the group


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.

Okay, the quote in the subject line? We didn’t hear that, verbatim, but the intent was still the same.

My BDSM group has a munch — basically, a super-casual get-together at a local bar/restaurant — once a month. Because my city is so conservative, and because the munch is held in a public (a.k.a., “vanilla”) place, we all dress — and act — like any other customers in the bar. We have no desire to bring down any sort of Moral Majority wrath upon us.

We’ve had this munch once a month at the same bar for the past 11 years. That’s a long fucking time, no?

At the beginning of the summer, the owners of the bar decided to retire, and they sold the bar to their (adult) kids.

(Surely you can see where this is going.)

The kids closed the bar for a few months to do some cosmetic/fire code renovations, and it just re-opened last week. Last night we had our first munch there since ownership changed hands.

The new manager told us last night that we are not welcome to return, because they want to maintain a “family” atmosphere.

Let me be crystal clear about this: anyone else at that bar — unless they previously knew what our group was — would NEVER know what our group was. Everyone is in jeans and t-shirts. No leather. No collars, no kinky shit of any kind. No behavior that even HINTS toward being kinky. Half the time the conversation is about computers, because MANY members are IT geeks.

Anyone wandering in to one of our munches would not know what our group was, unless they asked. We have NEVER been, in any way, any less “family-oriented” than any of the other customers who come to the bar, get hammered, and try to pick up someone for a one-night stand.

I’m seething. And flabbergasted. And, sadly, not entirely surprised.

Fuckers. Fuck them and their fucking “family-oriented” bar. Assclowns.

My BDSM group has a fair amount of e-mailing and other regular monthly communications, like a newsletter. Because I am INSANE, I offered to proofread/edit these monthly communications. It’s what I do for a living, you know? It’s second nature to me, and I figured it would be easy-peasy. I had NO idea what I was getting in to.

I have an inveterate loathing for the upper-case/lower-case alphabet soup that way too many kinky people use in their writing (i.e., “i am looking for my Master’s bullwhip that He lost last weekend. If A/anyone finds it, Y/you can reach my Master on His cell phone. Or, i will be home all day if Y/you would prefer to call me. Thank Y/you all — the whip is O/our favorite, so W/we really hope S/someone finds it.”).

Sweet fancy Moses, every time I read an e-mail like that, I want to jab my eyes out with a spork so that I never have to see such execrable treatment of pronouns ever again.

I hope it goes without saying that I do NOT follow this convention. Setting aside for a minute the fact that I’m a switch (what do I do — capitalize *every other* pronoun?), I just cannot do it. It makes my teeth itch. Ack.

So, in editing the group’s monthly newsletter, etc., I’ve tried to change things to be properly capitalized (or lower-cased). This started a fight that approached the intensity generally only seen during “mayo or Miracle Whip?” debates. I did not win this fight. I had one victory, actually, and it was the most important one to me, but I also failed to change the status quo on the rest.

Basically, I convinced the P/people W/who use the slashes in T/their writing to pick a case (ideally, the grammatically proper one, given whatever context it’s in) and stick with it. They can capitalize all the pronouns They wish when They are referring to Dominants, and submissives can even lower-case “i” (although I twitch every time I see it).

Unfortunately, for me to NOT use this convention (or, as an editor, not *allow* people to use it in their writing) is seen as disrespectful by some. I don’t agree with that — my intent is NOT to be disrespectful, just to be grammatically correct. But it still pisses off the P/people W/who demand respect through capital letters. So far, the only solution that *I* can think of is to beat them with a copy of Strunk & White. Which, I suppose, wouldn’t be taken very well.

But oh, dear god, how I want to.

(And, relatedly — though this is a spoken communication issue, versus written — “domme” IS PRONOUNCED “DOM”!!!! Not “dommay”!!! Jesus, is it THAT hard? If you want to be sure that someone understands that you mean a dominant who is a woman and not a man, then say “femdom,” if you must. But “dommay” is simply. fucking. incorrect. So just stop it.)

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.

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.

DAMN. Now I know what it’s like to be dommed by T.’s cross-dressed persona. So. Fucking. HOT.

I think it lasted about 3 hours — afterwards, people were commenting on how long it was — but it seemed like no time at all. It was THAT good. Lots of nipple play/torture, which I love. I was blindfolded the whole time, which helps me to tune out the rest of the party — it’s like, if *I* can’t see that there are other people there who might be watching me, then even though I can hear them, it still doesn’t *really* register. Which is a good thing.

It was all power exchange and bondage and other assorted pain play, but no flogging/beating. Which was fine with me. It’s the power exchange that I love so much. I’ve never gone into subspace — at least, not the way I’ve always heard it defined — but the fact that the rest of the party just receded into the background and I was able to simply experience the moment really did feel like a completely different headspace than I’ve experienced during BDSM play yet.

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.

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