Wednesday, November 30, 2011


I know I put undue pressure on myself almost all the time.

When it comes to work, there are times when I dread walking out of my front door. Recently I've been put in a semi-leadership position, asked to take on more responsibilities. Granted, this also means extra pay, but with the added money came added pressure for the gigs to go well.

Starting off, it was not so bad, as they gave me solo assignments. Recently, though, I've been put in charge of people, the same folks who previously worked with me as same level colleagues. I dealt with my anxiety by changing my view of my work. Instead of seeing each new gig as a threat, I took them on as challenges, and many who know me well enough know I like to rise to challenges.

In my personal life, I often heap mounds of pressure on situations. This was especially true when I first became highly active and social in the kink community. When I was just with the Ex or going to Bound Friday nights, it didn't matter. I had little expectations. My Ex was anti-social, so any interaction with him and kink outside of the bedroom was a treat. Coming out of college and exploring the very fringes of this new world, everything was amazing.

But, going out on my own, having been in a kinky relationship for so long, with little other gauge as to how things were, I shoveled tons of pressure on myself when I went to my first Happy Hour. I thought I had to make the best impression, I had to be the best me, or these people wouldn't like me and there went my chance to learn and grow in kink. It wasn't until I got there, started talking to people, and finally let myself let go that I realized adding pressure to the situation only harmed me.

So, a few paragraphs of rambling aside, I'm writing this because even now, I still add pressure to situations that I need to relax into. I still have to remind myself to breath, let go, and give into the will of life. I still have to stop myself from adding undue pressure on almost everything. However, with much practice, my venting time has shortened, my recovery quickened, and my stress has diminished, in general, a bit.

I'm a work in progress.


I've spoken about how I want to live my life before. Guess what...I'm doing it again.

I'm a switch, and have always had conflicting emotions regarding partners and lovers, play vs affection vs love. It's not easy for me to resolve even the most basic facts about myself.

The kind of domination I seek to inflict on others is silly. It's petulant. It's annoying. I like punching people, poking them in their side til they yell, pushing people til they break not from physical pain but psychological torment. When I'm in that space, I'm petulant, a right little brat given the keys to the kingdom of your body and, more importantly, your mind.

Yet I burn to be dominated, to be controlled, to be owned. I would never, ever, act or even think about my Dom-ly side when I am at someone's knee or under someone's hand. That side of me no longer exists when I am taking your pain, enduring your trial, acting as the vessel for your inflictions.

I want to be owned. I want to be collared. I want to feel like I belong to someone. Yet I know I cannot be in any relationship that stifles my freedom, that stops me from being who I am.  I want to fuck and be fucked.  I want to love and be loved.  I want a cage without a lock, as it were. Is this even possible?

I guess since I want it, and will not accept anything but it, that answers my question.

I'm feeling my way through this life, like I'm stuck in the dark, touching the walls to find my path, which is a scary scary place, especially for me. I think, thus far, things are going okay. I don't believe I've broken too many hearts. I haven't had my heart ravaged, yet. And I can count quite a few people as good friends.

There is always a nagging in me, though, as I've spent much of my life solo, not by choice as much as circumstance. And by circumstance, I mean my haphazardly scheduled job, my insecurity issues, and my ever present fear of asking for what I want. Not to mention, the two "relationships" I have had were not worth the price of admission. In fact, I imagine they have tainted my outlook on my future prospects, a truth I work against everyday.

Yet still, I'm here. I haven't given up. I'm stumbling threw as best as I can, asking for help and advice when I need it, reading a lot, listening even more, and learning as much as I can. Most important, I never stop growing or changing. I think that is a pillar of my poly, along with communication and openness.

Change is important. One needs to be able to adapt, to bend, to compromise. I will never go so far as to give up who I am and what I want (never again, at least; that was a hard lesson to learn). But I am willing to give halfway. I am willing to listen, trust, and learn. I am willing.

Now, just to find other willing ones...

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

After School Activities


Mr. Ebon looked like he stepped out of one of those recruiting commercials that played during the breaks of football games: buzzed cut hair, sleek trim muscles, a solid gait you could set a metronome to. The only difference was his uniform consisted of a starched tie, crisp folds in his collared dress shirt, and pressed black dress pants. He did, however, sport polished black boots that shimmered with each step. He was a former Marine and still carried the air about him.
To say I had a crush on this man was to discredit the length and breath of my affections.

Everyone feared Mr. Ebon's History classes, especially AP US. He was strict, unyielding, and calculating. He knew what to quiz you on for understanding, not just memorization. His required reading went well beyond just chapters in a textbook. Instead of churning out fact crammed teenagers, he sought to create fierce thinkers, sharp minds, leaders. Most people prayed for a C; I was bound and determined to be his first A+.

On the first day of my senior year, I walked into class early and sat front row center. As if I were not in the room, he continued his work, jotting down notes and occasionally glancing at his computer. He never looked at me. The classroom filled, all ten of his brave pupils in their seats. The period bell rang, he stood, stepped to the front of the class, and spoke.

"Ten. Good, I like even numbers.

"My name is Mr. Ebon and this is AP US History. If you're here, that means you've heard the rumors about how difficult this class is and decided to take it anyway. For that, I will give a small sliver of respect. The rest you will have to earn through effort, hard work, and excellence.

"I've taught this class four times previously. In each instance, students have cried, begged, threatened me, thrown something, or gotten up and walked out, never to be heard from again. Which one will you be?"

The smart ones didn't cower at his warning. I sat, straight backed, meeting his gaze, ready to live up to his challenge.

Twenty page term papers, 200 page books on military battles, founding fathers, and other important American leaders were fruits I bit into to each evening. Staying late, with no car and parents who's job didn't end til 6, I had more than enough time to immerse myself in his teachings.

On a crisp fall Friday evening, having finished the night's homework, but still at least an hour before my ride would show, I decided to take a stroll throughout my ancient school.

Whetherly Academy was a co-educational private school. Students wore uniforms, parents paid tuition, and everyone carried an air of the elite they knew themselves to be. I, however, was a scholarship student. My squared shoulders and small knowing grin came from my core truth: I was smarter than any of them and would someday have what they had, but I would have earned it.

As I quietly roamed the halls, almost tip-toeing to avoid the creaking of the hardwood floors, I somehow made my way to the History wing.

Buildings have a life all their own when no one is around. The lights were off, allowing what little sunshine left to cast an eerie glaze across the floor. Classroom doors stood open, inviting, but nothing to offer inside. Desks with chairs in all manner of pushed in or pulled out whispered the lessons already taught for the day. But there was one door closed, so I decided to open it.

Peaking my head inside, there he sat, just like the first day of classes, working. Slowly retracting my head, a loud creak from the floorboards informed him of my presence.

"Good evening Ms. Ivory. Is there something I can do for you?" Mr. Ebon had not even looked up from his desk, yet he knew it was me. Or had he glanced my face when I did not notice?

"No, sir. Just killing time til my ride arrives."

"And the twenty-five pages on Gettysburg I asked you to read?"

"Completed, along with some cursory notes before your lecture tomorrow." This gave him pause; his hand stopping and his eyes finally met mine.

"I see. Well, if you have nothing better to do, why don't you have a seat? I, too, have nothing but time to kill, what with the pathetic group of children known as my Freshman World History class who cannot write a five page summary well for all the sand in Sri Lanka."

He beckoned me to the desk in front of his. After school, alone, with a man I adored, no one around to judge me except him, I decided to relax, a bit. I hopped up on the desk, sat with my legs crossed, and pulled out from my bag my latest knit project, a black and orange scarf for Halloween. I made sure to not look at him til I began a new stitch. When I did glance up, I think there was the slightest of smiles on his face.

"You knit?"

"Helps pass the time. And since I never leave before seven each night, I have time."


"My parents own a General Store; they don't close til six. And it would take three buses for me to get home. So, I wait. Gives me time to finish homework and work on other things."

"Other things?"

"I write a little. I knit a little. Occasionally I'll pull out my sketchbook and roam the halls for inspiration. Things to pass the time."


"I'm on scholarship, Sir. How many rich kids you know want to be friends with some poor girl? Well, to them I'm poor. My family lives comfortably enough. We just don't ride around in Benzes and sip cherry after dinner. Oh my, I've been blathering on and you have papers to grade."

"Stop. I invited you to sit. Chatting is a part of sitting."

"Ok. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why did you become a teacher? I know you're ex-military. Why the change?"

"I took a piece of shrapnel during a munitions exercise. It made me unfit for duty in the field. They offered me a desk position, but if I couldn't lead my men, I didn't want to stay."

"And teaching?"

"G.I. bill. I wanted to get a degree in something. Why not study what I thought would be my life, military history. I never thought things would play out as they have, but teaching is well enough. How about you? What do you wish to do with your years?"

"Oh, I don't know. I haven't even thought about a major yet."

"Your college applications are in?"

"Soon. By December. I was giving myself a break because of my birthday."

"Your birthday?"

"Yes, today Sir. October tenth, ten ten. Easy for people to remember, though I have no one is this school to tell."

"Well, happy birthday Ms. Ivory. As of today you're now allowed to vote, be drafted, and drink a beer in some states."

"Yeah, I'm legally an adult."


"No, sad."

"Excuse me?"

"It's just... I don't see myself as an adult. I'm a student, a smart learned plucky student who knows all the answers and does what she is told, when she is told, whatever she is told, however it is to be done. I take comfort in knowing exactly what to do because you have told me to do it. I feel safe in this room, completely centered and true in this room. In this room... I am the shit." My hand quickly covered my mouth as my cheeks turned red. "I am so sorry. That was inappropriate. I'll go." I quickly hopped off the desk, grabbed my bag, and turned to leave.

"Ms. Ivory." The sternness in his voice stopped me.

