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.
25 September 2008
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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