Recently, a good friend of mine said to me, “a game is not much fun if you don’t follow the rules.” Which got me to thinking – how much am I playing a game with all this BDSM / D/s business vs. what do I really want.
It is no secret that I struggle with what I want out of a D/s relationship – or any relationship for that matter. I thought I had it pretty clear in my head that I did not wish to be owned, was not looking for an owner and had zero desire to be in a 24x7 D/s relationship. I still believe I am pretty clear on that, but admittedly I have now begun to question those statements. Not necessarily because I am thinking I want to go a deeper direction, but also because I question why I want ANY of this. The question that seems ever present is “what is wrong with me that I want someone to hurt me, humiliate me and then take care of me afterward?”
A few weeks ago, I began a long distance, play-based D/s relationship. There will be a face to face meeting soon, but for now, I am called into service at times as he provides me tasks and instruction. I understand this is not uncommon, and I have done it several times before in preparation for a face to face meeting. What seems to be unusual, for me at least, is to the degree of intensity.
In addition to the various assignments, photos, voice messages, questions, etc… He has requested that I text first thing in the morning and again before I fall asleep. The nighttime text to be sent only after kneeling and kissing the floor in his honor. These have all been completed (mostly) without incident but last week he upped the ante. He asked me to text every time I left the house and when I returned. My initial feelings, unbeknown to him, were that of indignation. I have never had that level of accountability to someone – including my partner of 15 years. But, I made a commitment to do it. I have to admit, for the first few days, it was nice. Someone was paying attention to what I was doing. Someone grew concerned if I had been out longer than expected. Someone was waiting for my safe arrival. However, it quickly grew tedious as my week started to become busier and I was dashing back and forth for a variety of reasons. I kept this to myself as I continued to want to honor our agreement. And then I forgot to tell him I had left the house.
I was very busy, rushing around, trying to take care of some things before a very hectic weekend and I forgot. He knew I forgot and I did not hide it from him. I admitted it quickly. We joked about it. I have a notorious bad memory and to me, this was nothing unusual. I forget to call people on almost a daily basis. In my mind, this was no different than me forgetting to call my mom back. But it was very different to him and realistically I should have known this. I knew that he was a very strict disciplinarian as a Master to his 24x7 slave, but I forgot anyway and it was “no big deal”. To my shock, the next day he elected to dole out his punishment.
Late morning, he instructed me that I was denied clothing, save a blanket to keep warm and denied use of all furniture. I was in such a fog when he uttered those words to me then rather than having a discussion, I just agreed. As the realization of what was being asked of me sunk in, I had some decisions to make. This is free will and I had choices. I could tell him that I wasn’t going to play. The texting and pictures were fun, but this punishment was bullshit. I had to work, I had other projects I had to accomplish and I have hardwood floors for fuck sake. I could tell him that I would do it, and then just not do it. He would never know. He did not ask for any photo proof (easy to fake in any case) and I did not expect him to drop by to check up on me. Or, I could just do it. I could accept the consequences of my failure and just do it. So, that was the path I choose. I stripped down, I got a blanket, and I made my home on the living room floor. I knew that I would probably have lost some measure of respect for his Big Scary Dom Top-ness had he NOT requested a punishment but I was pissed.
It was 100% my decision, but the anger flowed. And as I sat there, in pain and cold, I grew more and more pissed. I was not pissed at him, he had merely asked. I was pissed at myself for accepting. Yes, I wanted the experience. I wanted to know what it felt like to give up control outside of the bedroom too, but this was a bit extreme. There I sat, naked, on the floor, wondering what the fuck I was doing. What was so wrong with me, what comprises such a huge, gaping hole in my life that I needed this? Is my self-esteem damaged so deeply that I needed attention, any attention, from a man? Would I still need this if I was in a relationship with someone I cared about instead of the shallow, sleeping around I am doing now? How does the fact that I am an incredibly strong, confident, smart, ass-kicking woman play into the reality that I was sitting on the god dammed floor, hurting, cold and naked?
