when an idea is better than its execution

You know when you get A Great Idea, and it sounds like the best thing ever, and you can’t wait to implement it?

And then it falls…flat? Not falls flat like, say, the Edsel (no, I’m not that old; I just read a lot and one day hope to appear on Jeopardy [seriously, I’d love to go on Jeopardy, but mostly just to poke fun at the way Alex Trebek pronounces foreign and foreign-sounding words with such enthusiastic authenticity]). But a disappointing follow-through nonetheless.

At a recent party, T. was in full top mode, and pulled out 3 dice he had bought at the comic-book store (I’m the comics reader; he was just along for the ride and doesn’t really read comics [although I got him hooked on Blue Beetle before it got cancelled]). These weren’t the standard 6-sided dice you see on craps tables or…well, wherever people tend to play dice. (I’m not really a gambler, although I do love $1 blackjack at church festivals.)

These were gaming dice, of the kind used for Dungeons & Dragons and similar games. Neither T. nor I are gamers; he bought the dice mostly because he thought they looked cool, and then he hatched a scheme to use them during kinky play (as opposed to gaming play). One die was 20-sided, one was 8-sided, and one was 4-sided.

The basic idea was this: he laid out 8 beat-y implements (floggers, riding crop, etc.); I rolled the 8-sided die to pick which implement he would use on me. The 20-sided die determined how many strokes I would receive with the aforementioned implement, and the 4-sided die was used to determine if the strokes would be to my front side or back side (odd numbers were front and even numbers were back).

Out of all of the beat-y implements, I really only “like” the floggers. A good flogging leaves me loopy and stoned. The riding crop I can tolerate, but it’s not my favorite. The other evil toys (a plastic “magic wand” from a kid’s magic set, a short heavy lucite rod that I dubbed the “beat-y stick,” and a short piece of wood cut in the basic shape of a hairbrush, but without bristles, bearing the label “bald man’s hairbrush” — it was a goofy thing we found in a souvenir shop on vacation, and we knew it needed to be in our toy bag) were things that really freaking HURT me; it’s hard for me to take them, and when I do, it usually has to involve a good warm-up.

The problem with the execution of the dice game was this: it doesn’t allow for any warm-up. I’ve seen bottoms/subs/slaves who don’t need to be warmed up for impact play; they can jump right in and take one hell of a paddling. I, however, am not like that. So when my roll of the dice came up 8 strokes with the magic wand on my front side, it hurt in ways that I could hardly handle.

We kept on with the dice game for several rounds, until I finally told T. that the lack of warm-up was killing me. We moved to a spanking bench and he spent a long time flogging me — mostly florentine flogging, which I love. I was, in fact, loopy and endorphin-stoned when he was finished, which hasn’t happened to me in a long time. I slept very, VERY well that night.

I don’t think the dice game is bad, or something we’ll never do again. I just think that if we do it in the future — at least with me as the bottom — I’ll need warm-up first, and then we can move into the dice game.

It’s something that I think would also work well as a punishment. T. and I don’t have the kind of a relationship that involves rules and punishment, but if we did, I like the mindfuck-y aspect of the dice game forcing the bottom to be the one to “choose” her punishment.

This was the first time we tried the dice game, so neither of us knew how it would play out; we certainly weren’t expecting our most mind-blowing scene ever (though we also weren’t expecting a failure). And I wouldn’t call it a failure, either. I’ll just call it beta-testing.

 

turnabout

So, after my turn on top making T. have to ask for each stroke, I got my just desserts, and found myself on the bottom end of that scenario last week.

It was the first time that I had been the bottom in that particular mindfuck-y scene, and I have to say, I really loved it. Partly because I have a wimpy ass that can’t take a whole lot of intense pain, and partly because I just love a good mindfuck, whether I’m giving or receiving.

Being able to control how often I get hit, by asking “More, please, ma’am,” (which, by the way, is a MOUTHFUL, and feels like it takes about 5 minutes to say!) helps me to take a longer scene, because if any given stroke really hurt, I can wait as long as I need to before the next one. T. and I also worked out a way to ask for a specific implement, or even ask for a certain number of strokes with a given toy (like, “Ma’am, I can take 5 more with the crop, but then I need a different toy,”). Brilliant.

As for the mindfuck-y aspect — it’s almost like I’m mindfucking *myself,* because I got to a point where I was making deals with myself, like “Okay, just one more; I only have to take this one more, and then I can stop,” but then after T. gave me that one more — theoretically one *last* — stroke, I’d decide that no, I could take more, really I could, and I’d ask for another.

I found myself asking for more than I thought I would, and asking more quickly (i.e., not much time between swats) as well.

I assure you, my ass really hurt the next day. In a good way.

 

you have to ask me for it

Ye gods, it’s been a whole MONTH since I last posted! It really didn’t seem that long, I swear.

Of course, you’re thinking that a month’s hiatus must mean that I have bushels full of salacious stories and torrid tales about all of my kinky exploits. But….not so much. Sure, there are some, one of which I’m about to share, but I really am a boring Teppycat when it comes right down to it.

Seriously. Last night, I cut out coupons. Hand to god. How’s THAT for edgeplay?

Recently, however, I did manage to get fierce on T.’s ass for a while. And — this is truly shocking — I managed to leave marks on him that were still visible the next day. You have to understand, he NEVER marks. Ever.

What we did was basically a reprise of the night that I made him ASK for each stroke with the cane/crop/whatever. (I originally got my inspiration for that from Dev and her own wicked ways.)

Because T. enjoys self-bondage — and because both I’m a lazy top and a voyeur — I told him to tie himself so that he could lie on his back and yet his ass would be, for the most part, accessible for beating. I wanted him to lie on his back because I wanted to be able to maintain eye contact with him. I love that connection when he’s asking me to cane him again and I can see the arousal and pain and enjoyment and submission in his eyes. Yum.

He tied his wrists to his ankles, same side to same side, and then I tied the ends off to the headboard, which allowed him to keep his legs up over his head, more or less. (He’s VERY flexible. I like that in a guy.) Then I reminded him of the rules — I wouldn’t give him the next stroke unless he asked for it by saying, “More, please, ma’am.” He could also ask me to switch implements of ass destruction in a similar way, as well as ask me to slow down, reduce the intensity, or stop altogether.

