Rope

The feel of rope as it heats in my hands, sliding over skin.  The smell of the natural fibers, the undertones of the personal recipe I use for conditioning my ropes.  The hiss and sigh as the rope caresses and glides.  The sounds of pleasure, yearning, pain, suffering, startelment and joy from my partner.

The sight of them bound before me, the excitement as I yank them against me, jerking them this way or that, press a pressure point here, pinch there or nibble here. 

Bliss.. I love rope.

Is that you, Santa ? Oh no!!

The usually prim lady sprawled on the couch, tipsy from the Bailey's and flushed with expectation. Her lover had promised to pop by this evening, and in a burst of alcohol fueled courage she had dressed up rather tartly for him, her hair swept up, lipstick dark red, and a slutty little outfit sure to widen his eyes. A patent leather under bust corset cinched her waist, her breasts bared and a matching patent skirt that barely covered her butt clung to her curvy body. The black stockings that encased her legs were sexy as heck and spiked heels on her feet finished the look, even if she was a bit wobbly in them.

She grinned as she imagined the look on his face, and her naughty thoughts made her body tingled and tighten in the most delicious ways. She let her thoughts wander, and was just beginning to imagine all sorts of sinful fun when she heard it... the jingle of bells, the booming sound of "hohoho".
She giggled, thinking her dear lover was playing around, and flounced to the door to let him in.

Except..

It was not her lover at all, but ...

"Santa?" she gasped, staring in wonder. Santa here? What on earth!

Santa was staring too, but in horrified shock. His eyes raked over her and his demeanor changed quickly from jolly to stern and disapproving. "Miss!! Have you NO shame?"

She gasped in horror as she remembered he state of... cough undress. Her hands flew up to cover her bare breasts and she blushed a fiery red. "Oh my!! I, um, that is.. uh." She floundered, at a complete loss how to deal with this startling development. She flashed a tipsy grin at the lovely man and giggled..."Obviously I was not expecting you!!"

Father Christmas, however, was not amused. He took her by the arm and led her further into the house. Closing the door he turned back to her and shook his head in disappointment before herding her before him up the stairs. He scolded her as he shooed her into the living room, scooping a kitchen chair as he passed the table. "Miss!!! That skirt is so short your backside flashes as you walk!! What sort of lady wears such an outfit!!"

She stammered, giggled and stumbled, with half hearted excuses, apologies and sassy comments as Santa plopped the chair in front of the tree and sat down, tugging her to spill face down over his knee which elicited a startled gasp of protest from the tipsy lady herself.

"Santa!! Really! (giggle), um, usually a girl SITS on Santa's knee you see, I think you have this ALL wrong!!" She tried to stand up, but Santa placed his white gloved hand firmly upon her back.
"Good girls sit on my lap, Miss.. Not tarts!" Santa adjusted the squirming ladies body and then brought his right hand down upon her upturned cheeks.

"Naughty girls get spankings.:"

"eek!!!" She squealed, mortified as her childhood here began to swat her. "Santa, really, i must, ack.. uh.. "

"You (smack) must (smack) nothing!(smack)" Santa retorted, stepping up his pace and swatting harder to boot. "I (smack SMACK smack) didn't even (smack smack SMACK smackety smack) raise (SMACK SMACK) your (SMACK) skirt, (smack smack) you naughty (SMACK) thing, (smack smack smack) it is so short (SMACK SMACK SMACK) that it (SMACK) raised (SMACK) itself!!!(SMACK smack smack smack smack SMACK" He focused on turning her cheeks red, ignoring her protests while he scolded her.

"I cannot (smack smack)hardly (smack SMACK smack) fathom (SMACK) what has gotten (smack smack smack) into you!! (smack smack smack) Dressing like a tart (smack SMACK smack) sassing Father Christmas (SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK) and you are intoxicated (SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK) are you not?? (smack smack smack)" Santa declared.

This onslaught continued, turning her buttocks first a sweet pink, then dark pink then red, until she was kicking her feet and little crocodile tears escaped her eyes.

Then Santa snugged her in tightly and spanked her hard and fast, leaving her breathless, as he ominously queried, "Do you know what Santa does with sassy, naughty, tarty girls?"

"Spanks them?" she guessed, wryly, in between her gasps and whimpers.

"Naughty girls might get a spanking, but You, Miss" Santa replied, "have earned far more than that." He jostled her so she was more securely held and she felt something cold and hard pressed flat against her very warm cheeks. She barely had time to wonder before he lifted the item and brought it down smartly.

"Ack!!! owww!!" She flailed, trying to get off his knee as he brought the mean paddle down again..slightly harder yet. "nooooo!!!!!, stop please.. Santa!!," and again, harder still, as she kicked and squirmed. Santa paddled her now tender cheeks thoroughly, until she quit struggling and lay limply over his lap, crying softly. Then he finally lifted her off his lap and let her weep into his shoulder a moment.

Once she began to calm a bit, he stood her up and led her back into the kitchen.
"Almost done, brat. I am sure, Quite Sure, that when I am done you will not be greeting Santa EVER AGAIN in such a shameless outfit!!" With that he bent her over her table and drew off his belt. "How many days of Christmas?"

"uh.. twelve?" she said, slightly dazed..

"Twelve it is, hohoho!" Santa chortled as he brought the belt down upon her backside. "Eleven days, HoHoHo!" Thwack! and so on until the last lash had landed.

"Now, Miss" Santa said, not unkindly, as he stood her up and walked her to the corner. "You will stand here." He turned her so she was facing the corner. "Until he comes"

She stood there, feeling confused, shamed and yet... exhilarated too...

Wonder what her lover would think, to find her standing there?

My Letter to Santa

Dear Santa
Merry Christmas!! How are you?
With Christmas fast approaching I figured I had best write, partly out of fear and partly out of my love for you.
I have tried so very hard to be a good girl this year, Santa, I really did! But it is so very hard to be good when I am surrounded by so many perverted ladies and gents who want to be rigged and bound, teased and photographed. I couldn't help myself Santa!! To be blunt and honest, I am not sorry for my ropey times and rigging fun.
I didn't mean to sass Sir those five hundred plus times. But Santa, he sets me up, I swear!! He says the most leading things and my mouth opens and my wit pops out. Truly, not fair to count this as naughty! Besides, he enjoys my wit, my bratty sass. So... this doesn't count as naughty, right Santa? Right?
I guess though I have no excuse for the defiance on at least three occasions. I know I need to learn to put pride aside and just do what I am told. But of the four times this year he gave me a directive, I listened at least once! That counts for something, hey Santa?
I know that my school work is behind. I have a list a mile long for excuses, but really, I need to learn to prioritize things, to not take on more than I can do. Sir has kindly pointed this out a few zillion times Santa. (Should nagging perhaps be put on Sir's list of naughty behaviours?) Sir already made me pay for this, with his disapproving sighs and mini lectures on looking after myself. So we are good, Right Santa?
The only other really naughty thing I have done this year is to fantasize much about your visit this year. I love you Santa! I Love your snowy beard, your jolly laugh, your sugary kisses, your firm hand, your dashing black belt, your shiny boots.. Just thinking about you makes my belly quiver and a delicious wet feeling happen 'down there'. What girl doesn't fantasize about Santa bending her naughty self over a chair back, thrashing her jiggling backside with his world famous belt, chanting, "Now Dashit it, you Bratling! You naughty Vixen! On Christmas you'll pay, for naughty behaviour!" Knowing that once she's paid she gets her reward, forgiveness and jolly good fucking. That is how it goes, right Santa? I know I am on your blacklist but...
I have done many good things too, Santa! I have cared for my loved ones and respected (mostly) my Sir. I have given of my heart freely, learned not to fear love. I have learned to love my larger sized self, to reach out for help and not to yell. I am working on the cutting comments, and learning not to use sarcasm as my communication tool. Surely these things are worth a treat or two? All I want is rope Santa, and bunnies to tie. Perhaps more time for my Sir and a collar that I can abide.
I will stay up waiting for you Santa, all Christmas eve if need be! Perhaps I will wait, bent over a chair!!
Merry Christmas Santa!
Love from
Naughty and Nice Aropedeevil

Can I be Vanilla? Do I NEED this BDSM stuff?

