July 14th, 2011
I’ve posted a lot about rope. About why I like it, what I like about it, about scenes I’ve had with it, about buying it, about learning to tie it. There have been a lot of classes on rope lately, with more coming up, especially at COPE in September. The most recent was on Eeling. And he said he learned more about me by attending than about the subject, because he and I don’t play like that. Way back when we first met, he challenged me to get out of a tie, but not since. Our scenes are about other things that escape. So, it brought to mind today, what kinds of rope scenes are there, what kinds do I enjoy, and what do I get out of the different kinds?
Suspension is one, well, two really. There are high-flying suspensions, and there are static.
High-flying suspensions I have written about a few times, describing particular scenes or the freedom in it. The care for comfort of the tie, and the attention to detail of the rigging are very important. Swinging from a point 15-20′ in the air by thin ropes tied around the body is a feeling like no other I’ve ever experienced. We compare it to a swing set of childhood, or a roller coaster ride. But it is so much more than the first, and so much more sensual than the second. It is about trust and control. Giving it all to the person tying and flying you. One mistake and bad things could happen. But when it’s done right, with care and attention. The energy, the joy, the sense of freedom, is incredible. The dizziness from spinning well worth the feeling of the spin. The rope marks can last for days, bright red lines where the ropes lay, holding you in the sky. And for me, the scene doesn’t end when I’m back on the ground. I float as he unties, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, leaving burns with the lines. And then I sink back down to earth, surrounded by the rope, coiling it up, breathing it in. Landing mentally, only when it is all put away again.
Static suspensions share a lot of the same sensations and feelings with high-flying ones. But they tend to be more sensual for me. More about the rope touching and holding. More about the feel of him close to me, often playing with me while I’m suspended. Static lends to deeper space, less wide-eyed excitement. I sink into rope space whenever I am tied, but when left to hang in it, my mind sinks deeper into my body. Feeling everything. And floats out to him, feeling the energy and the exchange.
A similar state is achieved through floor scenes. When he ties me, not to a suspension point, but into a ball, or a hog-tie or some such, self-contained tie. These, though, have me grounded, literally, and mentally. I am not floating away, finding the freedom of being suspended. I am tied into myself, molded into the shape he wishes. I am made vulnerable in a completely different way. No longer is my life hanging by a thread, but rather, I am at his mercy. I am where and what he wants me to be. I am bound and helpless, and available for whatever he wants to do, with less safety concerns to distract. (Yes, there are always safety concerns, but not maintaining steady breathing, or a numb limb isn’t going to end a ground scene nearly as quickly as a suspension.) Floor scenes can be as simple as tying and leaving to melt, whether in a ball on the floor, or walking around with just the upper body bound. Or tying and then tormenting – whips, floggers, paddles, pinches, nipple clamps, tickling, what have you. A fully sensual and power exchange scene for me.
Coming off floor scenes, there are bed scenes. Tied down to a bed, for sex and torment. To be tied completely open and vulnerable. These have a different feel from ground scenes, for various reasons. One, obviously, if the intent is sex, is quite a bit different than the above feelings. But the other, for torment, is still different, too. Tied in a ground tie, immobilized and tormented is one thing. Often you can’t see what’s coming, or you can curl and squirm at the very least. Tied out spread eagle, unable to even pretend you can protect or defend yourself. Waiting, watching, often enduring torment that you can do nothing about. It is a similar, but uniquely delicious space. For me, there is far less sinking into the rope in these scenes. Sometimes I use pulling on the rope to process the pain, or as a focus point, but these scenes do not take me to rope space nearly as much as a ground tie.