I used a cane on his ass for a long time; in fact, when I moved to switch to something different, he asked if I would continue using the cane. I ask you, HOW could I ever say no to such a delightful request? I actually caned him for so long that the cane broke. (Okay, it wasn’t a rattan/bamboo/wood cane; it was an acrylic cane, but I’d had it — and used it — for a few years. It was pretty sturdy. Operative word being “was.”)

While I was using the cane on his ass, he kept asking for the next stroke immediately, even though I could tell it was really hurting him. And I complied, but I admit that there was a point where I almost called yellow to stop for a minute and make sure he was okay, because even though he was readily and quickly asking for the next stroke, he was also yelping and practically hyperventilating. I didn’t, in the end, call yellow, but I did pause and tell him that I was switching to the riding crop, and I stroked his hair for a minute and waited until his breath was under control again.

(He was, he informed me later, in a lot of pain BUT ALSO incredibly turned on and rock-hard. The combination was exquisite torment and was kind of blowing his mind. But hyperventilation makes me uneasy, so I’m not sorry that I switched to a different toy.)

Throughout the scene, I alternated between the cane, the riding crop, a long skinny flat wooden paddle that really resembles a paint stirrer on steroids (i.e., longer and thicker than a paint stirrer, but the same general shape), and a bamboo back-scratcher. I tried to flog his ass with my bullhide flogger, but the angle was all wrong and just frustrated me.

It was a really good scene for both of us; for T., because he likes HARD impact play, and for me, because I really enjoy being able to evoke such a complex, multi-layered response from him. Pain, pleasure, begging for more, wanting it to stop, powerful arousal — *I* did all that. That’s what I love about being a top. (Well, that, and how utterly fucking gorgeous T. is when he’s restrained and/or in pain. Yum.)

 

enduring

The other day, I was listening to the Ropecast (Graydancer’s podcast about shibari and other kinky things), and much to my delight, Midori was a guest. She and Graydancer talked about a variety of topics, including her “Elements of Suffering” performance.

In describing “Elements of Suffering,” Midori talked about the Japanese cultural virtue of enduring. She didn’t elaborate on the reasons that enduring is a Japanese virtue; she just explained that it’s a common theme. And then she related that back in to her “Elements of Suffering” performance, talking about the idea of enduring hardship (or suffering).

When I first started reading books about BDSM (thank you, Amazon.com, for making it easy for shy kinksters to get their hands on good reading material!), one of the first books I read was Janet Hardy and Dossie Easton’s New Bottoming Book. In it, they tell the reader to think about what it is that he or she wants to get out of bottoming. In other words, what are you looking for, what do you want to achieve — why are you doing this?

It wasn’t a question I could answer right away; certainly not until I got involved with other kinky people and started playing at parties. Even then, I was just trying to learn everything I could, experience everything I could (or what I was willing to experience), and see what I liked.

Figuring out why I liked it could come later.

And, eventually, what I realized was that, when I bottom, what I want is to endure. I want to take the flogging/beating/pain and get through it, get past it, and see what’s on the other side. (I also want to be praised for taking the pain, to be told I’m a good girl, but that’s not my primary motivator in bottoming.)

This is very much in contrast with T.’s goal in bottoming; he very often wants to be broken, to be pushed to the point where he can’t take the pain any more. And as much as I’ve gone there with him, as his top, it’s not something I want to experience as a bottom.

Neither way is “right,” of course; when it comes to kink, there’s only what’s right for any given person. And it’s endlessly fascinating to me to see just how many permutations there can be, how many different ways people have to embrace and express their kink.

 

this is me, sitting very carefully

So, last night’s party. I got my ass beaten well and thoroughly. And I was stubborn and didn’t want to call yellow to get T. to tone it down, so I’m really fucking sore today, and I have massive sub drop.

It was pretty basic beating: me, bent over a bench, and T. just pounding on my ass, upper back, the backs of my thighs, and, oh, MY ASS some more. He alternated various floggers (thuddy deerskin, sting-y owie rubber) with a riding crop and his own evil hands (in leather gloves). He warmed me up, but it was one of those nights where my ass just couldn’t take a lot of pain.

[I have a weird, weird ass. Most other subs/bottoms I know are able to take *more* pain as they warm up and get into the beating, rather than *less* pain. Not me. It’s like my ass has a pre-set amount of pain it can take, and then it’s finished.]

I tend to not be extremely vocal when I’m bottoming, even when I’m getting beaten. I’ll yelp once in a while, or make some other noise of approval/discomfort, but in general I’m a pretty quiet bottom.

Not last night. Because everything just *hurt,* I kept actually saying “Ow,” repeatedly. And loudly. More like yelling. And I got kind of irritated with T., because he knows how I bottom, and knows that I don’t get vocal, so I assumed that when he realized how vocal I was being, he’d take that as a cue to either (1) dial back how hard he was hitting, or (2) move to a different target, rather than hitting the same spot over and over and over. But he didn’t (at least, not as quickly as I would have liked).

I couldn’t tell if he was *trying* to get me to call yellow, or not. (And I’m well aware that “Ow” is not a safeword.)

I’m a big believer in safewords (I wrote about this a few entries back), but I *don’t* consider safewords to be an excuse for the top to ignore all other signs of distress. I consider safewords to be a failsafe, a last resort. But if you’re my top, and I’m reacting in a different way to a type of play we’ve done countless times before, maybe you should stop and think about WHY THAT IS.

We played for about 45 minutes, and I did call yellow once, when T. just wouldn’t stop with the really hard strokes to my ass, and I asked him to please leave my ass alone for a while. And he acquiesced, but I was still annoyed that he wasn’t reading my reactions as quickly and clearly as I thought he should. I was starting to think he *was* aware that I was reacting in an unusual manner (for me), but was choosing to ignore it. (He wasn’t. Choosing to ignore it, that is.)

I was completely endorphin-stupid when we were finished, and I ate all the cake in the WORLD. I’m starving today — T. already made us a huge brunch with cheese-o-riffic eggs, potatoes, turkey bacon (for me), english muffins, strawberries, and coffee; still, I feel like I could eat anything that isn’t actively decomposing. And I have big time sub drop. Stupid endorphins.

T. and I talked this morning about the “Hey, did you notice that I was reacting in a way I *never had before*? Then why didn’t you DO SOMETHING about it?” issue. And he did say that, yeah, he noticed that I was reacting in an atypical manner, but he didn’t think it was cause for alarm.

