Self restraint.
That is meant to be my byword as a Domme.
Because if I can't control myself, what right do I have in guiding, in owning the life of another?
So far already, but so much farther to go.
Also, it sucks when you have a full entry in you but your keyboard dies...
Friday, March 28, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Passion
For a long time, I assumed I wasn't really interested in women, not REALLY, and only sort of turned on by them. This required a great deal of repression on my part, due to a very poor past with the fairer sex. Only lately am I coming to terms with the fact that thought I do like men, enjoy sex with them and enjoy them as friends, and I have married one, the love I have felt for women has been on a whole different level, scarily intense and strange, changing my behavior and making me a bit crazy at times.
The first was the hardest and strangest, and the worst part is, I can't even remember her name (I'm dreadful with names, so to myself this isn't so bad, but I'm sure for everyone who wrote their first love's name all over their binder at school, this must seem bizzare!)
But I do remember every bit of the night I first fell madly in love with another person. We were at Girl Guide camp, for the level above girl guides. Both 15. And as older campers (only a year below the age where they'd start looking to train some of us to WORK at summer camps) at a weekend camp in a huge, lovely old lodge, we got a lot of freedom. We could be up all hours provided we got up for what we had to do, and didn't bother others. She was my bunkmate, and knew her two roomates from her own troop. I was by myself, as I got separated from my group in a room shuffle.
One evening we were both stuck awake, by ourselves, talking in the common room. She was telling me about her life, her interests. I was talking, too, but part of me was strangely detached. I adored her. She was so beautiful. I saw myself as the more sophisticated of the two of us. I began imagining, as she was talking, late that night, as we sat on the opposite sides of the couch, romancing her. That we would make a great pair. We exchanged numbers at the end of the camp.
I can't remember all of what happened, but I do remember two things: I had found out she was, or considered herself to be, bisexual, and also I remember at some point calling her, confessing my feelings and quite frankly harassing her into meeting with me at train station to talk about this. She said she would. I arrived. She, understandably, never did. I didn't try calling her again.
But it was impossible to avoid her. There aren't that many 15 year olds interested in Girl Guides. We ran into each other at a dinner banquet, and I was stiffly polite, and probably stared one too many times at her. Her friends were nice enough, and sort of remembered me. She'd obviously never told them about what happened. I went to another camp weekend hoping to see her. It did not occur, the event was too big and though I know she was there, we didn't brush into each other. There was a thing about sex at the thing, since we were 16 now and older girls, and I remember part of my brain going "But what about with girls?"
The beginning of the end, and the climax of my strange obsession with this beautiful girl happened in the last Guide event I went to. I was going to summer camp to train to be a swim instructor. They ran these for a couple of weeks at a time, and I discovered that the group that did the first week of training was ajacent to our camp as we did our first week and they did their second. And She was there. I tried talking to her, but with little success. I bumped up my attention to genuinely creepy levels, though nothing she ever knew about. At one point, I followed , in the dark, her going from tent to tent, singing a lullaby to the campers she was now charged in caring for. It was The Last Unicorn song. My favorite movie. I nearly died. And I sat there, crying in the dark, wondering if I could, or should, just go talk to her. And finally, the following day, she took me aside into a cabin. She put me down, hard. She had a girlfriend. She was interested in women. Just not me. And never would be. No one like me. And to please, just leave her alone.
And I think my brain broke. My heart certainly did. I was a crazy, obsessed stalker, but luckily I got the sort of talking to that managed to stop me getting any worse with her. I agreed not to bother her, and went back to camp crying.
And that should have been it. Would have been it. Except two days later, I was taken aside into the head counselor's cabin. I was being sent home. I was "not appropriate" for this training, and they felt I shouldn't continue. I recognized the code words, the careful language, immediately. I was gay. I should not be around children. And She had told on me. I've rarely felt more hurt and betrayed. It never occurred to me to tell on her too. I'd never have considered that for a second, and it's only now, almost 15 years later, looking back as I type this, that I realize she might have outed me before I could out her. My parents were already called. I was sent home in disgrace, the only trainee not to make the cut. And I couldn't dare tell them why.
But I still remember the insane intensity of feelings towards Her, even if I don't remember her name anymore. I had echos of them, some bigger, some smaller, with the other girls I fell for over my teenaged years. And each overture met with rejection, hard, cold, thorough. I lost friends.
