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Drifting in and out of my endless reverie, I've lost track of time. I can feel velvet, gentle and rough and warm all at the same time, underneath my hand. Fresh linen scent, as I turn over. A clear but distant awareness of pain: some dull throbbing, some sharper and ragged; bruises, cuts, contusions; torn muscle, damaged flesh.
I open my eyes and I'm wide awake. I look at the bed I'm lying in – so right that the colour should be red. I sense that I'm quite close to the edge of something, with only a little fight left in me. Normally so defiant, so bold and unyielding, layers stripped back now to the secret self where everything is in flux. No longer any need to question, subliminal and silent, formless and free.
I sigh, and the sound attracts the attention of another person in the room. As I turn my head to the side, I see a young man stand up from a chair next to the bed and rush out. He has dark blonde, wavy long hair and a fragile, vulnerable face; although I sense an inner core, which is iron strong. He's dressed from the waist down only, and he's heavily marked…bruises and scars, both old and new, cover his torso. There's something about him…feral and yet tamed… his demeanour puts me in mind of a guard dog.
And then all thoughts of anyone else leave me, as a beautiful man walks into the room and I stare at him, completely absorbed by his incredible bone structure. His long hair falls like a rushing wave of dark water to his waist. His eyes are sweet and lost, childlike in their solemnity. His body is wiry, strong -muscular without being overly developed. He looks like he could easily swing me into his arms and carry me to the hospital to have my injuries attended to. But judging from his expression, that is very much not his intention.
His long military cut jacket sways as he walks across the room. His knee high biker boots make no sound at all on the floorboards. I see the moonlit glint of teeth in the humid night air. I'm terrified…and furiously angry.
“I have these…these thoughts sometimes”; he whispers in my ear, stroking back my hair with his fingers. (when did he move? I didn't even see him move) “I think…I really want to hurt some body. I want to see what would happen if I hurt you…so many things I want to do to you”. (his lips are so close. I feel the vibrations in the air on my skin. the hairs on my arms rise, my skin sensitised to his presence) “But first, we have to eat. And why have bread and water when you can have caviar and champagne?”
His arms slide underneath me and I'm lifted. He turns, and walks quickly to the door, all in one fluid movement. I realise belatedly that whilst I was unconscious, someone removed the remains of my shredded clothing, and re-dressed me. Thin strands of fabric wrap me around the shoulders, arms, waist and legs from the thigh down, leaving my neck, wrists, breasts and upper thighs uncovered. Pieces of chain pin the cloth together, providing the illusion of clothing without covering any of my body from view.
He carries me into a huge, cavernous chamber walled in stone, set with a long table for formal dining. A dozen or so of his people are already seated. I see the two who took me and brought me here, their faces eager, searching for his approval. In front of an immense hearth fire, a huge, dark blonde Wolf lies, cushioning its long snout in its paws. There is something fleetingly familiar about it, but I've never seen an animal like that before. Its tail wags half heartedly as it sees its Master, but as the man carrying me steps around the Wolf, he avoids contact by eye or touch. It seems to me that the Wolf adores his Master, but his Master is afraid, or repulsed, by him. That can't be right, I think.
He serves me up onto the table; a dozen hungry faces whip round to stare - only the tiny muscles near their eyes betraying the self-control they're exerting. The Master reaches for me first, and leans both hands on my thighs in a grip that makes my frantic attempts to wriggle away laughable. He opens my legs and I fight against him. He lowers his head between my thighs, inhales, and breathes out. He licks the skin, and then closes his eyes, savouring the taste. With a dancer's speed, he's biting into me and sucking down.
He's signalling to the others that they can begin their own meal, and each one takes either a space on my body for themselves, or waits patiently for their turn. One of them pulls my head back hard by the hair so that two others can take my neck. My wrists are claimed by another pair, as are the two spots at the side of my waist. The Master transfers his attention to my other thigh, and tastes the blood from there as well. I am struggling weakly, but I can feel the last of my strength trickling away.
Wolf is allowed to lick at the spots of blood falling from my body to the floor. He gazes up at his Master, begging, and nuzzles my fingers. My arm falls, overlooked, down the side of the table. Involuntarily I curl my fingers to scratch behind his ears…an automatic response…then stop, horrified.