And I said no, not cause for alarm per se, but damn close enough to make me think about ending the scene, which ruins the fun for me AND you, buddy. So he said he’d pay closer attention to my reaction in the future, and adjust accordingly (like alternating really hard strokes with some less-hard ones, instead of all hard, all the time).

Man, my ass is SORE.

On edit: I’m afraid that I made T. sound like a dick in this entry, and that’s not at all what I mean. A lot of my irritation was because *I* thought he should have picked up on the nuances of my reactions with telepathic clarity. And that’s not fair on my part. Also, I was really reluctant to call yellow, because I feel like a big wimp whenever I call yellow. Again, that’s not fair to T., when it’s an issue of *my* stubborn pride.

He also wasn’t just whomping on one area of my ass over and over and over again for long stretches of time; it just felt like it to my ass. Frankly, all it takes is more than one hard stroke in a row to the same area, and that’s enough to qualify (to my ass) as “over and over.” He *did* move to different targets, and *did* alternate how hard/soft he was hitting; it just didn’t seem like it happened quickly enough to make my ass happy.

My upper back can take a hell of a lot more abuse than my ass can, which, again, is freaking weird.

Anyway. T. wasn’t being a dick; he was being a top. He wasn’t being telepathic, but then, that wasn’t part of the scene.

 

two doms for the price of one!

Saturday night, T. and I went to the party I mentioned earlier. There was Christmas-themed merriment, and even a low-budget kinky gift exchange (we got a bag full of wooden clothespins, embroidery floss [good for CBT], and thick black rope, all of which we will put to good use [and by “good,” I mean “devious and evil”]). 

One of the other guests was a femdom who plays pretty hard, and that’s what T. was really wanting. So that’s what he got. I helped a little, but mostly I watched, which was fucking HOT. I forgot how much of a voyeur I am. (Voyeuse?) 

I secured T. to a St. Andrew’s cross — his wrists were tied with rope, but his legs were secured to the cross with pallet wrap (green for one leg, red for the the other — holiday cheer abounded). He asked for a blindfold, because he likes to wallow in the beating and not be distracted by anything else in the room. 

The femdom told him that, since they had never played before, she was going to start off pretty hard, to see at what point he’d call yellow, so that she could get a sense of his limits. Heh. She worked him over with a vast and vicious variety of floggers, from a soft thuddy deerskin one, to one made of WIDE strips of leather (about 2 inches each), and some nasty ones that sting like hell. The only time T. called yellow was when she used a riding crop with a cat-shaped end (not the exact one in the link, but close) on his ass. He can take canes and crops and such, but has to warm up to them, and that’s not really what she did with him. So she went back to flogging with a mesmerizing force. 

Seriously, it was hot as hell to watch. First of all, her form with the flogger is really lovely — fluid (but controlled); in fact, so fluid that you don’t really realize just how fucking hard she’s hitting until the poor victim yelps and yowls and screams.  

Mostly, though, watching T. react to each blow, trying to twist away but unable to, yanking on the ropes around his wrists and pulling his legs away from the cross as much as the wrap would let him — yeah. So hot. He’s so beautiful like that, and I admit that part of it is purely aesthetic, because I love watching the muscles in his back work as he struggles in the ropes. But I also like the struggle itself. 

After about 15 minutes, the femdom paused and came over to me and said, “You’ll have to tell me when he’s had enough, because I’m not familiar with his reactions.” I chuckled and said that I would, but that T. has a wide masochistic streak and probably wasn’t close to having enough. And I went over to T.’s side, and stroked his back and told him what a good boy he was being, and adjusted his blindfold, and asked him if he wanted more. He immediately nodded and said yes. I rolled my eyes and gestured to the femdom to keep on beating. She handed me a flogger and told me to join in if I liked. (Of course I like!) 

I flogged T. a little, but it was a little difficult with an unfamiliar flogger — you get used to the weight of your own floggers, and their length, so that you know how far away to stand to get the desired impact on a naked ass. But I adjusted decently, and flogged a little bit. 

Then I picked up the kitty riding crop (yeah, the one that had made T. call yellow earlier), and started just tapping him lightly with it, all over his back and shoulders. Tapping very very quickly, though, with the flat of the cat end, which stings, but in a brief, staccato way. He didn’t call yellow, but it made him squirm and struggle mightily (though futilely). 

Then we tag-teamed on the flogging for a little while, and then I let her finish up. I could tell that T. was getting tired, although he was doggedly hanging in there, not wanting to be finished. I could ALSO tell that the femdom was getting tired — beating on someone for that long, that strenuously, is WORK! So I asked T. if he was ready to be finished (rather than asking him if he wanted more, because he probably would have said yes to more), and he nodded slowly and said yes. 

I got him down from the cross and gave him water and a blanket and super-snuggly aftercare for a while. And then he got dressed and we rejoined the party.  

I felt a teeny bit guilty later, that I got so much enjoyment from so little (comparatively) work on my part. But, really, not *that* much guilt. 

 

moved in, and paddled for good measure

Last weekend (1 week ago today, actually), I got moved in with T. It went well, though it took much longer than I had anticipated; it had been 7 years since I’d moved, and I either accumulated much more stuff than I thought I had, or I disremembered how long moving took. Perhaps a combination of both.

Now both I and my stuff are happily ensconced in T.’s little house, and we’re currently trying to find places to put everything so that the house doesn’t resemble one of those “My Loved One Is A Hoarder” houses on Oprah, where there’s just one itty-bitty, teeny-tiny pathway from the front door to each room, bordered by towering piles of Useless Stuff. 

(Right now there’s one medium-sized path from the front door to the dining room and through to the kitchen, but we’re gradually putting stuff where it belongs, and intend to have the living room actually resemble a living room by the time the weekend is over. I forsee many trips to Goodwill to ditch duplicates of everything but the coffeemaker [because when the primary coffeemaker breaks, you want the backup coffeemaker RIGHT THERE and ready, man!], as well as ditching other stuff that we never really needed in the first place.) 

(I’m getting a little obsessed with paring way down and living much more simply, with way less stuff, but this blog isn’t the place to discuss it.) 

Having everything all ajumble and askew has had us both kind of discombobulated, and I realized the other day that I was just tense as hell and wishing firey death on the other drivers on the highway (while I occasionally swear at the other drivers, I don’t wish that they would burn in hell, and that’s what I was doing the other day, when they weren’t doing anything other than trying to merge).  When I’m tense and snappish like that, what often makes me feel much, MUCH better is getting my ass beaten well and thoroughly. When T. came home from work, I told him, “I think I need to be beaten…are you up for that?” He was, let me say, MORE than up for that. 

