Friday, December 30, 2011

Canes on the Brain

I have lately been delving deep into the subject of corporal punishment canes. Much research and reading has happened as a result of an assignment I was given a few weeks ago, to research 'a short, thin little carbon fiber cane'. This mini cane turned out to be what most people referred to as an 'evil stick', a term I'd heard before but had no clue as to its definition.  So, yes, Mistress wanted an evil stick to do evil things to my poor, innocent boobies. This activity, snapping a thin rod against skin, produces some really neat stripes, so while it hurts like a mofo, I love the marks!

In researching evil sticks, I discovered that it would be relatively easy to make one, and just in time for Christmas! I told my friend (and fellow kinkster), Ollie, who quickly got on board with the crafty project. She wanted to make one for her girlfriend, too.

I ordered carbon fiber rods from an online RC plane shop and the rest of the materials were acquired at Home Depot. Feeling very much like characters out of Harry Potter, awkwardly fiddling with these very wand-like sticks, she and I got a hands-on lesson in evil stick making.

Our first tries were definitely ugly and I swear mine looked like it was made by a 4-year-old. I got much better by the second go and the third one was nearly perfect!  Definitely good enough to give as a gift:

The handle was about 5", total length about 11". I say "was", because Evil Stick #1 is no more!  Sadly, Mistress' new toy broke on its first outing. She said she had bent it back at about a 90-degree angle and it cracked. Well, damn!  So, it turns out that carbon fiber is not the material for this application because it splinters. Back to the drawing board!

Someone's suggestion of kite spars led me to fiberglass as a material and I feel as if I'm nearing the point of figuring this whole thing out. Subsequent research (check out Art of Caning to the right) has led me to a much better idea of cane diameter, whereas before, I was only guessing.  I have fresh supplies coming and once I conquer this project, I am going to try to sell evil sticks and possibly canes, too.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Sensuous Caning How-To

Hey, y'all. Sorry for the lack of real posts.. but life and holidays and whatnot. In the meantime, here's another interesting article on sensual caning (as opposed to hardcore owie caning).

Canes have a deserved reputation as The Victorian Terror Weapon. To most submissives, they mean severe punishment; to sensation-seeking S/M bottoms, overload. If we have care and patience, however, canes can be used in a loving and sensuous way. The very stiffness of a good cane, that makes a hard stroke so intense, allows the lightest taps to be given with perfect control. And a light canestroke is easy to aim, unlike a flexible whip that sags and flops at low power. In the kind of sensuous play I'm describing here, light strokes are far more prevalent and important than heavy ones.
 This style is a matter of trust, patience, and finesse. If you can't gain, maintain, and deserve the bottom's trust, the whole thing is probably going to fail, or fall far short of what it could be. As for patience, don't even start a scene like this unless you have at least an hour available, and two is better. Finesse? Well, on two occasions bottoms have gone to sleep while I was caning them. They woke up black and blue, and giggling. That's finesse.
 I'm not bragging, and I'm not saying I'm some kind of Caning God. It's learnable. That's why I'm writing this.
(click here to read more) 

-- Sensuous Caning by Conrad Hodson

Thursday, December 08, 2011

Seven (random) Suggestions for Dominant Types
by Mollena

There is no one rulebook for how to do this thing we call BDSM, Power-Exchange, Master/Slave relationships, etc., etc. One of the things I most enjoy about perverts is our limitless capacity to forge our own damn path, thank you very much! I’ve done a lot of weed-whacking through the jungles of kink in order to find ways that work for me.

I have observed many successful and many more unsuccessful forays into power exchange relationships. And I can report back with a few nuggets of wisdom on which you can nibble as you see fit. You may even dunk the wisdom nuggets in the sauce of sagacity. Whatever.

And yeah, the fact is, all of these can be applied to you regardless of which side of the slash is yours. Top or bottom, dominant or submissive, master or slave, owner or owned, you can twist these tips around to suit you. Think of them as launch pads, if you will, for your own explorations and discussions.

Yeah yeah, I know each and every one of you D-Types are special snowflake lone Alpha-wolves, running along the dark paths of kink , howling at the moon, sniffling the tender flesh of nubile submissives, and doin’ your own thang. Respect. Mad props to ya. But keep in mind? With power comes responsibility. You can call the shots all you want. But without humility, discipline and flexibility, it’s not likely you’ll be the boss of anyone for very long.

Over my years involved in kink circles, I’ve noticed that some dominant-types take pride in not taking advice from anyone, insisting that they make the rules and it is the responsibility of the submissive to adjust themselves and adhere to their world-view. And ultimately, yes: the master masters, and the slave slaves. But without negotiation, compromise and compassion? The stage is set for breakdowns, conflict and the corrosion of resentment.

Feel free to add your own off-the-cuff recommendations and thoughts of helpful hints in the comments! I’m always looking to hear what works for other kinksters!

Insist on having your submissives tell you what is really going on for them…and listen without defensiveness
It can be amazingly difficult for us submissive types to open up on tough things. One of the ways that you, as the one in charge, can facilitate a safe space is to not only let us let you know where we are emotionally, but to make it our responsibility to do so. If you create safe space, encourage and insist upon hearing the feedback, keep it flexible; being encouraging and supportive means that the lines of communication are healthy and open and strong.

I’m currently in a long-distance relationship with one of them dominant type guys. One of the hardest things I had to do, when we were initially seeing if any of this would work out, was for me to share with him my overwhelming doubts about the likelihood that this relationship would work at all. We don’t live in the same state, he’s quite poly, and happily married. I’m...not really poly. I enjoy playing with friends, sure, but I only find myself opening up for love and deep connection with one person at a time. I swore I’d never do an LDR (long-distance relationship) again, and the whole thing just seemed a fool’s errand. He acknowledged that it was a challenging situation, and that the only way it could work is if there was a high degree of emotional transparency. This meant talking about the hard feelings as they happened. Not letting resentment pile up and miscommunication become fodder for issues down the road. Directly ordering this sharing was a way for me to tap into the reflexive obedience I felt toward him and ensure I was set on a path to become comfortable and feel safe telling him how I was doing. Not only when I was feeling lost, adrift or unsettled, but also when things were working. This is reinforced by his consistency in hearing what I have to say, and respecting me enough to try his best to provide me with answers to my questions and to remain candid when there were NOT tidy, clear-cut answers.

Apologize specifically for your fuckups and missteps, and talk about how to avoid repeats
Too many people have this “the dominant is always right” attitude. You are human. Humans are fallible. Putting yourself on a pedestal only means you have that much further to fall. Taking responsibility for yourself reinforces that you can take responsibility for us as well. There is an inherent risk to this level of maturity, and that is that you are indeed partnered with someone who sees apologies or acceptance of poor decision making as a sign of weakness. Or some such bullshit. Fact is, you have a right to be wrong. And you have a right to be forgiven for your mistakes and to lean from them.

Taking the stance that your errors are simply to be accepted by those in service to you and you owe them neither apology nor reparations for your mistakes is not going to serve you well. Humility and humanity are vital facets to being the type of dominant or master who commands loyalty out of love and respect rather than fear and intimidation.

Say “Please” and “Thank you”
No you don’t have to. But doing so is a gracious gesture. And a gracious ruler gains the hearts and minds of their followers. Emotional largesse will gain you faithfulness. It sure as hell can be fun to be dehumanized, taken advantage of, reduced to chattel property and treated like a piece of meat. Like, really REALLY be treated like a slatternly, desperate creature, fit only to be used and then carelessly tossed aside, shuddering in a corner, awaiting the caress or cudgeling from a stern-eyed slave-driver...

...but I digress.

Yeah, the fantasy can be hot. In reality, keeping that up all of the time is taxing and actually not the way many of us want to live. If common courtesies are not your cup of tea? Awesome! Specify that. But respect, courtesy and gratitude are very, very sexy. I find it of profound beauty when someone who could order me hither, thither and yon without second thought actually takes the time to extend to me those small courtesies. Treat me with respect and courtesy and I’ll go to the ends of the earth for you.