The atmosphere changes. He's lifting his head from my thighs, and looking at me - his face still shockingly beguiling, despite the blood smeared across it. His expression is changing subtly, as if one kind of hunger, now satisfied, is being exchanged for another. His arms are flung, sudden and violent, out to the side, and the others drinking from me are knocked flying across the room; they land with a sharp crack against the walls.
For the first time I see him betray haste as he unzips his trousers in a manner that, from anyone else, would be described as clumsy. He's pulling himself out… I understand why… his cock is throbbing, filled with heat and blood and burning with the need to be enclosed in soft warm flesh. He's bigger than anyone I've ever seen before, bigger than I imagined was possible, and so wide that it terrifies me. Weak as I am, I use the rush of adrenaline to scramble backwards, my eyes huge and black with fear. With one hand he's holding himself, and with the other, grabs my arm and pins it against the table. The wood presses uncomfortably against my back as he rubs himself against my entrance. I realise with a true horror, that I'm wet. With blood - yes - but also something more. He's moving his cock back and forth, seeking the right angle and stimulating all the nerve endings so that my entire focus concentrates on that one area.
He's ramming himself inside me with no warning, and his free hand comes round to hold down my other arm. His fingers are digging into my flesh; bruises developing instantly. He starts to thrust in long, deep strokes, and he's so big, it's hurting so much, so badly, I scream.
“Please, please don't”. I'm crying out, finding my voice for the first time out of desperation. “It hurts so much; I can't breathe”. His only response is to thrust harder, and put one hand around my neck, gripping firmly. He's pounding into me now, and his face transfigures into a mask, as he fills me more than I've ever been fulfilled before.
“I'm begging you”. I'm whispering through the fingers closing on my neck, “please stop, don't, please don't”. He's smiling maliciously through that mask of intense emotion, and with one hand still on my throat, he's biting into my neck, hard. I'm feeling his groans vibrate on my skin through his mouth, as he pours himself inside me, in an explosive peak that I think will never end, the muscles in his body shimmering, swelling and releasing convulsively. His thrusts are slowing now, and then they finally stop. He takes his teeth out of my skin and his body out of mine.
I meet his eyes for a moment, then drop them, as for the first time in my life I find I can't hold my own and meet a man's gaze.
He smiles in an expression that could frighten a tiger, and says; “I think I'll keep you for a while…”
Saturday, 6 June 2009
Friday, 5 June 2009
The Vampire Novella / Chapter 1: Taken
[This first chapter was the first porn I wrote, and has survived relatively intact, although the later chapters developed and changed. I wrote it for my first lover, N, and then finished the final chapter for my next lover, B]
Why was I taken? In a fragmented reverie afterwards, the half-dreaming where shadows turn to dust and the brightness and the cold is comforting, I wondered if it was because I had an empty space in my life. A strange sort of yearning for someone to take my hand and pull me, resisting, through the open door. A door through which I could see such glimpses, shapes which hinted at desire and fear and terror and need. Take me from the half-light into total darkness, cover me and close my eyes, fill me, my emptiness overflows, forever altered, wake me up, open me…
Was all of this what they saw in me, when they took me?
_______________________________________________________
I wake up and I'm not sure where I am. My head hurts and I remember something hitting it earlier. The room is dark; it looks like…some kind of cavern? I start to struggle as flashes of memory come to me, little bulbs of light exploding; talking to two men at the club, flirting, dancing, making it clear I wasn't taking it any further. Leaving on my own and starting to walk home. Then…some kind of accident? Did I fall?
My eyes start to adjust to the light and I start to come back to consciousness and a kind of clarity. My body is collapsed in a puddle on the rocky ground, my hands are in steel shackles attached to something over my head. My ankles are cuffed, and attached to a chain in the ground…what the fuck's going on? I start to panic and yank furiously at the chains - there must be some way out, some way of slipping out of them? I can feel already that my wrists will be bruised and they'll start to bleed soon - maybe the blood will help lubricate the chains and help me slip them. I don't shout or scream - it could only attract attention and I'm not sure what's happening yet.
