With deep thanks to the Hesitant Adventurer, who sent me some lovely ideas for a piece of erotica he wrote and now I'll add to a bit.
Apparently the twin thoughts of mine regarding Lucivar- his licking the corners of my mouth, and my desire to end his 2 year blowjob deficit- got wrapped together in his head and gave him some lovely, naughty ideas.
First, his intro to it:
Hesitant Adventurer:the lapping at the corners of the mouth seeking to be fed from Dominant's mouth is sublime, your discussion of it created such a perfect picture, and spawns the feelins of exhiliration in the exchange
Hesitant Adventurer: how compelling Lucivar lapping at the corners of your mouth was leapt off your blog
Hesitant Adventurer: at the same time, your wanting Lucivar's 2 year blow job drought to end ... and to be its conclusion yourself are strong thoughts that you expressed
Hesitant Adventurer: so the imagery that somehow crept into my brain yesterday morning combined these two events ...
Thank you, sweetheart. Seriously. This was an awesome way to start my day... although it's wreaked havoc on my ability to focus on Jainism in World Religions today- or public opinion polls in Government, or well, anything else.
"Watch Me"
She bends over him, a pleased, predatory smile curving her lips but tenderness in her eyes. The dichotomy makes him shiver beneath her, eager but a little nervous, and he expresses that the best way he knows how. His tongue darts out, brushing the corners of her mouth and making her sigh a little in pleasure.
Her wolfpup, with his wide eyes and slightly trembling mouth: he is beautiful to her right now, reverse-hogtied with his limbs stretched tight beneath him. It's not too uncomfortable yet, but she knows that eventually he will whimper and twist as the muscles tire and fall slowly asleep. She wants this discomfort. Not active pain- no, not today. Just enough discomfort to distract him from the pleasure she intends. The quiet reminder that this is for her despite any pleasure he may feel.
She leans into him, her breasts gently brushing his chest and takes his lip between her sharp teeth, closing slowly and telling him without words that for this moment, he belongs to her. That she will protect him, feed him, and that she will take the obedience he offers to her with every lap of his tongue.
Slowly, so slowly, her lips, her tongue, her teeth travel down his body. Teeth closing on his throat, a primal gesture of taking. Tongue stroking the hollow of his throat, making him gasp and arch a little. She smiles, knowing how much that arching will hurt eventually, and kisses down his chest with terrible gentleness. A detour is necessary there: worrying at his nipples with playful savagery, resembling for a moment a young wolf herself as she smiles around his small sounds of pain and pleasure. Her teeth scrape over his pierced nipples, canines closing on the rings and tugging like a puppy with a new toy while he whimpers beneath her. Abruptly, she rears up and back, eyes alight with dark desires as she eyes his exposed belly with something close to hunger. His eyes are wide and pleading, both fearing and craving that hunger, and he tenses instinctively as she drops back onto him, mouth latching onto the skin of his belly, eyes locked to his as he strains upward to see her. Her teeth scrape his skin, and she groans softly with the need to bite down, bite into him, and the vibrations of that groan travel through his body, arrowing straight to his groin. She laughs a little against him, distracted from the need to tear him open by her amusement at his response to that need.
Slowly, so slowly, she drags her mouth down his stomach to his groin, smiling a little at his obvious desire. Catlike, she rubs her cheek against him, smiling at the little sound he makes at this first contact, scent-marking his cock and claiming it as hers for this moment. He isn't hers, not forever, but right this moment she owns everything that he is and she revels in it. He writhes and whimpers a little beneath her and she smiles, blowing a single teasing breath over his taut skin.
His eyes close in something like ecstasy, something like misery, and as soon as they do, she pounces, sucking the head of him into her warm, wet mouth and he arches up, gasping at the sudden, unexpected sensation and she smiles around him. Her tongue strokes the head of him slowly, finding that little ridge that is so sweetly sensitive, smiling when his soft moan tells her she's found it, then running her teeth over it lightly. Not enough to hurt, not this time. Only enough to remind him how very sharp her teeth are as she holds this most intimate piece of him between them. His eyes shut tightly again as her fingers find his balls, squeezing just a little, just this side of pain as her mouth slowly works its way down her shaft. Her mouth is watering with her own desire for this, her body clenching tightly with its own desire to take all of him in, but she moves slowly, painfully slowly, making him whimper with every inch that disappears into her tightly wrapped lips and hot mouth. When her lips kiss his groin, an eternity later, she looks up at him.
Her eyes are filled with the heat that this most intimate, most vulnerable of encounters brings to her. She loves this. Loves the way he is so open to her, loves the silk-over-steel feeling of the cock against her tongue, the velvety texture of his inner thighs, the rubbery sensation of his balls against her chin. She loves this.
She drags her mouth back up his cock, teeth scraping this time, hard enough to force his eyes open widely and bring them to hers with a taut, desperate look. She smiles as she tongues the head of his cock. "Watch me, boy."
He does. He can't look away now, can't avert his desperately needing eyes, and she pulls off of him to a high-pitched whimper. "Watch me, boy," she repeats, licking at the head of him and drawing another high-pitched sound from the back of his throat. She doesn't bother to wait for a response, there is no need for one and she knows he couldn't manage coherency now anyway. Instead, she sucks him back into her mouth, sucking so hard her cheeks hollow, eyes locked to his as she slowly draws him back inside of her, watching his face soften and change and smiling inside.
This. This is what she loves.
She works him now, fingers stroking his balls, tongue, lips, and teeth playing his cock while he groans and writhes beneath her. The pleasure of her mouth and the pain of the position. His arms are getting sore, those shooting pains that are harmless but so painful, and she's sure his legs are falling asleep by now. She loves the way the pleasure and the pain mix in his head. She is debating in her mind: to draw this out or let him cum? She wants to taste him, wants to feel him convulse inside of her, but she loves this growing tension and pain inside of him, loves drawing it out and watching his responses.
His desperate need as he watches decides her. He has been so good for her, and she wants this.
Her pace speeds, her fingers tightening around him, free hand digging nails into his thigh. He will have small, blood-filled crescent moons there from her nails later, but right now all she notices is the taste of him, the feel of him in her mouth, and the excruciating control it takes not to fist her hand around his balls and crush them in her hand. Not this time. The next, perhaps. Not this time. But Goddess, she wants to. She wants to bite down on him, wants to hurt him while she's bringing him this pleasure, and she growls low in her throat as she sucks him. He no longer exists for her, only a piece of meat to play with, an outlet for her oral fixation, a lovely toy her her to play with. She doesn't bother looking up at him now, and never sees his shudder at her primal growl.
Far too soon, she feels his balls contract against her hand, feels the orgasm building. He's already received permission, and her mouth tingles a little in anticipation, nails tightening in his skin. She knows it will be soon, as she feels his body tensing, flexing, fighting the bonds with a desire to grab her head and force her. She knows that soon he'll beg, though. He's received permission, but he knows she loves it, loves it when he begs her, loves it when his voice cracks and breaks as he pleads- and he knows that she can slow down at any moment, leave him hanging on the edge if she chooses, if his cracked and broken pleadings don't please her.
And part of her wants that, almost more than it wants to taste him. Wants to leave him begging, whimpering, and just laugh.
And she will. But not this time. Not yet.
His voice almsot startles her, so focused is she on the cock between her lips, her teeth. It is low, rough with need, and it tightens things low in her body, briefly distracting her with the realization of just how how wet she is. She gives a small moan of pleasure around him at the sound of his voice, at this rough, pleading words. She can't tell what it is he's saying, and neither knows nor cares if it's because of the his lack of coherency or the blood rushing in her ears. All she can hear is the low murmuring of his voice, the need in every syllable, and she tightens her mouth around him.
That tightening is all it takes, and she feels him convulse, low groans ripped from his throat by the strength of the orgasm as his cock pulsates in her mouth. She moans around him, knowing he can't hear but uncaring, needing to express her own pleasure, her own tightening cunt as she takes his salt into her mouth, rolling the taste along her tongue. It's not normally one she enjoys, but today, oh today she holds it there, savors the egg-white consistency of it, the salty-musky flavor.
She holds it there while she draws her body slowly up his, brushing skin against skin with every inch, smiling as his body relaxes in the afterglow, until she is poised above him, face inches from his, eyes still darkly intense. His gaze focuses, sharpens as he realizes that she isn't finished, that she still has plans for him, and his body relaxes in submission, in acceptance of what she wants. It makes her want to smile, but to open her mouth would cause her to lose her precious load of his desire, so she settles for a low sound of pleasure, knowing he will understand its cause. He leans up, presses into her, despite the growing soreness in his neck, despite the stiffness and pain in his limbs, and laps gently at the corners of her mouth. She sighs again in utter pleasure.
It is a gesture of submission, of gratitude, but she takes its oldest meaning today, and opens his mouth gently with her fingers. There is tenderness in her eyes, in her touch, now, pleasure in his prompt obedience as he realizes her intention, realizes what she carries in her mouth. He shivers, and his lips part eagerly, eager to taste her, taste himself mixed with her. Now she does smile as that shiver reverberates in her cunt, the warm, thick cum dropping from her smile to his parted lips, sealed as she leans in and kisses him, giving him this taste of the both of them. Her lips seal to his, and her hand settles slowly at his throat, feeling this pulse as he swallows the mixture of the two of them.
And she draws back with a smile, and a last, lingering kiss.
30 September 2008
29 September 2008
Dinner and a show
Tonight, after our brusing conversation with Gloria, Jack and I decided to go out together to dinner. A treat we can't afford, but needed anyway. So we drove out on the causeway, and had dinner at Oysterella's, sitting out on the patio to watch the sunset over the bay.
It was... wonderful. Moments like that remind me why we are still together through everything.
The food was amazing (they even pan-fried my grouper for me) and the bread pudding was absolutely phenomenal.
And the company was... bliss.
We've promised one another more nights together like that. Although preferably, without the hefty dinner bill ;-)
It was... wonderful. Moments like that remind me why we are still together through everything.
The food was amazing (they even pan-fried my grouper for me) and the bread pudding was absolutely phenomenal.
And the company was... bliss.
We've promised one another more nights together like that. Although preferably, without the hefty dinner bill ;-)
Due South
There is an episode of the show Due South, called A Cop, a Mountie, and a Baby.
The basic plot line is that Frasier and Ray get involved in a plot to sell a baby.
Two parts of this storyline stand out to me.
First off, the father justifying to himself selling his child, that the child would be better off with the rich, stable couple.
I wonder if that's what my father thought when he dropped me off with the various relatives he did after my mother's car wreck. That it would be better for me.
That my grandmother, my aunt, and all of the various people he left me with while he partied, were more stable than he, and would be better for me.
And maybe it was.
But I'll never know.
The other part of the storyline that stood out actually reminded me of Lucivar a little.
Frasier's wolf, Deifenbaker, follows the young father, having formed an attachment to the child. The wolf as species' attachment to young is explained- wolves are incredible parents, the whole pack coming together to raise every litter. Later, when Diefenbaker follows the father to a hotel room where he is hiding with the child, staying there with him (much to his dismay!), Frasier enters the hotel room quietly, and explains the Inuit story of how the wolf was created.
According to legend, after First Woman created the caribou, the first men hunted only the large and strong, until only the weak and sick were left, and the herds faltered. So First Woman created one last animal- Wolf- whose job was to winnow out the weak and the sick.
Wolf was created as a mirror to Men, who live in groups and raise their children with love, and hunt the caribou together.
The basic plot line is that Frasier and Ray get involved in a plot to sell a baby.
Two parts of this storyline stand out to me.
First off, the father justifying to himself selling his child, that the child would be better off with the rich, stable couple.
I wonder if that's what my father thought when he dropped me off with the various relatives he did after my mother's car wreck. That it would be better for me.
That my grandmother, my aunt, and all of the various people he left me with while he partied, were more stable than he, and would be better for me.
And maybe it was.
But I'll never know.
The other part of the storyline that stood out actually reminded me of Lucivar a little.
Frasier's wolf, Deifenbaker, follows the young father, having formed an attachment to the child. The wolf as species' attachment to young is explained- wolves are incredible parents, the whole pack coming together to raise every litter. Later, when Diefenbaker follows the father to a hotel room where he is hiding with the child, staying there with him (much to his dismay!), Frasier enters the hotel room quietly, and explains the Inuit story of how the wolf was created.
According to legend, after First Woman created the caribou, the first men hunted only the large and strong, until only the weak and sick were left, and the herds faltered. So First Woman created one last animal- Wolf- whose job was to winnow out the weak and the sick.
Wolf was created as a mirror to Men, who live in groups and raise their children with love, and hunt the caribou together.
Bruised inside
"Out Is Through"
Alanis Morrissette
Every time you raise your voice
I see the greener grass
Every time you run for cover
I see this pasture
Every time we're in a funk
I picture a different choice
Every time we're in a rut
This distant grandeur
My tendency to want to do away feels natural and
My urgency to dream of softer places feels understandable
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately
Every time I'm confused
I think there must be easier ways
Every time our horns are locked on towel throwing
Every time we're at a loss, we've bolted from difficulty
Anytime we're still made of final bowing
My tendency to want to hide away feels easier and
The immediacy is picturing another place comforting to go
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately
We could just walk away and hide our heads in the sand
We could just call it quits, only to start all over again
With somebody else
Every time we're stuck in struggle,
I'm down for the count that day
Every time I dream of quick fix I'm assuaged
Now I know it's hard when it's through
And I'm damned if I don't know quick fix way
But formerly mistreat me silence now outdated
My tendency to want to run feels unnatural now
The urgency to want to give to you I don't want most feels good
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately
Jack and I had a meeting with our therapist, the inestimable Gloria Brame, today. It was... hard. The discussion started out really sounding as though she felt that we should break up. We told her about the growing distance, and the abortive attempt at intercourse that ended with me flashing back to the rape and then having panic attacks all the next day.
She pointed out that I have been feeling pressured recently with everything going on, that I feel guilty about enjoying myself so much when I'm out (where I don't feel pressured). Then, I get home, feel pressured to not show the guilt and 'fix' things (after all, I'm the female- fixing relationship things is my job), and when I can't I feel more guilty, more like escaping, and more pressure to come home and fix it.
Nasty cycle much?
So that growing pressure somehow equated in my head with the pressure I felt during the rape.
The conversation continued, and Jack got steadily more uncomfortable, feeling like what I really want is open poly and he's keeping me from that. Eventually, he got up and started packing again. I was torn between screaming and crying, but I kept the conversation going and just updated Gloria.
I folowed him in and forced the conversation a little, not letting him shut us out, and we eventually talked through it again. He has been feeling like he is holding me back, and I have been feeling like I'm dragging him forward. We've both been having a lot of trouble processing and dealing with that, but we agreed (after much more discussion) that that's okay. We balance each other, and that's no bad thing- I'm impulsive, selfish, and self-absorbed. I just am, and I'm okay with that- anyone who can't deal with it needs to not be around me. I dive into things headfirst, with boundless enthusiasm and a frightening capacity to get hurt- having someone slow me down and force me to stop and think my way through things is no bad thing.
And he gets weighed down by inertia, so having someone tugging him forward is no bad thing for him either.
Anyway, there was more to it than that. A lot more. The highlights, however, are that we love each other, we're committed to one another as primaries, everyone else is temporary. That we need to make a bigger effort to reconnect (more time out together and gym time, we're thinking), and that we want to keep trying.
And that neither of us has the right to end the relationship until we move.
Oh yeah, and that we need to make out more :-D
Alanis Morrissette
Every time you raise your voice
I see the greener grass
Every time you run for cover
I see this pasture
Every time we're in a funk
I picture a different choice
Every time we're in a rut
This distant grandeur
My tendency to want to do away feels natural and
My urgency to dream of softer places feels understandable
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately
Every time I'm confused
I think there must be easier ways
Every time our horns are locked on towel throwing
Every time we're at a loss, we've bolted from difficulty
Anytime we're still made of final bowing
My tendency to want to hide away feels easier and
The immediacy is picturing another place comforting to go
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately
We could just walk away and hide our heads in the sand
We could just call it quits, only to start all over again
With somebody else
Every time we're stuck in struggle,
I'm down for the count that day
Every time I dream of quick fix I'm assuaged
Now I know it's hard when it's through
And I'm damned if I don't know quick fix way
But formerly mistreat me silence now outdated
My tendency to want to run feels unnatural now
The urgency to want to give to you I don't want most feels good
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately
Jack and I had a meeting with our therapist, the inestimable Gloria Brame, today. It was... hard. The discussion started out really sounding as though she felt that we should break up. We told her about the growing distance, and the abortive attempt at intercourse that ended with me flashing back to the rape and then having panic attacks all the next day.
