This HNT (way off theme as it is) is lucky number 13. HHNT people.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
HNT: My Favourite Things
This picture contains a few of my favourite things - cuffs, rope, and my mink blanket. Does it contain some of your favourite things too?
Monday, December 15, 2008
I have a New Master
I had lunch with the Gorean Master from the party last week on saturday, to sort out my own head and talk with him. Lunch went on for a while, and afterwards neither of us seemed particularly keen to go anywhere so we wandered around downtown for a bit. In fact, neither of us really wanted to leave each other's company, so, we didn't.
He drove me home - with my hands cuffed behind me - and I went to fetch what I needed for the rest of the day. Shortly after heading out he pulled over and had me lie down on the back seat, where he cuffed me again, blindfolded me and bound my ankles. I'd just been 'abducted'.
It was a long drive back to his place. I didn't even know where the heck we were going, though I could tell when we got on the motorway. It was a very sublime experience, lying tied in the backseat with no visual reference, with him murmuring things to me to keep me in the headspace (like I wasn't there already) and occasionally reaching back to fondle me. Most definitely thrilling.
Once at his place he unbound my ankles but left me blindfolded and handcuffed as he lead me inside and up to the living room, where I knelt on the rug while he straightened things up and got changed. It was certainly something to have him take off the blindfold and be confronted with him decked out all in viking gear, complete with drinking horn (a Torvaldslander, perhaps?) and also didn't give me much time to process the rest of the room before he drew the blade at his hip, pressed it to my throat and gave me the traditional Gorean option of servitude or death. I could tell the knife was blunt but damn what a head rush. You know which one I picked, and I drank from his horn.
He stood me up and switched my cuffs for a sirik. I still hadn't had time to even process the room we were in, the world might as well have been just us. Interesting mind trick. He stood me on his shield and sliced my clothes off me (prearranged, so at least I wasn't losing anything I didn't know would be lost!) and had himself a little 'auction' to ritualistically buy me. Gor is full of rituals, but this was the first time I'd ever really experienced any of them. All Gorean slaves are sold naked. I was frightened, my tension showed it, and it wasn't lost on him. We might have played before and I trusted him, but I still had no real idea what he wanted of me (as a matter of fact, I still don't).
I couldn't exactly say the rest of the day was 'languid', but it wasn't as fast-paced as a BDSM scene. Unfortunately I tend to remember the bad bits more clearly than the good bits. I spent a time in the kitchen doing his dishes, and he spanked me with the wooden spoon I had neglected, which left me blubbering like a baby for a good while. My ass was still tingling from it when I woke up the next day, and it actually left faint bruises. He tested out several of his floggers on me through the day, pushing past my pain threshold with each but thankfully not far, and he also got out a hitachi vibrator twice and left me a puddle of orgasmic mush. The second time was with some painfully tight nipple clamps in place, and he took them off with vibrator in place. The pain was enough that it actually denied me orgasm despite being on the brink.
One ritual that I had been hoping would be neglected was the initiatory whipping. Well, it wasn't neglected, not in the slightest. He took me down to his dungeon and had me straddle a horizontal, padded pole, chaining my wrists and fitting a spreader bar. He had quite an impressive array to use on me, but the first he brought out was my tiny little red suede flogger. I will never, ever underestimate that little thing ever again because he made it bloody HURT! They all bloody hurt, I was crying through most of it, though he gave me time to recover and he told me later that he was only using a fraction of his full strength. He spent a fair bit of time comforting me, and then took me home. It had gone past ten and we hadn't even stopped for dinner.
The first day for a slave is hardly typical. I don't think I could stay with him if he pushed me as hard as he did that day on a regular basis. I guess I won't really find out until our next day together.
He's picked out a slave name for me, but I don't get to hear it until the next time we're together. He's also sending me some fabric to make up some slave garments with. I probably haven't represented events completely clearly here, like I said I frequently remember the bad clearer than the good, but I do remember that it felt right, and I can't wait to see where it goes. For the first time in months I feel truly sexual and sensual again, the barriers are dropping, and I am finally free again to grow.
He drove me home - with my hands cuffed behind me - and I went to fetch what I needed for the rest of the day. Shortly after heading out he pulled over and had me lie down on the back seat, where he cuffed me again, blindfolded me and bound my ankles. I'd just been 'abducted'.
It was a long drive back to his place. I didn't even know where the heck we were going, though I could tell when we got on the motorway. It was a very sublime experience, lying tied in the backseat with no visual reference, with him murmuring things to me to keep me in the headspace (like I wasn't there already) and occasionally reaching back to fondle me. Most definitely thrilling.
Once at his place he unbound my ankles but left me blindfolded and handcuffed as he lead me inside and up to the living room, where I knelt on the rug while he straightened things up and got changed. It was certainly something to have him take off the blindfold and be confronted with him decked out all in viking gear, complete with drinking horn (a Torvaldslander, perhaps?) and also didn't give me much time to process the rest of the room before he drew the blade at his hip, pressed it to my throat and gave me the traditional Gorean option of servitude or death. I could tell the knife was blunt but damn what a head rush. You know which one I picked, and I drank from his horn.
He stood me up and switched my cuffs for a sirik. I still hadn't had time to even process the room we were in, the world might as well have been just us. Interesting mind trick. He stood me on his shield and sliced my clothes off me (prearranged, so at least I wasn't losing anything I didn't know would be lost!) and had himself a little 'auction' to ritualistically buy me. Gor is full of rituals, but this was the first time I'd ever really experienced any of them. All Gorean slaves are sold naked. I was frightened, my tension showed it, and it wasn't lost on him. We might have played before and I trusted him, but I still had no real idea what he wanted of me (as a matter of fact, I still don't).
I couldn't exactly say the rest of the day was 'languid', but it wasn't as fast-paced as a BDSM scene. Unfortunately I tend to remember the bad bits more clearly than the good bits. I spent a time in the kitchen doing his dishes, and he spanked me with the wooden spoon I had neglected, which left me blubbering like a baby for a good while. My ass was still tingling from it when I woke up the next day, and it actually left faint bruises. He tested out several of his floggers on me through the day, pushing past my pain threshold with each but thankfully not far, and he also got out a hitachi vibrator twice and left me a puddle of orgasmic mush. The second time was with some painfully tight nipple clamps in place, and he took them off with vibrator in place. The pain was enough that it actually denied me orgasm despite being on the brink.
One ritual that I had been hoping would be neglected was the initiatory whipping. Well, it wasn't neglected, not in the slightest. He took me down to his dungeon and had me straddle a horizontal, padded pole, chaining my wrists and fitting a spreader bar. He had quite an impressive array to use on me, but the first he brought out was my tiny little red suede flogger. I will never, ever underestimate that little thing ever again because he made it bloody HURT! They all bloody hurt, I was crying through most of it, though he gave me time to recover and he told me later that he was only using a fraction of his full strength. He spent a fair bit of time comforting me, and then took me home. It had gone past ten and we hadn't even stopped for dinner.
The first day for a slave is hardly typical. I don't think I could stay with him if he pushed me as hard as he did that day on a regular basis. I guess I won't really find out until our next day together.
He's picked out a slave name for me, but I don't get to hear it until the next time we're together. He's also sending me some fabric to make up some slave garments with. I probably haven't represented events completely clearly here, like I said I frequently remember the bad clearer than the good, but I do remember that it felt right, and I can't wait to see where it goes. For the first time in months I feel truly sexual and sensual again, the barriers are dropping, and I am finally free again to grow.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Gorean-space
Out of the blue on saturday I got an invite for a play party that night. I wasn't even sure if I was going to go, it was already getting late by the time I saw the email. I did though, and I'm glad I did. The guy who invited me gave me a lift, and on the way there I found out he is in fact a Gorean Master.
Shock, wonder. A Gorean Master, a single Gorean Master, a local single Gorean Master. Maybe there's still hope for me here after all. If it weren't for his age I would definitely try things with him, but he must be at least twice my age, so I don't know ...
The party itself was well underway by the time we arrived. There were the remains of a barbeque, and a huge chocolate cake for later (as it was the host's birthday party). There were several rooms set up for play, with signs everywhere that this was a very kinky household. I'm going to have to get tips when I'm creating my own hardware.
I didn't really have any intention of playing, just to go with the flow. I'd been missing my rope though, so during dessert I changed into my tight, short (very short) black dress and pulled out the rope with the idea to challenge the doms present to tie me so I couldn't wiggle free.
I didn't get very far with that plan though. The Gorean wound the rope about my waist and led me to one of the play rooms. He took me by the hair, set me on my knees and cuffed my hands behind me. Instant subspace. To an observer it probably wouldn't have looked like he was doing much as he continued, but he manipulated me so well. I was trembling almost the entire time.
He had this neat device, a serving tray that could be strapped on so it could be carried with my hands still cuffed behind me. It was almost too big to be secured about my waist, but he put it on over the ropework, and took me out to the living room where most of the guests were. I am glad for the mirror that was on the wall so I could see him through most of the room as he added first his drink, then mine to the tray. If I hadn't been so spaced I think I would have felt rather foolish, it wasn't exactly an elegant piece of equipment ... I feel rather foolish remembering now.
He took me back to the play room, took off the tray and undid the ropework. Then he had me kiss his boots. It's not something I have done before, nor something I had even thought of as appealing, but hey, he had nice clean boots, and I didn't hesitate. The smell of the leather, kneeling small at his feet, it is as intoxicating as I had imagined. I ended up stopping the kissing fairly quickly and just lay there, breathing the scent of the leather and basking. He unhooked the cuffs and brought my wrists up to cross before me, my head lifting but still bowed, kneeling with my thighs spread. He asked if I knew this position.
Oh like anyone even vaguely familiar with Gor could not know it. He put me in the position of submission. Did this mean he really wanted me for his own? Could I live up to his expectations? Did I want to? It was too much for me, and sent me into subdrop.
I'd avoided doing any serious play for this reason, because I knew it would end in a crash. I've been aching for it for so long, but I'm still scared. Scared of being hurt again, of failing, of falling in love when it could never be permanent. I want my next relationship to be one that can last, but am I just setting myself up to be lonely for a very, very long time?
I am still thinking things over and don't really know what I am going to do, but despite the fact that the little period of submission had been a complete surprise and not negotiated in the slightest, I don't regret it. He stayed with me through the drop and made sure I was okay, the scene reminded me just how wonderful Gor and submission could be, and it's brought my sex drive back to life. Oh has it ever, I've been daydreaming ever since.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
HNT: Sleeeeepy
I've been unusually tired lately, so I've been doing a lot of what I'm doing below. Just snoozing. Maybe I'm not eating enough red meat, or it's just a lack of urgency that has come with the holiday season. Oh well, I'm getting my rest.
Enjoy everyone.
Enjoy everyone.Monday, December 1, 2008
Just the Little Pleasures
Last night I went to a local play party that consisted of more than six people for the first time in ... at least a year and a half, more like two. Getting an invite was a bit of a fluke, I met one of the attendees at SE and he insisted on tying me up.
It was a good party. Not the crowd I normally hang out with but I knew about a third of the people there. There was a barbeque and a kinky secret santa, then the play started.
I expected, after my inviter's excessive bragging and numerous and vehement assertions that his interest was just in the rope and trying me up, that he would actually be good and not sexually focused. He got quite possessive and subtly shooed off the three other people I had been talking/flirting with who were watching and kept sneaking strokes even though I was still fully dressed, and my hands went numb before he even finished the chest harness. It was meant to be my first suspension, but after standing there for thirty, maybe forty minutes and having him chase away the people I was actually having fun with I was rather glad of the excuse to be let free.
I spent a lot of time getting cuddly with the young and cute russian, a specialist flogger who is going home in a day or two. Oh he was very, very cute, smelled good too. Once the table had been cleared I got stripped down to my knickers and tied bent over it and he got to practice some extra gentle technique. First time with a single tail whip, and it stung like hell, even if he was going as softly as he could. I could hear (vaguely) the others who were watching laughing and commenting on my cute little squeals, and him assuring them he was going as gently as possible despite my frequent safewording! I was sitting sideways for a while afterwards.
A Mistress took a flogger to me later on, considerably more gently and teasing. I came very close to climaxing right on the table. She has been informed that she now owes me an orgasm, damnit! Her timing was impeccable.
The russian actually asked me to come back to his place afterwards. I can't even remember anyone asking me that before that I wasn't dating, but despite how flattering it was it really stirred me up in a bad way. I didn't really know what he might be expecting, how I might react to the situation, if I might end up regretting it later. I turned him down. Even though I know I'm going to be wondering what I missed out on for ages, at this point I'd rather do that than regret doing it. I'm really still an emotional ticking time bomb, and I don't even know how big the charge is. Of course after I said I wasn't going home with him he went to chase the tail of a Mistress. Rejected.
