I have been invited to be a speaker at a kink event. This is really, really WIN, and seems to be happening more frequently, which is SUPER cool.

This one is in Colorado. It is called Denver Bound. It is a smaller event, and they have an interesting setup. They have a few people come and do a very intensive weekend, 4-5 classes each over the 3 day period.

Last year, it was 4 rope bondage rigger types.

Um….yeah.

You can see where I am going with this.

You see, I’m not a “rope bondage teacher.”

I checked, and yes, it is a rope-bondage intensive. I asked the organizer if he was sure he was asking the right person? He said emphatically yes.

But what the fuck do I know about rope bondage?

Dammit Jim, I’m a submissive, not a rope rigger!

Most of the time, we’re props.

Yep. You'll need P-L-E-N-T-Y of rope.

I have certainly demoed in rope bondage classes. But not all that often, because the desire to see fat girls tied up isn’t high.

Unless the class is about tying up fat girls.

As I thought about what I might have to say about rope from my perspective… that being the bottom side.

I remembered that my first glimmer of a desire to, and a possible capacity for teaching in the Kink community was when I was bottoming during a rope demo. There I was, one leg tied behind me, semi-suspended in a rope harness, in a rumpled dishabille from all of the hemp rope. I was grooving — blissed out and high on hemp in a way that doesn’t take any smoking and sure enough has nothing to do with THC.

Someone asked my Trainer, who was teaching, if it was OK to ask me a question. He said yes, it was OK.

So there I was with about the ball of one foot on the floor, arms behind my back, half lost in the haze and smoky head-trip of rope bondage, talking about what that was like.

It would sound impossible to be able to be coherent in one of the least conducive situations imaginable: tied up and turned on and mostly naked in front of a classroom full of attentive witnesses.

This is where a lifetime mad acting skillz is really an amazing tool, yo.

The “me” in bondage became the character I was dissecting. The “me” who remains present was able to do a character breakdown, and “interview” the sub-spacey Mollena.

I talked about how much the process of losing control incrementally can be very arousing and also scary. About how I had, even in the year since I’d been in Service to this particular Dominant, developed quite an affinity for rope bondage and hemp rope in particular. To the point where even the smell of a well-conditioned hank of hemp heats me up…just a little. Just enough.

I talked a lot. Eventually I was gagged, to stem the tide of increasingly breathy babbling.

Shit happens.

So, yeah. What DO bottoms have to say about rope bondage?

As it turns out, quite a bit.

I immediately came up with one topic: “Beautiful Victim: Negotiating, Communicating and Illuminating your Submission.” It would be around self-expression for bottoms, and help for tops and dominants in eliciting those wonderful connections and reactions that so many crave. OK, cool!

I thought also a class that taught about warm-up, processing and cool down, on a physical level, would be great.

I chatted a bit yesterday with a friend who brainstormed with me on another angle: that of a whole “From the Bottom:” series of classes. A discussion of and exploration into why bottoms enjoy rope bondage, what happens emotionally when you are going into, coming out of, and processing afterwards, some of the reasons people love or avoid it, etc.

Come to think of it, this is really an awesome kind of challenge to which I gotta step up :-)

Never underestimate the power of a submissive. NEVER.

Tags: BDSM, Bondage, denver bound, education, from the bottom, rope, submissives

I went to two different Halloween parties, two very different experiences but both very good.

All week I looked and looked for something that goes with this:

Someone suggested PVC pants but I’ve never worn PVC before. Others said black jeans would do. One person suggested I go without pants entirely.

I went for the usual: Leather pants and a black t-shirt. My homage to Steve Jobs and every hair band from the 80’s.

The first party was filled with warm friendly faces, big smiles, great costumes (other than my own) and good conversation. It’s one of those places where you know you’ll be around the kind of people you’d bring with you if you were going to colonize mars. Someone greeted me and I had no clue who it was at first since she was covered from head to toe in latex. I found myself in a circle of friends talking about everything from bad movie ideas to politics.

There was a moment where I had a brief out of body experience, realizing how very different things were for me now compared to when I first move to New York and didn’t know anyone. I felt lucky, grateful and warm. Thanksgiving came on Halloween.

Afterwards I headed to smack. Smack is a massive fetish party featuring people in latex, leather and anything else you can imagine. It’s important to note that it’s more fetish than bdsm. There’s some play going on but it’s mostly for show. There I was, a guy going to a fetish party with two of my best friends, one dressed as a sexy wild strawberry and the other as a seductive geisha. There are few things better than watching your friend dressed as a strawberry get her groove on while guys stare from across the room.

A few people were engaged in kinky play. Some were sincere, others were clearly putting on a show. I saw an older couple in the play area having a very hot scene. They were really into it. She wince and arched her back in a way you could tell she was barely aware that there were hundreds of people dancing around her. Downstairs I saw two women “playing”. If anything they were playing to the crowd rather than each other. The woman playing the part of submissive seemed more interested in seeing how the crowd reacted to her reactions. It felt like I was watching bad porn.

There were a few posers there, people acting like they were King Shit of Fuck Mountain. The people who act like they’re doing everyone a favor by letting us be in the same room with them. Its a funny thing to see.

I’m not sure if it was the music, the overcrowded club or the fact that I was also trying to get over being sick but I decided to head home. On my way out I ran into a friend who was sporting her brand new short PVC red dress. I tried not to stare, gave her a hug and tried to think of non-sexy things since hiding an erection while wearing leather pants is almost impossible. We talked for a bit but I left before her date returned with their drinks.

Jumping on the subway I felt less out of place than I normally do when dressed that way. I was sitting next to a drunk guy in a bunny suit and a coed in a catholic school girl uniform.

I made it home, took some nyquil and as I undressed I received a text message from the friend in the short red PVC dress:

“You are an idiot. You should have stayed…I’m a bit hornier than expected. It’s probably good that you left…in a way. If I were a man you would have been promptly raped. I would have lured you into a dark alley…”.

I was reminded of an old lover today. A memory as convoluted, bittersweet and difficult as any in my life to date.

Then the larger question of BDSM reportage came to mind.

Usually, one does ask the person about whom you are writing if they are OK with you writing about them. Usually, they are OK.

I have had several situations where people were NOT OK with my writing about our encounters.

Part of me is miffed by this, and not only because I am a blabbermouth. Because, strangely enough, I am very capable of shutting the fuck up.

But as a writer, when I feel inspired to write, I loathe the idea of being squelched.

I have had several variations on external censorship. I have dealt with them in various ways. I am mercurial and strangely unpredictable, even to my own mind, on this issue

I had one person nonplussed about my writing about and making an example of our scene in my curriculum when I taught classes about Taboo / Extreme Edge Play. This may well have been because this was a textbook example of how to not manage a scene that has derailed.