Somewhere, inside, the hurt was too much. By 20, I had convinced myself that though I was 'bi', I was mostly hetero. Guys were easier. Guys didn't hurt me. I knew how to handle them. I rarely got rejected, and once I got skilled, never from the ones I went after, because I chose well. Though I fell in love with my husband as a female character on a old BBS, though I trapsed around on a gay BDSM board as a switch/domme, looking for lesbians (and found one, but that's a story for another day), though one of the few online relationships I took to real life was with a MtF transexual... somehow, the pain of all the early years made me shove my feelings towards women deep inside. They were too strong, too raw, too uncontrollable.
I like men. But all my loves, the soul searing, knee trembling, desperate yearnings have been for woman. They don't compare. Nothing makes me crazy, mad, hurts me, drives me, like a woman.
The first was the hardest and strangest, and the worst part is, I can't even remember her name (I'm dreadful with names, so to myself this isn't so bad, but I'm sure for everyone who wrote their first love's name all over their binder at school, this must seem bizzare!)
But I do remember every bit of the night I first fell madly in love with another person. We were at Girl Guide camp, for the level above girl guides. Both 15. And as older campers (only a year below the age where they'd start looking to train some of us to WORK at summer camps) at a weekend camp in a huge, lovely old lodge, we got a lot of freedom. We could be up all hours provided we got up for what we had to do, and didn't bother others. She was my bunkmate, and knew her two roomates from her own troop. I was by myself, as I got separated from my group in a room shuffle.
One evening we were both stuck awake, by ourselves, talking in the common room. She was telling me about her life, her interests. I was talking, too, but part of me was strangely detached. I adored her. She was so beautiful. I saw myself as the more sophisticated of the two of us. I began imagining, as she was talking, late that night, as we sat on the opposite sides of the couch, romancing her. That we would make a great pair. We exchanged numbers at the end of the camp.
I can't remember all of what happened, but I do remember two things: I had found out she was, or considered herself to be, bisexual, and also I remember at some point calling her, confessing my feelings and quite frankly harassing her into meeting with me at train station to talk about this. She said she would. I arrived. She, understandably, never did. I didn't try calling her again.
But it was impossible to avoid her. There aren't that many 15 year olds interested in Girl Guides. We ran into each other at a dinner banquet, and I was stiffly polite, and probably stared one too many times at her. Her friends were nice enough, and sort of remembered me. She'd obviously never told them about what happened. I went to another camp weekend hoping to see her. It did not occur, the event was too big and though I know she was there, we didn't brush into each other. There was a thing about sex at the thing, since we were 16 now and older girls, and I remember part of my brain going "But what about with girls?"
The beginning of the end, and the climax of my strange obsession with this beautiful girl happened in the last Guide event I went to. I was going to summer camp to train to be a swim instructor. They ran these for a couple of weeks at a time, and I discovered that the group that did the first week of training was ajacent to our camp as we did our first week and they did their second. And She was there. I tried talking to her, but with little success. I bumped up my attention to genuinely creepy levels, though nothing she ever knew about. At one point, I followed , in the dark, her going from tent to tent, singing a lullaby to the campers she was now charged in caring for. It was The Last Unicorn song. My favorite movie. I nearly died. And I sat there, crying in the dark, wondering if I could, or should, just go talk to her. And finally, the following day, she took me aside into a cabin. She put me down, hard. She had a girlfriend. She was interested in women. Just not me. And never would be. No one like me. And to please, just leave her alone.
And I think my brain broke. My heart certainly did. I was a crazy, obsessed stalker, but luckily I got the sort of talking to that managed to stop me getting any worse with her. I agreed not to bother her, and went back to camp crying.
And that should have been it. Would have been it. Except two days later, I was taken aside into the head counselor's cabin. I was being sent home. I was "not appropriate" for this training, and they felt I shouldn't continue. I recognized the code words, the careful language, immediately. I was gay. I should not be around children. And She had told on me. I've rarely felt more hurt and betrayed. It never occurred to me to tell on her too. I'd never have considered that for a second, and it's only now, almost 15 years later, looking back as I type this, that I realize she might have outed me before I could out her. My parents were already called. I was sent home in disgrace, the only trainee not to make the cut. And I couldn't dare tell them why.
But I still remember the insane intensity of feelings towards Her, even if I don't remember her name anymore. I had echos of them, some bigger, some smaller, with the other girls I fell for over my teenaged years. And each overture met with rejection, hard, cold, thorough. I lost friends.