She pointed out that I have been feeling pressured recently with everything going on, that I feel guilty about enjoying myself so much when I'm out (where I don't feel pressured). Then, I get home, feel pressured to not show the guilt and 'fix' things (after all, I'm the female- fixing relationship things is my job), and when I can't I feel more guilty, more like escaping, and more pressure to come home and fix it.
Nasty cycle much?
So that growing pressure somehow equated in my head with the pressure I felt during the rape.
The conversation continued, and Jack got steadily more uncomfortable, feeling like what I really want is open poly and he's keeping me from that. Eventually, he got up and started packing again. I was torn between screaming and crying, but I kept the conversation going and just updated Gloria.
I folowed him in and forced the conversation a little, not letting him shut us out, and we eventually talked through it again. He has been feeling like he is holding me back, and I have been feeling like I'm dragging him forward. We've both been having a lot of trouble processing and dealing with that, but we agreed (after much more discussion) that that's okay. We balance each other, and that's no bad thing- I'm impulsive, selfish, and self-absorbed. I just am, and I'm okay with that- anyone who can't deal with it needs to not be around me. I dive into things headfirst, with boundless enthusiasm and a frightening capacity to get hurt- having someone slow me down and force me to stop and think my way through things is no bad thing.
And he gets weighed down by inertia, so having someone tugging him forward is no bad thing for him either.
Anyway, there was more to it than that. A lot more. The highlights, however, are that we love each other, we're committed to one another as primaries, everyone else is temporary. That we need to make a bigger effort to reconnect (more time out together and gym time, we're thinking), and that we want to keep trying.
And that neither of us has the right to end the relationship until we move.
Oh yeah, and that we need to make out more :-D
To-do list
Things I really need to get done today:
- Write the two papers due Tuesday (they’re only 2 pages each- wtf?!- so easy)
Put in a claim with my phone insurance/(I’m not. Dammit. I did, however, just buy a new one from Best Buy for $40. Seriously. I love those guys)check and see if I’m eligible to just get a new one- Drop an email/call to Best Buy corporate to tell them how much I love their customer service
Buy an SD card for the new camera- Call camera company and tell them I want the fucking camera to work
Pay RGB (by phone, remember you’re near deadline)- Arrange my volunteering with the Red Cross (Orientation next Wednesday at 0830)
- Get my opal necklace fixed
- Go by the health dept and get tested so that I can play with Lucivar's blood (scheduled, Wednesday 1040)
- Get my AAA membership renewed
Re-fight with my school about my transfer to GSU- Call the lawyer’s office who sent me the letter claiming that I’m in collections over $35 (again- WTF?!) and point out that they have records showing that I asked 4 times before closing the account if that was every single dime I owed them and them saying yes
- Put together the church newsletter and email it out. Like, seriously.
- Move money from Regions to Woodlands
- Church, then lunch (Jack is teaching the teens- scary thought, huh?)
- Get an application for Jack
- Don’t drive to Montgomery again.
Bike gear
The person who gives me one of these can just about name their price. Seriously.
And if these or better yet, these, are included, well, there's pretty much no price that can't be named that doesn't involve severe bodily harm to me or anyone who hasn't consented to it.
WANT. Seriously. Fucking. WANT.
Wolf
Wolf and I talked tonight. Like, for a while.
We talked about our past. We talked about that vague, nagging hope that we both have for a future together.
Wolf : Hugs. Thinking of you. Kisses.
Me: *tight hugs* I've been thinking about you all day. How are you love?
Wolf: Miss you bunches.
Me: Miss you too. I'm feeling really strangely vulnerable tonight and I'd give a hell of a lot to curl up against you
Me: You make me feel safe, and I'm kinda really wanting that right now
Wolf: I'll always do my best to keep you safe.
Me: I know, love, and that's one of the reasons it's you I'm craving right now
Wolf: You always bring out a possesive protective animal side of me
Me: *nods* Do you remember that I told you once that you make me want to both roll over and show you my belly, offer you my throat
Me: And at the same time sink my teeth into yours and claim you as mine
Wolf: Makes me want to hold you and take you all in the same breath.
Me: *nods* Exactly
Wolf: Not sure what to feel/do. I have so many mixed feelings
Wolf: I want you to make your decisions. And live your life as you want it to be.
Me: Which is admirable, but how can I make a decision without it being an informed decision?
Wolf: I don't want to influence your decisions.
Wolf: I want them to be yours
Me: Wolf, you've been influencing my decisions for nearly 10 years. What makes you think that will change now?
Wolf: You know how I feel.
Wolf: And what I want.
Wolf: But I'm not going to push you either way
Me: *nods* I do know. But there's more than loving and wanting to anything. And other than that loving and wanting, I don't know what's going on in your head
Wolf: I've made mistakes with you in the past. I'm trying not to do it again. I do care. Way more than I should. More than is probably good.
Me : *tight hugs* We've both made mistakes. Your mistake wasn't pushing me, it was pushing me away. Don't ever be afraid of pushing me in regards to how you feel.
Wolf: But I wouldn't change how I feel even if I could.
Me: *smiles* Good, because neither would I
Wolf: I'm trying not to let myself get scared and push you away again.
Me: I know. And you have no idea how much I appreciate it. You really don't. The way you've let yourself be open to me has been.... incredible. I don't know the words for how much it's meant to me
Me: this just came on my pandora and made me think of you: Tracy Chapman "Baby Can I Hold You"
One of the things that killed us 7 years ago was his inability to open up to me. I felt vulnerable, but in an unpleasantly one-sided way. I was completely transparent to him, to use the D/s buzzword, but he was utterly opaque to me. So I took that the way that any 17 year old would: obviously, he didn’t care enough to talk to me. It never occurred to me that maybe he was as terrified as I was. It never occurred to me that maybe he was scared and hurting, too. After all, he had gone to great lengths to portray himself as strong and in control and confident.
Give me a break. I was 17 and I worshipped him. I didn’t know any better.
Now, I look at him, at us, at what we used to be, and what we have been, and could have been, and could still be, and I wonder. I wonder if maybe we could do it right this time.
And then that cynical side of me raises her pragmatic head, and I wonder how he’d handle me cutting Lucivar’s chest and licking the blood from the wound. And I wonder how he’d handle my sleeping wrapped around Kat and him kneeling before me. I wonder what that possessive animal side of him would think of me coming home with someone else’s scent rubbed into my skin.
And that’s when I sigh and realize that I doubt I will ever have him again.
We talked about our past. We talked about that vague, nagging hope that we both have for a future together.
Wolf : Hugs. Thinking of you. Kisses.
Me: *tight hugs* I've been thinking about you all day. How are you love?
Wolf: Miss you bunches.
Me: Miss you too. I'm feeling really strangely vulnerable tonight and I'd give a hell of a lot to curl up against you
Me: You make me feel safe, and I'm kinda really wanting that right now
Wolf: I'll always do my best to keep you safe.
Me: I know, love, and that's one of the reasons it's you I'm craving right now
Wolf: You always bring out a possesive protective animal side of me
Me: *nods* Do you remember that I told you once that you make me want to both roll over and show you my belly, offer you my throat
Me: And at the same time sink my teeth into yours and claim you as mine
Wolf: Makes me want to hold you and take you all in the same breath.
Me: *nods* Exactly
Wolf: Not sure what to feel/do. I have so many mixed feelings
Wolf: I want you to make your decisions. And live your life as you want it to be.
Me: Which is admirable, but how can I make a decision without it being an informed decision?
Wolf: I don't want to influence your decisions.
Wolf: I want them to be yours
Me: Wolf, you've been influencing my decisions for nearly 10 years. What makes you think that will change now?
Wolf: You know how I feel.
Wolf: And what I want.
Wolf: But I'm not going to push you either way
Me: *nods* I do know. But there's more than loving and wanting to anything. And other than that loving and wanting, I don't know what's going on in your head
Wolf: I've made mistakes with you in the past. I'm trying not to do it again. I do care. Way more than I should. More than is probably good.
Me : *tight hugs* We've both made mistakes. Your mistake wasn't pushing me, it was pushing me away. Don't ever be afraid of pushing me in regards to how you feel.
Wolf: But I wouldn't change how I feel even if I could.
Me: *smiles* Good, because neither would I
Wolf: I'm trying not to let myself get scared and push you away again.
Me: I know. And you have no idea how much I appreciate it. You really don't. The way you've let yourself be open to me has been.... incredible. I don't know the words for how much it's meant to me
Me: this just came on my pandora and made me think of you: Tracy Chapman "Baby Can I Hold You"
One of the things that killed us 7 years ago was his inability to open up to me. I felt vulnerable, but in an unpleasantly one-sided way. I was completely transparent to him, to use the D/s buzzword, but he was utterly opaque to me. So I took that the way that any 17 year old would: obviously, he didn’t care enough to talk to me. It never occurred to me that maybe he was as terrified as I was. It never occurred to me that maybe he was scared and hurting, too. After all, he had gone to great lengths to portray himself as strong and in control and confident.
Give me a break. I was 17 and I worshipped him. I didn’t know any better.
Now, I look at him, at us, at what we used to be, and what we have been, and could have been, and could still be, and I wonder. I wonder if maybe we could do it right this time.
And then that cynical side of me raises her pragmatic head, and I wonder how he’d handle me cutting Lucivar’s chest and licking the blood from the wound. And I wonder how he’d handle my sleeping wrapped around Kat and him kneeling before me. I wonder what that possessive animal side of him would think of me coming home with someone else’s scent rubbed into my skin.
And that’s when I sigh and realize that I doubt I will ever have him again.
28 September 2008
Vulnerable
I feel strangely vulnerable tonight. I don't know exactly why. I feel as though a harsh word could reduce me to tears, or a tender touch melt me completely.
It's strangely pleasant, as well as terrifying.
It's strangely pleasant, as well as terrifying.
Lucivar = danny
Yes, Danny's blog-name got changed to Lucivar, after a conversation that we had in regards to Anne Bishop's The Black Jewels Trilogy, which every submissive male should read. Seriously.
He reminds me of that hot-tempered Prick :)
He reminds me of that hot-tempered Prick :)
Weekend adventures
Yesterday I rode my motorcycle a few hours north to meet Lucivar for lunch. It was a wonderful afternoon.
The one unpleasant part was the wasp in my helmet. Yes, a wasp got into my helmet while I was riding 85mph. I felt something hit my face, a sharp sting (way too) near my eye, and then out of the corner of my eye I could see a wasp inside my helmet.
See Bella quietly have a panic attack, because I knew for a fact that if that wasp stung my face while I was doing 85 on the interstate, that I would wreck and die. Just that simple. So I started frantically looking for an exit (THANK YOU STATE OF ALABAMA FOR DESTROYING THE SHOULDERS SO I COULDN'T PULL OVER), steadily panicking as the wasp started flying around inside of my helmet. I knew lifting my visor would only cause the wind to show it farther into my face- and my vulnerable eyes- so I was terrified. Finally, it landed on the top of my visor and I was able to open that and duck my head to force it out. Then I pulled off at the next exit and just trembled for a minute.
YIKES!
Bloodstone. If you've never seen it, it looks like this:
First, I got up early and had breakfast with my lovely Olga, a beautiful, talented, smart blonde who I met by accident (in fact, I'm using the name of the person I thought she was as her blog-name ;-) and have been wanting to tie up and beat ever since. And the best part? She really wants to be tied up and beaten :)
Anyway, we had a lovely breakfast: Jack, Olga, the dog, and me. It was a nice, relaxed morning sipping tea and eating the best eggs benedict ever in the shade at our favorite sidewalk cafe and watching the Saturday morning pedestrians. Afterwards, we played for a few minutes in the park alongside (the same park where Tattoogirl and I keep running into each other), and then I got on the bike to ride to the best pizza place ever.
The ride was... amazing. It was warm, and sunny, and the wind blew through my jacket and the spaces between the laces of my boots. It was the longest ride I've ever done alone- 3 hours one way, and realizing halfway there that my AAA membership is expired was... scary... but I made it up fine. I stopped to see my favorite gas station attendant, but he wasn't there that day.
The one unpleasant part was the wasp in my helmet. Yes, a wasp got into my helmet while I was riding 85mph. I felt something hit my face, a sharp sting (way too) near my eye, and then out of the corner of my eye I could see a wasp inside my helmet.
See Bella quietly have a panic attack, because I knew for a fact that if that wasp stung my face while I was doing 85 on the interstate, that I would wreck and die. Just that simple. So I started frantically looking for an exit (THANK YOU STATE OF ALABAMA FOR DESTROYING THE SHOULDERS SO I COULDN'T PULL OVER), steadily panicking as the wasp started flying around inside of my helmet. I knew lifting my visor would only cause the wind to show it farther into my face- and my vulnerable eyes- so I was terrified. Finally, it landed on the top of my visor and I was able to open that and duck my head to force it out. Then I pulled off at the next exit and just trembled for a minute.
YIKES!
I finalyl arrived- nearly an hour later than I'd anticipated (oops. Again, Sorry, Lucivar!) and he was sitting there outside of the pizza place, reading a book. I could only grin as I walked up and hugged him.
We had a wonderful pizza for lunch, then just sat around and chatted for a while as I ran my fingernails up and down his arms and along his hands. He makes such yummy noises.
After a little while, we went to the same park where Kat and I hung out when met there, and had a lovely time just chatting and teasing and me hurting him a bit. It was... nice.
I gave him a piece of bloodstone that came into my hands almost exactly a year ago. I've never known exactly what it was meant for, exactly what I was supposed to do with it- until yesterday, as I got dressed, and I passed my house altar and saw it. I knew instantly why I'd been gifted with it, so I put it in my pocket and then set an alarm on my phone to remind me to give it to him.
Bloodstone. If you've never seen it, it looks like this:
Bloodstone was known to medieval Christians as the martyrs' stone, because it was believed that it was first formed when drops of Christ's blood mingled with the earth at Golgotha. To this day, it is used in some parts of the East for healing, and as an aphrodisiac.
Yeah. Apt, isn't it? His response was... gratifying.
I also received an absolutely love footrub as we lay there, despite the ants, and some nice just plain cuddling.
Then he gave me some bamboo skewers, which I used to carve into his arm a little reminder of me while he's at work this week. Yay.
Finally, we returned to the coffeeshop attached to the pizza place and had some really wonderful gelato and discussed how much we like one another. It's a conversation that, while eventually a bit repetitive, never seems to get old :)
Eventually, it was time to go, so some really lovely hair-pulling and chewing later, I finally forced myself onto the bike and rode home. The first hour was quite nice, cool without being terribly cold, and I had some nice warm memories in the pit of my stomach.
The last two hours, however, were a frozen, windburnt hell, and Skya and I are quite thoroughly tired of one another, I think.
Although not so tired that I'm not thinking of going down to somewhere with wireless on her and curling up while I work on my to-do list.
When I finally got in, I crawled into a hot bath then went very shortly to bed.
Life is good.
Today, I got reminded just how kinky my church is: the necklace that I wear, which Lucivar loaned me when my opal broke (and no, puppy, you're not ever getting it back. Just so you know.), is a small handcuff. That opens and closes. I cannot tell you how many of my fellow UUs wanted to play with it, comment on it, ask about it, and make sly suggestions about why I was wearing it.
Yeah. Kinky congregation. Seriously.
I just grinned like a cat in the cream througth the whole thing, and worked hard to not blush when the comments hit close to home.
27 September 2008
Universal kick in the ass
Okay, I plan on keeping this focus of this blog on kink. I really do.
But I’ve been thinking about this, which means I’m going to write about it.
I’m pagan. I have been since I was 13- over 10 years now, wow I kinda feel old :)
Over the last 5 years or so, though, I’ve drifted farther and farther away from ‘traditional’ paganism, because, to be blunt, I don’t like most of the people in it. Not unlike the kink community, no? I love the scene, I hate many of the people in it.