To be fair, missteps occurred on everyone’s part, and I do not understate my role in the situation. But they weren’t too thrilled, especially as a public Leather Community figure, to have that less-than-optimal situation live on.

After some discussion, I made it clear my intent was not to damage, but to help other folks learn from those that have gone before and paved the Way Of “Whoops!” Plus, the versions that were in circulation only made the situation even grimmer than the reality, so getting it from the horse’s mouth is only going to serve to put the period on the end of those speculations.

I had a profound moment of Zen when, years after the fact, a former lover asked me to remove references to him from my online writings because he was upset that such explicit materials referenced him online.

Though I had received permission, in the past, to tell that story in the course of my solo show, a change in his level of notoriety prompted him to become indignant that such intimate details of his sexual appetites were searchable online. This is fucking galling. Kind of like Jesus saying to John the Baptist “Dude, yeah, I am totally cool with you, but could you refrain from talking about when you dunked me that one time? Thanks!”

He was my gateway drug to kink, the story is fantastical and beautiful…and he is cranky abut that.

On the one hand, I understand, and can empathize. I mean, come on. Certainly, someone gushing over your sexual prowess, the magnificence of your penis, the thoroughness of your hotness and how generally amazing and brilliant you are, in explicit terms, is a dangerous thing.

I tried to explain that, frankly, the djinni is out of the flask and, thanks to Google and the WayBack, nothing can ever be erased.

I also gently pointed out that he never asked me if it was OK to write half an album about me, and furthermore to actually use my fucking name for one of his songs…on not one but two of his records…and if he was concerned about people making the connection, he well should have considered that first. (Oh, if you wanna hear it, you can do that here. You can do it for free. Save the ninety-nine cents, dear reader.)

It hardly helps that this extended remix situation is one of the Obsessions Of My Lifetimes.

No, that isn’t a typo…I’m a Hindu-esque kid.

I have also had a preemptive strike levied against my writing. A man with whom I was (very briefly) involved specifically insisted I not write about our encounter, as it might muddy the waters with someone he was in the process of wooing, and that wasn’t OK.

Douchetastic? Yep.

THAT situation was cunningly crafted by the very Gods to take me out at the knees, and sucked in several ways. I wish I’d had the ovaries at the time to hash that one out, but instead my submissive reflex kicked in, to my detriment, and I just caved to the command.

It is a very odd sensation to feel like your own life and the means by which you express that to the world is possibly offensive, probably unacceptable, certainly cumbersome, often unwelcome.

Whatever.

Really, the main intent I have, in my life and in my writings, is to illuminate. To talk through my past, my kink, my life and loves and the messy, messy beautiful and delicious kaleidoscope through which I see everything. To use my own voice, my own light, to refract the gloom of the quotidian through my own prism, my fresh perspective.

I am not sure when speaking my piece, in my way, became such a minefield.

And it is very tough to remain strong, loud and proud when a miasma of shame, reluctance, fear and regret wraps about the ankles, creeps up goosebumped arms and condenses sorrow within your ears.

Peace.

~Mollena

Tags: blogging, british, Mollena, music, origin stories, privacy, song, whinging

I decided to challenge myself to write a fuckstory in >500 words. Why not? Mayhap I’ll make this a regular thing on my blog. Perhaps this shit is so played-out and is the oldest and most overused trope in the sex bloggers toy bag that some of y’all are rolling y’all’s eyes and being all “Whatever, biotech.” Either way, here’s my go!

xoxo

~Mollena

“Don’t move. Don’t fucking move. if you move and you make me come right now I swear to god you’ll make me very angry and I don’t think you want that.”

I could hardly breathe as his belt, looped once around my throat buckle cutting into my shoulder pulled tight under my back tail gripped firmly in his hand growing tighter incrementally slowly becoming the focus of my attention as I focused on not moving which was hard. It was hard because his full weight was on me and when he wasn’t threatening me with effulgent glistening stepping-razor violence he was biting me really hard and it isn’t all that easy to focus on not moving about when someone is biting you. Really hard. And their belt is slowly and, with the inexorable force of a constrictor thoughtfully relieving a rabbit of its life, relieving you of your senses. “I wonder,” some slowly fading rational part of my mind mulled “I wonder if this is what it is like when an animal is killed in order that another animal may have a meal.” And then I felt comforted because I was absolutely at peace in that moment as the belt tightened another centimetre around my neck and his cock reasserted its domain over my cunt and his breath crawled into my ear right before the darkest words I could imagine dark not only because they echoed my invisibly screamed thoughts but dark because I wondered whether or not it were true that he might “Keep pulling on this belt and see how long it takes for you to go…” and I knew that I wouldn’t fight him. My head turned slightly towards his and his cheek grazed my cheek as I winced, stubble so rough on my skin I wondered if I would have angry red abrasions to match the marks that the belt would surely leave on my neck and I wondered if even this small movement was going to violate the injunction against movement as he punched my shocked cunt again with his cock and I held my breath my eye traveling upwards to meed the one of his I could see and I knew in that moment that yes, he could if he wanted to he could finish me and this moment and I would not struggle at all and this moved me so deeply I started to cry. One tear so hot it lit up the nerve-endings in my skin and coursed down my cheek and into my ear where it tickled mercilessly. And another tear, and another, yet I remain unmoving and silent I looked back at this creature this. Man. who was inside and all over all over me and cried and waited and his eye coldly observed my tears as his stare went absolutely blank and he bared his teeth and he pulled the belt even tighter and came and roared and barked and growled and fucked the rest of me away.

Tags: BDSM, breath control, Fetish, Leather, rough sex

Greetings!

I hope that you had a thrilling stunning effulgent weekend full of delightful epiphanies and thoughtful moments of internal illumination.

Or, at least, had a nice nap.

Over much of the weekend, my subconscious Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic was thrumming with memory and pulsing with perversion.

I had a lovely brunch with a dear friend on Sunday. He is, among many things, a sadist and of British extraction.

These things are, in my book, two of the the very Pillars of WIN.

Being extremely well-hung and madly craving constant contact with my boobs are two more Pillars Of WIN.

But I digress…

We’d played several weeks back, and due to myriad reasons (my insanity and odd life-processing methodology, for starters) had not really gone into depth about the scene.

It is easy to forget that sadistic people need love and reassurance too. It isn’t great to leave them hanging with questions like “OK, did they LIKE the scene? If they HATED it, was it the GOOD kind of hate (that makes you squirm and reluctantly crave more of the same treatment)? Or was it the BAD kind (which leads to flamewars and scorched earth blog-posts)?”