"Turn around." I slowly pivoted on the balls of my feet. He stood, his height towering over me.

"Come here." I put down my things and walked slowly to face him by the side of his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a ruler I had not seen before, wooden and old. "Hold your hands at your sides, out and up, side-by-side, palms to the ceiling."

I stood there in supplication to his whim. Swiftly, he lifted and came down with the ruler across the insides of my hands. It stung, but I only flinched slightly.

"Now, gather your things and go." I turned and quickly grabbed my backpack and knitting.

"And Ms. Ivory." I stopped dead in my tracks. "Please come by and chat with me again Monday evening."

"Yes, Sir." With hast I exited his classroom, silently closing his door and making my way down to the lobby to wait for my ride.

The weekend seemed to crawl by.

Say It


It was loud, but not so loud that I couldn't hear his question.

"What do you want? What do you want, right now? Name it."

I was naked, happy, tipsy. All our friends in our home, at the first party since we kicked the asshole out. We all felt the energy in the air, the cloud of misery lifted, and the pure glee that replaced it. I was bubbly, riding high on a cloud of wonder. This was how our life could be, how our lives would be, from now on.

And yet I couldn't say it.

"What do you want? Tell me."

How could I? It was too big, too much, too soon. How could I be that honest, that open, that truthful to who I was and what I wanted?

I smiled, beamed at him. My heart raced. I bit my lower lip.

He stood so close to me, his scent wafted all around us. I almost let myself get lost in it.

"What ever it is, right now. What do you want? I'll make it happen."


"Say it."

"I'm happy. I'm good, right here, right now."

"Kelly, say it."

"I want you to grab me by my hair, drag me up the stairs, throw me on my bed, fuck me til I scream as I cum, and don't stop after that."

Oh shit.

I said it.

That thing you're never suppose to say, that thing you never let go, that thing you never reveal, that thing that plays out in your mind, a fantasy above all others, but you never, ever, say it.

I said it. Out loud. To him.

Oh shit.

He looked at me for a split second, threw back the last gulp of his beer, and set the empty bottle on the counter.

"Finish your drink."

Sunday, November 27, 2011

A Nightmare

I was in my home, but it wasn't my home. I was living with roommates, but they weren't my roommates. There were six of us, to start, but I can only remember three: myself, the other who escaped, and him.

He was beautiful, almost hauntingly so. Dark eyes that captured you. If he had ever smiled, it would have been warm. But he never smiled. Just a blank beautiful face that inhabited a room on the second floor.

There was no warning, no way for any of us to know.

He was a Sadist, in the not sexy way.

And then, one day, I was in a cage. I think I wore my night clothes, so I suppose he drugged us in our sleep. I had a pillow. That was it.

I was beyond scared. I spent my time in my confines curled up in a ball, rocking myself, trying not to go insane.

We heard their screams, heard as he did things to him, heard as they begged to die. He never stopped, not until they stopped breathing.

One by one, they were gone, until it was just two of us left. And I wondered, was it my time? Would I die that day? What would he do to me before I was blessed with my final breath?

Oddly, on that day, he unlocked both our cages. He turned on the television in the living room and told us to watch it while he cooked breakfast. The other roommate and I, a man I can only barely see now, didn't understand, but we were to fearful to question.

I remember the sounds of his frying something on the stove. I remember smelling the food, and realizing I was hungry, but was too frightened to care.

And then we saw it, people walking around outside our house. The front door was wide open. If we just ran, ran for our lives, maybe we could make it. Maybe neither of us would die that day.

I looked into my roommate's eyes, he into mine, and we knew without speaking. We jumped up and ran. We stumbled through the front door. And even as I plowed through a large crowd of people, I couldn't stop running.

But then, I did. I sat with a friend, in their car, who asked me how I was doing after I'd moved. Because that's what I told everyone. I told them I just moved out of the house.

I said I was fine, though I had vacated so quickly I left behind some furniture.

She asked me what was still there. My bed. My dresser. My desk. Some clothes. She found this ridiculous. I needed to go back for my things.

But I didn't really need them. And I couldn't carry it all. No matter, she had a few guy friends who would help.

A few guys. Okay.

We all walked into my house. There was no activity.

I climbed the stairs, followed the path my other roommates took to their deaths. And with each step, it soon dawned on me why he let us live. Someone had to remember. Someone had to tell his story. Someone had to keep suffering.

At the top of the stairs, two cops crouched on the floor, looking at all the dried blood.

"Get out," they ordered. "This is a crime scene!"

"I'm a victim!" I screamed back. I finally screamed.

I turned around, ran down the stairs again, out the door again, and would never return again.

Our Home

Tonight, when I got home, we had a house guest, a close friend we had not seen in some time. We all sat, the entire house and our guests, around our Dining Room table, chatting and drinking, enjoying each others' company. We told stories. We commiserated. We had a great time.

This is what we all wanted from our home. This was just one of the moments we aspired to have when we moved into this house at the beginning of July.

With our home solid, our relationships to each other constantly cultivated and strengthened, I am reminded that life is not easy. Choices are often hard. My path has not always been clear. But, with one decision, I have found myself steeped in affection and love.

We are a kinky family. Not all of our members live in this house, but many can call it a home. We welcome our brethren, either with get-togethers, or just an invite to come over for dinner. We support each other, give affection, hug and kiss, and always encourage the best in one another.

This is what I lacked in my previous kinky life. I so steeped myself in trying to make an unhealthy situation work that I didn't realize my life could be so much better.

My life could be full of love. I could find people that spoke openly about their feelings, processed their emotions, and encouraged me to do the same. I've found friends who own their shit, all the good with the bad, and push me to do the same.

I know I'm tipsy, but this is how I feel. Even with the turmoil that was our summer, I am so happy I have found this home.

All last year, I was by myself. It had its benefits, but I like this year more. I like having people to come home to, friends to chat with, close ones to care about and who care for me.

I have a kinky home, and it's kind of awesome.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy,

We haven't met yet, but it's me, poetic. Kristen. Your Good Girl.

I don't know what you'll look like, where I'll find you, or if instead you'll find me. I don't know when it will happen. 

But I know, someday, it will happen. One day, you'll be there, as if you had always been there, and I will feel full.

I think about you every day. Not about how you'll look, or your walk. Or the way you'll hold my hand, or caress my cheek, or stroke my hair. Instead, I give my pleasure over to you. When I masturbate, I call out your name, thanking you for granting me the gift of my ecstasy.

Right now, I'm imagining what it will feel like to be in your arms, holding me, protecting me, embracing me.

I'm imagining your smell, whether you'll wear a heavy cologne or a light musk.

I long to be at your feet, to love on your leather, to kiss your boots.

I look forward to the day when your collar will be around my neck, when I know I am owned, loved, cherished as a precious thing of yours.

I cannot lie; I dream of your fucking me every other moment of every day. Your hips. Your thrusts. Your cock inside me. I dream of pleading, begging you, asking my permission to cum. I dream of our sweat staining my sheets, our moans and grunts. Your growls. I dream, and dream, and dream.

And I wait.

I often remind myself that life is a path I am traveling, and that I do not know what lies beyond the next bend. I remember that my life has changed so much in just the past year, and so much for the good. I recall the struggles I've gone through and overcome. I keep a candle in my heart lit and burning for you.

And I wait.

I go about my day, trying not to wonder if you will be the next person I meet, the next person who says hi, the next face to cross my path. I try to not think about you, to not dream about you.

As much as I love wrapping myself in the glow of you, I fear it is a folly. How can you possibly live up to the fantasy in my head? You do not deserve to have to compete with a dream.

And so I wait. And hope.

Yes, that bitch again. I wait and hope for you to enter my life, soon please.

But, if not, I am patient.

With undying love,

Your Good Girl

Fair and Balanced

Recently I performed a civic act and showed up, early, for jury duty. 

In this particular instance of a ritual everyone has to go through, sooner or later, everything went right. Our summons time changed from 8:30am to 1pm because no cases were on the docket for the morning. Almost everyone showed up early. We had a nice lady for our point of contact. We sat through a not-horrible ten minute video explaining the process. We patiently waited for a case to arise. Not three hours later, we were all informed we could go; no cases would be held that day. It should have been an almost enjoyable experience.

But the moment that has stuck in my craw, the instance that continues to nag me in my side...

At the end of our instructional video, the judges "thanked us" by showing a picture of each and every one of themselves. And as judge after judge passed on the screen, I got angrier and angrier. The video had spoken about how just and fair our legal system was. It spoke about our laws and equal rights. And yet, as I counted, picture after picture, there was a sea of whiteness.

The final total, when the video ended, was one black man, one black woman, six white women, and fourteen white men. Fourteen. As in more than the sum of the rest of the judges. As in double the number of women. Yeah, fair and balanced my ass.

I don't know if I was the only person who noticed this. I don't know if anyone else cared. But it pissed me off something big.

When people of my race are more likely to be arrested, more likely to be incarcerated, more likely to die under the death penalty, how can anyone deign to say our judicial system is fair and balanced?

Don't get me wrong; I have no desire to have been born anywhere else. I know good and well, in many other countries, I would not even be allowed to drive a car, let alone receive the education I worked for, and live the open life I have. But the rights I do so enjoy are marred by how far our country still has to go.

Occasionally I have moments when I regret my decision to have gone into theatre, regret using my intelligence on my writing, regret not pushing myself into a profession that could help people of my race in this country.  Waiting in that jury lounge was one of them.

When I visited my mother today, in the home where I spent half my life, I was reminded of how poor my family is. I actively forget how old her house is, how hard it was for her to raise me, how much money she still owes me that she borrowed ages ago. I actively forget how my extended family struggles, how my home city, behind its veneer, is splintered and broken.