He had me lie on my stomach across the bed, tied my wrists together over my head (but didn’t tie them TO anything, since I’m still dealing with some intermittent pins and needles from my wrist tendinitis), and  beat my ass, legs, and upper back/shoulders with a variety of things, including a couple of different floggers (I love love LOVE the soft deerskin flogger, because I don’t like it when a flogging stings, but I do love hard, thuddy impact), a yardstick (ow ow OWIE), and a big huge paddle (the kind that’s intended for some sort of game — not ping-pong, because the paddle is even bigger than a ping-pong paddle, and all wood). 

The last time that T. used that paddle on me was probably a year ago, and it hurt so badly that I almost stopped the scene (instead, I just asked him to not use the paddle, which he readily complied with). So when T. pulled out the paddle this time, I muttered about not liking it and it hurt too much (I’m so very NOT a pain slut), but I didn’t ask him not to use it.

He was kneeling on the bed next to me, and he swatted my ass with the paddle, not hard but not lightly (medium, I suppose), and I yelped, and so he kneeled up and whacked his own ass, HARD, with the paddle. He looked at me and said, “That’s not bad,” and swatted me again — but still only medium. 

After a while, he told me to roll over onto my back, and then he tied my wrists to the bedframe so that I wouldn’t use them to protect my boobs. He flogged my boobs, belly, and my legs and whacked them lightly with the yardstick. I don’t remember him using the paddle on any part of my front, and I told him later that he could have used the paddle on my boobs (because they can take a lot of rough treatment).

Eventually we were finished, and I was all endorphin-addled and delightfully sore. There was sex (yay, sex!), and we fell asleep, waking up in a panic two hours later, because it was 10:30 p.m. and we hadn’t intended to sleep that long (or at all). Dinner was had, and I shuffled back to bed while T. stayed up later, doing his night-owl activities. 

I slept SO well that night, and was in a great mood the next day. Ah, the wondrous powers of a good beating. 

Tonight there’s a play party, held by a recently formed local group, and we’re planning to go. We’ve talked about doing a scene tonight where another femdom and I co-top T., because he really enjoys bottoming to someone who plays HARD, and I still am not totally comfortable playing as hard as T. likes (although I’m getting more used to it). And this other femdom loves playing hard, and rarely gets a chance to do so, simply because she doesn’t know any subs/bottoms who like it that hard.

So if she wants to co-top T. with me, it sounds like a win-win-win.  

(And *that*, in a nutshell, is how I would define my switchiness, if asked. Thursday I got a good beating, and tonight I’m dishing one out.  Life is good.) 

Now to unpack more boxes…. 

 

birthday bondage, and one scary headache

T. and I are still in the process of getting his house ready to move me in, which must happen at the end of the month, as my apartment lease will be up. I haven’t packed anything yet, but hey — it’s only the 20th.

Still, all the home renovations and such have taken up pretty much all of the spare energy we have these days (or at least *mine*; if T. has energy to spare, he’s expending it when I’m not around, apparently).

However, yesterday was T.’s birthday, and we managed to celebrate in a suitable manner. I pulled out my rope (and Lee Harrington’s book Shibari You Can Use [yes, I used a how-to book while tying up my boyfriend; how else am I supposed to do it? I don’t have a practice dummy to tie up, which would be boring anyway]), and tied a chest harness on him (also referred to as a shinju).

Once I had him nice and secure, I put clamps on his nipples and enacted various torments on him. And, because it was his birthday, I gave him his birthday spanking, as is right and proper.

Well, okay, here’s the truth about that “spanking” thing: I am a really, really crappy spanker. The bare-hand, smack-your-ass type spanking, I mean. I told T. that it was because his ass is so small (which it IS, good god!), but mostly I just think I’m impaired at bare-handed spanking. So I alternated between a bamboo back-scratcher, a riding crop, a leather flogger, and once even the Shibari You Can Use book, which was effective simply for being so unexpected.

Really, I think a good old-fashioned birthday flogging is best.

And then when that was done, I sat him down on my bed while I laid down on the floor, and let him watch me get myself off. All of which was going swimmingly — I even threw in a little taunting about how he couldn’t help because he was all tied up, etc. (and normally I don’t have the presence of mind to quip when an orgasm is in the vicinity) — until I was about 5 seconds from having an orgasm.

All of a sudden, a seriously HUGE whammy of a headache came out of nowhere, and I grabbed my head and gasped. And that, of course, looked like an orgasm, so T. didn’t react with alarm, which in retrospect is good, because he was tied up anyway, and I wouldn’t have wanted him to panic or experience non-consensual distress on his birthday.

Once I stopped gasping, I said, “Gah….headache….horrible….orgasm headache!” And T. made sympathetic noises while I drank some water. Then I untied him and got horizontal on my bed, hoping that my brain wasn’t about to explode and trickle out my ears.

While I recuperated, I had the hot hot oh god fucking HOT thrill of watching T. get himself off (and it wasn’t even *my* birthday!).

Thanks to the wonders of Google, it seems my orgasm-related headache (which has happened before, but not recently) is, in fact, in the category of sexual benign headaches, specifically “orgasmic headache” or “orgasmic cephalalgia”:

“In some instances, the headache is a response to an increase in blood pressure, in which the blood vessels dilate. The headache is not usually related to the amount of physical exertion involved in intercourse. The pain may be located around or behind the eyes. It usually lasts a few minutes, but can last for hours. The headache is usually made worse by movement. The headache most often is a ‘benign’ orgasmic headache; however, the possibility of organic disease should be thoroughly investigated.

“A headache occurring with orgasm could be a symptom of a brain hemorrhage (bleeding around or inside the brain), stroke or tumor. An accompanying stiffness in the neck may be an indication of bleeding into the spinal fluid. The benign orgasmic headache occurs more frequently in men than women and usually strikes migraine sufferers.

“Benign orgasmic headache is often effectively treated with migraine medications such as blood-vessel constricting agents, taken before intercourse.”

I seriously doubt it’s a brain hemorrhage, stroke, or tumor (though stroke DID cross my mind while it was happening). I tend to get migraines, which — according to this description — makes me more likely to have a “sexual benign headache.”

I don’t recommend it.