Pagans as a group annoy me, though. I am extremely pragmatic, and something of a skeptic.
Yes, you can be a pagan and a skeptic. I believe in magick, and in evolution. I do spellwork, but am skeptical about hypnosis.
I never claimed to be clear or consistent.
But see, let me quickly explain how I view magick and spellwork. A spell is just a prayer with props, first off. My lighting a candle and chanting my goal over and over is no different from you praying for it. It’s all energy applied to a goal. Basic physics. So it’s emotional/magickal/spiritual energy as opposed to physical energy… I don’t believe that makes it any less real, because I’ve felt the energy moving and I’ve seen my goals realized.
And after a good working, I feel as energized (high, almost) as I do after a good workout. Empirical evidence. Not always accurate, but it works for me.
So anyway, back to the point.
I drifted away from paganism for a while, and joined the Unitarian Universalists. I am a proud, happy UU, involved in my fellowship and close friends with my minister and his husband. But I’ve kinda missed paganism. Oh, I have a house altar, but when was the last time I thought to light a candle on it? When was the last time I celebrated a Full Moon?
It’s, um, been a while. I tried to restart the Coven of Unitarian Universalist Pagans at my fellowship, but I had too much going on to be its sole leadership/motivation, and it lapsed again.
So here’s where the Universe comes in and starts gently kicking my ass.
I am not what Kat wants long-term. This isn’t as much of a random statement as it sounds, I promise. I’m not what he’s looking for in the long run, as much as what we have now means to most of us. So I told him that I’d like to help him remind the Universe that he is looking, and does want to find the Domme he’s looking for. So I asked his permission to do a working for him. That means a spell. Yes, I know, I just got dumped into the category of “weird woo-woo people” in your head. Fuck off. :)
He gave his permission, and I started thinking about it. But life interfered, and things came up, and it got relegated to the back of my mind as a “one of these days I’ll get time for that”s.
Until about 2 weeks ago. 2 weeks ago, I woke up from an incredibly vivid dream. Another segue: I don’t dream much. And when I do, they’re wispy things that dissolve as soon as sunlight shimmers through my window. But not this one. I dreamt that I was at a Renaissance Festival, and I was shopping for Kat’s spell. I had in my hand 3 stones: rose quartz for love, jade for longevity, and chalcedony.
Let it be mentioned that I didn’t know what chalcedony was. I knew it was a stone, but I’d never seen it, never used it. I had no idea what it was used for, or why I would use it in a working to bring Kat together with the person he’s meant for. I only knew that that was what was in my hand and that it’s name was burned onto my tongue. The next morning, I could still taste the flavor of the trees I walked under at the Festival, and the word ‘chalcedony’ was burned into my mind.
The dream didn’t end with the stones, though. I sat down under the shade of a vendor’s booth with a think, heavy pillar candle in my hand. The traditional color for love workings is some shade of red, but this one in my hand was a deep, warm, golden yellow that made me think of hearthfires and home. I can even right this moment feel its weight in my hand. I used my sharp thumbnail (which I don’t have, as both Kat and Danny can attest), and wrote into it words that described what he wants, what he’s seeking. And while the pillar was in my hand, I woke up. I could still smell the beeswax.
So, Bella for a kick in the ass from the Universe. A gentle one, as such kicks go, but a kick nonetheless. I resolved to go shopping once I got to Atlanta this past weekend, because there are no stores where I live where I could find the objects from my dream.
And that’s when the Universe grabbed me by the back of the neck and decided that it was time for me to Pay Attention. Wolf told me that right near his shop is a little pagan store, and sent me there while he worked on my car. So I went. And it was perfect. I even found blue chalcedony. I coudln;t find quite the right pillar- or, well, I did, but it was out of what I could convince myself to pay.
So I bought a small votive, the stones, and a pouch for him to carry the stones in once they’re charged.
Then I left them in my car, on what I thought was a cool weekend, and returned to find the votive melted. Nothing else damaged, just the votive melted and useless.
Okay, okay, I get it. I was supposed to use a pillar that I can carve words into.
So I went back Monday, and bought a pillar. Smaller than I’d like, but budget is still an issue. I suggested to the Universe (rather acidly) as I was buying this (again!) that perhaps if it wanted me to buy things out of my price range, it should provide me the money to do it.
Um. Ever heard the old saying, “be careful what you wish for”?
Yeah.
They called me later that evening. The store, that is. They did a drawing. For a $50 gift card.
And I won it.
*flushes brightly* I think maybe the Universe wants me to get involved in my religion again.
I think maybe it’s going to get even more insistent if I try to ignore it.
I think I might not enjoy it if It has to get any more insistent than it’s already gotten.
Yes, Ma’am.
But I’ve been thinking about this, which means I’m going to write about it.
I’m pagan. I have been since I was 13- over 10 years now, wow I kinda feel old :)
Over the last 5 years or so, though, I’ve drifted farther and farther away from ‘traditional’ paganism, because, to be blunt, I don’t like most of the people in it. Not unlike the kink community, no? I love the scene, I hate many of the people in it.
Pagans as a group annoy me, though. I am extremely pragmatic, and something of a skeptic.
Yes, you can be a pagan and a skeptic. I believe in magick, and in evolution. I do spellwork, but am skeptical about hypnosis.
I never claimed to be clear or consistent.
But see, let me quickly explain how I view magick and spellwork. A spell is just a prayer with props, first off. My lighting a candle and chanting my goal over and over is no different from you praying for it. It’s all energy applied to a goal. Basic physics. So it’s emotional/magickal/spiritual energy as opposed to physical energy… I don’t believe that makes it any less real, because I’ve felt the energy moving and I’ve seen my goals realized.
And after a good working, I feel as energized (high, almost) as I do after a good workout. Empirical evidence. Not always accurate, but it works for me.
So anyway, back to the point.
I drifted away from paganism for a while, and joined the Unitarian Universalists. I am a proud, happy UU, involved in my fellowship and close friends with my minister and his husband. But I’ve kinda missed paganism. Oh, I have a house altar, but when was the last time I thought to light a candle on it? When was the last time I celebrated a Full Moon?
It’s, um, been a while. I tried to restart the Coven of Unitarian Universalist Pagans at my fellowship, but I had too much going on to be its sole leadership/motivation, and it lapsed again.
So here’s where the Universe comes in and starts gently kicking my ass.
I am not what Kat wants long-term. This isn’t as much of a random statement as it sounds, I promise. I’m not what he’s looking for in the long run, as much as what we have now means to most of us. So I told him that I’d like to help him remind the Universe that he is looking, and does want to find the Domme he’s looking for. So I asked his permission to do a working for him. That means a spell. Yes, I know, I just got dumped into the category of “weird woo-woo people” in your head. Fuck off. :)
He gave his permission, and I started thinking about it. But life interfered, and things came up, and it got relegated to the back of my mind as a “one of these days I’ll get time for that”s.
Until about 2 weeks ago. 2 weeks ago, I woke up from an incredibly vivid dream. Another segue: I don’t dream much. And when I do, they’re wispy things that dissolve as soon as sunlight shimmers through my window. But not this one. I dreamt that I was at a Renaissance Festival, and I was shopping for Kat’s spell. I had in my hand 3 stones: rose quartz for love, jade for longevity, and chalcedony.
Let it be mentioned that I didn’t know what chalcedony was. I knew it was a stone, but I’d never seen it, never used it. I had no idea what it was used for, or why I would use it in a working to bring Kat together with the person he’s meant for. I only knew that that was what was in my hand and that it’s name was burned onto my tongue. The next morning, I could still taste the flavor of the trees I walked under at the Festival, and the word ‘chalcedony’ was burned into my mind.
The dream didn’t end with the stones, though. I sat down under the shade of a vendor’s booth with a think, heavy pillar candle in my hand. The traditional color for love workings is some shade of red, but this one in my hand was a deep, warm, golden yellow that made me think of hearthfires and home. I can even right this moment feel its weight in my hand. I used my sharp thumbnail (which I don’t have, as both Kat and Danny can attest), and wrote into it words that described what he wants, what he’s seeking. And while the pillar was in my hand, I woke up. I could still smell the beeswax.
So, Bella for a kick in the ass from the Universe. A gentle one, as such kicks go, but a kick nonetheless. I resolved to go shopping once I got to Atlanta this past weekend, because there are no stores where I live where I could find the objects from my dream.
And that’s when the Universe grabbed me by the back of the neck and decided that it was time for me to Pay Attention. Wolf told me that right near his shop is a little pagan store, and sent me there while he worked on my car. So I went. And it was perfect. I even found blue chalcedony. I coudln;t find quite the right pillar- or, well, I did, but it was out of what I could convince myself to pay.
So I bought a small votive, the stones, and a pouch for him to carry the stones in once they’re charged.
Then I left them in my car, on what I thought was a cool weekend, and returned to find the votive melted. Nothing else damaged, just the votive melted and useless.
Okay, okay, I get it. I was supposed to use a pillar that I can carve words into.
So I went back Monday, and bought a pillar. Smaller than I’d like, but budget is still an issue. I suggested to the Universe (rather acidly) as I was buying this (again!) that perhaps if it wanted me to buy things out of my price range, it should provide me the money to do it.
Um. Ever heard the old saying, “be careful what you wish for”?
Yeah.
They called me later that evening. The store, that is. They did a drawing. For a $50 gift card.
And I won it.
*flushes brightly* I think maybe the Universe wants me to get involved in my religion again.
I think maybe it’s going to get even more insistent if I try to ignore it.
I think I might not enjoy it if It has to get any more insistent than it’s already gotten.
Yes, Ma’am.
26 September 2008
Things that amuse me
Jumping off my car with my motorcyle, rather than the other way around.
And having it work.
And having it work.
Please?
From Green Karat, the caption to this gorgeous necklace:
Wood's Rose
Description: The Wood’s Rose is native to the western US. It’s disease free, undemanding about water, and uncomplaining about harsh mountain conditions. The delicate flowers last only a day, but the bush diligently produces new ones for weeks on end. Beautiful, tireless, and tough. If the love of your life were a flower, she’d be a Wood’s Rose. This necklace tells her so in a very luxurious way.
I can haz?
A letter
Dear boys in my life,
I love you. I love your ability to distract the hell out of me- and I really love how you distract me. Really. It's so incredibly fun.
But I really really really do need to get some work done.
Please?
Oh, fuck it, the distractions are more fun ;-)
Love,
Bella
I love you. I love your ability to distract the hell out of me- and I really love how you distract me. Really. It's so incredibly fun.
But I really really really do need to get some work done.
Please?
Oh, fuck it, the distractions are more fun ;-)
Love,
Bella
Things I need to do today
Put on something other than a big t-shirt. Seriously.(I added a pair of jeans that are more hole than denim. It counts, right?)Call Grace Body Jewelry to find out where in the hell my belly ring is a month after ordering it.(Yay! I have a belly ring! Now if I can only get this one to heal enough to change it out...)Take my car by the Honda shop and tell them I want the little rubber grommet that rotted away and that no, they don't get to charge me $50 for it (because you know they'll try)They charged me $4 for a rubber grommet. Seriously. But it's fixed now, so *shrugs*Clean up the kitchen. Seriously. It's nasty.- Laundry! Clean clothes make my life better!
- Call Tattoogirl and see if she wants to grab coffee with Jack and I and discuss playing
- Work on the two papers I have due Tuesday
- Get my opal necklace fixed
- Buy an SD card for my new camera
- Buy more dog food
Take my timesheet in to work to turn inFigure out exactly what Boss Lady wants in abstracts and generate a crapload for her since I sort of haven't gotten any other work done with all the drama this week- Giving the fucking blogging a rest. Seriously. Really. (Riiiiiiigghhtt)
Home
I have this recurring fantasy of waking up a billionaire. Yeah, unique, I know.
I will move to Atlanta again, somewhere in north Atlanta. I’ve fantasized about it so many times that I can see the property, see the cottage-style house- deceptively small-looking on the outside- the heavy oak tree off to one side, the 4-stall barn behind and the 5-7 acres of pasture around it. I can see the roses twining up the arbor and smell their heady perfume as they mingle with night-blooming jasmine and morning glories to shade me while I take my tea beneath their flowers. I can see my Lipizzaner gelding in the pasture, tail twitching lazily while he grazes alongside 2 mares, and I can see the graceful, comfortable furniture on my front porch, inviting my guests to sit for a while with a glass of sweet tea.
Inside my house, I can see the sitting room, with its original hardwood floors and simple lines of elegantly comfortable furniture, a warm rug of alpaca wool, and the polished bookshelves alongside the stone fireplace, filled with my favorite books- an eclectic mixture of fiction and reference, fantasy and science. I can see my kitchen- the heart of my home- with its bright breakfast nook bathed in warm sunlight, and the kitchen-proper with its big island and granite countertops where all of my favorite cooking toys will stay. Then, completing the circuit I walk through my home, there is the formal dining room with its simple, old-fashioned elegance, the heavy wooden table that was my grandmothers, large enough to seat 16 with the leaves put in, surrounded by china cabinets in each corner displaying my teacup collection that was hers, as well as my antique crystal, silver, and the set of antique china I don’t use. The floor here is softened by a thick Turkish carpet, and above the shining length of table hangs an elegant chandelier, a thing of gentle curves and subtle beauty. Continuing back around to the front door, is a small room, a creation of light- all huge, sunny windows and filled with plants and comfortable, overstuffed chairs. The door to this room stays closed, a private retreat where only a few intimates are ever invited.
Continuing up the stairs, the visitor finds 4 bedrooms, the master mine of course- again, simply elegant and comfortable. A huge bed, large enough to sleep 4 comfortably, with crisp white sheets and a simple white spread that glows against the dark wood of the posts (of course it’s 4-poster- and reinforced- what did you expect?) and the swooping headboard which rises from behind the mound of pillows dominates one side of the room, with an antique dresser off to one side, and an ancient seachest at the foot of it. The other side of the room is a small sitting area, facing my small fireplace and flanked by comfortable, overstuffed chairs and another thick, soft alpaca rug.
My bathroom lies to one side, a large room with a sunken garden tub and a huge window that overlooks my property, surrounded by plants and mixing in with my various lotions and unguents. Beyond my bedroom and down the hall a little, are three more rooms. One is clearly my library and study, another light-filled room but the windows carefully tinted to protect the books from UV rays and another small fireplace backing up to my own, and every spare inch of the walls covered in bookshelves and overflowing with books. Books on politics, sociology, religions, biology, astronomy, veterinary medicine, anthropology, geography, and every novel I have ever loved. This room is almost masculine in nature, the chairs designed for long stays and study sessions, and a desk tucked into one corner with the various bits of technology I enjoy. The last two rooms are almost plain by contrast: one is clearly a guest bedroom, decorated in soft yellowy creams and light blues, colors to appeal to either gender, the bed covered in an antique quilt and large, fluffy pillows and a dresser matching the bed to one side beside a small bookcase and desk, clearly waiting for my next guest. This bedroom shares another large, airy, bathroom with one last room. This is clearly a bedroom as well, made up to the tastes of its occupant but its details are never clear to me. Only one thing is always utterly clear: the collar that sits on the dresser beneath the mirror, waiting for its occupant.
When I visit my home in my dreams, my boy is always there with me. I don’t know yet who he is, or where I will find him. But in my dreams, he is there. He greets me at the door when I come home, slipping gracefully to his knees and pressing his face into my hand as I stroke his cheek in greeting. His collar is smooth and cool beneath my fingertips, and he takes whatever I am carrying and puts it away.
Sometimes, he comes home with me, as though we spend the days together. As soon as we arrive home, he puts our things away and goes to strip and get his accoutrements while I fix a cup of tea. While it’s steeping, I curl up on the sofa with a deep sigh of contentment, knowing that as soon as its ready, it will be brought to me, steaming and perfectly prepared. Once its brought to me, I sip it, savoring the warm weight of his head in my lap as I stroke him gently, sipping my tea and unwinding.
Later, we’ll play. Later, we’ll fix dinner and we’ll discuss our days. But in my dreams, this little ritual is sacred and nothing short of a pressing emergency will interrupt it.
How he spends his days while I’m in class (yes, even as a billionaire I’ll stay in school. That nerd thing, remember?) is never completely clear… perhaps he will have a part-time job, or be in grad school. He won’t need to worry about income, certainly, but perhaps he will be one of those who needs to work to be happy.