But when I sat there in the jury lounge, ready to start writing and zone out for a few hours, reality slapped me in the face. Because our country's legal system is not fair and balanced. My future children have the deck stacked against them. And if anyone wants to argue with me, go look to see what the makeup of your local judgeships are.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

All Wound Up: Play


My outfit for the night: my black wrap dress, my red nighty underneath, some chainmail, and my boots.

We arrived for the party at 9:15pm. Instead of being bubbly and happy, as I was earlier that day, I was nervous. But, for me, this was par for the course. We showed our registration chains and were let right in. Again I only carried in two bags, a third filled with rope left in my car's trunk, just in case.

We stepped into the classroom, which had now be thoroughly transformed into a large play space for the evening. It took me only a moment to see him in the far corner of the room.

"There he is. See you later, guys." I walked slowly towards Gray.

Approaching, I said hi and dropped my things. I sat just across from him on a small coffee table, putting my knees together, my hands resting on my sides off the edge of the table. I could see he had a few bags himself. My mind wondered for a moment on the things he had planned for tonight.

He wore a button down shirt, jeans, and a pair of boots. Next to him were his leather chaps and a leather vest, along with a second pair of boots on the floor. He knew just how to pique my interest.

Gray asked me if I had any other plans for the evening. I, in fact, did not. He excused himself to go change; I prepped my kit on the floor.

As I sat back on the table and waited, a question arose: Should I wear my boots through the scene? I had asked Murphy previously, and he thought it would be sexy. As I sat waiting for Gray, I turned to DeepEnd, who relaxed on a nearby sofa. I asked his opinion. He thought I shouldn't wear them. My boots gave me power, he explained, which could possibly mess with the dynamic Gray and I had. I knew he was right. I began unlacing them.

Just as I started, Gray reappeared, wearing just his leathers. I continued to remove my boots, finally finishing and putting them to the side. In an instant, it felt like we had started.

Gray asked for his the cigar, the tubed one I'd purchased for him at FetFest. I retrieved it from my cigar box and handed it to him. He removed the cigar from the tube and gave the tube back to me to keep. Through our scene, when I dared to catch a quick glance at him, he held that cigar in his lips, the one I'd bought him. I carry it as a very sexy memory.

I stood, and asked Gray if he wanted a show. He replied he normally wanted to take my clothes off of me, but please, this time, give him a show.

I remembered the lesson he taught me, remembered how he liked it. I slowly pulled out the bow, slowly opened the dress to reveal the nighty, laid the dress on the floor where I'd be working, pulled the lingerie over my head, unsnapped the bra, and finally stood there, naked, for him.

He had me spin around, slowly, and stop once my back was to him. He stood, just behind me. As I had disrobed for him, he had taken out a length of rope. He now ran that rope over my body.

He began his tie, around one side of my chest, under one arm. I knew the tie as he created it, the same harness he had had on me earlier, the new one he'd learned from the Berlin Grue, his new favorite. He weaved the rope around me, his body heat always so close to mine. I sunk into the feeling, the connection.

The chest harness finished, he used the remainder of the rope to loop around my neck, cutting off my breathing. I released my will to his biding. Giving me air once again, he sat back down and asked me to continue turning. I stopped again, standing in front of him, naked save for his rope.

Leaning up, he smacked my crotch, and wound the last length of his rope through my pussy lips. Finding just the right spot, he gave me a happy knot, and attached the rope back to the harness, cinching it tight.

"Get to work."

I gingerly lowered myself to the floor, feeling every inch of my movements as the rope pressed against my ass crack, against my labia, against my clit.

I started with his boots. I gingerly encouraged his right boot onto my thigh. I massaged the leather, feeling for dry spots, but also feeling his foot underneath the barrier. I poured the water into my saddle soap lid. I took my dobber, dipped it into the water, then the soap, then the water, then the soap again. I applied the cleaner, the cool liquid dripping from his boot onto my thigh. I felt him press his weight into my flesh. Putting the dobber aside, I worked the soap into his boot, making sure to cover every inch of the material.

Gray reached down, attached a length of rope to my crotch piece, and yanked. I gasped, but made myself continue. He brought his left boot onto my other thigh, pressing still harder into me. I breathed deep; I continued.

Grabbing my towel, I wiped down his boot, making sure to remove all of the soap and water. I again applied saddle soap, massaged the material, and wiped it all away with my towel again. I then brought his boot to my chest, to which he pressed still further. Reaching for my toothbrush, I cleaned the catwalk around his boot, making sure to remove all soap with my towel once more. I repeated this process for his left boot, as well.

With his boots now clean, I asked Gray if I could kiss them. He gave me permission to do so. I gingerly laid on my stomach, brought my face to his right boot, and began kissing. My hands massaged the leather; my face caressed it. I switched to his left boot, giving it equal treatment. Back and forth, I kissed and caressed his leather, happy to be at his feet, happy to have been given the opportunity to love on his boots.

I could feel him move around and grab something out of his bag. He rubbed the cool object over my body; I recognized the form. He then hit me with his Brat Bat on my ass. I yelped, but went back to loving his leather. With every stroke, of which there were one or two dozen, I screamed, and then caressed his boots further.

Next, he pulled out the implement I hated the most, his Twisted Bitch. I had forgotten about that horrible, horrible object, the sting, the pain. He whipped it across my back and ass. With it, too, I screamed with each blow. But I would not leave his boots. I would not stop caressing his leather.

He finished with my favorite of his tools, his Whomping flogger, thuddy and delicious across my back and ass, like the pulsing turns on a roller-coaster.

Finished with his toys, I forced myself to stop loving on his boots; I could've stayed there all night, but I had work to complete. I again gingerly guided his right boot onto my thigh and began conditioning the leather with my Huberd's.

There was not a minute, a moment that passed in which Gray did not torture me in some way. He yanked on my crotch rope repeatedly. He pressed his boot into my flesh. At one point, Lqqkout came over to sit and chat with him. He marveled at the ease and pleasure of a well placed crotch rope.

Gray, wondering how his manipulations effected me, asked which of his pains hurt more. A: His yanking on the rope, or B: His boots pressed into my breasts. He yanked and pressed. Yanked and pressed. A or B? A or B? I said I didn't know, because they both hurt so much. He would not take that for an answer, pressing and yanking still harder.

"A! A!" I finally screamed. He placed his boots back on my thighs and let me continue.

After applying ample shoe grease, paying close attention to dry and problem spots, I wiped away the excess and was ready to move on.

I asked him what he wanted me to treat next. He had another pair of boots, but he also wore his chaps and vest. I ended up moving on to the chaps.

Gray continued to sit, so I worked the front of his thighs, along with all of his calves. Once again, I applied the saddle soap, massaged it in, and then wiped away the liquid. The avoid splashing him, I laid my towel over his exposed crotch as I worked.

When I finished what I could from the ground, I asked him to stand. I was now eye level with his cock, which had not yet woken up. I began washing the areas of his chaps I could not reach.

As I moved back and forth, one leg to the other, getting in close to the leather, at first my hair brushed up against his cock. Then, my nose, or my cheek. He began to perk up. As I wiped away the soap from his right leg, I held my body in close to his, and could feel his cock against my cheek. I longed to have it in my mouth, but I knew it was not my place to take it.

Gray's hand found my hair, and began massaging my scalp. I started to float away. I tried my best to concentrate on my leather, to continue to wipe away the saddle soap, to continue my work.

Without notice, he gripped my strands and held my face to his cock. Holding his dick with his other hand, he ran the tip across my face, then over my lips, then forced it inside my mouth. I began licking and sucking eagerly. He pushed and pulled my head over his cock, then guided my face down to his balls. I enjoyed one, then the other, his hand pushing me into him. He pulled my face up again and cock slapped me hard, multiple times, shaking my face this way and that.

He released my hair and I was allowed to enjoy his cock freely, slowly riding up and down the shaft with my mouth, enjoying being full of him.

Abruptly, he grabbed my hair again and quickly shoved himself far into my throat. I gagged, again and again, as his fucked my face. I was awash in the pleasure of submitting to his will, of being so his in that moment, of my mouth being so full of his cock.

Finished with my mouth, he beckoned me to move on to his vest. I explained I had not yet conditioned the leather of his chaps. He then slapped me twice and pinched my nipple hard.

"Look at you, so easily distracted. Focus, and get back to work."

I again massaged Huberd's into his leather, running my hands down the length of his legs. I smoothed out the dryness; I worked in the conditioner.

Finished with his chaps, his vest now remained. I felt the leather of his vest and found it was very dry, especially around the front of the shoulders. Stepping behind him, I saw he had a large ornamental piece on the back. This I would not touch and made pains to avoid.

I again started with the cleaning. Standing, however, brought on new challenges. Each time I bent down to get more soap, my crotch rope hurt just that much more. I winced and wined with my movements. Gray took the opportunity to still yank on my crotch rope, but also pinch my nipples. I made myself continue.

Gray then yanked on my crotch rope furiously, no moment of ease. I yelped and screamed, pleasure and pain ever bound in my cunt.

"How does it feel?"

"Pleasure and painful."

"Can you come from this?"

"I don't think so. It hurts too much."

"That's too bad."

Gray began slapping my cunt with his hand, hard smacks, one after the other. In an instant, my cunt was hot with pleasure, but I could not find the words to beg him to keep going, to beg him to not stop, to beg him to let me cum. As soon as I relished in the pleasure of his hand thumping my pussy, he took it away, a delicious opportunity lost.

I went back to working on his leather. I finally realized, when I was working on the back of his vest, that I could kneel down instead of bending to have less effect on the crotch rope.

I was soon conditioning his vest, taking great care on the front of the shoulders. As I was close to finishing, I explained that all I needed was a minute for the Huberd's to sit on a particularly dry small patch to let it soak in.

