~ a half imagined nightmare ~
We sat on the floor of his bedroom, down in the basement, as cluttered and full as ever. Two bare bulbs hung from the uncovered wood floor beams. His television displayed an old black and white movie, something scary. His bed was tousled. His clothes were everywhere. Why did I date a man who lived in his friends' basement?
We sat on a small rug in front of his bed. It was like the kind you'd sit outside a door to clean your shoes on before entering your home. No comfort. Barely kept the cold of the cement floor from creeping up into my skin. Why did he want to sit on the floor?
Control. He was in control.
I sat, cross-legged. His legs surrounding me. His arms around me. Trapped. He was in control.
His hand was at my throat. His voice was in my ear.
"Hard or soft?"
"Hard," I said, just despite him.
He started to squeeze. I couldn't breathe.
Would he kill me now? Would this be it? This man who told me I made him better. This man who tried to tell me he loved me. This man who I once loved. Who was this man?
His free hand brought out a blade. Showed it to me.
I wasn't dead yet. Even with his grip around my throat, even with air being almost gone, I wasn't dead yet.
This was not the same man. This was not the man I dated, the man I loved. This was not the man with the sly smile, the huge hugs, and an arm in which my head cradled at night.
This was a monster. With crazy panicked eyes full of menace for me. With hot putrid breath that filled my nostrils. And with a stench of sweat that slathered on my skin as he held me.
His knife hovered, too close to my eye.
He scared me. He horrified me. But I would not relent, would not let him have the pleasure of my fear even as inside I trembled with terror.
"Hard or soft? Hard or soft?" He played with the knife in front of my eye, swaying it with his words.
"Hard" to the left. "Or soft" to the right.
"Hard," I said, despite him, rebellious, unrelenting even to the end.
And then everything went black.
Big Bro had cradled my head and neck as he tackled me and we went down to the ground. Very quickly, a hood was over my head.
My Hello Kitty bag was still slung over my shoulder, lying somewhere on the ground, as they pulled my arms back and secured them with manacles.
"Ah, glasses please." Someone slipped up my hood just enough to grab my spectacles.
With my glasses safe, I began fighting back, trying to wrench my arms and legs free. Multiple hands gripped down on me. Once my limbs were secure, they tried to raise me to standing. I resisted.
"So, that's how you want to go."
They lifted me. I don't know how many people it took, but each limb was raised off the ground, bending my back into an arch. I felt like a cross between a sky diver and a pig on a spit being carried to dinner.
They threw/shoved me into the back of the truck I'd seen before. The bed was hot, the metal warmed from the day's Sun. They pushed me in further as others also hopped in.
"Ready." I heard a door close, the truck start. We were moving.
There was a rip; I think someone used a knife. The front of my dress was ripped down. My clothes were coming off.
They went for my nipples. They slapped and pinched; I yelped and fought back more.
As the pain began, I had a mini panic attack. For a moment, I thought I couldn't breathe in the hood. But then I realized I was screaming bloody murder, so obviously I could indeed breathe.
Someone, I think Murphy, shoved me to one side of the truck and into someone else's arms. I listened to the two of them speak and recognized a familiar voice.
"You motherfucker!"
Friday night, the night of the storm, the very night before, I absentmindedly made my way to the Dining Hall in hopes of Midnight Snack. There was none, but I did find friends to chat with.
As we spoke, the topic of my abduction came up. Gray, who I had listed first on my approved roster, pled ignorance. He said he never got any email from N3rddom. I tried to not show my disappointment.
Fast forward to Saturday morning, me in the hot truck bed, pushed into someone's arms, and then being pissed off beyond belief.
"You thought I was too busy to check my email?"
Such a mindfuck.
...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.
~erotica~
I knelt before him, clothed in only a tank top and panties. The wet grass under my knees and feet was cool, a small breeze giving a slight chill to the air.
He sat on the stairs of his wooden deck, his right boot the closest part of his body to me. When I dared a glance down at his leather, his gloved hand caught my chin and pulled my face back up. He wanted my full attention.