Acknowledge your submissive’s service to you
Again, you don’t have to. But again, being seen by the people we serve is a precious emotional jewel that we hold close to our hearts and that feeds and sustains us as we grow in service. For me? Hearing “good girl” is its own unique reward. It is so very, very important for me to hear positive reinforcement while I am in service. Plus, frankly, it makes me wibbly in my nibblybits. And believe you me, when my nibblybits are wibbly, I am putty in your hands.
If correcting missteps is the only time you give us feedback? You’re setting the stage to place the people in service to you in a particularly vulnerable position. Rather than coming from a place of self-assurance and positivity, it can generate an atmosphere of mistrust and fear.

Many people strive to provide what is commonly known as “anticipatory service.” This means being able to look ahead and see what will be needed before the person you’re serving has even realized that they have the need. This isn’t the purview of mind-readers, and it doesn’t happen overnight. One of the ways that dominants and masters can facilitate this flow is to let those in service to you know when they’ve pleased you. From there we can extrapolate what else along those lines may work in service, and those strokes to our submissive and slavish souls go a long way in solidifying the power-exchange dynamic!

Be consistent
It might seem less than exciting but consistency in your behavior provides the structure that many of us actively seek. I have a seemingly endless amount of mental and emotional energy. I can drive myself like a pack-mule for weeks... hell, months and years at a time. However, focus and direction isn’t something that comes naturally for me. One of the things I struggle with is consistency and structure. I look to external sources for this structure. Not because I am weak and can’t do for myself, but because I am strong enough to realize that I flourish in a place where my energy is harnessed and channeled by another. I value emotional consistency. I need to trust that the person to whom I give authority over me will maintain boundaries, continue to provide guidance, and be there for me... for us... regardless of how the winds may blow.

Consistency in behavior is also important! If you insist on certain protocols, follow-up. If you set up an expectation, maintain that connection. One of the common issues I hear from submissives when they experience frustration in their PE relationships is that they are given a set of expectations, assignments protocols, rules and regulations...and then there is not accountability. In my first d/s relationship, I was ordered to keep a daily “service diary.” I was advised that my dominant would be checking up on it, that it would be a place for me to safely share my day-to-day, so that he would have access to my thoughts even when I wasn’t necessarily able to communicate them in the moment. Weeks, months...eventually 2 years passed and never once did my dominant ask to see my service diary. This generated feelings of resentment, and I felt like I wasn’t valuable to him, and that this assignment was merely busywork. Knowing that you will follow through of that which you give us to do, and value our effort, is priceless.

Tell us what you’re feeling
Yeah the big tough dominant thing is a hot and sexy image. But knowing about your process and emotional state creates intimacy and lets us trust you with our intimate thoughts and feelings as well. When you are involved in an intimate relationship, sometimes you don’t even have to hear the emotions of another spoken aloud to know when something is amiss, or when they are simmering with joy. Regardless? Letting those in service to you or owned by you in on your emotional state is absolutely necessary. Lets say you have a rough day at the office. You come home, you’re in the mood to just flop down and be left alone, and Mother Theresa herself, bearing a plate of fresh-baked cookies or an icy cold beer or whatever couldn’t cheer you up. In comes your slave, eager to serve you and unaware of your preexisting mental state. Your energy is ruffled, you dismiss them, and you know what the first thing is that goes though their head?

“What did I do wrong??”

Yeah yeah, the world doesn’t revolve around us. But when something goes off-kilter? It often can feel like it does. Believe me, I have worked very fucking hard to shed that thought process but I still feel shadows of that reaction when I am not connecting well with someone if I am in service to them.
Letting us know when you are feeling off, of stressed, or ready to kick-ass and take names, or thrumming with joy means we have a window into your world. We can be better prepared to give you space when you need it, and share in your life with a healthy respect for your feelings. And it assists in us being able to not take personally and absorb difficult emotions when they have nothing to do with us.

Humor goes so very far in salvaging tough times and makes good times even better. BDSM can be serious, heavy, challenging, and tough. It can also be silly and fun. Remembering your sense of humor and sharing in laughter, even through tears, is a beautiful way to keep joy alive.

And yanno what else?

Laughing at yourself once in a while won’t kill ya either.

Monday, December 05, 2011

For the submissives, what makes you interested in service, what do you get out of it, and how does it tie back into submission for you?

When I think about it, logically, I find it amusing and nonsensical that I would enjoy things like doing chores and housework for other people... but I do! I'm such a sicko. :P

I love doing things for the people I care about and I really enjoy being useful. I am very driven to do... The way I was raised, I just can't stand idly by if things need to be done, or if other people are working/doing things. I get a great deal of happiness and fulfillment from making people happy. I'm finding, particularly, that I really like making dominant ladies happy and that I deeply enjoy things if there is a D/s dynamic.

Service-oriented submission is a safe outlet for me to be myself, to give, to do, to pamper, to please, to go above-and-beyond, and to surprise and delight (if I'm lucky). These are all things that bring me great satisfaction. I can think of few things in this world I love more than the feeling that comes from successfully reading someone and providing what they need/desire without them having to speak a word, or a person's reaction when they realize that I've remembered their preferences. Making other people happy makes me happy.

It's "safe", at least in my current situation, because of the D/s dynamic. I serve a really kind and wonderful Mistress, who is appreciative of the things I do, rather than taking them for granted. In past vanilla relationships, my temperament has led to my being walked all over or taken advantage of. In my D/s relationship, Mistress makes sure that that doesn't happen; she makes sure that others using my service are kind and appreciative, as well. 

Being the D in the relationship, it's her house, her rules, her standards... and I'm quite happy to do things as she prefers because not only is she usually right, it all comes right back to the fact that I love her and I want to make her happy and her life easier. She is Captain of the ship and I'm quite happy that way.

Monday, October 03, 2011

Rearview Mirror

Written Dec. 2004 for publishing on a lesbian community writing site.

No one likes to speak about the physical, sexual, and emotional abuse that occurs within relationships in the gay community. For some reason, we’re afraid to acknowledge it, even though what few studies have been done show it’s just as prevalent in homosexual relationships as in heterosexual ones.

I’ve always been intelligent and rather cognizant of the world around me. Even as a teenager, I knew I was lucky to have mostly escaped physical and sexual abuse. My upbringing was not status quo, nor can I say I feel I have escaped emotional abuse by my family. The difference is that I don’t feel that said abuse was maliciously or even intentionally intended, and overall, I think I turned out all right. However, I should have been paying more attention, because I never expected to find myself in an almost fatally abusive romantic relationship.

I took a drive today
Time to emancipate
I guess it was the beatings made me wise
But I’m not about to give thanks or apologize
I couldn’t breathe, holdin’ me down
Hand on my face, kissin’ the ground
Enmity gauged, united by fear
Supposed to endure what I could not forgive… 

My relationship with TheGirl and everything that occurred therein would take me days to tell. It truly was that bad, and I nearly didn’t make it out alive. Fortunately, the abuse she inflicted upon me remained purely emotional, only coming close to blows once or twice, but emotional scars tend to be deeper and more difficult to recover from than physical ones. When I say our relationship had more drama and conflict than five soap operas put together, I’m not exaggerating. Because our story is so long and sordid that it’s impossible to relate in one sitting, I’m always forced to truncate the things that happened, to summarize them in many fewer words, and yet the response to my tale, each time, is shock. Shock that I stayed for so long, shock that I put up with these things in the first place.

She was 25, I was 23. I didn’t know any better. During this period of my life, I had only been in one brief, intense, and ultimately heart-shattering relationship. I had never had anyone try to harm me within a romantic relationship, and even today I still have problems recognizing it so that I usually let it go on longer than it should. I was inexperienced, lonely, and because of my weight at the time, my self-esteem was non-existent. I wasn’t ugly… but always found myself a little astonished if anyone was interested in me in a non-platonic way, and this time was no different. I lived in San Francisco, she lived in North Carolina. The things she shared with me even as friends should have raised red flags, but I was too ignorant of these things, too lonely and desperate to care. I may have purposefully ignored some of the signs and red flags in my rush to be loved and in love again.