 

I prefer to think of it as “polite,” rather than “mindfuckery”

I’m getting really lax with the posting, which is partly unintentional, and partly because my life is, sadly, not a continual merry-go-round of kinkery, beatings, piss play (come on, Google search, do your worst!), bondage, and dungeon debauchery.

Hm. If I ever re-name this blog, maybe I’ll name it Dungeon Debauchery. (Hell, that’s probably already taken.)

Anyway. The title of this post comes from a recent evening of fun I had with T. I’ve been running strictly more dominant for a little while now (6 weeks? 8 weeks?), for no real reason that I can point to, but it sure is fun.

I admit that I took the inspiration for my evil machinations with T. from a post by Devastating Yet, in which she describes making her slave ask for each stroke with the paddle by saying, “Please, Mistress.”

(T. doesn’t call me “Mistress” when I top, because I just don’t think it suits me. I settled on “Ma’am,” alternated with — entirely *his* idea — “Miss [LastName].” Which I would have thought I would dislike, because it sounds schoolmarm-ish, but instead I find it charming. And HOT. I mean, *really.* T.’s submission is so. fucking. hot. It feels unfair, sometimes, that I get off on it as much as I do.)

So I did essentially the same thing with T. — he laid on his back and then I tied his wrists to his ankles (he’s disgustingly flexible) so that his ass was easily accessible to me. He prefers to be blindfolded and gagged, or hooded, so that he can focus on the physical sensation. However, *I* like him to be able to look me in the eye; or, rather, *I* like to look him in the eye, and see his reactions. And he needed to be un-gagged for this so that he could ask me, “More, please, Ma’am.”

Oh, my god. It is SO fucking sexy, and, honestly, so seductive to have a willing victim *ask* for each stroke with the crop (or switch, or wooden spoon). Submissives have GOT to know how sexy they are when they do that — it gives them some measure of power, you know? The “Yeah, you *want* me” measure of power.

Later, when we were finished, T. told me that he liked having to ask for each stroke….and that he can’t wait to do the same thing to *me,* the next time *I* bottom. Meep! (He also called it “total mindfuckery.” Hence the title of this post.)

 

top drop

The group had a party last night, and it was the first time in a very very VERY (very) long time that I went full-out, no-holds-barred, floggy-beaty-croppy-caney on T.’s ass (and other parts).

Ye gods, it was FUN. He’d had a stressful day yesterday, and he tends to think (as I also do) that, sometimes, nothing relieves stress like a good hard beating. For my part, I’d been thinking about a serious, hard, impact-play scene — with me as the top — for a few days.

It’s nice when our moods match up so well.

After I got him all secured to a spanking bench, with his limbs secured very well so that he could struggle and flail and pull against the restraints to his heart’s content, I put a ball gag in his mouth and put my iPod on him (for a long time he’s wanted to have white noise on the iPod when he bottoms, and I found a freeware application — for Macs only — that generates ‘pink noise’, and then recorded 30 seconds’ worth, ripped it into iTunes, and put it on the iPod, and then put it on repeat).

I blindfolded him, kissed his forehead, and then set about beating the hell out of him. I alternated floggers of different materials, a couple riding crops, a magic wand from a kid’s magic set, a wooden spoon, my bare hand, and a dragon tail (stinger).

That dragon tail is fierce — with very little effort on my part, it raised welts on T.’s ass. So pretty.

What was really a thrill for me was going so hard on T. at the same time that another couple was doing the same type of play about 10 feet away from us. They were also a femdom/male sub pair, which made me think of Bitchy Jones (well, okay, I thought of her after it was all over; I was far too involved in beating T. to think about internetland) and it made me grin to think that she would dig what was going on in that basement last night — just 2 women, wearing everyday clothes, inflicting heaps of pain upon 2 naked, trussed-up men.

Good stuff.

Today, however, I’ve had some serious fucking top drop (that’s the phenomenon wherein the top feels like crap the day after a great scene — tired, out of sorts, maybe kind of emotional [look, I was crying while watching a rerun of Ugly Betty, and while I think that Betty not getting together with Henry is all kinds of wrong, I’m not sure it was weep-worthy]).

It’s interesting — I *do* get sub drop the day after subbing, but not always. And it’s generally not very bad. But today, after topping last night? This top drop is kicking my ass. I went over to T.’s, and we just snuggled for a while, napped, and talked about random shit while snuggling some more. That helped, but I’m still feeling lousy.

I meant to ruminate on how it still feels “wrong” to beat the hell out of someone else, and enjoy it. Even when the other person wants it, asks for it, and enjoys it just as much as — and sometimes more than — I do. I meant to ruminate on society’s views on violence, and then look at it in the light of professional boxing (seriously — they get money and prestige for beating the hell out of each other while mostly naked, yet what *I* do could get me arrested). I meant to ruminate on gender roles, and what society says that “nice girls” can and can’t do, and why all of that feeds into my top drop.

But I’ve rambled on enough for tonight. I have a headache and I feel like hell, and I’m still pissed that Betty and Henry didn’t get together (c.f. 3 paragraphs above — reruns of Ugly Betty), so I’m off to bed.

 

…and then sometimes the switches actually switch

In a welcome contrast to the party at which I called red during a scene and then had a meltdown, T. and I went to a play party this past weekend that turned out to be a delightfully switchy little event for us.

T. flogged me — first my backside and upper back, etc., and then had me turn around so that he could use his riding crop on my breasts, which I LOVE. It was a great scene, partly because we were in the same general area as another impact-play scene that was just really, really high energy — there was a constant back-and-forth of conversation between the top and the bottom that was just as lively as their actual impact play.

And because they were already playing when T. and I started, we knew that was the kind of general energy that was going to be present — meaning, if we wanted a quiet, intense, trancelike scene between the two of us, we’d have to go in another room. But we decided that it would be fun to play near the other scene, and it worked out great.

After T. and I were finished with that scene, and we had something to eat (man, I seem to ALWAYS crave beef after an impact-play scene), T. decided that he wanted to do some self-bondage. Which is fine by me, because I can be a lazy top and just watch him go to work. Which I did. And he did.

T. is very good at self-bondage, and has actually done presentations on the subject for different lifestyle groups. So watching him tie himself up is (1) fascinating, (2) kind of amazing, and (3) hot hot HOT. Once he was as securely tied as he could get, including a rope gag, I decided to start teasing him and fucking with him. (Not fucking *him* — fucking WITH him.)