The last type, I want to talk about is what sparked this post. Eeling. Getting out of the rope you were put in. I used to do this type of scene with the other a lot, or folks on the crew, just playing around when we were bored. See how long it took to escape a particular tie. Or tie myself up so the other could watch me escape. Or be tied up and left to escape on my own. Or one particular friend like to keep adding rope as I would untie the first few. These were interesting scenes for me. Scenes of challenge. I like challenges, challenging myself, being challenged. The ties were puzzles to be solved. And learned from. I love learning, too. I started learning suspension ties by untying them. I learned a lot about floor and bed ties by untying myself. There was discussion about what about eeling turns eels on, and about the rollercoaster that eeling scenes can be. For me – the joy of being tied, the thrill of the challenge set before me, the frustration of a difficult (or improbable to escape) tie, the thrill of getting a knot undone or getting some slack, the frustration that it did no good, continuing on to either end with the satisfaction of escaping, or the arousal of surrender. These scenes can be very tricky. The frustration can overwhelm, or the eel can cause themselves physical injury, or panic can set in (especially when combined with abandonment). But if the balance can be maintained, the frustration can be channeled and the panic controlled, and injury avoided, I enjoy these scenes very much if it is what the top is also after. I am not one to get out of any rope put on me just to see if I can. I like being in it far too much for that.
Are there any other types you enjoy? Do you have a favorite? What about the different types do you like?
November 4th, 2010
Today I want to talk about drop.
About a year ago, I posted about Altered States and said that Pain Space “is the one that leads to drop most often.” A month or so later, after a post specifically about Sub Drop I commented that “I rarely have sub drop anymore over purely the physical parts of scenes, which used to happen after any Really Intense scene. Now it really does take a negative emotional trigger for me to drop.”
Earlier this week, I was talking to Lover (yes, he keeps that name for now, I’ll post about labels again soon) about drop from mental scenes as opposed to physical scenes. He was baffled that a relatively painless evening could cause faster and more massive drop than a very physically taxing scene. At first, I thought maybe it had to do with being a girl, I blame girly hormones for a lot of things. But then I thought maybe it was a disconnect in understanding between people who really enjoy pain and people who don’t. Let me explore my thoughts out loud.
My first year in the local community, I would have drop after big physical scenes, either just from the chemical drop after the high endorphins of the scene, or from a negative comment about how harsh the scene was, or just from being so worn out by the physically taxing nature of the scene. I did not do a lot of mental play during that first exploration, certainly not to the extent of some of the play I’ve done this year. I also was not a self-described pain slut in the beginning. I knew I liked some very specific types of pain(intense sensation), but have since discovered that while there are some types of implements I am not fond of, I will put up with them for the experience of the pain(intense sensation). Since I have come to grips with my enjoyment of pain, I have far less drop from physical scenes. If someone comments negatively on it, I am better able to laugh it off and explain how much I enjoyed it.
It is the mental side of things that I now find causes harder drop. Mental scars and bruises are a lot harder to see and are more intense than physical ones. I’m remembering a scene that I don’t think I have posted about before. There was crying from the pain during part of it, but the harder crying was caused by words. That is the case more often than not this past year. Yes, pain can trigger tears, but words and mental control strike deeper chords. While you can see the bruises and marks on the skin, sometimes you don’t know what all happened in your mind. A day later, a stray word, or a random thought, could bubble to the surface and bam, that’s it, you’re dropping from something that you did not consciously process at the time. The mind is a far trickier landscape than the body.
I think I strayed off my two theories quite a bit, let me see if I can bring it back around. On blaming it on being a girl – I’m not sure that holds any water at all. I think I had it at an angle of being more vulnerable mentally than the men I play with, but I think that is quite possibly a false basis for the claim. On being about enjoying pain versus not enjoying pain – I think this holds a bit more truth. Pain is easier for me to process now that I am more accepting of my enjoyment of it. It was not always that way, so I can understand how, for people not at ease with pain, why it would be harder to process and thus be a potential for more drop than more mental play they might be more at ease with.
What are your thoughts? What causes more drop for you? How do you deal with it?
June 10th, 2010
My current hard limit around public sex is no intercourse with more than two other people present. I don’t do orgies. I don’t do penetrative play at parties. I don’t have sex with an audience. For me, this is about the intimacy of sex. Sexual intercourse is a private thing for me, it’s about a deep love and connection with my partner.
I play in public, at parties, at clubs, in dungeons. I get aroused, I get pushed into sub space, or pain space, I orgasm. And these scenes can be very much about connection and love. They can be very intimate, very personal.
Lately, I’ve been edging towards the line with him. Masturbation and oral while driving down the road, but that felt mostly private and it was a different kind of energy we were creating. Riding his boot in public while wearing a short skirt, with people around – a new edge for me, but not sex.