His eyes were filled with an intensity I had not seen before. Almost fearful, my eyes shot down to his chin, the first thing I could think to focus on.
He liked preparing his own cigar, depriving me of the ritual I so loved. I knew he did this not just for his enjoyment in the preparation, but also by the slight torture of my lack of the privilege. It went hand-and-hand with not allowing me to look upon his boot. Our play was as much psychological as physical.
He puffed eagerly on his stick, sending plumes of smoke into the air, a cloud he knew I wished to be surrounded in.
Patience, I told myself.
Gripping the cigar in his teeth, he freed up both his hands to ripe open the front of my shirt. Three quick tugs split the fabric down the center. My chest heaved slightly with each pull.
"Stand up."
Rocking back on my heels, I extended my left leg forward, propelling myself up, bringing myself closer to him. We were now at eye level. I could almost feel the heat of his body. My cunt almost touched his knee.
In a moment of bravery, I dared a glance into his eyes. His stare burned back at me.
In an instant, a hand was in my hair, wrenching my head back, my body bent. He pulled me in closer, my body against him now, my cunt on his leg, my face a breath away from his. I had no choice but to lock eyes with him.
Taking up his cigar in his free hand, he expelled smoke directly into my face. I welcomed the cloud.
Bringing the cigar to my cheek, the hot cherry was buried under maybe a half inch of ash. He held his cigar at an angle, lightly dragging it oh so close to my skin. I felt the heat, the threat of a burn, the singe of the delicate hairs by my ear.
I tried not to tremble.
Down my neck, he lingered on the sensitive skin. And then I felt it, the soft touch of him breaking off ash in the small crook of my neck. Returning his cigar to his mouth, he picked up the ash, breaking it apart in his hand.
Raising up the flecks, he smeared the ash into my hair, dragged the line down my face, and kissed my cheek with his hand. Again and again he slapped me, small puffs of ash billowing into the air.
Parting my lips, he shoved leathered fingers over my tongue to the top of my throat. I licked the treat as best I could.
Retreating from my mouth, he again slapped me, now wetting the ash he had previously laid. He drew his finger down my cheek; I felt the line created by the gray concoction.
"Pretty," he said, with a grin made of desire and painful intent.
Again taking up the cigar in his hand, his grip on my hair tightened. Pulling my face forward the few inches between us, in one long slow drag, he licked my face from chin to forehead.
"Tasty too."
His lips were upon mine, forcefully invading my mouth with his tongue. My tongueddanced with his, my desire to lick the ash from his driving me farther than I would have dared gone before.
My hips, without thought, began grinding my clit on his knee. My hands gripped the sides of my panties. I dreamed of touching him, but I wanted nothing more than to remain lost in his ash kiss.
Wrenching my head back, he stared at me for what seemed like forever.
"So, you want to be fucked."
He brought the cigar up to my eye line.
"Here."
He held the cigar lightly, ash end away from us.
"Fuck yourself."
My eyes drifted to, and then lingered on his stick. I licked my lips, the thought of the act wetting me yet further, even though my pussy was already beyond slick.
"Oh, wait. You're still wearing underwear. Let me help you with that."
Pulling my hair, he guided me over his knee, my back resting on the thigh I had previously humped. With his boot, he spread my legs open. My hands continued to grip the sides of my panties.
I felt the heat half a moment later. He held the cigar so near my clit, I wanted to scream, but I wouldn't. I would never scream, not unless he wanted me to.
As the heat grew, I grew fearful. It felt like... It felt like...
Quicker than I could've believed, his cigar was back in his mouth and his knife was out, rushing towards my crotch. With two quick cuts, the fabric of my panties fell limp in my hands. My pussy lips felt hot, but not burned.
His blade still in his hand, he lazily held it in the air, the point towards my body, dangling it over my abdomen. Reclined back over his lap, the shreds of my tank top had fallen aside, displaying my breasts before him. In the slightest of wisps, he barely touched my skin. Even still, I felt his knife was sharp. I worked to temper my breathing.
"No, no, not yet. You wanted to be fucked." Even through his clenched teeth holding his cigar, he sounded menacing.