Somewhere, inside, the hurt was too much. By 20, I had convinced myself that though I was 'bi', I was mostly hetero. Guys were easier. Guys didn't hurt me. I knew how to handle them. I rarely got rejected, and once I got skilled, never from the ones I went after, because I chose well. Though I fell in love with my husband as a female character on a old BBS, though I trapsed around on a gay BDSM board as a switch/domme, looking for lesbians (and found one, but that's a story for another day), though one of the few online relationships I took to real life was with a MtF transexual... somehow, the pain of all the early years made me shove my feelings towards women deep inside. They were too strong, too raw, too uncontrollable.
I like men. But all my loves, the soul searing, knee trembling, desperate yearnings have been for woman. They don't compare. Nothing makes me crazy, mad, hurts me, drives me, like a woman.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Vanilla
In the circles I tend to run with, vanilla is a derogatory term indeed. It denotes boring, every day sort of sex, the missionary stuff with socks on and lights off, done twice a week for 5 minutes each time. I'm now beginning to understand the different flavours of fetish vanilla.
My friend Ophelia has been talking to me about her discovery of domestic discipline, and the Surrendered Wife (she's obvious as much as sub as I am a domme, and the sub I mentioned below) and her joking dread that her kinks are in fact vanilla and normal, at least to a weird, ultra right, conservative offset of America. That spanking your wife is a-okay, women should follow the cue of men for everything, and hey, just put out for him for sex already. I was left shaking my head and laughing. I have always joked that everything kinky becomes mainstream eventually, but this was a little surprising even for me.
The idea of vanilla was reinforced last night as I was chatting online with a potential long distance sub, one I was planning on meeting at a convention later this year, and whom I had been exchanging fantasies with. He's a nice, rather shy, rather low key boy, more interested in the BD than the SM part of this world. Much of his fantasies are just passive worship, or begging to please me. I outlined a few of my own, to his great delight, involving getting him in a pussycollar to hold him near to entertain my groin, or to take him out shopping for lingerie, try several sets, then make him dress up in the best ones (he enjoys satin women's underpants, and frankly, who doesn't? I never find this to be a shocking fetish, but rather fully understandable and enjoyable.)
After a few such lowkey sexual antics, described playfully, he ended up, after begging me for permission to jerk off, telling me "Wow, my fantasies are much more vanilla compared to yours." I was stunned. These ARE pure vanilla to me, the mildest of the mild, barely suitable of a PG rating. I was left wondering if time in the fetish community, or heck, the furry community, had left me totally jaded, unable to tell the mild from the exotic anymore. Vanilla for me is hairbrushes and spankings, mild crossdressing and begging to cum. Vanilla for him was probably visualizing being able to sit, naked by me, and admire me. Not that I mind that for a second, of course.
At the same time, I've been slowly exploring what I consider the more extreme ends of my fantasies. My girl Em was describing a video she'd been watching, a girl in a hood, bound to a chair, forced to cum, mouth filled with an inflatable gag and blindfolded. I ended up admitting after she described the tight latex hood that I'd been visualizing one for her, abet with cat ears. I say to her,"But I don't like the ones they have. Open eyes and mouths."
"I prefer just noseholes"
I writhed and let out a sigh of relief.
"Then we're on the same page with this.."
Gimp suits, totally anonymitising the face, the person, is something a few years ago I found shocking and ugly. But somehow, knowing the person inside is yours has added a massive level of sexual excitement I never expected from such a concept. Bound, immobilized, helpless, blind and powerless, it's been something that's been interesting me more and more.
But now I'm worried I'll say that to someone and they'll go "Man, that is so vanilla.." I think I'll be truly terrified of that person, but I know they're out there. Piles of them.
It's a spectrum, and all the flavours are vanilla, if you get the right taste tester.
My friend Ophelia has been talking to me about her discovery of domestic discipline, and the Surrendered Wife (she's obvious as much as sub as I am a domme, and the sub I mentioned below) and her joking dread that her kinks are in fact vanilla and normal, at least to a weird, ultra right, conservative offset of America. That spanking your wife is a-okay, women should follow the cue of men for everything, and hey, just put out for him for sex already. I was left shaking my head and laughing. I have always joked that everything kinky becomes mainstream eventually, but this was a little surprising even for me.
The idea of vanilla was reinforced last night as I was chatting online with a potential long distance sub, one I was planning on meeting at a convention later this year, and whom I had been exchanging fantasies with. He's a nice, rather shy, rather low key boy, more interested in the BD than the SM part of this world. Much of his fantasies are just passive worship, or begging to please me. I outlined a few of my own, to his great delight, involving getting him in a pussycollar to hold him near to entertain my groin, or to take him out shopping for lingerie, try several sets, then make him dress up in the best ones (he enjoys satin women's underpants, and frankly, who doesn't? I never find this to be a shocking fetish, but rather fully understandable and enjoyable.)
