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.

Etiquette

One of the key features of my former life was an almost painful tendency to not want to offend. I'm still working through this, but I do tend to worry a little about manners and decorum, both in my regular life and in my like as a Domme. I am not a woman who tends to bark orders, though I can. I do not see the reason to treat every sub I meet like dirt, and I try to be courteous to all.

But I forgot rule number one.
You do not talk to the sub about topping them, you talk to their master.

Well, damn.
That little slip up may cost me a lot. A potential friendship, a potential ally. The damage may not be so bad, but first impressions are irreversible. And when said Mistress reads the randy conversation (which in retrospect, reading it over myself, wasn't too bad, really, but not me at my best) of a sex-starved, servant needing lady she doesn't even know to her boy, well... I can't really expect to be in her good graces.

And ultimately, the fault was mine. See, these two are new in the scene, or newer than I am, who has been around for a decade now. And the first and foremost hope of mine, was that my husband and I could introduce them around, take them to events, gain a new perspective as the inducers, not inductees. I wanted to talk ropes with someone, to chat, to get to know a couple in their own explorations and better understand ours. To make friends with another domme and talk girl-beats-boy things. (or in my case girl-beats-girl).

I knew better. I know the rules. I've lived by the rules.
And I broke the rules.
Now I worry everything I attempt will be seen as a way to get in her good books so I can top or fuck her boy. Which is hardly the case. But that is the impression I have given myself, not of a studious domme, but of a man stealer.

All but for the want of a little manners.

Inspirations

I was lucky enough to receive a substantial amount of money from family for a 'trip' of some sort. But the current debate in our house is whether it would be a real trip, most likely to England, or a ticket for a certain girl I know to come here, or a trip of the mind.

After all, I did mention the thoughts and dreams we were having at Northbound.

But kink can be expensive. We have our knives, our ropes, our few items here or there. Our clothes have all been outgrown or gotten rid of. The nippleclamps need to be replace, because the plastic has degraded. I need some proper CFMs and other domme gear. We'd both like to start attending fetish nights again, but while I can and have gotten away with wearing my antique military uniform (think 19th century French Army) it tends to leave people cold, and Kyle has no chaps or other such things at all now, all having vanished as he actually went from rake thin to having some meat on him.

So now we're figuring out if trip can mean exploration, and if another visit to our favorite store of leathers and latex is in order. Ideally, I have a lovely long leather coat I'd like, that would just break the bank. Practically speaking, I could make do with a nice vinyl item I saw for $300, as previously noted. But the more we eat away at that, the less likely we could bring Em here. And after all, there's not anyone else who'd see me in them, save possibly at fetish nights, and they're hit and miss enough I am reluctant to spend quite so much to get back into them with no sure return.

Luckly, I think I am inspired. A friend of mine, nameless for now, has slowly revealed his sub site. A rather intensive and odd talk today informed us both that this intellectual equal, this masterful conversationalist that the other found attractive was simply being too polite to flirt with them. On both sides. After all, he was a happy Christian, as theoretically I am as well, we were both married, and to monogamous persons. Times do change though.

I have thought that the reason Kyle and I are still together, and will probably remain together, is we always have something to talk about. This fellow does as well. Shame I don't tend to let boys talk besides "Yes Mistress..."


A trip is definatly in order, and lunch.

I have a few...

I think it says a lot about a person when I see how they react to "hey, even though we've just been flirting for years, sleeping with me is now no longer out of the question!". At this point, only two people been informed that, neither of whom lives locally to me anymore. Arctic met the suggestion with ribald commentary vis a vis window shopping in sex shops. Skye, on the other hand was more restrained, upping our long-standing flirt a few levels in chat.
He wondered if I had a nice , flowy skirt. I noted I might need a new one, as I've lost weight. He posited the suggestion of a shopping trip. I pointed out men aren't allowed in the change rooms. He noted that sneaking in was, in fact, half the fun of him shopping with female friends.