Gee, for a sex blog, I don't write much about sex, do I?
It was a good party. Not the crowd I normally hang out with but I knew about a third of the people there. There was a barbeque and a kinky secret santa, then the play started.
I expected, after my inviter's excessive bragging and numerous and vehement assertions that his interest was just in the rope and trying me up, that he would actually be good and not sexually focused. He got quite possessive and subtly shooed off the three other people I had been talking/flirting with who were watching and kept sneaking strokes even though I was still fully dressed, and my hands went numb before he even finished the chest harness. It was meant to be my first suspension, but after standing there for thirty, maybe forty minutes and having him chase away the people I was actually having fun with I was rather glad of the excuse to be let free.
I spent a lot of time getting cuddly with the young and cute russian, a specialist flogger who is going home in a day or two. Oh he was very, very cute, smelled good too. Once the table had been cleared I got stripped down to my knickers and tied bent over it and he got to practice some extra gentle technique. First time with a single tail whip, and it stung like hell, even if he was going as softly as he could. I could hear (vaguely) the others who were watching laughing and commenting on my cute little squeals, and him assuring them he was going as gently as possible despite my frequent safewording! I was sitting sideways for a while afterwards.
A Mistress took a flogger to me later on, considerably more gently and teasing. I came very close to climaxing right on the table. She has been informed that she now owes me an orgasm, damnit! Her timing was impeccable.
The russian actually asked me to come back to his place afterwards. I can't even remember anyone asking me that before that I wasn't dating, but despite how flattering it was it really stirred me up in a bad way. I didn't really know what he might be expecting, how I might react to the situation, if I might end up regretting it later. I turned him down. Even though I know I'm going to be wondering what I missed out on for ages, at this point I'd rather do that than regret doing it. I'm really still an emotional ticking time bomb, and I don't even know how big the charge is. Of course after I said I wasn't going home with him he went to chase the tail of a Mistress. Rejected.
Gee, for a sex blog, I don't write much about sex, do I?
Friday, November 28, 2008
'Holding out for a Hero'
This song has a tendency to get stuck in my head quite often. Some days I'll end up playing it several times a day just to get lost in the daydreams. Yesterday was one of those days.
A new fantasy intruded within seconds of the first playing yesterday. I step out onto the crowded dance floor, drawn by this song that resonates with me so, and alone I start dancing. I'm not alone for long though, as my own personal hero appears from out of the crowd and grabs my hand, and soon we're dancing together so wildly that the crowd has to step back. I don't even see them as he swings me and spins me, manipulating me with strength and passion, his lips brushing my neck as our bodies crush together, his hands exploring every curve. We might as well be having sex right there on the dance floor, and before the song is half-over I'm in tears for shear joy and release.
Where's my hero?
I'm gonna go daydream again. Maybe I should join a dance class.
A new fantasy intruded within seconds of the first playing yesterday. I step out onto the crowded dance floor, drawn by this song that resonates with me so, and alone I start dancing. I'm not alone for long though, as my own personal hero appears from out of the crowd and grabs my hand, and soon we're dancing together so wildly that the crowd has to step back. I don't even see them as he swings me and spins me, manipulating me with strength and passion, his lips brushing my neck as our bodies crush together, his hands exploring every curve. We might as well be having sex right there on the dance floor, and before the song is half-over I'm in tears for shear joy and release.
Where's my hero?
I'm gonna go daydream again. Maybe I should join a dance class.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
HNT: Again with the Tying Up
OMG Southern Exposure was a blast. While I recover from the three late night parties in a row and finish the list of things I want to write about, here's something for you to perve at.
The Satyr seems to be getting me trussed up for something. 0: )
HHNT
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Reporting on Bits and Bobs
I know I have been rather quiet lately. I do hope that this will end shortly, once I am freed from the demands of study. I do not want this blog to disappear, or fade into the obscure ether of the net (and I know my adoring fans don't want it to either).
My date last week was ... okay. We had been exchanging messages online for a while, and some things he said certainly resonated with me, but I had told myself quite firmly to trust my instincts on this one (as they have proved right on every prior occasion despite my best efforts, both to ignore them and try and make it work), and my gut instinct the moment I saw him was a resounding 'no'. It was a good meal, decent conversation, nice date, but beyond that ... neehh. Having missed my bus he offered me a ride home, which I really didn't want to do but I didn't have much of a choice ... wish I hadn't, the ride home was the worst part and would be the sole reason for lack of later contact. But that's neither here nor there.
I have been fretting over what to wear to the fetish ball for a while and have finally settled on the blue gown featured in my very first HNT, though my subconscious came up with a rather interesting alternative last week. I dreamed of going to the ball dressed as a fox furrie, but not in the traditional all-concealing fur-suit. Nope, all I was wearing were knickers with attached tail, shoe-paws, ears, and body paint. It's something that I would really like to try some time, but for this event I don't have the supplies or the prep time (or the confidence!). My furrie inclinations are not something that get much exercise, given the negligibly small local community, but I am determined to make a couple of suits and have some fun with it. BDSM is my life, but fur is fun.
I am getting exponentially more excited the closer I get to flying out to Southern Exposure. I have been largely trying to just not think about it to keep it from interfering with other work that needs doing, but I don't think I can stop it now! I have one more exam tomorrow, then I have to run for a bus, grab luggage and I'm immediately off to the airport!
I'm going to Southern Exposure!
My date last week was ... okay. We had been exchanging messages online for a while, and some things he said certainly resonated with me, but I had told myself quite firmly to trust my instincts on this one (as they have proved right on every prior occasion despite my best efforts, both to ignore them and try and make it work), and my gut instinct the moment I saw him was a resounding 'no'. It was a good meal, decent conversation, nice date, but beyond that ... neehh. Having missed my bus he offered me a ride home, which I really didn't want to do but I didn't have much of a choice ... wish I hadn't, the ride home was the worst part and would be the sole reason for lack of later contact. But that's neither here nor there.
I have been fretting over what to wear to the fetish ball for a while and have finally settled on the blue gown featured in my very first HNT, though my subconscious came up with a rather interesting alternative last week. I dreamed of going to the ball dressed as a fox furrie, but not in the traditional all-concealing fur-suit. Nope, all I was wearing were knickers with attached tail, shoe-paws, ears, and body paint. It's something that I would really like to try some time, but for this event I don't have the supplies or the prep time (or the confidence!). My furrie inclinations are not something that get much exercise, given the negligibly small local community, but I am determined to make a couple of suits and have some fun with it. BDSM is my life, but fur is fun.
I am getting exponentially more excited the closer I get to flying out to Southern Exposure. I have been largely trying to just not think about it to keep it from interfering with other work that needs doing, but I don't think I can stop it now! I have one more exam tomorrow, then I have to run for a bus, grab luggage and I'm immediately off to the airport!
I'm going to Southern Exposure!
Monday, November 3, 2008
Exhaustion
No, unfortunately this is NOT a kinky dirty sexy post. In fact it pretty much follows the general theme lately.
Exams are upon me, and after spending the semester cramming assignments around shortened me-time I am now considerably behind, so am running myself ragged trying to read everything I'm meant to read and do all the tutorials in time. I have ideas, but no energy or drive to write them.
Two weeks and it will be over. And then I will also be back from Southern Exposure with lots of juicy kinky stories to tell you all! Flying out hours after my last exam, and so excited.
Oh, and I have a date tomorrow night with someone I met on Fetlife. Wish me luck. (I'm so nervous.)
Exams are upon me, and after spending the semester cramming assignments around shortened me-time I am now considerably behind, so am running myself ragged trying to read everything I'm meant to read and do all the tutorials in time. I have ideas, but no energy or drive to write them.
Two weeks and it will be over. And then I will also be back from Southern Exposure with lots of juicy kinky stories to tell you all! Flying out hours after my last exam, and so excited.
Oh, and I have a date tomorrow night with someone I met on Fetlife. Wish me luck. (I'm so nervous.)
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Fear
The horrible week is finally over. There is still the not-quite-so-horrible week to go, and then exams, but after that, I hope to just relax for a while and cruise. And that should mean a lot more posts, hopefully.
So, a friend of mine sent me a writing prompt in response to my last post: What is my scariest experience in BDSM.
This is a difficult question for me to answer, because while there is fear, I don't remember it. It tends to get drowned out by the thrill and the later euphoria.
For example, I was scared when, at a play party, my Master of the time pushed me against the host's fridge with her standing there watching (damn that thing was cold), and proceeded to thrash me with the flogger she had loaned him. But I was excited too. I've always had a fear of floggers (and canes too for that matter, but I have yet to experience one), because they are designed and used to inflict pain, and with my low pain tolerance it can quickly become overwhelming. But I trusted him, and while it hurt, he didn't push me past my limit. Knowing that he wouldn't, trusting that any dom I've been with wouldn't, has been what's tempered my fear and made it the minor emotion.
No, the scariest experience I've had I don't even think of as BDSM any more. It was abuse, plain and simple.
He struck me across the face. Then I was terrified, because I didn't know what else he would do. I was desperate not to anger him again, and I then went further than I ever should have, had already gone further than I should have. He didn't hit me that hard, but there was no warning, no negotiation, no consent. It was no longer and never was BDSM, simply abuse.
And if I ever see him again I don't know if I'll go crazy and smack him silly or just break down in tears. I'm still scared that he'll turn up to a local munch one day.
That there is bad fear. The good fear, the thrilling fear, that fades quickly as you sink into the pure sensation, I hope will never reach that intensity.
EDIT
I'm wrong, there was another really scary experience that I was reminded of tonight.
I had been tied quite thoroughly spread eagle, I was blindfolded, and next thing he was slicing away my clothes with a knife while whispering all sorts of awful things to me. Total mind fuck.
So, a friend of mine sent me a writing prompt in response to my last post: What is my scariest experience in BDSM.
This is a difficult question for me to answer, because while there is fear, I don't remember it. It tends to get drowned out by the thrill and the later euphoria.
For example, I was scared when, at a play party, my Master of the time pushed me against the host's fridge with her standing there watching (damn that thing was cold), and proceeded to thrash me with the flogger she had loaned him. But I was excited too. I've always had a fear of floggers (and canes too for that matter, but I have yet to experience one), because they are designed and used to inflict pain, and with my low pain tolerance it can quickly become overwhelming. But I trusted him, and while it hurt, he didn't push me past my limit. Knowing that he wouldn't, trusting that any dom I've been with wouldn't, has been what's tempered my fear and made it the minor emotion.
No, the scariest experience I've had I don't even think of as BDSM any more. It was abuse, plain and simple.
He struck me across the face. Then I was terrified, because I didn't know what else he would do. I was desperate not to anger him again, and I then went further than I ever should have, had already gone further than I should have. He didn't hit me that hard, but there was no warning, no negotiation, no consent. It was no longer and never was BDSM, simply abuse.
And if I ever see him again I don't know if I'll go crazy and smack him silly or just break down in tears. I'm still scared that he'll turn up to a local munch one day.
That there is bad fear. The good fear, the thrilling fear, that fades quickly as you sink into the pure sensation, I hope will never reach that intensity.
EDIT
I'm wrong, there was another really scary experience that I was reminded of tonight.
I had been tied quite thoroughly spread eagle, I was blindfolded, and next thing he was slicing away my clothes with a knife while whispering all sorts of awful things to me. Total mind fuck.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
HNT: Under the whip
While this particular whip is no longer being used on me, I'd much rather face it at full force right now than deal with everything else that's happening lately. For the next few weeks, I really will be under the proverbial whip, and stressed to the max with no definite relief in sight. Hopefully I can keep up a few posts over that time.
Maybe what I need is suggestions to keep me writing and HNTing?
HHNT everyone.
Maybe what I need is suggestions to keep me writing and HNTing?
HHNT everyone.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Perfection, Expectations and Pain
There's a lot of Masters who put high demands on slaves. Confliction over whether I can meet these demands frequently makes me upset, and hurts me deeper and longer than a whipping. Yet these are often silly demands, completely rediculous to be expected of me by these people who don't even know me.
So many Masters have told me that if I am going to submit, that I have to do it all at once, that the last choice I make is going to be in submitting to them and afterwards every single decision is to be theirs, and I must simply trust them to decide what is best for me. I think this is not only foolishness, but absolute stupidity. How can they possibly know what is best for me when they barely know me?
There are many shades of grey in submission, and varying levels of trust, not the black and white they would have me believe. To throw myself blindly and fully trusting into their clutches is just asking for heartache and quite possibly injury, yet this is what I am repeatedly told I must do.
What utter nonsense.
There are great depths to who I am that not even my longest lasting Master reached in the years we were together, and these people who don't even have a clue think that they can Master me?