After a few such lowkey sexual antics, described playfully, he ended up, after begging me for permission to jerk off, telling me "Wow, my fantasies are much more vanilla compared to yours." I was stunned. These ARE pure vanilla to me, the mildest of the mild, barely suitable of a PG rating. I was left wondering if time in the fetish community, or heck, the furry community, had left me totally jaded, unable to tell the mild from the exotic anymore. Vanilla for me is hairbrushes and spankings, mild crossdressing and begging to cum. Vanilla for him was probably visualizing being able to sit, naked by me, and admire me. Not that I mind that for a second, of course.
At the same time, I've been slowly exploring what I consider the more extreme ends of my fantasies. My girl Em was describing a video she'd been watching, a girl in a hood, bound to a chair, forced to cum, mouth filled with an inflatable gag and blindfolded. I ended up admitting after she described the tight latex hood that I'd been visualizing one for her, abet with cat ears. I say to her,"But I don't like the ones they have. Open eyes and mouths."
"I prefer just noseholes"
I writhed and let out a sigh of relief.
"Then we're on the same page with this.."
Gimp suits, totally anonymitising the face, the person, is something a few years ago I found shocking and ugly. But somehow, knowing the person inside is yours has added a massive level of sexual excitement I never expected from such a concept. Bound, immobilized, helpless, blind and powerless, it's been something that's been interesting me more and more.
But now I'm worried I'll say that to someone and they'll go "Man, that is so vanilla.." I think I'll be truly terrified of that person, but I know they're out there. Piles of them.
It's a spectrum, and all the flavours are vanilla, if you get the right taste tester.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Bitchy
"Unfortunately, there was no party last night. We have been having a terrible time of getting people to attend. Despite all the advertising, very few people have been inquiring about our events and we're trying to figure out why."
GEE! I wonder if perhaps not even having a note on your door or coming down to tell people it was canceled might limit future interest?
Nawww...
(ps: never inquire about thesexxus.net )
GEE! I wonder if perhaps not even having a note on your door or coming down to tell people it was canceled might limit future interest?
Nawww...
(ps: never inquire about thesexxus.net )
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Leather and pain
Well, the folks for the party I attempted to attend suggested I go to their Saturday Night general one instead. I agreed, via email, and went out shopping yesterday to kit myself out.
As previously noted, I had a significant amount of money set aside for traveling, so while money was no object, anyone who's had the rather uncertain joy in discovering how MUCH cows cost, when converted to pieces that will cover you, I did need to plan on having a significant amount.
My frustrations began when I discovered, to the best of my knowledge, that XL in the place was probably about a size 10, or possibly a 28 waist, if anyone needs that sort of measurements. Being as on the bottom I do in fact travel with junk in the trunk, and am closer to a 16 and have a 33 waist, I was horrified to find even the stretchiest of PVC wasn't working, and the leather was straight out. Which was off, as I was a large on top. (ah, joy of being a 36-24-44.) The only relief was a beautiful woman with a swanlike neck buying herself, and walking around the store to shop, in a stunning posture collar. I was very vocal in my appreciation.
After an hour of frustration, I finally threw up my arms and said "A kilt! I'll just use a man's kilt!" I could have had a custom order, but given that I was going to a party, I really wanted something THEN. So one Medium , expensive, man's leather utilikilt later, and I felt like a real human. I said to the salesman "Well, this is probably an odd fasion faux pas" and he informed me I had no idea. Apparently once they were paid straight up 1000$ just to stay open after hours for a shy crossdresser. He managed to get 3 corsets on.. at once, mind you, and they had to be cut off. He paid for the whole lot. An expensive mistake, as the corsets cost anywhere from 200 to -800$.
I was still a little sad, as I really wanted some sort of pants, and one of the ladies from back, a glorious woman in a permanent collar with a chrome lock, came out to see what I'd got. I had seen this woman half a dozen times before but only now did the collar register. Impressed, I asked her about the comfort level, having Em in mind for a permanent one, and she reached into a drawer to pull one out. "Here, just feel..."
