An undignified title...

In other words: "squee!!" 

After Master and i attended Thunder in the Mountains last July, we realized (again) just how much we missed being part of the community. When we started out, we were regular attendees of the local PEP (People Exchanging Power), and loved it. We met great people, we had a lot of fun, and we really had the space to experiment with our play. We committed ourselves to finding a way to make ourselves part of the closest local scene again, and this month, we managed to fulfill our early 2012 resolution. The timing all worked out, and though we got lost in our once familiar haunt, we found ourselves at the door.

Inside, we saw familiar faces, and though the traffic and getting lost had left a smudge on our initial moods, watching others engaging in their own scenes lifted our spirits and our excitement and we started looking for a place to play. Master and i really were looking for space to play with the Victor Tella signal whips we picked up at Thunder, and of course, some room for some serious martial arts inspired impact play. It was pretty crowded, so we weren't sure we'd find just the right spot.

It worked out that as soon as Master and i were really ready to get the ball rolling, one scene wrapped up (and was unwrapped - a little rope-pun) and Master and i experimented with the available space. Though many people comment on our pictures over on FetLife about how sexy i am, and many people tell me in person, i admit i have body-hang-ups. Master talked me through them, and pretty soon, i was happily cuffed and Master was whipping away. He started out with the flogger, and though i know it, i don't really remember it clearly. i fell into the scene fast. Nothing remains but the memory of movement, a bite of the tails of the pretty floggers, and Master's gloves. But the Dragon Tongue i do remember; it's pretty red tail biting and "cutting" into my flesh, the way it would lovingly wrap around my ribs to bite the flesh of my breasts, licked around my hips, and landed on my calves. i remember stomping my feet, sometimes turning around to look at Master as the tongue licked at whatever new target i gave Him. i was deep into the sensations of it all. Deep into the energy changing hands between Master and i. He took my pain and devoured it. i took His cruelty and lapped it up.

Even though Master and i have found that i do appreciate the sting of the whips far more than i appreciate more of a thud against me; there is one thud that i cannot get enough of... The feeling of Master using His limbs upon me as weapons. i begged Him to skip the whips, to kick me. As He is ever so kind, He agreed, and re-positioned me so there would be ample room for His intentions. i remember counting two sets of ten, but Master wasn't done with just 20. When i couldn't remember how to keep counting, i was on the verge of good tears. As much as i would have enjoyed crying for Him, i enjoyed what came next at least as much. Now that there was no counting, i was just a punching bag. There was no time to cry, and all i could do was laugh and howl with the joy of the pain Master gave me. Master kicked me, front kicks, side kicks, round kicks...and His fists were a flurry as well. Punches, slaps, and i think i felt a few well placed ridge-hands, landed upon my back, ribs and thighs. my legs crumpled under me as Master used His knowledge of pressure points against me. Left with quivering legs, kneeling upon the floor, held upright only by the cuffs, Master landed a few more blows upon me.

He brought me water (we learned from Thunder...we had it in our scene bag, along with some emergency chocolate and one of my favorite blankets), and we cleared the space for the next players. Initially, i thought i'd want to just curl up somewhere and nurse my sore legs, but once i was following Master i realized that moving felt far better, and we wandered around to watch a few other players.  A good friend, one of our fist friends from the scene, was there and had his claws out. On my already sore body, they were almost like little single jolts of electricity.

Before long, Master and i were set up again, with His jute quickly wrapping around me. There's not a lot from this part that i remember well, either, because i was really just a happy puddle of lovely neurotransmitter goop. Master asked me if i wanted to walk around, but that was pretty beyond my coordination levels, so He bound me down and ripped a couple of orgasms out of my body.

When He'd let me loose, i was pretty quick to bounce back to being frisky, and running away after He'd threatened to spray cold water all over me...

Being there was really, truly great. Fulfilling. We met people, old friends and new friends; had great scenes, connected with our inner Sadist and masochist (well - His Sadist, my masochist) in a way we haven't been able to for a while, and had a grand time indulging in our desires...