Anger moved right into depression and a pretty harsh self-examination of just what was going on in my head. The interesting thing is that three weeks later and countless crying fits, drunken musings, and little chats with myself, I am no more closer to figuring it out then I was the day it happened.
I have now committed to a couple of other D/s structures, online only (for now) and a few play dates with another and as I struggle to find my place within those and within the community at large, I know that it is likely to not get easier. Another amazing friend and mentor said to me "you are at your best when your limits are pushed". And for now, I am okay with that.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, February 8, 2010
Post-Production
First of all, allow me to apologize for the wait time on the new post. I hate to delay the postings but sometimes it cannot be helped. I work on a computer 10+ hours a day and sometimes it is all I can do to commit to playing on one too.
I waited all week for the big, emotional breakdown that I knew was just around the corner. I figured, you don’t let someone (ask someone) to beat the shit out of you without having some emotional baggage come out of that, right? The emotional breakdown did not happen and I sometimes wonder if that makes me more or less capable of continuing to push my limits...
The day started out fairly innocuous, we met at the door of my hotel, Mr. S carrying a large bag of what I only imagined to be whips, chains and the like. Have bondage gear, will travel. He makes a very strong presence, tall and somewhat rotund, bald, with a long salt and pepper goatee. Like a thinner, more sadistic Santa Clause. He looked as if he would be quite at home on a Harley or bouncing people out of the local biker bar. We embraced, we kissed, we went to lunch in the manner of two old friends meeting after an extended absence.
The conversation was light over lunch, barely a mention of the events due to unfold other then a confirmation that I was ready to continue. We got back to the hotel and with a kiss he told me to wait in the lobby while he prepared the room.
I went to the bathroom for fear of pacing a hole in the lobby floor and waited. I took off my large ring, made my safe call and practiced breathing to try and calm down. I was excited, nervous and scared. After what seemed an eternity, he called and told me to “get up to the room, slut”. Gone was Santa, enter the Sadist. The surfaces of the room, the desk, bed and night stand were covered with ropes, whips, paddles, canes, and other items that I could only guess what they might be used for. It is difficult to describe my feelings, I was smirking but I knew I was nervous, anxious to please and badly in need of an orgasm. He grabbed my arm and told me to strip. I complied, still not entirely sure what to do with myself. He told me to get on his hands and knees and kiss his boots. He then proceeded to whale on my bare ass and the backs of my thighs. I remember thinking that if I could not handle that; I would be in for a terrible time. I subconsciously moved my hand to try and cover my ass cheek. Wrong move. I was to lay face down on the carpet, my arms underneath my head, and my legs spread wipe open while he smacked my ass and legs. The pain was intense but I could feel my cunt was dripping. He continued to show me who wrong I was to move my hands when he stopped and began to massage my pussy and clit. I could have come in seconds. I immediately started to ask and beg him to let me come and like the surprise gift on Christmas morning, he allowed me. Heat engulfed me and I gushed all over the hotel floor and his hands. It was surprisingly intense given how badly my ass stung.
Mr. S. then lifted me up and prepared the rope, all the while hurling insults my way. “You are a slut, you are nothing more then holes for my enjoyment”. And etc… He placed my hands above my head and tied me around my wrists and chest with the rope framing my exposed nipples. He would ask me if I was okay, using my name to snap me into reality – the gentle side of him coming out again. The insults grew to a pitch and he calming told me that I was dirt. I was the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. To illustrate this, he took out a marker and wrote DIRT across my stomach. He tugged, sucked, pulled, pinched, bit, slapped and flicked my nipples until they were so sore I was doubting my enjoyment. And then the real fun began.