Can I be a girlfriend in a 'normal' relationship and still have this happy full cupboard feeling? Do I really “need” spankings and pain and tears and subspace to be content? Do I truly require the foundation of a power exchange dynamic to thrive in a long term relationship? Is this just a dopamine addiction?
I recently had a long hard look at my relationship dynamic, my beliefs, my motives, my needs and my kink filled world. I picked at every aspect of my life, realizing for the first time that BDSM is a main part off my day to day existence. My friends are part of my BDSM community. What family I have left are all aware and supportive of my lifestyle. My partner is my Sir, we share a home. We host a local group and try to promote safe BDSM play and encourage discussions on all sorts of BDSM topics. My finances include a budget for traveling to events, my education has a BDSM bent as well. Part of my income is from BDSM items.
I tried to picture my world vanilla.
I tried to remember when it was vanilla.
Was I every really 'vanilla'?
Even when I found my first husband, I was not vanilla. I had these desires and cravings that no one else seemed to have (mostly spankings, lots and lots of spankings). I wanted a power exchange (I didn't call it that then, of course). I wanted a relationship with defined parameters, in which I could defer to him and rely upon him to respect my deference. I wanted rules and fun spankings and punishment. I wanted him to be the sort of person who has enough integrity and maturity that I could respect and follow him. I did not have the terminology, nor the understanding of how to get from point A to point B, but lack of knowledge does not a Muggle make.
Even as we divorced, each lost in our non power exchange cycle of abuse and martyrdom, I was not vanilla. In our division of goods we fought not over toasters and golf clubs, but over floggers and paddles. We both mourned not just the loss of our relationship, but the loss of our kinky playmate. Our decisions to settle division of assets without overly involving lawyers was based on fear of repercussions due to our spanking activities. The little we had learned over the years regarding BDSM communication at our one event (Lupercalia) came in handy during our divorce. Being exposed to people who communicate civilly with past partners in the BDSM community helped us to stay civil.
While in my second marriage I was not vanilla, although I tried so very hard to be. I hated the lack of power structure. I resented the lack of open discussion and the lack of fun play. I resented that I could not pack away my desire for spanking fun with the seeming nonchalance that my then husband did. I felt repressed, and disdained for the needs that he once found attractive and now found 'odd' and 'unhealthy'. I spent a great part of this marriage feeling ashamed and alone.
It was within this marriage, however, that I began to really examine my self, to realize and then come to terms with my own needs and desires. It was in this sexless and loveless marriage that I realized that vanilla relationships are not meeting my needs, and I am not meeting my partner's needs. It was in those last months that I determined that with two marriages falling to the way side-each with me as the common denominator, that I needed to look to myself. What I found, at the crux of these failed relationships, is that I am a terrible girlfriend. That without clear and agreed upon parameters I give without feeling that I get. That I simply do not enjoy non BDSM typical relationships-by nature most people seem to choose polite over honest, ambiguity over blunt statements, sneaking and self sacrificing and assumptions and miscommunication. I hated it all. I hated that I felt as if I could not share my honest thoughts and feelings. The passive aggressive mannerisms and words created a burning pit of wrongness in my belly.
And so I came to terms with my own lack of ability to navigate the politics that come with vanilla relationships. And with that I began to really examine what I did want, what does make me thrive.
I looked at my need for spankings-really looked. I thought about my non spanking parents and wondered why, even as a youngster spanking was an erotic wonderful thing for me. I picked apart my spanking fetish, looking for a cause. I never found a cause.
Then I looked at what I am like before during and after. I considered how I am full of energy after, happy and content and how I feel so damned safe after. I faced my before spanking self with a bit of a cringe, noting that I am irritable, tired, depressed even.. That I feel shame and discouragement.
(Keep in mind I am talking about there being nearly a year between one spanking and the next).
I poked at that. I wondered if it was because without the beating I feel guilty.
I don't believe that to be true, at least not for me.
I wondered if this was some sort of Daddy/daughter issue, if I was just wanting to be cared about in that way that a parent cares for their child. I don't believe this is true of me either. That kind of age play actually leaves me cold. Teacher student? hellz yes. Daddy or uncle?? eeeeekkk!!! Not for me.
What I do know, is that I love the physical part of spanking. The sensations often cause me to orgasm. I know that I love the emotional aspects-from feeling accepted (my weird spanko parts and all) by my playmate, the freedom to revel in the sensation and just enjoy it without worry about their opinion of me is amazing, liberating as hell. The emotional part.... I do feel cared for and nurtured; someone is taking the time to meet my needs which in my mind is caring and nurturing. The mind fuck of it. I feel so helpless and vulnerable. I know that I have safe words, but the trust that needs to be given (will he stop?? really??). That moment of trepidation, the awkwardness of being tugged over a lap or bent over a bench (or whatever)... Hot hot hot. Being treated in such an undignified manner... oh my fucking gawd hot.
I poked at what I want in the relationship itself. That I want someone who takes charge; but only if they are worth following. Someone who won't boss me for the fuck of it, but with purpose. Someone who wants to grow with me, not help me grow then feel left out.
I wanted rules.
Clearly defined rules.
Rules without impeding on my ability to be who I am. I don't need someone to tell me how to eat, dress, be a mom or a student. No thanks.
My dear friend held my hand throughout, encouraging me to not only accept my kinky nature but to cherish it as well. Just as I began to accept who I was my husband left.
Then I was single. After a period of man-hating anger (sorry guys, but I oh so did go through a short but intense period of really hating men.. so much easier to blame the penis than to look at my own approach and relationship blunders and self delusions. Once I moved past the blaming stage and was ready to explore this BDSM playground, I placed adds in the kinky personals (not POF).
My add clearly stated that I was seeking a male playmate who was firm, yet generous spirited; who would spank me thoroughly and explore other BDSM interests with me. Rather than seek sex (and believe me I wanted to seek sex) I bartered for play, with no expectations or pressure for sex.
I went to Lupercalia, took every class, got my first dungeon spanking ever. Enjoyed it so much I was begging for another the next day. I even did some topping, reselling in the feel of doing so, near as much as I did being ass up on the bench.
I met some amazing people (you know who you are) and had some amazing times. More importantly I was really beginning to believe that I could play like this, with sessions of power exchange fun, and have my needs met without the abuse that I was finding in vanilla dating.
Hurrah!!
Then I met Firm-Hand-Buddha
A student, like me, just beginning on his career path. A fellow pervert. A patient but firm man. A communicator... oh my I love his words... we connected quickly, that spark was just there..
We built what we have now, our 'non relationship' as 'non boyfriend' and 'non girlfriend', upon the power exchange dynamic. And I fought the forming of this non relationship every step of the way.
I was terrified.
He calmed my fears by behaving with integrity, by being consistent and bearing no malice to any.
He smiled patiently.
He teased gently.
He held me when I needed holding.
He hurt me when I needed pain.
He took responsibility for his own shit.
He showed me that being honest with each other was a beautiful thing, not a trick to find ammunition to hurt me later.
He trusted me and showed himself to be trustworthy.
He is my Sir. I take care of him.
He takes care of me.
I give him the use of my body.
He cherishes that use and nurtures my body.
I nurture him with my care of the home.
He rewards that nurturing by acknowledging it for what it is.
I submit.
He dominates.
I yield.
He hurts me just right.
I suggest, ask, comment, communicate, acknowledge and defer.
He suggests, asks, comments, communicates, orders and directs.
We engage in BDSM style activities all day.
In the order in which we are served our dinner, in the manner we make choices when we do not agree, in our speech and in our body language we are in our power exchange.
He casually uses pressure points regardless of where we are.
If we remove all that... well I will be honest.
I am not sure what there is left.
Love, certainly.
Caring.
But the power exchange IS our relationship framework.
I lean on that framework.
I count on it to be there.
Yanking away that framework would wound the trust I have for him. It would leave me shaken, unsure and scared.
Our every day is BDSM... every damned day. This is a lifestyle, not a hobby, at least in our relationship.
When we can't fuck due to kids in the house (we can quietly make out still, but not the way we like otherwise) the rest of the power exchange is there to carry us through. I know I can ask respectfully for play, and that he can agree, decline or negotiate a different time. We have written and agreed upon protocols to remind us of our commitment to one another, and those protocols help me to feel safe and cherished, and to know that what I do reminds him he is safe and cherished (and absolutely adored and respected).
When there are opportunities to bicker, the power exchange is there to restore peace.
When I am cranky and he points this out, the power exchange framework is there to do so safely-and I am able to hear his words without merely reacting defensively.
When he is cranky and just needs to be sexually spoiled, the framework is there for him to take what he needs, and because of that framework this taking is actually giving-it makes me feel good.
That comes down and you have two people with their most common link removed.
Can I be a girlfriend in a 'normal' relationship and still have this happy full cupboard feeling?
No, I don't think I can. I am not 'normal' I am a card carrying pervert. Being in this power exchange with an amazing partner gives me that full cupboard feeling. That D/s that I like to call 'play' is actually our whole world.
Do I really “need” spankings and pain and tears and subspace to be content?
Yes... I really do. Those spankings and pain and tears and subspace are part of my sexuality. I do need them to be content. Just like I need touch and kisses and hair pulling and hugs and nibbles.
Do I truly require the foundation of a power exchange dynamic to thrive in a long term relationship?
Yes. Fucking yes. If long term is what is going on, for me it needs to be a power exchange. It works for me. It works for us. That framework cradles us, challenges us and connects us. I require that framework in order to blossom within the relationship, rather than being just another woman sacrificing her self to be with someone. I have never felt this good with another person in my space. I have never felt this connected to another. I have never felt so valued, nor valued another in this way.
Is this just a dopamine addiction?
I really do not believe it is. Don't get me wrong, I like the dopamine, yum yum..
But kneeling on the floor waiting for an hour, making dinner and knowing I am doing what I am directed and pleasing him, feeling him posses every inch of my body, knowing that his words are honest and his intent is pure.. these things are just as amazing as the impact play and the pain play.
So no... I don't think I can be happy in a strictly vanilla relationship. I think my spirit flies in the framework I have now-a 24/7 P/E with FHB, who earns every bit of respect and cherishes me dearly.

Are we doing this D/s thing wrong?

