on the next one separately. What are your thoughts on fashion, pain and enjoyment?



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Introverted Social Networking

October 7th, 2010

Blogging, writing, screaming to be noticed – silently. Watching the numbers on the stats graph rise and fall, seeing them fall more often than rise. What am I doing this for? Who and I doing this for? Why? Every Thursday I spend hours staring at the screen, wondering what to write about, wondering how it will be taken, if anyone will even read it, will even care. Last week someone asked to reblog a post I made and I was shocked, especially given the topic. Today I’m at a loss, after spending the afternoon rambling at him over a variety of topics, none of which is “fit to print,” as they say.

I wonder about this blog, this weekly posting on a random topic. A lot of the books I read on blogging suggested posting every day, at least a few times every day, if you really wanted to have a successful blog. I have a hard time getting one post written a week, I couldn’t imagine posting every few hours. Isn’t that what Twitter is for? Let’s not even go into how I don’t even begin to use Twitter correctly. I’m not a social person, an introvert trying to join the social network.

And I’ve got this blog in two different places, splitting my audience between a WordPress sponsored blog and my personal website. It isn’t much of a site really: the blog, a bio and a couple of pictures, but I like the theme better, and some day, maybe I’ll have a book to promote or I might review products in the sidebar. Technically, I’ll have a book to promote come November. The first of my flash fiction pieces is due out the first installment of a year long anthology on October 31st if all goes as planned. They’re looking at publishing three months worth at a time, instead of it all at once.

So what do those social people talk about, those ones who blog all the time, or use twitter correctly? Their lives, details and stories taken directly every day from what they are doing currently or did last night. Sharing far more in depth than a shy anonymous blogger like me would consider safe. Safe? I share a lot of details, and while I say this is anonymous, people who know me could probably figure it out, and I have shared it with people I trust. But to share more, would feel like an invasion of privacy, and not just theirs, but mine as well. I don’t have enough to say to the public at large to fill a blog every day. I hardly ever update my non-kinky Facebook status more than once a week.

I’m not sure why I’m sharing this strange and non-kink related ramble with you, my dear readers, other than to say it’s been a scrambled kind of day. I want to share with you more often, but I don’t know if that’s possible. Though I feel that after this post, I owe you at least one over the weekend, if not a handful of tweets as well.

Let me leave you with these thoughts. Winter is coming, I need stockings and a warm coat. It’s hard being sexy when your teeth are chattering. And no one in his right mind is going to offer his cock to distract and warm you if it looks like you’re going to bite it off involuntarily.

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Latex Fetish

August 19th, 2010

He likes latex, more than likes, drools over, pets, strokes, enjoys latex. We have window shopped latex for months. Last month, for my birthday, I bought three pieces (thanks Mom and Dad, and just keep thinking I bought work pants, okay?) – hot pants, a skirt a tank top with molded breasts. I wore the hot pants first, they were quite a hit, literally (wonderful spankings ensued). Latex makes a Lovely noise when smacked. The following weekend, the skirt and tank top. The skirt fits great, except I think I have it up a little too high, I have to fold or roll the top bit down just a little (but more wonderful spankings, and the air pocket added to the fun noises). More experimenting to figure out the best fit. The tank top… well, let’s just say, my breasts are not that shape and my torso not quite that long, so it was fairly awkward, though still quite shiny.

I had to learn a bit about latex care for these new items. Never having worried all that much about taking care of my clothes before, latex requires a bit of attention. I read up online and asked friends for suggestions. Ultimately, I went out and bought baby powder, baby shampoo and a silicone based lube. The baby powder helps in putting them on and staying comfortable in them as well as keeping them from sticking together when I store them. The baby shampoo was the recommended “mild soap” to wash them after wear and has worked quite well. The lube is used to shine them up once they’re on me. Being new to the latex fetish, I did not realize that it was generally dull, unless actively shined. The first two times they were worn, I shined them up with a soft cloth as one site suggested. But the third time, this past weekend, the skirt was just not shiny enough for him. So he told me to do it again, and when he saw I had a cloth, I could just about hear his eyes roll. “Use your hands.” I put the lube on my hands and rubbed it in for a Much better shine. As he pointed out, the cloth was absorbing more than it was transferring.