So, what’s the difference?
Sex, naked and completely vulnerable. Giving everything to each other, sharing everything. It has always involved a deeper level of trust for me. A deeper connection, that I don’t want to share with other people. I want to feel our energy, our connection, not that of other, unconnected people. I have trouble with playing at big parties where the energy of strangers is flowing everywhere, and people interrupt connections. It is even more important to me that sex, and the energy it creates with my partner, be kept private and personal.
April 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?
March 18th, 2010
He asked how I wanted to be conditioned when I was already kneeling at his feet. I told him that kneeling was special to me. I thought I had given him clues to that before, but I had never told him outright that I liked it. That I wanted it, craved it.
He taught me the position he wanted me to practice then. Knees spread comfortably wide, to allow access and increase the feeling of vulnerability. Sitting on my heels, feet flat on the ground. Sit up straight and tall, shoulders back and chin only slightly lowered. Hands, palm up on my thighs, with fingertips at knee caps and thumbs pointing outward.
He asked me to practice that position, starting with five minutes, adding one minute at a time, until I could maintain it for thirty minutes. I set myself a goal, to be at thirty by March 26th, the last weekend of the month. I will be at twenty-five minutes when I kneel today and I still have not found a solution to the onset of high levels of pain around the fifteen minute mark. The numbness and tingling after is far less of an issue than simply maintaining the position through the pain.
The last few times, I have ended up repeating a mantra of “My pain for his pleasure” to get me through to the end of the time I have set for myself. It becomes an exercise in breathing, concentration and control. At home, I am kneeling barefoot on carpet, I have not even begun to try to train up kneeling in shoes or boots, though that is how I kneel for him at the club. Wearing boots puts a different angle on my feet and knees, but in both cases, it is my ankles that have the most trouble with this position.
So why do I do it? It is a connection to him, time out of my day when I do something for him, whether he is near me or not. It gives me time to reflect on our relationship, on our scenes and on our recent discussions. I have time to think about questions he has asked me, and the answers I have not yet found or given. It is a time when the rest of life is set aside and I just focus on him and us. I usually do Tai Chi and Yoga before kneeling, to bring my mind down and let go of the world so by the time I get to kneeling, I am ready to simply sit and reflect. I do not always find answers there, but I always at least find new thoughts and new questions. It leads me further along my path, helps me find more clarity. I keep myself fairly busy all the time, but when I am kneeling, I am forced to stop and be quiet and still. It brings peace into my life, and strengthens my connection to him.
February 11th, 2010
Do you want to do flogging or rope tonight?
Sure, get me the rope.
Did you stretch?
No…and I stretch while he explains to her why.
Arms behind my back for a box tie. He wraps bands around my chest as well, a suspension-worthy box tie. Two lengths of 30′ and I could still eel out if I wanted to.
Do I feel screwed yet? No, I still have my feet.
He grabs the third. This one really constricts my movement, my arms cannot separate at all now, they move as a unit.
I still have my feet, but I know I’m screwed.
Up on the bed, legs crossed, he ties my ankles together, having to use a 30′ instead of a 15′ to make it sustainable, as the rope loops up around my neck. He wraps the rope between ankles and neck, tying it off to keep it from sliding. I have a wrapped handle on front and back and I’m proper fucked now.
He rolls me around, teasing, caning, Uncle. Writhing and squealing, gasping, trying to catch his eye through my legs, too close to the edge of the bed to protest too much.
He lets me breathe, then tests my trust. Balanced on the edge he lets me fall little bits, I shriek and he catches me, every time. I look into his eyes, the joy is there, the love is plain.
Time to test the new head box. He lifts me to the floor, setting me on the cold cement. The heavy box comes down, cutting me off. I am gasping, afraid Uncle will return. A stray comment and he is back, pulling my bra down and clamping my nipples. He pulls on the chain, pinches my thighs. I thrash and scream and he giggles. The box needs more padding, the hole is too big, I keep hitting my teeth on the edge. But it does a good job of isolation.
The box comes off, we give him feedback, he thanks us for trying it out.