After a whirlwind cross-country courtship, she made it clear she would never move away from her family and that the only option was for me to give up the only life I’d known in California. Stupid, this I know now. I wish I could go back and tell myself then to not do it, but I’ve always been a stubborn person hell-bent on doing things wrong the first time, so I doubt I would have listened. So I sold my car to rent a moving truck, packed it up, and drove four days straight across the country by myself.

Of course, she’d gotten fired from her job days before I was to leave. She made this out to be at least partly, if not entirely, my fault. I should have paid attention to how everything became my fault; she rarely, if ever, admitted she was wrong. We would stay up very late each night on the phone with each other (made 3 hours worse by her living on the East Coast), as she was living with her parents and younger sisters and the only privacy she got was after they all went to bed. I was unable, unwilling, to give up my nightly phone talks with her, so I guiltily accepted the responsibility for keeping her up until the wee hours of the morning.

I had sold my car for money to move there. Instead of buying a car with my left-over money, it was immediately needed to cover living expenses in the small house we began renting together. Soon, my cushion money, the car money, was completely gone. She refused to look for a job and would verbally attack me if I came close to suggesting it. Instead, she would spent around sixteen hours a day online, talking with friends, playing games, and doing God knows what else. As time went by, she spent a disproportionately high amount of time on the computer and almost none with me. If I wanted to talk to her, to share her company, I had to be on the computer too. We had two computers set up next to each other in the spare bedroom for this purpose – yes, we were both geeks – and soon the only ‘quality time’ I had with her was having about a quarter of her attention while she played on the computer.

She would stay up until dawn online, and requesting she come to bed only caused serious problems such as arguments. It was determined early on by her that she would be the sole winner of all fights and that, no matter the subject or cause, it was my fault. Even if it was something she’d done, she would find some way to twist it around and make it all about me. I soon learned to avoid all confrontation with her, because not only was it pointless, it made me feel like shit and totally did not solve whatever the issue was. Actually, trying to resolve issues the healthy way made things worse, as she made me out to be some monster trying to blame her for things when it truly was my fault.

I got a crappy job that I held only because it paid more than $8 an hour. She continued to refuse to look for a job, blaming depression and then launching into a rage if I pressed on to express my concern for our financial situation. We struggled for months to cover all the basics on my salary alone, an impossibility, and eventually an eviction became imminent.

Our arguments got uglier and uglier. We stopped being able to discuss important things normal cohabitating couples should, because any attempt on my part to bring up something she didn’t want to hear would be met with voracious screaming and name-calling. She was very smart and perceptive and thus easily ferreted out my weaknesses, my buttons, my insecurities. She knew how to shut me up, the right things to say to completely devastate me and put me back in my place.

She had this ‘woe is me’ attitude that made her the supreme victim in a universe that conspired to give her the shittiest end of the stick at every turn. If you believed what she said, she was truly the unluckiest person ever born, the way bad occurrences prevailed all throughout her life. From tales of anal rape by a cousin, suicide attempts, illnesses, to being struck by lightning, just about every bad thing that could possibly happen to a person had happened to her. Of course, I look back now and am aware of all her bullshit, but then, I hate to admit I believed her. In my defense, as she disclosed each new bad thing that she had experienced, my disbelief grew. I once told her she should never go swimming in the ocean because, with her luck, she’d be attacked by a shark. She didn’t find it amusing.

Kissing has become a tremendous deal to me, since leaving TheGirl. I already found it integral to a happy relationship, but now it is a deal-breaker. This is because, right after I moved to North Carolina, she bluntly told me not to kiss her anymore. She said she didn’t like it, and that was that; it didn’t matter that it left a huge gaping hole for me in the relationship. She would occasionally permit a peck, but any lingering kisses would be abruptly ended by her as she would pull back, glare at me, and retort, “Stop pressuring me!” I still can’t hear that phrase without getting pissed off, she used it so often. After that point, the only other time we passionately kissed was one night when she was drunk at a bar. I felt like shit that the only time she would kiss me was when she was drunk, and that part of me didn’t care, I was just so happy to get a real kiss. There was a period within the first six months that she stopped having sex with me and kept saying she didn’t feel sexual, that she was depressed. She offered me a relationship in which we were together as a couple but we would never have sex. I scoffed at her and told her that that was not a romantic relationship in my eyes, that that was my definition of a friendship.

She was obviously having problems but resisted seeking help or medication. Eventually we broke up, but occasionally slept together, which only confused things more. I think she did get medication for her depression, and things started to improve at home. We shared the same bed for the remainder of our stay at the house, mainly because that was the only room with air conditioning and the heat and humidity were unbearable. I was getting tired of the bullshit and wanted to leave, and my mom offered me a convenient means. I’m too conscientious for my own good and I didn’t feel right leaving TheGirl saddled with mounting bills and looming eviction. I decided to stay to help until the end, and then would go stay with my mom for a month to get away.

I started getting unshakably depressed. I’d lost weight before moving to North Carolina, but started eating again to cope with my home life. I put on the weight, plus some, very quickly, and soon even my ‘fat pants’ didn’t fit. TheGirl didn’t say much about my packing it on, thankfully, because I don’t think I could have borne her judgement on the subject. Because of my weight and that things with her were stressful and constantly rocky, my depression and self-loathing increased. I think I started believing the bad things she said to me about myself. I believed no one would ever want me after her, and even though I had her – sort of – at the moment, I became petrified of what I would do if we really broke up. I was alone with no family or friends, across the entire country from my life.

She lied to me constantly. Looking back, I don’t know how much of anything she said was actually the truth. She began flirting with a male friend of hers, and because I happen to be smart and perceptive as well, I could tell immediately that this ‘friendship’ was something more to the both of them. In addition, she’d finally gotten a job, but it required a good deal of traveling to various sites. She sometimes had to stay a night or two in a hotel, if the job was far away or longer than a single day. She had me come and stay with her a couple of times, but after that, she actually had this guy come stay with her at the hotel. At this point, you’re probably thinking I was very naïve and stupid, but I was aware that something fishy was going on.. after all, male and female friends generally don’t spend the night in the same bed in a hotel without something happening. However, she continued to look me in the eyes and assure me they were just friends and nothing more.

To make it worse, this guy was presented to me as a friend and potential roommate. We were getting evicted and needed somewhere to move. The two of them had arranged to get a three bedroom house in Richmond, and we would all split the expenses. I was flying to stay with my mom and would return to Richmond, they would move everything on their own. TheGirl had no qualms about reading other people’s email, IMs, journals, or personal effects. I am ashamed to admit that picked up the habit with her as sort of a defense mechanism; I knew she wasn’t telling me anything and I desperately needed to know what was going on. On our last night in the house, I discovered, by reading through an IM conversation of hers that she’d left open, that she had slept with TheRoommate. I had pretty much known all along, but because she voraciously defended her innocence, part of me had clung to the hope that it was true. I was devastated but quickly printed out the IM conversation so that I could pore over it on the plane. I held my knowledge until I arrived, when I point-blank stated that I knew she’d had sex with him. Her response was “Oh, please, A. You knew it all along.” Did I mention she never apologized, no matter how wrong she was?

We were still ‘broken up’ while I was at my mom’s and she ended up getting pregnant with him. At the time she claimed it was due to a drunken sexual encounter in which she hadn’t insisted on a condom. She didn’t break this news to me until after all our sweet-talking and making up. Yes, I got back together with her while at my mom’s. I shake my head now at the stupidity of it, and even more so as I pretended to be supportive of her decision to keep the baby. I knew then that, given her unstable and psychotic tendencies, she would be a horrendous mother, but I was trying to win brownie points and so I kept my mouth shut. Soon the crazy, hormonal pregnant lady emerged. She would snap and go off on me or TheRoommate for the slightest thing, her rages sometimes lasting days. I noticed a pattern in her behavior; she would be nice to one of us and hate the other, and in this way she always had an ally and someone to confide in about the other. We maintained separate bedrooms but usually slept together in her room. She began having pregnancy complications and eventually partially miscarried. She had to get an injection of a chemotherapy drug to finish it off, and this launched her into a depression that had her bed ridden for over a week. She wouldn’t come out of her room. I feel somewhat guilty for it, but I have to admit my relief at the outcome of the situation – this is not a woman who should be a parent.