But every day, when I come home, once the teacup is empty, in my dreams I hand it back to him and he goes and washes it out, and he returns to me, kneeling and waiting expectantly. His eyes are bright, and so are mine. I reach for what he’s fetched from his bedroom this afternoon, as he does every afternoon. His buttplug, a small bottle of warming lube, a length of silk rope, a small towel, his gag, and the nipple clamps. First, he presents his ass to me, and I slip the plug in easily, many evenings in it having taught his body to accommodate the device easily. This is secured by a simple rope harness around his waist, separating around the front to cup his cock and balls and place them on display for me even as they hold the plug in tightly. Once this is settled, and he’s kneeling back up for me, the gag is fitted into place, the phallic head to it slipping easily between his parted lips. He closes his eyes as it stretches his mouth just a little, and I buckle it comfortable, leaving a black expanse backing with a small eyebolt starkly silver against it. From here, the clamps are attached, and the way he winces and shifts a little delights me every single day, especially as I thread the chain between the clamps through the eyebolt on the outside of the gag, ensuring his careful attention to how he moves at all times. Now, now he is ready to begin the evening’s chores while I study. His nuzzles my hand one last time before rising gracefully, carefully, to begin cleaning while I take my books to the library to study until it’s time to make dinner.
Later, after dinner, perhaps we'll visit the playroom beneath the main floor.
I will move to Atlanta again, somewhere in north Atlanta. I’ve fantasized about it so many times that I can see the property, see the cottage-style house- deceptively small-looking on the outside- the heavy oak tree off to one side, the 4-stall barn behind and the 5-7 acres of pasture around it. I can see the roses twining up the arbor and smell their heady perfume as they mingle with night-blooming jasmine and morning glories to shade me while I take my tea beneath their flowers. I can see my Lipizzaner gelding in the pasture, tail twitching lazily while he grazes alongside 2 mares, and I can see the graceful, comfortable furniture on my front porch, inviting my guests to sit for a while with a glass of sweet tea.
Inside my house, I can see the sitting room, with its original hardwood floors and simple lines of elegantly comfortable furniture, a warm rug of alpaca wool, and the polished bookshelves alongside the stone fireplace, filled with my favorite books- an eclectic mixture of fiction and reference, fantasy and science. I can see my kitchen- the heart of my home- with its bright breakfast nook bathed in warm sunlight, and the kitchen-proper with its big island and granite countertops where all of my favorite cooking toys will stay. Then, completing the circuit I walk through my home, there is the formal dining room with its simple, old-fashioned elegance, the heavy wooden table that was my grandmothers, large enough to seat 16 with the leaves put in, surrounded by china cabinets in each corner displaying my teacup collection that was hers, as well as my antique crystal, silver, and the set of antique china I don’t use. The floor here is softened by a thick Turkish carpet, and above the shining length of table hangs an elegant chandelier, a thing of gentle curves and subtle beauty. Continuing back around to the front door, is a small room, a creation of light- all huge, sunny windows and filled with plants and comfortable, overstuffed chairs. The door to this room stays closed, a private retreat where only a few intimates are ever invited.
Continuing up the stairs, the visitor finds 4 bedrooms, the master mine of course- again, simply elegant and comfortable. A huge bed, large enough to sleep 4 comfortably, with crisp white sheets and a simple white spread that glows against the dark wood of the posts (of course it’s 4-poster- and reinforced- what did you expect?) and the swooping headboard which rises from behind the mound of pillows dominates one side of the room, with an antique dresser off to one side, and an ancient seachest at the foot of it. The other side of the room is a small sitting area, facing my small fireplace and flanked by comfortable, overstuffed chairs and another thick, soft alpaca rug.
My bathroom lies to one side, a large room with a sunken garden tub and a huge window that overlooks my property, surrounded by plants and mixing in with my various lotions and unguents. Beyond my bedroom and down the hall a little, are three more rooms. One is clearly my library and study, another light-filled room but the windows carefully tinted to protect the books from UV rays and another small fireplace backing up to my own, and every spare inch of the walls covered in bookshelves and overflowing with books. Books on politics, sociology, religions, biology, astronomy, veterinary medicine, anthropology, geography, and every novel I have ever loved. This room is almost masculine in nature, the chairs designed for long stays and study sessions, and a desk tucked into one corner with the various bits of technology I enjoy. The last two rooms are almost plain by contrast: one is clearly a guest bedroom, decorated in soft yellowy creams and light blues, colors to appeal to either gender, the bed covered in an antique quilt and large, fluffy pillows and a dresser matching the bed to one side beside a small bookcase and desk, clearly waiting for my next guest. This bedroom shares another large, airy, bathroom with one last room. This is clearly a bedroom as well, made up to the tastes of its occupant but its details are never clear to me. Only one thing is always utterly clear: the collar that sits on the dresser beneath the mirror, waiting for its occupant.
When I visit my home in my dreams, my boy is always there with me. I don’t know yet who he is, or where I will find him. But in my dreams, he is there. He greets me at the door when I come home, slipping gracefully to his knees and pressing his face into my hand as I stroke his cheek in greeting. His collar is smooth and cool beneath my fingertips, and he takes whatever I am carrying and puts it away.
Sometimes, he comes home with me, as though we spend the days together. As soon as we arrive home, he puts our things away and goes to strip and get his accoutrements while I fix a cup of tea. While it’s steeping, I curl up on the sofa with a deep sigh of contentment, knowing that as soon as its ready, it will be brought to me, steaming and perfectly prepared. Once its brought to me, I sip it, savoring the warm weight of his head in my lap as I stroke him gently, sipping my tea and unwinding.
Later, we’ll play. Later, we’ll fix dinner and we’ll discuss our days. But in my dreams, this little ritual is sacred and nothing short of a pressing emergency will interrupt it.
How he spends his days while I’m in class (yes, even as a billionaire I’ll stay in school. That nerd thing, remember?) is never completely clear… perhaps he will have a part-time job, or be in grad school. He won’t need to worry about income, certainly, but perhaps he will be one of those who needs to work to be happy.
But every day, when I come home, once the teacup is empty, in my dreams I hand it back to him and he goes and washes it out, and he returns to me, kneeling and waiting expectantly. His eyes are bright, and so are mine. I reach for what he’s fetched from his bedroom this afternoon, as he does every afternoon. His buttplug, a small bottle of warming lube, a length of silk rope, a small towel, his gag, and the nipple clamps. First, he presents his ass to me, and I slip the plug in easily, many evenings in it having taught his body to accommodate the device easily. This is secured by a simple rope harness around his waist, separating around the front to cup his cock and balls and place them on display for me even as they hold the plug in tightly. Once this is settled, and he’s kneeling back up for me, the gag is fitted into place, the phallic head to it slipping easily between his parted lips. He closes his eyes as it stretches his mouth just a little, and I buckle it comfortable, leaving a black expanse backing with a small eyebolt starkly silver against it. From here, the clamps are attached, and the way he winces and shifts a little delights me every single day, especially as I thread the chain between the clamps through the eyebolt on the outside of the gag, ensuring his careful attention to how he moves at all times. Now, now he is ready to begin the evening’s chores while I study. His nuzzles my hand one last time before rising gracefully, carefully, to begin cleaning while I take my books to the library to study until it’s time to make dinner.
Later, after dinner, perhaps we'll visit the playroom beneath the main floor.
25 September 2008
Narrative
I originally wrote this piece for A. He was supposed to continue it, but never did so I consider it up for grabs.
Your hands were in my hair, tangled in the soft strands and pulling my head back sharply, making me whimper. I could feel you behind me, the warm line of your body over my own as you bent forward and bit into the soft flesh at the back of my neck, and I gave a soft cry, my body going limp across the bed, prone and helpess. You yanked me back up, your hips pinning mine down so that my back was arched sharply and your free hand wrapped around my torso to my breast, squeezing and pinching my nipple until I whimpered in pain and pleasure, writhing under the pressure of your hand and hips, your cock pressing into the soft skin of my ass. I writhed against you, begging you to fuck me, needing to feel you inside of me, my hips twitching in their own, silent plea.
Your hand left my hair, only to wrap around my throat, your long fingers wrapping almost all the way around my small neck, making me whimper and plead for more even as you rolled my nipple between your fingers, the pain and pleasure combining into one almost unbearable sensation. I could feel your cock growing against my ass, and rolled my hips as best I could, rubbing against you, stimulating you, begging you with my body to please fuck me, to use me. Abruptly, I felt myself shoved down to the bed, your grip changing to the back of my neck and holding me tightly down. I whimpered a little, wondering what was coming, until I felt your hand on my ass, stroking down to my engorged cunt, parting my lips…
I had a moment of panic when I woke up, blind, with a weight across my chest. I tried to claw the soft cloth off of my face, only to realize that my hands were tied above my head. Just as I started to really panic, your voice cut through my wild thoughts, “Be still, darling.”
Instantly, I stilled, understanding at last, and knowing that as long as you were here I was safe.
Sort of.
I took quick stock of myself, flexing my ankles and realizing that they too were tied widely apart, my wrists secured above my head, blindfold on, and your weight heavy on my chest. I whimpered a little, flexing against the bonds instinctively, sensing your mood from my predicament, but even as I made the soft noise of what was ostensibly fear, I felt myself growing wet for you.
You laughed, I don’t know how you knew it- surely you couldn’t smell my arousal yet? “Such a perfect little slut, you’re already ready to be used”. I could only whimper, knowing that you were right. I was aching for it, and as always, you knew it- it was one of the things I loved most about you. You know what a slut I am at heart, and not only accept it but love me more for it.
“Please…” I whimpered.
Your response was immediate and to-the-point. Before I even finished the single syllable word, your cock was between my lips, effectively gagging me. I whimpered once more but followed the unspoken command, drawing you into my warm, wet mouth eagerly, lips tight around your cock. You thrust immediately into me, and I choked for a bare second, not quite ready for it, but quickly adjusted, stroking you with my tongue and sucking slowly. You gave a low moan of pleasure and I swirled my tongue around the head of you, my supine position not allowing me as much depth as either of us like, but more than enough to gag me effectively. I scraped my teeth oh-so-gently over you, just enough to provide sensation, and I felt your body clench, drawing a moan of pleasure from my own throat that vibrated around you.
Your hands were in my hair, tangled in the soft strands and pulling my head back sharply, making me whimper. I could feel you behind me, the warm line of your body over my own as you bent forward and bit into the soft flesh at the back of my neck, and I gave a soft cry, my body going limp across the bed, prone and helpess. You yanked me back up, your hips pinning mine down so that my back was arched sharply and your free hand wrapped around my torso to my breast, squeezing and pinching my nipple until I whimpered in pain and pleasure, writhing under the pressure of your hand and hips, your cock pressing into the soft skin of my ass. I writhed against you, begging you to fuck me, needing to feel you inside of me, my hips twitching in their own, silent plea.
Your hand left my hair, only to wrap around my throat, your long fingers wrapping almost all the way around my small neck, making me whimper and plead for more even as you rolled my nipple between your fingers, the pain and pleasure combining into one almost unbearable sensation. I could feel your cock growing against my ass, and rolled my hips as best I could, rubbing against you, stimulating you, begging you with my body to please fuck me, to use me. Abruptly, I felt myself shoved down to the bed, your grip changing to the back of my neck and holding me tightly down. I whimpered a little, wondering what was coming, until I felt your hand on my ass, stroking down to my engorged cunt, parting my lips…
I had a moment of panic when I woke up, blind, with a weight across my chest. I tried to claw the soft cloth off of my face, only to realize that my hands were tied above my head. Just as I started to really panic, your voice cut through my wild thoughts, “Be still, darling.”
Instantly, I stilled, understanding at last, and knowing that as long as you were here I was safe.
Sort of.
I took quick stock of myself, flexing my ankles and realizing that they too were tied widely apart, my wrists secured above my head, blindfold on, and your weight heavy on my chest. I whimpered a little, flexing against the bonds instinctively, sensing your mood from my predicament, but even as I made the soft noise of what was ostensibly fear, I felt myself growing wet for you.
You laughed, I don’t know how you knew it- surely you couldn’t smell my arousal yet? “Such a perfect little slut, you’re already ready to be used”. I could only whimper, knowing that you were right. I was aching for it, and as always, you knew it- it was one of the things I loved most about you. You know what a slut I am at heart, and not only accept it but love me more for it.
“Please…” I whimpered.
Your response was immediate and to-the-point. Before I even finished the single syllable word, your cock was between my lips, effectively gagging me. I whimpered once more but followed the unspoken command, drawing you into my warm, wet mouth eagerly, lips tight around your cock. You thrust immediately into me, and I choked for a bare second, not quite ready for it, but quickly adjusted, stroking you with my tongue and sucking slowly. You gave a low moan of pleasure and I swirled my tongue around the head of you, my supine position not allowing me as much depth as either of us like, but more than enough to gag me effectively. I scraped my teeth oh-so-gently over you, just enough to provide sensation, and I felt your body clench, drawing a moan of pleasure from my own throat that vibrated around you.
Tattoogirl
You know the Universe is trying to make up for a shitty day, when a beautiful tattooed girl plops down next to you at the Square where you're reading and minding your own business (and torturing Danny with fun and painful things you could do to him), and tells you that she wants to play.
Universe: I fucking love you.
Universe: I fucking love you.
Give me a hand with DomCon, please?
Yes, I post too damned often. Enjoy it while it lasts, because eventually I'll slow down.
I mentioned DomCon. And that it's coming up.
Now, here's something not everyone in the scene realizes about me: I'm a serious nerd. Like, really. I adore learning new things. I'm a double-major in Anthropology and Sociology, and a double-minor in Gender Studies and Psychology. So yeah, not only am I nerd, but I'm a nerd obsessed with how people work. Needless to say, I fucking love classes at kink conventions.
There are so many fun and interesting things to learn about new ways to hurt people.
So many things to learn, in fact, that I'm having trouble deciding.
So now, dear reader, I would like your opinion. Obviously, your answers are going to be biased toward your kinks. That's fine. I guess I'm mostly just curious what all of you lovely pervs are interested in :)
My Friday choices:
1130: Physiology- Understanding the human body and how it response to BDSM play
1245: Objectification or Electrical Play for Dummies/Beginners
1400: Stapling and Piercing or Strap-on Sex for all Genders
1515: Male Subs 101 or Bastinado or Art of Flogging (yes, Lucivar, I know you don't want me
looking at more bastinado)
1630: Sensory Deprivation/Overload or Kiss My Boots or Psychology of Service Subs
1745: CBT Techniques or Shibari Basics or Blade Play 101 (I'm SOSOSO leaning toward blades)
My Saturday choices:
1130: Sadistic Savings with Satan or Toxic BDSM (toxins used in play, not emotionally toxic)
1245: Predicament Bondage
1400: Dynamics of a Scene or Enema Play or Gender Fuck
1515: Blood Play (there are just no questions about this one)
1630: Erotic Wax Play (taught by a friend) or Mastering the Senses
1745: Sensual Touch/Erotic Dominance or Traditional English Corporal Discipline
My Sunday choices:
1200: Formal Tea Service (Kat, you will be attending this, and Lucivar, I'd like for you to as well)
1330: Mummification (I took this with the same person at SELF and enjoyed it) or Protocols and Rituals
1500: The Mistress Tea (no question here, either. I adore formal teas)
1630: Search and Seizure for Sadomasochists
What are your thoughts, folks? Please feed the blogger!
I mentioned DomCon. And that it's coming up.
Now, here's something not everyone in the scene realizes about me: I'm a serious nerd. Like, really. I adore learning new things. I'm a double-major in Anthropology and Sociology, and a double-minor in Gender Studies and Psychology. So yeah, not only am I nerd, but I'm a nerd obsessed with how people work. Needless to say, I fucking love classes at kink conventions.
There are so many fun and interesting things to learn about new ways to hurt people.
So many things to learn, in fact, that I'm having trouble deciding.