In this case, I had the added bonus of this being the first scene I’d done in a long time. I had fears that my pain tolerance would be shot to hell.

It wasn’t.

I was nervous I’d be self-conscious about being butt-ass nekkid in the dungeon.

I wasn’t.

The wildcard, for me, in any scene is “The Wall”.

Most scenes for me have a moment of clarity where I realize that, on the face of it, this is insane, that I must be crazy, that the situation’s patently absurd.

I can’t ever predict when “The Wall” will be hit.

A boot fetishist afraid of a little dirt? Why, that is as absurd as...

Andrew thought that the Extreme Clothes-pin-On-The-Nipple-Repositioning-Moment was the tense point for me.

And, fair game.

I did, if I recall correctly, unleash a top-o-the-lung stream of shrieked invective, invoking several deities, possible suggestions of incestuous relations with his Mother, and profane insistence that his derangement ought to be punished and that I would see to that personally.

Just as soon as I was released from the duct tape, plastic wrap ropes and cuffs.

But it was not the pain that was The Wall for me in that scene. It was the order to lick his boots.

Well, not just lick them.

Yeah, lick the sole.

Go ahead. Freak out.

I know I did…..(….keep reading….?)

Tags: boots, fear, Fetish, Kink, Leather, Mollena, submission

I was asked to make a list of the things I’m most curious about. Thing I’ve had on my must-try-before-I-die list.

Chastity- Maymay wrote about his extended chastity here. Obviously my daydreams aren’t nearly as close as what the reality would probably be. I imagine being locked up and taken out whenever she (whoever she is) wants me. More of an anti-masturbation device than a no-orgasm device. Who knows, maybe she’ll want me locked up for longer durations, or maybe not locked up at all.

CBT- I have limited experience in this area but the hints of it that I’ve experienced have been eye opening. Probably because there are a million wonderfully evil things a woman can do in this area. As with all kinds of pain, it’s limited to those who really get off on giving pain. I hate the idea of feeling pain anywhere but I love the idea of taking the pain for someone who gets off on giving it. Everything from sounds, bondage, clamps, clothespins, you name it and I’m curious about it. The mental image of sounds is enough to make me whimper.

Anal play- I’ve experienced strap-on play a few times. A few times isn’t nearly enough. I’ve only experienced the wonders of the prostate once for maybe a minute. My head nearly exploded. There’s also something very intriguing about plugs and hooks. I have no idea what the appeal of anal play is for a dominant woman. Is it the idea of violating a man? I know what the appeal is on my end of things but the motivation for a woman escapes me. If I knew the motivation it might help me find someone to motivate into doing it.

Predicament Bondage- I was talking to someone the other night who mentioned how much she loved doing it to her boyfriend. I hadn’t thought much about it until I saw how much she loved it. Her face lit up with this genuine evil smile. It’s motivated me enough to read more about it and keep my eyes open for someone with an evil smile.

Electrical play- Nuff said. This is a big question mark for me. I’ve heard it can be either very painful or very pleasurable.

Hypnosis- I’ve heard it’s intense.

Owned- I know now that my previous goal (I wrote about it here) of having a weekend where I was totally owned and controlled by someone is totally unrealistic. Finding someone who wants to own me for a few hours might be more attainable.

Public sex with wildly masturbating bystanders?

Yes, please.

Thank you very much.

I do love my adopted home, San Francisco. However, It is strange that, even in this purportedly hedonistic enclave of freaks, there is a serious shortfall of places to go and get your freak on.

What do you do when your roommate is just not prepared for blood-curdling labia-curling scrotum-shrinking howls from your room as your favorite fucktoy barks out “PLEASE MAY I HAVE ANOTHER!!” at 3:47 AM?

Some nights, you get your ass over to dark-dank-dingy-delightful Power Exchange.

But those nights might be drawing to a close.

Though it is one of San Francisco’s last public pansexual Sex Club and BDSM playspaces, The Power Exchange is at risk.

And this time, it isn’t a Puritanical buzz killing sour-lipped SF City Supervisor cracking down on sex.

It is plain old economics. The owner of the building is selling, and the future of the place is uncertain.

On those nights where the filthynastypiglut in you wants to be ogled and leered at and objectified by complete strangers who seem to often take a Mystery Science Theater 3000 approach to watching sex acts, there’s no place like the Power Exchange. This is an excerpt of one of my favorite scene memories from PE.

Strolling through the main play area, surrounded by the fencing, we checked out all of the side rooms, peeked in on the wankers in the TV room, and wound up in the ‘bullpen’ area. After securing a chain across the break in the fence, Sir turned to me, flipped me around and up against the cross. I was giggling a bit, as I thought this would be light and easy. We had no toys or the usual accouterments of BDSM along for the ride: how far could it go?

Pressed against the cross, my forehead against the cool wood, I felt his fingers fasten on to my breasts, the nipple trapped again between his fingers. And he began pinching. Several seconds went by as I realized the pressure he was applying was indeed becoming extremely painful…my head was swimming and tears blurred my eyes. I wriggled, trying to escape. That bought be several hard slaps to my ass and another shove against the cross. More wriggling, more shoving. Those hands, capable of inflicting a bruising pinch strayed not far from my breasts for some time. Turning me around, he pulled my breasts away from my chest, stretching them painfully. I panted, trying to breather more deeply. He smiled. How is it that a smile can warm and chill me simultaneously?

Pulling me towards him by the tips of my breasts, he leaned down to kiss me, breath smoky and sweet from the Havana cigar and port he’d consumed after dinner. I was pushed roughly against the cross again, as he pondered what to do with me….slapping the insides of my thighs was the next place he went. Loud resounding slaps were followed by my yowls and moans. The flesh was immediately sensitized, and it was all I could do to stand and take the next slap.

Soon, it was too much and my legs reflexively closed.

“Spread your legs.”

I shook my head and squeezed them even more tightly together. Grabbing a handful of the hair on my labia, he pulled and twisted till I screamed.

“Spread your legs.” He repeated, and I did so with alacrity.

Warmed up yet?

Check out the complete spread at “The Power Exchange: A Memory” on The Perverted Negress

xoxo

~Mo

Tags: BDSM, BDSM play, Kink, masochism, Mollena, power exchange, sadism, scenes, sex clubs, The Perverted Negress

She waited for him in the abandoned hotel, leaning against the front desk. Her blouse fell open to reveal ample cleavage and her pencil skirt hugged her thick hips. She’d torn her fishnet stockings on the way in, stepping over the pieces of wood that had been placed across the door to keep trespassers out. She wasn’t worried about them. She had four more pair in her lingerie drawer at home.