A door closes, and my attention moves focus to the other side of the dark space. The two men from the club are sitting on a red leather sofa. They've been watching me all this time. They're smiling. One has short blonde hair, and he's slim but muscular, with a cruel face. The other is pretty looking, almost androgynous, with red wavy hair that falls almost to his waist. He looks kinder. I try to remember what to do in a kidnap situation - make a connection with your kidnappers, talk to them. What the hell do you say in a situation like this? I start with “let me out!”
The two men are talking, but not to me, to each other. They're discussing how pleased someone will be when he finds out what they've done. They're hoping it will earn them some status as he's been in a filthy mood recently. My escalating shouting starts to intrude, and they stand and walk towards me with such grace, I forget for a moment where I am. The blonde man pulls on the chains and I'm forced to my feet. The ankle cuffs hold my legs apart at an uncomfortable angle. He grabs my hair and pulls it back, sharply, and runs his face up my neck, breathing in. He steps back for a moment and smiles. I can see something in his mouth. Are those…his teeth? They're…sharp.
My head whips round to the redhead. He's smiling too, and his face no longer looks kind. His lips are drawn back in a smile, and his teeth look strange too. A sick feeling washes through me. With one blindingly fast move he rips my dress from my body so that I'm wearing only the shreds of my clothing, and my underwear. He forces my breasts out so that they balance on the cups of my bra. My knickers join the pile of shredded fabric, but he leaves my stockings intact. He starts unbuttoning his trousers, and I shake my head, speechless, and back away. But the chains won't let me move more than a few inches.
He brings an arm around my waist and pulls me towards him in one sharp move. His cock is pushed between my legs, searching. I realise to my utter self-disgust and shame, that I'm wet - so wet, but very tight still. He forces himself inside me, fighting for every inch. The blonde man is behind me, biting me, drawing blood, pinching my breasts, and playing with my body as if it's a toy. His cock starts to push insistently against my buttock cheeks, and then it's inside me, without lubrication, and it hurts. My two entrances are filled; I'm crushed in between them as they rhythmically beat me between them. They fuck me as if they're trying to punch a hole in me. They are both biting me now, torrents of blood pouring from my neck into their mouths. They climax at the same time, and thick hot warmth pours inside me until I feel as if I'm filling up and overflowing with it.
They pull out and suddenly I'm empty. My knees fold without their support and I collapse on the ground. As the room turns blacker, on the edge of consciousness I hear them say “that's warmed her up nicely, she should be able to accommodate him now. He always likes them broken in a little, first”.
Why was I taken? In a fragmented reverie afterwards, the half-dreaming where shadows turn to dust and the brightness and the cold is comforting, I wondered if it was because I had an empty space in my life. A strange sort of yearning for someone to take my hand and pull me, resisting, through the open door. A door through which I could see such glimpses, shapes which hinted at desire and fear and terror and need. Take me from the half-light into total darkness, cover me and close my eyes, fill me, my emptiness overflows, forever altered, wake me up, open me…
Was all of this what they saw in me, when they took me?
_______________________________________________________
I wake up and I'm not sure where I am. My head hurts and I remember something hitting it earlier. The room is dark; it looks like…some kind of cavern? I start to struggle as flashes of memory come to me, little bulbs of light exploding; talking to two men at the club, flirting, dancing, making it clear I wasn't taking it any further. Leaving on my own and starting to walk home. Then…some kind of accident? Did I fall?
My eyes start to adjust to the light and I start to come back to consciousness and a kind of clarity. My body is collapsed in a puddle on the rocky ground, my hands are in steel shackles attached to something over my head. My ankles are cuffed, and attached to a chain in the ground…what the fuck's going on? I start to panic and yank furiously at the chains - there must be some way out, some way of slipping out of them? I can feel already that my wrists will be bruised and they'll start to bleed soon - maybe the blood will help lubricate the chains and help me slip them. I don't shout or scream - it could only attract attention and I'm not sure what's happening yet.