So, what’s next? I have come to really enjoy latex myself. He was right that I bought it for him and my gift was his happiness (the spankings are a good benefit, too). But I’m finding that I really enjoy wearing it. It makes me feel… shiny and sexy. I’m (window) shopping for more latex. I want more than just black for certain, but also more types of pieces. My first priority is a red (non-molded) top to go with the black bottom pieces. I am also thinking about gloves, though that might be tricky, I wouldn’t be able to do electric scenes wearing them. Stockings. I keep being told I need to get stockings. Right after which I’m told I need more appropriate footwear – high heels or shinier boots. So, having no fashion sense whatsoever, I’m thinking of: black high heels, red stockings, black skirt, red top, black gloves. Also, having no extra cash flow, this is just a dream for now, but it will hopefully become simply a goal in the near future. Then, on to other colors of the rainbow, or at least purple and blue.

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Shiny

March 12th, 2010

She was shiny. Head to toe, black latex covered not quite every inch of flesh. High heeled stiletto shoes over form fitting latex stockings, all the way up to mid thigh, stopping just short of a short slick jacket over an even shorter little black, curve-hugging dress. He was sure that if she bent over just right, he would see shiny black panties peeping out at him. Even her hands, nervously adjusting her clothes were covered in the stuff. She caught him looking at her and brightened, his smile washing away her nerves as she beamed back at him, shining as much as her clothes.

“You look good.” He held out a hand to her.

“Thank you.” She went to him, wobbling only slightly on the unfamiliar heels, stockings swishing as she walked, and took his hand.

“Turn for me.” He lifted her hand and she spun in a slow circle, giving him full view of her outfit. “You did well.”

“Glad you like it.”

He undid the belt around her coat, and pulled it aside, pushing it down off her arms to reveal bare skin from shoulder to elbow. He kissed and nibbled her skin as it was uncovered. He paused to hang the jacket on the back of his chair he turned back to her, running his hands down her smooth sides.

“I like it very much.”

He slid one hand around the back of her neck, catching her hair tightly, pulling her against himself. Kissing her softly, he ran his other hand down her back and over her ass, enjoying the feel of her tightly encased body. Slipping his hand up the inside of her thigh, he found what he was looking for, slippery panties to match her outerwear. He teased a murmur out of her and then withdrew his hand.

He stepped back half a step, and took another look at her, fingertips running along the curves of her dress, down her thighs to the tops of the stockings. He turned her around, walking fingertips on her thighs, and then trailed them up to the top of her dress. Catching the zipper, he pulled it down, savoring the sound. Then he peeled back the dress, his mouth following his fingers, licking, nibbling and kissing the exposed flesh. He pushed it off her arms and let it fall to the floor.

Grabbing her shiny hips, he turned her back to face him, and kissed her hungrily. His hands rose to her breasts, fondling, and squeezing. Fingers found nipples and pinched, eliciting a gasp into his kiss. He kissed down her neck and chest, first to the right breast, nibbling and sucking on her hard nipple and then across to the left, devouring her flesh as gloved hands stroked his hair.

His hands slid down to her waist, hooking fingers in the top of her panties. He glanced at her eyes, dark and eager. He kissed down her belly and then started to slide her underwear down, following with soft kisses over her mound, tongue flitting out as he slid them down her thighs and calves. She stepped out of them, gloved hands now finding balance on his shoulders, and he pressed in, with fingers and tongue, finding a different kind of slickness.

She moaned softly and pressed against him, her arms and legs still covered in shiny latex. He ran his hands down her thighs and calves, enjoying the feel of her as she shivered against him. He stood up, trailing hands from latex to flesh, and down her arms to latex again.

“So delicious.”

He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, arm around his shoulders. He paused to savor the moment and then carried her to his bed, tossing her playfully down where she lay open and waiting to be fully devoured.

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All I Want For Christmas

December 23rd, 2009

Wish list of things I’m not getting for Christmas, but some day… I always love some day… it’s going to be such a great day…

Black Leather Straitjacket

Heavy Canvas – Suspension-worthy Straitjacket

200′ of Hemp that smells like Hemp (yes, I’m still a bit bitter)

Black Leather Boned Corset

Black Leather Skirt

Full-body Fishnets

Fishnet Stockings

Matching Black Silk Bras and Panties(some say it oughta be a thong)

Purple, Red, Black, Green, Blue Lingerie sets

A Little Black Dress

“Proper Footwear” ™
– slippers for the lingerie
– heels for the LBD
– thigh-high boots
– etc.