The insanity just escalated from there, if you can even imagine that, but it all sort of blurs together. I remember being miserable and depressed; my life was a living hell. I cut myself for the first and only time, attempted suicide twice, and had three hospital stays (one involuntary). I hated myself, my life, TheGirl, TheRoommate – I seethed with particular anger for him – and I truly wanted to die. I was bitterly disappointed each time I failed; I couldn’t even kill myself to escape this misery. During this end period, a lot of things happened. There was an incident where if I hadn’t leapt to lock my door, she would have physically attacked me. Another time she called the police on me to get me evicted, as my name wasn’t on the lease. I’d been living there for almost two years, and showed the officer some bills to prove it. He was kind to me and said that he had seen my proof of residence, but that he thought it would be better if I went somewhere else for the night. I called some friends to pick me up, as I still didn’t have a car, and had to sit with another officer in the back of his cruiser while I waited. TheGirl and I had gotten into it before I left that night; the policeman remarked to me that she seemed crazy. I think I told him she was.

TheGirl and I broke up two more times after that, the final one was truly that; final. She started an affair with a married woman in another state, whose husband traveled and was apparently not disturbed by such an arrangement. Soon TheGirl began taking trips up there and eventually all but moved there, leaving me and TheRoommate together. Talk about uncomfortable. On top of this, she was alternately sleeping with me and TheRoommate, using our feelings to play us off each other. He had saved wisely and had parents with money, so she gave him sex and the illusion of a relationship in exchange for things she wanted. I believe she continued to sleep with me just to keep me on a string. She eventually cut me off after going through my journal and reading a particularly hate-filled entry aimed at her and her married girlfriend. She let me know she read it by taking a pen and writing a comment at the end of the entry. Somehow, she felt she had the right to lecture me on having too much anger.

I seem to look away
Wounds in the mirror waved
It wasn’t my surface most defiled
Head at your feet, fool to your crown
Fist on my plate, swallowed it down
Enmity gauged, united by fear
Tried to endure what I could not forgive

I know it took me far, far too long to get out for good, about two and a half years total. It took me several years to heal completely from this relationship, and I still have some emotional scarring I deal with. The weird thing is that it seems like lifetimes ago, if it even happened to me. How could I have allowed all of that, how could I have lived that for two and a half years and thought it perfectly acceptable? It feels like it happened to someone else.

Saw things
Once you, were in my…
Rearview mirror…

I can’t help but feel anger toward her. I think through everything that happened and I detest her for each way she controlled me, how she used my natural desires and emotions against me to make me feel guilty and unworthy. When I finally left, I went and stayed with my mom, step-father, and sister for six months. I was so broken and fucked up, even thousands of miles away, that I tried overdosing on Lithium, my final attempt at suicide. I couldn’t break out of the mental cage into which TheGirl had thrust me, but I knew that I would never let anyone treat me like that again. It saddens me that my self-esteem was so poor that I believed I deserved that sort of abuse.

I gather speed from you fucking with me
Once and for all I’m far away
I hardly believe, finally the shades…are raised…hey…

I am a very private person when it comes to my emotions, and I use music as therapy to work out my feelings. After leaving TheGirl, I had somewhat unconsciously been on the search for ‘The Song’ that would exactly convey how I felt. I went on a mini-vacation while at my mom’s, and one sunny afternoon in a café, I heard it on the radio: Rearview Mirror by Pearl Jam. It wasn’t new to me, but I sat in almost shock as the music and lyrics poured over me, my skin raised in goosebumps. I didn’t realize until that moment that I had even been searching for it, but until that point, I was unable to feel any sort of closure. I heard the song today, and again I remarked how it exactly captures what I felt that afternoon; my rage and the sense of freedom, of being able to see her fade behind me in my rearview mirror.

Saw things so much clearer
Once you, once you…
Rearview mirror 

It’s true what they say… hindsight is 20/20. I won’t let it happen again.

Saw things so much clearer
Once you…oh yeah…

Friday, September 30, 2011

Bodies in Motion

Quite possibly the most difficult and constant struggle throughout my life has been my body issues (BDD), which, as Wikipedia says, has lead to social anxiety, major depression, suicidal ideation, and intense self-loathing. I try not to think about it, I avoid looking at photos and video of myself, and I try to stay under a certain weight; all of these help me keep the negativity in check, but it is a constant battle because I am convinced that I am unattractive, my body hideously so, and I can't imagine how anyone would not agree, much less actually want me or find me hot.

As a result, I am always incredibly, painfully shy and self-conscious when getting naked in front of someone. This can fade over time, particularly if it's a sex partner or, as I'm discovering, in the case of BDSM, where they've seen me naked repeatedly and with positive reinforcement.

With Mistress, originally, it was weird and awkward for me and I didn't love it. I did enjoy being told to undress (while she remained clothed, of course), but then I would be incredibly nervous and uncomfortable, at least until the session got into full swing. As an aside, one thing I love about playing with her is that, for a time, I almost completely forget I even have a body, if that makes any sense. I just become a mass of sensations and I'm not thinking about how I look, which is a marvelous relief.

Now that we've been playing for a few months, my body issues are no longer that present, at least with her, and I feel much more used to being naked in her presence. It's become normal and as time goes on, more and more comfortable.  In the beginning, being asked to do things while naked, like fetching something or moving furniture or pampering her feet, it felt kind of bizarre, actually. I was recently marveling at that fact, that it felt so odd once, but now it feels pretty normal and comfortable.

But what does nudity in her presence do for me? I'm already starting to get into especially-submissive headspace as soon as I arrive at the house, but when the door to the room we're playing in closes and she tells me to undress... yes, it definitely deepens my feeling of submission. I'd say we always have the power exchange going, but that command really tips things into action. It also increases my feeling vulnerable, which is part of what makes things so hot for me, because I don't often trust or allow myself to be bare in most of my life.

In some ways, my exploration of these waters has been incredibly good for me. I have noted an increase in my self-esteem and more comfort with myself and my body. I don't expect BDSM to be a panacea, but I do owe a lot to Mistress for being so kind, gentle, and encouraging.  It's at least a start.

Monday, September 19, 2011


19 months.

It has been 19 months.. 19 long.. dry.. and very sad months. That is almost two years, people. Like a desert, I lie dry and dusty, awaiting even the barest sprinkle of rain. All life and hope shriveling in the absence of clouds, not a single drop to slake my deep thirst.

Okay, yes, I'm being intentionally dramatic here. However, for someone as sexual as I am, 19 months is painful torture.  Don't get me wrong, I am pretty patient and I can go months without. It's far from my preference, but I can manage.  It's at about the six month mark where I start to squirm a bit.

Oh-ho, the six month mark has come and gone.. three times.

My sex life, much like my romantic life, appears to be the universe's idea of a joke. Here, have this enormous sex drive, but not be able to do anything about it! Haha!  Through much trial-and-error, I've discovered that it makes no difference whatsoever if I am proactive or if I am passive. It is 100% dependent on luck and, apparently, on whatever is meant to happen at any given time.

I'm pretty sure this is the longest I have ever gone without sex and, frankly, it's very much starting to wear on me.  To my credit, I have tried to deal and to not take it personally. I have been patient and trying to send out the right energy to attract what I'm looking for.  It's just, apparently, not meant to be...

I'm starting to feel a bit bitter about it, frankly. There's really only so much masturbation a person can do, you know?  It's not at all a substitute for what I want, which is the slow and sensual touch of another person. Making love, kissing, savoring another person's body. Fucking. Mouths, tongues, skin, the taste and scent of a woman's nexus. Being penetrated by someone else, feeling them, the weight, the wholeness of both our bodies connecting, on top of me. I want to run my fingers over someone's skin for hours, to lick and bite their neck, to make them squirm, and to hear their breathing and soft moans in my ear.