Light filtered in through the cracks in the walls. It smelled of rain and aged wood. As she closed her eyes she inhaled the scent of something faintly floral. Once there was a rumor about the place being used as a brothel and the floral scent almost made her believe it.

Before she saw him she heard his tires on the cracked pavement out front. Any second he would appear before her and relieve her of her clothing burden. Oh she liked the clothes well enough, but what she loved was being naked before him.

As if he knew her thoughts he maneuvered over the wood that had torn her stockings and filled the space in front of her. She licked her lips and moved her eyes to his. An almost imperceptible nod and she began to undress.

She unbuttoned the first button on her blouse, then another. As she worked her way down to button number three she saw his movement out of the corner of her eye. Seconds later her blouse was ripped from her hands, buttons flying and the material hanging in tatters.

A gasp escaped her lips as he continued on. His strong hands unbuttoned her skirt then ripped it to the hem. It landed in a small pile on the floor and she stepped out of it.

The knife appeared out of nowhere and though she knew enough to not be afraid, her heart skipped a beat and her pulse raced. She felt the cold steel of the blade just beneath the swell of her breasts. He traced his way to the center of her bra and worked the tip of the blade beneath the cloth. A quick movement and her breasts were untethered, hanging, barely covered by the cups.

“Get on the counter and don’t say a word. Not one.”

His voice hypnotized her. That was what commanded her. Not the words but the tone of his deep, nearly baritone voice.

She allowed him to help her onto the counter that was covered in dust and cobwebs. Her hair cascaded behind her as her head hung freely off the other side. Her hands pulled the remnants of the bra away from her breasts then moved to pinch her nipples.

He spread her legs then lifted her feet to rest her heels on the edge of the counter. Beneath her bottom a small wet spot had started to form. His mouth met her open pussy as the blade sliced first one thigh then the other. She cried out and the sticky warmth flowed from her center and from the cuts. The blood and secretions mingled in a puddle as he licked her cunt one last time.

“Whatever you do, don’t move.” His voice insisted that she listen so she did. She barely breathed and she swore that the sound of her heartbeat filled the room.

She heard the rustle of his clothing and focused on it. The sound of his coat falling. His tie being undone. His clothes piled neatly to avoid wrinkles. His lug soled shoes landing on the floor. The sounds comforted her and reminded her that she had not yet been left alone.

His hands clamped down on her thighs and she screamed. She felt her back slide across the bar, the edge leaving scrape marks that burned when she was dragged through the puddle of blood and secretions. She screamed again just before his mouth captured hers and his cock impaled her.

Over and over he filled her. Come and blood mingled on their thighs and genitals. Cobwebs clung to her tangled mane. Their breathing slowed and he lowered her to the blanket he had spread on the floor.

With a gentle kiss on her lips he disappeared. The foyer of the old hotel was silent. Once again she had been abandoned.

*This is a work of fiction reposted from The Butterfly Temptress

Tags: BDSM, Cunnilingus, Dom, Fantasy, Kink, Oral sex, Sex, Sex Blog, Sex Bloggers, Sexual Fantasies, Smut, Submissive, The Butterfly Temptress

I’ve been tagged!

The Snarling Misanthrope tagged me. I’ll warn you I’m much better at writing without a goal in mind. Now that I’ve got that out of the way, seven little known facts about myself.

- I lost my virginity to two women. Yes, they were aggressive, yes it was awesome but it was my first time and it didn’t last long. In fact, I think I lasted less time than it’s taken me to write this blog. Now that I can actually have experience and actually have some skills It’s hard as hell to find one. Threesomes are wasted on the young. If only I had a time machine so I could have a do-over.

-The only other language I know is American Sign Language. It’s such a great language. The more I learn the more in awe I am. Of course it helps when you’re best friend is your teacher.

-The first time a woman wanted to fuck me with a strapon I declined. I declined the second, the third, fourth and fifth time as well. The sixth time I agreed. Again I wish I had a time machine and get that first time back as a do-me-over.

-I’ve memorize pi to the 8th decimal. (Yeah, the ladies think that’s really sexy)

-When I want to take my mind off of stuff I’ll play a geeky MMORPG (and no, not World of Warcraft.)

-My lifelong dream is to create a drink that tastes exactly like pussy.

-I was once shot in Milwaukee before giving a speech by saloonkeeper John Schrank. I ended up giving the speech anyway while the bullet was still in my body. I declared that it “takes more than one bullet to kill a Bull Moose”.

Oh wait, sorry, that last one wasn’t me. I sometimes confuse myself for Teddy Roosevelt.

I’ll let you make up a random fact about me since I can’t seem to think of another one on my own.

I had an interesting yet frustrating conversation with someone who questioned why I call myself submissive and not a slave.

For those of you that don’t know, there always seems to be a big argument in the BDSM community over who should call themselves submissive and who should call themselves a slave. Frankly I stopped giving a shit what people call themselves long ago.

The conversation went something like this:

Dominant guy: God… you should use the slave title. You are obviously looking for a service oriented position to where the Dominant in return gives you structure and stability. The only worry that you SHOULD have is serving your Master.

Me: Most Dommes seem to want a submissive in the bedroom but a vanilla guy outside of it.

Dominant guy: Stay away from the submissive title. It scares Masters like me away. Haha

Thankfully I’m not interested in a dominant guy so it really doesn’t matter if it scares away masters (lowercase on purpose) like him. It’s funny how that works though, dominant guys seem to be more interested in D/s than dominant women. I’ve been to a number of D/s oriented events, the last one I went to had maybe 50 gay couples, 50 Dominant male/submissive female couples, a few lesbian couples and two dominant women/male submissive couples.

Many dominant women have expressed to me their desires for a “submissive sometimes in the bedroom but my equal outside of it”. That’s the reason I shy away from calling myself a slave. It scares women off. Not only that, since I’ve pretty much given up on finding anything other than casual play, more and more women seem comfortable with someone who just submits to them in the bedroom. I’m all for that. Sure there’s a part of me that craves D/s, but the part of me that is dying to try out new things in the realm of BDSM overrides the part of me that needs D/s.

I’d rather be a submissive with a chance of getting fucked and toyed with than a slave who’s got no chance in hell.

I’m even cautious about mentioning my interests in D/s when someone asks me what I’m into since that’s enough to scare some off. I should maybe only qualify it by saying “look, someday, if I met someone who wanted to own me outside the bedroom, then great, Right now I’m only looking for casual play”.