A Nice Black Garter

Stockings

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Erotic Shorts

October 7th, 2009

—–

Bullet

—–

She felt his hand in her pocket, turning up he dial as she lined up her next shot.  Her breath quickened as the little bullet sprang to life in her panties.  She barely noticed that her shot went wide and the cue-ball didn’t hit a single thing as she handed off the stick to her partner.

“You missed,” he said, pulling her against his leg, pressing the little vibrator tighter against her clit.

“Umhmm.”  She mumbled.

“Stay in control, little one.  You have to be ready for me later.”  He kissed her tenderly, turning it down just a bit.  “Wouldn’t want to distract you from the game.”

—–

Arrest

—–

“Stop right there.  Drop your purse and put your hands on the hood of the car.”

She didn’t turn, there was no need, the voice and the tone were unmistakable.  She pulled her purse off her shoulder and let it slip to the ground.  Taking a step sideways, she put her hands on the top of the hood.  She didn’t bother to ask what she’d done, it hardly mattered at this point.

“Spread your feet apart and then hold still.  I’m going to search you.”

He waited for compliance and began to pat her down.  She was not surprised when he roughly squeezed her breasts and massaged her ass.  Then she felt him kneel down behind her as he made a thorough search of her panties and stockings.  As he stood back up, he gave her crotch one last grope that made her gasp softly.

“Hands behind your back, we’re going for a little ride.”

—–

Hair

—–

His fingers slipped up the back of her neck and entwined themselves tightly in her hair.  He pulled her slowly toward his mouth, feeling a shiver run through her body.

“Behave yourself, little one.”  He whispered against her throat.  “or I might put you over my knee right here.”

“Master, please, you wouldn’t…” she stiffened and caught a moan behind her teeth as he bit a taut tendon in her neck.  “I… I’m sorry, Master. I’ll be good.”  She gasped as he release her with a single swat on the ass.

“You better, little one. I’ve always wanted to spank you in public.”  He grinned at her shiver and lowered eyes.

—–

Bite

—–

She stood blindfolded at the foot of their bed, listening and feeling him moving around her.   He slowly stripped away her clothing, running light fingertips over her skin.  She smiled and shivered at his touch.

When they were both naked, he slipped behind her.  One hand brushed her hair back, away from her right shoulder and then slipped around her waist.  His left hand slipped around her shoulders, over her forehead, to catch a nice handful of hair on the top of her head.  He pulled her head firmly to the side as he kissed her throat.  She squirmed back against him and froze for just an instant as his teeth sank into her neck.  Then she moaned with pleasure as he bit deeper and sucked hard on her flesh.

—–

Spank

—–

“You’ve been naughty, little one.”  He ran his hand over her bare back, bending her over the end of the bed.  “You disobeyed your Master.”  He dragged the leather slapper over her pale ass cheeks.

“Yes, Master.  I’m sorry, Master.”  She shivered at his touch, anticipation of punishment tensing every muscle.

“Too late, little one.”  He punctuated this with a sharp slap on her backside.

“Yes, Master,”  she gasped, “thank you, Master.”

He stroked the reddened flesh with leather a moment, enjoying watching her squirm.  Then he brought it to bear on the other cheek.

“Thank you, Master.”  She moaned as he struck her ass again.  “Thank you, Master.”

He smiled behind her, watching her ass grow red, enjoying every gasp and groan and Master that came from her lips.  “Such a good little naughty slave you are.”

—–

Collar

—–

“You have much to learn.”  He stood over her kneeling form.  “But if you work hard, I think we will both be very happy.”

She nodded silently, unable to pull her eyes from the bag at his feet.  It was from their favorite toy shop, and the outline of the sagging plastic clearly showed a collar within.  She could barely breathe through her excitement at the prospect of finally earning her collar.  So much so that she hardly heard him speaking again.

“…at any time, any place. ”  He watched her, knowing it was the bag that had her attention and not his voice.  “You will learn to be a proper slave to your Master without losing your self to the role.”

“Yes, Master.”  She replied, her mind reengaging at the key words of ‘slave’ and ‘Master.’  “Thank you, Master.”

“Good, my little one, now go get dressed, we’re going out for dinner.”  He pulled her to her feet and kissed her tenderly.  “I love you.”

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