Saturday, June 30, 2012

Interrogation part 1

...and I stumbled forward, falling to my knees, my body twisted around. He pulled my hair more, bringing me back up, dragging me to under the wooden arch.

He placed his arm around my neck, choking me, keeping me close. He pulled out rope from somewhere, either in his pocket or simply in his free hand. He immediately secured my arms behind my back. As soon as he cinched, I recognized the feel: 4mm, hojo rope.

What had I gotten myself into?

He was not kind with his tying. He didn't care if it pinched or was pretty. As he drew the rope across my body, it bit into my skin. I felt the burn of his rope as he pulled through my arms and cinched tight against my torso.

As he worked, whipping me around like a rag doll, I struggled to keep balance. There were two blue mats under the arch, too big to fit side-by-side. At the center was a small peek.

As he moved me about, my unsteadiness in the heels showed. Thankfully I was able to lean my body against the side of the arch, trying to keep myself off the ground.

This only lasted a minute before he pulled me to the center, lifting the line up and securing it above. I was trapped, my arms behind my back, my legs unsteady, my torso bound, unable to flee.

He grabbed my left leg, threw a quick cuff around my thigh, and raised it up, securing the rope above again.

"Yes, that is your support leg." This was getting better and better.

I heard and saw his flourish with the knife, his butterfly knife, so pretty in its possibility for pain. He trailed the blade over my leg, and then stepped behind me.

I felt and heard the rip. He pulled off a piece of my shirt and fashioned a make shift gag, tying the fabric tight. No cheating with this one.

He cut at my shirt and skirt randomly, the pieces of fabric hanging off of me. And then he went for a bra strap.

"Please don't."
"What happened to full destroyables?"
"Fuck it, just do it." And he did, slicing through my bra.
"The wrong time to tell me to not cut your bra is in the middle of the scene."

I paid dearly for my mistake as he pinched my now exposed nipples in punishment.

With my outfit in tatters, he pulled the pieces of fabric through his chest tie, burning as his wrenched it all off. Note to self: Listen, remember, and NEVER wear an underwire bra when you're going to have your clothes riped off.

Now naked, save for his ropes, Gray decided to add some adornment. Strutting back to his bag, he lifted a glinting piece of metal. Stepping behind me again, his hand caressed my very wet pussy.

"Of course."

Using my own juices as lube, he slipped the ass hook into me. With yet another piece of hojo rope, where he pulled it from I do not know, he grabbed my curls and cinched tight. Tracing the rope down my back and through his chest tie, he secured my hair to my ass hook and then back up to my hair again.

This was not to be a pretty scene, or a sensual scene, or even a service scene. With my head now sitting up, my eyes were wide open.

I had never been in a scene such as this, with Gray or anyone else. So far, though, I was enjoying the ride.


He requested that I wear heels. As I walked towards his cabin, I tried to remember the mini lesson given to me before I departed for our play date.

Toe, heel. Toe, heel.

When I arrived, at 9pm on the dot, he shooed me away for a second. Inside he made one last decision with the help of two of his cabinmates. I put my fingers in my ears and hummed, not wanting the surprise to be spoiled. A moment later, he invited me in.

I grabbed his bag, and we were off... until he realized he'd forgotten something else. Back pedaling, he slipped inside and grabbed whatever it was. I slowly reversed my steps and waited, again.

I half expected he was trying to build up my anticipation, or anxiety. If he was, his actions were not necessary. I was already antsy, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

Everything finally ready, we started walking again. I took the steps down off the porch slowly, as well as my footfalls on the path past the cabins towards the Dungeon. I don't normally wear heels.

"What are your hard limits again?" Uh oh.
"Um... don't cut off any limbs. Don't shave my head. No bathroom funsies."
"Bathroom funsies?"
"Yes. Do you need me to explain?"
"No, we won't do anything that will require a bathroom."
"Okay. Um...No marks on my face, but bruises from slapping are fine."

I struggled to keep up with him as he trudged through the grass towards the class tent. The space was empty, save for the play equipment. He had me lay his bag on a wodden coffin.

Oh shit. Is this the day someone finally fucks with my fear of the dark?

Upzipping his bag, he began pulling out his toys. Some I recognized: the red strip cane, the paddle I christened, rope.

Some were new: his Ow stick, some small metal hooks.

Some were worrisome:
"Random question: Has anyone's nipple ever been riped off by nipple clamps?" I asked.
"No, not that I've ever heard of."

And then there were the ones that intrigued me: a small green zippered pouch,... and an ass hook.

As he displayed his wares, occasionally he looked up at me or asked me if he'd used whichever toy on me. I tried not to give too much of my emotions away.

I asked him if it was okay if I set my bag down. He instructed me to leave it by the tent pole behind me.

He asked me, if I didn't want him to give my aftercare, who should he find. On instinct, I said DeepEnd and SkinnyBitch. They were my cabinmates, and I had seen them right before I left.

I asked him when I should take off my glasses. He said now. I bent over and slipped them into my bag. I stood back up.

And then he grabbed my hair...

Friday, June 29, 2012

Cigar Play 201

"Cigar Play 201: Let's Burn Some Bitches!" - me

He skipped the simple intro. He skipped anything you could find on Google. That was not the point of the class.

From the start, Cigar Play 201 was about intensity. It was about expanding your base notion of what cigar play could look and feel like. This play was hotter than the cherry in his tobacco. It was the kind of play I loved.

He used his butterfly knife to cut his cigar, gripping his arm around her neck. Even the sound of his opening the blade, spinning it out from it's handle, was enough to illicit a twinge in my panties.

He used her as a "humandor", covering three cigars in a condom and slipping them inside of her. Sexy hillarity ensued throughout the class each time she moved.

He talked about ashing on different parts of the body. Ash on the bottom's body for sensation play. Ash on your own body and ordering them to lick it off. He ashed on her chest, which then cascaded down her front, with flecks ending up on his boot. She dutifully licked his leather clean.

He brought the cigar to her face, to her ear. He brought the hot cherry close to her skin. Though we could not see it, she heard it. The crackling of her hair being burned off.

One of my favorite topics came up: smoke in the hair. She had just recently washed hers, making it difficult for the smoke to appear.

He asked me to pinch hit. I put down my notebook, bopped forward, and bent over with my head of hair ready for use. He blew smoke in, the heat washing over me. The class liked the demo.

He briefly touched on smoke and ash as items in rituals. I noted this for later.

To enjoy a tasty treat, she first prepped her tongue, pooling saliva in her mouth. He then rolled his ash onto her tongue. He especially liked the sound it made, "like a fajita in your mouth."

For a bit of the dramatic, he held his lighter by the end of his cigar. His torch ignited, instead of puffing, he blew out. The gases built up in the cigar expelled, creating a flame at the end of his stick.

With a lump of hot ash in his hand, he gripped her hand over his. They burned together, nowhere else for the heat to escape but into their skin. They were marked together, a shared pain, a shared experience, a shared bond. I remembered that feeling.

He ended the class with an all encompassing demo. Using cat's paw, he secured her wrists to her legs. One hand served as a whiskey holder. Another was an ash tray. Her toes held his cigar. He used the three sticks in her pussy to fuck her. He allowed her to cum.

Class dismissed.

Off Campus

"I'm going out tomorrow to buy destroyable clothing."
"I don't think you understand the concept of destroyables?"
"Oh no, I do. It's just I don't own any clothes I want you to destroy, so I'm buying some for you to cut off."

We left around quarter after noon with a goal of returning by 4pm. I didn't think it would take us long, but it did. I'm really glad we left so early.

Slut and I were on a mission. I needed two sets of destroyable clothing, plus a list of items for various people. Also ManKracken! had suggested I attempt to make as many off campus runs as I could, seeing as I would be at camp for eight days. For my sanity, and to aid our friends, Slut and I went on a supplies run.

Heading out, we followed my GoogleMaps intructions to a random residential neighborhood. Speed bump. After some quick recalculations, we found our way to the shopping plaza.

We ate lunch at an Asian buffet and enjoyed the air conditioning in the three digit heat.

"We look like domestic abuse victims." That we did. My leopard spots were already developing.

After lunch was GoodWill, where I purchased a top, skirt, and dress for my two scenes that would include cutting off of my clothing.

"Be careful. Don't get attached to your destroyables." Thankfully I picked outfits Slut thought looked cute on me but I had no special attachment to.

After GoodWill was Wal-Mart; big fail there. No bug netting. No Ronson lighter. No softcups. We needed to make at least two more stops.

As I quickly found a CVS, Slut soon showed her fatigue. She stayed in the car as I dashed in and out. Emboldened by finding the last box of the needed feminine items, I searched still further for a cigar shop, needing supplies for Graydancer's Cigar Play 201 class, which started in an hour and a half.

I was so gleeful to find a tobacco shop five minutes away. My glee was soon replaced with devastation as I walked up to the window, looked inside, and realized the store was empty.

Searching again, I found another shop ten minutes away. Speeding, I then realized I needed to pay a six dollar toll to get there. But, once I got there, heaven. I found the lighter I needed, purchased a punch for myself, and took a bunch of cards to hand out to cigar folk.