A door closes, and my attention moves focus to the other side of the dark space. The two men from the club are sitting on a red leather sofa. They've been watching me all this time. They're smiling. One has short blonde hair, and he's slim but muscular, with a cruel face. The other is pretty looking, almost androgynous, with red wavy hair that falls almost to his waist. He looks kinder. I try to remember what to do in a kidnap situation - make a connection with your kidnappers, talk to them. What the hell do you say in a situation like this? I start with “let me out!”
The two men are talking, but not to me, to each other. They're discussing how pleased someone will be when he finds out what they've done. They're hoping it will earn them some status as he's been in a filthy mood recently. My escalating shouting starts to intrude, and they stand and walk towards me with such grace, I forget for a moment where I am. The blonde man pulls on the chains and I'm forced to my feet. The ankle cuffs hold my legs apart at an uncomfortable angle. He grabs my hair and pulls it back, sharply, and runs his face up my neck, breathing in. He steps back for a moment and smiles. I can see something in his mouth. Are those…his teeth? They're…sharp.
My head whips round to the redhead. He's smiling too, and his face no longer looks kind. His lips are drawn back in a smile, and his teeth look strange too. A sick feeling washes through me. With one blindingly fast move he rips my dress from my body so that I'm wearing only the shreds of my clothing, and my underwear. He forces my breasts out so that they balance on the cups of my bra. My knickers join the pile of shredded fabric, but he leaves my stockings intact. He starts unbuttoning his trousers, and I shake my head, speechless, and back away. But the chains won't let me move more than a few inches.
He brings an arm around my waist and pulls me towards him in one sharp move. His cock is pushed between my legs, searching. I realise to my utter self-disgust and shame, that I'm wet - so wet, but very tight still. He forces himself inside me, fighting for every inch. The blonde man is behind me, biting me, drawing blood, pinching my breasts, and playing with my body as if it's a toy. His cock starts to push insistently against my buttock cheeks, and then it's inside me, without lubrication, and it hurts. My two entrances are filled; I'm crushed in between them as they rhythmically beat me between them. They fuck me as if they're trying to punch a hole in me. They are both biting me now, torrents of blood pouring from my neck into their mouths. They climax at the same time, and thick hot warmth pours inside me until I feel as if I'm filling up and overflowing with it.
They pull out and suddenly I'm empty. My knees fold without their support and I collapse on the ground. As the room turns blacker, on the edge of consciousness I hear them say “that's warmed her up nicely, she should be able to accommodate him now. He always likes them broken in a little, first”.
Thursday, 4 June 2009
BDSM As Catharsis
I cry very easily, just like I laugh very easily. I experience very intense lows and highs in my emotions, and where my mind and heart go, my body follows. It's not so much wearing my heart on my sleeve, as holding it over my head like a giant neon sign from Vegas. But sometimes, when something's really bothering me, tears will fall easily but the really good howling bawl that I need, eludes me. Last week was difficult for me in lots of ways. Problems with work, family, an operation pending which was freaking me out. I drove up North and back in an unfamiliar car on saturday, then got lost in london for an hour, and that was less enjoyable than a slap in the face (see below). And I still couldn't sob my heart out like I needed to, even though I felt as if the need was almost poisoning me, like something toxic inside that just had to be GOT OUT.
It was with this mix boiling inside me that I went to Sweet Torments on saturday night. I knew N had something special planned for me, as it would be my last chance to play for a while, and I had a small idea of what it would involve, but I didn't know the details. We went with a friend and for the first couple of hours just enjoyed watching the play, taking in the atmosphere and catching up with people. As we walked in the door, we found a certain MT having her boots laced up by a young lothario I shall refer to only as 'MVn'. It's APPARENTLY my own fault, not MT's, that N banned me from the internet for three days last week, for online flirting. I'm saying NOTHING, but if MT hadn't teased so naughtily....well, let's just say I wouldn't have been in so much trouble!
ALSO, N said I couldn't even TOUCH the young lady in question, which I thought was most unfair, particularly as MT was living up to her name and practically giving me a lap dance, knowing full well I couldn't lay a finger on her. I ask you, really, is that right? Is it fair? WHY??!!!! The only answer I got from N was, as usual, 'Because I can, honey'!