I was shocked to find myself stiffening, and in all politeness, I said, "Um... this is weird... I don't, uh, wear these..." while my mind was screaming no! I didn't see it, but Kyle informed me after her face did this odd flux, and he was convinced she was going to say "Sorry Mistress" but all that her professional salesvoice got out was "Oh, s-sorry!" before she quickly stopped trying to drape the thing around my neck. We talked fashionable locks, and long term wear (she'd worn hers for 10 years, without a mark on the skin!) and her outfit.
She was wearing an attractive underbust corset with large buckles that I'd seen in the shop earlier, with a skin tight pair of chaps buckled to them (I've discovered buckles are my thing, I much prefer them to laces). I said "Oh, I didn't know you had those" and she mentioned it was a custom piece, as they have to essentially measure, fit to your leg, cut out the holes of the chaps exactly to get the perfect line,a dn go from there. She was terribly enthused about doing custom work for me, and LOVED, simply LOVED my blue hair. She enthused about it, and understood when I told her I wanted a much more severe cut than the bob the guy at House of Lords gave me, short in the back, long in the front, slick and aggressive. We agreed I should have gone to Coupe Bizzare instead. And I should get my uniform done in leather. Bright, colourful leathers that will match my hair. She said there's not enough colour in fetish. I agreed.
And I have to come to fetish nights monthly (forgot to get the time and address) and have to come to the October fetish ball and I simply MUST go to Toronto pride and I was stairing at the fellow who'd helped me, ringing things up, shocked. "Uh, she's rather pursuasive?" "We all are, I just got you to buy TWO tops.."
$1000 later, some stockings aside, and I was ready to go.
Sadly, the night was a disaster. I got a drive there, and discovered the door to the place was closed. One skivy guy outside said they did that if they had too many people, but another nicer fellow, named Aldo, who I immediatly felt comfortable with, noted he'd RSVPed and paid online not 40 minutes before. So We're not sure what was up. We waited, and waited, and finally I called Kyle to pick me back up. And then Also suggested a swinger club nearby, so Kyle wa shere and I told him never mind. And we get there and they're members only (which they didn't say on the phone) and I call Kyle AGAIN. He's mad. I'm mad.
And from now on, fetish only. At least they're sane.
As previously noted, I had a significant amount of money set aside for traveling, so while money was no object, anyone who's had the rather uncertain joy in discovering how MUCH cows cost, when converted to pieces that will cover you, I did need to plan on having a significant amount.
My frustrations began when I discovered, to the best of my knowledge, that XL in the place was probably about a size 10, or possibly a 28 waist, if anyone needs that sort of measurements. Being as on the bottom I do in fact travel with junk in the trunk, and am closer to a 16 and have a 33 waist, I was horrified to find even the stretchiest of PVC wasn't working, and the leather was straight out. Which was off, as I was a large on top. (ah, joy of being a 36-24-44.) The only relief was a beautiful woman with a swanlike neck buying herself, and walking around the store to shop, in a stunning posture collar. I was very vocal in my appreciation.
After an hour of frustration, I finally threw up my arms and said "A kilt! I'll just use a man's kilt!" I could have had a custom order, but given that I was going to a party, I really wanted something THEN. So one Medium , expensive, man's leather utilikilt later, and I felt like a real human. I said to the salesman "Well, this is probably an odd fasion faux pas" and he informed me I had no idea. Apparently once they were paid straight up 1000$ just to stay open after hours for a shy crossdresser. He managed to get 3 corsets on.. at once, mind you, and they had to be cut off. He paid for the whole lot. An expensive mistake, as the corsets cost anywhere from 200 to -800$.
I was still a little sad, as I really wanted some sort of pants, and one of the ladies from back, a glorious woman in a permanent collar with a chrome lock, came out to see what I'd got. I had seen this woman half a dozen times before but only now did the collar register. Impressed, I asked her about the comfort level, having Em in mind for a permanent one, and she reached into a drawer to pull one out. "Here, just feel..."
I was shocked to find myself stiffening, and in all politeness, I said, "Um... this is weird... I don't, uh, wear these..." while my mind was screaming no! I didn't see it, but Kyle informed me after her face did this odd flux, and he was convinced she was going to say "Sorry Mistress" but all that her professional salesvoice got out was "Oh, s-sorry!" before she quickly stopped trying to drape the thing around my neck. We talked fashionable locks, and long term wear (she'd worn hers for 10 years, without a mark on the skin!) and her outfit.