Here’s another example from someone after she discovered D/s was something I enjoy:

“Yikes, are you someone that lives the lifestyle 24/7? Im not really down with that. I love sex with down right perversion, but Im not looking to own anyone…thats too heavy for me.”

It took me a while to convince her that I was perfectly happy just having sex with perversion but my interests in D/s may have cost me a one night stand with someone who enjoys things I’m dying to try.

So maybe I am a slave if that’s someone who enjoys D/s outside the bedroom. If that scares you away then I’m submissive. If that scares you away then I’m just kinky. If that scares you away then I’m just jerking off at home.

So I need to renew my driver’s license, and for reasons too boring to go into here, I need to take the written exam. I’ve needed to do this for quite some time, but have been putting it off, and off, and off. Now, next month, my current license will expire, so I have to actually go do this thing.

My Master and I have worked out a way to make studying the DMV handbook more fun – for both of us.

The set up goes like this: my Master puts me over the convertible step-stool, i.e., the Chair of Doom. Then he asks me questions from the sample tests the DMV provides. When I get an answer wrong, I get a certain number of strokes from the cane (which he sets before we start, although he seems to feel completely guiltless about changing that number whenever suits him!)

I’ve been fantasizing about this for the last few weeks. (And, to be honest, not studying overly much. That DMV handbook is written in such a way as to make your mind wander within a page, I swear!) Last Sunday we had our first study session.

My Master was in a spandex mood (and, it seems, having some ‘80s nostalgia!), and so had me in spandex short shorts and a thong leotard. I must say that I find such outfits really quite humiliating. I think most short shorts make my thighs look fat, and a thong leo is simply embarrassing to wear at the best of times. But he loves it – I mean it really turns him on! So I just try not to look in any mirrors, and let his eyes be my mirror, so I can feel as sexy as he sees me. It’s generally not easy at first, but gets easier as the scene progresses and his lust is obvious and continuing….

Once the outfit was on, he couldn’t wait to get started. I, on the other hand, was not in a great headspace. It was my first day of my “period week” in my menstrual cycle, and PMS was still in full swing. When he said it was time for the scene, I responded with alacrity, because I’ve found that if I have to beg out of a scene, I regret it for months later, every day that scenes don’t happen and I find myself thinking wistfully back to that scene that could have been. So I pretty much have to be bleeding from the eyeballs these days for me to even consider asking for a reprieve, and I certainly wasn’t going to give up a good scene opportunity just because I felt cranky and slow and tired. I even put on the thong with good grace!

But as the scene was getting started, a wave of self-pity rolled over me. My pain tolerance was at it’s lowest; why did we always have to do a scene on the first day of my period? I didn’t really want to be in pain, anyway. And other whinging, which I happily kept entirely internal.

My Master I don’t think noticed my inner turmoil – he was too busy enjoying the view of my spandex-clad bottom. He was so excited that he couldn’t keep his hands off: he suddenly changed plans, put the chair back into its chair shape, and put me over his knee for a warm-up spanking. (This did leave me a bit bemused, because he’s normally completely uninterested in a warm-up!)

He started in on the spanking, and I tried to get myself in headspace. He moved up the intensity scale pretty quickly, and my self-pity increased accordingly. Finally I burst out crying, more from the unfairness of it all than from actual pain. He lifted me off his lap, and started setting the chair up for the study session. He decided on using a tawse, first.

I got my first question wrong, and he thwacked my bottom a few times. I got the next one right, and then the next one wrong. And somewhere along the line, my self-pity and stupid headspace vanished, and the scene was just good and fun and sexy and hot.
Continue reading “Educational discipline and anal sex”

Tags: anal, BDSM, blowjob, cane, discipline, english vice, happiness in slavery, Kink, M/s, personal growth, r/l scenes, schoolgirl, service, slave thoughts, spandex, Spanking, tawse, zilledefeu

I just came back from the gym. My first in a very long time.

Holy balls I’m aching all over.

I’ve been working out from home for a few months now but it just hasn’t been doing the trick. I’m sure it’s helped some but not nearly as well, nor as fast as I wanted it to. After my best friend bought me a gym membership for my 34th birthday last week, I was all out of excuses not to go.

I wish I could cross the wires in my head so the pain from working out at the gym was equally as pleasurable as the pain brought on by a sadist. I noticed a hint of an endorphin rush but it’s not quiet the same. Maybe it’s because I’m doing it to myself, it’s hard to imagine myself into even faux-subspace to try and connect the dots when there’s a big smelly guy named Bruno ten feet away.

What’s my motivation for working out? I’d say it’s because I want to look good naked, or more importantly, I’d like someone to want to see me naked. I’ve always been skinnier than the average guy.

A few tips I’ve learned from my first experience at the gym:

-Don’t listen to a podcast that will make you laugh and drop the weights.

-Don’t use any machine that will face the leg press machine, if an attractive woman starts using it you’ll find yourself working harder to not get turned on than you will on your actual workout.

-Try not to laugh at the guy who’s whispering “oh yeah baby” while doing squats.

-Try not to drool while imagining a woman whispering “oh yeah baby” while doing squats.

-If a guy approaches you to give you tips on how to use a machine, don’t say “oh, I’m just fucking around” when there’s a mother and her kid nearby.

-If someone starts to talk to you about “reps” and “sets”, just nod until you can go home and google what the hell those mean.

It’s too bad there’s not a kinky gym out there. The dominants could use weighted floggers! What would the subs do? I’m too worn out to think of anything clever.

I had no clue that there would be so much interest in this subject. It was a post I just threw up there, something that happened to me years ago.

A number of people have made their opinions known on the subject.

Eileen’s take on the subject makes me wish there were more Eileens in the world. (Stop hogging her Maymay)

There are lots of other people chiming in like PaganKinktress, Juxtaposedme, Rona,Kansas and Coriander.

I do have to disagree with Coriander’s assertion:

“Submissive men don’t adore women in cheap shoes. They adore the ones in the 1000$ thigh-high boots, the perfect bodies in the expensive lingerie, the Bitches with designer handbags, the Fetish Queens in latex and leather. I have not yet seen a single site devoted to the worship of a woman in cheap sneakers and white cotton comfortably cut panties. The women they worship have perfectly manicured nails and lips painted to succulent redness.”

I could care less about the clothes. In fact, isn’t naked better than anything else? I’d drool over a woman who’s confident in cheap sneakers and sweatpants over thigh-high boots any day. Plus, thigh-highs don’t show as much leg so….

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

I was pretty naive when the woman in question asked me to get coffee and go shopping. I was still new to New York and couldn’t imagine someone wanting me to pay for their shopping spree upon first meeting. Now if someone were to mention shopping, I’d know what she meant by it. Someone much wiser in the ways of the world pointed out the fact that she didn’t hide the idea of shopping from me. It’s just that I was too new to the area to know what shopping meant.