Sir,
I think we must be doing this wrong.
More to the point, either You are doing this wrong or I am not a twu submissive.
I read so many of the forums, I belonged to several groups, I asked questions, I had (and still have) mentors. In these groups we often would talk about the struggles that can come with full time power exchanges and I would find myself remaining very silent. Not because I myself don't struggle, but because their struggles seem.... well downplayed to say the least. Sometimes they even seem trivial.
"How do you cope when He/She asks you to do a chore you hate?" is a common theme. To me this is a no brainer. I do the same thing when I have a chore to do that I hate and You don't tell me to do it. I do it. This is part of life, right? Doing things that are not fun? I mean, chores are called that because they are chores.
And I will go a step further... the only time You ever have to 'tell' me to do a chore it is because I have been slacking, behind, or whatever. In those cases I feel bad immediately because I SHIRKED SOMETHING. I feel I let myself down, and thus by extension YOU. I don't struggle with this. There is nothing to struggle against. I recognize, make a note to improve it and move on.
"How do you manage your dissapointment/distress/discomfort when He demands you to wear something you don't like." Um... depends on why I don't like it I suppose. If I have a valid concern or objection I voice it. We discuss it. Otherwise I assume you have your reasons. I mean... if choosing what I wear (be this a protocol for day to day or just for during a scene) is part of our power exchange then I actually made that choice, right?
"How do you deal with Him/Her asking you for sexual service that you don't want to do" What? I talk about it. If I don't want to do some sort of sexual act with You it is either outside of my limits (which You would of course not expect nor ask for), or I have a reason (I am sick as hell, for example) and need to share this reason. Are there secret crazy sex things that these other subs get asked to do that I don't know about? If so my feelings are hurt that You, my Sir, have not asked me for such naughty things.
Again, taking this a step further, perhaps some of the posters are referring to that lack of desire that can occur when a relationship is not being maintained. This is not a power exchange problem though, in my opinion, but more of a relationship problem. Such things should be discussed well before the resentment and not attracted don't wanna touch you stage, right? Right Sir?
Seriously though, they never seem to really struggle with submission. They don't seem to ever wake up and feel non compliant, to really struggle with the fundamental aspect. They don't seem to wonder if they submit too much, or struggle to accept their need to submit.
I don't see posts on that moment of "FUCK YOU" when their Sir/Ma'am orders them to do something that pricks their pride. I have not read of anyone who blushes over certain indignities and has yet found a way to gracefully submit to some aspects of being a toy to play with, clean, poke at and inspect.
No one seems to be talking about how to deal with those hurt feelings when play does not happen, or hurt feelings when one is corrected by their Sir/Ma'am, or hurt feelings when You don't seem interested and I need NEED YOUR attention.
Certainly I seem to be the only one that struggles with the balance of submitting to You while still being able to ask for my needs to be met too. The line between communicating and overstepping. I also seem to be the only one who struggles with the idea of trusting you to not ask of me what is not good for me, but not also not expecting you to mind read.
Is submitting 24/7 really that easy for everyone else? That their biggest problem is not being 'in the mood' once in awhile, or having to do chores they don't like? Does no one else ever have selfish moments when they want the type of play they want, or the type of sex they want, or the flipping food they want? Days or moments when they feel obstinate, stubborn or resentful? Moments when they wonder if they are really doing what is right for them? For their partner?
NEVER?
Perhaps we are doing this wrong.. Or more to the point Sir, You must be doing this wrong. Or perhaps I am not a twu sub... that having my own wants and desires that sometimes feel larger than my ability to obey makes me a non sub.
Or perhaps no one likes to admit they struggle with these things, in case someone points at them and accuses them of also not being a twu submissive.

Stingray Paddle... oh my oh my

Our package arrived Friday (already open!! Darn postal system!) Our StingRay Paddle from Thorgeir. I continued my day, but my thoughts kept straying back to our new goodie with anticipation. (I know, I know...in all the stories the girl is upset, scared and hates whatever implement her Stern Sir has received. Not me..sorry)
Much later... when Sir and I were alone, we popped on an episode of True Blood (I don't care!! I like It!) and I gleefully crawled over FHB's lap. The devious man decided to use the wood side for warm up, in his typical brisk fashion... Oh. My. Freaking. Gawd. That paddle has a bit of an impact. For the next few minutes I was seriously reconsidering my long time fetish of being spanked. That thing hurts. It is polished to a smooth, non sticky finish. I am assuming that it feels as if you are not swinging it, because it seemed to be landing excessively firmly.
Once Sir figured my skin was warm sigh he flipped that devil paddle over. For the rest of our 45 minutes and 52 second of "test the paddle" time, I was treated to the amazing sensation of stingray leather upon leather butt.
I am in love.
Truly.
The first swat stings, like any paddle. Then just as the next one is landing there is this interesting as hell sensation. EVERY BIT of texture on that leather does a stingy tingle. So.. you get that sting that leaves those amazing sensations on the skin's surface AND you get the THUD of the wood and all the erogenous stimulation from that.
BLISS.
Sir tends to have a rather... uh... rhythmic style of paddling. He was not swinging hard, mind you... but due to the tempo I was wriggling and gasping, squeaking and whimpering. That was challenging, but could have continued for a good long while. When (at my request, because I am a glutton for real) Sir moved to harder thwacks with longer pauses, the skin danced with sensation. The thud from that paddle is so amazing. The stingray.. well it is sexy as heck. I am sure that it was only ten minutes of heavier strikes before I was begging.... done.
Sir posted under that pic that I am 'sensitive to touch' which does not cover it. the next morning (and that is AFTER amazing aftercare) I went to roll over and my whole body tensed in shock as the mere flexing of leg muscles created an intense sensation of skin being too tight and... well... it felt as if my skin had pebbles of welts upon it, over every inch of my ass and thighs.
Although as I went through my day the tightness wore off rather quickly (walking is amazingly good for that) the pebbly welted sensation remained. At 1030 last night when I sat on my stairs (which are textured stoned coated) I squealed. This morning, wrapped in a towel, the feeling of the towel across my skin is very... unusual.
I love my new paddle. I highly recommend this paddle-seriously-it was worth every penny.

Struggling

I am struggling.

For the last year (or nearly a year) I have had the great luck to be living with an amazing gent who shares in my pervy interests.  It has been the most blissful and joyous period of my life.

Over the last few weeks things have changed.  Be it me, be it him, we are not connecting on that power exchange level that fills me with self acceptance, joy, and that 'full cupboard' feeling.  We instead are more like room mates, passing in the hallway but yet not connected.  Play as decreased rapidly to its current state of non existence.

Have I once again broken a man?  I have taken a man who loved sex, loved to play laugh and cause me the most exquisite pain, and I have broken him.. I have turned him into (prepare yourself...)...


A muggle.


A muggle who wants a vanilla relationship with me (for now? forever? till I freak? not...sure...)
Once again, I have improved my personal self, only to find myself alone in a house with the person I am with.

First time (first marriage) I lost 55 lbs and started school.  My marriage went from rocky but passionate, to hellacious and empty.

Second time I gained my degree, found personal growth and my marriage disintegrated.

Now I am sitting here... after being so damned determined to NEVER do this again (this being share space, be in a hearts and flowers relationship) finding that as my life comes together even more (I am getting in shape, starting to make a bit more money, nearly done my BA) that his interest may have faded.

Sigh...

No clue where I am going from here... so many things to think about, so much to consider.

Can I be in a vanilla relationship?

Do I want to?

I really don't think I can.

I will tell you one thing that will be different this time.  This time I will be taking this to my Sir.  I will be sharing my hurt, my fear and my burden with him.

Being a Rope Top/Rigger and Sexism?

I am very aware that sexism exists, inside and out of the BDSM community. Such is the way of the world, although things are changing and improving (slowly), sexism is alive and well, and up here in Northern BC it is thriving.
As a RWV (Rigger With Vagina) I really expected to be on the receiving end of sexist remarks and attitude. I started a local rope group, expecting offers to be tied up, rather than volunteers to let me tie them. I went to Ropegasm with my Sir as my practice bunny, I did not advertise for a bunny for the event because I assumed that no one would agree to go with a RWV with little experience. In my defense we went with another couple and my Sir did volunteer to let me practice on him. What good little submissive doesn't jump on that?
Seriously though.
As a Rope Top/Rigger who happens to have a Vagina, sexism can work in my favor though. I am NEVER short bunnies. I get to not only tie my bunnies, but make them squeal, squeak and purr. I have male and female bunnies. Some very shy ladies have let me tie them. I have tied gals who are homophobic (to varying degrees). I have done sexy dirty ties and very sterile ties. I tie myself, my friends, my teddies, my pillow, my jacket, my Sir, and once tried to tie the cat (he IS a sexist jerk and won't let me)
The only sexism I run across is stray pm's from men who assume that because I have a vagina my rigging is just a way for me to get some dick. Surely I use rope so that I can have some man I never met hump my leg, right? Or as one guy put it, "At least be naked when you tie me, or what's the point?"
No one asks me what Man Taught Me to use rope. No one assumes that my very non rope Sir is in charge of my rope scenes. No one has messaged me asking what REAL Rigger did the work in this pic or that. No one has made me feel unwelcome when I rig in the dungeon.
Not saying that sexism in all things Rigging is not out there-just that I have not run across the things I have heard other RWV (Riggers with Vaginas) talk about.