Why the heck do I keep letting these idiots berate me?
Just because I'm not going to leap head first into water that may be far too shallow does not mean I'm going to always be alone, I am not the sole cause of a relationship failure and I do not make myself miserable on purpose, and I'm tired of hearing from these jackasses that I do.
I think I've run out of steam for this rambling rant now.
So many Masters have told me that if I am going to submit, that I have to do it all at once, that the last choice I make is going to be in submitting to them and afterwards every single decision is to be theirs, and I must simply trust them to decide what is best for me. I think this is not only foolishness, but absolute stupidity. How can they possibly know what is best for me when they barely know me?
There are many shades of grey in submission, and varying levels of trust, not the black and white they would have me believe. To throw myself blindly and fully trusting into their clutches is just asking for heartache and quite possibly injury, yet this is what I am repeatedly told I must do.
What utter nonsense.
There are great depths to who I am that not even my longest lasting Master reached in the years we were together, and these people who don't even have a clue think that they can Master me?
Why the heck do I keep letting these idiots berate me?
Just because I'm not going to leap head first into water that may be far too shallow does not mean I'm going to always be alone, I am not the sole cause of a relationship failure and I do not make myself miserable on purpose, and I'm tired of hearing from these jackasses that I do.
I think I've run out of steam for this rambling rant now.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
HNT: Bared
Well ... I had a request for nipples a couple weeks ago.
So here you go.
So here you go.
Happy HNT you perverts. : )
Friday, September 19, 2008
Can't Stop the Rhythm
... And of course, now that I have written that title I have 'Can't stop the Moonlight' playing in my head.
Last week I received a 2 CD set of belly dance music I had ordered online. Belly dancing is something I have been interested in for a very long time, but I've always been too shy/demotivated/poor to really get into it. I have a coin belt, and I attended a few classes with a friend, but beyond that I haven't done much with it.
This purchase was hopefully the first step in remedying that. Eventually I'll get some tutorial dvds, and with practice I hope to not be so shy about dancing in front of people. Because damn, I so want to.
Last friday being the last day of my holidays, I ripped the package open as soon as I had the house to myself and popped it on. I was uncertain about it at first, some of the songs have an odd structure to them, and can be quite repetitive with the instruments used, but regardless it wasn't long before I was squirming in my seat, moving in time to the music, just picturing what I could do with it.
I saw a large room with the floor cleared, encircled by chairs filled by Masters, a few with their own slaves at foot. I'd be dressed in billowing chiffon, just see-through enough to really tease as I turned, adorned with fine gold chains and the ringing coins and bells, every move creating its own music as I danced for these men, writhing passionately beneath their hungry gaze, to drive them crazy enough to reach for me, even before the music had stopped. With the fantasy as motivation and unable to keep still with the music playing, I dug out my coin belt.
There were no fantasies as I danced though, just pure practice, what I could remember of the very basic drills, but after a minute of undulations I was exhausted. It made clear to me just how very, very far I have to go before my vision has a hope of coming true. This isn't really helped by the fact that I only feel secure enough to practice when I'm alone with no chance of interruption, and that is not going to happen consistently for a long time.
But here's to hoping, and dreaming.
Last week I received a 2 CD set of belly dance music I had ordered online. Belly dancing is something I have been interested in for a very long time, but I've always been too shy/demotivated/poor to really get into it. I have a coin belt, and I attended a few classes with a friend, but beyond that I haven't done much with it.
This purchase was hopefully the first step in remedying that. Eventually I'll get some tutorial dvds, and with practice I hope to not be so shy about dancing in front of people. Because damn, I so want to.
Last friday being the last day of my holidays, I ripped the package open as soon as I had the house to myself and popped it on. I was uncertain about it at first, some of the songs have an odd structure to them, and can be quite repetitive with the instruments used, but regardless it wasn't long before I was squirming in my seat, moving in time to the music, just picturing what I could do with it.
I saw a large room with the floor cleared, encircled by chairs filled by Masters, a few with their own slaves at foot. I'd be dressed in billowing chiffon, just see-through enough to really tease as I turned, adorned with fine gold chains and the ringing coins and bells, every move creating its own music as I danced for these men, writhing passionately beneath their hungry gaze, to drive them crazy enough to reach for me, even before the music had stopped. With the fantasy as motivation and unable to keep still with the music playing, I dug out my coin belt.
There were no fantasies as I danced though, just pure practice, what I could remember of the very basic drills, but after a minute of undulations I was exhausted. It made clear to me just how very, very far I have to go before my vision has a hope of coming true. This isn't really helped by the fact that I only feel secure enough to practice when I'm alone with no chance of interruption, and that is not going to happen consistently for a long time.
But here's to hoping, and dreaming.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
HNT: Back, and in Black
It's way past time I started this again. I have a huge selection of lingerie, and a huge selection of photos of me posing in said lingerie in a variety of positions with varying levels of dodginess. I hardly have an excuse to deprive you good people, but doesn't it make it so sweet when I feel like posting again.
In fact, maybe I should start posting several photos at once in order to show off a wider range of half-nekkidness.
HHNT everyone.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
Morning Bliss
I set the book on my dresser, finished. It's the Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, and while the last few chapters aren't particularly erotic, for me at least, I tentatively reach down to have a fondle of my clitoris. There's no underwear, I gave up wearing underwear to bed a few months ago for health and comfort reasons (it is apparently a very good idea to let genitalia breathe), and I'm not quite used to it yet, but after fiddling with the button for a bit I reach down to see how wet I am.
Oh I'm very wet. I smear the juices up and down for a bit, spreading it over my clit, before sinking a finger deep inside myself. Very, very wet, that was too easy, so a second finger goes in, and I push hard in just the right spot and I instantly orgasm.
It's the holidays for me so I have the house to myself, I could play without fear of my noise attracting unwanted attention, and I thought it was about time I got out my vibrator again. It has been a long time since I last used it, since well before we moved actually, perhaps even a whole year since I used it alone on myself, though it got some exercise at the weekend away. So I get up and go wash my hands (very, VERY wet), shed my nightgown and pull out vibrator and batteries. I'd only recently learned the trick of keeping the batteries out when it was idle, though I can't think why I hadn't thought of it myself, and as I tested the strength I'm very glad I learned it as it's running as strong as though the batteries were fresh.
Its a very simple vibrator, my first and only, not so long and not so thick, not waterproof, with a simple twisting knob on the top to alter speed, smooth and straight. They're probably $20-30, but it serves me well enough.
So I lay down, spread my legs wide and gently rub the tip over my clit. For now it's off, just letting it slide over my flesh, getting it nice and slick in my own lube, imagining a man pinning me down, teasing me with his cock in such a way, then I lower it and slide it inside quick. Oooh it's been too long since I had something inside me.
I keep jostling the knob so it turns on, but for now I want it off, just feeling it slipping in and out of me, pressing deep. Soon enough I turn up the vibrations, low at first, sliding it out a couple of times to run it over my clit, before turning it up high and ramming it in. I'm crying out as I cum over and over, clutching wildly at my pillow, at my headboard, writhing and thrusting my hips against an imaginary lover. I cannot contain my cries, nor do I want to, and I've long ago given up counting orgasms, as I normally lose count in the high twenties, and I'm probably already nearing that number.
I grasp my left breast, tweaking the nipple briefly before pinching it as hard as I can as the vibrator moves vigorously in and out. I can just imagine lips and teeth there, tasting, biting. I pause for a quick breather before assaulting the other breast, the same images flashing behind half-closed eyes, then the vibrator is out and just brushing the tips of my nipples on its highest setting, and I shiver.
Its back at my cunt in moments, turning the setting down, teasing just at the entrance, probing just inside. I can feel the liquid running down the crack of my ass. Would a Master enjoy tormenting me this way? Would he like to hear me beg to have him inside me? To take me, rape me as he willed? I thrust it deep, there's an edge of pain, but I want it. I push hard and fast, writhing as I claw at the bed with my free hand, the twinge of pain telling me he wants me, he will take me as he pleases, and right now that is roughly and desperately.
I am going like this for some time, round after round with only brief breathers, altering the setting or almost withdrawing. Time has no meaning as I abandon myself to my own pleasure. I think of my Master coming upon me like this, pleasuring myself so shamelessly, striding over to me and wrenching the vibrator from my hand, throwing it to the floor so he may thrust himself into me and have his own way with me. Or perhaps he will pin my hands, taking me even more violently with the vibrator than I have myself before finally impaling me with his cock.
I'm starting to get a bit raw now, and I reach to turn it down and finish. Here's how well I know my own toy - I turned the knob the wrong way, right up to full, and after that I couldn't stop, but had to ride out yet another round of writhing orgasms.
Slowly I withdraw it and turn it down. There's sticky stuff all over it, right up to the adjustment knob, but I don't want to get up and wash it just yet, so I prop it up where it won't slick up anything else and I collapse back on the bed.
Here's a quirk to my masturbation. I might be able to orgasm as many times with a vibrator as with a play partner, but not as deeply nor as long, nor as satisfyingly. To do that I must use my hands, through cloth to let the texture abrade my flesh and bunch over my clit, but I only get one when I do, and that's how I finish when I use the vibrator.
A fresh pair of knickers from the laundry pile is spread over my cunt and my hand over it, rubbing gently at first. I'm still tired, but determined to finish with one last big one. I clutch my pillow to my front, the fabric rubbing my nipples, clutching with my thighs as though it were a set of hips that was grinding against me. My head falls back and my back arcs so I'm right off the bed, and I think of Him, where ever and who ever he may be. I think of him spreading my legs forcefully and leaning down to press his body against mine, of him grasping my hair and turning my head so he may bite my neck where I can almost feel the collar, sucking at my nipples and kissing me violently as he thrusts into me. It's not quite enough, so I dream further. He leans down and whispers in my ear what a hot and wet little slut I am, that I am his, and that I'm going to cum for him. It's a trick that works almost every time, and I can feel that steep peak building, moaning as I imagine him thrusting harder, faster, as my hand works furiously, and then I explode with a scream.
I stretch out languidly on the bed, still trembling, and am thankful that my window faces in the opposite direction to our neighbour's house.
And now after washing and putting away my toy and sitting here in my knickers and dressing gown to write this post, its about time I went and got ... lunch, since it's now well past breakfast time.
Oh I'm very wet. I smear the juices up and down for a bit, spreading it over my clit, before sinking a finger deep inside myself. Very, very wet, that was too easy, so a second finger goes in, and I push hard in just the right spot and I instantly orgasm.
It's the holidays for me so I have the house to myself, I could play without fear of my noise attracting unwanted attention, and I thought it was about time I got out my vibrator again. It has been a long time since I last used it, since well before we moved actually, perhaps even a whole year since I used it alone on myself, though it got some exercise at the weekend away. So I get up and go wash my hands (very, VERY wet), shed my nightgown and pull out vibrator and batteries. I'd only recently learned the trick of keeping the batteries out when it was idle, though I can't think why I hadn't thought of it myself, and as I tested the strength I'm very glad I learned it as it's running as strong as though the batteries were fresh.
Its a very simple vibrator, my first and only, not so long and not so thick, not waterproof, with a simple twisting knob on the top to alter speed, smooth and straight. They're probably $20-30, but it serves me well enough.
So I lay down, spread my legs wide and gently rub the tip over my clit. For now it's off, just letting it slide over my flesh, getting it nice and slick in my own lube, imagining a man pinning me down, teasing me with his cock in such a way, then I lower it and slide it inside quick. Oooh it's been too long since I had something inside me.
I keep jostling the knob so it turns on, but for now I want it off, just feeling it slipping in and out of me, pressing deep. Soon enough I turn up the vibrations, low at first, sliding it out a couple of times to run it over my clit, before turning it up high and ramming it in. I'm crying out as I cum over and over, clutching wildly at my pillow, at my headboard, writhing and thrusting my hips against an imaginary lover. I cannot contain my cries, nor do I want to, and I've long ago given up counting orgasms, as I normally lose count in the high twenties, and I'm probably already nearing that number.
I grasp my left breast, tweaking the nipple briefly before pinching it as hard as I can as the vibrator moves vigorously in and out. I can just imagine lips and teeth there, tasting, biting. I pause for a quick breather before assaulting the other breast, the same images flashing behind half-closed eyes, then the vibrator is out and just brushing the tips of my nipples on its highest setting, and I shiver.
Its back at my cunt in moments, turning the setting down, teasing just at the entrance, probing just inside. I can feel the liquid running down the crack of my ass. Would a Master enjoy tormenting me this way? Would he like to hear me beg to have him inside me? To take me, rape me as he willed? I thrust it deep, there's an edge of pain, but I want it. I push hard and fast, writhing as I claw at the bed with my free hand, the twinge of pain telling me he wants me, he will take me as he pleases, and right now that is roughly and desperately.