I was sitting down, chatting and talking rubbish, when I suddenly got yanked backwards so hard by my hair I nearly fell off the seat. Her hand in my hair pulled me upright and marched me forward - and despite wobbling precariously on my heels, my body decided it had no choice but to follow orders. Before I knew it, she had my skirt pulled up, my arms and ankles cuffed securely to the frame on which I was perched facing forward, with my legs bent at the knees but spread and open, ready for whatever she chose to do to me. Which turned out to be - leaving me there for ten minutes while she went to chat to her friends and get a drink.
Fortunately my friend and partner in crime A was at hand to save me from the full implications of showing the entire room my thighs for this period of time, as she kept me company and to some extent, blocked the view.
When N had finished her social butterfly routine - sorry, I mean, essential networking activity - and deigned to return, she tried to get a blindfold on me. Due to my weird headspace, and the thumping din coming from the pub downstairs, it freaked me out, and so she let me go without it in return for promising to keep my eyes shut. She began some sensory play, and despite the fact that I was an EXTREMELY GOOD GIRL and kept my eyes shut all the time, I kept getting told off for opening them! Then I got the blindfold put back on as a punishment, and even though I was pretty sure she knew I hadn't opened my eyes, the uncertainty, the unfairness of it, made tears come. N sensed I was on the edge and before it went too far, she whispered in my ear 'we're playing', which stopped me from going too far into claustrophobia.
The next thing that happened took me close to tears again but only because I was nearly crying with laughter - a growly-gruff man voice in my ear asserted that I was a FILTHY LITTLE SLUT! I don't quite know why it was so funny, but it was a piece of comic timing that you just had to be there for!
N relented and took the blindfold off but I had to keep my eyes closed again. Which meant that when Mr Growly returned with what he claimed was a Very Big Knife, and ran it all over me, I couldn't see what was what. Now, N has got me like this before. The last time she ran something cold and metal all over me and claimed it was a knife, it turned out to be a teaspoon. So as much as I wanted to believe that the man stroking my face, running it between my legs over my knickers, and giving me goosebumps all down my arms, was using a bloody big knife - as I have what might be mildly described as a Bit of A Thing About Knives - I was damned if she was going to get me like that again, and I refused to make a fool of myself by moaning in an orgasmic haze over what would probably turn out to be a keyring in the shape of a teddy bear, this time.
However, after play was over and I evinced this opinion, N and my friend STILL swore that it was a big knife, and I STILL didn't believe them, so they called over Mr Growly, who showed me his ENORMOUS big weapon. Apparently my face was something of a picture. N thought this was hilarious, as while he was playing with me, she was watching and guessed what was going through my mind. 'She thinks it's a teaspoon! She thinks it's a teaspoon! If Imp opens her eyes while he's doing that and sees what he's really using, she's going to come right in his FACE!'
So that was all pretty awesome.
Later on, N had to run our friend A home, before she turned into a pumpkin. I stayed behind, doing my impression of a dog left outside a shop waiting for its person to come back - looking up excitedly every time someone new came in the door, and then sighing and slumping back into my seat again when I realised it wasn't her. I sat with some friends and the aforementioned young knave MVn, who was also doing his dog impression - but his version was more like a boy dog; thoroughly over-excited and determined to leave his mark on the world by humping every young ladies' leg and pissing on every lamppost. I suspect I fell into his lamppost category...
I'd been chatting earlier in the evening about face slapping, and how I'd never tried it but it did appeal to me. MVn then decided to give me a trial run, WITHOUT ASKING ME!!! The little shit. He speculated, 'I wonder what would happen if I slapped you now?' and his hand connected with my face at the same time as I replied 'Don't!' - I screeched 'OW!' as the sound of his palm hitting my flesh resounded round the room, and I stared at him all agog, heat flushing my face and everything else. Which I think was mostly rage, not arousal, I should point out.
MT looked at him like someone looks at a lobster being picked up by a chef, as I turned to him and said 'N. Is. Going. To Kill. You.' I've never seen anyone get on their knees in front of me and grovel so quickly.