Putting his knife away, he again took up his cigar, the end wet with his saliva. He drew the moisture across my skin, slowly leading down to where I yearned for it to be.
Finally, forever a long, he reached my clit. In small circles, he massaged the nub. My moans started low and slow. His grip lightened on my hair as my head reclined back from enjoyment.
I whimpered my disappointment as he brought the cigar back to his lips, puffing again. His ash had grown once more. I did my best to look on him longingly, hopelessly begging with my eyes, hoping it would be enough.
His hand rested on my abdomen as he lightly broke off his ash in my belly button. Returning the cigar to his lips, he crushed the ash with his hand and smeared a line down to my clit, once again circling the nub, but also using long languid strokes, parting my lips just so. My moans started anew. My hips rocked up to meet his hand.
I wanted more. Oh, I wanted more. And he knew it. Patience was the last thing on my mind, yet still my desire for pleasure could not overcome my desire to please him.
Retracing his path, his hand crawled up my body to my lips. I lapped up the mixture of ash and my juices.
Once again with the cigar in his hand, he drifted to the one place I wanted him the most. Tracing my lips, he teased me mercilessly, the tension in my body growing with each passing second, until finally he slipped the end of his cigar into my pussy.
I gasped, my legs wide, my hips sinking, trying desperately to have more of his tobacco in me. Much as before, his movement was slow, torturous. In and out, long languid thrusts. The heat inside of the cigar added to the tension in my body, the growing wave building up inside of me.
But before I could ask, he slipped the cigar from my pussy and placed it back to his lips. He puffed and puffed, then returned the stick to this hand.
"I'm going to give you a present."
I felt the bite of his knife simultaneously with the return of his tight grip on my hair. On my right thigh, I could not make out what he slowly, painfully, carved into me. The heat from the cigar he still held in his hand danced close to my skin, but never close enough to burn me.
His etching complete, he brought the flat of the knife to his tongue and licked off the few drops of my blood gleaming the tip. His blade away, he broke off ash onto the top of my thigh, then smear it down my skin to his present, rubbing the flecks into the wound.
"Now you are going to give me a gift."
His cigar had but a little ash built up. His stick in his mouth, he removed his leather gloves, setting them aside.
Laying his hand flat on my stomach, palm up, he broke off not only the hot ash but a sizable portion of the cherry into his hand. I registered only the slightest of winces on his part.
My hand moved towards his before he even grabbed my wrist. My left and his right closed onto each other, closed onto the heat.
Reaching to his side, he produced a short strand of red rope, wrapping the binding around our hands. I had no intention of letting go. It seemed neither did he.
As our hands burned, I felt bound to him; through the pain, through the searing struggle, I would never let him go.
"Come on. Give us some poetic desires. How does it feel?"- SkinnyBitch
"Like velvet fire licking my skin."- me
I laid on the plastic drop cloth shaking, anticipation increasing. CandleLover, Diva, and I patiently waited for our audience.
The chill from the basement floor rose up through the thin carpet and plastic sheet. I shivered. CandleLover rubbed cocoa butter over my chest and stomach, easing my nerves somewhat.
Finally everyone came down and took their spots to watch.
CandleLover dipped her spoon into her crock pot and hovered high over my body. "Now remember, this is hot but it will not burn you." She drizzled the paraffin onto my chest. I screamed, the wisps of heat kissing my flesh.
"Breathe girl. In through your nose and out through your mouth." Diva coached me as she patiently waited for her part in the fun.
Again CandleLover dipped her spoon into the liquid, rose the utensil high, and intermittently rained the hot substance down on my skin. I gasped, taking in the feeling of the heat. Not knowing when or where it would land, not knowing how much would wash across my body, made the experience that much more exhilarating and painful.
"It's just warmth, Kristen. You're good." DeepEnd knelt beside me, hovering to my left as CandleLover loomed to my right.
I had watched DeepEnd suffer the same fate earlier. As I sat gazing SkinnyBitch delicately drizzle the paraffin on his body, I was mesmerized by both the act and his reactions. Now, on the floor, feeling the heat myself, I understood DeepEnd's flinches, his gasps, his quickened breath.