I am going like this for some time, round after round with only brief breathers, altering the setting or almost withdrawing. Time has no meaning as I abandon myself to my own pleasure. I think of my Master coming upon me like this, pleasuring myself so shamelessly, striding over to me and wrenching the vibrator from my hand, throwing it to the floor so he may thrust himself into me and have his own way with me. Or perhaps he will pin my hands, taking me even more violently with the vibrator than I have myself before finally impaling me with his cock.
I'm starting to get a bit raw now, and I reach to turn it down and finish. Here's how well I know my own toy - I turned the knob the wrong way, right up to full, and after that I couldn't stop, but had to ride out yet another round of writhing orgasms.
Slowly I withdraw it and turn it down. There's sticky stuff all over it, right up to the adjustment knob, but I don't want to get up and wash it just yet, so I prop it up where it won't slick up anything else and I collapse back on the bed.
Here's a quirk to my masturbation. I might be able to orgasm as many times with a vibrator as with a play partner, but not as deeply nor as long, nor as satisfyingly. To do that I must use my hands, through cloth to let the texture abrade my flesh and bunch over my clit, but I only get one when I do, and that's how I finish when I use the vibrator.
A fresh pair of knickers from the laundry pile is spread over my cunt and my hand over it, rubbing gently at first. I'm still tired, but determined to finish with one last big one. I clutch my pillow to my front, the fabric rubbing my nipples, clutching with my thighs as though it were a set of hips that was grinding against me. My head falls back and my back arcs so I'm right off the bed, and I think of Him, where ever and who ever he may be. I think of him spreading my legs forcefully and leaning down to press his body against mine, of him grasping my hair and turning my head so he may bite my neck where I can almost feel the collar, sucking at my nipples and kissing me violently as he thrusts into me. It's not quite enough, so I dream further. He leans down and whispers in my ear what a hot and wet little slut I am, that I am his, and that I'm going to cum for him. It's a trick that works almost every time, and I can feel that steep peak building, moaning as I imagine him thrusting harder, faster, as my hand works furiously, and then I explode with a scream.
I stretch out languidly on the bed, still trembling, and am thankful that my window faces in the opposite direction to our neighbour's house.
And now after washing and putting away my toy and sitting here in my knickers and dressing gown to write this post, its about time I went and got ... lunch, since it's now well past breakfast time.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
'Gorean' Society
The vast, vast majority of Goreans suck.
I mean it. A huge number of them are pretentious, snobbish, disrespectful, abusive 'one-true-way'ers who can smile sweetly while reaching inside, ripping your heart out and eating it beating. And I'm talking about free and slave alike. There's a limited number of Gorean groups on FetLife (if you don't know it, and are kinky, go check it out), and I just left one because of the above behaviour. It dominates the online forums and chat rooms which I frequent, and searching for the gems among the grit is hard work. But they are there.
Gor attracts an unfortunately higher percentage of abusers because of the way the wider society is structured. If you can quote it from the books, then pretty much, save for actually killing people, anything goes. The problem is Norman appears to contradict himself frequently on a wide range of topics that are fundamental to Gorean philosophy. You really have to read and absorb every single word to get the whole picture. Yes, slaves were regarded as animals, rightless, open to all sorts of abuse and carelessness, and yes, even death. But slaves were not expendable. Despite the focus of the books on slavery, slaves were actually quite rare on Gor (this is mentioned several times, though you wouldn't be able to tell from everything else that was written), there was a much higher ratio of masters to slaves on Gor, so they were viewed as rare and valuable. Men would fight over them. Some men would have chains of pretty slaves simply as a status symbol, like driving a Porsche, even if they didn't do anything more with them than show them off in public.
Yet frequently through the books there is mention of love slaves. They are never killed, though they may be sold because of anger or such. They have the highest demands set on them, but are also loved, and cared for. Abusive Masters aren't looking for their love slave though, they're just after fresh punching bags, or someone to satisfy their selfish wants. Unfortunately Gor also has plenty of girls who would take it, out of desperation, or just because they didn't know any better.
Then of course there are those who have read all the books, who have set up their own websites, have gathered all the quotes they want, and proclaim themselves Twoo Masters of the Gorean way. Disagree with them, and you are not Gorean, no matter the supporting quotes you dig up or the impact it can have on life here on Earth. I've found that slaves are the worst offenders in this regard.
Yet the real, beating, life-giving heart of Gorean society is something completely different. Here, slavery is built on love, devotion, and trust, on both sides. A slave may have to jump when told and do just as the Master says, but as his most precious and cherished possession she is never injured, and is cared for meticulously, well beyond the level of a favoured pet as mentioned in the books. These are the love slaves and their Masters, a slavery which is quoted as being far more strict and exacting, a much harsher slavery than any other. Yet here is love, and with love, the weight of a collar, no matter how heavy, becomes nothing at all.
This is the life I hope to one day be a part of, rather than glimpsing it at a distance.
I mean it. A huge number of them are pretentious, snobbish, disrespectful, abusive 'one-true-way'ers who can smile sweetly while reaching inside, ripping your heart out and eating it beating. And I'm talking about free and slave alike. There's a limited number of Gorean groups on FetLife (if you don't know it, and are kinky, go check it out), and I just left one because of the above behaviour. It dominates the online forums and chat rooms which I frequent, and searching for the gems among the grit is hard work. But they are there.
Gor attracts an unfortunately higher percentage of abusers because of the way the wider society is structured. If you can quote it from the books, then pretty much, save for actually killing people, anything goes. The problem is Norman appears to contradict himself frequently on a wide range of topics that are fundamental to Gorean philosophy. You really have to read and absorb every single word to get the whole picture. Yes, slaves were regarded as animals, rightless, open to all sorts of abuse and carelessness, and yes, even death. But slaves were not expendable. Despite the focus of the books on slavery, slaves were actually quite rare on Gor (this is mentioned several times, though you wouldn't be able to tell from everything else that was written), there was a much higher ratio of masters to slaves on Gor, so they were viewed as rare and valuable. Men would fight over them. Some men would have chains of pretty slaves simply as a status symbol, like driving a Porsche, even if they didn't do anything more with them than show them off in public.
Yet frequently through the books there is mention of love slaves. They are never killed, though they may be sold because of anger or such. They have the highest demands set on them, but are also loved, and cared for. Abusive Masters aren't looking for their love slave though, they're just after fresh punching bags, or someone to satisfy their selfish wants. Unfortunately Gor also has plenty of girls who would take it, out of desperation, or just because they didn't know any better.
Then of course there are those who have read all the books, who have set up their own websites, have gathered all the quotes they want, and proclaim themselves Twoo Masters of the Gorean way. Disagree with them, and you are not Gorean, no matter the supporting quotes you dig up or the impact it can have on life here on Earth. I've found that slaves are the worst offenders in this regard.
Yet the real, beating, life-giving heart of Gorean society is something completely different. Here, slavery is built on love, devotion, and trust, on both sides. A slave may have to jump when told and do just as the Master says, but as his most precious and cherished possession she is never injured, and is cared for meticulously, well beyond the level of a favoured pet as mentioned in the books. These are the love slaves and their Masters, a slavery which is quoted as being far more strict and exacting, a much harsher slavery than any other. Yet here is love, and with love, the weight of a collar, no matter how heavy, becomes nothing at all.
This is the life I hope to one day be a part of, rather than glimpsing it at a distance.
Monday, August 18, 2008
I Broke My Fantasy Muscle
You know what's worse than not feeling like masturbating?
Masturbating for two hours and not getting anywhere.
It must say something about my psyche that, even in my fantasies, when I'm desperately trying to get off, my fantasy Master often gets angry and abusive and my mood fizzles out. Says something certainly, but nothing good. Now they're even becoming disinterested.
How's that for depressing.
I need to start reading more erotica.
But hey, I'm posting more.
Masturbating for two hours and not getting anywhere.
It must say something about my psyche that, even in my fantasies, when I'm desperately trying to get off, my fantasy Master often gets angry and abusive and my mood fizzles out. Says something certainly, but nothing good. Now they're even becoming disinterested.
How's that for depressing.
I need to start reading more erotica.
But hey, I'm posting more.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Take A Look In The Mirror
It is incredibly important for people to know themselves, really know themselves. Its even more important for this to be the case in BDSM, because if they don't, its not just stressful, or maybe hurtful, its dangerous.
I try to do a measure of soul-searching frequently. Before every play I pause and look, just to be absolutely sure I am comfortable. For a sub to not be comfortable can lead to an awkward situation at best, and broken hearts and damaged mindsets at worst. For a dom though? He can murmur all the sweet nothings he likes, but if they aren't aware of what they are doing and why, they can carve deep wounds in flesh and spirit that never heal.
Just because I give my consent for one aspect of play, it should never be assumed that I give consent for another that a dom just happens to be used to incorporating into all their play, or which they like and are unwilling to give up or put on pause for any reason. I am quite vocal about my low pain tolerance and sensitivity, and to have that ignored, brushed aside, or blatantly disregarded, is hurtful on so many levels.
One Master I was slave to in Gor rp was particularly good at that. No one should ever belittle the psychological pain of a cyber whipping, and he beat me often, for as little a reason as looking in the wrong direction. Despite denying that he was a sadist, frequently and vehemently, he most definitely enjoyed inflicting pain on me. *pain* Oh no, of course I'm not a sadist *pain* You need this, you know *pain pain* I do it just for discipline *pain pain pain* You brought this on yourself of course *PAIN* Even though it was maybe just a tiny mistake, I was just looking for an excuse to 'bring you back in line' *PAIN*
Never, ever again.
I have been hurt quite often enough because the doms I associated with were just not honest, with themselves or anyone else. If I catch so much as a whiff of the same behaviour now, I run, far and fast, and do not look back.
I try to do a measure of soul-searching frequently. Before every play I pause and look, just to be absolutely sure I am comfortable. For a sub to not be comfortable can lead to an awkward situation at best, and broken hearts and damaged mindsets at worst. For a dom though? He can murmur all the sweet nothings he likes, but if they aren't aware of what they are doing and why, they can carve deep wounds in flesh and spirit that never heal.
Just because I give my consent for one aspect of play, it should never be assumed that I give consent for another that a dom just happens to be used to incorporating into all their play, or which they like and are unwilling to give up or put on pause for any reason. I am quite vocal about my low pain tolerance and sensitivity, and to have that ignored, brushed aside, or blatantly disregarded, is hurtful on so many levels.
One Master I was slave to in Gor rp was particularly good at that. No one should ever belittle the psychological pain of a cyber whipping, and he beat me often, for as little a reason as looking in the wrong direction. Despite denying that he was a sadist, frequently and vehemently, he most definitely enjoyed inflicting pain on me. *pain* Oh no, of course I'm not a sadist *pain* You need this, you know *pain pain* I do it just for discipline *pain pain pain* You brought this on yourself of course *PAIN* Even though it was maybe just a tiny mistake, I was just looking for an excuse to 'bring you back in line' *PAIN*
Never, ever again.
I have been hurt quite often enough because the doms I associated with were just not honest, with themselves or anyone else. If I catch so much as a whiff of the same behaviour now, I run, far and fast, and do not look back.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Round and Round the Merry-Go-Round
I've had a go at starting a few posts in the past couple of weeks, but they've not been finished. Perhaps later I will finish them, but not now, since they are filled with the depression and self-doubt I've been feeling lately. (Also the reason why no HNT last week, and iffy about this week right now.)
I am considered a needy slave. In that I need a measure of stability, affection, care and time. Apparently this is demanding. And don't even think of saying that they're pushing too hard or are doing something abusive, because then you're being bratty and whiny.
Bah, jerks.
On a slightly lighter note, I went to a shibari party hosted by a couple of new friends on Sunday. Despite being in the scene a few years this was something new for me. I'd been to play parties before, but not specfically a shibari party.
Despite arriving late, I, Dee and Kiana were the first ones there. Velvet Steel, the hosting dom, has a most impressive 'black room', with a dresser and wardrobe full of toys and kinky books and a bed with more eyehooks and hardpoints than I've ever seen in a single room.
Things were a bit slow to start up, probably because he was the only dom with four subs around. It was some time before any others showed up, and by then he had tied and/or fondled all the others save me, and he seemed disinclined to do so. It did a real number on my ego and hurt far more than it really should have. Yet when he did eventually turn the rope on me I was not pleased. My wrists still hurt. He might claim to like pain just to see us squirm, but he's fooling himself, and I doubt I'll let him touch me again.
Kiana did a very artsy chest harness on me, which I hope to get photos of soon. She's very neat with her ropework, which despite her being sub will serve her well when she gets into kinky photography (its blogged now Kiana, you have to do it!).