It went on, until some comment was met with him noting "It's not like I haven't seen you naked." This gave me pause. I've had a very, very interesting past, but I'm pretty certain I can remember who I slept with, and Skye was defiantly not on the list. I asked him when was this exactly, and he reminded me of the photos.

Me at 20 was a person who'd never regret anything they did ever. I was raunchy and happy and openly sexual. And I made the amateur mistake of allowing a lover to take photos of us together. We were both artistic, so I intended to use them as reference myself as well, though I never ended up with copies. Some time later, we gently parted ways, and I didn't think anymore of them.

Until about a year later, when Skye gently approached me and noted he had a CD of art, from this man and others, and in one of the directories were the photos of me. I was annoyed more than anything, but I considered it a reasonable mistake. After all, if you did a batch copy of everything, your porn, your art, and gave it to friends, yes, I could see the photos getting there. Skye kindly pointed out the person who had the disks, and extended his sympathies to me. Many were out already, though at least apparently no more were to go around with those photos, at least after he met the anonymous person from them. But he was under the worrisome impression that I was allowing the photos to be shared.

Nothing to be done. I tried not to let it worry me. And I forgot about it, for another year. I'd had a falling out with the former lover after he found out I was getting married and that ment no, no more casual sex, no. But I didn't think anything really bad could come of that until I came back from my honeymoon.

The photos had been on the internet. They had been forwarded to all my mailing lists and newsgroups by someone posing as myself, the day after the wedding, claiming to be from my honeymoon. The lover was suspiciously cropped out of them. I was gone for two weeks, and had my best woman not been on the ball, doing damage control, they would have been there when I got back, but she managed to get the host to pull them after a day.

The damage to my reputation was done. I had kept a careful balancing act between professional art friends who saw me as an artist who did children's books, and lovers and similar who knew about all the adult work I did as well. This was a scattershot across all the groups that might know me, and many people who'd known me for years never really trusted or talked to me much after the incident. I buried my head in the sand. I left the various forums and groups, and hid for over 2 years. I didn't speak to all but a few friends from that time. Skye was a friend from before, but he was dropped like all the others.

Unfortunately, I could never prove anything, but the person had to have the photos, know about my wedding date, and my new name. Only a select few on a mailing list I was on, a local one, knew the last two. I could never prove anything. But I soured me, and soured me on the friends I had that couldn't believe someone would be so petty and bitter to do this.

One smart cookie years later pointed out it was essentially a sexual assault, though I was never touched. It seems to fit my reaction. It was the thing that turned me off of lovers, polyamoury, trusting my body and mind with anyone else for a very long time.

I can't say I won't make mistakes now, but I'd like to think I've learned from then. At the very least, I'd like to think I've learned to select my partners wisely.

You can't get much better than the man, 7 years back, who was gentleman enough to tell me about the photos in the first place, who overlooked his own comfort (hey, admitting you have a disc full of porn to a lady you like can't be easy!) and thought of my own first. I'm sorry I dropped him out of my life with other deserving folks. I have a few regrets, but I don't think he's going to be one of them.

Birthday wishes

"No sex for a month!"
Kyle looks bemused by this. I'm simply annoyed.

"They don't tell you that until they get the bar in." I'm griping. My birthday present to myself was going to be a triangle piecing, but the piercer and I went through my anatomy (totally inadequate) and decided a vertical hood bar was best. The whole procedure was quick, though hardly painless, and much better than my last attempt 10 years back, where I was told in no uncertain terms to get the fuck out of there if I was anything less than perfectly comfortable with the needle by some smarmy jackass with the bedside manner of Atilla the Hun. She commented on the new blue hair, my other gift for myself. I noted I had originally planned on getting this after the dye session, which ran long at 5 hours. A bit of flirting, a bit of shop talk, and I was out and signing the forms in 10 minutes. I should have done so before hand, but hey, she forgot and I was ready to go. Luckly, no regrets.