We made it back on campus with just enough time for me to deliver supplies and hussle over to Gray's class.


I was nervous. Incredibly nervous. We chose a point out in the open, with everyone able to see me. We chose a point over concrete. If she fell and hit her head... We chose a point outside, with the Sun on a downward path.

I was nervous.

But Amethyst was my Big Sis, which both increased my worry but eased some of my fears.

This was to be practice. I needed practice, and she wanted to be in rope.

I needed to tie other bodies besides my own. I needed to understand how other people's parts worked. I needed to push myself.

So we chose Wednesday evening after dinner to play.

After gathering my things, I began setting up my point on the Y truss beside the Sex-o-Rama tents. The Sun was going down, but I knew I had plenty of time to work. I used every piece of webbing I owned to secure my ring at my preferred height. I locked off my knot and slipped a carabiner in as a safety.

Amethyst arrived, strecthed, and we began.

Going into this, she knew I would not be Ms. Dom-ly Domme. It is not in my nature anyway. Instead it turned into a playful conversation as I wound my hemp rope around her body.

At first I tried one hip harness, but she found this one to be uncomfortable and I didn't like the way it sat on her body.

I started again.

I chose a simple chest harness, adding a line over both of her shoulders.

And then it was time to lift. I did it slowly, hip and then chest and then legs. She sat back into it. Immediately she knew she couldn't stay long. It was the one rope over her shoulders. Instead of giving support, it made the chest piece uncomfortable. She was up for about a minute.

I got her safely down. I unwound my ropes. I asked her about the other pieces she sat in. How could I improve her experience for next time?

As I checked and coiled my ropes, I realized I had set myself up to fail. I wanted her to have this awesome rope-y experience. I wanted to be this awesome rigger who could get her up and keep her there forever.

But Big Sis is Big Sis for a reason. She reassured me. She comforted me.

I got her up and I got her down safely. This was practice, not some intense energy exchange or malicious pain acceptance. Just practice, and two friends getting to spend time together.

Every rigger starts somewhere. Amethyst was my first tie of the weekend.

Thursday, June 28, 2012


"She has an unfair advantage because she's British." - Gray
"I'm going to write a letter!" - Slut

I knew going in just how to act to get my way. I used the smile, the down turned head, the quiet eagerness to lure her in. I dropped into little mode, the fifteen year old girl inside of me wanting something I knew I couldn't ask for.

She was obviously interested in me, brushing against my skin, eyeing me up and down. She held rope, which I wanted on me. And she wanted to do the thing I couldn't ask for.

And when she asked me about it, I told her how much I liked it. I told her how I moaned and squirmed, and how I like it hard and soft. She seemed to like that.

Soon her rope was over my wrists, and I was over her knee. I loved the sound of her hand meeting my ass, loved being in someone else's control.

But then my Master caught us.

I groveled at his feet, tried to calm him down. He yelled at her, blaming her. When he asked me what happened, I told him I never said she could spank me, only that I really liked it.

My Master yelled some more. I stayed at my place on the floor.

I felt bad for the lady, felt bad that she had to suffer the anger of my Master, but I kept my mouth shut like a good little slave, except that night I wasn't one.


I love Gray's Apocalytakink class. I especially love it when I'm prompted to act in his scenarios.

For this particular ideration, I was to lure an unsuspecting Top into playing with me in a way that was specifically forbidden by my Master. Unfortuantely, Slut was chosen as the Top.

When she spanked me, Gray burst into the scene, acting as my Master, yelling at Slut for crossing a line she did not know existed. True to form, she stayed calm and tried to pivot the conversation.

The goal of this exercise was to have the class think about consent, explicit versus implied, as well as ways of "How To Not Be A Dick When A Dick Is In Your Face."

By staying calm and not letting the argument escalate, I think Slut handled herself brilliantly.

And, after the scenario ended, I apologized profusely. Afterall, no one can resist my temptations. [/sarcasm]

Never Said

[written beside a fire with the sexual energy of camp & the flames as inspiration]

~a poem~

I bite my lower lip,
the way I often do when I'm nervous,
and bounce on the edge of my toes.
But then I look at him,
And say it, finally...

"Gaze upon me as if I were a painting...
No, a steak...
No, your last meal;
each curve, each inch of my skin
your tongue's last morsel.

Touch me like plush,
Like velvet, clay,
each kneade,
each caress,
each glide of the tips of your fingers on my skin
shaping me closer to my true form.

Kiss me like your lips are on fire
and my mouth is your water.

Fuck me.

Fuck me like we are fire,
burning red hot for each other,
the flames of your tongue licking my skin,
the searing of your hands scorching lust over my body.
Fuck me like you don't care the day, time, place, or manner.

Fuck me like you want it,
need it,
crave it,
keep it.

Fuck me like I'm your landlord and rent is due tomorrow.

Fuck me like it's illegal.

Fuck me like you've been poisoned and my pussy is the antidote.

Fuck me like it's your last day on this earth.

Fuck me like you love me.
Fuck me like you love me.

Oh please, god, just fuck me..."

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Being Emotionally Honest

It is not easy for me to be emotionally honest. In fact it is one of the hardest things for me to do. So when I told a friend I needed to have a conversation with them, I knew it would be difficult. My inner pessismist thought it would go horribly wrong, that our friendship would shatter, and that things would never be the same.

So as I took a shower that evening, washing away the sweat from our setup work for the day, I was more than nervous. My stomach was actually in knots.

I got through it by reminding myself how much I worry, how much I often am not right about the percieved 'bad things' that will happen in my life. I reminded myself I was talking and spending time with a friend.

I reminded myself this was a good thing, a very good thing. I was owning my shit. I was being honest with my friend and myself.

Clean and ready for the hard talk, I met them at their cabin and we took a walk.

I had a plan all made. I even wrote it down.

The goals of the conversation were to continue our strong friendship, to inform my friend of my current headspace, and to understand why my actions after Fusion were going to change.

The conversation would have three parts: first I would talk about my swirly brain, then I would explain the meat of the issue, and last we would have a question and answer back and forth.

I started talking about my sessions with Doc. I talked about my parents as models for love. I talked about distance and accepting the little that you get because that is what my mind thought love was. That was the background.

As my friend sat on a bench outside of the Dungeon and I paced slightly, I then got to the meat of the issue. I told them how I cared for them as more than a friend, but our interactions were predicated on us being just friends.

And that is when my friend stopped me.

"You're not just a friend to me."

They used the example of Google+.

They talked about how people fit into certain circles. Some are acquaintances. Some are friends that they never fuck. Some are friends that they want to get to know more.

And there is this one circle. It's small. The circle with the people with which they can be emotionally open. The circle of people that, looking at their life in the next five to ten years, they can see those individuals there. I was in that circle.

So no, we were not just friends.

And so my perspective on our conversation changed. Because apparently my friend felt as I did. We were important to each other. Not partners, but important. Special. Not just friends.

With the third portion of my percieved plan thrown out the window, I pushed myself still further. I asked for three things. My friend was able to agree to one, would try to accomplish another, but would have to think on the last.

When I finally sat down, now relaxed, jitters competely gone, our conversation took yet another turn. I found myself talking about the life I wanted. I talked about wanting a Daddy, wanting to be married with children, but also having the freedom to be my slutty kinky self.

And then my friend cracked my brain.

"You know, every time you choose to come to these events, every time you choose to work so many hours so many days in a row, you are choosing a life that is not conducive to finding your Daddy, to starting a family."

I wanted to argue with my friend, but I didn't have a good response because part of me knew they were right.

We came back to this very subject on the last day of camp, in our last conversation over breakfast before we parted with a hug, a RopenSpace pin, and a knee in the ass.

Round 4

"I lost my earring."
"That wasn't a euphomism for sex?"
"No, I lost my earring, but we had sex after I found it."

I woke up on my own at 6:05am, quietly slipped out of bed, donned my clothes, and said a whispered bye to Pyro and Ron, neither of which heard me as they slept.

Returning to my cabin, I took notes on my evening and snoozed a little before it was time to head back to work. However, when I made my way to the Barn, no one had arrived yet.

Wandering down to the Dining Hall and HeadQuarters, I found friends. I greeted N3rddom, who would run the cafe for the weekend, and sat with the head of the Non-Dungeon setup crew. She informed me we would start after breakfast, which would be served in about an hour.

And then I absent-mindedly realized something: I was missing an earring. I texted Pyro, asking if he saw it. He replied, saying I should come look for it.

Bruises from my previous evening showed the others all the fun I had had. My crew lead encouraged me to go "find my earring" and meet them for breakfast later.

Walking up the hill, I again made my way to Sadists' Lair. Ron was getting ready while Pyro laid in bed. After a few minutes, we magically found both my earring and it's backing.

With thirty minutes before breakfast would begin, I decided to snooze with Pyro. But just snooze. I kept my underwear on as insurance. Ron left out as I slipped back into Pyro's bed.

But then five minutes into being next to Pyro, his soft sleep breath in my ear, I realized I wanted to fuck more. I gently laid one of his hands over one of my breasts. He instinctively massaged and pinched my nipple. But then he drifted back to resting.