With each new spoonful of paraffin, I called out and writhed, the wax coating my body. CandleLover took joy in my screams, my intense reactions. But now it was time for Diva to have fun as well.
Already gloved and lubed, she ordered my knees up and apart. Diva sat by my feet, getting into position. As I felt her start to rub my clit, CandleLover dipped her spoon into her crock pot once more.
"Oh, no! We're not doing this all at once!?!" CandleLover smiled a devilish grin, which she wore well.
Diva inserted a few fingers in, massaging my clit and G spot, while CandleLover poured her entire spoonful across my chest. I cried out first from the heat, then from the arousal. Over and over, Diva mixed her accelerated fingering with CandleLover's unrelenting spoonfuls of fire. Across my chest. Over my stomach. Catching my neck. Splashing my biceps. CandleLover was like a child with finger paints. Diva was in control throughout.
As I felt my first orgasm rising, I asked permission to cum. Diva immediately said no. My audience groaned for me as I cried out in my pain.
DeepEnd came to my aid. "But Mama, she blacked my boots so well."
"I don't care, Daddy. She didn't tell me she blacked boots. I would've worn mine." Diva was none to happy to have missed out on my services.
I begged, pleaded, "Please Diva. God, please let me cum." CandleLover dosed me again with the paraffin, adding extra emphasis to my need.
Finally, Diva relented and allowed my orgasm. My muscles contracted, clamping onto her hand, as my body jolted about.
With Diva's fist almost fully inside me, I said one word. "Push." She slipped into me, now working herself fully in and out of me. Again I asked permission. Again she made me beg. Again she relented, with CandleLover's paraffin licking my skin as I moaned in agony and ecstasy.
Neither woman stopped in their torment. Back and forth, CandleLover poured while Diva pounded. On an especially powerful orgasm, my last, when I could take no more, I hooked my feet onto Diva's shoulders and pushed her out.
I breathed hard for a few moments, regaining my composure, before gazing at my chest. My torso was covered in wax; it looked like a second skin.
With the layer to remove, it was time for knives. CandleLover had an assortment, but DeepEnd preferred his own sharp-and-pointy. DeepEnd brought his small pen knife to my skin and lightly scraped the soft substance away. CandleLover, apparently a size queen, produced a six inch blade with a wooden handle for her work.
As DeepEnd scraped away at my extra layer, he produced a large portion and brought it to my face. I inhaled the creamy sweet scent and smiled.
Now it was SkinnyBitch's turn. Gleefully, she knelt down and, using DeepEnd's knife, slowly and carefully pealed away the wax. CandleLover, however, was not as sweet. She scraped at my flesh, pulling up lots of paraffin, allowing the tip of her blade to graze my skin. Occasionally the wax ripped up the hair from my flesh. I cried out from the pain.
However, worst of all, CandleLover gave Diva a blade. Diva ran her knife on my skin not to remove the wax but to see me squirm. When it pleased her, Diva randomly slapped my thighs. As SkinnyBitch giggled, removing the wax from my nipple ring, Diva took pleasure in my many torments.
Meanwhile, for whatever random reason, DeepEnd and MaryLeo decided they wanted to play with Nerf guns. Both took aim and fired at my body, their bulls eye my left nipple. With great accuracy, they hit their target multiple times. I turned my head away to avoid any eye issues, and vacillated between laughing from the Nerf shots and yelping from Diva's thigh slaps.
As the ladies finished up my wax removal, DeepEnd and MaryLeo decided to change their target, aiming now for my crotch. On rapid fire, they landed multiple rounds. One of my famous giggle fits ensued.
As my laughs quieted, Diva's slaps did not subsist. Instead, she increased the force and frequency of her blows. My throat and body were open from my wax torment and easily fell into cries again.
Diva had me roll onto my right side. She wanted to attack my ass. With punches to my left butt cheek, she rocked my body on the ground. Instead of my sobs, I began moaning. Punch after punch sent warmth to my abdomen; gasps of painful pleasure escaped my lips.