He took out a snakebite kit. The kind with the rubber/silicone cylinder used to draw venom infected blood to the surface. He put one over each nipple and squeezed. The suction was quite powerful, engorging my tender nipples. He batted them around like a cat plays with a mouse before moving back to the spanking of my ass and thighs. He then took out a knife, showed the blade to me and made me kiss it. Blindfolded me and ran the knife along my chest and neck and held it to my throat, threatening to slice it if I did not behave. He moved back to some severe ass punishing and I had to call ‘yellow’ for the first time that day. It was just too intense, and too painful. I was racked with quilt about using the ‘yellow’ (more on that to come) but I had to stop. He decided to move to something a bit more gentle.
More rope work; hog tying me and then fucking my face with his cock. Then again providing me with the most delicious orgasm, we continued to a clothes pin implement he called “the zipper.” I knew it would be painful, but I was anxious to experience it. He placed the clothes pin all around the nipples of both breasts. They were tied to a long string so that they could all be pulled off at once. I begged him to pull them off at the same time, he chuckled but agreed. He counted to 3, but I am fairly confident that he pulled on 2. SON OF A BITCH! The pain was a white-hot flash, but lasted only seconds and then it was a warm, calm….I can’t explain it. It was not so much pleasurable…but it was something. Alive? Feeling? I take pride in always feeling alive, but this was different. And of course, it left the most delicious marks on my tits.
He allowed me to recovery before starting up with the nipple torture. Again, I had to call ‘yellow’, I was done. It had been a few hours, I learned more then I had learned in the few years I was dabbling, and I as grateful as I was…I was done.
He gave me another wonderful orgasm and I returned the favor with the sweetest blow job I could muster. Nipples and ass in searing pain, clit happy, and wanting to please. He came in my mouth and we spent the next few hours talking, decompressing, all part of amazing after-care. Physically, I was sore. Emotionally, I felt fine. I was really upset about having to stop the play with my two calls of ‘yellow’ and I needed to talk about that. It was so important to me to provide HIM with an amazing experience as well and I felt I somehow failed with having to stop. He made me understand that my stopping points were as equally as importing as my starting and that no way effected his enjoyment. If I wasn’t certain before, I was now more convinced then ever that he was the right one to help me along my path.
My eternal thanks goes to Mr. S. For the learning, the experience, the experiences yet to come, and most importantly, the friendship.
Yours,
~M
P.S. nothing kills a late night hotel bar hook up like the word “dirt” scrawled across your stomach and massive bruising on your tits. For once…I kept it in my pants!
I waited all week for the big, emotional breakdown that I knew was just around the corner. I figured, you don’t let someone (ask someone) to beat the shit out of you without having some emotional baggage come out of that, right? The emotional breakdown did not happen and I sometimes wonder if that makes me more or less capable of continuing to push my limits...
The day started out fairly innocuous, we met at the door of my hotel, Mr. S carrying a large bag of what I only imagined to be whips, chains and the like. Have bondage gear, will travel. He makes a very strong presence, tall and somewhat rotund, bald, with a long salt and pepper goatee. Like a thinner, more sadistic Santa Clause. He looked as if he would be quite at home on a Harley or bouncing people out of the local biker bar. We embraced, we kissed, we went to lunch in the manner of two old friends meeting after an extended absence.
The conversation was light over lunch, barely a mention of the events due to unfold other then a confirmation that I was ready to continue. We got back to the hotel and with a kiss he told me to wait in the lobby while he prepared the room.
I went to the bathroom for fear of pacing a hole in the lobby floor and waited. I took off my large ring, made my safe call and practiced breathing to try and calm down. I was excited, nervous and scared. After what seemed an eternity, he called and told me to “get up to the room, slut”. Gone was Santa, enter the Sadist. The surfaces of the room, the desk, bed and night stand were covered with ropes, whips, paddles, canes, and other items that I could only guess what they might be used for. It is difficult to describe my feelings, I was smirking but I knew I was nervous, anxious to please and badly in need of an orgasm. He grabbed my arm and told me to strip. I complied, still not entirely sure what to do with myself. He told me to get on his hands and knees and kiss his boots. He then proceeded to whale on my bare ass and the backs of my thighs. I remember thinking that if I could not handle that; I would be in for a terrible time. I subconsciously moved my hand to try and cover my ass cheek. Wrong move. I was to lay face down on the carpet, my arms underneath my head, and my legs spread wipe open while he smacked my ass and legs. The pain was intense but I could feel my cunt was dripping. He continued to show me who wrong I was to move my hands when he stopped and began to massage my pussy and clit. I could have come in seconds. I immediately started to ask and beg him to let me come and like the surprise gift on Christmas morning, he allowed me. Heat engulfed me and I gushed all over the hotel floor and his hands. It was surprisingly intense given how badly my ass stung.