"Okay, a minute." Gray grabbed me by my hair and spun me around. He quickly untied the knot holding my crotch rope in place. He then wiped the rope off from between my legs. I gasped from the pain. He looped the rope around my chest and tucked it into the harness. He turned me back around and bade me finish. I wiped away the excess Huberd's to complete my work.

Gray was ready to smoke his cigar. I politely asked if I could light it for him. He said I could, if I cleaned up quickly and came outside with him. I hurriedly threw my clothes back on and gathered up my things. With my water bottle in tow, along with my cigar box, I followed Gray outside.

We stood around with Lochai, and Zelda and her friend, all of them enjoying their tobacco. Gray held the cigar for me to wet. My lips encircled the end and I licked it eagerly. I then pulled out my cutter and nipped the tip. Retrieving my lighter from my cleavage, I held the flame for Gray. He spun his cigar, lighting it all around.

The conversation meandered. Lochai had purchased a Cigar Station app, which played music supposedly suited for cigar smoking. Gray had an Ex email him questions about the porn industry. He started his voice recording app, and Gray and Lochai were able to answer her questions. The Q&A complete, Gray messaged the file to her. Zelda commented on the large amount of empty cigar boxes she had. I requested a few, to which she gave me an entire bag full of them, six in all. Lochai talked about a particularly interesting moment with a woman he'd met on set who, subsequently, didn't remember his face when they met again. All the while, I stood by Gray's side, enjoying the camaraderie.

On occasion, Gray rolled his ash into his hand, and I licked and sucked it up for him. Lochai, asking very politely, requested from Gray the use of his ashtray. Instead Gray suggested they reprise a moment from Rope Camp. Gray and Lochai intermingled their ash and I ate it. Later Lochai, with a nice amount of ash on the end of his cigar, which he'd let cool, instructed me to tilt my head back as he flicked the treat into my mouth.

With Gray's cigar finished, he asked me to hold it as it slowly went out. He then ran his fingers into my hair and began massaging my scalp and pulling on my strands. I was lost, again.

Soon, though, we made our way back inside. Gray and I headed over into our corner.

It was getting late, almost 1am. Our bootblacking scene had taken two hours, and we spent another hour outside. Gray was tired and needed to go. He collected his things in preparation.

Finished with gathering all of his bags, I presented him with the first of two gifts. I reached into my cigar box, and then looked up at him. He turned around, knowing I wanted to surprise him. I quickly pulled the bag out and told him the coast was clear.

"Since I won't see you for Thanksgiving, Christmas, or New Years..." I brought the bag to my front. "Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year." I gave Gray three different Java cigars: Latte, which he'd enjoyed that last night on his friend's back porch, Mint, for the holiday season, and Maduro, a medium body flavor. He was shocked and pleased, giving me a big hug, and promising me to enjoy each on a holiday.

One gift deserving another, again, Gray informed me he had two gifts for me. The first had been his book, which he'd given to me earlier that day during his office hours. The second was the rope I still wore. It was raw hemp, suitable for dying or treating as I wished.

Gray then made the rounds of friends, hugging everyone goodbye. I had my jacket on, ready to help him out. He returned to our corner and we walked to his car. I assisted him in getting everything inside, and he gave me one more hug goodbye. Then I gave him his last gift, a bar of gluten free dark chocolate. Yes, I had remembered.

He told me to take care of me; I said I would. He started to walk to the driver's seat.

Without thinking, I grabbed his arm and turned him back. I kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Bye for now."

"Bye for now." He got into his car; I headed back towards the Dungeon. I waited til he pulled off, waving to him as he left.

Inside, the party was winding down. Murphy was just starting a scene with Ten. I lingered by the front, not knowing what to do next. I made my way towards the couch.

Slut came over and gave me a hug. She asked me how I was doing. I said I didn't know, and that it would have been nice if DeepEnd were still here so he could beat on me so I could cry.

Slut, every the great Sis, targeted the "Easy Button" on my harness. She hit it, again, and again, and again, until I allowed myself to cry. I felt better afterwards. We then sat on the couch to watch Murphy work.

I remarked, as we sat, that I wanted to dance. The Dungeon music had been excellent and I felt in the mode to express myself. She took a pole, Ammre took a pole, and I took a pole as we danced to a senuos song.

Hungry, Slut bought herself and me a slice of pizza. Downing the food quickly, Murphy's scene was finishing up. Slut and I chatted with Lochai, as we explained and demonstrated an awesome fucking scene from earlier that evening. Lqqkout came over and I nuzzled his beard with my cheek. Slut then introduced Lqqkout to my latest Easy Button, to which he took full advantage in a mini-scene of me against the chain link fence and his fist pounding my chest.

Settling back onto the couch, in preparation to watch Murphy and Slut's scene, we all got the bad news: the Dungeon closed at 2am, not 3am. We gathered up our things, said our goodbyes, gave our hugs, and headed out.

We ended up crashing at the hotel around 2:30am. We woke up at 6:30am the next day, home again before noon, a New Yorker in tow.

All Wound Up: Office Hours


Since DeepEnd wanted more practice, I laid out our blanket, took off my shoes, socks, and skirt, and asked what he wanted to go over. He said he wanted to practice Gray's Tie Em Up & Fuck Em harness. I asked him if he remembered the three steps. He said he did, but I made him repeat them to me anyway a few times. We went over the Texas handcuffs, as well as the last two steps.

Satisfied that he had it, he decided to break into his box of Nilla Wafers. DeepEnd being DeepEnd, he thought it'd be a great idea to toss his cookie in the air and catch it in his mouth. I, being me, had to try as well. We each threw up our cookie and failed multiple times before, in a moment of magical whimsy, I caught my cookie and he caught his. We high-fived in honor of our accomplishments.

In the next section of the room, Gray's office hours were flowing slowly. I heard him talking, but was reluctant to walk over. I was barefoot and the bare concrete was really fucking cold. I scampered over and found a place to stand on carpet.

Gray was milling about; Murphy and Slut soon followed. We all sat and chatted. Slut wanted to show Murphy a self suspension harness she wanted to try. Gray handed me a recent story he was working on. I ran back over to the other section of the room, but Gray yelled for me to walk. It was so cold, I scampered on my tippy toes. Each step was a chilly highly uncomfortable affair. When I walked back, I sat down on a cold metal folding chair, my underwear giving little respite from the chill, but lifting up my feet to give them a break.

I sat and read Gray's story, a hot rope and anal sex scene that captured the bulk of my attention for about ten minutes. After completing his story, and reluctantly returning the pages, I realized I had an opportunity. Murphy and Gray were right there, ready and willing to advise and teach. I scampered back over to my things and grabbed my rope bag.

The arch in the room was free. I dropped my bag under it and rigged my Shibari ring. Grasping the ring, I held my body by the rig to check that it was stable and secure, swinging around gleefully.

By this time, more people had entered the room, including Ten who laid in Gray's lap as he pet her head. Other students sat on the mat in the corner, the other folding chairs in the room, or stood off to the side.

With just my shirt, bra, and panties on, I gave a little show. Unsnapping my shirt slowly, I eased off the fabric from my chest. Unhooking my bra, I flung it off with a flourish. I left my panties on because they were cute, dark red with a black band and black lettering that read "I HATE U".

As I began tying my leg harness, I wanted music. Instead of having me scamper all the way over to the other room again, Gray pulled out his phone and played a list of mashed-up music. Murphy noted this was good. I had already rigged to my music, but now I was at a level that I should experiment with other people's beats. Gray then noted, if they so wanted, they could heckle me mercilessly. Thankfully, being my friends and all, they didn't.

I finished my hip harness and leg attachments, then moved onto my chest.

With my body ropes ready, it was time to lift. I attached the lines and suspended myself in the air. Murphy, having seen me do this before, popped up to spot me. The one time he'd witness the maneuver I was about to make, I had needed to ask for his assistance.

Slowly, I lowered my chest down, hanging only by my legs. Then, the moment of truth. I brought my body back up, re-looped the lifting lines for my chest, and tied off. I was so happy, gleeful, ecstatic.

In my elevated mood, Murphy gave me a few pointers. First, he wanted me to tuck the ends of my lifting lines in my ropes to keep them from slipping. Second, he again nagged me about slippage, citing his first tip would assist in preventing it. Third, he noted I was not using a point on my body that could possibly aid my efforts. I confessed I didn't know what he meant. Grabbing my hip harness at the center, below my belly button, he pulled up.

My lesson complete, I landed myself. As I recoiled my ropes and gathered my things, the group began telling stories. The first was a three part-er, with contributions from Slut, myself, and Murphy about a man Slut dubbed Mr. Awkward.

My things safely away, I rejoined the group, sitting in one folding chair, my feet resting in another. After the Mr. Awkward story, more random sexual experiences were recounted. Memorable mentions included the Dead Fish and the Jack Hammer.

As more people filtered into the office hours, we finally did bring the focus back to rope. Gray wished to demonstrate a new chest harness he'd picked up from a recent European Grue. Ever the friend, I volunteered myself as his demo. As he tied the harness, I followed his hands, attempting to memorize his moves. After the first try, I asked if he would tie it again, as repetition is the best way for me to learn. He obliged my request, this time attempting a slight modification. I noted how to tie both.

The subject of rope corsets came up. Gray was not a fan, as they took a lot of rope and time to tie. Instead, he had created a way of giving the look and feel of a rope corset without the extensive time and rope needed. He tied his corset around my center, then pulled it off quickly with a flourish.

Concentrating again on my chest harness, he noted how versatile it was, with points in the front and back great for gripping and holding, moving a person this way or that. He demonstrated the use, yanking me this way and that. He gripped my hair and pulled my head back. He pushed me over and slapped and spanked my ass. He pulled me back up, spread my legs, and slapped my pussy. He hit my boobs the way Wesley Snipes stopped a punch in a recent movie he had watched, coming down hard once, then up, both times on my nipple. He wanted to show the entire room, so he turned me around to show the students on the mat behind us, then turned me around again, and again.