Seeing that I needed to be bolder, I took his other hand, glided a finger into my mouth, and slipped his hand into my panties. He was now fully awake, rubbing my clit.

I asked him to bite my neck. He obliged, gripping hard, pulling with his teeth and sucking. Again I fucked his hand hard. Again I screamed to my heart's content. His teeth were all over my flesh. Pain mixed with pleasure.

But we were seriously time limited. When my alarm went off, I knew we had to stop, even though I didn't want to. I told him it was time to go.

But as I began to get off his bed, with his fingers still inside me, he redirected my body. I was now sitting on his hand.

"Cheater! You are such a cheater!"

I rode his hand harder, came harder. I didn't want to leave, didn't want his digits anywhere else but inside me.

But then my second alarm went off. I really had to go.

"Man, and now my panties are all wet."


"I swung by the Barn last night. It sounded like you were having fun."

I picked my blue H&M sundress because it was comfy, cute, and hugged all my curves the way I liked. I slipped on white knee high socks and my new-ish purple flats, rounding out the cuteness of my outfit.

Stepping out onto the porch, I cranked my flashlight and chatted nervously. We'd only played once before on a whim. This time I had been the instigator. And now all I could think was, Holy shit. This is going to happen.

The few of my cabinmates also on setup crew were amused by my jitters. To them I looked cute, and was about to play before the event officially started. They shooed me away, and told me to have fun.

Walking around camp when it was that dark and desserted was an odd feeling, but having a destination gave me some comfort.

I lightly took each step up to the cabin porch, and slowly opened the door. He laid on his bed, naked, typing on his phone. Apparently I had perfect timing. He was just about to hit send on a message for me.

I crept closer to his bed, sat down my bag, and leaned against his air mattress. We chatted for a moment, easing my jitters, before he pulled me onto the bed. I slipped off my shoes, and curled into him. We kissed and chatted some more, relaxing me still further, before his teeth sunk into me.

He bit and nipped at my flesh. I sighed and moaned. He slowly pulled up my dress. As we kissed, he attempted to unhook my bra, but found my multitude of hooks difficult. Finally freeing my breasts for his enjoyment, he pulled my dress and bra to just above my chest, partially trapping my arms. First he suck, and then bit my nipples.

He bit all over my body, exploring my flesh with his teeth. When his mouth found its way to my neck, I loved the feel so much I wrapped my arm around his head to keep him there. He began fingering my clit, finding I was already very wet. I asked permission to cum and he gave it.

Soon more fingers played inside me as he continued to grip at my flesh. The pleasure of his digits in me mixed with the excruciating pain of his bites to my Mons. "Fuck, I forgot you have the word 'Sadist' in your name."

I cried from the pain. I moaned from the pleasure. I asked his permission to cum again and again. "You're so greedy." I prefer to think of it is talented.

He made me wait, at first counting backwards from five. Then counting backwards from ten. And then counting backwards from 100. "97, 84, 72, 69, 54, 49, 34, 38, 23, 18, 9, pi, 2, cum!"

So vigorous was our fun that I found myself slipping off the side of his massive bed. We readjusted, thus ending round 1.

He pulled my dress and bra off of me. We were both breathing heavy, but neither of us wanted to stop. In a moment of respite, his lips met mine, parted, and fed me refreshment from his mouth. His tongue mixed with the cool drink. It was the only time I have ever enjoyed iced tea.

Joining me in the center of his bed, we went back to where we left off. His fingers in me. His teeth gnawing at me. He pushed me harder still, slapping my pussy, fingering my asshole as he fisted me, pinching and gripping at chunks of my flesh, pressure points, grabbing mounds of flesh and then biting his selections. He bit and fist fucked me deep. The pain increased. The orgasms rolled.

Round 2 ended because of a simple truth: it was getting late and we had setup in the morning. As much as I wanted to keep getting abused by Pyro, we both needed sleep. Snuggling up to him, we drifted off as SirRonC stepped into the cabin around 12:15am.

And then I felt soft hands on my hips, soft kisses on my shoulder. It was 1:15am, and Pyro was up for round 3.

I worried we would disturb Ron as we played, so I put a pillow over my mouth. Again Pyro's teeth sunk into me, his hand in my pussy, my orgasms rolling. I didn't want to wake Ron, so I stopped asking permission to cum, silencing my screams with the pillow. My body was happy to enjoy Pyro's manipultions yet again.

When I reclined my head back once, and saw Ron was not in fact in the cabin, I pushed the pillow aside and screamed to my heart's content. I locked my legs around Pyro's arm and began fucking his hand yet harder. He swiveled his body and I began sucking his cock as well.

Around 2am we stopped again. I needed to be up at 6:30am. Pyro set an alarm and was fast asleep.

I laid on the bed, naked, face down with my ass feeling the slight coolness in the air. When I felt like I was about to slip off into my dreams, I heard the cabin door open again. It was Ron. Once I heard him settle into his own bed, I slipped a blanket over my body and fell asleep.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

At the moment...

...I am kneeling, naked save for an asshook in my upturned rear, face to Graydancer's right boot while his left is on my back. In fact, I'm not actually typing this, but it is the absolute truth. I invited him to do an interrogation scene, and the net result is this entry which signifies his successful elicitation of my email and password to this blog. He had threatened that once he gained this information from me, he would post the following:

The Truth.

My readers will have heard me talk a lot about various riggers I've been around. Such as Big Bro, Graydancer, and others such as Scotty.

I've been very complimentary to these folks, and put up with their shit since I figured I could use them to learn how to do some pretty neat things.

However, the time has arrived where I am at an event where I have been suspending, tying, even jumping in and correcting Graydancer during his cigar play class. The fact is, I don't need these pretentious assholes and all their egomaniacal drama any more.

So finally, I can tell the truth about how I teally feel about these assholes.

For example, Gray is a man severely in decline. He has the typical middle-aged gut, and the obvious overweening desire to please common to men of a certain age desperate for attention. 
While I will certainly go into more detail about the scene later, as is my wont, for now, I leave you with the knowledge that even though I suspected he would put that up there, I went ahead and gave him the passwords anyway.

The funny thing is that at the end, I said "Ah, so that's what an interrogation scene is like." And I think, just for a moment, Gray might have wondered exactly who gained the most info during the last hour...

Ask For What You Want

"For some people, you can't be subtle."

It had been a long day. But, thankfully, it was also a uniquely cool Monday for June. We'd worked from noon to 7pm sorting equipment, boxes, and all manner of fun items for setup of the camp ground for Dark Odyssey: Fusion.

Now, though, it was time for dinner. I sat around a plastic table with plastic chairs eating fried chicken and listening to stories from veteran staff members. I was surprised at my luck for the seating arrangement: PyroSadist to my left and SirRonC to my right. It felt like I was the spoiled center of a hot guy sandwich.

As my fellow staff members chatted, I sat and listened intently. I love hearing tales of other people's kinky adventures, as well as all the tidbits you never read about in the event packet.

As the mostly male members of my table chatted, an interesting topic camp up. One gentleman spoke about how Pendragon couldn't tell when a particular girl was hitting on him for about forty-five minutes. The gentleman, thankfully, caught her before she left, explained the situation, and Pendragon and the girl eventually had fun.

Pyro then piped up, saying he suffered the same fate. I made a mental note of his comment, seeing as my leg had brushed up against his during our dinner a few times, yet he didn't seem to notice.

As things began winding down, with talk of people drinking and hanging out for the evening, Pyro politely took my plate for me. Good sign, I thought.

Before he slipped away too far, I got up from my chair and talked to him away from the group. Even as I spoke, even as I made myself ask for what I wanted, I couldn't believe the words came from my mouth. And even now, I can't believe I was so bold.

"Pyro, earlier you said you needed to be hit over the head, right?"
"So, sex tonight?" He smiled and kissed me.
"Mess around?"
"Okay." He smiled and kissed me again.

We agreed we both needed some time to rest and shower. Everyone was sweaty from our laborious day.

So, an hour and a half later, I donned my blue H&M sundress, my new purple flats, charged my flashlight, and made my way over to Sadists' Lair.


"It was great meeting you, even though it took til now."
"Yeah, well, that's life sometimes."
"Yes, but you're family."

My Father's Day was such a mindfuck on multiple different levels. I've already blogged about taking my brother to a sex shop (See: A Good Start). What I haven't talked about, though, is the cookout we went to before I happened to push my brother a step or two more towards sexual freedom.

I learned about the Father's Day cookout about two days before I attended it. My brother mentioned it over text, seeking out my company and a ride. I said yes because...well, I'm a good daughter. I figured I'd just suck it up and deal, even though I knew it would be awkward.

And awkward it was.

It was held at (wait for it) my step-cousin's house. My step mother's (still feels weird to say that) nephew's house.

The home was gorgeous. He obviously was well-to-do, with a two car garage, back patio, wood deck above it, and an in-ground pool, as well as enough lawn on the side of the house for a badminton net. Yet looking past the extravagance of the home, our cousin was quite welcoming, only pausing for a moment in our introduction.