Muggles are perverts too!

i spent five hours last night as the presenter for a group of non kink women (a.k.a. "Muggles") as part of a local Women's Group. Having never presented for Muggles I was a bit nervous. I live in a smallish community. Said community is also fairly uneducated and overflowing with sexism, racism, general bigotry and of course all sorts of homophobia and conservatism.
I dressed the part, in fake leather bustier, skirt, and cap; each item decorated with the required chains of course. I brought all kinds of goodies-rope bags, toy bags, books, pressure points tools and sensation toys. I had a top end sex swing frame to suspend off of and a volunteer 'bunny'.
We chatted and laughed, and then I had everyone blindfold themselves. Then we played the "If you have done this, raise your hand" and the "If you would like to do this raise your hand" game, as I read off one of the fetish lists.
Aside from activities that are quite edgey, someone raised their hand for every fetish. Every single one, aside from, like I said, the more brazen types of activities that even some in 'the lifestyle' draw a line at.
Muggles are perverts too!
It was a great night, and a learning experience for me as well.

Her ASS.... Oh ... My....About that Anal Sex Demonstration

The moment I laid eyes on her incredibly sexy body as she settled, belly down onto the padded table, my worry and nervousness melted away as if they never were.
I let my eyes drink in her stocking clad legs, her oh so pale skin seeming to glow in the exposed stripes between her lacy briefs and just as lacy brassiere. Oh My.... What a gift!!
To someone like me, who adores bums, her ass was a picture of perfection. perfectly round globes raised upwards (due to a strategically placed cushion), framed by the black silk of her panties and stockings...
In that moment I forgot that this was a demonstration. I forgot that there was a crowd watching. I forgot that I had never touched a woman in this manner. In that moment all I could think of is, "wow....!!!!! For me????!!!!!"
I grabbed the massage cream and rubbed her back, While FHB ran the power point for our group on making anal an erotic experience. I massaged and chatted softly with this amazing lady, soothing her skin. I reminded her that nothing was going to happen until she asked, and only what she asked for.
I laid all the toys out by her slightly flushed face, teasing her mercilessly with the idea of what could be used on her... she giggled and I grabbed some gloves, condoms and silicone lubricant.
I massaged her back, her buttocks and the very tops of her thighs... Concentrating on being slow, letting her get comfy.
When she indicated she was feeling relaxed I let my lubricated and gloved fingers massage around her anus, pressing and almost entering but never quite actually doing so... she would start to lift her hips and wiggle, and I would go back to massaging her hips, thighs, buttocks and back, then again, lubrication, and massaging, letting the fingers explore her amazing body.
I pretended not to understand when she hinted, loving that sexy flush she does when she has to be blunt. (oh sexy lady, you are amazing). As she wiggled, and cooed I was overcome with an urge to sink my teeth slowly into her ass cheeks.. I faltered for a moment, the image was so strong, then told her I wanted to.
"You can bite my ass" she said demurely, and my bodies reaction to those words was intense... Still rubbing and lightly prodding, I slowly gathered a mouthful of buttocks and pressed my teeth into her skin, my fingers pressing more firmly. Her noises were lovely and I had to take a breath and concentrate... I was a bit unsteady and glanced up at our little crowd, and finding the reassurance I needed in the happy smiles and lack of condemnation on anyone's faces, I turned my focus back to the vixen in front of me.
I continued to rub and touch, focusing on what made her tense up and what seemed to help her relax more....Touch, press, nibble, hug, talk, reassure. All the time my fingers learning her curves, exploring the lovely pucker of her anus...
The sweet gal indicated that she would like to try to small vibrator against the opening, so I happily obliged. The nifty little toy has ten settings, and we tried each of them, and from the feedback and squirming I would hazard a guess that she was beginning to enjoy herself a bit.
FHB got to the part of the presentation in which rimming was discussed. I pulled out the dental damn and demonstrated... Due to the corset and table height I was unable to for long, which saddened me greatly, as the "oh!!" was wonderful indeed.
After a bit more playing and stroking she grinned at me and said, "This is very relaxing, not erotic though." And I laughed, hoping that I wasn't wet to my knees... "more?" I queried, knowing damned well that was what she was trying to say without saying. "Yes" she answered, all flushed and giggly...
So I let one fingertip enter, to the first knuckle. I added the vibration to the anus with the nifty toy... and after she stopped clenching my finger i let the finger move up and down, the vibration, more lube, more tapping... my other hand rubbing her lovely cheeks and grinning, I am sure, like a kid let loose in a toy store.
"More" she asked. and I happily obliged, loving how her butt was raising to meet my hand as I added a second fingertip and then just explored leisurely.
There is an amazing texture to asses... So soft, so clingy. Each fold is like a mystery and the clenching and releasing of those muscles was magic. I had my bottom lip between my teeth as she began to writhe under my hand. I am certain I had a glow on...
The room had gone silent, the only sound the vibrator buzzing and her lovely coos and my indrawn breaths when her reactions were particularity yummy.
She buried her face in her arms and said, laughing breathlessly, "I'm done"
I leaned forward and was floored and flattered when she said, "You have to stop, or I am going to finish, and I don't want to in front of everyone."
So there you have it...
My first lesbian sex experience. And oh yes, I oh so did like it.
I liked it very much.

FHB gets Even

I quivered as he came up the steps, startling when he dropped something on the counter, and again startling as he poked and grasped, pressed against those damned pressure points, hands and fingers going where he wished.
I moaned/whimpered as he prodded my rather (ummm) moist nether region, loving the appreciative sounds he was making and the utterly exposed feeling. Then I had a moment of panic when I realized I had forgotten the damned collar... Not sure if he forgot as well, or just decided to ignore the gaffe in light of my already stressed out state.
Then FHB ordered me up, as he drew me to my shaky feet. I helped him out of his clothes, and we chatted as he headed to shower. I quickly rounded up the mat, the keys to the toy closet (I tried for bratty and put a huge padlock on it the day before.. effort wasted as FHB didn't notice lol) and tried to wrap up a few study notes while I waited.
When FHB headed into our bath, I grabbed the key, and knelt, splayed forward, upon the bed, and waited, hands holding out the key.
MUCH later, FHB decided it was time to open the toy closet, which he communicated by yanking me to the edge of the bed and flipping me over in a smooth and caveman like motion. I lay there, feet touching the floor, hands in front of me, determined to be oh so good and just sink into the beating...
(I oh so love my beatings!!)
FHB apparently had other ideas..He fastened the collar around my neck (Why does that cause such a mix of "oh fuck" and "oh my"??) and sat beside me, one hand pressing me into the bed while the other rapidly and harshly warmed my skin. I was making all those protesting sounds and struggling to stay in place (and failing), half laughing, half whimpering when he picked up his damned flyswatter from Thorgiers That thing is a MEAN tool for warm up.. Particularly when it is being applied briskly and with non warm up force.
It was at this point that I started to figure out that a long luxurious beating was not what was in store for me. But a more ... aggressive sort of beating...
Which makes it even harder to deal with, for me. I get that half in subspace lack of cognition... mixed with a bit of "Is he wroth with me?" and the whole complex feel good, hurt feelings, desire, longing, foot stomping, pride hurt cuz struggling, glad its not easy, but I like my luxuriously long.. dammit... sort of mashup going on.
I have no real recollection of what all FHB was using after the flyswatter, a tawse (the freebee from Lupercalia.. I can't remember the store name, but I will update that when I remember.. it is incredibly stingy and makes a satisfying CRACK) that mean as hell rubber paddle and his oh so firm hands. I do know that I bucked hard enough that I got my toe whacked, which made FHB scold me (Which made me cry). I actually yellowed a couple times I think... I know that Sir had to hold me down fairly firmly at times... I have a rather vivid recollection of Sir's hand between my thighs, flooding me with humiliation over my incredibly wet to the knees state as he teased me horribly for it. (GAAWWWDDDDDD!!!!)
And no... none of that is punishment. That is just freaking amazing and wonderful fun. (for me).
The payback?
That was when I yellowed, sobbing, hating that damned rubber thing for making me beg, loving Sir for knowing that begging was the perfect speed for my angsty mood... and i felt him stand and relief coursed through me, my only thought was 'done... no more... done.. done done.." and suddenly a very sharp object was cutting me from shoulder to heel, over and over, as I squealed and begged, and pled and cried, That wartenburg thing SUCKS. I HATE IT!! Well... ok I love and hate it. I swear.. it is cutting me to ribbons and yet... not a freaking mark. NOT ONE!!!
So yes... two apples are paid for.. My apologies that the picture is so anti-climatic. Bug Firm-Hand-Buddha to post the pics of the marks from Luper-I really just don't mark up anymore....
Hopefully our stingray paddle shows up today!!
PS
I had issues sitting through my exam, my ass was so swollen after that my jeans creasing as I sat was incredibly difficult to bear. It was awesome.
xxoo to FHB

I am not your wife anymore... remember?