It was absolutely, spectacularly, awesome.

The sex at the hotel after the event and the next morning was pretty awesome, too.

And. i who almost never bears marks on my legs, ass or back... Have marks lingering from the event, and a lovely, lingering soreness...

We're seriously looking forward to our next chance!

(taps fingers...)

1, 2, 3 & 4 Monday

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Wake Up and Breathe:

(Warning: Breath Play. We practice Risk Aware Consentual Kink, and Master is CPR certified.)

i never sleep very well, or very long. My record for sleeping in in the last five years (that includes time before my pregnancy) is probably 8.5 hours -- my average is probably about 5.5 or 6. So even everything that came before that lovely morning in the hotel couldn't get me to "sleep in."

Waking up still bound and laying close to my Master felt absolutely wonderful though -- as if i do live a charmed life. Well...i belong to a man who knows the color and tint of my soul, who understands my drives and desires at least as well as i do, if not better...i do live a charmed life. But that morning, i really felt it.

And i moved against Him, kissing His bare shoulder, His lightly freckled skin at the base of His neck, and the beast in Him was awakened. He rolled over me, and possessed me in every way He is able. Gasping from the sorenesses all over my body, from the joy and pleasure of Him using me, the pain of new impacts.

Master paused for a moment and leaned over the edge of the bed to grab something. It crinkled. And even before i saw it, i begged, i whimpered...

But it is not my choice to stop, and it is Master's price for the occasional cigarettes He allows me to have. And all debts must be paid. The plastic goes over my head and i can feel it drive His excitement through His cock in me, and i hate it already. i hate the heat of it, my breath making the bag too warm. In just moments, before He even closes it, it is already too warm for the air to feel fresh. But that morning...that morning there was also rope to close the bag. Panic took hold of my body, and yet the rhythm of Him rocking in me, with me, kept me from doing more than clawing at His shoulder. His blood under my nails, and then air, real air, to breathe, cool, and full of the scent of us...and then the stuffy, hot, plastic...again...and His need driven ever closer to the edge.

And then we're over the edge.

A few more moments, breathing together, sticking together and listening to our hearts race before we had to think about returning to the mundane, before giving up the simple, lusted after Owner and property to the more complex roles of our life...

And it was worth it...We were refreshed.

Something clever...

There's never enough time. Lately, it's been interesting around here. Master's been very cool, laid back and patient with me as my semester winds down to an end. i get wound up about what i'm not doing, and He just looks at me with those piercing eyes of His and says "If I'm not giving you a hard time about it, you don't need to be on your own case about it."

This morning actually worked out quite lovely. Master grabbed the clover clamps, purple duct tape, the replacement evil white spoon, some rope and GiGi (the very first Lelo purchase ever, btw, and it kicks ass) and we sought a bit of privacy.

The mingling of sadist and masochist, the delight of the intimacy of being laid bare beneath the power of my Master... Moments all too long in coming. The relief of pain and its focusing power have grounded me again. The delight of multiple orgasms intertwined, the satisfaction of feeling His pleasure upon my skin... All of it made me feel secure despite the many things that need doing before the end of this spring semester...

And then...months of being purely property. i cannot wait.

Happy, happy, joy, joy!

So, yesterday, my dear Master blogged about the aggravations we're experiencing. He talked about how He's become frustrated with the subtle aspects that we have in our relationship, and how desperately we need time to connect, time to be the sadist and masochist, the torturer and the tortured.

And later that evening, the stars aligned and the door to our play space was open, inviting and child free.

We looked at each other, a bit giddy, and then the primal needs took over. A few whacks with a flogger seemed lacking, but the snap of the bamboo cane Master recently obtained from the sub-shop hit home. Whacks to my ample bottom and thighs got my feet kicking, and Master whacked those some, too. Delicious, that. (i hope He'll cane my feet again soon!) As i squirmed about, Master moved on to the front, and whacks over my breasts and ribs had me confusedly trying to escape and remain still all at once.

