Thursday, January 30, 2014

My Journey So Far

Experiencing my local kink community as I have been for the last few years has been a venture. I've learned so many new things: about my friends, about my surroundings…about myself.
The adventure isn't over. If life is a journey, the Scene is a corn maze straight out of a Harry Potter book, full of twists and turns, jaw-dropping horrors, and wonderful surprises. You learn very quickly that the size of the cane has little to do with the magic it can wield over your flesh, different wizards and witches are experts at casting different spells…and not everyone out there is fighting on the side of good.

Some things you learn through epiphany, and some lessons take a long, slow process. It took me a while to understand I am not, in fact, a masochist. What I like is the fact that I do not like pain. I enjoy the suffering, the struggle, the fight to break through. I enjoy the sounds of my own screams inside my head.
Most of all, I enjoy suffering for the people I care about.

When I look back at my first foray into the Scene, yes, I went through my own period of sub-frenzy. But I still wouldn't let just anyone touch me; I watched the Sadists at work, I learned their technique, and I made careful choices whom I allowed to mark up my skin.
All those people I met at the beginning of my journey are still my friends. Some of them are incredibly close friends, but they are all near and dear to my heart.

I've become pickier in recent months whom I play with. This, I think, is a healthy change for me. I get to know my partners first; I make sure they are the kind of people I need them to be to trust them with my body.
And no, I'm not so naive as to think you can always know everything about your partner before you play. It's an unfortunate fact that some people can hide their demons and sociopathic propensities really, really well.
And, like everyone, I have things I can forgive, and things I can't.

But I'm better able to recognize when the right chemistry is there. Because when it comes right down to it, the chemistry has to be there. I need to want to engage a person in play—not just any play, but my kind of play.
Recently I read a piece of writing somewhere on Fetlife that compared a BDSM dynamic to a dance. You have a lead, you have a follow, you have the music they both move to…and you have the dance. It was a great piece of writing.
An important point to remember is, we are not all in a dance class. We get to choose our partners. For me, personally, I've learned that it's not enough for the chemistry to be there for the dance to be good; the chemistry has to be there for the dance to happen at all. 

The great news is that I've learned how to "spot the chemistry" fairly quickly. The bad news is that it hits me hard sometimes, from people I wouldn't normally expect, and in surprising situations.
Some Doms and Masters have the great physique, the chiseled face with the wicked smile and furrowed brows, they know what they're doing, they've been doing it for years…but when I look into their eyes, I feel nothing. No desire to push their buttons, "see what they've got," ask them to play…no desire to ask them to dance. Nothing.
And then there are the guys who don't have the "Dom look," who have the gentle smile and the warm handshake, who aren't really experts at any technique or tool…but when they look at me, look into my eyes, I see it there, glimmering behind the light, that need, that hunger of the beast, the intoxicating beauty and brilliance of the animal within.
I see the challenge…and if I'm lucky, the invitation.

Even if I do sense the invitation, I don't always respond. Chemistry is a good starting point, but it isn't enough; like I said, I need to get to know the person first.
And sometimes, circumstances just aren't right. I was at a conference a while ago where I met a Master and his slave. Our meeting was brief, unplanned, and unexpected. (These kinky conferences are full of unexpected encounters; that's a significant part of the fun—meeting new people.) We both already had plans for the night. We really didn't have time for anything other than a short conversation.
But the pull I got from him, the adrenaline rush he got out of me, the hum and throb of the chemical release he injected into my blood stream with just a brief look, a crooked smile pointed in my direction…it was amazing.
I think about him now and then.
I don't know if I'll ever see him again.

Sometimes you slip by, and the beast doesn't see you. Sometimes the beast drifts away, without you noticing it. 
But maybe I was wrong: maybe The Scene isn't a corn maze. Maybe it's a forest, full of dark, scary, and wonderful creatures…and sometimes, by the light of the moon and the scent on the wind, we find each other.
We find each other, and we play.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Cures Acne, Headaches, Bad Back, Shortness of Breath, Hair Loss, PMS, and Dry Skin, Too

I was complaining to Husband yesterday about my acne.
(Yes, I am 39 years old, and I still suffer from acne; it is a bane. I have tried different techniques to make it go away, but nothing works for very long. One of the many things about my body I hate. sigh)
Husband doesn't really understand how much the pimples bother me…but then, he has no problem offering me solutions to deal with it.