She was wearing an attractive underbust corset with large buckles that I'd seen in the shop earlier, with a skin tight pair of chaps buckled to them (I've discovered buckles are my thing, I much prefer them to laces). I said "Oh, I didn't know you had those" and she mentioned it was a custom piece, as they have to essentially measure, fit to your leg, cut out the holes of the chaps exactly to get the perfect line,a dn go from there. She was terribly enthused about doing custom work for me, and LOVED, simply LOVED my blue hair. She enthused about it, and understood when I told her I wanted a much more severe cut than the bob the guy at House of Lords gave me, short in the back, long in the front, slick and aggressive. We agreed I should have gone to Coupe Bizzare instead. And I should get my uniform done in leather. Bright, colourful leathers that will match my hair. She said there's not enough colour in fetish. I agreed.
And I have to come to fetish nights monthly (forgot to get the time and address) and have to come to the October fetish ball and I simply MUST go to Toronto pride and I was stairing at the fellow who'd helped me, ringing things up, shocked. "Uh, she's rather pursuasive?" "We all are, I just got you to buy TWO tops.."
$1000 later, some stockings aside, and I was ready to go.
Sadly, the night was a disaster. I got a drive there, and discovered the door to the place was closed. One skivy guy outside said they did that if they had too many people, but another nicer fellow, named Aldo, who I immediatly felt comfortable with, noted he'd RSVPed and paid online not 40 minutes before. So We're not sure what was up. We waited, and waited, and finally I called Kyle to pick me back up. And then Also suggested a swinger club nearby, so Kyle wa shere and I told him never mind. And we get there and they're members only (which they didn't say on the phone) and I call Kyle AGAIN. He's mad. I'm mad.
And from now on, fetish only. At least they're sane.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Disapointed...
In my email today:
"Unfortunately, the response to the Women's party has been practically non-existent. You are the only one who has inquired for this event."
Well, fuck.
"Unfortunately, the response to the Women's party has been practically non-existent. You are the only one who has inquired for this event."
Well, fuck.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Adventures
A lot of things have happened over the last few days, but the biggest one is wrapped up in a lot of smaller ones.
One of the joys of being online, is that, at least in the realms I chat in, really no limits at all, bar imagination. The oddest thing that can be described is probably being done. Placed in a land with no limits, besides the ones in my own head, I quickly discovered I naturally gravitate towards women, so much so that many of my friends there were surprised to discover I am married to a man, and do enjoy them.
It has let me discover what I really and truly want, and I've been lucky enough to play with some virtual partners that have helped refine my desires beautifully (One never realized how much they liked hoods on a sub until she had a partner who clamored after them). The only issue has been, it is nothing but the virtual world.
I've also made some interesting friendships, the most surprising of which are with a few permanent 'slaves', who use the virtual world as a means to get out and do things. All with permission of course. I find them fascinating, as they are all extremely nice and often very smart women, and it's changed my perspective on the idea. (As my husband has noted, D/s relationships seem to fair no better nor worse for longevity that anyone else's.)
One of the girls I talk to has ended up being a natural sounding board for me. She's polite, but very knowledgeable, and not above making penetrating remarks of insight. I had admired her happy relationship with her Master, and she noted one day I'd be lucky and meet the right girl.
"I have, except she's in England, and taken."
"Well, she's not really the right girl then, is she, Miss?"
I was stunned, because this was it to the core. I love Em quite a bit, but at best we'll be able to visit occasionally and maybe play. And by occasionally I mean possibly, if I'm lucky, one time this year. As we both noted, her life would have to radically change for that to be any different. And currently, at least, I'm out of the breaking up people's relationships business.
And in visiting Northbound, that place of kink, I found myself seeing a little postcard. "Kink friendly" it assured me, in various terms. "Monthly women's only night." I paused. But, let's be honest, I've tried dating women. I've tried picking them up with only varying success. Perhaps I should just be direct, go to this sex party, bring some rope, and see who creams for it.
Worth a little real-world adventuring?
I think so.
Maybe I'll tie up Miss Right.
One of the joys of being online, is that, at least in the realms I chat in, really no limits at all, bar imagination. The oddest thing that can be described is probably being done. Placed in a land with no limits, besides the ones in my own head, I quickly discovered I naturally gravitate towards women, so much so that many of my friends there were surprised to discover I am married to a man, and do enjoy them.
It has let me discover what I really and truly want, and I've been lucky enough to play with some virtual partners that have helped refine my desires beautifully (One never realized how much they liked hoods on a sub until she had a partner who clamored after them). The only issue has been, it is nothing but the virtual world.