Mr. S. then lifted me up and prepared the rope, all the while hurling insults my way. “You are a slut, you are nothing more then holes for my enjoyment”. And etc… He placed my hands above my head and tied me around my wrists and chest with the rope framing my exposed nipples. He would ask me if I was okay, using my name to snap me into reality – the gentle side of him coming out again. The insults grew to a pitch and he calming told me that I was dirt. I was the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. To illustrate this, he took out a marker and wrote DIRT across my stomach. He tugged, sucked, pulled, pinched, bit, slapped and flicked my nipples until they were so sore I was doubting my enjoyment. And then the real fun began.
He took out a snakebite kit. The kind with the rubber/silicone cylinder used to draw venom infected blood to the surface. He put one over each nipple and squeezed. The suction was quite powerful, engorging my tender nipples. He batted them around like a cat plays with a mouse before moving back to the spanking of my ass and thighs. He then took out a knife, showed the blade to me and made me kiss it. Blindfolded me and ran the knife along my chest and neck and held it to my throat, threatening to slice it if I did not behave. He moved back to some severe ass punishing and I had to call ‘yellow’ for the first time that day. It was just too intense, and too painful. I was racked with quilt about using the ‘yellow’ (more on that to come) but I had to stop. He decided to move to something a bit more gentle.
More rope work; hog tying me and then fucking my face with his cock. Then again providing me with the most delicious orgasm, we continued to a clothes pin implement he called “the zipper.” I knew it would be painful, but I was anxious to experience it. He placed the clothes pin all around the nipples of both breasts. They were tied to a long string so that they could all be pulled off at once. I begged him to pull them off at the same time, he chuckled but agreed. He counted to 3, but I am fairly confident that he pulled on 2. SON OF A BITCH! The pain was a white-hot flash, but lasted only seconds and then it was a warm, calm….I can’t explain it. It was not so much pleasurable…but it was something. Alive? Feeling? I take pride in always feeling alive, but this was different. And of course, it left the most delicious marks on my tits.
He allowed me to recovery before starting up with the nipple torture. Again, I had to call ‘yellow’, I was done. It had been a few hours, I learned more then I had learned in the few years I was dabbling, and I as grateful as I was…I was done.
He gave me another wonderful orgasm and I returned the favor with the sweetest blow job I could muster. Nipples and ass in searing pain, clit happy, and wanting to please. He came in my mouth and we spent the next few hours talking, decompressing, all part of amazing after-care. Physically, I was sore. Emotionally, I felt fine. I was really upset about having to stop the play with my two calls of ‘yellow’ and I needed to talk about that. It was so important to me to provide HIM with an amazing experience as well and I felt I somehow failed with having to stop. He made me understand that my stopping points were as equally as importing as my starting and that no way effected his enjoyment. If I wasn’t certain before, I was now more convinced then ever that he was the right one to help me along my path.
My eternal thanks goes to Mr. S. For the learning, the experience, the experiences yet to come, and most importantly, the friendship.
Yours,
~M
P.S. nothing kills a late night hotel bar hook up like the word “dirt” scrawled across your stomach and massive bruising on your tits. For once…I kept it in my pants!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Thank You, Sir
Mr. S and I met on Sunday for what proved to be a defining moment in my journey. With my tits and ass bruised and sore, my shoulders aching from being bound and the word ‘dirt’ tattooed in black marker across my stomach, it is still difficult to process everything in my mind. Overall, it was an amazing and positive experience that I am looking forward to repeating with him, as well as trusted others.