As i found myself bound down, Master fished out an inflatable gag along with the ring gag, clover clamps and a few bamboo skewers. After he had gagged me, using the ring gag to ensure that i didn't have the chance to force out the inflatable gag, i found myself buried in deliriously delicious pain as Master carved a word into my flesh with the point of the bamboo skewer.

As Master fucked me (glory!), the clovers bounced about, tightening as they tend to do, while He whacked upon my breasts and ribs with the skewer. It wasn't long before i was struggling to beg His permission to cum. Devious as He is, He refused until i would acquiesce to the butt plug. Four opportunities came and went (have i mentioned i'm stubborn and a little bull headed?) before i agreed.

Of course, the blinding delight soon followed, for Master is true to his word, and orgasms followed, delighting both of us. And, we are, for a bit, content again, Master securely in His place as the cruel, demanding and loving one, and me safely below, subjugated property, adoring the one who owns her with the word "bitch" carved into her torso.

We hope this trend continues!

please, oh, please!

P.S. Remember it's still March...If you have questions, ask us and we'll answer!

Of marks and breasts

Over a week ago, Master and i had the opportunity to do some playing, and Master thought some of my girlie-bits could use some tenderizing. To my horror, He retrieved a wooden spoon from the drawer. i don't know what it is about wood, but it makes me cringe, so i asked if He would be willing to use the evil white plastic spoon instead.

He consented, and proceeded to assault my breasts with the wicked plastic spoon. And i totally loved it. Eventually He began to fuck me while His wrist flipped that evil spoon against all the oh-so-sensitive flesh of my breasts. i think i cried. i know i begged.

Even though i heard myself begging Him to stop, i knew He wouldn't, and i knew i didn't really want Him to stop, anyway. The begging was soft and breathless...it sounded pliable to my own ears, and i knew He'd push me through the pain. He pushed, and soon, i wasn't begging for Him to stop, i was begging His permission to cum... i don't know how many times He pushed me over that edge, but it was amazing. When i wasn't begging to cum, those soft pleading noises were still pouring out of me, but i was living in the pain, and it was beautiful and bright.

After, we were able to see that His handiwork was going to remain visible ─ there were lovely contusions protruding from the mounds of my breasts and a few other stray angry marks of flesh.

He was pleased that He'd pushed me through the begging ─ and i can say that i was pleased because He was, and for my own reasons, dwelling in the afterglow of a heavy scene.

Two days after that lovely scene, after a quick round of afternoon sex, i suggested we steal a little more time and repeat the scene, perhaps adding some breast bondage into the mix. Master moved like the Tasmanian devil to prepare the scene.

However, despite my new-found appreciation for the evil white spoon, it was* missing...and Master chose a tiny wooden rod in its place. The difference in sensation was amazing. The second scene was also beautifully intense. Because of it's differences and because of the bruising that was already present, i never felt that i was able to sink into the moment as fully as i had the first time. But it was fantastic. When Master tired of flipping the tiny little wooden rod at me, He alternated between pressing my breasts against His broad chest and slapping them...

Again, both of us were pleased, the sadist sated and the masochist satisfied. And the marks left by the second round delighted me as much as the first. To see pictures taken of the marks after the beatings, you can head over to FetLife, and check out my profile or Master's.

Master keeps trying to find the time to treat my hind end similarly. (shiver) When that happens, i'll let you know!

* Unfortunately, as i write this post, the spoon is still missing. Don't tell my Master, but i has a sad because the white plastic spoon is gone.

Going deep...

We're definitely not rooted in apathy for June. Ah, no, we have been consumed by our temptations.

The other night, Master attempted to leave me marks. i think i've blogged here about how i adore marks and enjoy them, but i don't mark easily. We got the chance to use a new heavy leather hobble which was given to us by a good friend, and that in and of itself was heaven for me. i adore leather bondage gear, and this particular hobble, is quite heavy, thick and wonderfully confining.

At any rate, i was able to drift a bit in the enjoyment of that before Master attempted to leave me marks ─ in part to satisfy His cravings, and in part because i was being feisty with Him earlier in the day.