Another dom there (whom I have yet to think of a nickname for) tied me wrists to ankles, secured at either end of a spreader bar. He had a lot of fun with me trussed up like that, and so did I, despite having to safeword out once when he hit me waaaay too hard (everyone over-estimates my pain tolerance). I hope I get to play with him again!
And I'm already craving rope and chains and submission again. Woe.
I am considered a needy slave. In that I need a measure of stability, affection, care and time. Apparently this is demanding. And don't even think of saying that they're pushing too hard or are doing something abusive, because then you're being bratty and whiny.
Bah, jerks.
On a slightly lighter note, I went to a shibari party hosted by a couple of new friends on Sunday. Despite being in the scene a few years this was something new for me. I'd been to play parties before, but not specfically a shibari party.
Despite arriving late, I, Dee and Kiana were the first ones there. Velvet Steel, the hosting dom, has a most impressive 'black room', with a dresser and wardrobe full of toys and kinky books and a bed with more eyehooks and hardpoints than I've ever seen in a single room.
Things were a bit slow to start up, probably because he was the only dom with four subs around. It was some time before any others showed up, and by then he had tied and/or fondled all the others save me, and he seemed disinclined to do so. It did a real number on my ego and hurt far more than it really should have. Yet when he did eventually turn the rope on me I was not pleased. My wrists still hurt. He might claim to like pain just to see us squirm, but he's fooling himself, and I doubt I'll let him touch me again.
Kiana did a very artsy chest harness on me, which I hope to get photos of soon. She's very neat with her ropework, which despite her being sub will serve her well when she gets into kinky photography (its blogged now Kiana, you have to do it!).
Another dom there (whom I have yet to think of a nickname for) tied me wrists to ankles, secured at either end of a spreader bar. He had a lot of fun with me trussed up like that, and so did I, despite having to safeword out once when he hit me waaaay too hard (everyone over-estimates my pain tolerance). I hope I get to play with him again!
And I'm already craving rope and chains and submission again. Woe.
Friday, August 1, 2008
From Gor: The Concept of Beauty
Though I love Gor, it is unfortunately greatly misunderstood in the larger BDSM community. I get some very strange looks when I mention it at club munches or on BDSM themed sites. I think the vast majority have no clue what it is really about and are influenced by only a few misguided fanatics, just like the greater society is influenced by the misguided fanatics among BDSM. I could rant for pages and pages on the concepts and principles that real life Goreans follow and my own interpretation of such (and likely will at later dates), but tonight I wish to focus just on the Gorean concept of beauty.
While Norman writes essays and essays within the books on how natural selection would create a healthy and vital population free of unattractive features and debilitating genetic problems, this is not so. He immediately contradicts himself by including fat people, short weedy people, ugly or plain people, people with deformities even, who are all valued in Gor for what they can do and the honour they show. Despite all his ranting and the great emphasis on beauty the novels have at times, in the end it doesn't matter what a person looks like.
There are quotable accounts described in the books of women becoming more beautiful when they accept that they are a slave and eventually start to act to attract the attention of men, of women that despite being less beautiful than some by the accepted standards are more desirable because of their personality and fire. A woman will look with adoration upon her Master or mate because as a free man of Gor they hold honour above all else and will stand to protect his family and his home without question. A man who acts with courage and fairness is admired more than most warriors, and even a slave may gain a measure of respect, though in law she deserves none.
While there are some who take the books at face value and support just the oft repeated views stated in the essays without looking at the stories as a whole, I don't. I think that they show that people become beautiful when they accept what is inside them, and show strength of character and beauty of the spirit beyond physical appearance. I wish that such was encouraged more in the world today. Maybe then I wouldn't hide so much.
While Norman writes essays and essays within the books on how natural selection would create a healthy and vital population free of unattractive features and debilitating genetic problems, this is not so. He immediately contradicts himself by including fat people, short weedy people, ugly or plain people, people with deformities even, who are all valued in Gor for what they can do and the honour they show. Despite all his ranting and the great emphasis on beauty the novels have at times, in the end it doesn't matter what a person looks like.
There are quotable accounts described in the books of women becoming more beautiful when they accept that they are a slave and eventually start to act to attract the attention of men, of women that despite being less beautiful than some by the accepted standards are more desirable because of their personality and fire. A woman will look with adoration upon her Master or mate because as a free man of Gor they hold honour above all else and will stand to protect his family and his home without question. A man who acts with courage and fairness is admired more than most warriors, and even a slave may gain a measure of respect, though in law she deserves none.
While there are some who take the books at face value and support just the oft repeated views stated in the essays without looking at the stories as a whole, I don't. I think that they show that people become beautiful when they accept what is inside them, and show strength of character and beauty of the spirit beyond physical appearance. I wish that such was encouraged more in the world today. Maybe then I wouldn't hide so much.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
HNT: Red Hot
One night, this was what I greeted a visit from the Satyr in.
I was suitably gratified by his dropped jaw. ^_^
I was suitably gratified by his dropped jaw. ^_^Taken, as always, by the Satyr shortly after said greeting.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
On the State of Masculinity
Guys suck. I have been of this opinion for a long time now.
This is not to say that MEN suck. Men are a completely different species from guys. Men have some spark of intelligence, men revel in their masculinity, men laugh heartily and scowl fiercely, and men have complete control of themselves.
It can make me physically sick to look around myself and find that the males present are often so broken, narrow or shallow. Some will nurture just one characteristic and ignore the others, some are still lost and finding themselves, many adopt the accepted societal view on what makes a man, which I would quite like to tear into shreds. Rip it apart with bare hands and teeth and scatter it in minuscule particles on the four winds, actually.
For me, the five pillars of masculinity are: Passion, integrity, honour, intelligence and vitality. Whenever someone asks me what I want in a partner, though I flounder around on details these five always make it onto the list. Integrity, honour and intelligence are pretty self-explanatory. Passion does not necessarily mean a super romantic dinner or a good hard fuck, though both are nice. I mean more along the lines of being more emotionally loud, getting excited about things. Vitality for me covers energy and physical fitness. Granted there are still those that I consider Men who lack maybe one of these qualities, but never more than one.
Being a submissive, for me being able to control is also essential. But to quote from Gor, in order for a Man to Master a slave he must first master himself. Having all of the above really counts for nothing without having the self control to implement and maintain it.
There is more to masculinity than acting 'macho', suppressing visible emotional outbursts and following the rugby/cricket/whatever. I would much rather have a man who can burst into tears and recover with dignity and strength than one who shows no emotion, or worse just doesn't feel or understand such passions.
This is not to say that MEN suck. Men are a completely different species from guys. Men have some spark of intelligence, men revel in their masculinity, men laugh heartily and scowl fiercely, and men have complete control of themselves.
It can make me physically sick to look around myself and find that the males present are often so broken, narrow or shallow. Some will nurture just one characteristic and ignore the others, some are still lost and finding themselves, many adopt the accepted societal view on what makes a man, which I would quite like to tear into shreds. Rip it apart with bare hands and teeth and scatter it in minuscule particles on the four winds, actually.
For me, the five pillars of masculinity are: Passion, integrity, honour, intelligence and vitality. Whenever someone asks me what I want in a partner, though I flounder around on details these five always make it onto the list. Integrity, honour and intelligence are pretty self-explanatory. Passion does not necessarily mean a super romantic dinner or a good hard fuck, though both are nice. I mean more along the lines of being more emotionally loud, getting excited about things. Vitality for me covers energy and physical fitness. Granted there are still those that I consider Men who lack maybe one of these qualities, but never more than one.
Being a submissive, for me being able to control is also essential. But to quote from Gor, in order for a Man to Master a slave he must first master himself. Having all of the above really counts for nothing without having the self control to implement and maintain it.
There is more to masculinity than acting 'macho', suppressing visible emotional outbursts and following the rugby/cricket/whatever. I would much rather have a man who can burst into tears and recover with dignity and strength than one who shows no emotion, or worse just doesn't feel or understand such passions.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
HNT: Shy
I seem to have been neglecting my blog lately. Again the outside world interferes. But not quite to the extent that I neglect my HNT (or TNT, as the case may be).
HHNT everyone.
HHNT everyone.Sunday, July 20, 2008
'Never without my permission'
I know there are some that, given that I'm into BDSM and particularly Gor, would look at me rather oddly when I say how important consent is. Just because I like to give up control, doesn't mean I'll do it for just anyone, or that anyone can take it from me.
So I am particularly disturbed when I hear about cases of non-consensual slavery and BDSM. Its not a game that you can play with just anyone, or drag people into without thought or against their will, because the consequences can be grave.
A few nights ago there was a documentary on about such a case, a woman in the states being kept for years, with her captor taking cues and inspiration from several sources I'm familiar with. I felt compelled to watch because, hey, my chosen lifestyle inspired this wacko, and I can't help but wonder what would have happened if there had been no scene to draw inspiration from. Luckily someone else in the house just turned it off.
You can't even say that there is a fine line with such play. You either want it, or you don't, and I've had enough experience of the latter to be able to say that with certainty. I just find it so sad that there's far too much abuse in the name of play happening, and wish strength to those who need to escape.
Bonus points to whoever knows where the title quote comes from.
So I am particularly disturbed when I hear about cases of non-consensual slavery and BDSM. Its not a game that you can play with just anyone, or drag people into without thought or against their will, because the consequences can be grave.
A few nights ago there was a documentary on about such a case, a woman in the states being kept for years, with her captor taking cues and inspiration from several sources I'm familiar with. I felt compelled to watch because, hey, my chosen lifestyle inspired this wacko, and I can't help but wonder what would have happened if there had been no scene to draw inspiration from. Luckily someone else in the house just turned it off.
You can't even say that there is a fine line with such play. You either want it, or you don't, and I've had enough experience of the latter to be able to say that with certainty. I just find it so sad that there's far too much abuse in the name of play happening, and wish strength to those who need to escape.
Bonus points to whoever knows where the title quote comes from.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Sub-Space
Look, I'm back! (Actually I've been back for a couple of days now, just been floundering too much to post.)
Last weekend we had a two-day repeat of 'The Party', except it was located at the beach bach of Satyr's parents, and we were also lacking Phoenix and Kiana's now ex partner, which put a bit of a strain on Satyr as the only dom present to tend to three horny subs, though I think he enjoyed. But I'll do the complete write-up of the weekend later.
On Sunday I got quite thoroughly tied up. The two couches were set up facing each other with my mink blanket spread out between them, on which I knelt. Loops of rope were secured about my knees and tied to the legs of the couch in front of me, then I was bent down so my front rested on the courteously placed cushions and my cuffed wrists were stretched out beneath me, between my widely spread knees and secured to the couch behind me. While I had wriggle room, it wasn't much, and I certainly felt secure, and vulnerable with my ass right up in the air.
Once I knew those ropes were secure, I hit instant sub-space. Its a ... well, I can't quite say 'elevation' of awareness, because its not. Its the complete opposite actually. My scope of awareness is narrowed to just me, and whatever anyone may be doing to me. Even when I can force my eyes open I barely register what I'm seeing and hardly ever have a visual memory later on. I can only vaguely hear what's happening nearby. Despite Satyr's wicked whisperings of what would happen to me later, my mind couldn't stretch that far, couldn't focus on what might be. All I could think about was the way he was touching me then, or not touching me, or the aching need to be touched and caressed and dominated. My whole world gets narrowed down to a rush of endorphins and the shocking pleasure of touch, of the ecstatic surrender of consciousness and inhibitions. I cannot even control myself enough to serve in any way, other than with pure responsiveness, and can only hope that's enough.
I think I just made myself horny ...
Last weekend we had a two-day repeat of 'The Party', except it was located at the beach bach of Satyr's parents, and we were also lacking Phoenix and Kiana's now ex partner, which put a bit of a strain on Satyr as the only dom present to tend to three horny subs, though I think he enjoyed. But I'll do the complete write-up of the weekend later.
On Sunday I got quite thoroughly tied up. The two couches were set up facing each other with my mink blanket spread out between them, on which I knelt. Loops of rope were secured about my knees and tied to the legs of the couch in front of me, then I was bent down so my front rested on the courteously placed cushions and my cuffed wrists were stretched out beneath me, between my widely spread knees and secured to the couch behind me. While I had wriggle room, it wasn't much, and I certainly felt secure, and vulnerable with my ass right up in the air.