Dear NoLongerMyHusband,
According to provincial law, from the very second you left this house with the intention of no longer living like partners, our marriage ended. 
This means that I am no longer your wife.
I have a signed and witnessed Separation agreement. You signed it! You had your BOSS witness it.
This means I am no longer your wife.
So why is it that I still have to care for your cat? A cat I am allergic to, that was only welcomed here as an extension of your welcome here? You say you 'can't look after her' but that still does not explain WHY this is my problem?
Why is it that when you are broke you call me? Why is that MY problem? I supported you through your wait for a job permit, and when you left you took our family income! I have the cat, the kids and full time school and no hours in which to work, but YOu think I should give YOU money?
Why is it that you call me asking me how to 1. pay your bills, 2. fill out your empolyment paperwork 3. how to pay childsupport 4. How to get an apartment 5. how to get your credit card 6. how to sell your truck.... The list is endless. These things are no longer my responsibility. YOU are no longer my responsibility.  YOU FUCKING chose this, why am I supposed to still look after you? Are you looking after me in ANY FUCKING WAY? Do I call you asking for you to take out the trash? Fix my car? shovel the driveway? fix the plumbing? (oh.. never mind.. I did all those tings anyways. )
Why is it that you call me looking for hugs? You are lonely?  um.. you had a family and didn't want them.  You had a pile of people extend friendship to you and you hid in the living room instead of accepting any overtures.. Why is it my problem that you are lonely?  You are scared?  Who made the choices that are now weighing on you?
The kids don't call you? Really?  So you are saying, that after you left (without a fucking word to them about it) and did not contact them for nearly TWO FUCKING WEEKS, they should be gleefully chasing your pouty, bitter, self pitying self for conversations?  After nearly a decade of you withrdrawing from them, suddenly because you NEED them they should want to call you?? Really?
Life is rough for you? Money is tight? You have no one? No one wants to hang out with you?
Fuck..
I told you and told you, begged and pleaded with you, yelled and cried... I tried dammit.  I tried to get you to GRAB the life you have and LIVE it! This is the only life you get, and you are wasting it. 
You are so busy blaming everyone (its your ex, your sister, your mother, your father, your grandparents, your work, your boss, that coworker, me, teh kids, david, jarrett, my family, the neighbours, my friends... ) everyone but you.  What is teh common denominator? 
How come, if our marriage is my fault (oh, Angel changed so much.. she stopped loving you?  really?) then how come leaving didn't make your live better?  It made mine better.  It made the kids's life better.
How come your walking away from everyone in the states didn't fix your life? How come the people you blame are still doing fine, but you are not?
IT IS YOU!! You won't let go of the imagined and real hurts of the past.  Yes it hurts.  Fuck we ALL hurt.  Get OVER IT.  You won't enjoy any damn thing that comes your way.  You insist on drama, you refuse peacefullness.  You sat on that couch and would NOT live with us.
AND you fucking pretend that you oh so did not cross the line with Cindy? Really?  When was the last time you took your family to something like the ice show?  Do I sit and text under a blanket to a guy? WTF? 
You wouldn't cuddle.  You wouldn't laugh with us.  You would not tolerate us. You would not take joy with us.  So now you chose to leave, and you want me to make your leaving better for you... Well fUCK THAT.
Quit fucking asking me for help.  Quit calling my uber broke ass for money.  Quit blaming everyone else for your loneliness. 
You make more money to support your single ass than I do to pay the TWO FUCKING mortgatges you left me with and support a family of four, one of those is YOUR CAT.
You won't pay childsupport, you wont take responsibility for your choices and you won't do a damn thing but mope about.  Enjoy it I guess.  But know that, regardless of how far you run, how many people you walk away from, you can't leave yourself.  Even if you DO suicide like you hinted, you will still be with you right to the bitter end.  So if you are not happy, fucking do something about it. (something that does not involve me)
Do you know what is really funny?
You will likely not ever find anyone that will love you without reserve the way I did.  I trusted you, believed in you, loved you.  I opened my home to you, shared everything I have with you.  And you tried to break it.  But after watching me walk away from a 15 year relationship, away from the man I had my children with, and STILL SURVIVE IT what made you think you could destroy what makes me who I am?
I am a creature of positive energy, of laughter, dancing in teh kitchen, singing off key and rainbows. I am a creature of sunlight, sexual energy, forgiveness and awareness.But more than that, I know myself.  I am aware of my self and I respect myself.  You can't take that away.
Most Sincerely,
the woman who is NOT your fucking wife.

The blame game: Fetlife hysteria

So many posts, tweets, reddits and what not about Fetlife not protecting its users, not upholding TOU, victim blaming, abuser protecting.. So many rants about how the kink community is upholding the" blame the victim" mentality.

But people... this is silly.  We are blaming Fetlife but, fetlife  is not a person.  It does not represent unity, a specific set of ideals, philosophies or ideals.  It is merely a social networking site that allows all of us kinky folk a place to meet and gather, talk and listen.

I realize that in a perfect world there would be a kintopia in which everyone would skip along, flogging you exactly the way you want, when you want and never a misundertanding would occur.  But that world cannot exist with us conflicted, complex and diabolic humans in it.  Just like the vanilla world does not have it's euotipia garden, neither do we bdsm'ers and the like.

Us kinksters are not so easily pigeon holed.  Sure, most of us on Fetlife are a bit kinky (or more than a bit) but our interests are widely varried, as are our beliefs, values, cultures, societal values.... and so on.  Just because we all self identify as kinky does not mean that we all think as a unit.

*Gasp* there are assholes on Fetlife?  Drama Queens? Liars?  Abusers?  Victims? Say it isn't so!!! I do not understand the shock and horror that seems to be rampant as we are told of tale after tale of non consent, assault, lies, outing and general assholerly.  Where there are people there will be problems.  Not pretty, not ideal, but very realistic.

I am part of the Fetlife community.  I am part of my local kink community.  I am part of several real world kink communities. Yet I do not support abuse.  I do not support abusers.  I do not tell sexual abusers that they are to blame.  I certainly am not the only one who works hard to play consensually-hell I am not even part of some minority group who is morally superior to the rest.  Just as the majority of humans do not murder, I suggest that the majority of Fetlifers are not abusers.  So what gives with the smear campaign? 

I firmly believe that we are all responsible for our choices. That being said, the person who violates another in any manner is ultimately responsible for those actions.  Period.  If I walk buck naked down the fucking highway I am not "asking for it".  Period. Many people, kinky or not, uphold some sort of similar value.  It is the few that do NOT that create these problems, not the entire group.

Yes our community leaders try to promote the concepts of Safe, Risk Aware, Consent, Sane, Safecalls, you name it.  That does not mean that every kinksters follow all the rules.  Hell, I bet everyone of us can come up with at least one example of a time we did not quite follow the beautiful rules.  We are a diverse group.  Humans are complicated.

Refusing to post on fetlife to show support for a victim is like refusing to orgasm to show support.  Neither of those things help the victim. Help the victim by supporting education, women's rights, programs for sex abusers.  Help the victim by sending them verbal support.  Fetlife itself is not to blame for these horrid acts.  The abuser is to blame. Baku is not responsible.  The abuser is responsible.

Baku and fetlife staff do an incredible job.  They provide us our playground, and allow us anonymity.  They don't take sides, Baku is not a judge nor a court.

Would it be lovely if he had magic and could be absolutely fucking sure who is telling the truth and who is not? If he then could ban the evils?  You bet!  But he has no magic.  He has his hands very full, I am sure, with all the reports he has to sort already.  Expecting him to just know who is a probelm and who is truly the victim is ridiculous.

So please... trashing Fetlife does not address abuse, it does not help the victims past or present.  It only creates more rifts in our community.

Incredible Journey: Sunday at Luper

Even though my Sir, Firm-Hand-Buddha had played fairly hard upon my ass and etc Friday night, by Sunday I had not a mark, which has been something Firm-Hand-Buddha has heard a great deal of whining about. I have a friend who is fairly new to the lifestyle and has that lovely skin that marks beautifully, and I am jealous!! My marks these days fade within an hour. This silly yearning for marks has led me to do all sorts of silly things, from using exfoliating cleansers on my ass to derma-abrasion... but to no avail. The skin of my ass just heals like magic these days.

The dungeon was much busier this time (in comparison to Friday). Our favorite benches were in use, and Sir decided to forgo playing with his new wand. (Yes I was disappointed dammit!! But as a spank-a-holic I prevailed and did not drag my feet at all.. .much. Sir picked out a kneeling style bench, and kindly did not use any of the eye-bolts to restrain me.

He loosened my corset, quite a bit, which is usually a sign that this is going to be long and hard-otherwise usually it is just enough for me to bend. I love my corset, just in case anyone was wondering. I could see his boots, and reached as if to untie his laces, which of course got me that playful, "Don't think about it!" (Why do those words make me so wet??)

Sir's warm up was short and sweet, leaving my backside very warm and eliciting all sorts of blush causing sounds from me. I could clearly hear the conversation of the leather folk in front of me, which, for whatever reason, added to my head space. It was Swat! Smack! "Hmmm, How about the weather here? It's so windy" Smack! Moan, Blush, writhe. "Did anyone see.." I felt as if I was of no note, not important at all. Even when the comments may have been about me or Sir (or not) it was so indirect that I felt completely objectified. Not usually my thing, really, but this time, in this moment, it was perfect.

Again I was facing the crowd (was i the only one that noted that most equipment seemed to be this way this year? Am I the only one that likes to hide their face?). With all the over-stimulation of the weekend, between classes, the market, the hundreds of kink folk everywhere...well I was not finding it difficult to sink into that lovely cocoon of safe and yummy that some call subspace.

Sir, perhaps in response to how easily I was managing his initial erm high spirited swats, stepped up his game. I swear, the moment I was able to find my rhythm, there he was smacking harder, faster or in more tender spots. My hands were not fastened and I writhed, often grabbing his leg in a desperate measure to be able to not make a spectacle of myself. I would sink into that yummy space and Sir would grin evilly (or so I imagined) and pull me up just a bit.. I would finally sink again and he would up the ante and yard me out again. I have no idea how I managed to not lift off that bench.
And so we danced.