We decide since we're so early to walk a few doors down Yonge to hit Northbound. If any of you haven't been here, it's the most lovely little fetish shop in Toronto, with a very nice front full of leathers and vinyls, collars and cuffs, and an even naughtier back, where I pointed out a gorgeous human sized dog cage they got in to Kyle. Not for me, mind you, for Em.

She's a good half the reason Kyle and I decided to take the step in opening up our relationship. We'd been spending time online, me in Second Life, him in this place called Red Light Center, getting more in touch with our fetish side. In expressing my domme side, I met a lovely girl in England, and currently Kyle and I are teasing her to come visit and be our slave for the week. I know she'd quite happy spend a vacation tied up and tormented, and now the logistics are just being figured out.

"At what point in the relationship," I joked with the guy behind the counter, a cute, tattooed thing with lovely lip piercings. "Is it appropriate to send her the steel collar?" He had a chuckle, and also commented on my hair, if only to go on and on about how he used to have blue hair JUST LIKE that, but it washed out all the time and he had to redye it every week, and it ended up being dry as straw.

Thanks. I asked who owned him so I could register a complaint. Another laugh. It's so nice to talk to people who you can just be yourself with again. We discussed cute, stupid boys who look better with cocks in their mouths, and I mentioned the naivety of the ones I'd met in my old porn job around women. That brought back memories. It was only a few blocks down.

Kyle points me to a lovely coat at $300, then teases me by reminding me we've already spent $200 in hair and piercings. A fetish ball is mentioned, we note it down, and we're heading out through the back. I pause at the table of business postcards, hovering over one for OntarioCouples.com.
"Why not grab that too?"
I forgot, I don't have to pretend I'm not interested in that anymore. We pick it up, and another for a fetish forum, and exit. Kyle leans over and notes:
"You know, I was just thinking how you could get your military uniform redone here in leather."
"Oh man, sweetie... but that'd be a few thousand dollars!"
"I know..."
"... might be well worth the effort.. with leather pants and everything?"
"Why not?"
*twinge*
"Owww! Dammit... no sex for a month AND I'm going to hurt getting aroused? This better be worth it."
He laughs. What a birthday.

In the beginning, there was curiosity

It all started with an image search, something kinky that I needed to draw.

Actually, it started long before that.
Marriage didn't sit well with me. Well, it did, but monogamy was hitting me hard. In the bad old days of my youth, a mere 7 years ago, I used to hold court over many suitors, fucktoys and friends with benefits. But caught up in love, my husband and I abandoned all that.

It's ironic really, I met him as a kinky dom, a swinger, and a lover of polyamoury, but the circumstances of his final relationship before me burned him so completely on the lifestyle, we decided we were going to be normal. A couple, and just a couple, living a simple life.

It was hard. Not at first, but it got hard. He wasn't happy, really, nor was I. We couldn't say why. But through the joys of the online world, recently we began re exploring our sexuality away from each other, through chats, first hidden, then open.

He found he didn't like being fully in charge, to direct but not to lead, and needed a Mistress over him, something I still cannot provide. I found I was really a domme myself, a natural flair for direction and command, something that should have been obvious from my years of managing the boytoys I did. I also got to explore my love of women, safely, where rejection was much easier to take and strangely never came. I talk a good talk, apparently.

But we never dared say.. "What if I meet this person from online.. is that okay?"
It was an image search that did it for me. A beautiful blog, full of lust and passion, reminding me of how much we were missing, and empahsizing that it could be fun, Reminding us it was the people we had been with who sucked the life out of it, not the activities we were doing. Find the right playmates, and why not have fun again.

I have a tattoo that says fearless on my chest, nestled between my breasts, an obvious and broad statement. I got it to remind me to live brave, live bold.

I asked my husband... why can't we be like that blog, again. If the "what if" happens, are we strong, secure, in love enough to let it?

Yes.

We're living fearless now, off the map, in the wilds. Back in the jungle, out of the tamed world of regular life.

I love it.