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.

 

“we don’t want your kind around here”

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.

 

when kink and grammar collide

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.)

 

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.

 

post-party

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.

 

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.

 

reindeer games

The Christmas party was last night, and holy crap, am I ever sore. My ass is sore from getting flogged by M., and then later T. spent about 2 hours tying me up and doing various devious things involving (among other things) a complex system of pulleys attached to my wrists and ankles. I was lying on my back on a bench, so if I pulled my wrist ropes down, my ankles were up in the air, and vice versa. Which T. got a charge out of, pulling on the ropes himself to move whatever part of me he wanted, calling me his puppet. I corrected him and said marionette was the proper term. He said I was too sassy and needed to learn to behave, and pulled out a set of nipple clamps — the “clover” style, which get tighter if you pull on them. So, of course, he attached them to the pulleys. Evil. The worst part is that, despite how much they hurt from getting tighter when you pull on them, they hurt the most when you take them off. Jesus god.

Anyway. I’m sore as hell from all the tugging on the pulleys, etc. Kinda like lifting weights, I guess. But it was a lot of fun, as always. There’s definitely a reason it’s referred to as “playing” — because, a lot of the time, it’s really fun. I mean, it can also be serious, and scary, and profound — all at the same time. But it’s also fun.

I was completely stupid-headed when we were finished, which isn’t unusual. I took my contacts out and put on my glasses, and after I put on my comfy clothes, I looked for my glasses and couldn’t figure out where I put them. Heh. And then I ate all the cake in the WORLD.

 

November party highlights and revelations

In no particular order:

* Got my ass beat well and thoroughly.

* The aforementioned ass-beating was administered by, at one point, 3 people at the same time (I’m really not a masochist; my ass just happens to be large enough and well-padded enough for people to practice on).

* T. has a pony bit and bridle he offered to put on me. (To say I went sproing! is putting it mildly.) I told him yes, but at a later date, because he brought up the whole subject of the bit and bridle at 1 a.m., and I was asleep on my feet.

I had an interesting conversation with T. on the question of whether or not I’m a switch. It was his birthday, and I told him I’d give him his birthday spanks. He declined gracefully and said “I thought you were all sub.”

I said “Yeah, I’ve been thinking I’m probably a hell of a lot switchier than I originally thought I was.” And T. said “Well, I think that….” and he trailed off. I demanded to know what he was going to say. He told me that he didn’t want to influence my decision one way or another, so he should keep the comment to himself. I gave him a Bitch, Please look over the top of my glasses, and said that I was able to decide all on my own, no matter what his opinion was, so just tell me. And he started laughing and said, “Yeah, uh — that pretty much says it all.” Confused, I eloquently said “Huh?” And he said “That look you gave me, over your glasses — that says it all about whether or not you’re a switch.” I responded with a smirk, and he said “And that! That look, too!”

I *don’t* need his opinion to make up my mind on that matter, like I said. I’d say that yeah, I’m pretty damn sure I’m more switch than sub. And now I just need to find an ass to beat.

This is an evolution for me that I honestly wasn’t expecting. But I’m more than willing to explore it.

 

halloween party

Halloween is a great holiday. You get to — nay, are ENCOURAGED to — play dress-up, and you can gorge yourself on sugar. And that’s pretty much how kinky folks celebrate Halloween, too. Almost everyone dressed up to one degree or another; only A. and T. were in full fetish wear, while everyone else was in some approximation of a Halloween costume (non-fetish). And there was a mountain of sugary snacks, which was just a bonus.

M. asked me if I wanted to play with the violet wand, and we set things up, discussing the usual: sitting/lying down/standing; tied up/not tied up; fully clothed/partially clothed/totally nekkid, etc. (For the record: lying face down; tied to table with velcro restraints and rope; took my dress off but kept bra, panties, fishnets on.)

And this is the point at which EVERYONE — and I mean literally everyone who was at the party — decided to come over and watch. And all I could do was laugh. But then, B. decided it was time to judge the costumes, as there were prizes. That actually made people disperse, and so I didn’t have the entire party watching M. zapping me in various places with the violet wand, and my appropriate shrieking and yelping. (Having my legs tied down and not being able to kick in reaction to the violet wand is REALLY annoying and evil.)