I've also made some interesting friendships, the most surprising of which are with a few permanent 'slaves', who use the virtual world as a means to get out and do things. All with permission of course. I find them fascinating, as they are all extremely nice and often very smart women, and it's changed my perspective on the idea. (As my husband has noted, D/s relationships seem to fair no better nor worse for longevity that anyone else's.)
One of the girls I talk to has ended up being a natural sounding board for me. She's polite, but very knowledgeable, and not above making penetrating remarks of insight. I had admired her happy relationship with her Master, and she noted one day I'd be lucky and meet the right girl.
"I have, except she's in England, and taken."
"Well, she's not really the right girl then, is she, Miss?"
I was stunned, because this was it to the core. I love Em quite a bit, but at best we'll be able to visit occasionally and maybe play. And by occasionally I mean possibly, if I'm lucky, one time this year. As we both noted, her life would have to radically change for that to be any different. And currently, at least, I'm out of the breaking up people's relationships business.
And in visiting Northbound, that place of kink, I found myself seeing a little postcard. "Kink friendly" it assured me, in various terms. "Monthly women's only night." I paused. But, let's be honest, I've tried dating women. I've tried picking them up with only varying success. Perhaps I should just be direct, go to this sex party, bring some rope, and see who creams for it.
Worth a little real-world adventuring?
I think so.
Maybe I'll tie up Miss Right.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Intoxication
(fair warning to friends of a more explicit post)
The room is softly black. I'm not sure yet if the purpose of the play is to help me wake up, or him wake up, or if we are doing something more yet. Hands and mouth gently tug at my nipples, caress my breasts. I'm dozing, half asleep, passively enjoying, kissing whatever is near. He teases, straddling my chest and resting himself between my breasts. He teases me with a few trusts, tormenting me with the image of what we can't do yet, before sliding off, caressing my skin. I teasingly anoint him with my arousal, stroking over the silken skin.
"Well, you're going to have to lick that off!" he notes, and I gladly oblige for a few moments, assuming this is how the morning will progress.
A mouth dips down near my ear after a moment.
"I have a wicked idea.... Turn on the light."
I'm confused, my eyes opening in the dark and I have yet to register the second command before he returns. He gently leans over, snapping on illumination, which does nothing for me. Eye shut against it and I turn my head away, but I hear a familiar snap being opened.
Oh my.
I shiver and hold still, knowing what's coming next. We have a special toy, one discovered almost by accident. My husband collects knives, and one, an onyx black, phallic thing, was found to be the perfect plaything for one who likes knives but wishes to be safe. The edge is ground to such an angle, meant only for display, that it feels sharp, but cannot really cut. The point is good enough to pierce, with some pressure, if one desires, but otherwise, safe. And gorgeous, ebony from hilt to tip, but for the slight silver of the grind where the blacking was taken off.
There is a feeling of weight as the dagger is rested on me, handle over one breast, tip just resting against the curve of the other nipple. A small push, and I moan, as the sharpness bites and holds it there. Later, I can see there wasn't even a dimple left, but at the time, I feel run through, pierced.
The unspoken command is "Hold still," one I know well from our other games with this object, and I find my breathing slowing. Stopping. I enter a strange state of zen of self controlled erotic meditation, eyes closed, breathing only occasionally, feeling rather than moving. The knife is moved, teasingly run over bare skin, the coolness causing my heart to skip. It traces along my collarbone, perhaps running over the wing of the bird there. I do not know. I only know the stillness, and the taste of sharpness and control.
The knife is gone, and then hands are back, teasing and tugging over taut nubs of flesh, my nipples aching now. I remember breathing only as I start to moan.
"I wonder" asks the voice, "If I can make you come just by playing with these?"
I consider it a worthwhile experiment. I've been driven mad from lack of contact, of relief in the last two weeks, and suspect that might well be possible now. I reply to the suggestion by grabbing his own piercing in my teeth, tying his chest to my lips. the sensations leave me light headed, I feel like I'm floating.
"How's the piercing?" he suddenly asks. Coming back to earth, I realize one hand has been tugging my own nipple, as his spare is slowly stroking over his warm shaft watching me. The other, unconsciously, has been between my legs.
"It seems good?" I say curiously, realizing the discomfort from the piercing has been gone, indeed for days. Hooray for healing quickly! I know I can, I'd attended a tattoo exposition merely one week after my final colours, and fooled everyone into thinking I'd had it for months. I'd been flogged hard and been fine in days. I test it, moving the metal from one side to another, before settling into a slow motion, matching the quiet pace, the strange feeling of intoxication from sensation.