He led the dance with his implements, working my skin and nerves to exhaustion. His hand swinging to a beat only he can hear as he led me through bucking, moaning, begging, and yes giggling. The music added an element to the dance in a very ... strong way.

He beat me and my body begged for more. He drew from me sounds, motions and emotions-I could feel myself being molded-filling with a need to just be all he demanded. In that instant I submitted in a way I had never really felt before. This was no longer about my love of spankings (etc), but this was about us. About him. About giving over myself. It was a beautiful moment.
My body followed his without my willing it. I bucked for him, I squirmed for him, I raised my hips to help him. i quivered, I sobbed, I moaned. I didn't give a flying shit if I looked ridiculous, sounded pathetic... all I cared about was the dance, his lead, the moment.

I have no idea what this was in reality, but from where I was it felt frantic, as if the speed and force were so erratic and out of control, as my hands scrambled for a way to anchor me, my hips lifted and churned... I was certainly frantic. Nothing hurt but I felt as if I had become the dance-I was the the tempo.

Then things slowed. Time fragmented as I felt ebony against my skin. i could hear my breathing, my whimpers, and every inch of my skin tingled and pulsed as he pressed that dreaded and loved paddle against my skin. My hips lifted, my body melted, relaxed.

The impact streamed red, and I begged, writhed, found my center and again lifted, and melted. And again. And again. And I had not vision of this ever ending, no concept for anything but this incredible dance. My world had become narrowed down to this sensation, the feel of my bruised flesh yeilding...
I could hear Sir talking to me, his voice wrapping around me and i became aware that I was sobbing.. Tears streamed my face. My first coherent thought was "Oh my gawd.. Am I drooling?"
As I came back into my head, Sir's hand stroking my back and face, I finally clued in to what he was saying. I don't remember the phrasing, but he had drawn blood.

With my inner voice screaming hysterically (I hate blood, no blood nooooooooooo) I calmly asked how bad it was. (points for me!). He had just smacked a welt, and it was merely a droplet. I had no idea what the dungeon protocol for this was, so we agreed he should find the DM and find out. And get a band-aid.

So there i was, DM and Sir peering at my ass while I died a thousand deaths of embarrassment, and I look up and straight into a set of friendly eyes, watching with interest. i know we spoke, but high as I still was, and as red faced as I surely was, I remember not a word, other than he was amused and I laughed as well. All while my Sir and a man I barely met are poking at my ass.

Sir wrapped me up, helped me up and half carried me to a chair. By the time he returned with a band-aid i was hyper as hell, bouncing and giddy.

Thank you Sir, for taking me to new places. For understanding how to give me what I need and never making me feel like a freak. For creating this safe, and yes damn you sacred place where I am free to be me.

Thank you to those in the crowd that unwittingly added to my scene, bwahaha. And of course, thanks to the DM.

PS. It is 8 days later and I have some lovely marks still. While I get that I can't be playing like that all the time, (sigh) this made my day!!

Why did I say that???

"You can pick whatever dungeon piece you want, I'm game" I offered foolishly. I am still unsure as to what, exactly I was thinking. Perhaps the near emptiness of the dungeon lulled me into feeling safe in such an offer... perhaps I was a bit high from all the excitement of the market and toga party... perhaps my trust in him has grown to a depth that allows for me to be ok with less dignified positions, less romantic public displays, challenges and blushes. perhaps I am just foolish...

"Those stocks look interesting," he grins at me. That grin.. Sir, you darn well know I love that grin of yours. I glanced nervously over at the piece in question (Side note... Bondage Jerry makes the most amazing stuff. If ever someone wants to gift me, that is what I want.. Equipment from Jerry... lmfao) and I swallowed nervously. It is set so that the victim faces the crowd (i prefer no one can see my face, duh. Look at my ass!! Not my face!!). It is also a very challenging position, I note. The feet are locked into the base and the body bends forward so that the neck is locked about waist high, and the hands support the weight, clenching a bar, with the wrists also pilloried. There is no real support for the waist. I try to imagine myself there and can't. So ...stuck...

I point out the piece to fyen who happily tells me that it is an evil piece, very challenging and that it has caused her some distress. I digest that, and am about to renege on my offer when my Sir gently touches my back to gather my attention.

"So? What will it be? That bench over there?" He smiles gently and my heart hurts a little. He knows, he knows... how hard it is for me to allow him to embarrass me. How easy it is for me to become embarrassed. That I prefer dignity and to be arranged attractively for public play. In the face of such respect, without a hint of disappointment (although I damn well could see how much the stock one appealed), I just can't disappoint-myself or Him.

"The stocks are fine." I blurt, beet red. I wander over there, wishing I had negotiated for a tender scene, rather than leaving it to him. (Yes, I oh so am allowed to ask for sweeter spankings, or harder ones, as I feel the need. My Sir feels pride that I trust him with my needs- he does not feel threatened by it, nor do we feel this is an issue in our power exchange. I don't always get my way, of course... but he always hears me out and respects my input). A part of me hopes he pushes me a bit, while the other part is already mortified at the idea of strangers watching me struggle.

He tenderly helps me out of my clothing and shoes, takes my hand and helps me onto the damned piece. My feet are secured (and of course I had to try to move them...) and then he smiles and tumbles me gently forward, securing my neck in the "collar" which triggers a very primitive response in me. I feel... owned. I feel so very naked.

He fusses with all the closures, getting my wrists locked in. As he moves behind me I feel that lovely tightening of muscles and I know I am wet, exposed and that I am fucked really.

The music is loud, I can hear people talking, and it is hard to relax.

Firm-Hand-Buddha moves to the toy bag, which I can't really see. I notice that I can't see much really. The feet of those in front of me, and my hands and my breasts... oh great. I moan a bit in nervousness and embarrassment, and shift my weight a bit.

Then it begins.

That incredible dance of sensation. Impact on skin, nerve ending jumping, the tightening of all those sexy places. I can't relax, as I have to hold myself up. His hand sooths my skin once in awhile, and sounds come out of my mouth without my consent.

I am flying so quickly though, every sensation amazing. Heat gathers, he picks up tempo and force, stopping once and again to sooth, and he checks in, makes me check in.

I am lost in space with each sting, each thud. My body sings, I want more.. more more more.
He works my body like a magician, my Sir does. Slow when needed, hard and fast when needed, until I am a mess of I can't, I want, stop, more, harder, can't, want. I no longer care that everyone can see me struggle. I no longer care that I am thrashing and crying. I am the sensation. I am the nerve endings, I am that wetness between my legs.

Then... I am rudely thrust into my skin as I hear an unfamiliar voice beside me.. "Not like that, try this" or some such. No one's fault, but it startled me enough that I am instantly no longer subbed out. Endorphins rush out of my body and I feel that nasty drop rushing up. 'No no...' I think to myself, 'I am experienced, I can work through this..' I struggle to find that peacefulness, that joy and I just cannot.

No longer flying the next swat just hurts and I signal my Sir, my very attentive Sir who immediately realizes something is up. I try to tell him that I need to be done. and I burst into heart wrenching tears. The woman inside me rolls her eyes, but I don't care. My Sir will fix this I know it!!
Firm-Hand-Buddha undoes me, gently lifting me into his arms and wraps me up. I catch my breath, trying to explain, end up giggling and crying all at once. His arms tighten as he holds me, snugging me in.

He tells me how good I did and I feel so safe. So very safe and good and wonderful. Afterwards we laugh a bit about it. These things happen, it is interesting really what can ruin the mood for your scene.

Thank you Sir, for the incredible flight and the safety net you have created for me.
Thank you Lupercalia for all the work that went into creating our event and the dungeon. Thank you Bondage Jerry for being so deviously creative and letting the dungeon be filled with your handy work.

Thank you Firm-Hand-Buddha. Thank you for hurting me in all the right ways. Thank you for helping me grow. Thank you for not laughing when I asked for a collar. Thank you for not saying "I told you so" or some such.

Thank you for your strength and acceptance.