As I deal with the thoughts and emotions swirling in my head one thing is utterly clear – Mr. S was an unwavering gentleman, even within his sadistic beatings of my tender ass. I am more convinced then ever my decision to trust and learn from him was the right one. The trust and respect bond I felt with him, giving over complete control – especially while tied up, was something not ordinarily felt with a lover. I will be difficult to replicate, but he has shown me that it does exist.
My suffering body is on the mend, as is my mind with the massive endorphin high & drop and I am beginning to mesh the physical feelings with the mental aspect and sort out a new reality. I am not close to articulating what that reality is, but I suspect it will be soon.
As I deal with the thoughts and emotions swirling in my head one thing is utterly clear – Mr. S was an unwavering gentleman, even within his sadistic beatings of my tender ass. I am more convinced then ever my decision to trust and learn from him was the right one. The trust and respect bond I felt with him, giving over complete control – especially while tied up, was something not ordinarily felt with a lover. I will be difficult to replicate, but he has shown me that it does exist.
My suffering body is on the mend, as is my mind with the massive endorphin high & drop and I am beginning to mesh the physical feelings with the mental aspect and sort out a new reality. I am not close to articulating what that reality is, but I suspect it will be soon.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Homework Assignments
As the conversations with Mr. S have become more detailed as to what I wanted to feel (I still wasn't really sure) and/or derive from my experiences with him, he started to give me assignments or tasks to complete. Much along the same thread that J did. Something to remind me that I was under someone's control. A test to see if I would comply, perhaps. The tasks started out simple. Describe my breasts, my cunt. Tell him what it felt like to touch my nipples, to masturbate. Then he told me I was to masturbate twice a day, without coming to orgasm. Huh? My first reaction was "of course, no problem." Because if it was a problem he would never know. Unlike J he required no photographic evidence of my heeding his wishes, he was to take me at my word. He would trust me.
It took me exactly 20 or so seconds into the first session that I realized that I would obey completely. Why would I short change myself on this experience by being even a tad insolent. Of course I could lie, and he would never know. But what if he took that same stance? I am trusting him to bind me, to take my body and mind places it has never been before - the thought of him lying to me under those circumstances was unthinkable. Why would I not want to delivery to him the same. So, masturbate (without orgasm) I did. Twice a day, which he eventually upped to thrice a day. Mr. S did say that at anytime I could call and ask permission for an orgasm, but as the days drew on it seemed it was more important for me to savor the experience and give both myself and him, the first orgasm of my week in person.
The masturbation was difficult, I like to orgasm. But as the few days became several I noticed that as the finish line was no longer a goal or even a possibility, the race became what was important. I spent time with my body. I found new ways of touching myself that frankly, just never occurred to me before. New places to touch, new positions, discovered ways of holding off that big finish for an astonishingly (to me) amount of time. It was amazing. My typical masturbation session went from about 5-10 minutes (with orgasm) to upwards of 30-40 minutes without. Who knew! He soon added in nipple play to my self-torture. Pinching and pulling as hard as I can for a count of 60. Again, I relished in it. I treated myself as if he were watching and with never a thought to disappoint or to non-compliance.
It was the completion of an outstanding assignment that fucked with me the most. Within the first few conversations we had Mr. S asked for some photos of me. Nude, and full frontal. I promptly sent tit photos, cute pics of me dressed to go out, anything I could find but nude and full frontal. So interesting that I was planning to have this man to all sorts of terrible things to my body, and the thing that scared me the most was him seeing my naked self. While not "need the extra seat belt thing on an airplane" fat, I am not a tiny girl. I am not attractive naked. I, like so many other women, am plagued by body issues. I don't want to see my naked, why would anyone else. The more I tried to avoid it, the more it became clear I would not be able to. Mr. S finally put his foot down and reminded me that my nudity was my submission. Got it. Photos were taken and sent. I don't believe it was 10 minutes after I hit send before I received the first text message telling me how beautiful I am. Consequently, where I might have been terrified to have him see me...lights on, that fear is gone. It will not be a thought in my head when we meet. Self-esteem boosting, yet another ancillary benefit I have found with my limited experience within the BDSM community. Beauty is not conventional and is found in unexpected packages. A lesson I have tried to teach myself that often, but it never seems to stick. I think this might be the time.