Thoroughly dropped into rope space, my head was floaty. I was high. Gray removed the ropes from my body, popping out the ends against my skin when possible.

Having learned a new harness, I wanted to practice. Slut offered up her chest and I wound the harness, both the original style and Gray's modification, around her body. Satisfied that I had retained the tie, I decided to experiment.

I had thought about a tie I wanted to try and saw this as an opportunity to see if it would work. I looped my rope over her body, going over one side of her breast and under the other. Gray came over, seeing my work, and suggested another modification, weaving the strands as they wound around Slut. I took to this idea. He then showed me other decorative features that could be added.

Another student, seeing our work, brought his phone over to show a piece he had tied. Gray attempted to replicate the pretty piece on Slut's arm.

As Gray worked, I found myself chatting with Zelda, a nice lady attending the event. She had seen me self suspension and asked if I had visited the rope vendor in attendance. I told her I had not, as I was low on funds.

Gray now complete with his tie, I returned to the group and unwound my harness from Slut. Gray took the opportunity to kick Slut in the ass, making sure his hits were even.

As Gray's office hours came to a close, I milled about with everyone trying to decide on our next move. We had not yet checked in at the hotel, and there was still dinner to plan.

As I chatted with Slut and DeepEnd, Zelda approached me again. I greeted her once more. She then took the large chunk of rope in her hand, crimson hemp, similar to what I wore around my neck, and put it in my hands. It was mine now, a gift from a woman I had met not more than thirty minutes prior. I was floored. I didn't know what to do accept say thank you, over and over again. I tucked my gift away with the rest of my rope.

Just before we left, Gray approached me, book in hand. I had wanted to purchase one of Gray's books for a while, but he had not had any available copies; this one he gifted to me with an inscription inside. I tucked it away in my bag, and planned to not read it til I got home.

DeepEnd, Slut, and Murphy ready to go, we piled back into my car. After picking up dinner from the mall, and the brief confusion about which LaQuinta we were staying in, we soon found ourselves on our way back to the event, this time for the play party.

All Wound Up: Classes


My alarm was set for 4:30am, but my body decided to wake me at 3:30. I laid in bed, trying to snooze, but with little success. Slut laid next to me, out like a light. Occasionally she rolled over, and hugged and cuddled me in her sleep. Five minutes later, she'd roll back.

Not willing to wait any longer, I got up at 4:22am. I sat on the floor and gave myself my five minutes. I skipped my treadmill time.

With an hour to get ready and head out, I took a soothing warm shower. Once dry and mostly clothed, I woke up Slut. She took her turn in the bathroom while I checked to make sure I had everything. And boy, did I have everything. For a one day event, I brought five bags. But then again, I wouldn't be the Cabin Bitch if I didn't make sure I had planned for every eventuality.

My bags at the foot of the stairs, my quick breakfast of orange juice and a banana downed, and Slut and DeepEnd ready to go, we loaded my car. I was too awake to sleep, to awake to sit still, so I decided to drive.

We stopped at a nearby 7-11 to grab provisions: Slut's energy drinks and DeepEnd's candy. I was good. Okay, I was bouncy and excited and wanted to just get on the road, which we did. Slut was soon asleep in the back while DeepEnd and I chatted in the front.

I had had a song stuck in my head for the past few days, Drake's Make Me Proud. In my infinite wisdom, I downloaded his new album while I drove, and played the record while the two of them slept.

Hours later, the Sun coming up, a quick change of seats to help with Slut's motion sickness, and a quick Starbucks breakfast on the New Jersey Turnpike, we'd made it. It was 9:50am when we arrived at Tied Down, an event hosted by Jersey Rope Experiment.

I lugged in two of my bags, one full of rope, notebooks, and cigars. The other was Hello Kitty, of course. The event was held at a photography studio, which from the outside would never had alluded to the happenings within.

As we stepped up to the registration table, Slut went first. She bent down to sign her waiver and pay her fee. Standing there, exciting for the start, breezily he walked in from the classroom. Gray greeted us, gave me a hug, and whispered, "Glad you're here." My day, which had already been six hours long, started well.

Shuffling into the classroom, our trio settled in a corner of the horseshoe of chairs, mostly behind where the presenter would teach.

Gray was getting ready for his class on a large cushy mat. No shoes were allowed, so he leaned on the metal rack behind him to take off his boots. He looked over at me and asked if I would like to help him. I immediately dropped my bags and dropped to my knees by his feet. I loosened the laces and glided his boots off, one at a time. He thanked me, and then set the boots aside.

With class starting, Slut leaned against the metal rack while DeepEnd and I sat. I pulled out my notebook and a pen, ready for the first lesson.

Gray's presentation was his Tie Em Up & Fuck Em harness. I had taken this class before; funny enough, it was how I met Gray, back at my first Winter Fire. This version, however, was two hours long.

I was skeptical that I would gain any new knowledge, but still looked forward to a refresher of the concept. Turns out, he had intended for the class to be this longer length, and had in fact cut out material from his previous classes because of the shorten time period.

He began with what I knew, the basic harness, which he displayed with the help of his demo bottom, Ten. He then moved on to the different modifications of the harness he'd learned from his previous students. Next, he showed Shibari style ties that were similar to his harness, for those who wanted to say they were using "Japanese knots" when fucking their significant other. Last, Gray gave about a dozen different tips and tricks for improving your rope topping and rope scenes in general.

As the class progressed, our little trio cut up, just a little. DeepEnd, as Big Bro discribed later at lunch, is a conversation sniper. He is mostly quiet during the entire affair, but just wait for the times he does chime in with the oh-so-perfect line. As Gray taught, DeepEnd kept whispering hilarious quips to me. I kept laughing, but choked down my volume as to not interrupt Gray.

All three of my trio practiced on each other, seeing as all of us are learning to rope top. One fun moment was when Slut had me on the floor, my wrists secured, with the rope going up and through my crotch, to be secured to my ankles. Slut had the brilliant idea that we could make a train of bound bottoms, which had me squealing. However, this did not come to fruition (disrupting the class and all).

When Gray's presentation ended, we stood up and stretched again. I found myself jumping up and down on the corner of the presentation mat, happy and bubbly, full of ropey goodness.

We all gathered our things and prepared to head out for lunch. Gray allowed me to help him put his boots back on, a service I had not performed before. Noting our impending departure, Gray asked if he could ride along with us. I, of course, said yes. He ended up catching a ride with Ten and her friend, who followed me as I drove to the restaurant using my fancy phone's directions.

Once we arrived, Slut informed me she was in contact with Murphy. He had finally made it, public transportation seriously hampering his travels. He needed to be picked up near where the event was being held. DeepEnd, ever the awesome friend, volunteered to go grab him. He gave me his food order and departed. By the time he returned, Murphy in tow, the food soon followed.

We all ate and chatted, the conversation of DNR porn arising. Don't ask.

Our meal complete, we headed back to the event. However, on the way, I realized I needed to use the restroom, badly. So what did DeepEnd and Murphy do? Tease me constantly of course. I mean, they are sadists.

Running inside, I relived myself and quietly snuck back into class.

The second presentation of the day was given by Lochai; the subject: hogties. I sat with DeepEnd in our spot from before as Slut and Murphy worked on a blanket across the room. Gray popped in for a minute, but then was gone.

Lochai started with demonstrating the basic hogtie, but soon worked in variations. His demo bottom not feeling well, he asked for a lovely lady close to the front to volunteer. Turned out, she was quite flexible, to the delight of both Lochai and the class.

Another of his demo bottoms came up and Lochai demonstrated some hair bondage. He then, deviously, got to use his ass hook on the girl. Yes, his ass hook, which he strung up to a point and tied off, with the girl bound on the floor. Ah Lochai, such a mean dirty man, which is why we love him.

DeepEnd practiced a single column tie and a two column tie on my wrists, but wanted to mostly repeat the Texas handcuffs he'd learned earlier. I showed him a modified way of tying the knot, which he practiced over and over again. Instead of being funny and goofy, like others in the class, he was more concerned about retaining the info, grinding it into his brain. He feared he would loose everything we'd gone over in the class if he did not practice. I tried to reassure him, explaining I would teach him anything he needed to relearn, and later suggesting a weekly rope practice at the house.

Lochai's class complete, we opted to go to Gray's office hours.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

See Yah Soon


Her pussy still pulsed as they slowly crept along in line. She pushed her bag forward, rested her jacket back on top of it, and returned to his warm arms.

She loved the smell of him, the mixture of cologne and soap that was distinctly his scent. That was just one thing she would miss.

"I can feel how warm your cunt is on my leg."

"You made it that way, Sir."

"I know. I just like telling you."

He gripped her hair tight, then continued to massage her scalp. She held back her tears.

His hand slipped down to her ass, lightly brushing her cheeks. Earlier he had spanked her there, ferociously in fact. So much so that his soft graze made her ass ache. The bruises were already forming, a memory of him she would carry for a least a little bit while she was gone.

The line moved again.

She found his chest once more, but instead of her nuzzles, he kissed her softly, sweetly. His lips traced down from hers to her neck, sucking gently at first, then harder. She controlled her breathing, trying not to draw attention as he marked her neck. He finished by using his teeth; she quickly suppressed a gasp before the rabble around her noticed. Pleased with his work, he draped her long hair over her neck, a modicum of modesty as he burned for her body next to his.

They had arrived too late to sneak into a bathroom. But, to be fair, their delay was due to their last fuck, an extended quickie, after they'd already screwed for hours the night before. She wasn't even sure she'd slept last night, just stared at his rising and falling chest as he rested, maybe for two hours.