Introduction to a sadistic, devious FemDom (me)

All names have been changed. This series is a mix of fact and fiction
I am starting at the beginning... if you want to skip the introspection and go to the 'fun parts' go to part TWO.
A while back a dear dear friend of mine, Daniel, trusted me enough to ask me to play a role in his fantasy. He wanted to spend several days being utterly owned and dominated by a female (I guess that would be me), or females (plural). I agreed to consider it and then spent a couple of months trying to envision it, exploring my thoughts on it.
I rope top easily, it's true. I have done a great deal of topping within a scene or session. I love flogging and I am a spanking enthusiast, (all types of spankings, it is my MAIN fetish). In my mind, however, Topping is mostly a physical thing. Yes, I use mind tricks and role play. But a Domme... well that is different. I was not sure I could take him where he wanted to go. I was not sure I could let my sadist out without dire consequences. I know myself fairly well. I can be incredibly mean-and enjoy every moment of my victim's suffering. I keep this in check, for a few reasons. First and foremost, it makes me very uncomfortable with myself. Secondly, I have never had access to a pain slut/emotional pain slut who would enjoy such treatment, even as (s)he hates it. Thirdly, I also don't like the emotional drop I get after. It requires a great deal of aftercare, for me, when I do let evil bitch out. Last, but not least, is a bad experience I had when playing with a lovely lady, Dianna, who craved that meanness, in which a scene went badly due largely in part to my inexperience. She and I made it through, and remain friends, but still...
So this was a challenge. Added to this, the gent in question is someone I consider a role model. Daniel is the closest thing I have to a parental type male role model. (He is not old enough to be my father, but I do turn to him for the advice and moral support one normally gets from their parents.) I had to come to terms with un-pigeon-holing him. (its a word now, dammit). I also had to put aside my reaction to Daniel as an authority figure.
I am a closet priss as well. While I am most comfortable talking about sex, discussing naughty things in general, I am very private and blushy about my personal sex life. Some of what Daniel was asking would require me to put aside that left over prissiness my exposure to rigid religion left me with. There is a fine line between what is ok and what is not as far as my relationship goes with FHB, as well. We are an monoamoury couple, as are Daniel and his partner Cindi. So the negotiations needed to include our partners, respect everyone's boundaries, and yet still create enough of the fantasy that it would be worth my and Daniels time to do.
We ran into a problem. Daniel was not negotiating. Instead it was left to Cindi and I to guess, FHB to be honest with is limitations. Which led me to have time to consider my own needs. In order for this to be fun for me as well, what did I need? And Cindi... what would she need? Cindi and I schemed on and off for a couple of months. As the D date came closer we schemed more, and FHB certainly added his two cents worth with a glee I should have (but did not) expect.
Frustrated with the lack of open and honest communication from Daniel, (whom, by the way, is usually very good at being open and honest) I emailed him a blunt email with a list of things I wanted to do (and some that I didn't). I asked him to respond WITH A YES OR NO to each one. Days went by, no response. The day before I left to travel he finally answered. Rather than answer my questions he gave me long winded directives couched as responses. "Foot Worship?" I had asked. "Not the licking boots type... But kissing, washing, massaging, would certainly make sense for a slave." Was his reply. And so my mood was set.
I spent a few days at the local kink event, as slave to my own Master. When FHB returned home, he left me at Daniels for five days of fun and adventure. My mind was spinning as Cindi and I had whispered conversations trying to decide how to begin, what our limits were and rolling our eyes over Daniels oh so obviously "topping from the bottom" behaviour.
I was thoroughly enjoying watching Daniel squirm in the combination of anticipation and apprehension -I was seeing a side of him I had never seen before. Finally, I was done with the procrastination.
"I am going to have a shower, and then we will begin." I told him.
"Sure. I should be done the walk by then." He responded, flushing. I arched a brow, filing away that bit of impudence and so we began.
I excited the bathroom, dressed in my every day clothes, having rejected the idea of needing a 'costume' to get in role.
Daniel stood there, giving the impression of a child hopping from foot to foot.
"Is that how you present yourself as a slave?" I queried, completely unimpressed.
"um" Was his response.
"You can strip." I ordered. "Right here."
Daniel disrobed, folding his clothing neatly, then falling to a nice slave pose. Noting his unshaven self I scowled and lectured him. "Really, slave? This is how one presents themselves to their mistress? Not even groomed? And you! An experienced Master yourself, you think this is acceptable?" Cindi shot me a giggly smile behind Daniels back. She had already explained that this was part of his fantasy, being washed and shaved. I felt, and still do, that fantasy or not, one should certainly not be presenting themselves as a slave un-groomed. His hair was practically a bush!
Cindi and I ushered him upstairs where I schemed while she set up a lovely massage table. In hindsight I wish I had made him set it up... so many punitive moments lost!! in short order we had him on the bench and she began the long task of trimming that wild growth of hair. We took turns scolding him, and Cindi surprised me (pleasantly) with her tone and lectures. I timed the entire trimming. When it was done I explained that he would be spanked for same amount of time it took to trim, and again for the shaving-for wasting our time.
We set the timer and began to spank his buttocks and thighs, using our hands and my nasty red hairbrush, when suddenly we heard the door.
I paused, laughing softly at the look on Daniels face, as Cindi ran downstairs to hustle the intruder (one of the adult children of theirs) out. The mortification was a perfect accent, and we continued, restarting the time, much to our victim's discomfort. Cindy then shaved him and I watched. Cindi and I would talk casually, as if Daniel was not really there, then add some scolding and what not. We joked about the time it was taking, and discussed what Daniel's own reaction to having someone present themselves to him for service in such a condition. Unfortunately for Daniel it took over 15 minutes to shave him-and that was AFTER trimming.
I made him watch the timer and told him to tell me when the fifteen minutes was up. Cindi and I spanked and paddled him, scolding and mocking him the entire time. I began to notice a trend. Daniel responded to me with "yes Mistress, as you wish Mistress" and yet to Cindi he would scowl and give dirty looks, and unless promoted would not address her as he was bid, with "my Lady". I decided, there and then, that I was oh so not tolerating that, although I understood damned well that stepping outside his typical dynamic was challenging. I harassed him continuously. "Really??? Daniel, shame on you... Asking me to do this then not being prepared!!-What? Excuse me? Did I ask for you to offer excuses? Did you just sigh in exasperation?? Oh, young man, you surely should have more concern for your hide!" We made a point of not spanking the sweet spots, knowing full well that his 'leather hide' would protect him there. Instead we spanked thighs and upper buttocks, working him over until he swore.
"There will be no swearing. You may say fudgicles!!" I informed him, rather gleefully. I then harassed him about all the bragging he had done all weekend about his infamous leather butt. "Thought you were telling newbies you cannot feel pain from spanking? hmmm??? " This continued until Daniel said, "Mistress, we are at 14 minutes." Cindi and I exchanged a look, and I lit into him again. "Did I ASK you to tell me when we were at 14? (swat, smack, swat) I am VERY (SMACK SMACK) CERTAIN (SWAT) that I SAID (SMACK SMACK SMACK) 15!!( THWACK!!)"
Daniel protested and I overrode him again. "I did not ASK you to think. I TOLD you 15, I damn well wanted you to do as told!!!"
I paddled him furiously for a moment, then caressed the marks lightly. After a few moments I helped him stand up. Cindi, noting the look on his face, became quite concerned. We told him to clean things up and she and I headed downstairs. After hearing out her concerns, when Daniel came down I had a candid conversation with him, out of role. He assured us he was fine, that it was 'perfect'. I reminded him of safewords (more to reassure myself and Cindi) and we continued on
I had Daniel do some odd chores, including bathing his lady, and again continued to scold him for even the smallest mistakes in protocol. Mean mean... We made dinner and let him eat at our feet, while we talked around him and about him but rarely to him. After he cleaned up all the dinner messes, I sent him to give his lady a proper massage. I went and talked to my Sir via text, and stretched and processed some of what had happened. Truly, I enjoyed keeping him off balance and I was loving that he was not finding it so easy to be a submissive slave. I knew that his attitude was going to provide lots of fun over the next few days.