As I sit, less then 48 hours from a potential life changing chapter, I have so much in my head that it hard to parse out. It is almost as if these two weeks was to short of amount of time to process everything. Thankfully I have an amazing teacher and an every growing, amazing support structure within the community.
"I see a beautiful canvas on which I will write dominance and pain." ~Mr. S
It took me exactly 20 or so seconds into the first session that I realized that I would obey completely. Why would I short change myself on this experience by being even a tad insolent. Of course I could lie, and he would never know. But what if he took that same stance? I am trusting him to bind me, to take my body and mind places it has never been before - the thought of him lying to me under those circumstances was unthinkable. Why would I not want to delivery to him the same. So, masturbate (without orgasm) I did. Twice a day, which he eventually upped to thrice a day. Mr. S did say that at anytime I could call and ask permission for an orgasm, but as the days drew on it seemed it was more important for me to savor the experience and give both myself and him, the first orgasm of my week in person.
The masturbation was difficult, I like to orgasm. But as the few days became several I noticed that as the finish line was no longer a goal or even a possibility, the race became what was important. I spent time with my body. I found new ways of touching myself that frankly, just never occurred to me before. New places to touch, new positions, discovered ways of holding off that big finish for an astonishingly (to me) amount of time. It was amazing. My typical masturbation session went from about 5-10 minutes (with orgasm) to upwards of 30-40 minutes without. Who knew! He soon added in nipple play to my self-torture. Pinching and pulling as hard as I can for a count of 60. Again, I relished in it. I treated myself as if he were watching and with never a thought to disappoint or to non-compliance.
It was the completion of an outstanding assignment that fucked with me the most. Within the first few conversations we had Mr. S asked for some photos of me. Nude, and full frontal. I promptly sent tit photos, cute pics of me dressed to go out, anything I could find but nude and full frontal. So interesting that I was planning to have this man to all sorts of terrible things to my body, and the thing that scared me the most was him seeing my naked self. While not "need the extra seat belt thing on an airplane" fat, I am not a tiny girl. I am not attractive naked. I, like so many other women, am plagued by body issues. I don't want to see my naked, why would anyone else. The more I tried to avoid it, the more it became clear I would not be able to. Mr. S finally put his foot down and reminded me that my nudity was my submission. Got it. Photos were taken and sent. I don't believe it was 10 minutes after I hit send before I received the first text message telling me how beautiful I am. Consequently, where I might have been terrified to have him see me...lights on, that fear is gone. It will not be a thought in my head when we meet. Self-esteem boosting, yet another ancillary benefit I have found with my limited experience within the BDSM community. Beauty is not conventional and is found in unexpected packages. A lesson I have tried to teach myself that often, but it never seems to stick. I think this might be the time.
As I sit, less then 48 hours from a potential life changing chapter, I have so much in my head that it hard to parse out. It is almost as if these two weeks was to short of amount of time to process everything. Thankfully I have an amazing teacher and an every growing, amazing support structure within the community.
"I see a beautiful canvas on which I will write dominance and pain." ~Mr. S
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
To Serve and Be Protected
One of the most startling feelings I developed towards J was that of protection. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would protect me. I was his to keep safe. For the exception of a few male friends that would gut the first person to hurt me, and a wonderful LTR boyfriend, I had not felt that secure since I was a child. Strange words to say about someone that fully enjoyed inflecting physical pain upon me.