So now, dear reader, I would like your opinion. Obviously, your answers are going to be biased toward your kinks. That's fine. I guess I'm mostly just curious what all of you lovely pervs are interested in :)
My Friday choices:
1130: Physiology- Understanding the human body and how it response to BDSM play
1245: Objectification or Electrical Play for Dummies/Beginners
1400: Stapling and Piercing or Strap-on Sex for all Genders
1515: Male Subs 101 or Bastinado or Art of Flogging (yes, Lucivar, I know you don't want me
looking at more bastinado)
1630: Sensory Deprivation/Overload or Kiss My Boots or Psychology of Service Subs
1745: CBT Techniques or Shibari Basics or Blade Play 101 (I'm SOSOSO leaning toward blades)
My Saturday choices:
1130: Sadistic Savings with Satan or Toxic BDSM (toxins used in play, not emotionally toxic)
1245: Predicament Bondage
1400: Dynamics of a Scene or Enema Play or Gender Fuck
1515: Blood Play (there are just no questions about this one)
1630: Erotic Wax Play (taught by a friend) or Mastering the Senses
1745: Sensual Touch/Erotic Dominance or Traditional English Corporal Discipline
My Sunday choices:
1200: Formal Tea Service (Kat, you will be attending this, and Lucivar, I'd like for you to as well)
1330: Mummification (I took this with the same person at SELF and enjoyed it) or Protocols and Rituals
1500: The Mistress Tea (no question here, either. I adore formal teas)
1630: Search and Seizure for Sadomasochists
What are your thoughts, folks? Please feed the blogger!
The joy of poly
So DomCon is coming up. Rapidly.
I'm looking forward to it- a lot- but I'm also a little scared.
Jack and Kat are both great guys. They also both have some possessiveness about me. I don't know if either of them actually realizes it consciously, but I do, and they see it in one another. Among other little, amusing/frustrating things, they both have this possessive touching thing going on when around one another. As in, if I'm in the same room with the two of them, whoever I'm closest to has to be touching me, usually in small, possessive ways. It'd be funny if it weren't so frustrating.
Like I said, they're both great guys. They both, consciously, understand the others' claim to me and respect it. But instinct is not so rational, and neither of my men are poly by nature. This is hard for them, and I respect that.
And yet, fucking emotional masochist that I am, I booked a hotel room at DomCon for all of us. Jack, Kat, Lucivar, and me.
What the fuck was I thinking?!
I'm not real bright sometimes :)
I'm looking forward to it- a lot- but I'm also a little scared.
Jack and Kat are both great guys. They also both have some possessiveness about me. I don't know if either of them actually realizes it consciously, but I do, and they see it in one another. Among other little, amusing/frustrating things, they both have this possessive touching thing going on when around one another. As in, if I'm in the same room with the two of them, whoever I'm closest to has to be touching me, usually in small, possessive ways. It'd be funny if it weren't so frustrating.
Like I said, they're both great guys. They both, consciously, understand the others' claim to me and respect it. But instinct is not so rational, and neither of my men are poly by nature. This is hard for them, and I respect that.
And yet, fucking emotional masochist that I am, I booked a hotel room at DomCon for all of us. Jack, Kat, Lucivar, and me.
What the fuck was I thinking?!
I'm not real bright sometimes :)
For Lucivar
The quote I told you about, from The Magic and the Healing by Nick O'Donohoe:
"New-spilled blood is liquid jewelry, ruby incarnidine."
I want to spill yours. I want it to run over my fingers while I smear it across your skin like a child with fingerpaints. I want to wear it like liquid jewelry.
"New-spilled blood is liquid jewelry, ruby incarnidine."
I want to spill yours. I want it to run over my fingers while I smear it across your skin like a child with fingerpaints. I want to wear it like liquid jewelry.
Stuff
Things are... better.
Without delving too deeply into my personal drama (this isn't the place for that, I usually confine that stuff to my LJ), Jack and I broke up today.
2.5 years, to the day, after our relationship began.
We talked it out, though, and are making an appointment with the wonderful Gloria Brame.
So yeah, for everyone I basically ignored today because my head was in such a horrible place: I'm sorry, I appreciate the well-wishes and comments, I just wasn't in a space to respond.
Without delving too deeply into my personal drama (this isn't the place for that, I usually confine that stuff to my LJ), Jack and I broke up today.
2.5 years, to the day, after our relationship began.
We talked it out, though, and are making an appointment with the wonderful Gloria Brame.
So yeah, for everyone I basically ignored today because my head was in such a horrible place: I'm sorry, I appreciate the well-wishes and comments, I just wasn't in a space to respond.
24 September 2008
Vulnerability
I have a love/hate relationship with vulnerability. I spent a long time hiding. I'd only show what I thought people wanted to see. Nothing was spontaneous, everything was scripted for effect.
I made the right gestures, I showed the right facial expressions, I made the right little noises.
Even during sex, you only saw of me what I wanted you to see. I was never vulnerable unless I chose to show you vulnerability and then only a certain amount, scripted to get a response from you. I showed just enough vulnerability, after showing my strength, to make you feel like maybe that supposed vulnerability was special and shown just to you, that maybe you were the one who I felt safe with. I scripted everything to make you want me, and eventually, to make you love me.
Then I met Wolf, and for the first time I really was vulnerable. I really was honestly happy, and honestly scared, and just plain honest. It was exhilarating not to hide, to honestly eel things and show them. But it... didn't work out well for me.
So I retreated again. I put up the masks, and they got me through some really hard things.
Then I met Bunk, and I married him because he offered me safety and friendship, and that was all I wanted and thought I could handle. I tried to be honest with him, but I kept lapsing back into old patterns.
Then I met A. And he showed me my submissive side. He made me scared and happy and very, very vulnerable. He read me, he knew when I was lying with my face, my eyes, my posture, and he taught me honesty with him. I loved it.
But A couldn't give me what I needed outside of scene, so I found Jay. He was a Dom, he said, and he said he could read me, could give me that vulnerability and exhilaration.
He couldn't, and in fact I learned better than ever how to hide everything from him because he knew how to make every issue my fault, how to twist the knife in me. So I shut down, and I stayed that way for over a year before leaving him.
Enter Jack. I could be honest with Jack because I was leaving. We were never meant to be long-term. So I said, "Fuck it, I'm tired of hiding. I'm leaving, he can see me and it won't hurt anything because we won't be together long enough for him to get attached."
That was 2.5 years ago. Today.
I've spent 2.5 years being more honest and emotionally aware than ever in my life. I've consciously resisted manipulating him, given him the most honest and vulnerable parts of me and done my damndest to make this work. I've loved it. It's been an incredible feeling to have someone know me, inside and out- not just what I was willing to show them, but all of me. The fear and the issues and the scars and the broken bits and the strength and the kindness and the stupid obsession with self-sacrifice and the laziness and the need and the pointless ramblings. All of me.
But last night, I put the mask back on because it was more important to me not to hurt him than it was not to harm myself.
And I think it broke me.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to be vulnerable, be able to just drop the masks and quit hiding behind them.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm better off keeping them.
I made the right gestures, I showed the right facial expressions, I made the right little noises.
Even during sex, you only saw of me what I wanted you to see. I was never vulnerable unless I chose to show you vulnerability and then only a certain amount, scripted to get a response from you. I showed just enough vulnerability, after showing my strength, to make you feel like maybe that supposed vulnerability was special and shown just to you, that maybe you were the one who I felt safe with. I scripted everything to make you want me, and eventually, to make you love me.
Then I met Wolf, and for the first time I really was vulnerable. I really was honestly happy, and honestly scared, and just plain honest. It was exhilarating not to hide, to honestly eel things and show them. But it... didn't work out well for me.
So I retreated again. I put up the masks, and they got me through some really hard things.
Then I met Bunk, and I married him because he offered me safety and friendship, and that was all I wanted and thought I could handle. I tried to be honest with him, but I kept lapsing back into old patterns.
Then I met A. And he showed me my submissive side. He made me scared and happy and very, very vulnerable. He read me, he knew when I was lying with my face, my eyes, my posture, and he taught me honesty with him. I loved it.
But A couldn't give me what I needed outside of scene, so I found Jay. He was a Dom, he said, and he said he could read me, could give me that vulnerability and exhilaration.
He couldn't, and in fact I learned better than ever how to hide everything from him because he knew how to make every issue my fault, how to twist the knife in me. So I shut down, and I stayed that way for over a year before leaving him.
Enter Jack. I could be honest with Jack because I was leaving. We were never meant to be long-term. So I said, "Fuck it, I'm tired of hiding. I'm leaving, he can see me and it won't hurt anything because we won't be together long enough for him to get attached."
That was 2.5 years ago. Today.
I've spent 2.5 years being more honest and emotionally aware than ever in my life. I've consciously resisted manipulating him, given him the most honest and vulnerable parts of me and done my damndest to make this work. I've loved it. It's been an incredible feeling to have someone know me, inside and out- not just what I was willing to show them, but all of me. The fear and the issues and the scars and the broken bits and the strength and the kindness and the stupid obsession with self-sacrifice and the laziness and the need and the pointless ramblings. All of me.
But last night, I put the mask back on because it was more important to me not to hurt him than it was not to harm myself.
And I think it broke me.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to be vulnerable, be able to just drop the masks and quit hiding behind them.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm better off keeping them.
23 September 2008
Favor
I ranted recently on how I don't like feminization in the scene and I find it really misogynistic.
I've since been shown otherwise, and I really need to get off my ass and write that out.
Bug me about it, please?
I've since been shown otherwise, and I really need to get off my ass and write that out.
Bug me about it, please?
Things that don't suck
Let it just be mentioned that today is a fucking amazing day to be on the motorcycle.
Fucking A-Maz-Ing.
There is no greated feeling of freedom than the warm vibrations, the low throb of the engine, the wind working its way through my jacket and along my skin, and the utter joy of being astride my baby.
Yay.
Oh yeah, and shared oral with Jack fucking rocks. Yay for a cooperative body again!
Fucking A-Maz-Ing.
There is no greated feeling of freedom than the warm vibrations, the low throb of the engine, the wind working its way through my jacket and along my skin, and the utter joy of being astride my baby.
Yay.
Oh yeah, and shared oral with Jack fucking rocks. Yay for a cooperative body again!
This was supposed to pu
I like knives. And I like blood.
Yeah, it squicks some people. If you're one of them, then, well, skip this post.
There, you've been warned. I don't have to be guilty if you go and get all nauseous about the shit I find sexy. :-p
I really, really like knives.
Friday night, I was chatting with Terry after playing with the boys (really, that post is coming soon. Really. I promise.) and for whatever reason I pulled out my carry knife. It's this one: a Gerber Ripstop.
I like it. And so did Lucivar.
Terry laughed when she saw his eyes drawn to it over and over. She told me that he has some castration fantasies. My eyes lit up. I could feel it. I watched him shiver and her smile.
I explained how I liked the edge to it, with both the serrated and the fine edge because it gave me more flexibility. And how despite the different shape, it reminded me of a gelding knife.
Those aren't used anymore. At least, not usually. They usually use rubber bands, but I'm old-fashioned.
Lucivar's eyes got bigger and bigger. I smiled wider and wider. His eyes are pretty when they're huge, with his eyeliner smudged and the way they turn paler green than usual.
Let me digress really quickly. I work with horses. Or at least I used to. I have done gelding before. These days, it's done with the little rubber bands, but one vet I worked with did it the old fashioned way with a gelding knife. To me, it's a farm necessity, and I can't really eroticize it. But cutting in general works for me, and his responses were really fucking working for me. In fact, cutting really, really, really works for me. I love blades. I love the way they press into skin and the beautiful red lines they leave. And I seriously have a thing for blood. Like, seriously. I love the color, the taste, the texture. It's beautiful. Nick O'Donohoe, in The Magic and the Healing, referred to it as "ruby incarnadine". And I like scars. "Scars are like tattoos but with better stories." (No idea who to attribute that to, but I love it).
So I put the blade to his balls pressed the serrated edge to them just a little, still being very careful but enough to let him feel just how sharp it is. He gasped and I had to fight back a moan of pleasure. Terry just smiled.
As we sat later, his eyes kept being drawn to it- even in fetishwear I carry it, clipped to my pants pocket. At one point he crawled to me and stroked it with his fingertips. He never touched my skin, never even touched my pants! but I felt that caress in my cunt.
The next day, Terry was doing random stuff around the house, and I was having fun hurting Lucivar. Little things. Pinching, biting, grabbing his hair. Terry has an awesome toycase, and she's better with their toys than I'll likely ever be. So I don't even try to compete. I play with what I'm good at, and work on improving the rest.
I'd already showered and dressed and so of course I had my knife.
It goes everywhere with me. It's in my pocket right now, as I write this. I have a mental list I check for when I leave my house: wallet, phone, keys, first aid kit, knife. The rest were in the bedroom they loaned me, but I had the knife clipped to my pants.
So I pulled it out. His eyes got big. I opened it up. His eyes got bigger.
Here's where I digress. I like Lucivar, I really do. He's pretty. But I have specific things on specific boys I love. Jack's face and ass (he seriously has the best ass I've ever seen or played with). Kat's chest. Lucivar's eyes. They're fucking gorgeous.
And they opened up wide for me, and I grinned like a cat in the cream.
He told me a little later that he loves the look on my face as I'm holding the knife to him. I can only imagine.
I've mentioned this before and I'll mention this again. I fucking love responses. Seriously. I get off on them. And he's as responsive as a pre-St George level Lipzzaner.
Now here's where I have a memory gap. I don't really remember much of what I did or said with that knife. I'm sure I ran it over his skin, and I'm sure I played with the textures of serration and fine edge in various vulnerable spots.
But my memory works in flashes. Full color Polariods of my life.
The tip running along his inner arm while his hands were over his head and the way he shivered a little.
The blade slipping between his lips while he whimpered softly. The tip pressing lightly into his bottom lip.
Pressing it lightly against his balls again, watching him fight not to squirm.
Pressing the tip into this chest and drawing it down slowly, just enough to leave an incredibly fine line with a bare hint of blood. So careful, I had to be so careful, because what I wanted to do was more than mildly sociopathic.
Running it across his throat, using my hand to hold his chin in place just in case, pressing it in watching his face go soft.
And then I kissed him very, very gently.
Lucivar has some very dark places inside him. Jacqueline Carey refers to them as "fault lines of the soul". I love that term.
As I held the blade to him, I could feel hear those dark places in him calling out to my own dark places. I could hear them whimpering, or maybe that was just him.
He whispered to me, "If there were no rules, you'd cut me wouldn't you?"
And that rough sound went straight through my body, forked like lightning to my soul with a stop on the way at my cunt.
I whispered my answer against his lips with the blade still tight against this throat. "You know I would." His eyes closed tightly then reopened, wider than ever and I could feel everything in him straining up toward me and the blade.
I whispered in his ear, "Yes, love, I'd cut you."
He gasped.
"I'd cut you and I'd lick the blood away."
He made a small sound in the back of his throat.
"I'd work my tongue into the cut so that salt from my saliva stung and I'd swallow the blood."
He bit his lip, which drew my attention to it and I kissed it very lightly."
And then I'd kiss you and let you taste your blood on my lips."
His breath sighed out.
I don't remember much more after that. Perhaps when he reads this, Lucivar will fill in the gaps. I remember those Polariod moments and those are enough to make my entire body clench.
It's a damned good thing that boy isn't mine.
Because I'm not sure I would trust myself with him if I were the one who made the rules.
He wants a scar from my knife. And I want to give it to him. Terry, please can I break your toy? I promise I'll fix him again...
Yeah, it squicks some people. If you're one of them, then, well, skip this post.
There, you've been warned. I don't have to be guilty if you go and get all nauseous about the shit I find sexy. :-p
I really, really like knives.
Friday night, I was chatting with Terry after playing with the boys (really, that post is coming soon. Really. I promise.) and for whatever reason I pulled out my carry knife. It's this one: a Gerber Ripstop.
I like it. And so did Lucivar.
Terry laughed when she saw his eyes drawn to it over and over. She told me that he has some castration fantasies. My eyes lit up. I could feel it. I watched him shiver and her smile.
I explained how I liked the edge to it, with both the serrated and the fine edge because it gave me more flexibility. And how despite the different shape, it reminded me of a gelding knife.
Those aren't used anymore. At least, not usually. They usually use rubber bands, but I'm old-fashioned.Lucivar's eyes got bigger and bigger. I smiled wider and wider. His eyes are pretty when they're huge, with his eyeliner smudged and the way they turn paler green than usual.