Nipple clamps become a lead, he drags me across the floor, scooting and yelping. The right one keeps coming off, squeals when he puts it back on. Over to another chain, hooking them up above my head, I have to balance to keep from pulling them harshly. A bamboo cane now, ass and thighs, I roll and yelp and breathe with the strikes. He hits my breast and I squeal, my clamped nipple brings a scream as I find his eyes and his joy brings me solace.
My hips ache and he lets me down, having to reattached the pesky right one, yet again. Whimpering yelp. Rolling onto my back, pillow provided, the cane goes for the tender bits and thighs and ass. Then up to sitting again, he takes the clamps off, gasping and leaning against him. A moment’s reprieve.
The cane returns, I move wrong, blocking in a moment of weakness. He grabs my septum and scolds me, I cringe and grovel and force stillness as he returns to it harshly. I thrash, but keep his target clear.
If I feel teeth you’ll regret it.
I would never. My mouth is open with the pain, it will not close on flesh. Pain space is coming now, screams dwindle into heavy breathing. He moves around the body, I sink into it, and he lets me. Closing my eyes with a hand, he leaves me to drop into space.
The rope, holding me, cradling me, keeping me safe and leaving me vulnerable. My hands have shifted, but they still are held fast. My arms cannot move, but there is no pain. Circulation is complete, the problems easily solved. My neck begins to grow weary, I bring up a knee to rest it on. Not for long, I like the pull of the rope. The handle at my throat is not too close and pulls evenly.
I sink deep into the rope. I can hear the other scene, but I don’t care. I am here. I am happy. I am in His rope again. His hemp digging into my skin. Keeping me just how he wants me. Held in position, easily moved and open access to everything. A prisoner tie, and perfect.
He returned and freed my neck and ankles, ordered me to kneel, knees spread wide. He smacked my inner thighs, bright red hand prints. Pinching the bruises and putting me back into pain space.
Can I put needles in you?
I did not say no.
May I put needles in you?
Yes or no.
I waffle, because my brain isn’t screaming no, and he wants to, and she has them, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. It’s been a big scene and I don’t know that I want to add that on top of it.
Yes or no.
Was that hard?
Yes, my brain was arguing with itself.
My feet hurt from the pressure of kneeling. He pulls me up and begins untying.
The feel of the rope, shivers through my body. Murmuring, spacing. He drags it across my nipples and I whimper. Pure rope pleasure. One. Two. Three. So good to me.
The rope is off, we hug, just sharing the floating energy. The ropes are waiting, I sit with them, run them through my fingers, coil them and put them away.
Practice is over, everyone is gone. We sit for a few moments, reflecting.
Rope marks and bruises. Joy and love. We needed this. Reconnected.
September 30th, 2009
Resistance play. If you’d asked me about that a year ago, I would have blinked at you in confusion. Why would I, as a submissive, resist? It’s not what you’re “supposed to do.” Now, I regularly play with four people and I have completely different attitudes around resistance for each of them. Let me quickly define here that by resistance I don’t mean fighting instead of safe wording or saying no. I mean giving in to the fight or flight response that some of the play I’m involved in triggers, thus causing the other person to have to work harder to keep control.
One, if I resist, unless he is deeply into what is happening and very enrolled in it happening, will back off immediately, possibly concerned he has done something terribly wrong. I tend to be clear with him about what I want and make sure we don’t do things that would trigger resistance in me unless he is ready and able to deal with it.
Another, if I resist, gives me The Look, and I am immediately apologetic and expect punishment to be swift. He is able to shut down my resistance completely mentally. He occasionally uses this control to end my resistance to someone other than himself.
The third I resist very specifically, usually his teeth, or tickling, and he knows and expects it, and enjoys restraining me more forcefully for those things. He also enjoys putting me in completely vulnerable positions, making me physically unable to resist. This can take me through interesting head spaces as I try to resist anyway and then realize just how futile it is.
The last, I almost always resist, most of our play is resistance play, and we both enjoy it immensely. He can, however, still crook his finger, hold out a hand or give a command and pull completely submissive behavior from me when he wants to. We both enjoy the challenge of seeing how long it takes for him to win, for I am under no illusions that he will not eventually do so. I do like to think, however, that I’m getting better at it as we go along.
Resistance play can be incredibly fun, or incredibly detrimental, as with anything, everyone in the scene needs to be clear on what is going to happen.