It is difficult for me to articulate this to the other women in my life. They see a fiercely independent, career oriented, very successful, and extraordinarily dominant girl. I think what they miss is the girl that spends 95% of her time taking care of others, that craves to be taken care of herself. Yes, my definition of being taken care of differs from the norm, but the end result is the same. I want and need that feeling of safety. I was in his keep and he was obliged to protect me.
One of the first, in depth conversations Mr. S and I had was one regarding my hard limits and boundaries. After providing my list and still feeling unsure of myself, Mr. S said these words to me "I do not break my toys". Few words but with immense meaning. I was his toy, his property and he would not break his plaything nor allow anyone else to break what was under his care. Whether bound, gagged, whipped or beaten (perhaps all of the above) I am, and will be, protected while in his presence. No one else can match that.
It is difficult for me to articulate this to the other women in my life. They see a fiercely independent, career oriented, very successful, and extraordinarily dominant girl. I think what they miss is the girl that spends 95% of her time taking care of others, that craves to be taken care of herself. Yes, my definition of being taken care of differs from the norm, but the end result is the same. I want and need that feeling of safety. I was in his keep and he was obliged to protect me.
One of the first, in depth conversations Mr. S and I had was one regarding my hard limits and boundaries. After providing my list and still feeling unsure of myself, Mr. S said these words to me "I do not break my toys". Few words but with immense meaning. I was his toy, his property and he would not break his plaything nor allow anyone else to break what was under his care. Whether bound, gagged, whipped or beaten (perhaps all of the above) I am, and will be, protected while in his presence. No one else can match that.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Journey Begins - Again
The first time I read 'The Story of O' I knew I was not alone. I knew that there were other women like me. Incredibly strong, intelligent, self-confident, and independent women who not only enjoy, but feel empowered by being sexually owned and dominated by others.
I put the fantasy in the back of my head for several years, afraid to talk about it. My girlfriends were as equally horrified with the Story as I was entranced. They would not understand. My boyfriend, as wonderful and generous a lover as he was, could never bring our level of play to the limits I wanted to reach - and eventually cross. I spent the majority of my 20s and the better part of my 30s reading everything I could about the Dom/sub community. Itching to get involved and not having a clue where to start.
My first major move was to attend a Denver sex convention in 2006. The convention was basically a very, large porn store but complete with a Real. Live. Dungeon. It took me most of the day to wander into the back corner, but once I did, it took effort to get me out. It was there that I discovered the beauty that is Japanese Rope Bondage - Shibari. It was also where I discovered the Kilted Man wielding a violet wand. I allowed the Kilted Man to lay me on a massage table and show me (in a very limited fashion) what I had been missing. I was hooked.
I attended a BDSM 101 seminar, a Latex seminar and an additional session on the violet wand. I could not remember the last time I felt as fully free with my sexuality as I did that day.
I promptly repressed my kink for another three years. In 2009 I found like-minds in a somewhat unexpected place, Twitter. I made contacts, I spoke to people and arranged a meeting with someone that I never should have. There was little discussion, little negotiation, and consequently little trust. But, I was desperate to explore so I forged ahead without allowing my discomfort to be heard. A horrible night and a date-rape later, and I was back in the closet. I was convinced that my combination of poor judgment and near desperate desire to explore was a continual recipe for disaster. Until I met J. He wanted to show me things and push me places that I knew I wanted to go, but was so afraid. The level of trust he created was extreme, not a stitch of clothing came of prior to a good month of conversations. I allowed him to cross lines and discover new lines and boundaries and my benefit was to discover new levels of passion and sensuality that I have never felt before. Yes, I do like to be bound. Yes, I do like hot candle wax dripped across my tits. Yes, I do liked to be slapped across the face, have my hair pulled, choked and called a filthy whore all the while having orgasms in waves (and buckets!).