As my brother and I found our father, made our plates, sat and ate, I looked around at all the faces I didn't know. Children, parents, grandparents. Drinking, swimming, laughing. It was...odd.

My brother, though, was completely at ease, having grown up knowing some of the folks in attendance, casually slipping into conversation with our step mother.

I just sat there, not knowing what to say or do, slowly eating my barbecue.

As people chatted, our step-cousin again came over. He and my brother some how stumbled upon the subject of cigars. They casually left to partake of their tobacco, leaving me alone to sink or swim as I would.

I sat, smiling, trying to not feel as awkward as I felt. When conversation didn't come, I found myself playing on my iPhone, reading political blogs.

Finally I couldn't take the long slow crawl towards an acceptable time to leave anymore. I got up to find my brother. He was, along with our cousin, just above my head, smoking their cigars on the wooden deck above.

As I crept out, I saw them relaxed and chatting. My cousin offered me one of his sticks and encouraged me to smoke with them. I accepted his cigar, but said I wouldn't smoke it then. Instead I wanted to save it for my upcoming camping trip.

I sat with them, finally able to slip into a conversation, finally relaxed. When my brother's cigar started forming a racetrack, I helped him fix it. When he wanted to save the last half of his smoke, I instructed him in the proper way to expel the gas and cut the cherry off.

Our father soon joined us. As we sat, our Dad began taking pictures of us. I'm sure it was a good moment for him.

And then, finally, it was time to go. Dad can't drive when it's dark and his exit was my hard limit for us staying.

As we departed, our cousin hugged me, gave me his phone number, and asked me to keep in touch.

"It was great meeting you, even though it took til now."
"Yeah, well, that's life sometimes," I quipped.
"Yes, but you're family."

His words struck me, because we were not related, at least not by blood, and he hadn't even known I existed a day ago. My brother later explained our cousin had grown up with both our older half brother and our half sister who died before we were born.

My brother suspected I looked like her.

Monday, June 18, 2012

e[lust] 37

Photo courtesy of Molly at Molly's Daily Kiss
Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #38? Start with the newly updated rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
~ Top 3 ~
Coming to Terms with Being Gay - From the time I was seven I was raised Mormon, which meant I wasn’t allowed to have a girlfriend until I was 16 or to have sex until I was married.
What I Want - I want to be humiliated. Call me a slut. Call me a whore. Slap my face. Expose me.
Dinner Party Entertainment - At that moment, J's eyes went wide--he finally realized I was leaving him there, tied to the bed.
~ Featured Post (Picked by Lilly) ~
My Abstinence Only “Sex Education” - The speakers were a married, Christian couple, and the man told us about how he had pledged to stay a virgin until he was married.
~ e[lust] Editress ~
Your Crappy Writing Turns Me Off - Your written words are your clothes, your power, your voice, your facial expressions and that by which we measure intelligence, personality and even attractiveness.
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
A New Found Respect for Bondage Educators Cunt: Healing sexual abuse Equal but DifferentFuck you. Without a condomHarper Eliot's Guide to Surviving Drop Alone PolyAnna's Musings: What About the Kids Settling down--bullshit free
Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor
Sweet Valley High Meets the Story of Oh My! Women's rape fantasies Why May is Nat'l Masturbation Month
Erotic Writing
Ache A Word on What Your Words Do to Me Anything the Lady Wants Breathless Cemetery Sex Dropped Call Fucking a Stranger’s Wife While He Watched Folly, part 4 Getting His Attention Jerk and Tug Jill's Look Back at Masturbation Month Like a Faggot Phontographs (fiction, part 1) Release Senses and Scents Spearmint Rhino Swing: Part I The Dance Touch Me, Tease Me
Kink & Fetish
Earning My Wings fantasy with beast/the train ride His first crop spanking Learn the rope of knots: Larks Head Popping my anal cherry Stress Relief Staying power The Cutting Edge Tie Me Up! ~ I think... Why chastity is hot What I Like and Why

Sunday, June 17, 2012

A Good Start

Today I took my brother to a sex shop.

No, I am not joking.

Yes, my brother.

Yes, a sex shop.

With dildos and lube and clothes and videos.

A sex shop.

Really, it was necessary. Since I've known and viewed him as an adult, he's been very sexually repressed, casting judgements on his predilections, too nervous to do what he obviously wanted to do.

I came out to him as kinky about a year or two ago. He just revealed his kink to me in the past few months. Baby steps.

Being that today was a Sunday, I wasn't sure the store would be open. But it was on the way to his house, so why not. We caught them thirty minutes before they closed.

When we walked in, one of the owners greeted us. She gave us a quick lay of the land, explaining where things were. And then we were off.

I let him roam ahead, let him find things. If he had a question, I answered it. I also interjected other facts I felt he should know.

I must admit, I was a little squicked as I did this. I still remember him as the little kid I met when I was fifteen and he was eleven. He's twenty-five now, attractive, a good guy. He deserves to be happy, so I sucked it up and helped out my Bro.

Eventually we ended up in the kink and fetish area.

"I swear, it's genetic!" - SkinnyBitch

I'm inclined to agree with her.

My brother selected an item. I, seizing upon the opportunity, also purchased something for myself. He kept wanting things in a specific color, and then he wanted things that vibrated. Eventually we found him an adequate toy and made our way back to the register.

Talking this time to the second owner, the husband of the married duo, there was a short lecture on lube.

"You always need more lube." - me

As we walked out, purchases in tow, I asked, "Now was that so hard?"

He pointed out there were no other people in the store, it was a Sunday, a holiday, and the owners were nice, so no it wasn't. Whether or not he'll be back though...

I hope he will. Baby steps.

It is my plan to drag him to a munch, and then eventually a happy hour. Maybe some day in the future we will have to coordinate events, making sure our paths don't cross. But, for now, a visit to a sex store is a good start.

This was definitely not an activity I expected to participate in ever, let alone on Father's Day.

We actually saw our father, and spent time with family I met for the first time today. But that is a story for another post.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Popping A Cherry

He had never fisted anyone before. For some reason, this surprised me.

He showed me his hands. He wondered if I was sure I could take him. I smiled and held back a chuckle.

We moved to near our original spot, though this time we would share a sheet with other friends. I laid my chuck on the floor. He found a glove and lube. In retrospect, I suppose I was already well slicked from fucking Slut, but in fisting using more lube is never a problem.

He started slow, fingering me with just a few digits. Because he'd never done this before, I thought I had to talk him through it. I asked the number of fingers inside of me. I requested he insert another.

And then I had to ask permission.

"Sir, may I cum?"
"Yes, you may."

My lesson ended there. He, in fact, needed no instruction.

I orgasmed two or three times just from his fingering. With his digits playing in my pussy, he explained he'd seen fistings before. (And, to be fair, I am well trained.)

With all of his fingers in place, I ushered him inside me.

"Push. Push. Push..."

And he was in.

And I was screaming his name, writhing in ecstasy.

Every time I felt the wave approaching, the warmth growing, I asked permission. And he always gave it...except once.

One time he said no. And I begged. I begged and begged just wanting to feel the muscles contract, feel the high from his manipulations in my pussy. And when finally said yes, I came so hard I almost cried. Tears built up in my eyes.

"I lurv da frl of you feestin mepussah."
"What was that?"
Less lost in the mumbling of a woman cumming, I said, "I love the feel of your fist in my pussy."

But then it was time for us to end.

He built up the rhythm of his fist fucking, pounding me harder and harder until once again I came, this time finally crying. My tears sweetly slid down my cheeks, kissing my skin as I screamed his name, thanking him for my orgasm.

I popped NHF's fisting cherry.

Audience Participation

"Who are you going to fuck with that?"

I had remained at NHF's knee, watching the various happenings, as Slut delighted in her scene with Dov. However we did have a play date set. Me and her, my vagina and her fist. This however was augmented when she approached me wearing her big blue cock.

With an audience of two in tow, NHF and a kinkster, and a service top to boot, my One Rope Partner, our little party moved towards the end of the room previously occupied by WykD_Dave & Clover who had since departed.

Laying down a sheet and a chuck, the fun began. Slut stripped off my clothes, and ORP began tying me. Using some hojo rope (oh, how delightful) he restrained my arms crossed behind my head. He also frogged both of my legs.

Slut playfully beat me with her big blue cock before slipping on a condom and lubing up.

And then began the fucking.

Slut and I have fucked before. In fact I broke in her big blue cock when she first bought it at last year's FetFest. As she pounded, and I screamed, I asked permission to cum. Thankfully, she gave it more often then not.

But, being as I was acting kind of bratty, and we both were in a playful mood, this would not be the only activity for our scene.

With a stroke of genius, Slut grabbed her knitting bag, pulled out some string, and wrapped it around my boots.

"But you're a puppy."
"I'm a puppy for some."
"You're a puppy playing with a pussy all wrapped up in string."

For my snark, Slut used her knitting needles to strike my nipples. And, when once again I ask permission to cum, she began punching my chest. Five hits. I waited, endured the pain, before I was finally given permission for my ecstasy.

As we were fucking on the sheet, I had completely forgotten we had an audience. That is until the audience members joined us on the floor.