I tugged and yanked on various ropes, trying to create some friction to his general crotch area, since he had also tied rope around his cock and balls CBT-style. Judging by his reactions, I succeeded in doing exactly what I wanted to do, which was create *some* stimulation, but not *enough* to get him off.

I tormented him in various other ways — pinching his nipples, pulling my shirt up and dangling my breasts in his face (since he had a rope gag in, he couldn’t do anything to them…though he certainly tried). And then I told him to untie himself so that we could go home.

Heh. I’m good. And when I’m bad, I’m better.

 

kinky cornucopia

I’ve been AWOL for a month — not on purpose, but just because of summer torpor. I’ve actually done stuff recently that I intended to post about, but, again, laziness overtook me. So, without further ado, here’s what I’ve been doing and thinking about recently:

New Ropecast is up. If you’re not listening to Graydancer‘s podcast, Ropecast, I have to ask: why the hell not? I listened to the first half of the newest podcast on my way to work this morning (my commute isn’t long enough to listen to it all in one shot). He talks about floor work, as opposed to suspension, and how there can be a bias towards suspension being The Shit when it comes to ropework. (Er, that’s my paraphrasing, NOT a quote. Graydancer is way more articulate than I am.)

I like that he discussed that topic, because my experience has been similar — people will ooh and ahh over a suspension but then totally ignore beautiful ropework with incredible energy, just because it’s floor work and not suspension. That’s crazy. I’ve seen Master David and shevah, for instance, do “simple” head bondage that just took my breath away with its energy and gorgeous ropework. (I say “simple” because a lot of people would view head bondage as simple when compared with suspension.)

In fact, I think it’s Master David who I heard say, “If you can’t fly on the floor, you’ll never fly in the air.” Too right.

Bob Deegan and the singletail. T. and I were at a recent leather event, where Bob Deegan was one of the presenters. I’d never seen him before, though I’d heard a lot about him. Let me tell you, watching Bob Deegan use the singletail is like watching a gorgeous combination of fencing, tai chi, and dancing. And it left me really REALLY wanting to get a singletail. Although there was a vendor at the event, I decided to be fiscally self-sacrificing and not buy a singletail right now. But it’s now on my list of Toys To Buy And Learn.

Finally, When a scene goes wrong. (If there were audio embedded in this post, you’d hear me sighing heavily here.) There are a lot of ways that a scene can go wrong. (1) You can have equipment failure, such as ropes breaking or cuffs tightening too much (or larger equpiment failure, like a suspension winch getting stuck while the sub is suspended). (2) You can have an atmospheric failure — not the sudden loss of all air in the room, but, you know, when people who are watching your scene decide to start talking LOUDLY to each other, or, worse yet, TO YOU. (3) And then you have the type of failure that results from just not being in the right headspace/frame of mind/mood to pull off the scene. It’s not really a “failure” in the sense that ropes breaking is clearly an equipment failure, but since I can’t think of the best terminology for it, I’m calling it a “headspace failure.”

That happened to me Saturday night. Big time. I was bottoming to T. at a party, and almost *everything* affected me negatively. I didn’t like the music (which was a mix CD that *I* had made, so I *should* have liked it), I could smell the paint on the cross (which had apparently been recently re-painted), the ropes were not staying where they needed to stay, I was too warm, and I was almost painfully aware of the people who were watching. Every piece of equipment we tried was just uncomfortable to me, and it was clear that I could not get into any kind of bottom-y headspace.

I ended up calling red when T. flogged (or maybe spanked; I can’t remember) me a little too hard. It wasn’t excruciating pain, it wasn’t even “Stop this NOW!” pain — I think it was just the unfortunate combination of my shitty headspace and inability to get comfortable PLUS a swat that was a little too hard.

And then, of course, the meltdown. I lost it, crying and berating myself for not being able to get into the scene, for calling red, for not being a good bottom, etc. We ultimately went home after that, although T. didn’t want to leave right then, because he thought that the company of the other party guests (along with food and water) would improve my mood. And he was probably right, but I was so upset with myself that I didn’t think I could sit and talk to people without continuing to cry, which I absolutely did not want to do. So we left.

We talked it through the next day, and it turns out that T. was having a hard time getting into *his* headspace, too, which I didn’t know at the time. I mean, maybe I had picked up on it on a subconscious level, but I certainly wasn’t aware of it in any intellectual capacity. All I knew was how uncomfortable *I* was.

In a weird way, I’m glad it happened, because at least now I know that we can have a scene go wrong — in terms of “headspace failure” — and work through it. I sure the hell would prefer to not repeat it any time soon, though.

 

the drug-free cure for insomnia

There are several BDSM organizations within a 2-hour drive of my fair city, and I’m discovering that it’s well worth the gas (even at over $3/gallon — ouch) to check them out.

T. and I went to another group’s party last night — a group that he had been to before, but I hadn’t, although I’d met some of the members at various BDSM events over the past couple of years. It was a fantastic time. Everyone was really friendly and welcoming and warm, which managed to ease some of the jitters I get with new people.

Almost everyone was having such a good time being social that T. and I were one of only TWO couples who actually played in the dungeon. I got my ass beaten well and thoroughly — it’s definitely sore today. But good sore. Oh yes. When we came back to the social area, someone said, “THERE you two are — we thought you’d already left!” And I said, “Yeah, we were playing in the dungeon, because this is a PLAY party!” Fortunately everyone laughed, which is good, because I had intended it as a quip, but as soon as it left my mouth, I was afraid it would sound snotty.

After the group’s official party hours ended, “house rules” apply, which generally means that people can engage in types of play which aren’t allowed during the official party hours (bloodplay, etc.), and that people who are finished playing and who aren’t going to drive are welcome to have an alcoholic beverage. Well, no one else was playing, so there was no extreme play going on, but one fellow had brought some very good beer, and offered it around. As I’m not known to pass up good beer, I had just one, because even though I had eaten after playing, I was still a little endorphin-buzzed and didn’t want to make myself sick with an overload of intoxicants.

(Seriously, the kind of endorphin buzz I get after a serious flogging is akin to — and sometimes stronger than — a few glasses of wine, or a few beers. So more than one beer would have been tantamount to getting bombed. NOT what I wanted. So, just one beer.)

Between the excellent flogging I got, and having one tasty beer, I slept extremely well last night. It should be a prescription for insomniacs: take one flogging and one beer, and call me in the morning.