They were both sweaty messes in the morning, the dew of sex hanging in the air, condoms filling the waste basket. They just needed to get one more in. Just one more fuck. Just one more cum. She made him, or at least she thought she did, waking him up with a blow job as the sun peaked through their window.

He gripped the back of her head and pushed her down further, then up and down quickly, fucking her face. Nice and warmed up, he flipped her over, felt around for one of the last condoms, got it on quick, and rammed himself into her. She flipped her hair back when she gasped as he entered her, a move he loved to incite.  She pushed back just as hard on his dick as he thrust into her hungry cunt. She was already sore from the night before. Their morning interlude would only extend the dull ache inside her.

She screamed, came, and screamed more as he did not stop, did not quit, did not dare cease fucking her, knowing this would be the last time his cock would enjoy her pussy for a month.

When his nut grew near, he pushed her off of him, ripped off the condom, and fucked her face yet again. She swallowed him as far as she could, then gagged, encouraging his cock deeper into her throat. She swallowed his cum as he slammed his dick into her mouth and growled.

She could just barely call up the taste of that cum as she stepped up to the counter, and received her boarding pass.

They walked towards security. This would be it, the goodbye.

She could feel the tears burning in her eyes, could feel them wanting to break, but still held them back.

"I will call once I land and give you the phone number of the suite once I get checked in."

He gripped the collar of her sweater, pulled her in close, and ravaged her with a kiss. For a moment, she felt far away from that airport, far away from her job and responsibilities. She felt right back in their bedroom, the dew of sex still in the air.

And at once, their embrace ended, she was back. But not for too long. His lips found her ear, then his teeth. His free hand warmed against her cunt, fingering her ever so wantingly.

"I'll miss you. You know that right?"

"Yes Sir."

"Will you miss me?"

"Yes Sir."

"And what will you do for me, while you're away?"

"Call ever night Sir, so that you can hear me as I come thinking of you."

"Good." With one last smack to her cunt, he turned her around, and pushed her off.

She didn't dare look back, knowing his spell would be broken, her sexual high faded away. Instead, she concentrated on the pain on her neck, on her ear, on her ass, and in her pussy, and looked forward to her call that night from her hotel suite.


I started as normal, tying a harness around my chest. People looked on, friendly heckling as they liked. Music was playing, so I danced a bit as I continued to tie. I moved on to my hip harness, winding my rope thrice around my middle. I attached to the bands on my hip, and wove around my thighs. All of my usual ropes were complete.

As I tied, I had to keep telling myself to relax. Pretend like they're not watching. Pretend you are just at home in the basement dicking around. Breathe.

But then came the hard part. I looped my lifting lines through my usual three points: one at the center of my chest and one on each of my legs. First, I attached the chest, using a different rope than normal, a longer rope. No, be brave. I took off my chest line and instead grabbed my usual short piece. I tied off to my ring and continued.

I started to lift my right leg. Wait, which one am I stronger on? I switched to my left. My left leg and chest in the air, I sat back and lifted my right leg. I was now in my basket, ready to take the fall.

A friend came over and spotted me, just in case. I was about to attempt the hardest part.

I untied my chest point and slowly let myself down. I was inverted. It felt amazing, as usual.

Okay, just do it.

Collapsing in my core, I lifted my body up, and re-strung my chest line through my ring. I tied off, without help. I did it.

I was more than elevated, more than pleased. In my previous attempts at this maneuver, each time I failed. The first time I needed assistance to physically help me down. The second time I was able to reach the floor with my tippy toes and unlock my thighs ropes. Never before had I lifted my body, held my own weight, and tied off my chest point without assistance.

I knew why this time was different as soon as my feet were on the floor again. I wasn't breathing heavy. I wasn't exhausted. I wasn't panting. I was sweaty, but not as much as usual. It was obvious; the treadmill time was working.

I haven't been exercising consistently for that long, but in the short amount I have gotten in, I've already seen the results in both large and small ways.

Going up multiple flights of stairs.

Quick walks when I'm in a rush for work.

Work, in general, with the lifting and pushing of heavy objects and climbing into trucks to maneuver awkward gear.

Holding up a friend while we demonstrated an awesome fucking scene.

The teeny tiny ever-so-miniscule amount of extra space in both my work pants and, sadly, my bra.

I'm not focused on the end result of this experiment; I have no specific result in mind. But the journey...

The journey's working out just fine.

Friday, November 18, 2011


I have this nasty little habit: I look at other peoples' lives and compare them to my own.

Shit, let me be honest. I compare my everything to everyone else's everything. And not just the cliche shit (body, job, car, house). I compare small things, like how jacked up my car is compared to most other vehicles on the road. I compare large things, like how my best friend is married with a child, yet I am blessedly(?) single. I compare my level of play, my style of dress, my eating and exercise habits. I compare my friend circle, my level of income, my fucking work shoes. [I'm in a cursing mood today.]

And every time, without fail, I feel like shit. And it doesn't matter if I'm on the "better" end of the comparison, because how the fuck can you even define what better is? Yes, I have my freedom, but my best friend created a family. Yes, that asshole's car is beautiful, but mine is fully paid off.

Whenever I get into one of my comparison spirals, I often yell at myself to stop. I don't want to be that person who measures their life by the lives of others. I just want to be, and be happy right there, in that space, living in that moment.

But for some reason it happens all the time. All the time.

The worst part is when I compare myself to how I view myself.

While running this morning, I glanced at my reflection in the sliding glass door in our Sun Room. I have this funny little quirk of viewing myself as smaller than my body actually is. As I'm jogging along, I see my stomach, my thighs, my ass, none of which are as I picture them. I spiral, calling myself horrible names, and pretty much cursing my ugly mug.

But then, I looked away. I remembered the people who have called me beautiful, have taken pleasure in my body. I remembered being all dolled up and filled with glee to go out to a party. I remembered looking at myself in the mirror while I brushed my teeth that morning, the little twinkle in my ear, the rested, pleased look starting my day often gives me.

And I remembered why I was jogging. I want to be healthy, to feel better. I wasn't jogging to try to fit into a size 2. I was jogging because, can you believe it, I actually like it. Starting my morning listening to my music, doing something physical, getting my heart going has come to be one of my favorite parts of my day.

It hasn't even been two weeks, and I'm loving it. Yes, I get winded. No, it is not easy, but that's part of the fun too, overcoming the challenge. Every time I step onto that treadmill, with every step I take, I am that much closer to my goal, as ambiguous as it is.

And that's what quieted my comparison spiral this morning, knowing that how I look now is not how I'll look in a year, six months, fuck a month from today.

The secondary goal of this little experiment of mine is for me to translate those positive thoughts surrounding my jogging into the rest of my thinking, especially whenever I fall into that hole, looking at others' lives and viewing mine through their lens. Because I will not be single forever. My car will not always be scarred. My life now is not how it will be ten months, weeks, or even minutes from this moment.

I am ever changing. I must stop comparing and begin embracing, whatever my life happens to look like in the next moment.

Mimosas in the Morning

My final Rope Camp Memory...
Around 7am, I awoke to lips against mine, a kiss pulling me from sleep. My eyes still closed, I kissed back, the thought of ill intent never arising. Our embraced ended, I heard, "Best Cabin Bitch Ever," whispered to me. I opened my eyes in time to see Murphy's dreads as he walked out the door. He had apparently stayed with his friend that night in the half of the cabin that was mostly unused. I snoozed a little longer, not wanting to get up just yet.

When I did eventually rise, I threw on some comfy clothes: my Invader Zim t-shirt that had "Deal With It" written on the front (my go to shirt for the last day of events) and a pair of shorts. I grabbed my Hello Kitty bag, as well as my bottle of champagne, and headed up to 1/2. When I arrived, everyone was prepped and ready to go to breakfast.

We encamped again at the corner table (which I believe needs to be claimed in the name of NYR). Setting up their equipment, both Gray and Dov were to record podcasts. Everyone got a plate of food, and filled the table. Gray, Murphy, Dov, Amy Morgan, Lqqkout, MargoEve, CabinCowboy, and I all sat together.

Before settling down, I opened my bottle of champagne and began making mimosas. After providing drinks for the people at our table, including myself, I gave out mimosas to many others around our area. The drinks distributed, and Gray's coffee delivered, I settled in to eat and chat.

The podcasts actually started before I sat down, but they were not too far in before I joined them. As I ate and listened, I realized everyone was talking. For some reason I thought only select people from the table would be speaking. So, since everyone was chiming in, I figured I was allowed to, as well.

Gray and Dov steered the conversation, touching on some of the awesome things that happened at Rope Camp. They asked everyone about their cherry pops, as well as marveled at Lqqkout's burning hot scene with mecha-Kate. Gray talked about our Rope and Cigar Play class. Quite a bit of time was focused on the Rigger vs Rigger competition, for obvious reasons. The men went over all the awesome highlights.

I talked a little, complimenting Lqqkout on his scene and trying to get the facts straight about Rigger vs Rigger, but I was polite and didn't hog all the voice time. However, with so much fun to spout about, there was precious little time before we all needed to wrap it up. It was getting late and people needed to pack up to go home.

As we were close to finishing, Slut walked into the Dining Hall to get food. While she waited in line, the table did a toast to the NYRCabinSlut, chanting "Cabin Slut" in her honor. She then forcefully corrected us, noting she was the CampSlut. We corrected our error, chanting "CampSlut" for her.

Another toast, to end the podcast, was to the NYR Cabin Bitch For Life. I was quite proud.

The podcasts ended, we cleaned up, and went off to pack our things. I hurried to my cabin, and was able to quickly stow all my gear. Since I had spent most of my time at 1/2, most of my things were still in their bags. I was able to have my car loaded quickly and re-parked up the hill. I then headed back to 1/2 to help everyone clean up.