NHF again wore his leather harness, but this time with no other clothing. The kinkster donned a strap-on. The pair, right next the fun Slut and I were having, enjoyed some fucking of their own.

As Slut and I continued our amorous interaction, I asked for a position change. My legs had begun to cramp. With a simple push, I ended up on my side. Slut then went back to our fun.

Soon, though, I had to end our fucking. Though my legs had had a momentary reprieve, they'd begun to cramp again, and now the strain on my neck had grown to more than noticeably uncomfortable.

Rolling me onto my back again, Slut and ORP began untying me. I looked over at NHF and the kinkster, who had since ended their time as well, and sought out aid.

Gaining permission to call him Sir again, I asked, "Sir, can you hold up my leg please?" His aid attained, being polite I uttered a "Thank you Sir" while trying to relax my legs and neck.

Soon I was free of my bindings, happy glowy from my time with Slut and her big blue cock.

But there were still more orgasms in my future Sunday evening.

A Good Friend

Connection. Appreciation. Care. Love.

Watching WykD_Dave & Clover play Sunday night in a small side room of the dungeon was so powerful, so moving, I started crying. Seeing what they had. Remembering what I didn't.

Quickly and quietly, I slipped out of the space, grabbed a tissue from the rest room, and re-entered, taking my seat again. I wiped away my tears. I brought myself back.

NHF had not seen me when he first entered the room. Didn't see me as he surveyed the space. He chose a seat across the doorway from me, close to the opposite corner, and watched the rope scene as well.

I remained as I was, a quiet little church mouse taking in the play.

But when I returned and sat again, I suspected he saw me. It wasn't until I looked up and over at him that our eyes met. I gave him a smile.

He, in turn, pointed at me and with his index finger beckoned me over. I got up from my seat and quietly scurried towards him. His finger now pointing down towards the ground, I knew my spot.

My head was soon on his knee.

I didn't know if he saw me cry, didn't know if he gave the silent command because of my strong reaction or just because he knew I'd want it. But I do know being at his knee made me feel better.

He is not my Sir, nor is he my Daddy, but in that moment NHF was a good friend.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012


After tapping my pinkie toe and assuring Veskrashen I was fine. After dinner, Chicago style pizza with friends at a nearby restaurant. After showering, getting ready, and chugging a Sparx. After my afternoon, it was time for my evening.

For Sunday night, I donned a new dress. It was a black, tight, cotton stretch with ripped pieces of fabric woven like ladders on the front and back. And of course I wore my boots.

Casually wandering through the dungeon, I saw Veskrashen again. He greeted me with punches to my chest, a short little warm up for my evening.

My appetite wetted, he pointed towards Celeste, who was wearing a beautiful corset dress. After glimpsing her outfit, I stopped, leaned against a pillar, and watched a few scenes as they played out under a four point rig. A few of my friends were doing some suspensions.

After watching them for a while, I decided to be adventurous. Slowly I turned around, taking in the other scenes in progress in the dungeon. I glimpsed Scotty and NHF, but decided to keep looking.

And then I saw him again. Roughinamorato.

Directly across the dungeon, about thirty feet away. Once again, he only occupied an empty area with a sheet beneath him.

This time he played with a beautiful black woman with short hair. She too had her arms secured behind her back with a chest harness.

Like before, his play was all rough body work. He punched her, kneed and kicked her. He used the harness to pick her up and throw her down. He slapped her, but not just blows across the face. He mixed his hits with teasing kisses, lips so close, lips touching, and then a slap across her cheek.

Again, I couldn't take my eyes off of them. Again, I was mesmerized. And as I sat on the floor, my eyes glued to their scene, it hit me.

Yes! That is what I want.

The hard hits. The body thumping, brutal play. The teasing and denial. The meanness, but with connection. That was what I wanted. That was how I imagined my play with my Daddy...when he finds me.

My spot was great for watching them, unless/until someone decided to walk right in front of my eye line. Or didn't see me, because I sat on the ground, and lingered in front of my view. Or participants in the closer scene, on a rig slightly to my right, stepped into my gaze.

But, much like last time, I did not catch him at the beginning of his play. Instead I started watching somewhere in the middle. Rough's scene, while amazing and intense, still had to end at some point.

And, when he did, I had to find some other way to fill my evening.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Torturous Rope

"Little different from the last class." - ORP
"Yeah, but it's still one rope." - Veskrashen

As I squirmed on the ground in excruciating pain, intermittently crying and laughing, Veskrashen, my current class partner, and my previous partner from the proceeding lesson, WykD_Dave & Clover's One Rope, uttered that perfect exchange above.

Yes, our current lesson was a little different, transitioning from simplicity, sensuality, and deep connection in One Rope to here's some ways to easily fuck someone up in Scott Smith's Torturous Rope.

Note the name of the class: Torturous Rope. Apparently that part where it says Torturous kind of just went over my head as I encouraged my rather sadistic friend Veskrashen to attend the class with me and be my partner.

We had shared a rather emotional lunch, talking about heady things in our lives, and frankly I wanted us to have some fun. I didn't realize he'd attended WykD_Dave & Clover's class too until the end; those ninety minutes were that intense. This little gem of a fact made the above comment all the more appropriate.

The first thing Scott taught us was so very simple, yet so very effective. Larks head around the ankle, under hand knot around the pinkie toe, find a straight line, and pull. Forgetting my previous toe issues, I instantly screamed out in pain, cursing Veskrashen.

"Our first motherfucker of the class," exclaimed Scott. Apparently my pain pleased him. Oh, who am I kidding? Scott is a sadistic motherfucker; of course my pain pleased him.

Scott's next tie was so dubbed 'The Tie That Made Bendy Puke.' Yeah, I was really looking forward to this one.

First you wrap your parachord around the ankle and secure it with a bowline on a bite in the front. Next you find a pressure point on the top of the foot, "the crunchy spot", knot the rope just above it, split the lines, wrap around the foot, come back up and diamond through the two lines you've created. There was now a knot right over that pressure point making pain happen.

Pulling up, you twist your two lines, and place them through the second and third toe (another pressure point). Next, split the lines and go around either side of the heel, catching the Achilles tendon, ending up back on the top of the foot. Run each line over to their far sides, catch the heel line, and pull back up to the top of the foot, applying pressure to the Achilles. To finish, over hand knot on top of your first knot.

As many people cried out in pain multiple times during this process, including myself, Scott bemoaned, "I've so got to order some more pity. I've been out for years." Yup, Scott; sadistic motherfucker.

Scott's third tie involved wrapping parachord around the face, catching the underside of the nose. I'm not even going there, though I will say it was my least torturous experience in the class. This is probably because some years ago a shoulder running by slammed into my face, centering on my nose. Nothing was broken, but it's kind of hard to top that pain.

Scott's fourth and fifth ties were quite similar, involving the same technique: constricting muscles. Attacking now the calf, Scott explained how to larks head and use reverse tension to inflict your will, adding more constriction as you went. With one of his bottom's calves tied tight like a baked ham, Scott decided to mix things up, massaging her leg.

"They really like that sensual shit."

Yup, she didn't.

Of course Veskrashen, being Veskrashen, came up with the brilliant idea to tie the Bendy tie to the calf tie, creating new worlds of pain. Thankfully he only had one piece of borrowed parachord, saving me from such a fate.

One of my funnier moments of the class occurred as I tried to keep up with Scott's lessons. Even as Veskrashen incited screams of agony, I still took notes. After all, I was taking the class too and wanted to be able to recreate the ties as well. And, yah know, Teacher's Pet.

Once, as I was jotting down the steps, Veskrashen cinched his rope tight. I heaved in air, but still tried to keep writing, forcing myself to not focus on the pain. Then, of course, either Scott or Veskrashen (I can't remember who because of how bad I was hurting) started taunting me, reminding me I needed to keep taking notes.

A room full of sick motherfuckers and their willing victims. Yet another fun class for my Sunday.

Monday, June 11, 2012


As soon as I saw him, I thought Shit, here we go again.

He fit a type I like: tall, broad shoulders, attractive face, and funny. He was to be my crew chief for the day and this was a ten hour call.

Still, there were many distractions. First, and most prominently, there was the Sun, which beat down on us all day. The few times we were granted reprieve included under the couple of trees shading our resting area, when the stage canopy was still up (it was gone before lunch), and the passing moments when clouds magically appeared to aid us or an errant breeze kissed our skins.

Then there was the work itself. Highly physical, sweaty work. Lift this. Move that. Push this. Disassemble that. All day. The danger of falling off the stage after we'd removed the decks. The multiple fork lifts criss-crossing the area. The rental trucks from other companies coming to pick up their gear. There was a lot going on.

But still, I knew it would happen. I started stealing glances at him, and I smiled to myself, and BAM! another crush was born.

Many hours later, it dulled. I saw how he was with other women, two other women. I saw the familiar nature, the flirting. And it dawned on me: I wasn't his type.

But there was a moment that stuck with me.

With about ten minutes left on our fifteen minute break, I sat on the grass and leaned my back up against a tree. It wasn't luxurious, but it was enough. I closed my eyes. I breathed in deep. I let myself drift, my mind floating to the voices I heard around me.