I looked up and again saw DeepEnd. Once more, he knelt by my side. Looking down, I saw the brass knuckles on his hand. For a moment, my eyes locked with his, giving my silent approval. DeepEnd and Diva alternated their hits, attacking the one side of my ass with no break from pain.
Soon my moans changed. My body, which loved the thuddy bursts from their fists, could no longer just exist in the sexual pleasure of their hits. My sobs came back. The tears ran down my face. I took their blows, crying my eyes out as I had done so many times before. When my body could take no more, I turned away, pulling my body into itself. DeepEnd knew me well enough to know it was time to stop.
I laid on the floor again, breathing heavy. My cries soon quieted. I regained my composure. I came back.
Standing, I began flicking the wax off my body. I drifted upstairs. The party, which had already half died before my scene, was now on its last legs. People lazed across the couches, sleep soon near.
PrincessA curled up next to DeepEnd. SkinnyBitch curled up next to PrincessA. MaryLeo took up the other side of the L-shaped couch. I sat on the floor, watching them all. Scurrying upstairs, I grabbed a blanket for the trio, as well as myself. I laid the warmth across their bodies while also wrapping myself up.
Both DeepEnd and SkinnyBitch rose to bid the last of our guests a safe journey home. PrincessA bade me come close to her. She asked me how I came down from such a powerful scene. I couldn't give her an answer. I don't know how I go there or how I come back; I just know that I do and I can.
PrincessA put her hand on my head and lightly brushed my hair. I laid on the floor next to her, relaxing into her fingers as they played with my strands. Slowly, her hand stopped moving. She had drifted to sleep. I lazed in a half-awake state on the floor next to her, not wanting to wake her.
A short time later, LooksRDeceiving joined PrincessA on the couch. I took this moment to excuse myself.
Creeping upstairs, I threw on my pajamas and brushed my teeth. SkinnyBitch had already settled into bed. Diva, DeepEnd, and I ended up meeting in the hallway. Diva would crash with us for the evening. She asked for a wake up once I left for work in the morning. DeepEnd and I bade her goodnight.
Standing alone in the hallway, DeepEnd and I smiled at one another. Quietly whispered, like many of our conversations that evening, he asked if I had a good night. With naughty-girl-glee in my eyes, I said, "It had its moments." He grinned a little wider at my remark. We hugged, close, long, and hard, and then said goodnight.
It was 4:30am and I had to be up at 8:30am for work the next day.
Going into tonight's Dirty Things party, I had three aims. 1- There would need to be much cigar play. 2- I wanted to spend some time with N3rddom and KnownUnknown, who would be traveling from far away to attend the party. And 3- I absolutely wanted to kiss VoodooPrincess again. Thankfully, all three of my aims were met, and more.
Almost as soon as I checked in, I was down in the smoking lounge. VoodooPrincess and I both served as cigar sluts again, with Lochai adding his ingenious ideas for fun into the mix. There was much preparation of cigars, and eating of ash. VoodooPrincess, however, got the gold star for the evening with her inspired idea for an ash s'more. One of my highlights from my smokey fun time included a lump of ash atop a half eaten strawberry. My mouth was full of all new tastes and sensations.
I indeed had the wonderful thrill of kissing VoodooPrincess for quite some time. Once involved passing ash from her tongue to mine. Our first embrace was merely her proper greeting to me. I felt more than welcome in her presence.
Close to the apex of the cigar smoking, Celeste and Veskrashen arrived. Celeste found herself drawn to my hair, noting how soft it was. She then proceeded to run her fingers through my curls, then down my back and across my skin. I ceased contributing to any conversation and could no longer give service. My world existed only in the inches of skin her fingers caressed or scratched, the curls she twirled, and my breath.
As Celeste's manipulations came to an end, N3rddom and his crew arrived. I greeted him, asking if he wished to smoke the half of a cigar I saved him from our New Years play. He politely declined, taking a seat next to SirRonC to chat.
As people filtered in and out, I made my way back upstairs. I strolled about for a while, naked, until the cold got to me. Scurrying back downstairs, I restored some of my clothing, to the disappointment of some, including myself.