After the excitement had settled down, and MVn had finished roughhousing with everyone in sight and buggered off, I was left chatting to a couple of people while I watched a suspension going on, a few feet away. Everything, every action, every expression, by the people involved, told a story. The suspension was one of the most beautiful things I've seen in my life. The woman's face was blissful, and it was so clear that the freedom, the sensations, were a kind of therapy in action. The person who had suspended her, and one other, were playing gently with her. I didn't think it was possible for my opinion of these two, who are highly respected on the scene, to get any higher, but that depth of compassion is a very special gift.
I found it very moving, and I went off for a quiet cry in the other room by myself. While I was there, I heard My Master's Voice (sic) and came rushing out, delighted and excited to have hunted down my N at the bar on her return.
It wasn't long before another friend, LF, came and found me, and with N's permission, took me to the other suspension frame and began putting rope around me. He bound me with my hands together in front, my arms at my sides, and my body decorated with rope that attached like a harness to the frame above. My ankles were tied together, with just enough space for hands to sneak inside and run up my thighs. She came to where we were standing, and stroked the skin at the back of my neck and shoulders with the sharp silver claws which slip over her fingertips. I closed my eyes and she slipped the blindfold on again as I leaned my head back against her, trusting her to take care of me. I knew MT was going to be doubling up with her at some point and I suspected after N had played with me to her fill, she'd hand me off for a short session, or the two of them would torture me together.
There was a pause while LF finished the ropework, and I felt the anticipation, my excitement, my fear, my tension, my arousal, all grow. He spoke in my ear and I was glad the ropes prevented me from falling, I got such a shock! Then I was soothed by hands which stroked me, the sensation of silver claws on my skin, running down my arms, my back. My head pulled far back by the hair, my lips falling open in response. Fingers on my thighs, touching, exploring, scratching me, on my skin everywhere, hurting, not hurting, pain, not pain. Teeth in my neck, biting down, hard. Time collapses, expands. Her fingers on me, lifting my skirt, lightly spanking, the nails digging in. Something metal and cold touching me...something hard and woven...ice, on my nipples, hurting my breasts, no, no I whisper, please don't...wanting it....not wanting it...
Then sensation turns to pain, more pain, and there are more hands on me. I'm being beaten from the front and the back at the same time, it hurts, it hurts so much, but it feels so utterly what should be happening now, what needs to happen now. And then, finally, the release. As if a tight band which has been growing tighter all week, constricting my chest and my throat, suddenly breaks. And whether I want to or not, I'm sobbing, crying out, the release is overwhelming, I've no choice, there's nothing I can do but cry and cry as N holds me tight, whispering comforting little words, holding me safe, making a place for me in which I can let it go, in this place, in this time, nothing can hurt me.
The scene winds down as LF quietly undoes the ropes, the others discretely check we're okay, and we are, I'm okay, I'm okay and I'm not held back by this choking need to sob as I have been, because I'm done, I'm finished. Quiet now, I float in a distant haze of tiredness and safety as N holds me tight and only lets go of me to pack up, and do what's necessary before she takes me home. She asks me at what point during the sensory play had I realised it was MT - and I slowly understood that they'd planned and schemed to trick me. All along I had thought it was N, and until the hurty toys came out, it hadn't been at all.
We sleep. The next day we're exhausted, and I'm over-emotional but it's okay because we both know why. I cry on and off throughout the day, absently, as if the last of the poison is leaking out by itself. I cry but I laugh too, easily and without effort, restored to my default settings. We drive through windsor and visit the queen's park, gently seeking the restorative surroundings of trees and green and earth smells underfoot.
N is driving down the lanes, and jokingly says 'open your door!' as we pass a young boy on a bike, and before my brain kicks in, I lean over to do it! Talk about pussy-whipped! Fortunately she grabs my wrist before I have murder on my conscience, but it just goes to show the depths of depravity she's taken me to.
On monday I go in for my operation, covered in beautiful bruises, but none are on my bottom so the surgeon has nothing to object to. With my terror siphoned off successfully on saturday, I'm able to remain calm, right up until the last minute, although I had a slight wobble as I went under the anaesthetic. I woke up in recovery to find it all went as well as can be expected.