And then, for some unknown reason, I opened my eyes. He sat not five feet in front of me on the bench of a picnic table. He had been quiet the entire time. I never knew he was there.

I smiled a little, and then closed my eyes again.

I imagined him grabbing my hair, pulling me over, and resting my head on his knee. I knew this would never ever happen, but it was a great day dream.

Soon we were back to work. He flirted with other women, but never me. I did my job well. And, many hours later, I was cut and went home.

We never engaged in a full conversation. I never learned his real name; he was always referred to by a nickname. I don't know where he lives, or if I'll ever work with or see him again.

But I still remember his face, his frame. I still remember that day dream. And I glimpsed that he wore a tongue ring...

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Yes And...

There were three rules. There were three skills. And there was a whole lot of fun.

I overslept Sunday, the last full day of my Shibaricon. My roommates decided to have an amorous encounter at 3:45am the night before, so I put in my head phones and turned the music up. This was great for canceling out their utterances and allowing me to sleep. It was also helpful for me not hearing them get up or hearing them leave.

When my eyes finally opened, it was 10:45am. I had already missed my morning yoga practice and most of the first class session. I took a quick shower, threw on a school outfit, and rushed downstairs.

But, once I was there, I was left with a question: What class should I take?

On a whim, I walked into Lqqkout's Evening At The Rope Improv. With my theatre background, and having attended a class by Lqqkout before, I knew I was in for a treat.

Settled on a sheet in the middle of the room, with an acquaintance sharing the space, the class began...but not before a double rock star salute from BendyYogaGirl and Lqqkout.

So, the three rules:

1- Say Yes And...

Lqqkout spoke about excepting the reality created by your partner and then beginning the collaborative process from the start of the scene. As each person adds new information, see where it takes you. Be open. Be honest. Just say/do it.

2- Don't Block

Denial destroys scenes. Instead of avoiding, go there. Don't play it safe by maintaining complete control and avoiding vulnerability; if you do, you can't move forward. Instead embrace the fear and be brave.

And 3- Listen and Respond.

Listen to what someone says and how they say it. How is your partner communicating with you? Respond and react to this new information. Don't think about it; just go off of instinct. Improv scenes are all about the right now.

The three skills:

1 - Mid-scene Negotiation

This, by far, drew the majority of comments from the class.

Lqqkout was quite clear in that this skill is a varsity level technique and no one should expect it to work every time. Obviously if something is a boundary, don't push it.

But what if something was not mentioned? Try bringing it up lightly, staying in the shallow water. Do not jump into the deep end. Remember: big risk, big danger; small risk, small danger. Tread lightly; tread slowly.

Remember to establish a communication protocol from the start, and know what each person wants from the scene to begin with.

2- Flexible Expectations

With your wants for the scene established, what happens if the scene goes somewhere you had not expected? How important is your goal for the scene? How much do you need to meet it? Be honest about your wants. Be prepared for disappointment. And, once the scene is over, after a time give feedback.

And 3- Freestyle Rope.

In rope improv, you will do ties you haven't done before. It's improvisational; that's the point. Go with it. Embrace your creativity and stick with your instinct. Tie what needs to be tied for the situation. Pull from your tool kit the ties you know without thinking. Work with what you have, but never hold back from trying something new.

And so it was, after our discussion of rules and skills, we all had our own improv rope scenes. I forget why, but I asked my acquaintance if I could bottom to them. We were both switches, but for some reason I was in a bottom head space. They were happy to oblige.

As we began, Lqqkout challenged us to act in our scene unlike we had ever before. Thus I thought, How do I normally act in rope scenes? I give nonverbal communication. Sighs. Moans. Moving my body. What if I just talk?

As my acquaintance tied, I did just that. They tied my arms behind my back. That was nice. They used a jute rope which had a pleasing bite to it. They tied around my leg. I asked them to tie it tighter. Tighter. Thank you.

I enjoyed the constraint of the rope against my body, enjoyed having a conversation as they worked. It was different, very different from any other rope centered scene I'd ever had before.

Thinking about the rules and skills of the class, I saw how much this could translate into my play, both with rope and other kinky scenes.

Evening At The Rope Improv; my grade for the class, A+.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Drunk Blogging

My roommate DeepEnd makes the BEST Long Island Ice Teas.

Haven't done this in a while. Blogging while I'm drunk. But I didn't want to go to bed without blogging, cause if I wait til tomorrow morning, I'll either blog or run on the treadnill, but not both cause then I'd have to wake up way early.

I was SO horny today that I masturbated for like an hour. And then my roommates made fun of me because I was worried they'd be like offended by the noise, cause I can get loud, what with the screaming and stuff. But then SkinnyBitch was like, "The first time I hung out with you a guy hand his fist inside you for like two hours." And I was like, "But ya'll know I'm uber polite." And it was funny.

Amethyst makes the best Crescent rolls. They were just what I needed when I was lying on the couch watching Private Practice for a few hours.

Before I was downstairs practicing my self suspension, before the Long Island cause only stupid people rig when they're drunk. Yeah, so I practiced tying myself and I totally rocked it. I got myself in a sideways suspension and was on the ground tying my left leg into a Futomomo (learned that term at Shibaricon), and then pulled myself up and secured my hip harness and tied my leg up and was like, "Yeah. This is awesome." And I tied a one-handed ankle cuff on my right leg and attached the wraps around my chest to my ring and pulled up and ankle and it looked so cool. And then I realized I had no one around to take a picture, and that kinda sucked, but then I remembered I'm going to Fusion and I was like, "Yah know what, I'll do this again there and get someone to take a picture." Cause I don't have any pictures of my tying myself and no one knows you're a rigger, let alone an awesome one, unless you have pictures of your work.

I'm suppose to be tying two of my friends at Fusion. And tying myself. And hopefully getting tied. Yeah, I think my Fusion gonna be awesome.

I was talking about it with the Gent today. He called me, cause I had a nightmare about him and woke up and texted him and he told me he was okay and that made me feel better. But then he was busy tonight so I couldn't see him. But then he called and my new iPhone 4s was being stupid and he mistakenly hung up on me and I was screaming at my phone in DeepEnd's care and SkinnyBitch was like, "You know that's inanimate (wow, I think I spelled that right) object and it can't hear you." And then DeepEnd was like, "Yes it can. My phone has an app that responds to when I yell." And I would have found their conversation really funny except I hadn't talked to the Gent in a really long time. But then I got him back. And we talked for a little.

He's not coming to Fusion. I had this awesome fantasy of him magically appearing, possibly at my abduction, but that's why I called it a fantasy, cause it's totally not going to happen. But at least I'll get to see him when he's back from his work trip.

So yeah, I'm gonna have an abduction at Fusion. That, I'm sure is gonna be an awesome blog post. This one...I don't know about. But then again the last time I did this, which was like a long time ago, people seemed to like it. So yeah.

PS. So my friend's blog, no two of his blogs, cause he has like three, were hacked and I'm not happy about that. I read his blog. I like his blog. I really like his blog cause then I get to read his thoughts on stuff and he's really insightful and wise. And it gives me a piece of his life while he's far away and busy. So whatever this Saudi Terrorist bullshit hacking of my friend's sites is needs to go away so I can have my blog posts back. Dammit!

Okay, time for bed. I have work tomorrow. And Sunday. And family obligations Monday. So I should, well, sleep. Yeah, that. And then wake up and run on the treadmill because it makes me happy. Not because I love it when people notice I've lost weight. Or when my clothes fit better. Or when it's easier for me to suspend myself. Or that I feel more sexually confident the fitter my body gets.

Yeah, sleep now. Stop typing, Kristen.

So SkinnyBitch introduced me to My Drunk Kitchen on YouTube. I'm probably gonna watch those tomorrow. And then read this blog, cause I'm not gonna spell check it or anything. Cause, well, I'm drunk and it's more funny this way.

Once every couple of months makes this refreshing, right? Not, like, stupid, I hope.

Bed now.

So there is this guy... NO! Bed now.

Friday, June 8, 2012


My scene finished with NHF, I again found my head on his knee. We both relaxed by the wall, he in his chair and me on the floor, coming down from the high of our intense interaction.

As I rested there next to him, by chance I had looked over in the corner nearest us and had begun watching an intense impact scene.

Noticing my locked stare, NHF leaned down and whispered in my ear.

"That's Roughinamorato. I love to watch him play."

I had never heard of Roughinamorato before, could not recall ever seeing his face, let alone watching him play. And yet as I sat there, gripping NHF's knee, I was mesmerized.

And even as NHF walked away, I stayed. 

I pulled out my notebook and began jotting down bullet points from our scene, my way of processing the play and solidifying the memories for later.

Yet as I wanted to write, absolutely needed to write, I found myself often stopping to watch Roughinamorato beat on a beautiful woman.

His target was the body of a gorgeous young lady with long brown hair, her arms secured behind her back in a chest harness. They played in a empty corner, just a sheet underneath them.

My gaze was first drawn to them because of a loud pop! that cracked throughout the dungeon. Rough was using long clown balloons in some odd fashion.