And then it occurred to me that I really wasn’t enjoying the electric play as much as I usually do, and that what I really wanted was a good hard flogging. I just wanted some pain. I wanted to be hurt. And I’ve never wanted that before. But still, I asked M. if we could switch to flogging, and he said “I’m happy to beat your ass any time.” I said to M., “Really REALLY hard, please.”

What I forgot about was the cathartic effect of having the hell beaten out of you. By the time he was finished, my ass was red and sore, as was my upper back, and I actually felt….pretty good. Of course, a lot of the feeling good comes not from the catharsis of a good beating, but from the endorphin rush after a good beating. I felt buzzed when we were done. Drunk, almost. I changed my clothes, got a huge glass of water, and wandered out to talk to people, whereupon I realized that I was totally fuzzyheaded and stupid from endorphins. Seriously, I couldn’t think of the right words for things, and was really slow to respond when people talked to me, and I was suddenly very very tired.

K. made me stay around for at least 20 minutes before I could drive home. (Kind of like waiting after donating blood!) But she was right — I would have been WAY too stupidheaded to drive right away. As it was, driving home I was kind of….floaty. But with a sore ass.

I didn’t experience any sub drop the next day, which is a first for me. Normally I do, sometimes really badly. But I was good all day yesterday. A little dopey still, but fully functional and content. I also slept better Saturday night than I have for a long, long time. Which seems to mean that I need to get my ass beaten on a regular basis. Huh.

 

fetish 201

Sunday was the monthly BDSM group meeting, and the discussion topic was, as the subject line says, Fetish 201. Basically, it was a presentation on 3 different — I don’t know what to call them — aspects of kink, I guess, that are more elaborate, and less commonly seen, than your basic Rack ‘Em and Whack ‘Em.

(1) T. did a presentation on crossdressing, and what it means for him, what kind of mental/identity changes he undergoes; (2) a couple did a presentation on their 24/7, full-time Daddy/little girl relationship [both are adults, to be clear]; and (3) a couple did a presentation on pony play.

It was way too much information all at once for me, and I don’t know if my reaction comes from the fact that I’m still more-or-less new, or if it was legitimately too much. I was a little overwhelmed by the end, after hearing so much detail about more than one kind of extreme(ish) play. I can’t hold that much intimate information, psychically. It’s hard when it’s from just one person, so Sunday’s presentation was too much. At least for me.

That said, it was very interesting. At least, 2/3 of it was.

I don’t even know what to say about the Daddy/little girl relationship. Obviously I don’t understand it, but more than that, it’s the subversion of such a strongly defined relationship — a relationship that’s one of the core relationships of a society (as in, the family is the basic building block of society) — that making it sexual just squicks me severely. I will say that the Daddy explained very thoroughly his point of view, emphasizing that this relationship is NOT a sublimated desire to have a sexual relationship with an actual child. He explained it in terms of “the inner child,” saying that there’s such a freedom in being able to let the inner child out, and for him, he gets to be nurturing and caretaking for someone who’s full of that wonder of the inner child.

I absolutely don’t want to judge. My kink is not others’ kink. Some people are squicked by the idea of *any* kink, no matter how tame (i.e., your basic silk-scarf-tie-to-the-bed scenario). Squick is entirely relative, and since they’re two consenting adults, what they do and how they relate is up to them. I would never tell them that what they do is wrong (because it’s NOT wrong). But just the idea of *me* being in that type of relationship gives me serious heebie-jeebies.

T.’s presentation on crossdressing was….enlightening. Just in terms of learning new stuff, hearing about what it’s like, mentally, to crossdress and to be in that persona — and he was clear that he’s not just T. wearing a dress, he *is* a different persona — was really interesting. And….also weird. And also hot.