A submissive guy emailed me and it started an interesting conversation:

Him: I’m curious, how much were the shoes? And how hot was she?

Me: They were around 250 I think and she was very attractive.

Him:So she was very hot and dominant? And the price of admission was this pair of shoes? Ok, so assume the average ‘date’ is costing you $75. That’s like three mediocre dates that don’t give you anything… while this hottie who is dominant is willing to give you a chance. Hey, just the opportunity to walk behind her carrying her shoes would be kind of hot. Just a thought.

Me: I think you’re forgetting one point. I had nowhere near 250 bucks.

Him: Charge it.

Me: Buddy, I couldn’t if my life depended on it.

Him: Fair enough.

An email from someone I used to be intimate with ended this topic on a much happier note:

“Your pussy eating skills are worth more than a truckload of expensive shoes. She’s unfortunate for missing out on something far more valuable”.

I’m feeling much better about my empty wallet after reading that.

Catalina by AlteredAperture.com

Catalina’s Favorite Sex Blog Posts Of The Week!

CatalinaLoves.com:

Catalina hates Myspace.com
Catalina loves 10 Sexy Things About Men

CatalinaSays.com:

The Good Things List Lives On
Amazing Friends

BestSexBloggers.com:

Sunday Evening Fuck
Crawling In The Dark

MarkyDSade.com:

Princess Donna and Kink.com Launch New Bondage and Public Sex Site: Public Disgrace
Madison Young Gets Tied Up, Caned, and Forced to Cum on Hogtied.com

Backdoor Bondage Blog:

Sgt. Major Puts Fetish Model Charlotte Brooke Through Outdoor Bondage on Sarge’s BDSM Clip Store
Reflections on The Bondage Past - Jade Marxxx and John Blakemore (H.O.M.)

Nawalochai.com:

Shots from Folsom
Folsom Coverage on BehindKink.com

Into The Attic Blog:

Elizabeth
The Zayda J. Hubbub

Thursday’s Child:

Knee Sock Fetish HNT

Over The Top Kinky:

Romanian Hottie Lea Lexis Gets Fucked In The Ass In Public

Bad Bad Girl:

Like Lovers Do

Confessions From My Open Marriage:

There’s a First Time For Everything (Confession #146)

Mz Berlin’s Blog:

Mz Berlin Does Lesbian Love Right in Friends and Lovers with Madison Young

Satine Phoenix’s Blog:

Satine Phoenix is Good Enough To Eat In This Cannibal Fetish Scene from Muki’s Kitchen

Ms. Nikki Nefarious:

Like My Ropes? Buy Them!

TruFetish.com:

Mark Me Yours…

Ellie Lumpesse: Pretentious Pervert:

What’s Wrong With Sex Work?

The Urban Gypsy:

Cleavage of the Day Updated for HNT

Sweltering Celt:

HNT - Getting A Little Leggy

Debauched Domestic Diva:

HNT: aka Cleavage of the Week

Happiness is a Dominant Woman:

Thoughts of Dominant Wives and Submissive Husbands

::psst… for more hot sex blog links go to Sugasm.com::

Tags: 10 sexy things about men, Backdoor bondage, Bad Bad Girl, BDSM, BehindKink, Best Sex Bloggers, Bondage, bondage clips, Bondage Rope, caning, Cannibal Fetish, Catalina hates Myspace, Catalina Loves, Catalina Says, charlotte brooke, cleavage, Clips4sale, Confession, Confessions From My Open Marriage, D/s, debauched domestic diva, Dominant Wives, Ellie Lumpesse, Fetish, fetish model, folsom street fair, forced orgasm, friends, Happiness Is A Dominant Woman, HNT, HNT Cleavage, HNT Legs, HNT Nude, HOM, Images from Folsom, Into the Attic, jade marxxx, john blakemore, kink dot com, Kink Review Blog, Kinkiest posts, kinky, Kinky Posts of the Week, Knee Sock Fetish, Lea Lexis, Lesbian, Link Roundup, madison young, Marky D. Sade, Ms. Nikki Nefarious, Mz Berlin, Mz. Berlin’s Blog, Nawalochai, Open Marriage, outdoor bondage, Over The Top Kinky, pretentious pervert, princess donna, public disgrace, Public Sex, Satine Phoenix, satine phoenix blog, Sex, Sex Blog, sex work, Sgt. Major, Submissive Husbands, Sweltering Celt, The Good Things List, the history of bondage, thursday’s child, Top Sex Blogs, Trufetish, Urban Gypsy, weeks best, Zayda J. Hubbub

(GRUE, for those who are new to the idea, is an event I created called “Graydancer’s Ropetastic Unconference Extravaganza,” and it is modeled after the Open Spaces & Unconference models of self-organizing events. So far there have been five GRUEs, in Madison (WI), Western Michigan, St. Louis, Minneapolis, and the most recent, in Toronto.)

Graydancer, Dart (of DartsDomain.com) and Sascha demonstrate rope gags.

One of the difficulties of setting up a GRUE - really, the only one - is trying to describe to people exactly what it is. Hell, I’ve had very close friends in the rope community say to me “Oh, we don’t need a GRUE here in [insert well-known rope community], we’ve got so many rope events as it is…I don’t think people want another one.”

And therein lies the problem, because it’s exactly that kind of situation that the GRUE is designed to combat. When we’ve reached a point where it’s “…just another rope event…” where we know we’ll see the same classes and the same faces talking about (for the most part) the same things, that’s when it is necessary to step out of the pattern, to have an event where the participants are also the instructors, where we’re all “ho’s, pro’s, & schmoe’s” to paraphrase Laura Antoniou. To have an event where the classes aren’t the same things we’ve talked about before - they’re the things we’re passionate about right now. Every single GRUE - every single one - has had some veteran, jaded rope top or bottom that comes out of it renewed, inspired, invigorated.