At first I was upset by the noise, annoyed even; I was, after all, coming down from an intense scene. But then again because of the noise I had looked over and saw them, saw him, so maybe it wasn't so bad.

As I watched him, he mercilessly punched the woman's chest. He kneed her ass. He pulled her this way and that, using the chest harness to toss her around, pick her up and throw her down. His hand around her neck, he squeezed, even as his lips teased her, so close to her mouth.

As I sat watching, a burning urge grew inside me. I wanted to see them kiss. Wanted to see his lips on hers. Even as he held back her breath, his mouth never quite touching hers, I wanted to see that release.

It was obvious I had begun to watch their scene more than half way in. 
Still, I pulled my eyes away, quickly lowered my head, and walked myself step-by-step through the flashes of my scene in my mind. I worried if I watched Rough for too long, I would begin to loose bits and pieces of my own play. When I looked up again, the woman was folding up the sheet; their scene was over.

I was grateful for the now lack of distraction, yet sad that I'd only gotten a taste of seeing Rough's work. Soon after they departed, I walked upstairs to finish my writing, wanting no other scenes to draw my eye or mind away from my notes.

Saturday night, however, was not the only time I saw Roughinamorato play.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Earning My Wings

As I sat on the floor beside NHF, my head resting on his knee, his hand naturally went to my hair. At first he gently stroked my locks. Then he gripped my strands and began to pull. He alternated between a light and rough touch. I closed my eyes, soaking in the feeling.

Gripping my hair, he pulled my head, guiding me in between his legs, positioning me over his right boot. While wrenching my curls, he began tapping his boot, lifting the toe up to my clit. He teased me so, combining his rough hair pulls with his boot slapping my pussy.

As he warmed me up, I heard NHF speak. Without my realizing it, Scotty had come over and sat near us. As NHF continued to pull my hair and tease me, he spoke to Scotty, telling him about our planned scene. As much as I wanted to greet Scotty properly, I was...occupied.

Guiding me by my hair again, NHF positioned my body over his knee.

"Get comfortable."

My chest rested on his thigh as I braced myself for what I knew was to come. His spanks started softly, sensuously. Then he increased his intensity. Finished, for now, with my ass, he told me to sit as I had before, but now in between his legs. My head on his knee, I went back to watching the motorcycle suspension. NHF's hand found it's way back to softly caressing my hair.

As I watched the wacky scene, I felt the gentle touch of NHF's fingertips against my arm. My bra strap had slipped down. Lightly he tucked it back up under my vest.

When it seemed like the rig would soon free up, NHF told me to go get some paper towels. I scurried through the dungeon, retrieved them, and returned. I offered the towels to him, and asked if I could again sit by his knee. He granted my request, grabbing me by my hair and pulling me back down to the floor.

As the motorcycle suspension finished up, NHF prepared for our play. Standing, he went to his toy bag and laid out his floggers and his leather harness. Instead of having me rig his carabiner, he enlisted a friend to help. With a length of rope, his friend attached the carabiner to the top of the rig.

When NHF was finished, he approached me. I had remained seated on the floor by his chair. His tall broad frame towered over me. Reaching down, he offered his hand to help me stand. I accepted it, planting my feet, standing with his assistance. Still holding my hand, he led me to under his rig.

Standing in front of me, NHF slowly unbuttoned my vest. Hooking his finger into one side, he slid the fabric off one arm, slowly walked around me, and loosed the fabric from my other arm. Standing behind me, he unhooked my bra and dragged it across my body.

Once back in front of me, he spoke.

"Remove my leather. Don't let it touch the ground."

He wore a leather vest. I got behind him, hooked my fingers into each side, and slid the piece off in one long languid motion. Removed, I held his vest to my chest. He took off his shirt, and handed it to me as well. Telling me to put his things aside, he instructed me to get his harness.

Using his chair, I put down his leather vest and his shirt, picked up his harness, and rushed back to him.

"You're going to help me put this on."

Unsnapping one side, he pulled his leather on over his arms. Following the line of the leather harness, I found the snap behind his back and secured it.

"Go get your underwear."

Once again rushing over to our things, I pulled out my pair of red panties, the same ones I'd flung earlier during the Cabaret. When I returned to under the rig, it was time for the rest of my clothes to come off.

But first, before my final disrobing, NHF lightly grazed, and then pinched my nipples. Ratcheting up the pain, he pinched and pinched until finally I broke out in a scream.

"That's it. That's what I want to hear."

Again he abused my nipples until once more I cried out. He loved to hear my screams.

Trailing his hands down my body, NHF now wished to remove my red rope. I'd wound my hemp around my hips, split it at the middle, and wrapped around my legs, all the way down to my boots.

Finding the ends at my heels, he started with my right leg, untying the hemp. When he reached my skin, he slowly dragged the rope across it. I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and drunk in the feel of the rope. He repeated the process on my left leg. As he neared the end, he took care to pull the hemp across my chest, scissoring over my nipples.

"Take off your boxers. Put on your underwear."

He stood on my left as I bent down, presenting my ass, and slid my black boxers down. Slowly I lifted one boot, and then the other, out of my boxers. Carefully I stepped into the legs of my panties and slid them up over my ass, arching my back as I stood up.

"Don't move."

Taking my boxers, NHF put them aside, as well as my rope, and returned with his own coil of jute. After first showing me how he wanted my wrists, he tied a two column tie and pulled my arms over and behind my head. He wrapped the excess thrice around my chest under my breasts.

Slipping his fingers under the wraps, he pulled me in close. Gripping my hair, he first punched my back and then kneed my ass.

Releasing my strands, he unwrapped the rope, dragging the jute across my chest. Brushing the rope across my face, he raised his jute to his carabiner, tying my hands above my head. It was time for his toys.

Starting with the medium flogger, he danced the leather over my face. I took in the scent, the touch of the straps. Stepping back, he began his strokes softly. Slowly gearing up, the hits at first felt like a warm massage. But then he hit harder. And harder. Once good whack made me tear up. He checked in with me, making sure I was okay. I was, but I knew what was to come.

His strokes became wallops as the flogger pounded my upper back and shoulder blades. A few tears fell and I gave a small wail.

"That's it. That's what I want."

Grabbing my shoulder, he turned me to the right. After a quick warm up, again he applied his punishing blows. Gripping my hair, his lips to my ear, he gave his praise, turned me, and beat me again. Through my cries, through my tears, I still heard his voice.

Finished with his first flogger, he grabbed my hair and once again kneed my ass.

"You take a beating so well. You like this, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I could fuck you right now if I wanted to."
"Yes, Sir."
"I could bend you over and pound you right here."
"Yes, Sir."

Next came the thick aromatic flogger. Like the first, his initial blows were comforting. But, soon enough, his intensity increased. With his hardest strokes, I began to wail. This pleased him still more. Again he turned my body, hit me hard, praised my pain, turned me, and beat me again.

The stronger my wails grew, the more he praised me. A constant chorus of "good girl" spilled from his lips.

So happy was he with my pain that, when he finished with his second flogger, he grabbed my hair and pulled, not releasing me til I screamed.

"You know what's coming next."
"Yes, Sir," I said through my now stuffed up nose and free flowing tears.
"You take this and then I'll let you down."
"Yes, Sir."

It was time for his third and final flogger. Stiff straps of leather brushed against my back. My skin was raw enough now that just the feel of them hurt me so. Even as he began softly, I cried. I knew I would take more, but just the feel of them, the lightest of brushes gracing my skin, was painful.

With his first good hit, I let out a wail. Gripping my shoulder, he turned me and let loose with a punishing set of blows culminating with two incredibly hard hits. I burst out sobbing, tears flowing, wailing out my pain. Grabbing my hair, his voice was once more in my ear.

"I want you to take another set. I want you to either take the hits or I want to hear you scream."

He turned me. I knew they were coming. I had not stopped crying. He again gave me a few hits to prepare myself. And then three intense walloping hits were the end. I sobbed uncontrollably. I wailed. I cried. I hyperventilated. I didn't know if I would ever catch my breath.

"Good girl. Good girl."

He stood in front of me, his flogger somewhere else. Quickly he untied my wrist rope from his carabiner and allowed me to slowly lower my hands. Removing his jute, he said, "Don't move." I stood in the middle of the rig, still crying, feeling alone though I could hear the sea of people in the dungeon.

"I've got you." He returned with paper towels in tow. Wiping away my snot and my tears, I kept saying, "Thank Sir," for his kindness.

"Sit down on your butt."

Getting down on the floor, I sat on the carpet. Sitting behind me, he encircled me with his legs and laced his arm around my neck.

"Raise your arm."

He squeezed my neck. I remembered from the last time we played to turn my head slightly and make myself, with all my might, keep my arm up. Like the time before, I felt the tingling in my forearm, but I refused to let it fall.

And then the world went black.

In a flash of images, I saw something...but I can't remember what. I was somewhere else, in a different reality that felt as true as any.

And then I opened my eyes and saw a ceiling. What? What? Where am I? Was that a dream? That dream wasn't real?

"Do you know where you are? Do you know where you are!?!"