On the humorous side, I'm actually a bit anxious about it having been so long because I'm pretty sure whoever gets me next is going to have something akin to a teenage boy on their hands. Like... the barest anything will likely set me off into ridiculous, overblown paroxysms. On one hand, that might be fun, but on the other, it might be kind of embarrassing.

Anyway.. I'll be the one over here in the corner praying for rain and contemplating doing a rain dance. Wish me luck...

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Food for Thought

BDSM’s Dirty Secret – The Real Risk of Kinky Sex
By: Midori 
Published: August 15, 2011

As kinky folks, most of us have heard of the risks associated with certain activities we like: rope cuts off circulation, bruises invite suspicion and speculation, infected wounds or bites just plain suck and breath play can flat out be deadly... but there's more.

Kink and Sadomasochism come with a load of risks. The list is long enough to make your eyes glaze over. But, I'm not here to trot out the usual suspects. Yes, they're real and no, you shouldn't ignore them, but there's another set of dangers that often go unmentioned. They are intrinsic to kink and yet so potentially threatening to some that they do everything within their power, subconsciously, to avoid them.

That danger inherent in SM is….

(Cue horror movie soundtrack….)

Intimacy and human connection.

Yes, intimacy.

Because, at some level, SM demands participants to be true to their desires and hungers, vulnerabilities and savagery. Fully engaged kink insists on full presence without pretense and willingness to connect the raw humanity to another’s raw humanity. The elegant defenses and social rules of appropriate behavior are built up by civilization and maintained in culture to insulate ourselves from that dangerous primal state. SM, along with some sports, is one of the few remaining semi-sanctioned arenas where the raw emotions and connections are permitted and even celebrated. To engage in this behavior may lead to a flood of emotions, elation and even risk failure to achieve connection, with the added danger of feeling genuine loneliness. It takes guts, skill and personal risk to fly high with another person.

This is a mighty scary proposition to some people.

But there’s a solution for people who can’t bear intimacy or potential failure. Highly technical scenes with clear standards of tangible procedural success can minimize the risk of messy emotional authenticity.

Over the years of I’ve been to more than a few dungeon parties – big and small, public and underground, posh and sleazy. Usually the scenes I see make me hot, but a few would leave me troubled, cold or deeply sad. Were they too shocking or taboo for me? No. Were they technically incompetent? No.

Instead, they were highly technical, well-executed and fascinating to watch. Multiple floggers fly and spin, wowing the crowd, in a spectacular choreography of Florentine flogging. Single tails and bull whips snap and dance stunningly on the skin delivering subtle strokes and deep cuts. Ropes wrap around limbs suspending flesh in complicated mid-air acrobatic poses. We gather around for these and other skill intensive scenes to ooh and ahh. But eventually I’d walk away, wondering why I was suddenly overcome by sadness. As I step away, people get in line to be the next to bottom, as the top processes yet another through an exquisite set of maneuvers.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not watching two people sharing an experience, but rather two strangers having separate thrills over one activity. The top feels satisfaction in displaying competence in a set of measurable standards (The ropes go on. The person goes up. They come down and they’re still in one piece), while the bottom gets to have a self-contained experience delivered by a competent technician. The human factor of the other person seems irrelevant in either case.

When I see this, it feels like SM is reduced to an amusement park ride, and people choose if they’re the rider or ride operator. Or maybe it’s the bungee jump. When I’ve gone bungee jumping, I looked for a service provider with qualifications and a good reputation. I certainly didn’t expect, nor want, any raw human connection with the dude strapping me in. I wanted him out of my head and heart. I wanted a thrill and to be able to talk about it to my friends. Maybe that’s what some people are seeking in their SM.

Recently someone came to talk to me about the suspension he did. Breathless with excitement, he talked to me about the thrill of doing it. Never once did he mention the other person he tied up. There was that sinking feeling in my heart again.

The more difficult the technique is, the harder it is to establish that human connection. But the more technical the play is, the easier it is to visibly ascertain a level of success and external validation. Emotional and mental states are, by nature, nebulous and not easy to determine success. There can always be doubts if the other person flew as high as you did, or if they flew at all. “Was it good for you?”

The greater the technical demand, the further at bay you keep the risk of intimacy, vulnerability and disappointments. To experience emotional connection in highly technical scenes is truly challenging. I’ve seen it done and it’s hot, but their biggest expertise went well beyond the complicated ties or whips. It was their willingness to be naked to the soul with the other person. Sadly, the intangible emotional scene success seems rarely celebrated as we’re distracted by flashy and tangible skill standards.

Firmly establishing a set rules for play where disconnect is the norm in, effect lowers the bar, guarantees and redefines success. Super difficult techniques can protect the players from biggest risk of all in SM – intimacy.

But if you play hard with nothing more than the most distilled, simple techniques, with teeth bared, sweaty, breathy and entwined with your partner as you expose your darkest desires to them, leaving you exhausted and elated in one another’s arms, congratulations – you are truly a pleasure artist.

Thursday, September 08, 2011

'What is it about service?'

I borrowed this from a thread on FetLife, where the original poster, a dominant, inquired, "I would really like to hear other people's take on what makes receiving domestic service so fucking hot."  

I liked the following answer from another dominant so much that I wanted to put it here.

It is, for me, this undeniable feeling of dedication to the one being served. Our distractions are stripped away.

Ego is absent.

It is the depth of our discipline to that that is able to remove these distractions. What remains is the sole focus of carrying out a complete and selfless act of dedication to that one's needs, wants -- to its completion. This act may be simple, but its simple gesture is likened to one paying homage.

Homage is very intimate.

This act builds the dynamic. It is an opportunity to display, with grace, what has been practiced, whether it be in boot blacking, formal tea, food service, or holding grace through stance and postures.

Why is this so important? Why the dedication and small rituals when presenting service? Partly it separates us from simple acts one would receive as courtesy (say, from a family restaurant or the grocery kid at the supermarket), partly because in our vanilla lives we don't often get that opportunity to be in a space to fill that empty vessel.

We are starved and for those moments, the act of service and receiving it restores that balance. We are kings, we are gentlemen and ladies, courtesans, cicisbeos, and chevaliers. whatever part of the spectrum we play in, we are cherished and valued.

We are fed.

Handing someone a cup of coffee is just handing over a cup of coffee, but present that with genuine grace, structure, poise and you separate yourself from a whole group of others. This is the difference. This is what makes genuine service, service.

I am afforded the opportunity to sit back and breathe in, to anticipate the service, to really receive it, as I witness it. I am able to see distinct motion and see that what is expected or shown, has been displayed correctly.

Receiving a feeling of genuine care from service, displaying it in a flawless manner, having needs be the focus, stripping away one's vulnerabilities and distractions and seeing that person thrive from their act, this is the reward for me.
 -- TheDisciple

Sunday, September 04, 2011


My goal at the start of this year was to work on caring less about what others think and, to that end, I have made great strides. Still a work in progress, to be sure, but I'm pretty pleased with myself. Recently, a new theme has presented itself in my life and will take over my personal growth focus: vulnerability.

I could write a book on myself and how I defend from displaying even the barest hint of vulnerability. How I find being vulnerable to be unbearable, terrifying, and excruciating, so I avoid it at all costs.  The result is that I live in my own personal kind of hell, with everything locked in tight, to be dealt with quietly, alone, in the dark recesses of my own personal fortress.

I had a dream the other night, about running into JC, which brought up all of those related emotions and which has given me food for thought over the past few days.  She and I were together for two and a half years; by far the healthiest relationship I've had to date.  Our break up was devastating to me, then I healed, then I saw her again and the wounds were ripped open, then I spent an embarrassingly long amount of time trying to re-heal and trying to stop pining and wanting something that never really existed in the first place.