I'm pretty sore now and it's hard to get comfy (in fact I've written this in short bursts, mostly standing up), but it's healing up well and it looks as if the scar will be smallish. I feel calm and very relaxed about the pain, which is nastily hurty most of the time but improving daily, and most importantly, isn't upsetting me. I can cope.
It was with this mix boiling inside me that I went to Sweet Torments on saturday night. I knew N had something special planned for me, as it would be my last chance to play for a while, and I had a small idea of what it would involve, but I didn't know the details. We went with a friend and for the first couple of hours just enjoyed watching the play, taking in the atmosphere and catching up with people. As we walked in the door, we found a certain MT having her boots laced up by a young lothario I shall refer to only as 'MVn'. It's APPARENTLY my own fault, not MT's, that N banned me from the internet for three days last week, for online flirting. I'm saying NOTHING, but if MT hadn't teased so naughtily....well, let's just say I wouldn't have been in so much trouble!
ALSO, N said I couldn't even TOUCH the young lady in question, which I thought was most unfair, particularly as MT was living up to her name and practically giving me a lap dance, knowing full well I couldn't lay a finger on her. I ask you, really, is that right? Is it fair? WHY??!!!! The only answer I got from N was, as usual, 'Because I can, honey'!
I was sitting down, chatting and talking rubbish, when I suddenly got yanked backwards so hard by my hair I nearly fell off the seat. Her hand in my hair pulled me upright and marched me forward - and despite wobbling precariously on my heels, my body decided it had no choice but to follow orders. Before I knew it, she had my skirt pulled up, my arms and ankles cuffed securely to the frame on which I was perched facing forward, with my legs bent at the knees but spread and open, ready for whatever she chose to do to me. Which turned out to be - leaving me there for ten minutes while she went to chat to her friends and get a drink.
Fortunately my friend and partner in crime A was at hand to save me from the full implications of showing the entire room my thighs for this period of time, as she kept me company and to some extent, blocked the view.
When N had finished her social butterfly routine - sorry, I mean, essential networking activity - and deigned to return, she tried to get a blindfold on me. Due to my weird headspace, and the thumping din coming from the pub downstairs, it freaked me out, and so she let me go without it in return for promising to keep my eyes shut. She began some sensory play, and despite the fact that I was an EXTREMELY GOOD GIRL and kept my eyes shut all the time, I kept getting told off for opening them! Then I got the blindfold put back on as a punishment, and even though I was pretty sure she knew I hadn't opened my eyes, the uncertainty, the unfairness of it, made tears come. N sensed I was on the edge and before it went too far, she whispered in my ear 'we're playing', which stopped me from going too far into claustrophobia.
The next thing that happened took me close to tears again but only because I was nearly crying with laughter - a growly-gruff man voice in my ear asserted that I was a FILTHY LITTLE SLUT! I don't quite know why it was so funny, but it was a piece of comic timing that you just had to be there for!
N relented and took the blindfold off but I had to keep my eyes closed again. Which meant that when Mr Growly returned with what he claimed was a Very Big Knife, and ran it all over me, I couldn't see what was what. Now, N has got me like this before. The last time she ran something cold and metal all over me and claimed it was a knife, it turned out to be a teaspoon. So as much as I wanted to believe that the man stroking my face, running it between my legs over my knickers, and giving me goosebumps all down my arms, was using a bloody big knife - as I have what might be mildly described as a Bit of A Thing About Knives - I was damned if she was going to get me like that again, and I refused to make a fool of myself by moaning in an orgasmic haze over what would probably turn out to be a keyring in the shape of a teddy bear, this time.
However, after play was over and I evinced this opinion, N and my friend STILL swore that it was a big knife, and I STILL didn't believe them, so they called over Mr Growly, who showed me his ENORMOUS big weapon. Apparently my face was something of a picture. N thought this was hilarious, as while he was playing with me, she was watching and guessed what was going through my mind. 'She thinks it's a teaspoon! She thinks it's a teaspoon! If Imp opens her eyes while he's doing that and sees what he's really using, she's going to come right in his FACE!'
So that was all pretty awesome.