And the pony play couple — just….GUH. I’ve said before that, when I joined the BDSM group in February, the LAST activity I’d EVER have expected to do, let alone enjoy, was electric play. And now I really really dig it. Well, the second-to-last activity would have been pony play. But tonight’s presentation….yeah. Really REALLY hot. I’m very intrigued by it. When I was leaving after the meeting was over, one of the guys asked me what I thought of the presentations. I said that I was really intrigued by pony play. A different guy said “I could see you as a ponygirl….” Which made T. say, in that pensive/devious/dangerous voice, “Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing.” So, uh….yeah. I don’t see me doing pony play any time soon, but I’m really intrigued by it.

I feel like, the more I learn about, the more I want to try. And I guess I can. Huh.

(To that end, the group’s Halloween party is Saturday — the invitation said fetish wear or costumes [though those are the same for some people], and I opted to go as a 1950s housewife — cherry-print dress, pearls, white gloves, apron, fishnets, patent-leather Mary Janes, retro makeup, and my hair in pin curls if I can pull it off. And I just realized that my outfit might seem more “fetish” than “costume.” Heh.)

 

kinky identity

When I joined the BDSM group, almost 8 months ago, I hadn’t expected so many of the members to be in 24/7 master/slave relationships. But the majority — I think — of the active members *are* in 24/7 relationships, or are seeking such a relationship.

There’s a continuum of dominant/submissive behavior and attitudes (well, it isn’t a continuum, because that would be simple, and this is not — dominance and submission intersect with bondage and fetishes and edgeplay in about a billion different ways, which isn’t a continuum at all, but I’m still going to call it that), and I’m working out where exactly I fall on that continuum.

Being a slave doesn’t appeal to me. At least, not from observing the master/slave relationships in my group. And I absolutely DO NOT mean that those relationships are harmful or damaging or dangerous — on the contrary; of the master/slave relationships I’ve observed, they all seem *very* healthy and loving relationships. It’s the *structure* of those relationships, however, that really is not for me.

The thrill of giving up control, for me, wouldn’t be there if I was never going to get my control back, no matter how loving the relationship. Being able to make my own decisions is too important to me, and I wouldn’t be willing to give that up permanently, even in an erotic context. The exchange wouldn’t be worth it to me.

Though I guess what it comes down to, ultimately, is that for me, there wouldn’t *be* an erotic context. The idea of handing over all my control, all my decisions, 24/7 to a master simply doesn’t turn me on. I’d feel smothered, not aroused. K. has described it as a *need* that she has, to submit completely, that if she weren’t in a 24/7 master/slave relationship, she wouldn’t feel completely fulfilled.

And I don’t feel that need.

What *do* I need, then? More than just a casual play partner whacking my bottom at a party — which is (kind of) the BDSM equivalent of a one-night stand. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had one-night stands where I knew going in that that’s all they were going to be, and they were really enjoyable. Yes, indeed. And so far, in my kinky life, I’ve played a few times, with people who were basically casual play partners (i.e., “one-night stands”). Though not “one-night-stands” in the sense of hooking up with a stranger; the people I’ve played with are people who I knew somewhat before I was willing to play with them, people who I knew enough to trust. I guess (to continue the metaphor) they were more like a friends-with-benefits deal. Not a one-night-stand with a stranger, but not a *relationship,* either.

Anyway. Ultimately, I need more than that. I don’t expect to find what I need immediately, because inherent in what I need is the element of time and exposure. What I need is for my partner to know me well enough to understand what it is that I’m giving up — giving *them* — when I submit. It’s not about baring my bottom to be swatted; it’s about baring my soul enough to willingly give them control, for a certain time, in a certain way. And it takes time for me to *let* people get to know me, which is why I won’t find exactly what I need right away.

It’s okay. It’s good. I’m learning a lot in this lifestyle, mostly about myself. What I want, what I need, and what I don’t. AND learning that that’s okay. That whatever I want, need — and DON’T need — is absolutely okay.

And that’s good. Yes.

 

spontaneous combustion

It’s 97 fucking degrees here, with a heat index of 101. Last night — which was no cooler than today — I went over to the playspace to help set up, and it was an inferno. B. says he was going to leave the ginormous fans on overnight and all day today, to cool it down, but — holy hell.