Let me digress really quickly. I work with horses. Or at least I used to. I have done gelding before. These days, it's done with the little rubber bands, but one vet I worked with did it the old fashioned way with a gelding knife. To me, it's a farm necessity, and I can't really eroticize it. But cutting in general works for me, and his responses were really fucking working for me. In fact, cutting really, really, really works for me. I love blades. I love the way they press into skin and the beautiful red lines they leave. And I seriously have a thing for blood. Like, seriously. I love the color, the taste, the texture. It's beautiful. Nick O'Donohoe, in The Magic and the Healing, referred to it as "ruby incarnadine". And I like scars. "Scars are like tattoos but with better stories." (No idea who to attribute that to, but I love it).
So I put the blade to his balls pressed the serrated edge to them just a little, still being very careful but enough to let him feel just how sharp it is. He gasped and I had to fight back a moan of pleasure. Terry just smiled.
As we sat later, his eyes kept being drawn to it- even in fetishwear I carry it, clipped to my pants pocket. At one point he crawled to me and stroked it with his fingertips. He never touched my skin, never even touched my pants! but I felt that caress in my cunt.
The next day, Terry was doing random stuff around the house, and I was having fun hurting Lucivar. Little things. Pinching, biting, grabbing his hair. Terry has an awesome toycase, and she's better with their toys than I'll likely ever be. So I don't even try to compete. I play with what I'm good at, and work on improving the rest.
I'd already showered and dressed and so of course I had my knife.
It goes everywhere with me. It's in my pocket right now, as I write this. I have a mental list I check for when I leave my house: wallet, phone, keys, first aid kit, knife. The rest were in the bedroom they loaned me, but I had the knife clipped to my pants.
So I pulled it out. His eyes got big. I opened it up. His eyes got bigger.
Here's where I digress. I like Lucivar, I really do. He's pretty. But I have specific things on specific boys I love. Jack's face and ass (he seriously has the best ass I've ever seen or played with). Kat's chest. Lucivar's eyes. They're fucking gorgeous.
And they opened up wide for me, and I grinned like a cat in the cream.
He told me a little later that he loves the look on my face as I'm holding the knife to him. I can only imagine.
I've mentioned this before and I'll mention this again. I fucking love responses. Seriously. I get off on them. And he's as responsive as a pre-St George level Lipzzaner.
Now here's where I have a memory gap. I don't really remember much of what I did or said with that knife. I'm sure I ran it over his skin, and I'm sure I played with the textures of serration and fine edge in various vulnerable spots.
But my memory works in flashes. Full color Polariods of my life.
The tip running along his inner arm while his hands were over his head and the way he shivered a little.
The blade slipping between his lips while he whimpered softly. The tip pressing lightly into his bottom lip.
Pressing it lightly against his balls again, watching him fight not to squirm.
Pressing the tip into this chest and drawing it down slowly, just enough to leave an incredibly fine line with a bare hint of blood. So careful, I had to be so careful, because what I wanted to do was more than mildly sociopathic.
Running it across his throat, using my hand to hold his chin in place just in case, pressing it in watching his face go soft.
And then I kissed him very, very gently.
Lucivar has some very dark places inside him. Jacqueline Carey refers to them as "fault lines of the soul". I love that term.
As I held the blade to him, I could feel hear those dark places in him calling out to my own dark places. I could hear them whimpering, or maybe that was just him.
He whispered to me, "If there were no rules, you'd cut me wouldn't you?"
And that rough sound went straight through my body, forked like lightning to my soul with a stop on the way at my cunt.
I whispered my answer against his lips with the blade still tight against this throat. "You know I would." His eyes closed tightly then reopened, wider than ever and I could feel everything in him straining up toward me and the blade.
I whispered in his ear, "Yes, love, I'd cut you."
He gasped.
"I'd cut you and I'd lick the blood away."
He made a small sound in the back of his throat.
"I'd work my tongue into the cut so that salt from my saliva stung and I'd swallow the blood."
He bit his lip, which drew my attention to it and I kissed it very lightly."
And then I'd kiss you and let you taste your blood on my lips."
His breath sighed out.
I don't remember much more after that. Perhaps when he reads this, Lucivar will fill in the gaps. I remember those Polariod moments and those are enough to make my entire body clench.
It's a damned good thing that boy isn't mine.
Because I'm not sure I would trust myself with him if I were the one who made the rules.
He wants a scar from my knife. And I want to give it to him. Terry, please can I break your toy? I promise I'll fix him again...
Random vignettes from the weekend pt 2
"Strip," I told him.
He'd fucked up. He'd managed to irritate me, and that's hard. He ignored what I told him, and it was going to cause me consequences.
He does that so very rarely that my response is always divided- part of me wants to forgive him because it's so rare and just not get angry with him.
The other part wants to beat the everloving shit out of him to ensure it stays so very rare.
Balance. I try to stay in the middle.
I looked him over- he really is beautiful, my Kat. His workouts have a very nice effect, and his body is a pleasure to look at. I love the broad shoulders, the thick muscles of his chest with his hair trimmed to just enough to tug on, the planes of his belly and strength of his legs. And he has an adorable ass. But tonight I was tired, and still a little pissed, and I wanted this over with so I could go to bed.
"Over my lap."
He obeyed, and just for a moment I enjoyed the sensation of his weight across my legs, balanced across my thighs, stroking his thighs and ass idly. "How many do you think you deserve for ignoring what I told you over and over?" My voice was soft, but I could hear the thread of anger still in it, and from the way he tensed I know he did, too.
I like asking him these questions. He knows that the rubber loop paddle is my punishment toy- he hates it, it's too much for him to process with anything like pleasure. So I'm curious what he'll answer.
"20, Ma'am."
My eyebrows rise, and I know he can feel my surprise. His voice is absolutely miserable, and as I process this- his misery and guilt and the desire to atone for his mistake. His willingness to take this pain he hates for me, I feel myself melt. The last of my anger slips away.
I love this man.
"You're feeling brave tonight." The words are a mild test. I know how he meant it, and it's got nothing to do with the usual idea of bravery. It has everything to do with courage, though. Real courage.
"I deserve it, Ma'am." His voice is still so rough, still so full of misery.
I almost want to suspend the punishment, wrap him in my arms. He is such a good boy for me.
I tell him this. Tell him that I'm proud of him. I don't even remember what I said, I spoke with my hands and my body and the tenderness in my voice.
And then I picked up the paddle. "15," I told him. "5 less, for being so good for me."
And then I brought it down.
He sucked in his breath and his body tensed. He hates it, and I'm glad. I want this never to happen again, but I know it will because he's human and I'm human and we fuck up.
I bring it down again, fast, multiple blows and he's counting for me, "2, 3, 4, 5! Ma'am"
I stop every few blows and rub the marks I've made. He's gritting his teeth and shaking his head and I bring it down again and he's counting for me and I love him so much right this moment.
To suffer like this for me, there is a divinity to it.
I stop at 14 and rub his back. He's shaking a little, and I warn him. "This last one is going to hurt like a sonuvabitch," and just as he nods I bring it down again, all the force in my arm this time.
He makes a sound like a stifled howl and I lean into him, press his cheek to mine and whisper to him how good he is, how proud of him I am, how much I love him. I tell him it's over, that he's not to think of it again and he is making small sounds and pressing into my hand and my cheek and when I kiss him his eyes are shiny.
I play with him for a bit after that, other random toys in my bag and while I love it, while it's fun as always, I'm still shaking inside from how beautiful he is as he hurts for me.
Goddess, I love this man.
He'd fucked up. He'd managed to irritate me, and that's hard. He ignored what I told him, and it was going to cause me consequences.
He does that so very rarely that my response is always divided- part of me wants to forgive him because it's so rare and just not get angry with him.
The other part wants to beat the everloving shit out of him to ensure it stays so very rare.
Balance. I try to stay in the middle.
I looked him over- he really is beautiful, my Kat. His workouts have a very nice effect, and his body is a pleasure to look at. I love the broad shoulders, the thick muscles of his chest with his hair trimmed to just enough to tug on, the planes of his belly and strength of his legs. And he has an adorable ass. But tonight I was tired, and still a little pissed, and I wanted this over with so I could go to bed.
"Over my lap."
He obeyed, and just for a moment I enjoyed the sensation of his weight across my legs, balanced across my thighs, stroking his thighs and ass idly. "How many do you think you deserve for ignoring what I told you over and over?" My voice was soft, but I could hear the thread of anger still in it, and from the way he tensed I know he did, too.
I like asking him these questions. He knows that the rubber loop paddle is my punishment toy- he hates it, it's too much for him to process with anything like pleasure. So I'm curious what he'll answer.
"20, Ma'am."
My eyebrows rise, and I know he can feel my surprise. His voice is absolutely miserable, and as I process this- his misery and guilt and the desire to atone for his mistake. His willingness to take this pain he hates for me, I feel myself melt. The last of my anger slips away.
I love this man.
"You're feeling brave tonight." The words are a mild test. I know how he meant it, and it's got nothing to do with the usual idea of bravery. It has everything to do with courage, though. Real courage.
"I deserve it, Ma'am." His voice is still so rough, still so full of misery.
I almost want to suspend the punishment, wrap him in my arms. He is such a good boy for me.
I tell him this. Tell him that I'm proud of him. I don't even remember what I said, I spoke with my hands and my body and the tenderness in my voice.
And then I picked up the paddle. "15," I told him. "5 less, for being so good for me."
And then I brought it down.
He sucked in his breath and his body tensed. He hates it, and I'm glad. I want this never to happen again, but I know it will because he's human and I'm human and we fuck up.
I bring it down again, fast, multiple blows and he's counting for me, "2, 3, 4, 5! Ma'am"
I stop every few blows and rub the marks I've made. He's gritting his teeth and shaking his head and I bring it down again and he's counting for me and I love him so much right this moment.
To suffer like this for me, there is a divinity to it.
I stop at 14 and rub his back. He's shaking a little, and I warn him. "This last one is going to hurt like a sonuvabitch," and just as he nods I bring it down again, all the force in my arm this time.
He makes a sound like a stifled howl and I lean into him, press his cheek to mine and whisper to him how good he is, how proud of him I am, how much I love him. I tell him it's over, that he's not to think of it again and he is making small sounds and pressing into my hand and my cheek and when I kiss him his eyes are shiny.
I play with him for a bit after that, other random toys in my bag and while I love it, while it's fun as always, I'm still shaking inside from how beautiful he is as he hurts for me.
Goddess, I love this man.
22 September 2008
Random vignettes from the weekend
I didn't have any toys at hand, not even my favorite carrying knife, and I was feeling too lazy to go and find some. (Even though they were in their toy-case less than 10' away)
So I used the lovely instruments of sadism gifted to me by the Goddess.
I bit him- hard, and watched the blood fill the indentions left by my small, intensely sharp teeth, and I watched his eyes widen and felt his back arch against me. His eyes are gorgeous when they go wide and blank.
I ran my nails- too short, alas!- along his skin, and over the bruises on his inner thighs left over from his previous evening. I loved the way he whimpered in pain and twisted his head from side to side- the motion one of negation but the meaning clearly the opposite.
He's such a slut. I love it.
I twisted his already sore nipples- ringed!- and watched him jam a fist in his mouth to try and stifle a scream while I shuddered in utter delight.
I wrapped my fingers in his hair and dragged his head around a bit, just because I like the texture of his hair and the way his entire body relaxes into my grip as he follows it.
And I told him a story. Actually, I told him a story the day before, but it's my blog and I can put things in whatever order I want. So there.
I wrapped my hand around his throat, feeling the rapid pulse there, and he instantly arched into my hand, baring his throat further to me. It made things low in my body clench in delight.
I really don't think I evolved much. I really don't. Primitive things like that just do it for me.
I asked him if he knew how wolves show their submission in packs. When he shook his head a little, I smiled and explained. Baring ones throat to any predator is an intimate gesture of trust. Wolves, at their most submissive, bare their throat and belly in the gesture dog owners are so familiar with- rolling onto their backs. But wolf intimacy, like that of humans, is far more complex than a simple rolling over.
Wolf pups lick their mother's (or any designated babysitter of the pack, and yes wolves have babysitters) muzzle, along the corners of her mouth, to ask for food. (Gross part: this is actually a request for her to vomit up half-digested meat which the pups can eat)
The gesture continues into adulthood to show submission to an alpha, licking the corners of the mouth gently. It is a gentle request for attention, a gesture that says, "I am vulnerable to you. You have power over me."
Alphas respond by taking the muzzle of the submissive gently into their mouths and closing their teeth on it lightly. The gesture says (to this anthropomorphizing human), "Yes, you are mine. I have the power to hurt you, but I will care for you as well."
His eyes were wide as I told him this, sitting on his chest and interspersing my words with light nips to his so-pretty lips.
His response when I finished?
He lightly licked the corners of my mouth.
Perfect.
Just... perfect.
So I used the lovely instruments of sadism gifted to me by the Goddess.
I bit him- hard, and watched the blood fill the indentions left by my small, intensely sharp teeth, and I watched his eyes widen and felt his back arch against me. His eyes are gorgeous when they go wide and blank.
I ran my nails- too short, alas!- along his skin, and over the bruises on his inner thighs left over from his previous evening. I loved the way he whimpered in pain and twisted his head from side to side- the motion one of negation but the meaning clearly the opposite.
He's such a slut. I love it.
I twisted his already sore nipples- ringed!- and watched him jam a fist in his mouth to try and stifle a scream while I shuddered in utter delight.
I wrapped my fingers in his hair and dragged his head around a bit, just because I like the texture of his hair and the way his entire body relaxes into my grip as he follows it.
And I told him a story. Actually, I told him a story the day before, but it's my blog and I can put things in whatever order I want. So there.
I wrapped my hand around his throat, feeling the rapid pulse there, and he instantly arched into my hand, baring his throat further to me. It made things low in my body clench in delight.
I really don't think I evolved much. I really don't. Primitive things like that just do it for me.
I asked him if he knew how wolves show their submission in packs. When he shook his head a little, I smiled and explained. Baring ones throat to any predator is an intimate gesture of trust. Wolves, at their most submissive, bare their throat and belly in the gesture dog owners are so familiar with- rolling onto their backs. But wolf intimacy, like that of humans, is far more complex than a simple rolling over.
Wolf pups lick their mother's (or any designated babysitter of the pack, and yes wolves have babysitters) muzzle, along the corners of her mouth, to ask for food. (Gross part: this is actually a request for her to vomit up half-digested meat which the pups can eat)
The gesture continues into adulthood to show submission to an alpha, licking the corners of the mouth gently. It is a gentle request for attention, a gesture that says, "I am vulnerable to you. You have power over me."
Alphas respond by taking the muzzle of the submissive gently into their mouths and closing their teeth on it lightly. The gesture says (to this anthropomorphizing human), "Yes, you are mine. I have the power to hurt you, but I will care for you as well."
His eyes were wide as I told him this, sitting on his chest and interspersing my words with light nips to his so-pretty lips.
His response when I finished?
He lightly licked the corners of my mouth.
Perfect.
Just... perfect.
21 September 2008
Happy Autumn Equinox
Happy Autumn Equinox.
Today centers around balance.
Yes, I know, I haven't shut up about balance in a long time.
But today actually really is about balance. They used to believe that you could balance an egg on its end today.
You can't.
But *I* feel so incredibly more balanced. Life is good, and I think I needed that reminder.
SOSOSOSO much to tell about this amazing weekend soon.
Today centers around balance.
Yes, I know, I haven't shut up about balance in a long time.
But today actually really is about balance. They used to believe that you could balance an egg on its end today.
You can't.
But *I* feel so incredibly more balanced. Life is good, and I think I needed that reminder.
SOSOSOSO much to tell about this amazing weekend soon.
20 September 2008
Yummy.
At Terry and Lucivar's. Life is really, really fucking good.
There will be details later.
Let it suffice to say that boys roped tightly together and being beaten are fucking yummy, and so is it when they arch up into the knife you're holding to their throat.
I am SUCH a lucky woman.
There will be details later.
Let it suffice to say that boys roped tightly together and being beaten are fucking yummy, and so is it when they arch up into the knife you're holding to their throat.
I am SUCH a lucky woman.