Once I knew those ropes were secure, I hit instant sub-space. Its a ... well, I can't quite say 'elevation' of awareness, because its not. Its the complete opposite actually. My scope of awareness is narrowed to just me, and whatever anyone may be doing to me. Even when I can force my eyes open I barely register what I'm seeing and hardly ever have a visual memory later on. I can only vaguely hear what's happening nearby. Despite Satyr's wicked whisperings of what would happen to me later, my mind couldn't stretch that far, couldn't focus on what might be. All I could think about was the way he was touching me then, or not touching me, or the aching need to be touched and caressed and dominated. My whole world gets narrowed down to a rush of endorphins and the shocking pleasure of touch, of the ecstatic surrender of consciousness and inhibitions. I cannot even control myself enough to serve in any way, other than with pure responsiveness, and can only hope that's enough.
I think I just made myself horny ...
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The World Keeps Turning
Just a quick note so it doesn't look like I've dropped off the face of the earth. Though it still feels like I have in some small way.
We moved two weeks ago. We still do not have internet connected. We are getting rather peeved about this.
I have managed to get to a public access point but I am rather limited in what I can do. I can't even reply to replies from my previous post, but a big thank you to everyone for your nice comments! (Oh, Vixen ... your FF? Sure I could find out if I could actually go see your blog ...)
Unless a miracle happens and I get internet tomorrow, there shall be no HNT. If I had been organised I would have set it up to post before we moved, but I wasn't.
So many kinky thoughts and no way to express them ...
We moved two weeks ago. We still do not have internet connected. We are getting rather peeved about this.
I have managed to get to a public access point but I am rather limited in what I can do. I can't even reply to replies from my previous post, but a big thank you to everyone for your nice comments! (Oh, Vixen ... your FF? Sure I could find out if I could actually go see your blog ...)
Unless a miracle happens and I get internet tomorrow, there shall be no HNT. If I had been organised I would have set it up to post before we moved, but I wasn't.
So many kinky thoughts and no way to express them ...
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Its That Time of the Week
I think I need to post more frequently.
Here's your dose of Half-Nekkidness (or Mostly-Nekkidness, as the case may be).
Thanks to Satyr for taking the photo, and for picking it out!
Here's your dose of Half-Nekkidness (or Mostly-Nekkidness, as the case may be).
Thanks to Satyr for taking the photo, and for picking it out!
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Dance Fever
So on Friday night I went to a friend's 21st. Lucky girl had a hall rented out, fully catered, a string quartet for the first two hours. Of course once they retired the laptop was hooked up to the big speakers and the dance music was started.
I never really understood dance in high school. Just a mindless flailing of arms and legs, no matter how silly it looks.
I've grown a bit since then.
It took a long time for the music to really get into me, and I don't think I really made much of myself when it did. I'm still heavily self-conscious of how I look, and the dress I was wearing, having been made while I was still in high school, was not made for dancing in. Yet I still found myself having to consciously rein myself in, to stop from displaying myself in an overly sexual manner. I'm far too used to the idea that any attention is bad attention. Its not like I was looking to attract anyone that was there.
Still, there was one dance number where I and about half a dozen others had gathered in a little circle to one side. The one male of the group was taking us each for a little spin by turn, but when he got to me it wasn't quite just a little spin. There was a great deal of touching, and bodies writhing together, with this guy I have only a casual acquaintance with. The closest we've gotten before is exchanging bruises on the battlefield, literally, and here we are with his hands about my waist and the buldge of his crotch pressed against my thigh. I don't even find him that attractive, but when the music stopped quite soon after that, I was glad of the breathing time.
I crave the day I can dance unrestrained, without a care.
I never really understood dance in high school. Just a mindless flailing of arms and legs, no matter how silly it looks.
I've grown a bit since then.
It took a long time for the music to really get into me, and I don't think I really made much of myself when it did. I'm still heavily self-conscious of how I look, and the dress I was wearing, having been made while I was still in high school, was not made for dancing in. Yet I still found myself having to consciously rein myself in, to stop from displaying myself in an overly sexual manner. I'm far too used to the idea that any attention is bad attention. Its not like I was looking to attract anyone that was there.
Still, there was one dance number where I and about half a dozen others had gathered in a little circle to one side. The one male of the group was taking us each for a little spin by turn, but when he got to me it wasn't quite just a little spin. There was a great deal of touching, and bodies writhing together, with this guy I have only a casual acquaintance with. The closest we've gotten before is exchanging bruises on the battlefield, literally, and here we are with his hands about my waist and the buldge of his crotch pressed against my thigh. I don't even find him that attractive, but when the music stopped quite soon after that, I was glad of the breathing time.
I crave the day I can dance unrestrained, without a care.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
HNT - All Tied Up
From my professional shoot.
What better way to be 'half-nekkid' than with items of bondage? :D
What better way to be 'half-nekkid' than with items of bondage? :D
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
The Importance of Keeping Your Mouth Shut
Up until just now I had no idea what I was going to name this post, but I think it fitting. If I hadn't kept my mouth shut, the reason for me writing would not have happened, which would have been a real shame and probably would have made the day rather sour. Because this post is about play time.
For a bit more background, the Satyr and I used to go out. There were unfortunately various problems, some linked to past trauma of mine, and quite a few to do with communication. When we finally sat down and talked things through we found we wanted quite different things. I'm very glad that we've remained close - there's very few I can be really at ease around.
Being at ease unfortunately doesn't mean being open. I don't know what keeps me from doing so with him, it might be the previously-mentioned trauma, but as he is the only one I've started a new relationship with since then I can't be sure. Its led to some awkward situations and some major miscommunication.
On Friday night he came around for the watching of dvds. Unexpectedly we ended up having the house to ourselves. There were many warm cuddles, and some serious flirting. Some serious serious flirting. Yet I could still feel that wall inside, that damned wall that despite being so at ease with him just would not crumble, jabbing at my insides whenever I gave it a nudge. I have to wonder if it gives me a glazed look or something from his comments. No sweet Satyr, you're not meant to know what that look means, that's the whole purpose of a mask. I was almost literally biting my tongue at his question - first instance of keeping my mouth shut. Its never a good topic, almost guaranteed to leave me in tears.
At one point I offered to show him a rather revealing piece of lingerie I had recently acquired. And then to model it. It was a rather cold night, so it took a bit of mental prodding on my own part, but I so wanted to see that look on his face, and I was certainly rewarded when he stepped back into my room. His hands were cold to start, but it felt so good to be touched again, and they warmed fast. In fact the whole room got quite warm fast, warm enough for him to shed his jersey, and for my shaking to not be from the chill any more.
He pulled me onto his lap, whispering in my ear just what he could do with me in such a garment, his hands demonstrating hot on the heels of his words. The panicky part of me was yelling to tell him to say, not show. That night though it had fallen in a pit and was sounding rather faint, so I was actually able to tell it to shut up. Second instance of keeping my mouth shut.
Then he swept me up in his arms and laid me down on my bed, and that's when I felt the wall finally vanish, laid out trembling and vulnerable beneath him.
Is it any wonder that I enjoy submission so much when its the only time I feel like myself?
I love to feel a man's hands on me. I love to writhe and squirm and moan for them, to show them what a slut I can be, to delight them with my responses. I can't stop to think with him touching me, and that's probably a good thing, because odds are I would over-analyse the situation. His hands on my skin, on my breasts, inside me, that's all there is.
Then he asked if I would like him to cum.
Oh crap, here? On my bed?
Many times I've felt like a selfish lover with him, getting off so much from his touch, never giving the same in return, and always feeling guilty. As much as I want him to enjoy as much as I am, I hit that mental block again. Yet more trauma scars. How can I ask him to leave, or to wait? I know what it is prompting such a response, but I can't even trust myself to speak, for fear of spoiling it all.
So I say nothing, and trust and hope that he will do what he feels comfortable with.
Soon enough he frees his cock, as big and hard as I have ever seen it, and strokes himself to orgasm. And I am very glad that I kept my mouth shut, because I liked seeing just how much he enjoyed it too, despite my initial reaction.
Curled up on the bed with him, the lingerie long ago discarded, we basked and dozed and chatted. I could feel the wall going up again brick by brick. Sigh. But at least I had something warm and fuzzy to keep with me behind it until it came down again.
Was a much nicer return to reality than it could have been, as we were still like that when we heard my mother in the hallway, having completely missed the door, and snapping the wall up that fast isn't so nice. I'm glad I had been in a dressing gown already before she left, so she wasn't surprised when I came out in it to divert her from poking in my room. Though she didn't know that now I was naked under it!
For a bit more background, the Satyr and I used to go out. There were unfortunately various problems, some linked to past trauma of mine, and quite a few to do with communication. When we finally sat down and talked things through we found we wanted quite different things. I'm very glad that we've remained close - there's very few I can be really at ease around.
Being at ease unfortunately doesn't mean being open. I don't know what keeps me from doing so with him, it might be the previously-mentioned trauma, but as he is the only one I've started a new relationship with since then I can't be sure. Its led to some awkward situations and some major miscommunication.
On Friday night he came around for the watching of dvds. Unexpectedly we ended up having the house to ourselves. There were many warm cuddles, and some serious flirting. Some serious serious flirting. Yet I could still feel that wall inside, that damned wall that despite being so at ease with him just would not crumble, jabbing at my insides whenever I gave it a nudge. I have to wonder if it gives me a glazed look or something from his comments. No sweet Satyr, you're not meant to know what that look means, that's the whole purpose of a mask. I was almost literally biting my tongue at his question - first instance of keeping my mouth shut. Its never a good topic, almost guaranteed to leave me in tears.
At one point I offered to show him a rather revealing piece of lingerie I had recently acquired. And then to model it. It was a rather cold night, so it took a bit of mental prodding on my own part, but I so wanted to see that look on his face, and I was certainly rewarded when he stepped back into my room. His hands were cold to start, but it felt so good to be touched again, and they warmed fast. In fact the whole room got quite warm fast, warm enough for him to shed his jersey, and for my shaking to not be from the chill any more.
He pulled me onto his lap, whispering in my ear just what he could do with me in such a garment, his hands demonstrating hot on the heels of his words. The panicky part of me was yelling to tell him to say, not show. That night though it had fallen in a pit and was sounding rather faint, so I was actually able to tell it to shut up. Second instance of keeping my mouth shut.
Then he swept me up in his arms and laid me down on my bed, and that's when I felt the wall finally vanish, laid out trembling and vulnerable beneath him.
Is it any wonder that I enjoy submission so much when its the only time I feel like myself?
I love to feel a man's hands on me. I love to writhe and squirm and moan for them, to show them what a slut I can be, to delight them with my responses. I can't stop to think with him touching me, and that's probably a good thing, because odds are I would over-analyse the situation. His hands on my skin, on my breasts, inside me, that's all there is.
Then he asked if I would like him to cum.
Oh crap, here? On my bed?
Many times I've felt like a selfish lover with him, getting off so much from his touch, never giving the same in return, and always feeling guilty. As much as I want him to enjoy as much as I am, I hit that mental block again. Yet more trauma scars. How can I ask him to leave, or to wait? I know what it is prompting such a response, but I can't even trust myself to speak, for fear of spoiling it all.
So I say nothing, and trust and hope that he will do what he feels comfortable with.
Soon enough he frees his cock, as big and hard as I have ever seen it, and strokes himself to orgasm. And I am very glad that I kept my mouth shut, because I liked seeing just how much he enjoyed it too, despite my initial reaction.
Curled up on the bed with him, the lingerie long ago discarded, we basked and dozed and chatted. I could feel the wall going up again brick by brick. Sigh. But at least I had something warm and fuzzy to keep with me behind it until it came down again.
Was a much nicer return to reality than it could have been, as we were still like that when we heard my mother in the hallway, having completely missed the door, and snapping the wall up that fast isn't so nice. I'm glad I had been in a dressing gown already before she left, so she wasn't surprised when I came out in it to divert her from poking in my room. Though she didn't know that now I was naked under it!
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Unfinished Business
I've been meaning to post this for a while, but I seem to have lost my motivation fairy. I found a replacement tonight (thank you Dee) but I wish mine would come back!
Thursday night I had a sex dream. These are not all that uncommon for me (I had another one last night), but this one I felt was worth mentioning.
It took place in a medieval setting, stereotypical big stone castles and rocky moors, except with central heating and without the plagues and invasions (there was an ambush by raiders on one of the roads through the woods, but that doesn't really have anything to do with the main story). After a bit of fussing with several other women over clothes, we all went to a feast hosted by the king, quite a tall, well-muscled and handsome fellow. At some point during the dancing, the king came up to me and shouted to the hall that I was in fact fae. I immediately shed half my clothes, spouted wings and fled, with the king swiftly following after me.