 

more pony play, and a good flogging

It’s amazing how much of a charge I get from being told I’m a good girl (in scene, that is, though I like it in vanilla settings as well, though not in the same way).

The group had a party last night, which was small — maybe 15 people (we usually have 20-25). Everyone played at one point or another, and the group of people that was there last night was a group that generally gets along really well, so it was a good, mellow evening.

*I* was in a feisty mood, full of energy, and I wanted to play. Mostly, I really wanted to sub, to be told what to do, to be ordered around and have to forcibly squelch my feisty-ness. I was bouncing around — literally, I was hopping up and down at one point, b/c I felt like I was going to burst open with all the energy I had — and after we had been there for an hour or more, I was ready to get down to business, damn it. T., on the other hand, has a habit of getting to a party and flip-flopping on whether he wants to top or bottom (he’s a switch, too, and while that’s often fun as hell, it can also be frustrating), or whether he even wants to play at all.

And that’s what he did last night. He went from maybe wanting to top, to wanting to bottom, to maybe not wanting to play because he was tired, to wanting to bottom, to maybe wanting to top if I had something specific in mind that I wanted him to do. (Fortunately, I did.) I told him that I really just wanted to be ordered around, to be told what to do — to be *made* to obey — and that must have made something in his brain go BING!, because he said, “Ordered around? Like….a pony?”

Which made me go SPROING, and I asked, “Did you bring the bridle?” He said hell yeah, he did. And we suddenly had a plan.

So he got me all rigged up, bit and bridle and bondage mittens (because horses don’t have *hands,* he informed me), and he led me around the dungeon and then marked out a large circle and had me practice my gaits, etc. And, like I said at the beginning, I get SUCH a charge out of being told I’m a good girl.

No one else in our group does ponyplay — or, at least, not at our parties — so we had a bit of attention from interested onlookers. Which is a little unnerving to me, but I really *do* get into a different headspace when I have the bit and bridle on — a headspace where everything is much simpler, reduced down to commands and flicks from the riding crop and praise when I get it right — so it was easier to tune out the onlookers than it normally is for me.

After a while, I was hot and sweaty and needed to take out my contacts, and that kind of knocked me out of my pony headspace, and T. was hungry, so we mutually agreed we were done with the pony stuff. But he still had out all his equipment, and the floggers lying on the ground just kept calling out to me. When we play, if he’s the top, he doesn’t normally flog/paddle/whip me. At least, not as the “main event,” so to speak. Sometimes he’ll throw in a little flogging, or spank me a few times with his hand, but it’s just sort of an accessory. And he also has never really flogged me hard, despite me saying I want it, and I can take it, and he can trust me to tell him if it’s too much.

Anyway. I asked him if he would flog me, if he had enough energy left in him to beat my ass. And he readily agreed, which made me pretty happy. He started out easy, which is what you should do, and then built up to a moderate level. I waved him around to my front side to talk to me, and I said that I would absolutely, absolutely tell him if it got to be too much, too painful, so if he wanted to go harder, he could.

Sometimes, a good beating is just what I need. I understand the cathartic effect of medieval priests engaging in self-flagellation, believe me. In a way, it’s like the ponyplay, or at least one facet of it. Everything reduces down to the sensation, and then, for me, it’s a question of being able to take it, to ride it out and see what’s on the other side. There’s actually a great sense of clarity when all you can focus on is the sharp sting of a rubber flogger, or the heavy thud of a deerskin flogger. And then the endorphin rush is just spectacular. I get all fuzzy-headed and endorphin-stupid after a good beating. It’s better than drugs.

Back to the beating at hand. If you rank a flogging on a scale from 1 to 5, where 1 is easy and gentle, and 5 is “stop right the hell NOW,” a really skilled flogger will take their bottom up to *almost* 5, but never quite. T., in the past, has always stayed around a 2, occasionally straying into 2.5 or 3. Last night, he finally worked up past 3, and almost hit 5 when he pulled out a wooden paddle and whacked my ass with it. Then he switched back to the floggers for a while — at one point he had 2 floggers out and was doing some Florentine flogging, which was awesome — and then the paddle again, which really fucking hurt. (Yes, I *know* that’s the point.) I finally had to tell him that I couldn’t handle the paddle any more, but the floggers were still okay.

I don’t think he ever got as close to a 5 with the floggers as he did with the paddle, but he had some nice, nice 4s. And I was, in fact, spectacularly endorphin-stupid when he was finished. It was great.

On the way home, he said that he *really* enjoyed the pony play, and was glad that I stuck with his flip-flopping long enough for him to get into a toppy headspace. And then he said, “I was SO glad that you asked me to flog you — I’ve never really gone that hard on anyone, but I felt safe enough knowing that you would tell me if it was too much, so I could just let go.”

And I told him that that’s a big part of what BDSM is about for me — being able to explore the emotions and sensations that really don’t have any other outlet in the rest of our daily lives. And, even though he’s been active in the BDSM lifestyle for a long time, I don’t think he had really considered that viewpoint.

 

sometimes a good beating is what I need

Party last night. Pretty low-key. T. showed up so late that we didn’t have a chance to play, because his DM shift started about 30 minutes after he got to the party. And, I admit, that made me really cranky.

But I just shuffled around talking to people and eating cheese, and then one of the doms asked me if I would flog his wife’s back and bottom while he attached clothespins to various parts. I asked if she would be okay with it, and he said “She’s my slave; she doesn’t get a say in it.” And I just gave him The Look, because while I totally understand that master/slave relationships are like that, that still doesn’t mean that *I* have to be a part of that dynamic. And I *do,* honestly, feel weird about ignoring another person’s agency like that, particularly when it’s a woman. But then he said “Okay, seriously — she trusts my judgement, and I’ve seen you flog T., and I trust you, so if you’d like to help out, that would be great.” So I did. Nothing major, or hard, but still fun to do.

(Later, after they were done, I asked her if that was okay, and told her what her husband said, and she said “Yeah, it’s always weird when I realize that it’s not him who’s flogging me, but at the same time I *do* trust him to not let someone inexperienced come near me, so it’s definitely okay that you helped him.”)

At the very end of the night, one of the other guys asked if I wanted to be on the receiving end of the flogger, and I thought, you know, I’m still cranky and I’m annoyed, and maybe I need it beaten out of me. So he flogged me well and thoroughly. And honestly, when he was finished, I *did* feel better. I chalk it up to the endorphins.