I did succeed and I did get over her again. That is why this dream took me by surprise, but it was very interesting. In the dream, we flirted while we caught up, but there was no desire, really, to be with her in a romantic way. There was, however, a real desire to be with her sexually. That, I feel, will never go away entirely.

JC and I will always have a deep and caring friendship to fall back on. Our split was highly amicable, just both of us admitting that as romantic partners, we weren't a good fit. One of her chief complaints about me is my inability to be emotionally intimate, especially in a verbal fashion. She has a PhD in psychology, so talking about feelings is obviously huge for her.

I just... as much as I trusted her and loved her.. I could not bare myself like that. I would draw a blank in discussions and have no idea what to say.  In some ways, it's very frustrating because the feelings are there, but I can't manage to get them out in words or in ways that most people expect. Not to mention, I have a legitimate personality quirk (alexithymia) that makes it difficult for me to find the words to match what I'm feeling, so that combined with the person sitting there, staring at me, waiting with bated breath for what's to come out of my mouth next... it's terribly nerve-wracking, full of pressure, and not at all conducive to my opening up and sharing the most tender and sensitive parts of myself.

On the other hand, what made our sex life so hot, was due greatly in part to the fact that the only time I was able to be completely bare, open, and vulnerable with her was in bed.  We had loads of mind-blowing sex and I was over-the-moon delighted to discover what a dirty, experimental, and sexual creature she was. I think about all the various moments we had together and the biggest thing to stand out was how open, giving of myself, and completely vulnerable I was. And, subsequently, how fucking HOT that made things.

My feeling that comfortable to be so bare with her is absolutely why it was the hottest sex either one of us had had to date. JC is still my benchmark for 'hottest sex ever' and while I did have one experience after JC that surprised me by coming close, the lack of vulnerability, love, and caring was what kept that experience from being as good.

I had hoped, in a small part of my heart, that my vulnerability during sexual intimacy would be enough. That she would see that I was completely open and giving her everything that I had. That she would be able to see how deeply I felt and cared and wanted her, and that that would be enough.  Obviously, though, sexual intimacy is generally not enough to fuel a real, healthy, adult relationship.

A lot goes on in my head and most of it I keep to myself. I'm going to be working on courage, which is living with my heart. Vulnerability is one of the keys to happiness.

(If you are on a mobile device, you probably can't see the video above, but you should come back and watch it. It's a superb and funny TED talk on the subject of vulnerability.)

Monday, August 29, 2011


The way I was raised, by my mother's example, no gift is given freely. Drilled into my head and extremely difficult to shake, even when it upsets my partners and doesn't serve me well, is that every gift given garners some sort of debt.  I've thus spent my life with a mental tally sheet -- not so much because I'm concerned about whether I'm getting my share, but because I want things to be fair and that everyone involved be happy and satisfied.

When I originally broached the subject of providing service in exchange for beatings, it took the form of 'trade'.  And, as trade, it is important to me that Mistress feels that I am working adequately to pay for her time and energy.  With weekly playdates, it put me well behind in terms of hours worked and what I would owe for a session.

Things have evolved, I feel, into more of a personal service relationship rather than a tit-for-tat straight trade.  What I mean by that, 'straight trade', is strictly business.  I recently had a brief discussion with her regarding how I feel that things are perhaps more fair now that I have play dates every other week, in terms of the hours I'm able to work in that time.  She thought about it and, bless her, she told me that she didn't think of it that way.

So, even though things were originally broached as a trade situation, to my delight, things have, in reality, become more of a personal service situation.  After talking with her, I feel I can relax somewhat on keeping a mental tally, of fairness, and know that she's satisfied.

Thursday, August 18, 2011


One of the most unexpected things I've found while exploring this whole service thing is how comfortable and how safe it feels to be fully myself. Not just the parts of me that are silly or dorky or that I often keep to myself for fear of judgment or whatnot. I mean that I'm free to fully be myself, in the broadest sense. Most surprisingly, what I'm finding is how freeing and safe it feels to be as giving of myself as I want.

It's 'weird', but I have a deep need to give and to do. I need to feel helpful, useful, and wanted. I'm someone who really enjoys giving, making others happy, and, honestly, I enjoy putting others ahead of myself. I don't know how to describe it, other than it just doesn't feel right any other way. Not to mention, I have difficulty expressing my feelings, so the primary way that I show people I care for them is to do things.  I realize now that I am a service-oriented submissive; I love being helpful, useful, needed.  I love to make the lives of the people I care for easier and I want them to know that they are loved and appreciated.

The problem has been that it has, historically, been extremely unsafe for me to be this way in most of my vanilla relationships, including my familial ones.  It's tough being a person who thrives on the things I do, particularly when people can be so selfish and so easily take advantage.  I've spent a lot of time trying to please the people I care about, but never without danger and rarely in a healthy manner.

I started this life very idealistic and naive and I've had to harden myself up quite a bit. I learned that I had to withhold things and to stay guarded.  I look back over my life and there's a lot of being taken advantage of or being taken for granted. Being manipulated or even abused by those who recognized the right buttons to push.  It took me way too long, but after all the shit I went through in my last romantic relationship, I finally reached my limit and found the balls to stand up for myself. I am honestly totally fed up and no longer willing to take shit off of people.

So, it's ironic to me, that after becoming so guarded, that I suddenly feel really safe being open, giving, and totally myself.

I don't know why I'm this way, but it gives me great pleasure to make other people happy.  I love showing people I pay attention to them by attending to their desires. I particularly love if I can read someone and provide what they want or need without them even having to speak a word. The reward of someone's delight, the awe of my remembering their preferences, is so worth the time and energy!

I have worked in the service industry for a very long time and I don't think it's any coincidence that a) I am drawn to this line of work or b) that I'm pretty good at it.  Being thoughtful, anticipating someone's desires, remembering the things they like or how they like them, going a step or two beyond what is expected with the hope of putting a smile on someone's face... all of these are things I naturally do for those I care about.  It's just that it hasn't always worked out very well for me.

Perhaps it's because I have empathic tendencies, but another thing is that I can't be happy if the people around me aren't happy.  It also feels selfish to put myself ahead of someone else and I just feel much more comfortable if I let another person have first pick over me. I do have self-sacrificing tendencies, in that I'm happy to put myself second if I can be of service for someone or something greater than myself. I'm drawn to service, to helping others, and I'm most happy when I can do that.

A couple of my friends have cautioned me to be careful, afraid that I might get taken advantage of. I assure them that they don't understand because if they did, they'd see there's no worry at all. Mistress is so wonderful and has only my best interests at heart. She is extremely giving, kind, and thoughtful, so it is my absolute pleasure to look after her. I know that I can approach her with any concerns and I also know that she has my back and is looking out for me.

What they also don't understand is the amazing feeling that comes from being fully recognized. For the first time, I'm free to be myself because someone finally sees who I am and understands my need to give. Not only that, but I feel like Mistress knows that what I have to offer is given of myself as a gift. It's this difference of perspective -- gracefully accepting someone's gift, rather than taking what's on offer without any thought -- that makes all the difference.

It's really the most marvelous feeling and so freeing to be able to be totally myself! I can do what I love -- giving, doing, putting others ahead of myself -- and feel totally safe and comfortable.

Monday, August 15, 2011


Mistress gave me an assignment this week, to write about what, in our sessions, that I'm finding that I like most and least.  The issue for me is that this is not at all a simple question with an easy answer. There are a great many variables to take into account. So, much like when she asked me this question, post-beating when I was feeling stoned and spacy, I ponder this question and find it really difficult to answer simply.

I think the conclusion I've come to is that, so far, there isn't anything I don't like. I enjoy all of the different sensations and I like that she switches things up and varies them. There are things I don't like as much as others, but it so happens that those things cause her obvious delight and I like hearing her laugh and have a good time much more than I dislike any activity.  So, no complaints and nothing I want less of. (that is my honest answer and not a cop-out to avoid answering the question)

On the other side of the coin, there are way too many things I love -- haha... -- and I will try to narrow it down..