For what seemed like days I flew across the rolling grass and rocky outcrops, sometimes flying low from exhaustion, and doubling back occasionally to see if the king was still pursuing me, which he was, with a full hunting party, but never did they make a move to strike at me and several times I got quite close. At one point when I was exhausted and flying quite low, my wing was injured on an outcrop, and so to escape the king, who had gotten quite close now, I flew to the top of a sheer cliff and sheltered in a tiny medieval-themed apartment, my wings vanishing once I set foot down, still in just my shift from the feast. And of course the king just appeared! (The impression I got was a hidden elevator right in the cliff, no magic here!)
He strode (yes, strode, definite emphasis) across the room, grabbed me tight and kissed me fiercely, whispering of how he lusted for me, and I trembled as I felt his need through every inch of him as he clutched me close. He dragged me, by now willingly, towards the bed, threw me down, looming over me as he reached to disrobe ... and then I woke up. Typical.
At least it made good fantasy fodder for morning masturbation. And afternoon masturbation too!
Thursday night I had a sex dream. These are not all that uncommon for me (I had another one last night), but this one I felt was worth mentioning.
It took place in a medieval setting, stereotypical big stone castles and rocky moors, except with central heating and without the plagues and invasions (there was an ambush by raiders on one of the roads through the woods, but that doesn't really have anything to do with the main story). After a bit of fussing with several other women over clothes, we all went to a feast hosted by the king, quite a tall, well-muscled and handsome fellow. At some point during the dancing, the king came up to me and shouted to the hall that I was in fact fae. I immediately shed half my clothes, spouted wings and fled, with the king swiftly following after me.
For what seemed like days I flew across the rolling grass and rocky outcrops, sometimes flying low from exhaustion, and doubling back occasionally to see if the king was still pursuing me, which he was, with a full hunting party, but never did they make a move to strike at me and several times I got quite close. At one point when I was exhausted and flying quite low, my wing was injured on an outcrop, and so to escape the king, who had gotten quite close now, I flew to the top of a sheer cliff and sheltered in a tiny medieval-themed apartment, my wings vanishing once I set foot down, still in just my shift from the feast. And of course the king just appeared! (The impression I got was a hidden elevator right in the cliff, no magic here!)
He strode (yes, strode, definite emphasis) across the room, grabbed me tight and kissed me fiercely, whispering of how he lusted for me, and I trembled as I felt his need through every inch of him as he clutched me close. He dragged me, by now willingly, towards the bed, threw me down, looming over me as he reached to disrobe ... and then I woke up. Typical.
At least it made good fantasy fodder for morning masturbation. And afternoon masturbation too!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
HNT
It might be warming spring breezes for the Northern Hemisphere, but here in the South its finally starting to get the winter bite. Perhaps a bit too cold to be stripping down for HNT?
Talk to the hand, winter cold!
I have enough stock to last, and send the Northern Hemisphere into boiling point.
Yes, I'm chipper tonight. Sorta.Tuesday, May 20, 2008
May is Masturbation Month
Masturbating is a wonderful thing. Some bloggers are finding out just how wonderful by challenging themselves to daily masturbation through the entire month, like the gorgeous Dee has (see my blogroll for her stories and results). Myself, I was well aware of the benefits of such a daily ritual. I've previously gone a week of once or twice a day a few times, though unfortunately never a whole month. Either my hormone cycle or outside influences prevent that.
The major problem I have is that to masturbate requires a minimum level of energy, horniness and ... well, just lack of 'other things' that get in the way. Frequent masturbation lifts my spirits and my general enthusiasm for life measurably, but unfortunately to get to that high I have to start off at least somewhere midway. If May hadn't turned out to be such a terrible month for me, I would have loved to have joined Dee in her challenge. The way things have fallen out though, I've only had two orgasms in a fortnight. Pitifully few, and that is during the horniest part of my cycle. Stress really affects my sex drive, and right now I have a mountain of it.
But this isn't a blog about all those 'other things'. This is a blog purely about sex, and things to do with sex, and I intend to keep it that way. Right now I just really wish things would let up enough so I felt like writing about all the stuff I want to write about!
The major problem I have is that to masturbate requires a minimum level of energy, horniness and ... well, just lack of 'other things' that get in the way. Frequent masturbation lifts my spirits and my general enthusiasm for life measurably, but unfortunately to get to that high I have to start off at least somewhere midway. If May hadn't turned out to be such a terrible month for me, I would have loved to have joined Dee in her challenge. The way things have fallen out though, I've only had two orgasms in a fortnight. Pitifully few, and that is during the horniest part of my cycle. Stress really affects my sex drive, and right now I have a mountain of it.
But this isn't a blog about all those 'other things'. This is a blog purely about sex, and things to do with sex, and I intend to keep it that way. Right now I just really wish things would let up enough so I felt like writing about all the stuff I want to write about!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
My First HNT
I've been in a bit of a slump lately, but this is a tradition that I still wanted to become a part of. And I mean NOW.
So for your viewing pleasure, the misbehaving blue dress of play-party fame.
So for your viewing pleasure, the misbehaving blue dress of play-party fame.
No its not my crop, borrowed it from Phoenix for some 'domme'ish pics, and I look damned hot. Only hint of the theme you get from me is three pics.
Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
I am Woman
While I was thinking of things to write for my next post, a thought entered my head that threw me so much it brought up a whole new topic to discuss and I completely forgot what my original idea was. It went like this: "(blah blah blah) really satisfies me as a person."
I don't expect many, if any, people to understand what I find wrong about this thought. Have a think about it anyway before reading on.
I'm heavily influenced by Gorean philosophy. One of the big ideas put forward in the Gorean books is that the society of Earth has become choked, frustrated and stagnated sexually. The sexes have been merged into one genderless blob, rather than having our uniqueness acknowledged and celebrated. We are no longer man and woman, but 'people', the same, equal. (Granted this was written some time ago and deals purely in male/female poles, but by no means should anything in between or converts be ignored. If I end up slipping into the male and female poles its not to be leaving the rest out.)
My thought should have read "(blah blah blah) really satisfies me as a woman."
If I had been thinking of something mediocre or general, that is experienced pretty much the same by both genders, I doubt I would have even noticed that I had put 'person' instead of 'woman'. But I wasn't, I was thinking about sex. Based on your own physical gender and the gender of your partner, sex is experienced differently. Penetrative sex is an experience unique to man and woman. While gay couples might have penetrative sex, its in a different way and is a different experience, simply because of how we're built and how we're wired. Lesbian couples its different again. Even with a sex change, you're still you, genetically and psychologically.
So what really got me thinking is: why was I thinking in generic, sexless terms when expressing something that is so intrinsically linked to gender and sexual identity?
Despite knowing what sex was from quite a young age (its rather hard to ignore when you have a variety of birds and other pets doing it in your backyard) my sexuality was heavily repressed, at home and at school. I don't mean in the development of it though. My mother had gay friends and we were brought up to see them as no different than straights. There was a cross-dresser among the committees she was part of who was 'kind of weird' because he just liked to dress up and identify and didn't want a sex change. I'm glad that I didn't find out she was anti-bisexual until after I had figured out I was quite straight. Kind of mixed signals, but not repressive. What was repressive was in the expressing of it.
We were kind of a skin friendly household only up until the first of us started going to school. Sex was not discussed beyond 'this is birth control', 'this is where babies come from' and 'this guy likes guys instead of girls and that's okay'. A good foundation but not really expressive.
What I would really like to see is the ingrained sexiness of men and women celebrated. And I don't mean flooding our media with more images of sex and what sexiness and sexuality is, I mean learning that we are what we are, and that it is not only acceptable, but should be exciting and liberating. Our deepest darkest urges should not be so deep nor dark, we should not have to hide who we are and what turns us on. I think the truly vanilla would be shocked at how many kinky people would arise, and the supressed kinksters shocked as well. I could certainly do with a bit more choice among kinky partners.
So, yes. I am woman. I am sensual, sexual, and oh so kinky.
I don't expect many, if any, people to understand what I find wrong about this thought. Have a think about it anyway before reading on.
I'm heavily influenced by Gorean philosophy. One of the big ideas put forward in the Gorean books is that the society of Earth has become choked, frustrated and stagnated sexually. The sexes have been merged into one genderless blob, rather than having our uniqueness acknowledged and celebrated. We are no longer man and woman, but 'people', the same, equal. (Granted this was written some time ago and deals purely in male/female poles, but by no means should anything in between or converts be ignored. If I end up slipping into the male and female poles its not to be leaving the rest out.)
My thought should have read "(blah blah blah) really satisfies me as a woman."
If I had been thinking of something mediocre or general, that is experienced pretty much the same by both genders, I doubt I would have even noticed that I had put 'person' instead of 'woman'. But I wasn't, I was thinking about sex. Based on your own physical gender and the gender of your partner, sex is experienced differently. Penetrative sex is an experience unique to man and woman. While gay couples might have penetrative sex, its in a different way and is a different experience, simply because of how we're built and how we're wired. Lesbian couples its different again. Even with a sex change, you're still you, genetically and psychologically.
So what really got me thinking is: why was I thinking in generic, sexless terms when expressing something that is so intrinsically linked to gender and sexual identity?
Despite knowing what sex was from quite a young age (its rather hard to ignore when you have a variety of birds and other pets doing it in your backyard) my sexuality was heavily repressed, at home and at school. I don't mean in the development of it though. My mother had gay friends and we were brought up to see them as no different than straights. There was a cross-dresser among the committees she was part of who was 'kind of weird' because he just liked to dress up and identify and didn't want a sex change. I'm glad that I didn't find out she was anti-bisexual until after I had figured out I was quite straight. Kind of mixed signals, but not repressive. What was repressive was in the expressing of it.
We were kind of a skin friendly household only up until the first of us started going to school. Sex was not discussed beyond 'this is birth control', 'this is where babies come from' and 'this guy likes guys instead of girls and that's okay'. A good foundation but not really expressive.
What I would really like to see is the ingrained sexiness of men and women celebrated. And I don't mean flooding our media with more images of sex and what sexiness and sexuality is, I mean learning that we are what we are, and that it is not only acceptable, but should be exciting and liberating. Our deepest darkest urges should not be so deep nor dark, we should not have to hide who we are and what turns us on. I think the truly vanilla would be shocked at how many kinky people would arise, and the supressed kinksters shocked as well. I could certainly do with a bit more choice among kinky partners.
So, yes. I am woman. I am sensual, sexual, and oh so kinky.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
On Being an Oblivious, Chronically Shy Exhibitionist
There's so much I want to write about now. I guess that is a good sign that this blog will stay alive for a while yet (touch wood).
I am hot. Intellectually I know this, but really feeling it, on the other hand, is something completely different, and for the majority of the time it's beyond me. Because of this I often don't even notice when people are checking me out, although if I'm feeling a bit better and I actually dress to my mood I can watch jaws drop and eyes follow all day long. This is a rarity though, and more often I'm shrouded in jeans and a bulky jersey.
Coupled with this feeling is the fact that my social education sucks. Being the picked on outsider all through high school meant that during the time I was meant to be learning how to flirt and date and generally interact sociably, I was hiding in the most out-of-the-way, least populated corner I could find. My first boyfriend was over the internet and I never actually met him face to face.
So when someone is actually flirting with me often I am completely oblivious, or I don't notice until its far too late.
Case in point: Earlier this week while in a dvd store, I was oogling the stand of sci-fi series on special, and a guy next to me just started chatting with me. 'Oh, a strange guy is talking to me.' I was looking over the prices of stargate seasons, made some pleasant replies, then hurried off to catch my bus. Out on the street there was the niggling curiosity as to why he had even started talking to me in the first place. 'I'm in my ugly-jersey, he surely was just making idle conversation.' Only once I was actually on the bus did it actually strike: 'holy crap he was hitting on me!' And I didn't even get a good look at him! All I noticed was tall, suit and young. Now I really wish I had just looked up to see his face, if only for the memory.
*head-desk*
There is the other side of this as well. I might blush insanely when guys pay attention to me, but it's a real slap in the face when the reaction to my appearance of someone I'm chatting to, who is meant to be interested, amounts to 'eh'. Its happened more than once, and its been gut-wrenching every time. Its enough to send me into a hiding-phase for weeks.
And there's yet another side. Once all those layers of bad self-image, denial, shyness, are gone, striped away by good friends and good times, in a place I feel safe and secure, I become such a show off. With the right crowd it would actually take very little for me to strip down right to the buff and prance around naked for everyone's enjoyment, as seen at the previous play party, and several before that. I love seeing people's eyes follow me as I stroll by completely nude, or maybe adorned with a bit of rope or cuffs or chains. There is something so erotic about being stark naked in a room full of people fully clothed, even better if those people are kinky and dominant. I love my body, and I delight in showing it off, in baring myself to others, and I don't get to do it nearly enough. Despite the playparties, the very, very rare cam shows for very close net friends, and despite the nude prints a professional photographer is selling, I still don't think I get to show off enough. Its when I feel the most secure in my own skin.