After our first play session, J held me for hours. Stroked my hair, kissed my face, rubbed my sore backside with a degree of tenderness that was almost more shocking then his brutality. He told me he was proud of me, how good I was, how happy I made him. And for all you naysayers, there was not a condescending note within his body. Because of my travel schedule, I was out of town often and he began to introduce some remote play. Photographing my panties for him to choose which I would wear for the day. Controlling my ability to have an orgasm when masturbating, I must call for permission. Expecting me to ask permission to be with someone else - this was never denied, but I was to ask first. And you know what? It was one of the hottest times in my life. My level of sexual need & desire, and the sexiness of how I felt about myself was off the charts. I was happy and that touched every facet of my life. I was more confident, more successful at my job, more giving to those in my life. Happy.
And then he was abruptly gone. So abrupt in fact, that there was much unfinished business. Lines not crossed, new frontiers not forged, and other meaningless metaphors left incomplete.
Four months and an inexplicable hole in my heart/mind/soul later and I have found a new teacher, Mr.S. One who could prove to be a pivotal piece as my journey continues.....
I put the fantasy in the back of my head for several years, afraid to talk about it. My girlfriends were as equally horrified with the Story as I was entranced. They would not understand. My boyfriend, as wonderful and generous a lover as he was, could never bring our level of play to the limits I wanted to reach - and eventually cross. I spent the majority of my 20s and the better part of my 30s reading everything I could about the Dom/sub community. Itching to get involved and not having a clue where to start.
My first major move was to attend a Denver sex convention in 2006. The convention was basically a very, large porn store but complete with a Real. Live. Dungeon. It took me most of the day to wander into the back corner, but once I did, it took effort to get me out. It was there that I discovered the beauty that is Japanese Rope Bondage - Shibari. It was also where I discovered the Kilted Man wielding a violet wand. I allowed the Kilted Man to lay me on a massage table and show me (in a very limited fashion) what I had been missing. I was hooked.
I attended a BDSM 101 seminar, a Latex seminar and an additional session on the violet wand. I could not remember the last time I felt as fully free with my sexuality as I did that day.
I promptly repressed my kink for another three years. In 2009 I found like-minds in a somewhat unexpected place, Twitter. I made contacts, I spoke to people and arranged a meeting with someone that I never should have. There was little discussion, little negotiation, and consequently little trust. But, I was desperate to explore so I forged ahead without allowing my discomfort to be heard. A horrible night and a date-rape later, and I was back in the closet. I was convinced that my combination of poor judgment and near desperate desire to explore was a continual recipe for disaster. Until I met J. He wanted to show me things and push me places that I knew I wanted to go, but was so afraid. The level of trust he created was extreme, not a stitch of clothing came of prior to a good month of conversations. I allowed him to cross lines and discover new lines and boundaries and my benefit was to discover new levels of passion and sensuality that I have never felt before. Yes, I do like to be bound. Yes, I do like hot candle wax dripped across my tits. Yes, I do liked to be slapped across the face, have my hair pulled, choked and called a filthy whore all the while having orgasms in waves (and buckets!).
After our first play session, J held me for hours. Stroked my hair, kissed my face, rubbed my sore backside with a degree of tenderness that was almost more shocking then his brutality. He told me he was proud of me, how good I was, how happy I made him. And for all you naysayers, there was not a condescending note within his body. Because of my travel schedule, I was out of town often and he began to introduce some remote play. Photographing my panties for him to choose which I would wear for the day. Controlling my ability to have an orgasm when masturbating, I must call for permission. Expecting me to ask permission to be with someone else - this was never denied, but I was to ask first. And you know what? It was one of the hottest times in my life. My level of sexual need & desire, and the sexiness of how I felt about myself was off the charts. I was happy and that touched every facet of my life. I was more confident, more successful at my job, more giving to those in my life. Happy.
And then he was abruptly gone. So abrupt in fact, that there was much unfinished business. Lines not crossed, new frontiers not forged, and other meaningless metaphors left incomplete.
Four months and an inexplicable hole in my heart/mind/soul later and I have found a new teacher, Mr.S. One who could prove to be a pivotal piece as my journey continues.....
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