While I like all of the implements and sensations, if I had to pick, I think my most favorite thing is when she pulls my hair and spanks me at the same time. There is something super hot about that and it feels really good.  I do so love to have my hair pulled...

Barehanded spankings are at the top of my list, but I do enjoy the differing sensations of the other weapons and I enjoy not knowing what's coming next.  I love being bound, tied or held down, the various cuffs and restraints, being blindfolded. I also really love when she banters with me throughout. I love the marks afterwards and the sore nipples, my private souvenirs, especially when she makes them on purpose.  I love her awareness of the senses; the scratching, the caressing, or the deliciousness of well-timed application of ice on very red, hot, and sore skin.

I really have no complaints whatsoever and I pretty much enjoy being on the receiving end of whatever she feels like doling out at the time. It's all so good, so masterfully orchestrated, I always leave feeling seriously bowled over at how fucking amazing things were.  I wander out of there spacy, floaty, high, more than satisfied, and deeply grateful to her for her skill, time, and energy. Also a little bit of wondering how I got to be so lucky, because I really am!

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Three Mistresses

There are times where I feel emotionally out-of-sorts and I just don't feel like myself. I cast around trying to figure out what I need to feel better.. Do I want alcohol? No.. Do I want weed?  No.. Junk food? No.. Masturbation?  No..  I'll simply be feeling agitated and cranky, with no solution. I go through the list of possible remedies and none of it's right.

Well, at least until I land on being beaten.  I'm not quite used to that being the answer sometimes and I'm also not sure exactly why it is, but quite honestly, being spanked is exactly what I need sometimes.

I've been having a couple of rough weeks emotionally, due to various things that keep happening one after another.. hormones, my stupid job, trying to wean myself off weed so that I can get a new job (pre-employment drug screen), and subsequently, not enough sleep.  I've been very irritable and bitchy and basically not at all myself.  Mistress, the wonderful, perceptive woman that she is, recognized that I needed to be beaten and made time to do just that.

I arrived at the Domme house and we hung out and socialized a bit with one of her Domme friends, to whom she extended the invitation to knock on the door if the friend felt like spanking someone. I was amused and, I admit, hoping it would happen. We headed upstairs to the room she'd picked out for the evening.  This room consists of a couch and a spanking horse that has been affectionately and humorously dubbed 'the rape rack'. I encourage you to say it out loud, it's pretty fun. Rape rack!

She had me move the spanking horse more into the middle of the room and then laid some towels over it, all the while giving me playful and meaningful looks. I still get shy and blushy, especially at the beginning of our sessions. I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to just strip off so that she doesn't have to ask, but it feels kind of weird and awkward to do that without any sort of instruction, so I like to wait until she tells me to undress.

Get on spanking horse, tied down. Mitten cuff things. Blindfolded. Fingernails scraping my skin, caresses. Starts spanking, easy at first. Whip.. bare hand.. paddle.. spanking my ass, thighs, shoulders, pussy. Warming me up.

Tickling because she likes to see me squirm. Beating me all over with various implements.. paddle, slapper, rubber flogger, leather flogger. She then stopped, walked out of the room, closing the door and leaving me strapped down and blindfolded.  She was gone for a while, leaving me wondering what she was doing.

Returns and lights a clove cigarette, brushing the tip over my skin, the warm, reddened skin of my shoulders and ass. I've discovered I love the fear and danger of this. I trust Mistress implicitly and I know that she is expert at what she does, yet there is still an element of fear, which is oddly arousing.

A knock at the door, making me chuckle a little. Another Mistress popped in to ask about a particularly evil implement -- the dragon tail -- that she was looking for. After she left, Mistress told me that she'd told the other ladies to not hesitate to knock and come in for anything they might need. Anything at all, she chuckled.

Great, I said, laughing. That was very nice of you.

Well, of course, we can't deny them things if they need them for clients.. she playfully replied.

More beating, tickling.. dripping water and champagne on me, then the harsh, extra stinging slaps of an implement against wet skin. Spanking my feet, my pussy, my inner thighs.

Then.. another knock at the door.  Mistress' friend entered. They began discussing me and my red ass, Mistress saying that I'd been pretty quiet so far, but that I was warmed up and that I'd scream for her.

What followed was mind-blowingly hot and awesome!  The two of them proceeded to torture me in the most delicious ways.. scratching, biting, spanking, hair pulling.. all the while laughing and talking about me almost like I wasn't there. I always imagined that would be super hot, and it was.  I gasped to feel lips and teeth on my neck.. a very sharp pinch of a bite which is now raised, bruised, and sore (no complaints here.. I love souvenirs!). I almost died with pleasure when I felt lips wrap around my toes, then the delicious sensation of them being sucked.

The two of them were having a blast torturing me (okay, I was having a blast being tortured, as well!); scratching, poking, tickling. If that weren't enough, there was another knock at the door, mid-torture. Another Mistress came in to join in the fun.  I've mentioned how lucky of a girl I am, right??  Holy shit.. the three of them, I lost track of what was going on. Some time during all this, Mistress applied clothespins to my nipples.  Pleasure and pain at the same time. Loads of scratching and beating, but wonderful, pleasurable, sensual things at the same time. Stroking, soft female bodies against my bare skin, their laughter and giggles tickling my ears as they teased and tortured me.

They poured champagne over my back and then licked it off, but that was short-lived and I received some sharp bites. Nails raking the skin on my back, my ass, and my thighs. Tickling in earnest to make me struggle and fight my bonds, but pretty much in vain, as I was tied down and unable to escape.

I so didn't want it to end. It was beyond amaaaaaaaazing!  The funny thing was that I really didn't feel shy or embarrassed at all.  I do have an exhibitionist streak once I get over my shyness and self-consciousness and truthfully, I'd had a fantasy about being dominated and tortured by more than one woman at a time.

When it was all over, my entire back side (back, ass, and legs) was warm and red.  I have so many marks all over, which I love!  Several really decent bite marks, some serious scratches, and my skin is plenty sensitive all over, even if there are no marks to be seen.

That was so much fun.. so intense, but ridiculously hot and amazing. :)

Monday, August 08, 2011

The Arsenal

So, Mistress has this 'toy bag', as she calls it.. which is really a big black rapier bag. She pulled it out and sat it in her dining room, where it sat for a week or more, making me insanely curious as to what was inside.  Finally, we had a session last Friday and she instructed me to bring it so we could go through it together. Do you know what was inside?  KINKY CHRISTMAS!!  Holy crap, I'm so lucky. :P

Here is her personal arsenal. After our last session, I was instructed to take the bag home and to organize it. There wasn't much to do in that regard, so I think this was mainly so that I'd have some private time to check everything out.  I took the opportunity to photograph the cornucopia of weaponry...

Wednesday, July 20, 2011


My sessions with Mistress... I am a bit overwhelmed with emotion and I really don't have adequate words yet. They are simply amazing... intense, so deliciously sensual, and she gives the best spankings ever. I feel so lucky that our paths crossed, both in terms of the kink and also because in our developing a more personal relationship, I've come to discover that she is super sweet, kind, intelligent, and all-around very wonderful.

After my first session with her, it was all I could think about for weeks -- I have a kind of highlight reel of my favorite moments that I like to replay to amuse myself.  I couldn't believe how good it had felt, how tender and kind and sensual she was; it completely exceeded my expectations and I knew that I would have to go again!

The second session was amazing, too.... she is masterful and superb at what she does.  I'm sure I'll eventually write more on the in between, but for now, I need to carry on so I can start talking about the present. After our second session, we chatted a little bit and I asked if she might be willing to trade spankings for service. Super, super lucky me, she agreed. :)

I guess I've been in her service for a month or so now. This situation is new to both of us in different ways (obviously, less new to her) and we've been just kind of playing it by ear. I started off working in the garden and am gradually taking on more and more tasks as time goes on.