Back in the main play space, I approached Veskrashen and gave him a proper hug hello. Before I was too distracted for a cordial greeting. In a moment of "why not", I asked if he was interested in some sharp-and-pointy time. He said he was, but would need some time before we could play. I politely agreed and asked that he come find me when he was ready.
It was not long before we crept upstairs, found a table, and my naked body was once again under his blades.
"It's been a while since we last played." - V
"Tickle!" - me
"Really?" - V
"Shit! Shit shit shit shit. I shouldn't have said anything. Why did I open my mouth? You didn't hear that." - me
"You have this lovely bruise. I must poke it. It is in the Domly code." - V
"You growled again." - me
"You know, I use my blades, but it's always the growling women note." - V
"It's just something about it that brings the scene to a new level. It's layering the levels of kink." - me
"Your knives are beautiful, both in their decoration and their great ability to inflict pain." - me
His knives once again danced across my skin. We began with my body face down. He mixed light wispy strokes with hard languid movements and occasional pointed jabs of pain. He found my tickle spot, the mix of squirming from torture and almost giggling was incredible.
He used his blades against my shoulders to make me turn over. He started with my face. Next, my neck. He went after my thighs, my stomach. He lashed at my Mons, eliciting my highest pitched shrieks. The tip of one of his blades rested an inch above my clit. I moaned as I bucked my hips up into the air, wanting his blade tip just a little farther down.
His knives found my breasts and nipples. My moans increased. I breathed my arousal into my abdomen. I loved the feel of his knives squeezing and scraping my flesh.
He ended with a flourish, pushing his knives into my neck, crossing them on my skin, and growling his loudest of the scene into my ear.
As before, he placed his hand on my chest and helped me to slow my breathing. We waited until I was less swimmy headed. I did not need to immediately lie back down when I sat up, and I was able to walk around just fine a few minutes after that.
But, before we parted, Veskrashen gave me a taste of his beating stick. It was yet another implement that gave not a thuddy or stingy but burny feeling on my ass, my arms, my thighs. I made sure that stick stayed very far away from me after we finished our time together.
My night ended with a tie. Murphy had been rigging none stop for some time, but his last bottom was nowhere to be found. He still had time to tie and wanted to tie. I volunteered myself.
He put me in a chest harness and secured me to his Shibari ring. He stood in front of me, placed his head against mine, and for a moment we shared breath.
Punch "Ten." His right fist found my chest. Punch "Nine." This time, it was his left. He hit me again and again. By seven, the pain became acute. By five, I wondered if I'd be able to take it all. At two, I screamed and leaned into him. He told me I had done well, had been just right. With one, both of his fists hit my chest. I was happy the harness was there to hold me up.
Murphy hugged me, thanking me. I leaned into him and, for a moment, allowed myself to cry a little. He asked me why I shed tears. I explained I had held back my disappointment all night. However, when he manifested my emotional pain into a physical form, I then had to let go of the droplets.
I thought I was going to see Gray tonight. I thought he was going to give a cigar play class and I was going to be his demo bottom. Turns out that's not for another two weeks. I learned this at the beginning of my night. As soon as I felt the pain coming, I shut down those thoughts and attempted to concentrate only on what was right in front of me.
During the night, when I came down to put on some clothing, Lochai asked me if I was leaving. Of course he made his inquiry after I'd popped a chocolate covered pretzel into my mouth. I pointed to my situation, while chewing as best I could before speaking. He commented on how I was "always so fucking polite" as he waited for my answer. I assured him I was not leaving just yet, but merely trying to brace myself against the cold.
It took his inquiry for me to answer that question. I had thought about leaving the party. I knew I could go, since my passengers would not be returning with me. I knew I could just slip away. And part of me wanted to do just that.
But another part knew I should stay, knew that by opening up myself to what could possibly happen during the rest of my night I was self-soothing. And I did feel much better when I left than when I realized how our wires had gotten crossed.