And then it all came back to me. I felt his arms around me, his body next to mine, heard his voice, and I remembered.

"Shi...Shibaricon! Shibaricon!"
"It's okay. You're okay. Come here."

He laid down on the floor. I splayed across his chest, holding him tight, finding my breath and myself again.

"Do you feel safe?"

And then it was his turn to cry. I held him tighter as we cuddled on the floor.

Later, when I glimpsed my bruises from our scene, they made me think of wings. They were a pair of wings I had more than earned.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Patiently Waited

I saw him in the hall among the crowd as I briskly exited the Cabaret.

"Hey, I just need to give a friend a band aid and I'll be right back."

When I returned, he was standing right where I left him, talking with friends. There remained a large mass of people in the hallway.

As we stood, talking over the din, I spoke to him about my reactions in scenes. I told him about the sobbing, the tears, the snot. I informed him this type of reaction would most definitely happen, but also reassured him it was a good sign.

With the crush of people around us, he wished to move into the dungeon proper to talk more. Walking through the crowd, the sea parted for him. I followed behind.

We settled in a corner of the dungeon free of equipment in what was section seven of Ropen Space. Sitting on the carpeted floor, we were able to hear each other more clearly.

The subject of marks arose. I love bruises, but asked none be given to my face. In a shared moment of bragging, he lifted his shirt to show his whip marks, and I in turn pulled up my shirt and twisted my head to show my marks from a Handsaw scene.

I spoke about how I loved impact: punching, kicking, elbows, knees. He obviously knew I loved rope. He confessed he was not confident in his rope work. I imparted a helpful fact: I would keep my eyes closed for the majority of our play.

He told me his plan for what was to happen. He would tie me up in possibly a simple chest harness, flog me with three separate floggers, and then knock me out.

He pulled out his toys from his bag. The first was leather with a moderate amount of tales. The second was soft supple leather but with many more straps than the first. The third was hard, stiff; I knew it would be very stingy.

Then came the question of language.

"You can call me Sir, not Daddy. Daddy denotes a relationship and deep meaning."
"Yes. Actually I'm looking for my Daddy, and you're not him."
"Yes, but you want a leather Daddy. That's why you like me."
With my head bent down, and biting my lip, I sheepishly said, "Yes."

Then it was my turn to talk about language.

"You can call me bitch, slut, cunt. Anything sexual is fine with me, but don't call me stupid or anything like that. I won't buy it. I know I'm smart and it'll take me right out of the scene. Actually, I really love being called a 'good girl.'"

Our plan made, with a shared awareness of where not to tread, we sought out a place to play. But, as we walked through the dungeon, every piece of equipment was filled. Heading into the hallway, again bursting with people, we checked all the smaller side rooms. There too each piece of play equipment was occupied.

Heading back into the main dungeon, again through the sea of humanity, for a moment people got in between us. When I did catch up to him, I slipped my hand into his.

"Don't want to loose you."
"Right. People seem to get out of my way."

Standing almost a foot taller than me, with a brood frame to match his height, yes the crowd of rope enthusiasts parted for him.

I must confess: I really liked holding his hand as we walked through the crowd.

With no better option left to us, he chose a rig for which we would wait. Next to his chosen frame sat a stack of chairs. He pulled down one for himself and invited me to sit as well.

"Umm, may I sit on the floor with my head on your knee?"

He gave his consent.

The rig we wished to occupy was currently home to a motorcycle suspension, a clever scene that included projections, a helmet, and gloves.

With NHF seated in a chair, and my head on his knee, we patiently waited our turn.


There were two moments that struck me during Graydancer's Cabaret. And they just happened to be during back-to-back performances.

As DoNotGoGently slowly walked towards the stage, I at first admired the rope work on her body. With lines hanging off her shoulders, as well as by her hips, the intricacy of the rope-as-clothing was beautiful.

So too was her dancing. DNGG performed a modern dance style piece, a chair at center stage her focus. It represented a past, I suppose. At least, it felt like it did to me.

As she danced to a song whose lyrics I barely remember, I do recall one part. It spoke about being tied to someone. I think it was Sarah McLaughlin singing, or that could've been someone else's piece.

What I remember most vividly, though, was how I felt as she danced. My eyes welled up. My heart filled. My sight did not leave her body, even as the tears rolled down my face.

There was hurt, but there was hope. There was sorrow, yet serenity. It was as if she said, "I hurt now, but I will not hurt forever."

As she finished, I used a pair of red underwear, which I'd thrown at Big Bro after his song that opened the Cabaret, to wipe away my tears. I bent my head down and took a moment.

As the show neared its end, many people snuck up the aisles to get a better view of the front. Only one act remained: WykD_Dave and Clover.

I had heard wonderful things about their rope work. And, with so many people eager to be at the front to watch, it seemed like expectations were high. The fluid pair more than delivered.

It's easy to say their performance was stunning. Clover is an amazing bottom and WykD_Dave an amazing rigger. And though I was in awe of their Futomomo suspension, which then transitioned into an ankle suspension, that is not what touched me.

In fact it was touch, the touch of WykD_Dave's hand on Clover's shoulder to begin, and then his arms around her to end their performance that really struck me. It was their intimacy, their vulnerability, their connection.

Later in the weekend, towards the end of my Shibaricon, I had the pleasure of seeing WykD_Dave and Clover play. They were in a side room away from the main dungeon. They chose a rig at the far end. They played, not saying a word that I could hear.

When they finished, there was again a moment where WykD_Dave simply stood behind Clover and held her. Her arms too held him tight. Once again I saw their connection.

That night, Sunday night, and that moment was too much for me. Seeing what they had, what I longed to have. Again tears graced my cheeks.

To be so blessed, to be so loved. I can only dream.

Subtle Things

"Gush, schwing, thump, ahh..."

Of all the classes I attended, choosing to take Midori's Best Kink Advice Nobody Told You was one of my favorites.

However, since it was a last minute decision, I did not occupy my normal front row seat. Instead I found myself in the back next to the aisle. I did not, though, find myself in the class alone.

"Do you want anything?" I thought and thought, with nothing coming to mind.

"I took too long, so no." Gray left, retrieving coffee for himself and Cherry_Doll, as well as water for Ummwhatever. He returned just in time for the start of class.

Midori began her lesson with a simple fact: ask any group of people what a "true dominant/submissive/masochist/sadist" is and you will get a whole host of answers. We each define these words according to our lives, experiences, and communities.

Instead of centering definitions around pain, Midori instead asked us to think about sensation. She proposed that a sadist is one who takes pleasure in causing intense sensations while a masochist is one who derives pleasure in experiencing intense sensations.

When thinking about dominance and submission, Midori suggested we think in terms of the redistribution of authority, hierarchy and control. She suggested that a dominant is one who experiences arousal when, on a temporary basis, power is redistributed giving them control. For a submissive, their arousal comes from giving up control.

As Midori imparted her knowledge (complete with a kinky sudoku chart), I kept biting my lip trying not to laugh. With Gray sitting right beside me, mild torments abounded.

"It's the subtle things I like."

First there was the introductory pen tip poke into my ribs, Gray's way of saying Good morning. Then there was the tap of his coffee cup against the bottom of my water bottle. Just a few errant drops slipped from my lips as I tried not to laugh or choke. Of course there were the many comments, pinging off of Midori's lesson.

But the climax came in one small word.

"Ash," he whispered. I sighed and swooned. "Really?"

Yes, really. Just the night before I had eaten ash from multiple different hands, and I could still smell the smoke in my hair. So, yup, really.

To close her class, Midori talked about how people do not fit into one kinky sudoku box for a lifetime. Often we change, either because of the person, our mood, or the circumstances surrounding us.

She likened a person's predilections to a diner menu. Some items are available in the morning, in the evening, or all day. Others are daily or weekly specials.

"But for you, my friend, any substitution."

Brave One

She chose her name to be Ummwhatever. She didn't know what to choose when she signed up, so it seemed fitting.

She entered our class late, but we didn't mind. We asked if she wanted to introduce herself; she declined.

As we talked about getting the most out of our event, the roadblocks we all faced, and ways to move past them, she remained quiet.

It wasn't until the end that she spoke, when Scotty asked us about bravery.

When she spoke, she chose a quote to speak for her. I knew her words well.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

"I can think of no better thing to say." Scotty ended the class right there. We all were moved.

She'd hitchhiked hundreds of miles to get here. She was staying with a friend she'd just reconnected with randomly. I looked at her in awe.

She was shy, anxious, intermittently rambling and quiet. We all took turns talking to her, squeezing her hand, giving her a hug.

I felt the need to protect her, look out for her, make sure she would be okay.

Scotty reached down to his belt, unsnapped a piece of leather, and handed it to her.

"In my family, you have to earn your leathers. You have more than earned this."

She accepted his gift, and then gave him a huge hug. I found myself tearing up, but I wouldn't let myself cry.

"It's okay," SherynB said to me, as she saw the droplets in my eyes. "You can cry."

And then I did. In her arms, I let it out. Afterwards, I felt better.

Because of that class, How To Get What You Want Out Of Shibaricon, I made a few new friends and met a truly brave person.
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