The REALLY funny part (to me) about tonight’s party, in the blast furnace heat, is that the demonstration scheduled for tonight is (I shit you not) FIRE PLAY. Now, while that sounds scary to me *anyway,* why in the hell must we increase the temperature by lighting submissives on fire? I ask you.

Perhaps it was scheduled that way in anticipation of everyone spontaneously combusting. Very efficient that way.

 

kink road trip

The out-of-town party went off without a hitch, and was a great time. Another sub came with us, so we teased M. about having a harem. (Uh, yeah — a harem of 2. Okay, it sounded cooler at the time, I swear.)

Anyway. We had a map to a location where we were to meet a limousine that would take us to the party. Honestly, atmosphere is everything, people. The limo was a really nice touch. The subs were blindfolded, and we drove to the party location. About 75% of the regulars from my BDSM group were there, which was nice, because that way I knew people. And because I like them. Simple as that. I’d say that our contingent made up almost half the party guests. So, after we all introduced ourselves, we got a brief tour of the house. They really went all out setting up different rooms with all kinds of BDSM equipment, and providing whips/floggers/canes/etc. for people who needed them.

I helped M. set up an area to do the electric demo, and, in talking about it, he decided that it would be easier for him to have just one of us to demonstrate on, so I let K., the other sub who came with us, be electrogirl, since she was so eager. M. said don’t worry, after the demo, he and I could play — electric, or whatever I wanted. I was digging through his huge bag o’ kinky props and pulled out one of his floggers — it’s a really really soft deerskin one. I said how pretty it was, and it was too soft to be evil. He said that even when he swings as hard as he can, it’s impossible to actually hurt the person he’s flogging. I was intrigued. Though trepidatious. But I asked, “Will you flog me later, then? With this?” He said sure.

It’s very weird for me to articulate what I want, and then to get it. I’m used to not getting what I want, or being shocked on the occasions when I do get what I want, so this whole ask-and-you-shall-receive aspect of BDSM is really weird to me. *Good* weird; don’t get me wrong. But still very unfamiliar to me. Which I suppose is a sad commentary on my life up until now.

Anyway. We talked about what I wanted, what he wanted, how far things would go, etc. (I’m not used to my boundaries being respected, either. This is all weird. Good — very good — but weird.) I laid down on my stomach on a padded bench (under different circumstances, I could have fallen asleep on it), and M. blindfolded me, but didn’t restrain me otherwise. And then he flogged me — there’s not really much in the way of detail to tell, really. The flogger really *was* soft, and thuddy — not painful. And he *did* swing really hard a few times, and it wasn’t painful. Then he asked me if I wanted him to try some other the other floggers/canes/paddles that were set out for anyone to use. I said sure, as long as he started out very gently.

And even though the flogger hadn’t hurt, it made my butt more tender, I guess, and some of the other whacking instruments were kind of painful. Not good pain, owie pain. And as soon as I yelped, M. backed off with whatever he was using. (Wooden spoon? PAINFUL. Rattan cane? Downright evil.) When we were finished, I felt kind of….drunk, really. Endorphins, I guess. There was a big spread of food upstairs, which I practically dove into — shrimp, cheese, strawberries, brownies. I felt all dopey and buzzed for a couple of hours afterward.

 

electric dummy

So, I seem to be embracing the kinky lifestyle with enthusiasm. One of the BDSM groups in the area — about 2 hours away — is having a huge shindig this weekend, and, as many of the local groups tend to do, invited all the *other* local groups. Including, obviously, ours. I wasn’t planning on going, b/c it’s organized as a party for couples/trios, and I’m very much single.

However. (You knew there had to be a “however,” right? Otherwise this is a lame entry.) The group asked M., our electric play guru, if he would come to the shindig and do an electric play demo. We had a meeting this past Sunday, and M. asked me if I was interested in coming along as his electric demo guinea pig. Naturally, my interest was piqued.

The party sounds fun — here’s part of the description from the invitation:

Join us for a night of fun and debauchery on Saturday, July 30th. There will be an abundance of dungeons, private spaces, foods, plenty of soft drinks and even a moderate amount of more interesting libations. Fetish wear, costumes, formal attire…or no attire at all…is all very much encouraged.