 

practice, practice, practice

T. has been letting me practice flogging and other types of impact play on him. (Maybe “letting” is the wrong term; I think it’s a mutually beneficial situation.) For the most part, I enjoy doing it — and the power rush from being the one wielding the flogger is *spectacular*— and T. definitely enjoyed it, but because I’m so new at topping, I have a hard time judging how hard/soft to hit, though I know that will improve with time and more scenes in which I top.

But I also have this little voice in my head that keeps insisting that I’m *hurting* T. (and not in a good way), and that I shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s wrong wrong wrong. He yelps and yowls, and I *know* that he wouldn’t hesitate to use his safeword, but my lizard brain still freaks out that I’m causing pain to someone else.

And yet — the domme part of my brain is *totally* getting off on it.

 

my first experience with switching

I talked with R. Friday night about the scene we did at the New Year’s Eve party, and what I liked and what I didn’t like, and how I apparently just can’t take a lot of pain. (He told me that actually I took a lot more than other subs he’s played with — which, I admit, made me all proud and pleased — but I said that, still, *I* don’t get anything out of the pain.) He said that there’s a lot of other stuff he can do, if I was interested.

And yes, I was interested, so at last night’s party we tried some of the aforementioned other stuff. A lot of impact play — mostly tattoo caning, which isn’t painful — a little singletail, some cupping, and some knifeplay. Very different from our first scene. I liked it, a lot. But — and I’m sure this is because I still don’t know R. well — I really couldn’t relax into it and just focus on the sensation. But that’s not unusual for me, anyway. I can never get out of my own head. Still, it was good.

Later, I had a totally new experience, that I’m still mulling over. Even though T.’s a switch, I’ve only ever seen him in dom mode, though he always talks about really wanting to get some serious sub time, too. One of the femdoms in the group, D., has been stressed out for a while, and said she really needed to beat some ass. She’s a *very* hard player.

When I was done playing with R., I wandered over to the social area to get some food, all dopey-headed and endorphin-buzzed. D. was busy tying up T. Now, it’s serious etiquette to *not* interrupt a scene (though it’s fine to watch), and I try really hard to be unobtrusive, because I’ve had people interrupt *my* scenes, and it’s just really uncool. But D. and T. both told me to come over, and chatted with me while D. tied T. up. I told them that I didn’t want to intrude, and to tell me when they wanted me to buzz off so they could start their scene in earnest.

D. said “If I want you to leave, I’ll tell you — but you can stay and help, if you want.” Hmmm. Intriguing. I looked at T. to see how he felt about that (technically, since he was the sub, I guess whether or not I helped wasn’t *his* decision), and he said “Oh, I’d really like it if you stayed and helped.” Well. All right, then.

I didn’t help — much — with the actual beating/domme-ing/flogging, partly b/c I have no real experience with flogging, and if you don’t know what you’re doing, you can hurt someone, and not in a good way. And partly b/c, like I said, D. is a *heavy* player, and it was kind of amazing to watch. So I kind of assisted her, in the hold-this-rope-hand-me-that-flogger sense. Though I *did* get in some good whacks with a riding crop. Dude, *very* satisfying. I totally get the rush of being a top.

Before last night, I hadn’t really watched a scene that was *that* heavy. Part of me was thinking “Wow — this is HOT,” and part of me was cringing at how hard D. walloped T.’s ass, and his subsequent yelps. And that’s the thing that I’m still mulling over — that was new for me, seeing *that* much pain being dished out, and both people clearly *loving* it (despite T.’s yelps). And having been flogged and caned myself, I’ve already had similar thoughts, along the lines of — it feels wrong, emotionally, to want to be beaten, and to ask for it, and ENJOY it, especially as a feminist. But I also know that the beatings I’ve taken were NOTHING compared to what D. was doing to T.

I *don’t* think it’s wrong, morally — not at all. Obviously. My reaction is purely visceral here, not intellectual. It’s just…new for me, witnessing that heavy of a pain scene. And, like I said, it was also HOT, which muddles my visceral reaction even more.

And I *really* liked the tiny bit of topping I did. Oh, yes.

 

2005 — in with a yawn, out with a flogging

The New Year’s Eve party last night was interesting. And fun. And kind of painful. I did a scene with R., which gave me the opportunity to experience getting whacked with all kinds of things that I hadn’t experienced before — paddles, bullwhips, canes — and a little knifeplay, too (no actual cutting, though — no, sir). My ass is black and blue. I don’t mean, like, a bruise here or there; I mean my whole ass. It’s a little impressive how uniform it is on both sides — and like I said, all over. An area bigger than a CD, on both sides. (I can’t think of anything similar to compare it to. Probably not as big as a 45 record, but bigger than a CD.) Granted, my bottom is a nice big target, and no dom worth his leather would fail to take advantage of the room to play.

Like so much this year, it was a good learning experience about what I like and don’t like and what I want to maybe try again to see what I think about it. I really like *impact,* but don’t like the actual pain at all. I think my butt is just a very delicate butt. It can’t take much before it starts to hurt a LOT. I liked the knifeplay a whole lot, mostly b/c of the mindfuck aspect of it. And really, out of all the various whackings I received, what I dug most was the actual interaction between me and R., partly from the mindfuck aspect, and partly from the dom/sub aspect. But the actual owie stuff? I don’t like it. I can’t take much of it, and I *know* that he wasn’t hitting very hard, since it was the first time we played together.

And, you know, that’s totally fine. I don’t *have* to be into everything. I don’t have to like pain, or want to be walloped until I bruise a vast array of colors. And that’s cool. It’s a good learning experience for me. I would definitely play with R. again as long as we could work out how it could be less painful to me, while still making it enjoyable for him.

There were a TON of people at the party — people from other regional groups — and that was a little weird. There were about 60-70 people there, which is the biggest party I’ve been to yet. And that meant that a LOT of people were watching my scene with R., which is kind of uncomfortable to me, and really keeps me from totally getting into it. But I know full well that that’s part and parcel of a public party — if you play, people will watch. And if you don’t like to be watched, then you don’t have to play. I guess my curiosity about different Implements O’ Whacking was greater than my dislike of being on display.

It was fun, though not as fun as other scenes I’ve done. But, like I said, a good learning experience, and that’s what I’m looking for right now.