I’ve been struggling with finding ways to tell people about this - not because I want there to be more GRUEs, exactly, but just because I think we’re in a danger of too many events that are too similar, and that leads to either apathy or burnout or both. One of the GRUE participants, however, said it incredibly well, and I’m going to quote him here from the GRUEp in Fetlife:

“I actually logged on to this site [Fetlife], which I knew nothing about, after the Toronto GRUE. What I thought I had been invited to by a beloved friend; in order to expand both of our technical interests, turned into so much more. GRUE is not a how to class. The Participant driven format presented me w/ choices I made away from the practical presentations. Instead I found myself in intimate, experienced (both new and wise), visceral discussions about gender identity, jargon limitations, dialogues on submissive mindsets, and a rather intense exploration of cultural, racial, and tabooist prejudices (in and out of the scene) and the ethos surrounding exploring those fantasizes. (pardon my German guilt, I’ll never be your storm trooper)

At the party, later that evening, I had the opportunity to reacquaint w/ participants on a more social level, and fuck- they were fun. One of my most memorable emotives was saying good night to a member that I hadn’t said a word to throughout the unconference, but had shared some time w/ my friend. Through casual observation and the searing light of her enthusiasm over the Saturday, I left the party only being able to thank her for what little I had enjoyed of her, not meeting her.

GRUE seemed to have that kind of “in way deeper than I signed up for” coupled w/ I wish everything was this rewarding sort of experience. I will attend any others in my area.

Sasha, we all admire you. Good fortune. Gray- I’m enjoying the book and thank you JP-great event, intense times, be well everyone- thank you for participating in my life. I am better for you.”

Graydancer inverts Sascha at KOMA Gallery during Toronto's Nuit Blanche 2008

You can see some images of Sascha & I, both at the GRUE and at Toronto’s Nuit Blanche event with Lord Morpheous and others, at the gallery linked to the image above. Questions about the GRUE? Email Graydancer, or listen to the Ropecast - we took one of the sessions, Graydancer’s Fishbowl, and recorded it, and it will be up in its unedited glory soon.

Remember, when it gets very dark…you are likely to be eaten by a GRUE. So next time, bring rope.

There was a time that I actually participated in BDSM activities. I was single and dating, putting myself out there in hopes of finding something real. In the process, I learned a lot about myself and about the lifestyle. Since my life has become less edge and more vanilla, I am more thankful than ever that I had the opportunity to experience things for myself.

My first experience with any sort of bondage came from a man named Michael. He was older by about fifteen years and very wise in the ways of the world. To this day I’m not certain of his heritage but it doesn’t matter. The important thing is knowing that he was gorgeous and sophisticated and he ruled his world with an iron fist.

He rented a hotel room for me and I checked in two hours ahead of our scheduled meeting time. I showered and shaved, feeling very much like a virgin on her wedding night. I followed his instructions and swallowed the fear, pretending that I was an old pro.

That first night I sucked him off and he made me orgasm by pressing his mouth to my dripping cunt. It was slow and sweet and I felt let down. Then I felt guilty for questioning him, even if it was only in my mind. As he dressed to leave, I was speechless.

The next morning he showed up at six and gone were the sweet ways and the pleasantries. Instead I was face down in the mattress with his condom covered cock violating me. His hands held my long auburn hair as if he were holding the reigns of a mare and as he leaned over me I felt his teeth close against the flsh of my back. I screamed out loud and his climax was almost instant.

We showered and left the room to go to lunch. I don’t remember where he took me, but it was nice and quiet. We could talk in whispers and I loved feeling as if I hadn’t a care in the world.

Back at the hotel he told me to undress and lay on the bed. I did as I was told and waited with bated breath. A blindfold was placed over my eyes and it crossed my mind that I should probably fear for my life. Instead, I laid still and waited for his next move.

He raised my hands above my head and I felt the cold steel handcuffs close. The loud click echoed in the nearly empty room and I tested them. They were tight but they didn’t dig into my skin, so I relaxed once more.

My ankles were restrained and I knew that my fat body spread eagle on the bare bed must have made an awful sight. He said he liked women with curves, BBWs, and I had believed him. Now I wondered if he only chose them to torture and kill them, to make the world better for pretty thin people. Still, I didn’t move. I just laid there and shivered.

I felt his fingers in my skin and he told me to remember that I was free to use my safe word whenever I felt I needed it. I didn’t speak. It wasn’t something that needed a reply.

Almost immediately I felt the flogger land between my breasts. One blow then another. Over and over again he alternated between my breast, my fat tummy, and my muscular legs. I cried and I came; I screamed his name and begged for mercy but I didn’t use my safe word.

He stopped and I heard him begin to rummage through his toy bag. I heard him tear open a condom package then the sound of it being rolled into place. He was going to fuck me again, after the intense flogging. I began to cry and contemplate the safe word. My body was tired and my soul was in need.

There was a click and whirl of noise. I stopped crying to listen more closely. I heard the shutter of a camera and began to panic in earnest.

He told me to keep my legs spread and my mouth shut. I felt his fingers pry my cunt lips apart and the coolness of a condom against my skin. A sharp pain shot through me and I tried not to scream.

In and out; out further, in deeper. Over and over again he fucked my pussy with a huge object, stopping only long enough to take pictures. I cried and moaned and soared. The orgasms shook my body.

As quickly as it had started, it was over. He removed the restraints. He unlocked the handcuffs. When he removed the blindfold and I saw his smiling face, nothing had ever looked so fabulous.

We bathed together in the huge jacuzzi tub and I remember thinking that I would never again be the same. More than he needed to control, I needed to submit. I needed to be controlled; I needed to be told what to do because otherwise, my brain would never turn off. He recognized it and nurtured it. He kept me for the entire summer, feeling so strongly that I was walking in the sun.

And now? I’m lost. I’m always on. I’m crawling in the dark.

Tags: BDSM, Bondage, fellation, Fetish, First Encounters, It Really Happened, Kink, Life, Oral sex, Photography, Sex, sex blogger, Submissive, The Butterfly Temptress

The two words that will turn me off most are “spoil me”.

Turn me off might be putting it lightly. Maybe angry or….ok angry is the word.

On the surface it sounds great until you realize what the words really mean. The problem is, sometimes their idea of being spoiled has nothing to do with my idea of being spoiled. The conversations usually go like this:

Her: I want you to spoil me.

Me: Great! How do you like your coffee? What kind of domestic service do you want? Do you enjoy massage? Want someone to wait on you hand and foot?

Her: I want to go shopping.

I did go shopping with someone once. When I first moved to New York I met someone from collarme who said she wanted to meet me for coffee and go shopping. We went to a few stores but she just couldn’t find what she was looking for. Finally she found a pair of shoes that were perfect for her and when it came time to pay she looked at me as though she was expecting me to do something. I had no clue how to react. I reached for my wallet but when I saw that the bill was a few hundred bucks I stopped dead in my tracks.

My converse all-stars usually run $35 bucks.

I told her I couldn’t pay for them even if i wanted to and she looked at me with this look I’ll never forget. She stormed out of the store and quickly followed her after apologizing to the person behind the counter. She was visibly upset and started ranting about how she had never been so embarrassed in her life and how she had just spent two hours with me and her time was worth more than just a cup of coffee.