It's been awhile since I've seen Gray. Our lives are busy. We live on opposite coasts. There is more than enough to explain why I was really looking forward to our planned interactions. And there was more than enough reason for me to slip into the bathroom, or hide in my car, and cry. But I didn't.
Instead, I sought out kinky fun from those around me. I enjoyed my time, enjoyed the party. And with a helpful reminder from Murphy, I acknowledged that though I was mistaken about the date of the class, I still had a promise to demo bottom for Gray.
So, yeah. Even with the confusion and resulting hurt, I found a way to make myself have a good night.
[pats self on back]
"What's on your mind?"
"Am I famous or infamous?"
"No, you're popular."
I decided to dress up tonight, literally. I put on an actual dress, and my boots of course, puffed up my hair, and headed out to Happy Hour feeling like the shit.
Upon arrival I was greeted by Big Sis, who remarked on how good I looked. Apparently she, and many others in attendance, had never seen me in a dress. Cargos, yes. Jeans, yes. Dress, no. I informed Amethyst I would be repeating my look, as well as other girlie outfits, at Winter Fire.
ManKraken! came over and embraced me. We held each other tight, the first time we'd been face-to-face in weeks. Later I promised I would find time to play with him at the upcoming event. (I cannot tell you how happy I am that there will be a 24hr Dungeon in one of the hotels; I will most definitely make use of it.)
At 7:45pm, after my quick dinner and much good conversation, I departed. I needed to pick up a Murphy & a Slut. About 45mins later I returned, cool people in tow.
I bought my first drink of the night, a Blue Thing. Created by my usual bartender two weeks ago, it is a mix of Stoli Blueberry, Blueberry Curacao, a splash of OJ, a splash of Sprite, and a splash of a third clear liquid from the fountain gun, probably soda water. Above all else, it is delicious, despite the fact that it looks like I'm drinking Windex as one friend informed me last week.
I mixed and mingled for thirty minutes before my meeting. All of Rhythm Section was in attendance. We talked about playlists, assignments, plans, and our many different musical tastes swirled together well. Thankfully, since we had the meeting out on the smoking ledge, in the cold, it was over in 23mins.
I returned to my mingling. I tried to keep up with an Ayn Rand conversation between a few folks, which included ArrogantSlut, but having never read any of the fiction discussed, I merely smiled, nodded, and hoped a subject I could contribute to was close at hand. Thankfully this happened when ArrogantSlut began to talk to me about impact, domination, and emotional reactions.
Both he and I were pulled onto the smoking ledge when ManKraken!, Slut, Murphy, & Celeste wanted to watch the latest Epic Rap Battle of History. When I learned ArrogantSlut had never seen any of them, I made it a point to remedy his predicament.
Since we were on the smoking ledge, he asked me if it was okay for him to take part. I gave my approval. He pulled out his pipe and pouch of tobacco. This brought a smile to my face. The conversation naturally shifted to me explaining cigar play.
Somehow we ended up alone on the ledge. I told him about all the lovely things I'd done and experienced when it came to cigars. He seemed intrigued.
Now that it was quiet, we went back to YouTube on my phone. I showed him three different battles. He seemed to enjoy them.
We returned inside. I placed my coat back by my bag. As I turned around, I noticed PenBeatSword was engaged in conversation with a circle of friends. He informed me he was about to leave. We both regretted not being able to talk some. I inquired about his phone number, since the best way at the upcoming event for me to schedule play time with folks would be through text. We exchanged information.
He then asked me for a moment in the closet. LadyAisha served as our lookout.
My butt rested on the ice machine, my hands by my side. He came in close and kissed me. Softly, slowly, we let our lips and tongues play. I heard the click of his knife opening. He danced it across my exposed skin: my chest, my cleavage, my neck. He reached into the top of my dress, pulled the fabric away, and glided the blade across my breasts.
Grasping me, he turned my body around. He leaned in, my ass against his hips. I ground back against him. He bit my neck. I gasped with delight.
I took his hand and guided it down, under the skirt of my dress, through the missing crotch in my tights. His fingers flicked at my clit. My breathing grew heavier. I felt the warmth growing. I asked permission to cum. He granted it. Later he texted me, saying he quite enjoyed that part of our interaction. After I came, he rose his fingers to my lips and I sucked away my juices.