And so, with His hands, one of my favorite paddles (it's furry on one side! squee!!), the evil white plastic spoon and a small dowel rod, Master whooped my butt. It was horrible and nice all at once. He spaced the strikes widely apart, and i swear i've never been so inclined to move my body up to meet His strikes. But that night i was...

Following that, Master decided that a bit of breast bondage would be tasty. And it was ─ while my ass felt as if it was roasting from the inside, Master crafted one of His beautiful chest harnesses around me, and that delightfuly plumping pinch of the rope (we generally use white nylon rope, by the way) definitely took me to the peak of sensation.

It was fantastically awesome to be fucked from behind while He held my chest up using the harness, still confined, contained by the hobble.

All in all, it was probably one of the loveliest, longest scenes we've had the chance to delve into lately.

The irony though?

There were only teenie tiny little marks left on my alabaster ass, while my breasts have minor bruising in the shape of the breast bondage and chest harness.

Marks are marks, but Master is insisting that He just needs to pummel my ass harder when He beats me.

Screaming into the mattress

May was kind of a rough month. Not because of anything bad, but because Master and i were a bit apathetic about really enforcing our roles. We were doing just enough to say we were doing it, but not much more.

While time is always short for the kinds of scenes we'd like to do, we didn't really put much effort into our playtime being anything other than sex with subtle overtones of BDSM. Which, in and of itself is not a bad thing, but i'll admit, i'm kind of a high-maintenance kind of slave. Not to say that i need lots of time for primping, or that i cost Master a pretty penny, or in the girlie-girl kind of way. But as a slave, i've come to realize that feeling His dominance, either via His sadistic streak or with His boot on my neck, makes me function better.

Granted, i don't need that stuff to mosey on and do what i'm told ─ at least for the most part. But it drives me to do better, reminds me to not be apathetic about what i am.

After a particularly long period of apathy, i think it takes longer for the sadistic message of dominance to really hit my core. So despite the afternoon spent wrapped in sisal rope, i still managed to prove that i wasn't fully under Master's heel.

And i proved it well. Master was, to put it bluntly, fucking pissed at my behavior.

We only have one flogger (for shame, i know, shame), and it is a light thing. There are plenty of falls, but each one is no heavier than the feather of an owl. (Is that a weird, obscure reference or what?) Each fall is just under an inch wide, and they're about two feet long.

i am a masochist, but for some reason, there are some pains that take longer to process, or that are beyond my ability to absorb. Does that make sense?

When Master lays that flogger onto my back with force, instead of letting its own weight do the work, i cannot process the pain. And this time, i wasn't meant to.

While this was punishment for my behavior, i reveled in it, i dwelt in it and i screamed. After every stroke, i screamed, until i thought my voice would vanish. i was sure, as He continued to flog me (for what felt like a lifetime, or at least hours) that my skin, at any moment, would split open.

It didn't.

And when it was over, my back was red, but no bruises appeared on the surface of my back. A few tiny welts remained for a day and vanished.

And yet, though there is now no remnant of the flogging visible, the incident was burned into my mind, and my back is tender to Master's caress.

And i am coming to heel, appreciating the full value of my role.

Vanishing point...

We didn't really disappear. Though there were days i wondered if we really existed at all. We didn't go anywhere, we didn't abandon our dynamic ─ in fact, we didn't do much of anything. And that kind of apathy tends to consume everything when you aren't looking.

Master and i just kind of did our thing. Moving along through our lives with neither of us putting forward the effort to make our days anything but ordinary. And just being ordinary, even though Master was still my Owner, even though i still was His property, the apathy kind of consumed our efforts there too. He stopped actively manipulating me and i stopped trying to be good. Oh, the rules were in place, still obeyed, but we stopped attempting to move beyond the surface of our relationship and dynamic.

And so, the month of May almost slipped away without becoming memorable.

Master and i both recognized the apathy, in part probably because i was getting, well, feisty and also because Master took the time to watch some of His favorite porn (Device Bondage by Kink!). So, while i was pushing the boundaries, picking at Master to see how much i could really get away with, He was realizing that we hadn't done much of anything and that i was trying to get away with murder.