I was speechless and felt as though the rug had just been pulled out from under me. She went from being interested in me as a possible play partner, to someone who couldn’t stand the sight of me.

“Don’t you think I’m a goddess?” she asked me with a hint of anger.

“Well, yes, of course, but you don’t need those shoes to be a goddess”. I was still in shock.

“I thought you were going to be different, I am very disappointed. Don’t contact me again until you’re ready to treat me to what I deserve”.

She walked off in a huff and I never heard from her again despite my emails to her apologizing for the misunderstanding.

If the same thing were to happen to me now I would have told her to go fuck some old investment banker who looked like Larry “Bud” Melman.

Sure the sex would suck but she’d at least have her shoes.

My Master got home last Thursday night, and I promptly got sick. And then he had family-crisis stuff to deal with. So the best I could do as a slave was to have yummy food prepared for him, and surprise him with his desk all cleaned and neat and polished. (Most of the house was supposed to also be this way, but see above about the getting sick part, which threw the wrench in those plans!)

I was scared that the weekend would go by with just dealing with family stuff. And also, when I get sick, he gets all in Daddy mode and wants to snuggle and pamper me.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like being snuggled and pampered as much as the next girl, but when it means his Mean Scary Dominant Self gets turned off – then I’m a sad girl, because I live for our scenes. When he growls roughly at me to do something, my knees turn to jelly and other parts of my anatomy do fascinating things. When he gets all sweet and loving, it’s great … but well, it’s like flavours. I like to eat sweet stuff (oh yes I do indeed!) but I also crave rich, hearty, savoury flavours as well. Think of discipline and the various pains of spanking, caning, etc., as Boeuf Bourguignon, and your favourite sort of pizza, and spaghetti the way your mom made it, and creamy Potatoes Au Gratin, and sushi, and chicken satay and Tom Ka Gai, and a Monte Christo or Croque Monsieur or your favourite sandwich or burger, and, and, and … all your favourite savoury foods!

Happily, some of that yummy stuff was coming my way. He said he needed a nap, early Sunday evening, and I despaired. But then he saw I was upset and pointed out that after the nap, he would be refreshed…. He slept for about 45 minutes, and then I went in and joined him in the bed, and snuggled with him as he napped, and just enjoyed lying in bed with him, feeling his warmth and hearing his breathing, as I looked out of the window at the night-time city lights.

Eventually he stirred, and reached for my hand, and pulled it down to his cock, which was obviously wide awake and ready for action.

I laughed with delight, and said, “You should take lots of naps, Sir!”

Then I didn’t say anything for a while, because I was sucking his cock.

Cock-sucking is always something I enjoy, but sometimes it is more exciting than others. Sometimes, just blowing my Master will get my pussy as wet and ready as a good spanking does. This was one of those times, especially, when my Master grabbed both my hands, and started actively fucking my throat. I’m not perfect at deep-throating, but it turns me on to no end. Just feeling his cock push all the way into my mouth, oh, it makes me feel so submissive and helpless – and aroused!

My Master had special plans for this scene. He wanted it very intense, and very intimate. After he’d enjoyed the blow-job as long as he fancied, he directed me to climb on top of him, in “reverse cowgirl.” He had three toys he’d never used on me before: a short, black, very stiff two-tailed tawse; a short flogger made from old tyres, with jagged edges as if cut by pinking shears (which I actually brought to the relationship – a story for another post); and a long oak thing, somewhere between a paddle and a cane. (Which I immediately knew I didn’t like the look of!)

As I moved up and down on his cock, he beat my bottom with the tawse. That was wonderful, moving me from the early sensations to starting to have to work through the pain. Then, he grabbed the flogger, and applied it to my bum and my back. He has very seldom flogged my back, normally he prefers to lavish his attentions on my bottom, and I don’t see anything wrong with that! But something about the way this flogger caught against my skin on my back was just driving me wild with that pain/pleasure combination. He noticed how excited it was making me, and thus followed a very long session of me riding more and more excitedly on his cock, while his flogging grew heavier and heavier, until he ordered me to come, and I took off at his command. I was in pure masochist heaven.

Eventually he moved to the evil oak thing. I took the first few strokes okay, but that pain was of the kind I have trouble processing, and I ended up holding myself rigid on his cock, because if I moved I’d try to move out of range of those sharp, hard strokes.

This, of course, fascinated him, sadist that he is, and he promised me a session, coming soon, where he would use that toy on me, and then fuck my ass. My emotional response to this is twofold and contradictory: first, there is the “I DON’T WANT!” response, and a feeling of unfairness because this thing definitely falls under the “punishment” range of implements (he himself said that after this scene, it would be used in for times when I need discipline or punishment, but haven’t been bad enough for the punishment paddle) and so this voice in my head has all these excuses, and the mantra of “It’s not fair!”

But at the same time, the thought that he knows how hard this will be for me, and he wants to put me through it – that it will make me become so vulnerable as I strive to accept pain I can barely handle for him – and then he will take me in that defenceless place, and fuck my ass, which always makes me feel the most ultimately vulnerable and used … well, that makes me want to run, not walk, to Mr. Buzzy, and release these intense sensations building up in my pussy!

I will just never get over how confusing it is being a masochist! At least now I have (mostly) learned to ignore the first reaction, and just focus on the second as being the truer (and more satisfactory!) one.

Anyway, back to our coitus already in progress: at this point he had me turn around (I tried to pivot on his cock, but ended up falling off him, which led to much laughter – but I probably shouldn’t admit that, as of course there is no laughing in BDSM!) ;)

Then he took the little tawse to my inner thighs and mons veneris. This, combined with the new angle of his cock led to more orgasms, and I leant back further and further, ending up completely bent in half backwards (thank you, yoga!), elbows besides my feet, so he could have the most access possible to beat my pussy.

That position was great, but not particularly sustainable, so we ended up back in normal cowgirl, with him now wielding the flogger, and using it on my breasts, and, as we both got more and more excited and I was bouncing all over the place and his aim got less and less precise, pretty much on the entire front of my body.

I think it will come as no surprise to anyone that his orgasm and my final orgasm were pretty amazing. But for me, the orgasms were really just pleasant side effects. It was the intimacy of the act, the intensity of accepting the pain while being penetrated by him that was the most important, profound thing for me.

What a happy sticky mess we ended up as! The tensions of last week were washed over, and we could go to sleep, him holding me tight, relaxed and ready for Monday.

Tags: BDSM, blowjob, discipline, fantasies, flogger, Kink, our story, paddle, r/l scenes, slave thoughts, tawse, zilledefeu