Husband: I know one way to get rid of your pimples.
Me: You do? How?
Husband: Spankings. Spankings get rid of pimples.
Me: They do not.
Husband: They do. If your skin is breaking out, it means you need a spanking.
Me: I do not, now stop it.
Husband: You know what else cures pimples? Come.
Me: If I come more, my pimples will go away?
Husband: No, I have to come—on your face. Come is very good for your skin.
Me: Oh, really….
Husband: Yes! It's got protein and antioxidants and other shit that's very good for your skin. You can rub it in. (He starts to rub my cheeks with his fingers)
Me: You know what I think? (I smack his hands away) I think you constantly touching my face is giving me pimples. I think you need to stop doing that.
Husband: No.
Me: I also think it's possible not getting spanked will cure my acne, and I think we should test my theory.
Husband: No. Also, come really is good for your skin, you know. It's been scientifically proven.
Me: Oh, really? Show me a source.
Husband: I will…after I spank you and come on your face.

Turns out? Semen really might be good for your skin.
The spanking theory still needs more research, though.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Rubio's Effect

You guys, for the first time EVAR, Husband has ordered me to write a post. So my apologies in advance.
Truthfully, I would not have chosen this particular story to write about on my blog. But it seems fate has a mind of its own, and fate's voice sounds strangely similar to Husband's; so I am forced to draft this out.

(As an aside: Do you have any idea how many kinky bedroom stories I do not write about on this blog? My friends tell me my life is like a fucking sitcom—as in literally, a sitcom on fucking, which when you think about it, why has no one ever made a show like that before? Because oh, yeah, decency laws and all that, we must THINK of the CHILDREN—but I swear to Christ, the best stories I have are always the ones I cannot put on this here site, because they are either a.) too private, b.) too likely to out me, or c.) so insane, nobody would believe it without photographic proof.)

So first, some background info: I have no idea how long it takes other men for their diet to affect the taste of their semen.
(PSA of the Day: Did you know it takes six weeks for sperm to mature? That means the semen coming out of a guy's load today, started forming six weeks ago. But semen is not made only out of sperm, it's got seminal fluid in there, too…which becomes pertinent to this story.)
It takes about four to six hours for Husband's last meal to affect the taste of his semen. Which means if he had Thai food for lunch? By nighttime, I'm gonna know it. If he had a nice bland chicken sandwich for lunch, I'm gonna end up appreciating that fact.
And apparently, if he eats at Rubio's, my face is going to want to melt away.

Husband went to Rubio's for the first time a few days ago. He got this fish taco thing with spicy sauce. I marveled that he could eat something so spicy without even breaking a sweat—I hate spicy food, and have a really low tolerance for it—but Husband thought it was great.
I didn't think anything of it.
Until that night.

I wanted to give him a blowjob, I really did, I swear it.
He lay down, and I got to work. But as my lips did their happy dance around his shaft, some drops of pre-come came out the tip. The tiny pearly drops hit my lip…and that's when the horror started.
At first, I didn't understand the strange sensation blooming across my delicate lips. Then realization began to grip hold.
"Oh my god…your come…it's hot!"
"Hot? What do you mean, hot?"
"It's spicy! Oh! My! God!" I tried to swallow him back down my throat, but more pre-come hit my sensitive tonsils, and I yanked away my mouth. "Whoa, Jesus!" I took a couple deep breaths. "This is awful!"
"Too bad." He grabbed the back of my head to take hold of a fistful of hair, and gave it a solid twist to make me yelp. As soon as my mouth was open, he lunged his dick in my mouth, all the way in, and began to pump rapidly.
"Omnichlgngr!" I cried, beating my hands against his thighs. "Aimahngrnigle!"
"What?" He asked, and pulled my head away from his cock.
"I can't do this!" I yelled. "It's too spicy! My lips are on fire!"
Husband peered into my eyes. A look of understanding passed between us. Then he gave me a big, wide grin. "This is funny," he said, and shoved my face back down his dick.