I am hot. Intellectually I know this, but really feeling it, on the other hand, is something completely different, and for the majority of the time it's beyond me. Because of this I often don't even notice when people are checking me out, although if I'm feeling a bit better and I actually dress to my mood I can watch jaws drop and eyes follow all day long. This is a rarity though, and more often I'm shrouded in jeans and a bulky jersey.
Coupled with this feeling is the fact that my social education sucks. Being the picked on outsider all through high school meant that during the time I was meant to be learning how to flirt and date and generally interact sociably, I was hiding in the most out-of-the-way, least populated corner I could find. My first boyfriend was over the internet and I never actually met him face to face.
So when someone is actually flirting with me often I am completely oblivious, or I don't notice until its far too late.
Case in point: Earlier this week while in a dvd store, I was oogling the stand of sci-fi series on special, and a guy next to me just started chatting with me. 'Oh, a strange guy is talking to me.' I was looking over the prices of stargate seasons, made some pleasant replies, then hurried off to catch my bus. Out on the street there was the niggling curiosity as to why he had even started talking to me in the first place. 'I'm in my ugly-jersey, he surely was just making idle conversation.' Only once I was actually on the bus did it actually strike: 'holy crap he was hitting on me!' And I didn't even get a good look at him! All I noticed was tall, suit and young. Now I really wish I had just looked up to see his face, if only for the memory.
*head-desk*
There is the other side of this as well. I might blush insanely when guys pay attention to me, but it's a real slap in the face when the reaction to my appearance of someone I'm chatting to, who is meant to be interested, amounts to 'eh'. Its happened more than once, and its been gut-wrenching every time. Its enough to send me into a hiding-phase for weeks.
And there's yet another side. Once all those layers of bad self-image, denial, shyness, are gone, striped away by good friends and good times, in a place I feel safe and secure, I become such a show off. With the right crowd it would actually take very little for me to strip down right to the buff and prance around naked for everyone's enjoyment, as seen at the previous play party, and several before that. I love seeing people's eyes follow me as I stroll by completely nude, or maybe adorned with a bit of rope or cuffs or chains. There is something so erotic about being stark naked in a room full of people fully clothed, even better if those people are kinky and dominant. I love my body, and I delight in showing it off, in baring myself to others, and I don't get to do it nearly enough. Despite the playparties, the very, very rare cam shows for very close net friends, and despite the nude prints a professional photographer is selling, I still don't think I get to show off enough. Its when I feel the most secure in my own skin.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Starting with a bit of a Bang
(No, not that kind of banging, unfortunately.)
Today I finally got the photos from the most recent play party I went to, which was very nearly two weeks ago now. 353 shots through the entire day. I think the cameras were a bit worn out afterwards.
I can't even remember who had mentioned it, at a small get-together after a local bdsm munch of a few close friends the weekend prior, of the possibility of having our own little play party, at an empty house the Satyr was sitting. I don't even know if everyone even took it seriously, but apparently enough did for it to become reality, and I'm so very glad it did.
The morning I spent with the Satyr taking sexy photos. It actually accounts for less than half the total I have. Some are truly drool-worthy and perhaps, with some editing, I'll post them later. It was a good warm-up. It gave me some time to relax and get comfortable in my own skin again, to help ease the chronic shyness I have. There was talk of having me all trussed up and blindfolded in time for people walking through the door, but alas, everyone turned up early! Within five minutes we had a full house.
It felt a bit strange at first as people settled into the idea of what we were here for. As the dress I had been modelling in at the time just would not behave, it quickly ended up on the floor and I spent a while lounging in the buff on my fuzzy mink rug (I can so recommend one of these for play, and not play - wonderful).
The length of black silky rope I had bought months and months beforehand was finally broken in with a karada, and boy it felt good. Kiana and her partner played with their hemp, and it wasn't long until Dee was laid out with Phoenix tormenting her with those delicious boots and a pretty purple crop. (I incidentally have photos with this crop and the misbehaving dress. I could be so hot as a domme.)
Somewhere along the line after a bit of cooling down Phoenix suggested a game of 'I have never ... wanna?' which turned out to be a spectacular idea. Phoenix had herself a good spanking and got nice and red. Satyr finally got to tie two girls together. The pegs were got out for me, and I think they just about had to sit on me to stop me squirming long enough just to find enough spare skin to attach them to. I wasn't quite paying attention at that time. They were medium pressure soft-edged pegs, the only kind I would let near me. And yeah, they hurt, and despite my complaining I still enjoyed it, and probably would enjoy them more with a better sub-high.
There was a full round of 'I have nevers' that I can't fully remember, before Phoenix got a turn at being mummified in plastic wrap, complete with spandex hood. It was certainly a hot scene, though it got rather lonely sitting on the couch just watching everyone else torment her. After some serious torture with the hitachi she was cut out and allowed to recover, and I got my turn as well (minus spandex hood - I felt too hot in the face with it on, so a couple of layered blindfolds for me).
Being wrapped up is certainly an interesting experience. They did two layers since the first was a touch loose, and laid me down. I could not tell what they were using but damn some of it tickled infuriatingly! Despite constant assurances that you couldn't feel the sting of impacts through the wrap, I so could. It was a lot more spread out and kind of muffled, but it still stung. The sting is what really hurts for me, but at least with the wrap it was just within limits. No doubt without the wrapping I would have been a huddled little ball of blubbering tears. I surprised people by being able to roll over on my own, and I think I surprised more than a few when, through my excessive writhing, I managed to split the wrapping. Left my ass bare to the cool air, and to further tormenting! I couldn't stop laughing and squealing. The hitachi on my nipples was enough to get me off with ease, and I so want to try it without the wrap now. On the absolute lowest setting!
Once I had recovered we all got dressed to go get food. I was in all black with strappy heels, and a steel-boned white brocade waist cincher. Yes I was trying to draw looks, how did you guess? Not sure how well I succeeded, though I did catch a few drivers staring through their darkened windscreens.
A game of strip pokerdice was had once all were fed, and once people began getting nakie (with winners stripping the losers, what fun!), forfeits were had with the winner of the round deciding something for the loser to do, or have done to them. Another first for me - having a girl suck my nipples. And despite being very straight I have no complaints!
Dee got trussed up spread-eagled (or as near as could be managed on a lazy-boy) and blindfolded, and everyone who wanted to got to have a go at teasing or tormenting her. She certainly looked like she was enjoying it, and after me looking pouty for a while the Satyr obliged by hogtying me and leaving me on the couch. A game I used to play with a previous Master involved him trying to hogtie me as securely as he could manage, and leaving me to wriggle out of it. And I happen to be quite good at it, being fairly flexible and having delicate wrists. I was out in moments.
Kiana's partner, who happens to be quite good with rope, tied me up next, and while it took me a bit longer I was out again fairly quickly. I doubt he was really trying to stop me, but it would have been a lot more satisfying if he was ... though also probably impossible. A third tie, with my hands and feet together in front of me, and the Satyr decided to try and distract me from escaping. Which he did very well! But still I got free! I am the Teeny Houdini!
Once Dee had had her fill, I got to take her place. Kiana's partner was testing a theory that any implement of torture, if used correctly and with the right measure of force, can be used on anyone. Being particularly sensitive, I turned out to be the perfect test subject. There were some strikes that, if I had not been so over-whelmed with other rapid-succession sensations and already quite spaced, I probably would have safe-worded on. I've certainly not been pushed to such a level, by anyone. It actually felt good.
Around midnight, after ten hours, a night was called, toys were packed and the room put back together. It is something that I dearly hope we will be able to repeat at some point in the not-too-distant future, especially since I didn't get to use everything in my toybag!
Today I finally got the photos from the most recent play party I went to, which was very nearly two weeks ago now. 353 shots through the entire day. I think the cameras were a bit worn out afterwards.
I can't even remember who had mentioned it, at a small get-together after a local bdsm munch of a few close friends the weekend prior, of the possibility of having our own little play party, at an empty house the Satyr was sitting. I don't even know if everyone even took it seriously, but apparently enough did for it to become reality, and I'm so very glad it did.
The morning I spent with the Satyr taking sexy photos. It actually accounts for less than half the total I have. Some are truly drool-worthy and perhaps, with some editing, I'll post them later. It was a good warm-up. It gave me some time to relax and get comfortable in my own skin again, to help ease the chronic shyness I have. There was talk of having me all trussed up and blindfolded in time for people walking through the door, but alas, everyone turned up early! Within five minutes we had a full house.
It felt a bit strange at first as people settled into the idea of what we were here for. As the dress I had been modelling in at the time just would not behave, it quickly ended up on the floor and I spent a while lounging in the buff on my fuzzy mink rug (I can so recommend one of these for play, and not play - wonderful).
The length of black silky rope I had bought months and months beforehand was finally broken in with a karada, and boy it felt good. Kiana and her partner played with their hemp, and it wasn't long until Dee was laid out with Phoenix tormenting her with those delicious boots and a pretty purple crop. (I incidentally have photos with this crop and the misbehaving dress. I could be so hot as a domme.)
Somewhere along the line after a bit of cooling down Phoenix suggested a game of 'I have never ... wanna?' which turned out to be a spectacular idea. Phoenix had herself a good spanking and got nice and red. Satyr finally got to tie two girls together. The pegs were got out for me, and I think they just about had to sit on me to stop me squirming long enough just to find enough spare skin to attach them to. I wasn't quite paying attention at that time. They were medium pressure soft-edged pegs, the only kind I would let near me. And yeah, they hurt, and despite my complaining I still enjoyed it, and probably would enjoy them more with a better sub-high.
There was a full round of 'I have nevers' that I can't fully remember, before Phoenix got a turn at being mummified in plastic wrap, complete with spandex hood. It was certainly a hot scene, though it got rather lonely sitting on the couch just watching everyone else torment her. After some serious torture with the hitachi she was cut out and allowed to recover, and I got my turn as well (minus spandex hood - I felt too hot in the face with it on, so a couple of layered blindfolds for me).
Being wrapped up is certainly an interesting experience. They did two layers since the first was a touch loose, and laid me down. I could not tell what they were using but damn some of it tickled infuriatingly! Despite constant assurances that you couldn't feel the sting of impacts through the wrap, I so could. It was a lot more spread out and kind of muffled, but it still stung. The sting is what really hurts for me, but at least with the wrap it was just within limits. No doubt without the wrapping I would have been a huddled little ball of blubbering tears. I surprised people by being able to roll over on my own, and I think I surprised more than a few when, through my excessive writhing, I managed to split the wrapping. Left my ass bare to the cool air, and to further tormenting! I couldn't stop laughing and squealing. The hitachi on my nipples was enough to get me off with ease, and I so want to try it without the wrap now. On the absolute lowest setting!
Once I had recovered we all got dressed to go get food. I was in all black with strappy heels, and a steel-boned white brocade waist cincher. Yes I was trying to draw looks, how did you guess? Not sure how well I succeeded, though I did catch a few drivers staring through their darkened windscreens.
A game of strip pokerdice was had once all were fed, and once people began getting nakie (with winners stripping the losers, what fun!), forfeits were had with the winner of the round deciding something for the loser to do, or have done to them. Another first for me - having a girl suck my nipples. And despite being very straight I have no complaints!
Dee got trussed up spread-eagled (or as near as could be managed on a lazy-boy) and blindfolded, and everyone who wanted to got to have a go at teasing or tormenting her. She certainly looked like she was enjoying it, and after me looking pouty for a while the Satyr obliged by hogtying me and leaving me on the couch. A game I used to play with a previous Master involved him trying to hogtie me as securely as he could manage, and leaving me to wriggle out of it. And I happen to be quite good at it, being fairly flexible and having delicate wrists. I was out in moments.
Kiana's partner, who happens to be quite good with rope, tied me up next, and while it took me a bit longer I was out again fairly quickly. I doubt he was really trying to stop me, but it would have been a lot more satisfying if he was ... though also probably impossible. A third tie, with my hands and feet together in front of me, and the Satyr decided to try and distract me from escaping. Which he did very well! But still I got free! I am the Teeny Houdini!
Once Dee had had her fill, I got to take her place. Kiana's partner was testing a theory that any implement of torture, if used correctly and with the right measure of force, can be used on anyone. Being particularly sensitive, I turned out to be the perfect test subject. There were some strikes that, if I had not been so over-whelmed with other rapid-succession sensations and already quite spaced, I probably would have safe-worded on. I've certainly not been pushed to such a level, by anyone. It actually felt good.
Around midnight, after ten hours, a night was called, toys were packed and the room put back together. It is something that I dearly hope we will be able to repeat at some point in the not-too-distant future, especially since I didn't get to use everything in my toybag!
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