Eyes closed, merely listening and feeling, I climax in a gentle, but powerful way, having to force myself to make a sound, my breathing nearly vanishing as it gets near and my voice somehow mute, unwilling to let out my excitement, restrained. I let out a groan on the second tremor, and a hot feeling floods over me, from nipple to chest, as he joins me, warmly covering my breast, cockhead resting just over the nipple, teasing it as my mind was only just now registering, perhaps since we had begun the experiment a few minutes ago. I touch the wetness with tender amazement, running my fingers along it, feeling relaxed and loved.
"Now isn't this a nice way to start the day?"
I nod mutely. Time to get ready for work.
The room is softly black. I'm not sure yet if the purpose of the play is to help me wake up, or him wake up, or if we are doing something more yet. Hands and mouth gently tug at my nipples, caress my breasts. I'm dozing, half asleep, passively enjoying, kissing whatever is near. He teases, straddling my chest and resting himself between my breasts. He teases me with a few trusts, tormenting me with the image of what we can't do yet, before sliding off, caressing my skin. I teasingly anoint him with my arousal, stroking over the silken skin.
"Well, you're going to have to lick that off!" he notes, and I gladly oblige for a few moments, assuming this is how the morning will progress.
A mouth dips down near my ear after a moment.
"I have a wicked idea.... Turn on the light."
I'm confused, my eyes opening in the dark and I have yet to register the second command before he returns. He gently leans over, snapping on illumination, which does nothing for me. Eye shut against it and I turn my head away, but I hear a familiar snap being opened.
Oh my.
I shiver and hold still, knowing what's coming next. We have a special toy, one discovered almost by accident. My husband collects knives, and one, an onyx black, phallic thing, was found to be the perfect plaything for one who likes knives but wishes to be safe. The edge is ground to such an angle, meant only for display, that it feels sharp, but cannot really cut. The point is good enough to pierce, with some pressure, if one desires, but otherwise, safe. And gorgeous, ebony from hilt to tip, but for the slight silver of the grind where the blacking was taken off.
There is a feeling of weight as the dagger is rested on me, handle over one breast, tip just resting against the curve of the other nipple. A small push, and I moan, as the sharpness bites and holds it there. Later, I can see there wasn't even a dimple left, but at the time, I feel run through, pierced.
The unspoken command is "Hold still," one I know well from our other games with this object, and I find my breathing slowing. Stopping. I enter a strange state of zen of self controlled erotic meditation, eyes closed, breathing only occasionally, feeling rather than moving. The knife is moved, teasingly run over bare skin, the coolness causing my heart to skip. It traces along my collarbone, perhaps running over the wing of the bird there. I do not know. I only know the stillness, and the taste of sharpness and control.
The knife is gone, and then hands are back, teasing and tugging over taut nubs of flesh, my nipples aching now. I remember breathing only as I start to moan.
"I wonder" asks the voice, "If I can make you come just by playing with these?"
I consider it a worthwhile experiment. I've been driven mad from lack of contact, of relief in the last two weeks, and suspect that might well be possible now. I reply to the suggestion by grabbing his own piercing in my teeth, tying his chest to my lips. the sensations leave me light headed, I feel like I'm floating.
"How's the piercing?" he suddenly asks. Coming back to earth, I realize one hand has been tugging my own nipple, as his spare is slowly stroking over his warm shaft watching me. The other, unconsciously, has been between my legs.
"It seems good?" I say curiously, realizing the discomfort from the piercing has been gone, indeed for days. Hooray for healing quickly! I know I can, I'd attended a tattoo exposition merely one week after my final colours, and fooled everyone into thinking I'd had it for months. I'd been flogged hard and been fine in days. I test it, moving the metal from one side to another, before settling into a slow motion, matching the quiet pace, the strange feeling of intoxication from sensation.
Eyes closed, merely listening and feeling, I climax in a gentle, but powerful way, having to force myself to make a sound, my breathing nearly vanishing as it gets near and my voice somehow mute, unwilling to let out my excitement, restrained. I let out a groan on the second tremor, and a hot feeling floods over me, from nipple to chest, as he joins me, warmly covering my breast, cockhead resting just over the nipple, teasing it as my mind was only just now registering, perhaps since we had begun the experiment a few minutes ago. I touch the wetness with tender amazement, running my fingers along it, feeling relaxed and loved.
"Now isn't this a nice way to start the day?"
I nod mutely. Time to get ready for work.
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