He began to fuck my face in earnest now, with brutal thrusts of his hips; he held my head still with both hands to keep me from getting away as I struggled to escape his grip, only now and then allowing me a desperate gulp of air.
The heat was incredible. The aching, fiery heat.
After a few minutes—after my whines had escalated to desperate muffled howls and the tears were dripping down my cheeks—he let me go. It wasn't to give me a merciful respite, though. It was because he couldn't stop laughing, and he wanted a good look at my face.
"I'm going to come in your mouth, you know," he said, still chuckling.
I swear, I could feel my eyeballs almost pop out of my sockets. "NO," I said. "I can't take it! My gums! My lips! I feel like a just ate a bowl of popcorn with NOTHING TO DRINK!"
He bent down until his face was an inch away from my own and said, very calmly and reasonably, "I'm coming in your mouth, or I'm coming in your ass, and I just might not use lube." He laughed again, a rich, sadistic laugh, and a part of me recoiled…even as another part of me marveled in awe and love.
"Please, no," I begged. The tears started again. "Please, no, please no…."
"What's it going to be?"
"I can't decide, I can't, oh god—"
"Then I'll decide."
He grabbed me by the back of the head, pulled it down, and once more, began to pump my face.
I wailed. I howled.
He laughed and laughed.
When he came in my mouth, it felt like a volcano had erupted in my throat, shooting molting hot lava down my tongue. I squeezed my eyes shut and beat my fists against his legs, my cries of anguish loud and acute. But Husband just held himself still inside me, shoving my burning lips against the base of his dick…laughing.
As soon as he let me go, I ran to the bathroom to stick my face under the faucet and flood my mouth with cool, soothing water.
"You are terrible," I said between gargles and gulps. "You are TERRIBLE."
"I know," he said, watching from the doorway. From the corner of my eye, I could see him cross his arms and lean against the doorway, that long, satisfied smile never leaving his mouth.

Later, he told me he wanted me to write about what happened.
"Put it on your blog," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because your readers might be interested," he said.
There was a moment of silence, of calm recollection of what had recently happened between us. He reflected with amusement, while I…I reflected with amazement…and dread.
"Please don't eat at Rubio's again," I pleaded with a whisper.
"Oh, I am definitely eating at Rubio's again," he said. "That was awesome."
I wanted to beg some more, but my mouth hurt too much to talk. And really, when it comes right down to it, it doesn't matter how much I plead or beg; that man will do whatever strikes his fancy.

I'm not sure why this specific story is what finally caused Husband to order me to write on my blog. Maybe he thinks he's making his own public service announcement about Rubio's: their fish tacos and spicy sauce will make a guy's come hot! Try it for yourself! Results may vary.
Or maybe he just decided the story is too funny not to share.
Or maybe he knew that by ordering me to write this out, I'd be forced to remember again what happened.
He wants me to remember what happened…and what he said.
Because next time, he won't be offering me a choice anymore. Next time, my ass had better be ready.

Friday, January 17, 2014

Believe Him

When he wants to hurt you, he'll tell you how much he wants to hurt you.
So when he tells you how much he wants to comfort you, be there for you, and hold you in his arms…believe him.

When he wants to humiliate you, he will find a way to humiliate you (and probably with the greatest Mind Fuck yet).
So when he tries to build up your self-confidence by praising your skills, and whispering words of encouragement in your ear…believe him.

When he thinks you look like shit, he'll tell you you look like shit.
So when he tells you you look beautiful, that your smile lights up the room…believe him.

When he thinks you're behaving badly, he'll tell you you're being a brat, and to shut the fuck up.
So when he tells you how proud he is of you, how impressed he is with your grace, poise, and charm…believe him.

When he wants to say something negative, he will say something negative. Because he is not coy, or evasive, or reserved. He does not engage in the passive-aggressive bullshit you learned growing up.

He is honest. He is straightforward. He speaks his mind. This trait stems from his assertiveness—one of the things you love most about him. He is sincere, but never cruel. He can be abrasive; never abusive.
Even when his words are harsh, they are truth. You believe them.

So when he says beautiful things to you, words of praise and applause, words of flattery that make you feel uncomfortable because that isn't right, he can't be talking about me, I'm not that person, I'm not that smart or funny or beautiful…believe him anyway.
His words are truth. He would not say them otherwise.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

A Tale of Safewords

A short story, meant to be funny, inspired by last weekend's SoBad meeting. Because writing this beat doing laundry.
Once upon a time there lived an incredibly kinky, horny, and lecherous Dom. This Dom lived with his submissive, named SubMiss, and his slave, named Slave. The three of them together made up the House of MasterDom. Unfortunately, this Dom was not very smart; but that was okay, because neither were his two women.
One day, MasterDom called his submissive and his slave downstairs to the dungeon.