Borrowing from the spirit of “The Story of O,” all guests will rendezvous and park at an appointed location. They’ll be met there by The Guide and will take a short limousine ride to The Castle. Once inside the limo, subs will be provided blindfolds and requested to leave them on until instructed to remove them inside The Castle. The party will commence once all guests have arrived at The Castle.

A decent handful of people from my BDSM group are going to be there also, so there’ll be enough of a familiarity factor there that I should feel pretty comfortable. M. e-mailed me to plan when we’re leaving, etc., and made a point to tell me that whatever limits I have on how we interact at the party is fine with him. Which is very thoughtful of him. (Different people in the group obviously have different relationships with their spouses/SOs, and for some, playing with other people is okay, some are poly, and some play just with each other. I haven’t quite sussed out exactly what M. and his wife have agreed on, but clearly playing with other people is okay. Though, really, there are so many different things that can fall under the category of “play,” that’s kind of a disingenous statement for me to make.)

In any case, I’m happy to be his electric guinea pig, but beyond that, any traditionally sexual activity (for instance) is out of the question. And I plan to keep my clothes on. (Corset and skirt, so it’s not like I’ll be wearing a burqa.)

So. Not only have I joined a BDSM group and participated in the play parties, now I’m going to another city for another group’s play party to be the demo model for, of all things, electric play, and be, essentially, on display for a bunch of people I don’t know.

I have definitely fallen down the rabbit hole.

 

post-party recap

I wasn’t sure if it was okay for a submissive to ask a dominant if he (or she) wants to play at a party, but I asked some of the other people what sort of etiquette was the norm for this group (different groups, as always, operate very differently), and they said sure, absolutely I can ask a dominant if he wants to play. I asked T. if he had already made plans to play with anyone, and he said no, and asked, “Do you want to…,” at which point I jumped in and asked “You want to tie me up?” He agreed enthusiastically.

I think I was tied up for about 2 hours, if I had to guess. He tied me, standing, to a pole, hands behind my back, and then more intricately around my waist, etc. While he was tying my hands, he said “You know that whenever you want to stop, you just have to say the magic word.” To which I replied, being a smartass, “Rutabaga?” And he said “Well, I was thinking ‘red,’ but okay, ‘rutabaga’ is good.” (I wasn’t actually thinking safeword; I was really just being a smartass.)

Then he got this evil look, and asked “How about an interrogation scene?” I said sure, bring it on. So the interrogation centered around the vegetable missing from the garden, and I was the suspect, and he just wanted to know what vegetable it was that I took. I insisted that there was no vegetable, so I had no information for him. (There’s a reason, after all, kinky activity is referred to as “play” — it’s FUN, frankly.) I got to be totally snarky in my resistance, which was entirely too much fun. T. got “rutabaga” out of me letter by letter. (T: “What’s the third letter?” Me: “Well, there IS no vegetable, so logic would dictate that there can be no third letter.” T: “Oh, there’s a third letter, and I’ll get it out of you eventually.” Me: “Ha! Do your worst!” T: “Oh, I will….”) The letter-by-letter method worked pretty well, since I could get him to stop anything I wasn’t comfortable with by giving up a letter, without stopping the whole scene with the whole word.

I think I mentioned that the first time he tied me up, it was distracting and weird to be tied up in public, didn’t I? This time was much less weird and much less distracting, partly b/c almost everyone else was playing. And also the interrogation scene helped me focus pretty much on what we were doing, instead of worrying about what else was going on around me.

When we were all packing up to head home, he asked me if I had his e-mail, so that if tomorrow or later this week, there was anything that I wanted to talk to him about regarding our scene, I could. Very solicitious. We swapped e-mail addresses and phone numbers, and he called me this afternoon, to see how I was feeling, physically and mentally. (I’m good.) I asked how he was doing, we chatted, he said he really enjoyed our scene, I said I did too. He said he had been wanting to do an interrogation scene for a long time and just hadn’t found anyone interested, and I said I loved the chance to be a bottom but still be actively involved, rather than passive. (One of the guys who’s married to a woman in the submissive group told me — teasing — that I was a smartass and needed to be whipped into shape. Heh.)