I'm finding a tremendous amount of joy in all of this, much to my surprise.  While I was very drawn to it and while a part of myself was filled with a deep yearning for this sort of thing... as much as I've thought about it, I didn't have enough experience to be certain that serving a Mistress was something I really wanted. In hindsight, I see that this was unfounded: I worry a lot unnecessarily. I guess I was most afraid of disappointing her by getting involved in this and finding out it wasn't a good fit. I mean, I thought that I would enjoy it, but until you experience something, how do you know if you'll like it?

Sure, I experimented and played at D/s, but never seriously and only once before with someone who had previous experience. For a long time, it was a fantasy, something my girlfriends and lovers would do to turn me on, but never its own thing. I spent many years thinking about BDSM, fascinated by the width and breadth of people's interests, pondering my own, dreaming, fantasizing... wishing I could meet someone with a natural dominant streak that would see and appreciate my submissive side. Not only that, really, but who would know what to do with it.

As much as I was drawn to it and felt that I wanted it, I had very little luck coming even close to what I was looking for. Honestly, I wasn't even sure what that was or how to articulate it. I started to think that I was chasing a pipe dream, that what I desired didn't exist and/or that it was one of those things that are simply much better residing in one's head as a fantasy.

I have a confession, which I hope you find as ironic and amusing as I do: I usually hate to be told what to do. I'm incredibly independent, dislike being ordered around, am not a fan of most menial tasks, and I generally am most happy doing things when they are my idea. I also generally can't stand being micromanaged and corrected.

So, obviously, knowing this about myself, I had some concerns about whether this was a good fit, whether it was what I really wanted, whether putting myself directly into this kind of situation would tweak my rebellious, sassy streak. I didn't really have much experience to draw from, so I wasn't sure what it would be like or how it would feel.

The truth is, none of these worries were very huge, just little niggling doubts. When I stopped and listened to my heart, this was what it wanted and so I was driven in this direction. Plus, I also just had this feeling that Mistress was extraordinary and I was very interested in getting to know her better. I am so grateful that she was open to giving me a chance because this has turned into one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

What's surprising to me is not that I'm enjoying every minute of my service, but that I find myself thriving in the biggest way! I'm really, really happy and I find it extremely enjoyable and fulfilling.

I love being asked to do things and I love being put to use! I don't mind the menial tasks, really, because it's for a very pleasant purpose -- making her life easier, maybe making her smile. I live for that smile.. it's just about the best thing ever.

Often, in other situations, I'll see something that needs to be done (say, the dishes), not want to do it, and then avoid the task (at least for a while). With Mistress, I'm eager and sincerely happy to do it. I feel a real sense of responsibility and duty, and I am always aware of my place, which is also satisfying in a way I didn't anticipate.

Weirdly (for me), I really enjoy when she asks me to do things. I feel a deep sense of happiness and satisfaction, that I'm being useful, and it's also a nice reminder of my place in all of this.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

New Chapter

A lot has happened in the past few months and suddenly, my life has taken a most wonderful and magical turn.  It all started with finally finding a job after several desperate months of job searching.  At my new job, I met a really cool girl -- who for this blog's purposes, we will call "Ollie" -- who very quickly became my best friend.  She and I are so alike, it's both scary and ridiculously awesome.

Right around the time Ollie and I met and were starting to get to know one another, her girlfriend answered a Craigslist ad and was interviewing to become a mistress at a local house of BDSM.  I was immediately intrigued, of course!  Visiting a professional Domme was on my bucket list and something I had thought a lot about, but I never expected to be able to overcome the intimidation and anxiety regarding the process, particularly the simple act of picking one place or one person.  I wasn't even entirely sure how to articulate what I wanted, so how could I be certain that I'd be able to find it?

Over the next couple of months,  I was in rapt attention any time Ollie offered bits and pieces of information regarding The House where her girlfriend was being trained to be a professional Domme; eventually, my curiosity got the best of me and I started to pepper her with questions.  The knowledge made it a bit less scary and I grew closer and closer to the idea that I might be able to actually DO this. I justified the cost to myself by allowing myself an indulgence for hitting the 6-month mark of quitting smoking.

I often get overwhelmed to the point of paralyzation when faced with too many choices. It's like, how in the world do you choose? All of the women are gorgeous and powerful and intelligent... without some sort of guidance, it's practically impossible to pick one over the other.  Seeing that I was lost in indecisiveness, Ollie's girlfriend recommended someone, who I then took a closer look at.  Immediately, I was rather intrigued. I mean, she hit a bunch of my big turn-ons: beautiful, fair skinned, tall, curly red hair, obviously intelligent and well-spoken, physically powerful... there was also an allusion to sensuality, or at least so I hoped.

It took me two or three weeks to wrap my mind around the whole thing and to get comfortable enough to where I was able to call to make an appointment. By that time, I kind of knew the low-down, but I was extremely nervous and intimidated by the whole process.  I knew from reading the website that, as a new client, I'd have to call on the day on which I wanted to book an appointment. This was a bit difficult for me because, ordinarily, I'd call ahead, make an appointment, and then spend the rest of the time mentally preparing for it. This time, I had to wonder what was going to happen all the way up until I worked up the balls to call. Ha.

Honestly, the process was not that difficult and the ladies I spoke with were very nice.  I just am such a huge dork that I only make things worse for myself through my shyness, anxiety, and awkwardness. I'm grateful that a lot of people see it for what it is and are amused by it and that some of them even find it endearing.  Anyway, after about a month of consideration and discussion, I managed to work up enough courage to book an appointment.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

New Chapter: Session 2

Circling, slapping, touching, applying the cane..

Me panting, out of breath, assimilating the pain.

She circled in front of me again. "Do we remember our safeword?" she asked with a sly smirk.

"Yes," I replied quietly, heat rising to my cheeks.

"Well, let's hear it."

My voice was thick in my throat and my reply came out almost inaudibly. "Louder, so I can actually hear it, " she tsked.

I cleared my throat and tried again, louder this time. "Yellow."

"Excellent, " she said, then began to spank my breasts forcefully.  I tried to be stoic, but it wasn't very long before I said my safeword in earnest.

Thursday, January 06, 2011

The lengths to which we go...

My life would make an excellent black comedy. I can only laugh at all the stupid things that I've done in the name of love or lust.

The most memorable (and expensive) mistake I made was getting involved with this crazy girl, JS, who was in love with my ex. I knew she was crazy and I knew she was just using me to make my ex jealous, but because I knew this, I thought I was one up on her and that I had the situation locked down.

It started out with a completely random phone call, where she wanted to know my ex's favorite flower. I was at first confused and surprised that JS was even calling me, considering I had never given her my number, but apparently my ex had. Once I gathered my thoughts, I had to tell her that I hadn't dated my ex that long and I honestly had no idea.

After that, she stepped up her game and started flirting with me hard at the bar. This game was completely transparent and I knew exactly what was going on. However, I was really bored in my life and in need of some distraction, so I decided to play with fire, especially since crazy girls seem to be wicked good in bed. I totally thought that, being fully apprised of the situation, I had a handle on things and that I had JS's number.

Well, tragically, she was horrible in bed, like... in my bottom two experiences ever... so it wasn’t even worth it. She had what my ex and I would later commiserate and call "sexual ADD". She'd start out doing one thing, and just as you were starting to get into it, she'd switch and start doing something else. Rinse, repeat, over and over.. very unsatisfying and strange!

She was wonderful sober, but was also totally an alcoholic who turned into Mr. Hyde when she got drunk. I was out at the bar with my best friend and she was there, wasted, celebrating her cousin’s birthday. I barely remember the details, but I think she got snarky with me and my best friend stood up for me, and then they totally got into it. JS left the bar perhaps 10 minutes later. My friend and I left a couple of hours later and when I got in my car, I discovered JS had stolen my ignition. Yeah, you heard me right.

HUGE F-ING, EXPENSIVE HASSLE, let me tell you. I got dicked around by the mechanic, too, for a couple of weeks, until my friend’s husband called pretending to be my husband, then they straightened up.

Anyway… yeah.

I would like to say that I've learned to not play with fire, but knowing myself....