“SubMiss!” MasterDom called. “Slave! Come down here, RIGHT NOW, please!”
Being the ever-obedient sub and slave they were, the two women rushed down to the dungeon to find their Lord and Master, MasterDom, waiting for them in the middle of the room.
Unfortunately, Slave had been in the process of cleaning out the litter box of their cat, Pussy, when she had heard her Master’s call, and so she was still wearing a pair of long yellow rubber gloves. MasterDom frowned when he saw Slave kneeling before him wearing the gloves.
“You know you are not supposed to enter the dungeon wearing any clothes, Slave,” he said.
“I’m sorry, MasterDom,” Slave said. “But you called, and I didn’t want to take the time to remove the gloves first. Shall I do so now?”
“No,” MasterDom sighed. “There is no place to put them here. You might as well just leave them on.”
“Yes, MasterDom.”
“Now then, “ MasterDom said, getting down to business and addressing both women, “I have called you in here because my new flogger has finally arrived from, and I would like to try it out. SubMiss, since Slave is stuck wearing the rubber gloves, I guess you’ll have to be my first test subject.”
“Yes, MasterDom,” Sub replied, her eyes growing wide. “Shall I stand against the St. Andrew’s Cross?”
“What a marvelous idea! I mean, yes, SubMiss, go stand against the Cross.”

SubMiss went to stand against the Cross, and MasterDom buckled her into the restraints. But before MasterDom could begin flogging her with his brand new flogger, Slave stopped him.

“MasterDom,” she said, “Allow me to remind you, in my most humble supplication, that we need to agree on a new safeword. Our last one did not work so well.”
“Oh, yes,” MasterDom said, slapping the flogger against his thigh. “Harder did not really work as a safeword, did it? Neither did Owie, now that I think of it. Okay, we must all agree on a new safeword, and this time, let’s make it a good one.”
“It must be something we wouldn’t normally say in conversation, or during a scene,” Slave said. “Something that stands out.”
“This is very true,” MasterDom agreed. “Do you have any ideas, Slave?”
“How about ‘copacetic’?” Slave offered.
“Copacetic? What does that mean?”
“It means satisfactory,” she told him.
“Its sounds like the name of a medicine,” MasterDom replied, scowling.
“Well, it’s certainly not something you’d use during a BDSM scene, is it?” Slave said. “But if you don’t like it, how about ‘lugubrious’?”
“Lugubrious?” MasterDom repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It means dismal.”
“It sounds like something that comes out of your nose,” MasterDom said. “Think of something else.”
“Okay…how about effluvium?”
“Effluvium?” MasterDom cocked his brow. “Are you just making words up now, Slave?”
“No, MasterDom,” Slave shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that, no way. Effluvium means an unpleasant smell.”
“All these words you’re giving me are very strange,” MasterDom said. “Can’t you give me something more normal?”
“But you want it to be strange, MasterDom,” Slave reminded him. “You want it to be a word we wouldn’t normally use.”
“This is true,” MasterDom sighed. “Can you give me something more pleasant sounding? And more kinky?”
“How about hornswoggle?”
“Hornswoggle certainly sounds more kinky,” MasterDom had to agree. “It has the word horn in it. Any word with horn in it has to be kinky. What does it mean?”
“It means to deceive,” Slave replied.
MasterDom pursed his lips. “Give me another word,” he said. “Something with more of an erotic meaning.”
“Well then, how about concupiscent?” Slave replied. “It means ‘possessed of erotic desire.’ ”
“I like it,” MasterDom said. “That’s the one. SubMiss, did you hear what the safeword is?”
“Concupiscent,” Sub said, giggling against the Cross. “It sounds funny.”
“Be serious, now!” MasterDom yelled, raising the flogger. “There is no giggling allowed in a BDSM scene! BDSM IS SERIOUS BUSINESS!”
“Sorry, MasterDom,” Sub said, contrite. “I won’t do it again.”
“Good!” MasterDom said. “Now let’s begin. Are the restraints around your wrists okay?”
“They are copacetic,” Sub replied.
“Why, SubMiss,” MasterDom said, shocked. “Are you trying to safeword before we even begin the scene?”
“No MasterDom,” SubMiss said. “I’m saying the restraints are satisfactory. Our safeword is concupiscent, remember?”
“That’s right,” MasterDom said, remembering. “No giggling, SubMiss!”
“Sorry, MasterDom.”
“Okay then. If the restraints are good, we shall begin.”