And time was made, and the untreated sisal rope was brought out of the closet.

i don't know how many people use sisal rope (because every website i've ever run across says "Don't use sisal rope") but for the masochistic streak in me, it is awesome, though i also loathe the little prickles.

Once Master had the sisal rope wrapped around my chest, i remembered why sisal rope is so evil. Everytime you shift, every little movement, a new bit of skin gets prickled with a different set of prickles. So, i lay there, helpless, wrapped in evil-prickly rope, remembering i don't have a choice, and that whatever i do to pick on Master (no matter how apathetic we might be at the moment) has serious rammifications.

i had an afternoon of prickles to remind me exactly how owned i am, and how little i can change in my relationship with Master.

Evidince that there's no permanant vanishing point between Master and i.

Home Again...Marked

The hardest thing about coming home is falling back into routine. i'm not talking about the routine of being His, but there is a certain pattern that's established for the mundane things, and finding the easy rhythm of that is often difficult for me. It becomes especially difficult for me when the pattern continues to elude me or things fly into the plan and gum up the works.

So it goes though, and i almost always find myself exhausted upon walking in the door of the home i share with my Master. As i attempt to return to the normal schedule of the household, invariably things will come up and change how i expected to deal with the attempt to return to the routine. When they do, i open my mouth and snip without thinking.

This particular trip was somewhat more problematic, as we had been absent from our home for five days, leaving both of us feeling edgy and desperately needing to play (i'm going to say, especially me, but that might not be true), and both of us had less than necessary sleep under our belts. Being good was a bit of a stretch for me - i was full of snipping and clipped statements, agitating my poor Dark One more than He deserved.

After allowing almost 24 hours to fall back into the routine, we did attack the need for play. Well...He attacked it and i succumbed to the attack. He knew i needed to be reminded of what i am (snipping smart-ass-masochist as a slave), and needed to be reminded that we've moved beyond the stages where i am allowed excuses, limits and "i don't knows". Additionally, He fully intended to leave marks on me that lasted longer than the usual period of time (a sad few hours, usually a maximum of twelve).

And about marks...i love them. i really do, but while my (very pale) flesh pinks nicely, or shows little welts immediately following our activities, the signs of play fade rapidly. i am frequently jealous of women who show the marks of their play long after the session has ended. So, i asked Master to push me beyond and make sure that there were marks from some play sessions.

Regardless of my request, He ravaged me. My body begged for a deep breath, cinched beneath leather straps, and my throat fought the pressure of the leather posture collar and my favorite ball gag. i wanted to claw at the sheets as He ripped a clothespin zipper off, beat the insides of my tender thighs and even the soles of my feet with the damnable white plastic spoon. (i swear, i have a hate, love, hate relationship with that thing. It's extraordinarily hard for me to deal with, yet it does leave interesting marks and and is quite painful...hence the hate-love-hate.) His slave was helpless under His hands, and adored the sensations her Master offered to her.

Yes, i did enjoy the pain, the ache...all of it - deeply, i fell away to a place where there is no thought, just the sensation. It is the place where i forget that i have to beg, the place where i struggle to remember the words that He has given me to offer him my orgasms for His pleasure... It is the place where i want to go, where i no longer worry about being "good enough" and where i am safely wrapped in His cruelty (and love, too).

And, the rewards of Master's efforts showed themselves quite nicely as soon as i was able to muster up the courage to stand. For once, there are lovely purple streaks in the skin of my breasts, and even my thighs carry pretty pink welts and faint bruises well after the play session. i was marked by Master's sadism, carried away in a wash of pain, and the recovery has been quite fascinating to me...

i don't often experience deep sub-drop or require oodles of after care, but this session left me (beyond) weeping, (exceptionally) quivery and (very, very) definitely in need of a gentle hand to keep me steady as i moved back into the requirements of life. Even now, if He brushed those bruises or welts, i'd be a puddle at His feet...but He's already said He intends a different focus for this evening...