17 September 2008
Excited
Today, as soon as I leave the class I'm in, I drive to Atlanta. I'm ridiculously excited- more so even than usual. I feel like life is finally coming together again- I have Skya (my bike) back, A back, my job back, and hopefully some progress on the Jack-and-I front.
Meanwhile...
I drive in tonight, spend the night with Kat, house-hunt tomorrow (after a possible b'fast with Gypsy and picking up Logan's Garmin to borrow for house-hunting), then pick up Lucivar (maybe, if Terry doesn't/can't), then the FemDom event tomorrow night.
The theme is 'School', and since I couldn't think of anything really suitable to wear, I went to the thrift store and picked up a khaki skirt and fitted white shirt with tie. Uninspired but attractive. Coupled with a new wooden ruler, it will do although I'm not thrilled.
Saturday I will be spending with Terry and Lucivar before going to the TNG event. And yes, Lucivar, I'll be wearing the leather pants you admired so much. *grins*
Sunday, I will be returning to Atlanta-proper for my belated birthday dinner, then staying with Kat that night and driving home Monday morning.
And Tuesday I have a paper due :)
Wish me luck, and since I'll be leaving my laptop with Jack this weekend, I probably won't be blogging much if at all.
Meanwhile...
I drive in tonight, spend the night with Kat, house-hunt tomorrow (after a possible b'fast with Gypsy and picking up Logan's Garmin to borrow for house-hunting), then pick up Lucivar (maybe, if Terry doesn't/can't), then the FemDom event tomorrow night.
The theme is 'School', and since I couldn't think of anything really suitable to wear, I went to the thrift store and picked up a khaki skirt and fitted white shirt with tie. Uninspired but attractive. Coupled with a new wooden ruler, it will do although I'm not thrilled.
Saturday I will be spending with Terry and Lucivar before going to the TNG event. And yes, Lucivar, I'll be wearing the leather pants you admired so much. *grins*
Sunday, I will be returning to Atlanta-proper for my belated birthday dinner, then staying with Kat that night and driving home Monday morning.
And Tuesday I have a paper due :)
Wish me luck, and since I'll be leaving my laptop with Jack this weekend, I probably won't be blogging much if at all.
Defining 'sex'
So lately I’ve been thinking a lot about sex, and definitions of sex. Jack and I have been having to define it very carefully, as we slowly explore polyamory together. Since I have another partner (Kat), and he doesn’t, this means that our definitions are a little one-sided right now. Personally, I am open poly by nature: once we find him a girl he’s welcome to fuck her seven ways to Sunday. However, when we got together 2 years ago, his response to the idea of poly was, “Why would anyone want to do that?” so I’m not pushing his limits too much.
Pushing limits is fun. Breaking them is not.
So right now, we’re working on defining sex. Relatively obviously, cock + pussy = sex. I personally also define anal and oral sex as- imagine it- sex! But here’s where we get tricky: my seeing him masturbate, sex? Him seeing me (a very special treat, which he has not earned yet regardless of how we define it)? What about my just playing with his cock? Torturing it? His nudity? My nudity?
Where is the line of “sex” drawn? I know where it’s drawn for me. When something other than my own hand/tool in my hand penetrates me, or my hand is on his cock with intention of his cumming, then it’s sex for me. But I know that those are well into the territory that Jack sees as sex, so where does he draw the line?
It’s amazing how hard it is to get even someone as comfortable with their sexuality as Jack is to really talk/think about that. He keeps shying away from it, asking me to talk to him before any time I might go farther. Um, to quote my father (as strange as that is to do in my kink blog!): “Sounds good on paper”. In reality, it’s kind of difficult to interrupt a scene to call him (and he never answers the phone on the first try!) and ask, “So, honey, I’ve got Kat tied up and I’m cropping his front, mind if I wrap my hand around his cock to better brace it while I crop it?”
Riiiiiggghhht. That’s gonna happen.
So we’ve pretty much settled into this: I come up with scenarios I think might end up happening, then ask him what he thinks about them. If they’re too far outside his limits, we discuss ways they could be tweaked to make him more comfortable. It’s imperfect, but it works.
“So honey, I was thinking about putting mini clothespins all over Kat’s ballsac…”
Pushing limits is fun. Breaking them is not.
So right now, we’re working on defining sex. Relatively obviously, cock + pussy = sex. I personally also define anal and oral sex as- imagine it- sex! But here’s where we get tricky: my seeing him masturbate, sex? Him seeing me (a very special treat, which he has not earned yet regardless of how we define it)? What about my just playing with his cock? Torturing it? His nudity? My nudity?
Where is the line of “sex” drawn? I know where it’s drawn for me. When something other than my own hand/tool in my hand penetrates me, or my hand is on his cock with intention of his cumming, then it’s sex for me. But I know that those are well into the territory that Jack sees as sex, so where does he draw the line?
It’s amazing how hard it is to get even someone as comfortable with their sexuality as Jack is to really talk/think about that. He keeps shying away from it, asking me to talk to him before any time I might go farther. Um, to quote my father (as strange as that is to do in my kink blog!): “Sounds good on paper”. In reality, it’s kind of difficult to interrupt a scene to call him (and he never answers the phone on the first try!) and ask, “So, honey, I’ve got Kat tied up and I’m cropping his front, mind if I wrap my hand around his cock to better brace it while I crop it?”
Riiiiiggghhht. That’s gonna happen.
So we’ve pretty much settled into this: I come up with scenarios I think might end up happening, then ask him what he thinks about them. If they’re too far outside his limits, we discuss ways they could be tweaked to make him more comfortable. It’s imperfect, but it works.
“So honey, I was thinking about putting mini clothespins all over Kat’s ballsac…”
Apologies
So right after I complained about Ahela, the fucker goes and admits he fucked up.
The conversation went a little like this:
Me: Yeah, I have to go pick up my bike. She's been gone for 9 weeks now.
A: Wow, I'm sure that's been unpleasant.
Me: Considering that she is my primary source of stress relief outside of D/s... yeah.
A: Oh wow, I'm sure.
Me: And when you throw in the distinct possibility of Jack and I breaking up, with all of my usual sources of support gone, it's been... unpleasant.
A: Oh wow, I'm sorry, I didn't know.
Me: Shall I let my hurt and anger answer and say that you didn't want to know, or shall I let my love for you answer and say that you had issues of your own?
A: I'm not really sure, honestly.
Me: Neither am I. I came very close to cutting communications with you.
A: I can understand that.
Me: You make it very hard to be angry with you, you know that?
A: How do you mean?
Me: It's hard to be angry with someone admitting I have a right to be angry with them.
A: Well, I certainly can't deny it.
Me: Most would try.
A: I'm not most.
Me: This is very true. And it was even harder to say anything after your comment about my bring 'needy', and then you flat-out saying you had no interest in anything D/s-related.
A: I can absolutely see that.
It's not fixed. My sub side still isn't sure she/I/we can trust him to be there for her/me/us, but it's nice to have my friend back.
The conversation went a little like this:
Me: Yeah, I have to go pick up my bike. She's been gone for 9 weeks now.
A: Wow, I'm sure that's been unpleasant.
Me: Considering that she is my primary source of stress relief outside of D/s... yeah.
A: Oh wow, I'm sure.
Me: And when you throw in the distinct possibility of Jack and I breaking up, with all of my usual sources of support gone, it's been... unpleasant.
A: Oh wow, I'm sorry, I didn't know.
Me: Shall I let my hurt and anger answer and say that you didn't want to know, or shall I let my love for you answer and say that you had issues of your own?
A: I'm not really sure, honestly.
Me: Neither am I. I came very close to cutting communications with you.
A: I can understand that.
Me: You make it very hard to be angry with you, you know that?
A: How do you mean?
Me: It's hard to be angry with someone admitting I have a right to be angry with them.
A: Well, I certainly can't deny it.
Me: Most would try.
A: I'm not most.
Me: This is very true. And it was even harder to say anything after your comment about my bring 'needy', and then you flat-out saying you had no interest in anything D/s-related.
A: I can absolutely see that.
It's not fixed. My sub side still isn't sure she/I/we can trust him to be there for her/me/us, but it's nice to have my friend back.
16 September 2008
Rights and responsibilities
I talked to A again today.
I'm at the point emotionally where I feel like making up with him is the lesser of two evils- the greater one being having major issues with 2 of my 3 men, and the 3rd being too far away to lean on as I'd need and having too much on his own plate.
I'm still angry. Still hurt and betrayed. But I'm trying to get past it enough to talk to him because I can't afford to isolate myself right now, even for long-term good.
It's gotten me thinking, though. Where does one's responsibility to their submissive begin and end?
I tend to take the overly repsonsible route, I know that.
My ex-girlfriend, who subbed to me a bit and is still a good friend, is newly single and it's been really messing with her self-esteem. So she's been talking to me a lot, and I feel a responsbility to be there for her even when I don't feel like it. Even when I'm tired and cranky, I feel a responsibility to talk to her and reassure her.
My femsub- yes, the straight, 'nilla one- is extremely needy. It drives me nuts. I hate it. But when she's honestly having trouble, even when I'm in the middle of my deepest, darkest, "everyone fucking leave me alone" depression, I feel a responsibility to talk to her and help her.
It's the same with Kat, although less extreme because he's, well, less needy. An example would be at DragonCon- we had both had an incredibly difficult day, and things just kept going downhill. And both our stress levels just built, and built, and built until he finally burst out that he was so sorry that all of this was going on, and it was his fault, etc etc.
And all of my irritation just drained away, and was replaced with a warm affection for him. I made him come to me, and I put my arms around him and told him that I was rather pleased that all of this had happened because we wouldn't have much time together at D*C and I was glad that circumstances had forced this time together.
And yet, A decided about a month ago, maybe as much as 6 weeks now, that he was in a 'vanilla mode' and 'probably wouldn't be there long' but during that time he had absolutely no interest in anything kink-related and didn't want to even discuss submission with me.
In other words, he had no intention of meeting my needs- or for a few weeks there, even talking to me- despite knowing that getting badly out of balance has really nasty effects on my emotional stability.
Where does my responsibility as a dominant begin and end?
When I'm depressed and hurting myself, do I still have a responsibility to meet my submissives' needs?
Where does A's to me begin and end?
When he is in a mode that all things kink are uninteresting to him, does he still have a responsibility to help me meet my needs for submission?
I told Kat once that he as my submissive has a responsibility to me to tell me what his needs are- I'm not psychic, ok?- and that I have a responsibility to meet those needs. And if I can't meet those needs for some reason, then I have a responsibility to help him find another way to meet them.
Am I just overly obsessed with this concept?
Your thoughts, please?
I'm at the point emotionally where I feel like making up with him is the lesser of two evils- the greater one being having major issues with 2 of my 3 men, and the 3rd being too far away to lean on as I'd need and having too much on his own plate.
I'm still angry. Still hurt and betrayed. But I'm trying to get past it enough to talk to him because I can't afford to isolate myself right now, even for long-term good.
It's gotten me thinking, though. Where does one's responsibility to their submissive begin and end?
I tend to take the overly repsonsible route, I know that.
My ex-girlfriend, who subbed to me a bit and is still a good friend, is newly single and it's been really messing with her self-esteem. So she's been talking to me a lot, and I feel a responsbility to be there for her even when I don't feel like it. Even when I'm tired and cranky, I feel a responsibility to talk to her and reassure her.
My femsub- yes, the straight, 'nilla one- is extremely needy. It drives me nuts. I hate it. But when she's honestly having trouble, even when I'm in the middle of my deepest, darkest, "everyone fucking leave me alone" depression, I feel a responsibility to talk to her and help her.
It's the same with Kat, although less extreme because he's, well, less needy. An example would be at DragonCon- we had both had an incredibly difficult day, and things just kept going downhill. And both our stress levels just built, and built, and built until he finally burst out that he was so sorry that all of this was going on, and it was his fault, etc etc.
And all of my irritation just drained away, and was replaced with a warm affection for him. I made him come to me, and I put my arms around him and told him that I was rather pleased that all of this had happened because we wouldn't have much time together at D*C and I was glad that circumstances had forced this time together.
And yet, A decided about a month ago, maybe as much as 6 weeks now, that he was in a 'vanilla mode' and 'probably wouldn't be there long' but during that time he had absolutely no interest in anything kink-related and didn't want to even discuss submission with me.
In other words, he had no intention of meeting my needs- or for a few weeks there, even talking to me- despite knowing that getting badly out of balance has really nasty effects on my emotional stability.
Where does my responsibility as a dominant begin and end?
When I'm depressed and hurting myself, do I still have a responsibility to meet my submissives' needs?
Where does A's to me begin and end?
When he is in a mode that all things kink are uninteresting to him, does he still have a responsibility to help me meet my needs for submission?
I told Kat once that he as my submissive has a responsibility to me to tell me what his needs are- I'm not psychic, ok?- and that I have a responsibility to meet those needs. And if I can't meet those needs for some reason, then I have a responsibility to help him find another way to meet them.
Am I just overly obsessed with this concept?
Your thoughts, please?
Comfort
I feel better today, after a hysterical crying jag on Jack's shoulder.
Ah, the joy of hormones.
My life is not hopeless. My sexuality is not broken.
But hormones combined with depression make me feel like utter shit about everything, and remembering otherwise is hard.
But this morning I wrapped myself up in Kat's shirt, and Jack's arms. The combination of scents from the two men I love most drew me gently out of the black hole I've been living in. I put on Kat's shirt in Religions class, and his scent wrapped around me and made me feel better. Then, curling up against Jack (and finding out I have a job again!!! Yay grants!!!) drew me the rest of the way out.
Truly, I am blessed.
Now if I can just convince my body to let me get aroused again...
Ah, the joy of hormones.
My life is not hopeless. My sexuality is not broken.
But hormones combined with depression make me feel like utter shit about everything, and remembering otherwise is hard.
But this morning I wrapped myself up in Kat's shirt, and Jack's arms. The combination of scents from the two men I love most drew me gently out of the black hole I've been living in. I put on Kat's shirt in Religions class, and his scent wrapped around me and made me feel better. Then, curling up against Jack (and finding out I have a job again!!! Yay grants!!!) drew me the rest of the way out.
Truly, I am blessed.
Now if I can just convince my body to let me get aroused again...
15 September 2008
Balance, I'm trying for balance
I'm supposed to be studying for two tests, a debate, a quiz, and a round-table discussion.
And what am I doing? I'm talking to Kat and blogging. Of course.
I've mostly tried to keep things here upbeat as much as possible, but I don't have a lot in my sex life to be upbeat about right now. Well, I do, but when I feel depressed the bad things seem more overpowering. A very dear, very kinky friend told me once that depression is a disease of perspective. It steals your objectivity and makes everything seem darker than it should. She is a wise woman.
But dammit, it's hard to be upbeat about sex and kink when your body is in complete rebellion against you. Mine has evidently decided that I need to relearn all over again just how much of a masochist I am NOT. They warned me when I got the IUD put in that my first period or two afterwards would hurt like hell.
I had no idea how literally they meant that. My back is actually spasming, and my cervix has decided that I need to be informed of exactly how much it resents having a chunk of copper stuck inside it to keep it from doing its job.
Fucking ow.
And, on top of that! my body has evidently decided- whether from the IUD, the crap with A (who texted me this morning, btw. I didn't respond), the crap with Jack, or simply the depression that all of it is causing- that any kind of arousal needs to be severely punished by spasms of pain in my groin.
I knew I had been diagnosed with vaginismus but it's never been this severe.
So today I gave in and took one of Jack's muscle relaxers, and then I slept until 7pm this evening :)
Oops.
On the good side- because there always is one- I've been talking to Ke'chara, my ex-girlfriend, who is amazing at making me feel better. I've had a number of people sending me emails that have made me smile- you know who you are, and chatting with you has been a real upside to the last few days! Kat has been his usual wonderful self, and this weekend I get to visit him, Terry and Danny, and then have a birthday dinner in Atlanta. Also, this weekend is the FemDom event I enjoy so much as well as the TNG event, which, though Kat won't be joining me for either, I've already made arrangements to give my birthday spanking to a young man who will be attending the FemDom event.
And what am I doing? I'm talking to Kat and blogging. Of course.