Once I arrived, I jumped into helping Dov and Murphy. However, I felt the wave of emotions starting. I went over to Gray, informing him I was completely packed and asked if I could help in some way. He informed me I was, indeed, not completely packed. He pulled out the red tubed cigar that I'd purchased for him and handed it to me. He told me to hold onto it, saying we would enjoy it later. He also asked me to hold onto his lighter for him.

One gift deserving another, I gave Gray something as well. Pulling out a plastic bag, I handed him mementos from our cigar play class, my burnt tank top and underwear. Apparently he'd forgotten about his request to have them, seeing as I kept the set from our workshopping session.

Gray now fully packed, he piled all his things outside. I went back to helping Murphy.

But I felt the emotions rising again. I told Murphy he needed to give me tasks to do. I needed something to help focus my mind on something other than my impending drop. He started giving me small jobs. Pick up this. Grab that. Murphy was the last to finish packing; he had that much stuff.

At a certain point, though, I knew I needed to leave. Murphy mentioned the upcoming anniversary of the Rope Bomb in New York. I agreed to come up and see the crew again, as well as participate in the festivities. The Bomb-iversary happened to fall on the day before FetFest, which was kind of perfect timing.

I started my hugs goodbye, embracing Murphy, CabEx, Cabin Meat, and Dov. I headed outside and grabbed my last few things, including my camp chair which I'd left at 1/2 the entire week.

I went over to Gray. I told him I was going to go walk the Labyrinth and then leave. He gave me a big hug, then grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me. I found myself up on my tippy toes. I felt like a little bird in anticipation of taking flight. It was sweet, cute, an awesome little moment at the end of my camp.

Our kiss ended, I took a breath, and started walking.

I entered the sacred space, dropped my things, took off my shoes and socks, stepped to the start of the path.

As I walked the twisting road, my journey was very different from the walk at the start of my camp. On Wednesday, my steps started as a struggle. I felt ever footfall acutely, but I completed my journey in giggles. On Sunday, my walk to end camp was full of happiness.

I felt light, almost floating. I recalled all the people who were a part of my Rope Camp: Gray and our experiences, Murphy, Dov, Slut, CabEx, Cabin Meat, Darian, Phoenix, Murphy's friend, mecha-Kate, Cabin Thug, Lqqkout, Lochai, Deiter and his girl, Lew & Drea. These people all touched me in some way. I thought of all the great things I had experienced, all the amazing people I'd met, all the fun times I'd had.

When I entered the center, I was filled with tons of positive emotions, and I found myself saying "Thank you". Normally I'm silent as I walk the path, but I whispered breathy, quiet thank yous, five total. As I continued along the path, I again was silent, but I continued to say thank you with heart, mind, and soul. When I walked out, I felt, I was, happy. So happy I'd taken the leap to come to camp, one of the best decisions I'd ever made.

I put my shoes and socks back on, headed back to my car, and drove home.

You know, I'm good. I'm really good.
I was so tired once I got home that I dropped my stuff inside the front hall and fell asleep on the couch closest to the door.

I was happy I'd had the experience of Rope Camp.

NYR Cabin Bitch for Life.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Think Of Him


When I think of him, I first see his eyes, big and brown, soft and caring. They hide his true nature, the man I experience when we're alone, the lights dim, my breath rushed. When those eyes are locked on me, there is no one else, nothing else in my world. Just me, him, and those eyes.

Then I think of his arms, strong, muscular, powerful. Those arms holding me, encircling me, feeling as if they will never let me go.

I think of his hands. His fists, punching me. The smack of his palm against my cheek. His fingers entwined in my hair, softly massaging my head as we kiss, or pulling furiously, like a dog on a leash, guiding me to wherever he so chooses.

I think of his chest. Broad, neither hard nor soft, my head resting at just the right spot to hear his heart beating. My lips kissing his nipples, tickling him when I know I shouldn't, when I know what he'll do to me because of my affection.

I think of his legs, thick thighs, defined calves. The swing of his hips as he runs. The tightening and releasing of his muscles when he lifts me up, carrying me in his arms, then unceremoniously dropping me onto our bed.

Oh, his ass. The quick glances I sneak when he comes out of the shower.  My lightly caressing strokes as I enjoy his glorious cock.

Fuck, his cock. My lips, my mouth long to have his cock filling me, fucking me, forcing me to gag. His cock inside me, pounding, driving me to the edge and blasting me still further. Gripping his cheeks tight, trying to take all of him in, pulling him in, just that much more. The explosion of when I do cum, and yet he still forces more, an almost never ending violent abuse of my pussy that I constantly thank him for as he does it.

God, that is what I remember most, the sweet dull ache of him in me, the sway of our bodies, the sometimes thrashing, the memory of his cock always inside me.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Think Of Her


When I think of her, I first imagine her eyes. Blue, dark, almost cobalt. Striking. Engaging. They say more in a moment than I've ever spoken in words.

Then I think of her hair, her raven mane, long and flowing, wavy and full. When we fuck, it goes everywhere. Everywhere. When she stands naked in front of me, it lightly brushes the top of her ass. The smell of her shampoo. The soft silkiness of her locks against my skin.

Next, I think of her lips, pink and plump. The way she lightly licks them, especially when she eats ice cream or drinks hot chocolate. I think of kissing those lips, my hands entangled in her strands, the look in her eyes just before we each close our lids to be lost in our embrace.

I quite enjoy the curve of her hips, placing my hands on her cleft, and squeezing. I grab her there and pull her in close, her ass resting in the dip of my lap, or her head finding the crook of my shoulder.

Oh, her ass. Round. Firm. Begging for me to take a handful. On many a night, even after hours of fucking, my teeth sink into that flesh, enjoying the taste of her. My tongue traverses the valley of her back, tickles her neck. I nip and suck wherever I please.

Oh, and her pussy. One can never forget her pussy. The hot nub of her clit, peaking out when I play with it, ready and waiting for my tongue. The taste of her. The way she sinks her hands into my hair, trying to hold on for dear life. The motion of her hips, rising and falling with both her breaths and the manipulations of my tongue.

God, the sounds. The moans. The groans. The screams. Obscenities. Deities. And my name. I always love it when she screams my name. Sometimes loud and long. Other times low, guttural. And, best of all, breathy, begging, pleading with me to let her come.

There are so many things I remember about her, so many things I dwell on during my days, so many things to get in lost in. But it is that voice, her begging, her pleading, her saying my name, that I always come back to, always hanging on the edge of my consciousness, a never ending track playing in my mind.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Written Raw

Rope Camp Memories continued...

Written Raw, a poem

My tears wait on the edges of my lids, permission for their exit pending. Overwhelming emotions, conflicting joy and sorrow, push and pull my heart to pieces. Hiding the tornado of feelings, my face gives the world a smile, or a grin, or a smirk, all lies to appease the soft sensibilities of the herd. If only they knew what my true face looked like: twisted, wrenched with a pain so deep it takes physical form in my puffed cheeks, my tense forehead, my wailing eyes. This version of me I hide from them all.

Alone, my only company the croaking of frogs and the chirping of insects, I still don't allow the tears to come. Even now, I lock away my pain, but from who?

I know I aimed too high, lived too fast, loved too quickly. And so I'm stuck, the unhealthy thoughts drowning my heart, the weight of their constant barrage pulling me down. When will my life be all that I hope for, all that I wish for, all I dream of? When will I really, actually, truly be happy?

I feast on my salty tears, now. Maybe I will be able to fall asleep tonight.


I wrote this poem, sitting in HQ, the dim illumination of a clip light guiding my hand. Bugs swirled about, and the frogs sung me a lullaby, as I scribbled my thoughts in eloquent phrases, trying to give beauty to my sadness.

It took me putting these words to paper to understand the pain I was in. I had not realized how much I'd come to love my adopted cabin, and how much I would miss them when we all had to part ways. With my takedown now scratched, and the ache of the hurt and disappointment still raw, there was no other adventure to look forward to, no other scheme or scene to plan or play. All that was left was breakfast and goodbyes.

I fell asleep soon after completing that poem, the dam of emotions inside me broken, my outward masked face washed away. That night I cuddled with Cabin Shell, pushing the sadness from my mind, allowing myself to sink into a denial of how hard the next day would be.

One Two Punch

Rope Camp Memories continued...

The last moments of my last night at Rope Camp were difficult.

Yes, I had had an amazing scene with Murphy and Gray. I was high from all the attention, not to mention the aluminum ring. Later, I had time alone in my rope, dancing in a frame all by myself, meditating in the moment. There was plenty to be happy about.

However, nothing in this life is perfect, and eventually you come down from the high.

After dancing in my rope, I settled on a mat to journal. I had plenty to write about (see above), and knew this would take a spell. I intentionally positioned myself facing the door to the Dungeon, wanting to not be distracted.

As the night wound down, Gray came over and asked if I would bring Murphy's things back to the cabin. Apparently he'd left some on the stage from the circus. I of course said I would. Gray then informed me he would not be sleeping in the cabin that night. He needed quiet to rest and his back was still in great pain. That was the last time I saw him that evening.

After he left, I grabbed Murphy's things and placed them beside me on the mat. Soon after, Murphy, along with Dov, showed up to retrieve the items. I wasn't finished writing, though, so I stayed behind, still resting on the mat, as they headed back to the cabin.

It soon grew late; the Dungeon was almost empty. Darian, the taxi driver for the night, came in and asked if I needed a ride. I told him I was okay and would just walk. He then asked if I wanted one more entry for my journal. He pulled out his cock and I began giving him head.