MasterDom began to flog SubMiss against the cross. Soon, she was crying and howling, and MasterDom had a huge smile on his face.

“How does it feel, SubMiss?” He asked between hits.
“Lugubrious!” Sub shouted.
MasterDom stopped the flogger mid-swing and stepped back. “What did you have to safeword for?”
“Why MasterDom, I wasn’t trying to safeword,” SubMiss said, surprised. “You asked me how it felt, and I was trying to say dismal. This new flogger really hurts.”
“Oh,” MasterDom said. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, we shall now continue, SubMiss.”
“Yes, MasterDom.”
MasterDom began to flog SubMiss once more. As the flogging continued, the marks on SubMiss’s thighs and ass grew redder and redder.

“Oh, SubMiss, you look so beautiful,” MasterDom said in a hoarse voice. “Your bottom is so sexy.”

“Concupiscent,” Sub cried.
“That’s right, I’m feeling concupiscent, too,” MasterDom agreed, flogging her harder.
“Concupiscent! Concupiscent!”
“MasterDom, I think SubMiss is trying to safeword,” Slave remarked.
MasterDom lowered the flogger. “SubMiss, are you trying to safeword?”
“Yes, MasterDom!” Sub shouted. “Something in here smells really awful! I can’t take it anymore! What is that stench?”
“Effluvium,” Slave said.
MasterDom rounded on her. “Now why are you trying to safeword?” he yelled. “You’re not even the one getting flogged!”
“No, I mean, I think there’s a bad odor in the air,” Slave said. She sniffed her gloves and grimaced. “I think the smell is coming from my gloves.”
“Why would your gloves smell bad?” MasterDom asked.
“Because of the box.”
“Which box?”
“Pussy’s box.”
“Your pussy smells?” MasterDom asked, cringing. “Ew. You should have that looked into, Slave.”
“No, MasterDom, it’s from the cat’s litter box. I was cleaning it out with the gloves on before I came down here. “
“Ah, that makes more sense,” MasterDom said, relieved. “I have to agree, the smell is getting in the way of the scene. Perhaps we should stop for now, and continue this later.”
“Yes, MasterDom,” SubMiss said, slouching against the Cross. “Please.”
MasterDom uncuffed SubMiss from the St. Andrew’s Cross. “You did good under the circumstances, SubMiss,” he said. “I’m sure our next scene will be better.”
“Hornswoggle,” SubMiss replied.
“No need to safeword now, the scene is over,” MasterDom said in a comforting voice.
Submiss turned around. “MasterDom, may I make a humble suggestion? From now on, could we stick with ‘red’ as our safeword? It is much easier to remember.”
“Why SubMiss, what a marvelous idea,” MasterDom said. “I wonder why no one’s ever thought of it before. Red! It’s perfect. What an amazing submissive you are.”
“Thank you, MasterDom,” SubMiss said, smiling. The three of them returned upstairs, with Slave in the lead.

Monday, January 6, 2014

Battling Behavior

Well, dear readers, yesterday was an interesting night. It was the last night of winter break, the last night of Husband's vacation…and it was the anniversary of the night Husband and I met.

I knew Husband and I would be "getting down and dirty," but as far as I could tell, He had no distinctive plans. So I decided, when the time came, I would be behave differently from how I normally act: I would be obedient, I would be amicable, and I would give into his every order and suggestion quickly, without protest.
I would be utterly submissive.

Our "private time" together began.
He ordered me to pleasure him; I complied. He ordered me to pleasure myself; I complied.
A frown began to etch across his face. "What's up with you?" He asked.
"I'm trying to be good," I said. "I'm trying to behave."
He rolled me over and slapped my ass, hard, with his open palm; I knew within a few seconds I'd have the blush of his handprint outlined on my ass.
"What the hell was that for?" I screeched.
"You were being too complacent," he replied.

Of course, after that, all bets were off, and I tried to struggle as much as I could.
But I had two strikes against me: one, that Husband had already maneuvered me into easy spanking position; and two, that I am not a very strong woman on my best days.
Husband enjoyed my struggles, though. He laughed the entire time.
I laughed, too. Laughter during a scene (and sex) is, in my book, always a good thing.

I know some Doms and Masters out there prefer their subs to be docile, meek creatures, willing and eager to serve at all times.
Husband is not like that.
Thank God.