 

more electric play

Small party tonight; a lot of the people I’ve already come to think of as “regulars” weren’t there, which was odd. But the group that was there was still, by and large, quite enjoyable. I played, a little, with the guy who has the Violet Wand. I kept all my clothes on, which turned out to make the electricity conduct even better (something about the clothes creating a layer of interference; I can’t really remember, and I’m pretty tired and spacey right now anyway).

[Note: this is not an uncontrolled electric current; it’s about as strong as a TENS unit, that’s all. It wasn’t cattle-prod time.]

Like last time (when T. tied me up), people stood around and watched, but unlike last time, it didn’t bother me at all. I have no idea why. Well, maybe I do — being tied up is such a deep-rooted kink for me, one I’ve had for as long as I can remember, I felt really exposed to let people see it; but getting zapped with electricity has never been a kink for me, so it didn’t feel like I was letting people see my deep dark secret.

Sometimes, for whatever reason, the electricity would zap me in just the right (or wrong) spot, and I’d yelp and/or kick my little feet, which was pretty entertaining to the people watching. On the whole, though, it was really freaking cool. Back in February, when I joined this group, if you had told me I’d be digging electric play, I would have told you that was crazy talk. And yet….

Afterwards, I was craving a cheeseburger in the worst way. Because people tend to want to eat after a scene, there’s always a spread of food at these parties (potluck). But cheeseburgers were not on the menu. I ate a deviled egg and a cookie or two, but I knew that I had to stop for a burger on the way home. I just finished the burger, actually (thank you, 24-hour McDonald’s drive-thru!), and now I need to crawl into bed.

 

11 hours of kink

No, *really* — 11 hours of kink — the BDSM group had an all-day seminar, which was 9-5 (yes, I got up at 7:30 on a Saturday; I tell you, only for kink would I get up that early on a Saturday), and the play party was 8 p.m. to 1 a.m., though I was only at the play party from 9 to midnight. That’s a LOT of kink for one day!

The seminar was a very loosely organized, rambly thing presented by a Dom who has been active in the BDSM world for over 25 years. He has 3 slaves who live with him, and 2 of them came with him to the seminar. I talked with one of the slaves for a long time at the play party. I have to say, I don’t understand the 24/7 master/slave lifestyle, not at all, but I was fascinated hearing her talk about it, and how it’s fulfilling to her, and how it works for her. I have so much to learn.

There wasn’t really a topic for the seminar, as such — it was mostly just Ways To Live the BDSM Lifestyle Even Better. I got to meet a lot of people, some of whom I already knew from previous meetings, but some who were new to me. Everyone is really very friendly, and kind, and funny.

Like I said, after the seminar there was a gap of a few hours, and then the play party. As for the “play” part of the party, yes, I did actually participate (this was only the second play party I’ve been to with this group….or, well, ever). I hadn’t planned on participating, and I was standing around watching some truly impressive bullwhip work, when one of the guys, T., came up and asked me “So, would you like to be tied up?”

I don’t remember ever talking with this guy about whether I’m a top or a bottom, or what I’m into. Maybe I just look like I need to be restrained. He’s a very nice guy, not freaky or intense in that creepy way of I Am The Ultimate Master. Really mellow. And wearing a long leather skirt and boots with 5-inch heels. Impressive.

When he asked me, I stammered and stuttered through a paragraph’s worth of “ummm” and “well….” and finally said “Yes, but you DO know I’ve never done this before, right?” And he said yeah, he did, and that it could just be low-key and as little or as much as I wanted, and that I could say I had had enough at any time. (Plus, at these parties, there’s always one person who’s the Dungeon Monitor who keeps an eye on everything going on, and lends a hand if anything ever gets out of control, etc. The DMs have to be certified in CPR and first aid, etc. This group is really very on the ball.)