Luper Subspace

Even though my Sir, Firm-Hand-Buddha had played fairly hard upon my ass and etc Friday night, by Sunday I had not a mark, which has been something Firm-Hand-Buddha has heard a great deal of whining about. I have a friend who is fairly new to the lifestyle and has that lovely skin that marks beautifully, and I am jealous!! My marks these days fade within an hour. This silly yearning for marks has led me to do all sorts of silly things, from using exfoliating cleansers on my ass to derma-abrasion... but to no avail. The skin of my ass just heals like magic these days.
The dungeon was much busier this time (in comparison to Friday). Our favorite benches were in use, and Sir decided to forgo playing with his new wand. (Yes I was disappointed dammit!! But as a spank-a-holic I prevailed and did not drag my feet at all.. .much. Sir picked out a kneeling style bench, and kindly did not use any of the eye-bolts to restrain me.
He loosened my corset, quite a bit, which is usually a sign that this is going to be long and hard-otherwise usually it is just enough for me to bend. I love my corset, just in case anyone was wondering. I could see his boots, and reached as if to untie his laces, which of course got me that playful, "Don't think about it!" (Why do those words make me so wet??)
Sir's warm up was short and sweet, leaving my backside very warm and eliciting all sorts of blush causing sounds from me. I could clearly hear the conversation of the leather folk in front of me, which, for whatever reason, added to my head space. It was Swat! Smack! "Hmmm, How about the weather here? It's so windy" Smack! Moan, Blush, writhe. "Did anyone see.." I felt as if I was of no note, not important at all. Even when the comments may have been about me or Sir (or not) it was so indirect that I felt completely objectified. Not usually my thing, really, but this time, in this moment, it was perfect.
Again I was facing the crowd (was i the only one that noted that most equipment seemed to be this way this year? Am I the only one that likes to hide their face?). With all the over-stimulation of the weekend, between classes, the market, the hundreds of kink folk everywhere...well I was not finding it difficult to sink into that lovely cocoon of safe and yummy that some call subspace.
Sir, perhaps in response to how easily I was managing his initial erm high spirited swats, stepped up his game. I swear, the moment I was able to find my rhythm, there he was smacking harder, faster or in more tender spots. My hands were not fastened and I writhed, often grabbing his leg in a desperate measure to be able to not make a spectacle of myself. I would sink into that yummy space and Sir would grin evilly (or so I imagined) and pull me up just a bit.. I would finally sink again and he would up the ante and yard me out again. I have no idea how I managed to not lift off that bench.
And so we danced.
He led the dance with his implements, working my skin and nerves to exhaustion. His hand swinging to a beat only he can hear as he led me through bucking, moaning, begging, and yes giggling. The music added an element to the dance in a very ... strong way.
He beat me and my body begged for more. He drew from me sounds, motions and emotions-I could feel myself being molded-filling with a need to just be all he demanded. In that instant I submitted in a way I had never really felt before. This was no longer about my love of spankings (etc), but this was about us. About him. About giving over myself. It was a beautiful moment.
My body followed his without my willing it. I bucked for him, I squirmed for him, I raised my hips to help him. i quivered, I sobbed, I moaned. I didn't give a flying shit if I looked ridiculous, sounded pathetic... all I cared about was the dance, his lead, the moment.
I have no idea what this was in reality, but from where I was it felt frantic, as if the speed and force were so erratic and out of control, as my hands scrambled for a way to anchor me, my hips lifted and churned... I was certainly frantic. Nothing hurt but I felt as if I had become the dance-I was the the tempo.
Then things slowed. Time fragmented as I felt ebony against my skin. i could hear my breathing, my whimpers, and every inch of my skin tingled and pulsed as he pressed that dreaded and loved paddle against my skin. My hips lifted, my body melted, relaxed.
The impact streamed red, and I begged, writhed, found my center and again lifted, and melted. And again. And again. And I had not vision of this ever ending, no concept for anything but this incredible dance. My world had become narrowed down to this sensation, the feel of my bruised flesh yeilding...
I could hear Sir talking to me, his voice wrapping around me and i became aware that I was sobbing.. Tears streamed my face. My first coherent thought was "Oh my gawd.. Am I drooling?"
As I came back into my head, Sir's hand stroking my back and face, I finally clued in to what he was saying. I don't remember the phrasing, but he had drawn blood.
With my inner voice screaming hysterically (I hate blood, no blood nooooooooooo) I calmly asked how bad it was. (points for me!). He had just smacked a welt, and it was merely a droplet. I had no idea what the dungeon protocol for this was, so we agreed he should find the DM and find out. And get a band-aid.
So there i was, DM and Sir peering at my ass while I died a thousand deaths of embarrassment, and I look up and straight into a set of friendly eyes, watching with interest. i know we spoke, but high as I still was, and as red faced as I surely was, I remember not a word, other than he was amused and I laughed as well. All while my Sir and a man I barely met are poking at my ass.
Sir wrapped me up, helped me up and half carried me to a chair. By the time he returned with a band-aid i was hyper as hell, bouncing and giddy.
Thank you Sir, for taking me to new places. For understanding how to give me what I need and never making me feel like a freak. For creating this safe, and yes damn you sacred place where I am free to be me.
Thank you to those in the crowd that unwittingly added to my scene, bwahaha. And of course, thanks to the DM.
PS. It is 8 days later and I have some lovely marks still. While I get that I can't be playing like that all the time, (sigh) this made my day!!

Luper Fun: Partial Suspension of Two Sexy Bunnies

Walking into the dungeon, my pink rope bag in hand, I was very disappointed that the frame I had been eyeballing was taken. I was pouting, I admit it. I had this clear picture in mind of what I wanted to do, and there were no other suspension areas that fit my imagination.

I was trying to envision floor ties that would be as wonderful, and was caught up in that when one of my bunnies came to tell me that R had found and secured us a spot on the multi frame. (kudos, by the way to all the talent and creativity that went into that frame, it is freaking amazing!!)
My bunnies for the night were f, (very much a lady she is, graceful and stoic, whom I have rigged once before at COPE) and bk(a true rope slut, who squeaks in a way that .. lol... watch the video.)

As I laid out the rope and the ladies stripped I was very aware of the crowd in the dungeon, the eyes appreciatively gazing on my bunnies and I felt a surge of immense pride and satisfaction that I had two such lovely ladies disrobing in front of me, willing to let me rig them as I saw fit. I was, and still am, very honoured by their trust and willingness.

BL and Firm-Hand-Buddha sat back and let me tie (r was busy mentoring). f surprised me by being the first to be disrobed, I forget that her lady like ways hide a glutton as eager as any :). I tied her harness first, after she picked her colour.

I dusted powder upon my bunnies chest and ribs, where the chest harness was likely to rub their tender skin and began the dance.

f stood prettily, allowing me to wind her this way and that. The rope slid through my hands, tightening here, loosening there and I let the motion and feel of it focus me. The noise of the crowd faded, the room faded and it was just myself, the rope and the incredibly lovely bodies in front of me. The chest harness is still my favorite base for rigging, it frames the breasts, it is slow and sensual to tie, and sets the mood for the rest of the rig. Once she was framed to my satisfaction, I gently sat her down so I could do the same for bk .

I again dusted skin with powder, this bunny has easily marked skin-and originally this tie was supposed to be so that r could demonstrate caning, while f helped bk with breathing and finding that pattern that works for her-So I knew she may be in this position for some time.

I noted as I tied, that although this was the same tie I just completed on f, the dance is different. I tie to their breathing it seems, Tightening here, tugging there, straighten and smooth here.. The rope slowly but surely framing her chest, creating a lovely anchoring point while welcoming us to the tie.
Done, I stood them side by each for a moment, admiring the contrast. I stood them so that they faced opposite directions, with f's right side touching BK's left. I wound a two collumn tie, so that their touching legs became their base, and so that their hands were joined in the same way. The rope seemed to have it's own ideas at times and I went with it, binding BK's right arm behind her back.
Then I added what I call aropedeevil addition, I had Firm-Hand-Buddha help f not fall, and BL help bk, and had them draw up their other leg to their chest, bending forward so that they were in a position nice for caning, yet off balance. I tied their bent legs into position, tested their position, then supported the tie with a support line from their chest harness to the suspension point.

Then I had the gentleman, one at a time, give me the bunny they held. I then helped the bunny release into the suspension, so that the chest tie and the one leg on the ground became their balance point.
After a few adjustments they were set, not quite comfortable, but able to stand, bent at the waist, one leg pulled up, breasts hanging down, hands clinging to each other. Hot hot hot. Their squeaks, the rope, the struggle had me thoroughly enjoying myself.

We checked in with R, but he was still busy, so I had a dillemma...

What to do with two bunnies in such a position if the gent who was going to cane them was busy??
Hmmm...BL was quick to correct the issue, applying clothespins to BK. Firm-Hand-Buddha came to offer some torturous help... He merely grabbed her toe and she squealed and shook as if he had certainly done much worse (there is a huge story there).

I lay under f, talking to her, tugging on her ropes, and it was obvious she was feeling left out. With her agreement I added some small pain to her tie as well as we both enjoyed BK's squeals and movements.

Then it was time to unwind them, sadly. I had tied each part separately so that they could come out as needed. I slowly untangled them, letting each rope fall, until I had merely a chest harness. I untied BK, as her Sir, BL, provides her aftercare and then I tended to f.

We giggled and grinned, wound ropes, hugged and laughed. I was utterly shocked to find that we had been at it for four hours.

Thank you, sexy bunnies, for the incredible night. Thank you R and BL for lending me your partner for the evening. To Firm-Hand-Buddha... I love you. Thank you for always being supportive of this girl's need to wind rope over skin. You are amazing.

hugs and laughter
aropedeevil

How did I get here?

It is amazing, the surprises that life can throw at us.  The good ones, of course, are much easier than the tragic ones, yet both can bring us to a cross roads where there are so many choices, every choice leading a different direction (it seems) and soooo hard at times to really know what choice will take is in what direction...

Years ago, I was perhaps a pure spanko.  All I wanted and fantasized about were spankings and the rituals that some spankings can be delivered with.  Being sent to the corner.  Waiting for a punishment.  The lecture... These things filled my head, made my soul tingle.  The spanking itself was almost secondary to the romance of it.

Then... I realized that knowing the only way to get a spanking was to be 'bad' was not beneficial to me.  I craved the spankings and the rituals so much that I was tempted to make bad choices in a way I would not have been otherwise. (To be clear, punishment has not been in my experience really, nor lectures, nor corner time.. sigh...)

Then I found the community.  Learned about so many other things and heard about endorphins, power exchange, reasons WHY spankings feel so damned good.

I got flogged.  I braved the cane.  I had to learn so much, accept so much.  I had to give up on needing everything to be perfectly labeled.  I had to learn to communicate my needs, to clearly set boundaries.

I learned that I am valued by those I play with.
I learned to weep.
I learned that i deserve to be spoiled.
I learned to have hope.
I learned that expectations are often a way to discover heartbreak.  That one day at a time is not necessarily a bad thing (aside from financial planning)

It has been a long road of discovery.  Some lessons were delicious (oh my good gracious.. subspace... oooh my)  Some were difficult. I learned that perhaps I actually like pain.  That I oh so do enjoy feeling helpless.  That the struggle to submit is amazing.  The amazing feeling when I can give up that unneeded pride and just ... submit.. wow.  I had to be OK with these new ideas.
Now.. hear I am.  So much has changed.  Yet somethings have not.  I top now, on occasion.  I have a lovely bunny girl that lets me tie her up and be mean to her, she is amazing.  I 'run' a group here in redneck land for kinksters like me.  I help them learn to do safely, I hope I am teaching them to be part of a community for each other and they teach me to not pigeon hole things or people.

But..

I am still a spanko at heart.  Being over a knee.  Being bossed.  Wondering if he is truly annoyed or mind fucking me... oh my.

This girl's heart still beats to a rhythm that sounds suspiciously like hand swatting an ass.. Just saying..