Aisha called out the warning. We exited the closet. Time well spent.
I got another Blue Thing. I joined ArrogantSlut's conversation with a lovely gentleman. We spoke of family, gender, sexuality, and a person's ability to judge character. We each embraced before we needed to depart.
The night had grown long. The crowd had filtered to almost nothing. With a ManKraken!, Murphy, and Slut in tow, after a quick stop for salt and carbs, we made our way to our resting spots for the night.
Tonight I was suppose to be working til 11:30pm.
Instead, I found myself at Happy Hour, arriving around 7:30pm. Immediately, PrudeNate came up to greet me. It had been a while since we last saw each other. We hugged, and he engaged me in conversation as I stripped off the trappings of my job: black zip up hoodie, black polo work shirt, and my hair tie. I flipped my head down, shook my hair about, and flung my head back up. I was off, and happy for it.
I continued my greetings around the room, hugging FancyDancer, PenBeatSword, Devi, and Amethyst. I was back home, which I had missed so very much.
I settled in, ordered dinner, retrieved a drink, and chatted.
As I relaxed into being with my friends for the first time in a month, The Doctor eased into the room with a wayward soul in tow. The Gent had settled in by the bar, not understanding the kinky happy hour was in the room through the bay doors. With the Doctor's assistance, the Gent found his intended destination.
I, noticing he seemed new and was a rather attractive black man, stood and waved him over. I introduced myself, along with the rest of the group, and we invited him to sit and chat. We were our normal friendly selves, though I occasionally snuck a whispered comment to Big Sis. Like I said, he was quite attractive.
The subject of my scene name came up. He seemed very interested in my writing. My friends praised my talent. He wanted to hear my poetry. Pulling out my iPhone, I looked up my blog and found Written Raw. Devi departed to get another drink from the bar; Amethyst accompanied her. I adjusted over to sit next to the Gent.
Though I was nervous, I managed to read my work aloud into his ear. Our legs touched as I willed myself to concentrate on my words, hoping beyond measure that my tempo would not falter, that I would be able to convey all my emotions in that moment to him.
I warned him this particular poem was not sexy, having already mentioned that I write erotica. When I concluded my reading, he disagreed with my assessment.
We then eased into a conversation about kink in general and my predilections in particular. He stated each question asking that I treat him as if he knew nothing. This was thought provoking and intriguing and challenging. I appreciated the mental exercise.
He could not stay long, though. Before he left, I gave him a hug goodbye.
With my distraction departed, I slipped back into my normal Happy Hour self, breezily socializing with folks, drinking, and having a blissful merry time.
As I stood in the doorway from the bar to our room, Pen passed by. I greeted him again, mentioning we had not seen each other since Halloween. He acknowledged the long hiatus, but slyly pulled out his knife. He asked if I would like another taste. You can guess what my answer was.
Though I've attended Happy Hour off and on for the past year and a half, I had yet to experience the closet...until tonight.
We slipped in and he flipped open his blade. The dulled edge danced against my throat, across the back of my neck, my cleavage. I ground my hips back into his crotch. I breathed heavily. I loved the feel of his blade.
He wanted more time, more fun, more play (just like before). He pulled my hair, he squeezed my hips, and we kissed. Our styles were the same, and I found myself not wanting to stop feeling his lips against mine.
There was mention of Winter Fire, and possibly playing before that. He wanted to do so much more with me. He dangled the carrot of tying Dig up. I was more than happy to nip at the request.
Exiting the closet, Big Sis schooled me in the one rule of the closet: secure a look-out. I then returned her favor soon after my exit; she enjoyed a midnight kiss while I chatted with FlostonParadise and SkinnyBitch.
My evening wound down as SkinnyBitch and I grew tired around 11:30pm. After a brief stop at McDonalds for salt and carbs, we were on our way home. I had a new boy to write about, my time in the closet to chronicle, and much sleep to be had.
And to think, I was suppose to work tonight.