Being me, I asked (and I quote) “So….what’s the endpoint?” Which made him laugh and tell me not to be so goal-oriented. So, using maybe 25% of the rope from a truly impressive bag o’ rope he had, he tied me to a bench of sorts — kind of like a bench/chair, because I had a back to lean against — and, after very thoroughly tying everything that could be tied (including my toes — my shoes were open-toe), which took about 25-30 minutes, I’m guessing, he told me that now it was up to me to get out of it. (Though later he said that if I’d had trouble, he would have helped, and, in fact, he had to untie my wrists first b/c my left hand got pins and needles, which was annoying.)

Here’s the thing: I liked it, a lot. *But* I wasn’t turned on, though. Having so many other people around was utterly bizarre, and eliminated any sexual charge I would have otherwise gotten. I am so very not an exhibitionist. And it’s very surreal to be getting tied up and have people wander up, say “Nice knots!” and then have a totally mundane conversation with me. Like, about my shoes.

It was good, don’t get me wrong. But, because I’m me and I *do* care about the endpoint (which, for me, frankly, is a sexual thing), the whole on-display part of it was very unsettling. So I’m still processing a lot of it, largely from the navel-gaze-y perspective of What Do I Want And How Do I Want It. I do that.

But yes, I got tied up. Very damsel in distress.

Lots of other people were playing at the same time, too. There’s a strict rule about no sex/penetration and no scat or urine play, but beyond that, anything goes, if the people are consenting. While I was being tied up, just within the 25-foot area around me, there was a flogging, needleplay, and waxplay (which was very pretty). In the other room, which I could hear but not see, since I was tied to a bench at the time, the seminar presenter was demonstrating singletail bullwhip technique, first on his 2 slaves, and then on anyone who wanted to get whipped. (I did not volunteer.) There was also a suspension scene that I heard about later (again, since I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t see it), and, much later, electricity play (with a violet wand). These people are serious about their kink. It’s very cool.

The members are very casual about being naked around other people, which I just boggle at. I seriously can’t imagine doing that. I like to limit my nakedness to one person at a time. Maybe 2. It doesn’t bother me that they’re naked (partially or fully), but I don’t expect to be taking any part of my clothing off at a party any time soon. Or ever.

Like I said above, everyone is very friendly, and welcoming. Being me, it’ll be a while before I feel really comfortable in the group, but I feel like I’m getting my footing. And it’s good.

Also, I was *really* sore the day after the play party. Apparently my flexibility is for shit. Plus, being in one position for half an hour is more sore-making than you’d think. Especially my arms, which were over my head for part of the time. I need to start doing more yoga, it seems.

 

the fine art of negotiation

This month’s meeting topic was about negotiation with a partner before you even start to get kinky together. Very interesting. Being me, I had read a lot about BDSM before I ever ventured into “real-world” BDSM, and so I know about how important negotiation is (“negotiation” is a weird term for it — it’s just outlining what both of you want, things you absolutely won’t do, things you absolutely require, etc.), and yet, also being me, it struck me that I don’t feel entitled to ask for what I want. I get that it’s totally important for both the dom and the sub to be very clear about what they want, otherwise things can be unsatisfying at best and harmful in a worst-case scenario. I totally get that.

And yet I still feel like *I,* personally, don’t have the right to ask for what I want, that I should be grateful for whatever I get, even if it hurts. This, of course, is why I’m approaching the kinky lifestyle *verrrrry* slowly. Because I don’t actually want to get hurt, and I don’t want to do anything with anyone until I *do* feel entitled to ask for what I want and to say with certainty what I don’t want. It’s a mental hurdle I need to get past.

Lots to think about — not just about what I want, activity-wise (for want of a better term), but also what I want out of the whole experience. I have some vague ideas about the second part, and some really specific ideas about the first part. Mmm. You betcha. The real issue will be whether or not I can articulate them.

As I keep attending events, more and more faces are familiar to me, even if I can’t remember everyone’s name yet, and even if I don’t really *know* them, per se. That familiarity is SUCH a relief, since I’m so awkward and tongue-tied and foot-shuffle-y with people who I don’t know. People are generally nice, and, at the very least, not scary. Actually, they’re fun and welcoming and geeky in their own specialized way.