I've mostly tried to keep things here upbeat as much as possible, but I don't have a lot in my sex life to be upbeat about right now. Well, I do, but when I feel depressed the bad things seem more overpowering. A very dear, very kinky friend told me once that depression is a disease of perspective. It steals your objectivity and makes everything seem darker than it should. She is a wise woman.
But dammit, it's hard to be upbeat about sex and kink when your body is in complete rebellion against you. Mine has evidently decided that I need to relearn all over again just how much of a masochist I am NOT. They warned me when I got the IUD put in that my first period or two afterwards would hurt like hell.
I had no idea how literally they meant that. My back is actually spasming, and my cervix has decided that I need to be informed of exactly how much it resents having a chunk of copper stuck inside it to keep it from doing its job.
Fucking ow.
And, on top of that! my body has evidently decided- whether from the IUD, the crap with A (who texted me this morning, btw. I didn't respond), the crap with Jack, or simply the depression that all of it is causing- that any kind of arousal needs to be severely punished by spasms of pain in my groin.
I knew I had been diagnosed with vaginismus but it's never been this severe.
So today I gave in and took one of Jack's muscle relaxers, and then I slept until 7pm this evening :)
Oops.
On the good side- because there always is one- I've been talking to Ke'chara, my ex-girlfriend, who is amazing at making me feel better. I've had a number of people sending me emails that have made me smile- you know who you are, and chatting with you has been a real upside to the last few days! Kat has been his usual wonderful self, and this weekend I get to visit him, Terry and Danny, and then have a birthday dinner in Atlanta. Also, this weekend is the FemDom event I enjoy so much as well as the TNG event, which, though Kat won't be joining me for either, I've already made arrangements to give my birthday spanking to a young man who will be attending the FemDom event.
Food for thought
A submissive on FetLife wrote this in his profile:
My email to him:
I find this good food for thought.
I will freely admit that I am not purely anything. I am a dominant, and a sadist, and a bit of a masochist, and a bit of a submissive. Mostly, I am a dominant sadist. I like to hurt people- I like it a lot. But I don't like it if they're not enjoying it, if they're not making those little sounds that tell me that this is as much fun for them as it is for me. Perhaps that's the dominant in me more than the sadist- to me their pain, their response, is the yin to my yang, and if the yin is not truly there then the balance can't be completed.
As for connection- and I am one who prefers a certain amount of connection before beginning a scene- I believe that there need to be at least the seeds of connection before the scene begins because that connection is how I read my bottoms. That few moments of building the connection first give me a good idea for the bottom's responses, how they react, and it tells me what to look for while we are playing. Do they give most of their signals with their body, rather than their voice? Then I won't bother asking many questions but simply keep a close eye on their body language. Plus, there is the simple fact that scenes of any kind are intimate. Hurting someone deeply is an incredibly intimate act (there is an episode of the excellent TV show Firefly called "War Stories" that explores this), and I don't get intimate with stangers. Create that connection, and you are no longer a stranger.
Food for thought?
If one needs a connection to be an effective top or bottom, then i suspect
that these persons aren't PURE sadists and masochists. It seems so vanilla
needing a connection before play can begin if the connection is activated during
play and in aftercare. Food for thought here.
My email to him:
I find this good food for thought.
I will freely admit that I am not purely anything. I am a dominant, and a sadist, and a bit of a masochist, and a bit of a submissive. Mostly, I am a dominant sadist. I like to hurt people- I like it a lot. But I don't like it if they're not enjoying it, if they're not making those little sounds that tell me that this is as much fun for them as it is for me. Perhaps that's the dominant in me more than the sadist- to me their pain, their response, is the yin to my yang, and if the yin is not truly there then the balance can't be completed.
As for connection- and I am one who prefers a certain amount of connection before beginning a scene- I believe that there need to be at least the seeds of connection before the scene begins because that connection is how I read my bottoms. That few moments of building the connection first give me a good idea for the bottom's responses, how they react, and it tells me what to look for while we are playing. Do they give most of their signals with their body, rather than their voice? Then I won't bother asking many questions but simply keep a close eye on their body language. Plus, there is the simple fact that scenes of any kind are intimate. Hurting someone deeply is an incredibly intimate act (there is an episode of the excellent TV show Firefly called "War Stories" that explores this), and I don't get intimate with stangers. Create that connection, and you are no longer a stranger.
Food for thought?
Newsflash:
Figuring out how to make polyamory work, especially with a partner who has always been monogamous and is extremely antisocial, is fucking hard, and frequently heart-wrenching.
/run-on sentence newsflash
/run-on sentence newsflash
13 September 2008
Motivations
Bad Man in a Bad Place's blog post "Live by the blog, die by the blog", got
me thinking.
Scary though, huh?
He says in it:
I know that itch. That creeping, frightened insecurity that you're not *really* good enough, not *really* pretty, bright, or likable enough. The one born out of a childhood of being teased, of being the skinny, awkward bookworm with family secrets. The one that drives you to stare at your own body in the mirror with a dissatisfied frown for long moments. The one that drives men to become pickup artists and women to become discreet (or not so discreet) sluts.
Now, for the record, I got a lucky bag of genetics and have nearly an ideal female body with no effort on my part. I'm 5"3, 110lbs, 32D/25/36. I'm slender but very curvy, and I've never once had a complaint about my body since I first grew tits.
Does that matter one damned bit to my insecurities?
Of course not.
That itch still sits in the back of my head, and whispers that the only proof of being pretty enough, likable enough, good enough is to make a man's dick hard.
Misogynistic, huh?
Then again, that little voice isn't very PC. It doesn't care what my forebrain says. Despite my voracious bisexuality, it doesn't care what women think of me. Just men. Just dicks, hardening at the sight of my tits displayed in one of my low-cut tank tops.
When I was 17, I got my heart broken by a man I believed loved me.
Ok, I'll be fair. He did love me. But he still broke my heart, and it still tore my fragile self-esteem to shreds.
And for a while, I listened to that voice, and I made every dick hard I could manage to. And at 17-18, well... that was a lot of dicks.
Most of them I never did anything more with. But enough. Enough. Enough for my forebrain to call a halt to the circus and convince me that I should get married.
But not enough to quiet that little voice in the back of my head that still tells me the same thing it did when I was 17.
And yes, I'm self-aware enough to know this about myself. I know even while I'm bending forward and showing my cleavage what I'm doing, and I know why. When I'm flirting with you, teasing you, hinting at all the naughty things I like to do with the so subtle implication that I'm telling you because maybe I'd like to do them with you... I know what I'm doing.
And I know why.
I want you to want me so I can feel good about myself.
Maybe one day I'll scratch the itch too, as Bad Man put it. I wonder what will happen then.
But as I told him:
me thinking.
Scary though, huh?
He says in it:
"I am someone who has now scratched “the itch.” What’s the itch? The itch is
that niggling question in the back of your mind that drives you to become a
pickup artist. The hole that you can’t fill in yourself. I filled it. I got the
message. I’m not ugly and women like to have sex with me."
I know that itch. That creeping, frightened insecurity that you're not *really* good enough, not *really* pretty, bright, or likable enough. The one born out of a childhood of being teased, of being the skinny, awkward bookworm with family secrets. The one that drives you to stare at your own body in the mirror with a dissatisfied frown for long moments. The one that drives men to become pickup artists and women to become discreet (or not so discreet) sluts.
Now, for the record, I got a lucky bag of genetics and have nearly an ideal female body with no effort on my part. I'm 5"3, 110lbs, 32D/25/36. I'm slender but very curvy, and I've never once had a complaint about my body since I first grew tits.
Does that matter one damned bit to my insecurities?
Of course not.
That itch still sits in the back of my head, and whispers that the only proof of being pretty enough, likable enough, good enough is to make a man's dick hard.
Misogynistic, huh?
Then again, that little voice isn't very PC. It doesn't care what my forebrain says. Despite my voracious bisexuality, it doesn't care what women think of me. Just men. Just dicks, hardening at the sight of my tits displayed in one of my low-cut tank tops.
When I was 17, I got my heart broken by a man I believed loved me.
Ok, I'll be fair. He did love me. But he still broke my heart, and it still tore my fragile self-esteem to shreds.
And for a while, I listened to that voice, and I made every dick hard I could manage to. And at 17-18, well... that was a lot of dicks.
Most of them I never did anything more with. But enough. Enough. Enough for my forebrain to call a halt to the circus and convince me that I should get married.
But not enough to quiet that little voice in the back of my head that still tells me the same thing it did when I was 17.
And yes, I'm self-aware enough to know this about myself. I know even while I'm bending forward and showing my cleavage what I'm doing, and I know why. When I'm flirting with you, teasing you, hinting at all the naughty things I like to do with the so subtle implication that I'm telling you because maybe I'd like to do them with you... I know what I'm doing.
And I know why.
I want you to want me so I can feel good about myself.
Maybe one day I'll scratch the itch too, as Bad Man put it. I wonder what will happen then.
But as I told him:
"I don’t know what will happen when I reach the tipping point, when I finally
figure out at a gut-deep level that I really *am* okay as I am, without
somebody’s dick getting hard.
But since I really do enjoy sex one hell of a lot, I can’t imagine it’ll change much that I actually do, just the motivations behind it."
Conversation
Kat: Ma'am, I've done a bad thing.
Me: Oh really?
Kat: I know I should have asked permission first...
Me:
Kat: But I was over at XXXXX's house, and she asked if I wanted to touch her organ and I just couldn't wait.
Me: (response I made): Ahhh.
(response I should have made): And did it make music for you?
Me: Oh really?
Kat: I know I should have asked permission first...
Me:
Kat: But I was over at XXXXX's house, and she asked if I wanted to touch her organ and I just couldn't wait.
Me: (response I made): Ahhh.
(response I should have made): And did it make music for you?
12 September 2008
Ice cubes
I mentioned when I first introduced Jack that he's 'nilla kinky.
There's... a bit more to it than that.
(Isn't there always?)
After a string of relationships where I didn't get my kink needs met, as SOON as it started looking like Jack and I might keep each other around for a while, I started discussing kink and poly with him.
I still giggle when I tell people that when we first got together, he told me that he wasn't really into kinky stuff, but if he was he'd be submissive.
Um. No. Seriously. It reeeeeeally didn't work out that way.
It took maybe a week? for him to first decide to Top me a bit. Coming out of what as an ostensibly D/s relationship with Jay, in which I was ostensibly the submissive but actually ran everything that kept our lives going, I was... definitely concerned about getting my needs met this time. I shouldn't have worried. Jack's Top side came on like a freight train and I was delighted to be slammed into. Rather literally.
So my 'submissive' 'nilla partner is actually very dominant. That worked out very well until my own Top side came out... strongly. Perhaps not a freight train... more like a great cat pouncing.
Two dominants in the house make for some interesting discussions, let me tell you.
Well, when my Toppy side came back out, I tried Topping Jack again, since he hadn't switched to his sub side in quite a while.
*laughs* That didn't work out very well. He, ah, cooperated, but there was no actual submission there, and submission is what I craved.
Shortly after, I met Kat, we started discussing poly heavily, and my Top side is mostly content. (Mostly, because as I've mentioned before, I only get to actually play with Kat one weekend a month due to that whole 6 hour drive thing)
Okay, now you've got context. Short version of all of that is that Jack doesn't really sub. He just doesn't.
Cut to last night:
we're lying in bed, doing our usual half hour or so of laughing, talking, giggling, and kissing, before bed. I offer a blowjob since I was rather in the mood to give one, and he'd gone down on me 2 nights before.
Now, I realize that many dominant women would never DREAM if giving head. It's so submissive, or so the male doms claim. But I'm here to tell you, there's something incredibly powerful about having a man's most important parts (to him at least!) between your teeth, controlling his every response with only a flick of your tongue.
And it's fucking FUN.
So I tell him my throat's dry, and will he please get me a glass of water. Which he does.
With ice.
Let it be mentioned that I almost NEVER drink my water with ice at home. I keep the Brita pitcher refrigerated, so I don't need to, but the pitcher was nearly out so he had to refill it and it was room temperature.
So he got an ice cube blowjob.
Now, I have very sensitive teeth, so I can't hold the ice cube in my mouth while I suck him. However, a few slow sips of icy water and I might as well have ice in my mouth.
Positioning myself above him, I wrapped my frigid lips around his half-hard cock and sucked quickly. Normally, I like to take my time, but I wanted him to get the full effect before my
mouth warmed up.
And he did. Oh, he did. His back arched, he got instantly hard and he made these lovely little noises while I worked his cockhead with my chilly tongue, deep-throating him once and dragging my teeth up the length of him again (did I mention that he's a bit of a masochist as well?).
I repeated this a few times, savoring his jumping and whimpering with each renewed application of cold to his rigid cock, using lips, teeth, and tongue all on him... he reached for me once, and I moved his hand firmly back to his side and continued to enjoy myself before eventually 'getting down to business' and finishing up.
He was still a little bit in headspace when we started cuddling afterwards- from the fact that he couldn't control the sensations at all, he said- and I just grinned like that cat who's gotten into the cream. Which I suppose I had, come to think of it!
I'm so buying us an icemaker.
There's... a bit more to it than that.
(Isn't there always?)
After a string of relationships where I didn't get my kink needs met, as SOON as it started looking like Jack and I might keep each other around for a while, I started discussing kink and poly with him.
I still giggle when I tell people that when we first got together, he told me that he wasn't really into kinky stuff, but if he was he'd be submissive.
Um. No. Seriously. It reeeeeeally didn't work out that way.
It took maybe a week? for him to first decide to Top me a bit. Coming out of what as an ostensibly D/s relationship with Jay, in which I was ostensibly the submissive but actually ran everything that kept our lives going, I was... definitely concerned about getting my needs met this time. I shouldn't have worried. Jack's Top side came on like a freight train and I was delighted to be slammed into. Rather literally.
So my 'submissive' 'nilla partner is actually very dominant. That worked out very well until my own Top side came out... strongly. Perhaps not a freight train... more like a great cat pouncing.
Two dominants in the house make for some interesting discussions, let me tell you.
Well, when my Toppy side came back out, I tried Topping Jack again, since he hadn't switched to his sub side in quite a while.
*laughs* That didn't work out very well. He, ah, cooperated, but there was no actual submission there, and submission is what I craved.
Shortly after, I met Kat, we started discussing poly heavily, and my Top side is mostly content. (Mostly, because as I've mentioned before, I only get to actually play with Kat one weekend a month due to that whole 6 hour drive thing)
Okay, now you've got context. Short version of all of that is that Jack doesn't really sub. He just doesn't.
Cut to last night:
we're lying in bed, doing our usual half hour or so of laughing, talking, giggling, and kissing, before bed. I offer a blowjob since I was rather in the mood to give one, and he'd gone down on me 2 nights before.
Now, I realize that many dominant women would never DREAM if giving head. It's so submissive, or so the male doms claim. But I'm here to tell you, there's something incredibly powerful about having a man's most important parts (to him at least!) between your teeth, controlling his every response with only a flick of your tongue.
And it's fucking FUN.
So I tell him my throat's dry, and will he please get me a glass of water. Which he does.
With ice.
Let it be mentioned that I almost NEVER drink my water with ice at home. I keep the Brita pitcher refrigerated, so I don't need to, but the pitcher was nearly out so he had to refill it and it was room temperature.
So he got an ice cube blowjob.
Now, I have very sensitive teeth, so I can't hold the ice cube in my mouth while I suck him. However, a few slow sips of icy water and I might as well have ice in my mouth.
Positioning myself above him, I wrapped my frigid lips around his half-hard cock and sucked quickly. Normally, I like to take my time, but I wanted him to get the full effect before my
mouth warmed up.
And he did. Oh, he did. His back arched, he got instantly hard and he made these lovely little noises while I worked his cockhead with my chilly tongue, deep-throating him once and dragging my teeth up the length of him again (did I mention that he's a bit of a masochist as well?).
I repeated this a few times, savoring his jumping and whimpering with each renewed application of cold to his rigid cock, using lips, teeth, and tongue all on him... he reached for me once, and I moved his hand firmly back to his side and continued to enjoy myself before eventually 'getting down to business' and finishing up.
He was still a little bit in headspace when we started cuddling afterwards- from the fact that he couldn't control the sensations at all, he said- and I just grinned like that cat who's gotten into the cream. Which I suppose I had, come to think of it!
I'm so buying us an icemaker.
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