Though he is a beautiful man, though his cock is gorgeous, and though he fucked my face and made me gag, I was not completely fulfilled by our interaction. Darian did not react, at all, to my manipulations.  No signs, no moans. I had no idea how I was doing, if he was enjoying it.  It wasn't until later, after camp, when we spoke at a Happy Hour, that he informed me he does not give vocal feedback during oral. He had, in fact, enjoyed my work, and praised my skills. But until I got to talk to him, about four days later, I felt like I had done him a disservice; I thought I had given him a bad blow job.

Once we finished, Darian walked with me back to cabin 1/2. It was evident as soon as I entered that the entire cabin was down. Everyone lumbered around, tired, sleepy. I had missed Slut's takedown, a muddy affair. Murphy and Dov were in towels, having just gotten out of the shower. Slut was passed out on her bed.

As I settled into the empty bed next to Murphy's, CabEx informed me Gray would not be sleeping in the cabin that night. Coming from Gray's lips earlier, the news had barely scratched the surface. Coming from CabEx, it felt like a annoying little jab in my side. I told him I knew, but thanked him for the consideration.

I sat on the bed, chilling next to Murphy as he worked on his computer editing photos. I journaled some more, recounting my time with Darian.

After a few minutes, Murphy looked up at me somberly. I asked him what was wrong. He said, quietly, that he wasn't able to get to everything he had wanted.

I knew what he meant. I was not going to have my takedown.

I told him it was okay, I understood. I hid my hurt and disappointment.

As people lazily lumbered towards their inevitable crash for the night, a run to Waffle House was the last thing I wanted.  Around 2:30am, when Waffle House was officially nixed, I headed back to cabin 20. But I couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts and emotions were swirling through my head.

So, instead of forcing sleep, I dropped off my things, carried just my notebook and a pen, and wandered around camp trying to find a place to write.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

All The Reasons Why

I didn't get home til after 2am yesterday.

I was tired and worked a 16hr day.
I was nervous and scared, being in the house by myself.  My brain goes to bad places when I'm alone at night.

The time I planned to have today was evaporated by outside issues.

My treadmill time this morning was more important.

Preparing for having people over this evening was more important.

Finding cigars for possible play tonight was more important.

Grocery shopping was more important.

Cooking lunches for the week, talking to the roommates, and Kinky Trivial Pursuit was more important.

I'm drunk right now and probably shouldn't being writing anything.  And yet I'm posting this.

I'm also quite horny and find it difficult to concentrate on anything longer than a few sentences. Hence the nature of this blog.

Since I am drunk, I am acting like a pouty child because I didn't get what I wanted.  I don't like me like this.  In fact, I hate me like this.  I do not want to write when I am in this mood; I suspect I will both love and hate anything I create while in this frame of mind.  But I'm at a computer typing away.  

This post doesn't count.

Saturday, November 12, 2011


Rope Camp Memories continued...

As Gray hovered close to Cabin Meat, he asked her if she found him intimidating. She, in fact, did. Gray then turned to me, and asked me the same.

"Yeah, sometimes." He grabbed me by my tie, pulling me close, his face a breath away from mine. Gray asked again. I let out a breathless yes.

Murphy, by my side the entire time, commented, "You know what's intimidating? Doing the Care Bear hug." Gray looked at him quizzically. 

Murphy reached from behind me, placing his head on one of my shoulders, his arms encircling me; the care bear hug. Murphy then moved me forward, and beckoned Gray to try it. Gray hugged me from my front, his head on my other shoulder, both boys now completely encircling me. I didn't know how to react, other than to giggle.

With their affection finished, Murphy wasn't sure if it was intimidating anymore. Murphy grabbed me by the hair and asked if his current action was intimidating. Gray, who looked on, said it wasn't. In fact, he said I looked pre-orgasmic. Wrenching me from Murphy's grasp, Gray turned me around and pulled my hair as well, showing Murphy his previous view. Murphy agreed with Gray's assessment.

Murphy then began hitting me from the front while Gray hit me from behind. They then flipped me around again, switching targets, but continuing with their blows, each man punching me, rocking my body this way and that.

Murphy mentioned, "Yah know, there is something softer we could be hitting."

Gray pulled open my shirt, quickly unbuttoning and pulling it off of my shoulders. He started punching my boobs, and then decided to rip off my shirt completely. Finally understanding what was going on, I quickly took off my glasses and threw them aside onto my shirt, which had ended up on the edge of the stage. Gray, with two quick snaps, unbuttoned my bra and flung it off to the side, as well. My black tie, however, stayed on. The boys continued to assault me from all sides.

Once again, Big Bro had an idea. "Yah know, there is a better spot on people of color that you could be hitting."

Gray pulled down my skirt, bent me over, and commenced punching my ass.

Murphy mentioned how he liked to leave marks. His nails against my skin, Murphy scratched the top of my left boob. Gray said he also liked to leave marks, but he liked to use tools to do it. He went to his toy bag, which I'd laid out for him earlier, before the circus had started.

Gray grabbed a small bat, and talked about how he didn't need much effort to give a lot of pain with it. Murphy placed his hands on the front of my shoulders, and braced me as Gray hit me from behind.

Gray then reached down, and started fingering me. He remarked on how wet I was already. As my body's ecstasy swelled, and I could feel an orgasm growing, I asked permission to cum. The boys said I had to ask God for my pleasure. "Oh God, Oh God, please."

As Gray continued to finger me, I started cumming, the waves of pleasure racing through my hips and down my thighs. As my ecstasy subsided, Gray removed his hand from my pussy and inserted his fingers into my mouth. I licked my juices off of him happily.

Continuing their mirrored actions, Murphy reached his hand down to finger me, as well. Once again, I asked if I could cum. Murphy said I had to get permission from Gray. I begged, pleaded to Gray, and, thankfully, he let me. Murphy, though, said I had to scream out my title, scream out NYR Cabin Bitch for Life so the whole Dungeon could hear me. With orgasm number two surging through me, I did just that.

Gray grabbed me by my hair again, and pulled me up onto the stage. He ordered me to hold onto the aluminum ring and to not let go. He bent me over, my ass sticking out. Both boys remarked how good my ass looked, which pleased me.

Gray started using his flogger, which compared to the bat felt like a rough massage. I loved the thud of the soft leather. Unfortunately, he brought out the Brat bat again, and wailed on my ass once more. Somehow, I knew I would not get off so easy.

The boys tied my wrists to the ring, and Gray began fingering me again. As my third orgasm grew, the boys felt a small competition had started in the Dungeon. Multiple scenes were happening at once, with many subs and bottoms screaming. The boys wanted me to scream loud enough to out yell the others around us. I came, and I screamed.

Finished with giving me pleasure, I was to receive yet more pain. Gray pulled out his cane, saying it was time for them to leave marks. I was going to receive fourteen strokes, one for each person in the cabin, to be evenly divided between the two boys.

Gray started, lashing my ass three times. With each stroke, I thanked him for his kindness. Murphy, in turn, gave me three more.

From the beginning of the scene to the very end, the boys kept talking back and forth, pinging off of each other. Gray once mentioned how I probably thought the scene wasn't going to happen, and that that would make them liars. He asked me if I thought they were liars? I desperately said no.

He also noted how, because of this blog, I was probably already writing the post about the scene in my head.  Well, kind of...  Some of the time, yes.  Most of the time, no.  You guys were quite distracting.

With each stroke of Gray's cane, I was ordered to count. As I counted, Gray got a little confused by my method, as I totaled their strokes individually instead of combined. Testing me, he asked if I knew the overall total. I said I did, noting that in college I was briefly a math major. Gray then asked if that made me smarter than him, seeing as he was a dance major. I exclaimed that of course he was smart, saying all dance majors were smart.

"If you were a math major, what's the square root of eleven?"

"The square root of eleven is the square root of eleven."

Murphy sighed, "Yeah, she's right."

"Well, what's the square root of twelve?"

"Two times the square root of three."

Murphy again sighed, "Yup, she's right."

Finally, each had gotten to their last stroke.

Gray took one side, Murphy the other. With their final flourishes, they lashed my ass one last time. I will not lie: their attention was difficult to take. I even cried a little, a very good sign. I was happy to be co-topped by them.

At the end of the scene, the boys started tickling me. They had both experienced my giggling fits before, where I am unable to stop myself, lost in the playful painful haze of endless laughter. Thankfully, this didn't last long.

The boys let me down. Murphy stroked my hair. Both of them hugged and comforted me. "You're our Cabin Bitch for life," Murphy began. "We claim you."

As I was coming down from my high, I realized Gray lashed my left cheek, and Murphy hit the right. Left cheek, right cheek. Left cheek, right cheek. If you know the song, you're probably black or really like hip hop music. Booty Wurk was instantly stuck in my head, and I started laughing again.

Gray instructed me to go into his toy bag and pull out the dark chocolate, yet more Ghirardelli. We shared the treat between us three. As we enjoyed our sweetness, a bottom came on stage and asked for some, as well. We popped a piece it into their mouth, and they happily scurried away.

As the boys walked off, Ammre showed BendyYogaGirl how to do a trick on the aluminum loop. If you flip your body up just so, your weight will rest on the back of your hips and it will look like you're floating. After Bendy successfully performed the maneuver, I tried it. The best way for me to do it, as Ammre instructed, was to just have faith and flip.

So, I did. I was instantly cackling. It was amazing. Flipping back down, my head was deliciously floaty. But just as I was about to walk away, Ammre told me Gray was coming back over and I should do it again. Once again, full of faith, I flipped onto the ring and showed Gray. Murphy, who was still with him, took a picture, which is now featured on my FetLife page.

Back down on the ground, I was high beyond measure; I was gone. I sat on the edge of stage, blissfully floaty, as Gray came over to chat. We watched Celeste self suspend inverted, and jack off Slut with a Hitachi, as the favor was reciprocated.  That night was a good night for many at camp.
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