Later on, N had to run our friend A home, before she turned into a pumpkin. I stayed behind, doing my impression of a dog left outside a shop waiting for its person to come back - looking up excitedly every time someone new came in the door, and then sighing and slumping back into my seat again when I realised it wasn't her. I sat with some friends and the aforementioned young knave MVn, who was also doing his dog impression - but his version was more like a boy dog; thoroughly over-excited and determined to leave his mark on the world by humping every young ladies' leg and pissing on every lamppost. I suspect I fell into his lamppost category...
I'd been chatting earlier in the evening about face slapping, and how I'd never tried it but it did appeal to me. MVn then decided to give me a trial run, WITHOUT ASKING ME!!! The little shit. He speculated, 'I wonder what would happen if I slapped you now?' and his hand connected with my face at the same time as I replied 'Don't!' - I screeched 'OW!' as the sound of his palm hitting my flesh resounded round the room, and I stared at him all agog, heat flushing my face and everything else. Which I think was mostly rage, not arousal, I should point out.
MT looked at him like someone looks at a lobster being picked up by a chef, as I turned to him and said 'N. Is. Going. To Kill. You.' I've never seen anyone get on their knees in front of me and grovel so quickly.
After the excitement had settled down, and MVn had finished roughhousing with everyone in sight and buggered off, I was left chatting to a couple of people while I watched a suspension going on, a few feet away. Everything, every action, every expression, by the people involved, told a story. The suspension was one of the most beautiful things I've seen in my life. The woman's face was blissful, and it was so clear that the freedom, the sensations, were a kind of therapy in action. The person who had suspended her, and one other, were playing gently with her. I didn't think it was possible for my opinion of these two, who are highly respected on the scene, to get any higher, but that depth of compassion is a very special gift.
I found it very moving, and I went off for a quiet cry in the other room by myself. While I was there, I heard My Master's Voice (sic) and came rushing out, delighted and excited to have hunted down my N at the bar on her return.
It wasn't long before another friend, LF, came and found me, and with N's permission, took me to the other suspension frame and began putting rope around me. He bound me with my hands together in front, my arms at my sides, and my body decorated with rope that attached like a harness to the frame above. My ankles were tied together, with just enough space for hands to sneak inside and run up my thighs. She came to where we were standing, and stroked the skin at the back of my neck and shoulders with the sharp silver claws which slip over her fingertips. I closed my eyes and she slipped the blindfold on again as I leaned my head back against her, trusting her to take care of me. I knew MT was going to be doubling up with her at some point and I suspected after N had played with me to her fill, she'd hand me off for a short session, or the two of them would torture me together.
There was a pause while LF finished the ropework, and I felt the anticipation, my excitement, my fear, my tension, my arousal, all grow. He spoke in my ear and I was glad the ropes prevented me from falling, I got such a shock! Then I was soothed by hands which stroked me, the sensation of silver claws on my skin, running down my arms, my back. My head pulled far back by the hair, my lips falling open in response. Fingers on my thighs, touching, exploring, scratching me, on my skin everywhere, hurting, not hurting, pain, not pain. Teeth in my neck, biting down, hard. Time collapses, expands. Her fingers on me, lifting my skirt, lightly spanking, the nails digging in. Something metal and cold touching me...something hard and woven...ice, on my nipples, hurting my breasts, no, no I whisper, please don't...wanting it....not wanting it...
Then sensation turns to pain, more pain, and there are more hands on me. I'm being beaten from the front and the back at the same time, it hurts, it hurts so much, but it feels so utterly what should be happening now, what needs to happen now. And then, finally, the release. As if a tight band which has been growing tighter all week, constricting my chest and my throat, suddenly breaks. And whether I want to or not, I'm sobbing, crying out, the release is overwhelming, I've no choice, there's nothing I can do but cry and cry as N holds me tight, whispering comforting little words, holding me safe, making a place for me in which I can let it go, in this place, in this time, nothing can hurt me.
The scene winds down as LF quietly undoes the ropes, the others discretely check we're okay, and we are, I'm okay, I'm okay and I'm not held back by this choking need to sob as I have been, because I'm done, I'm finished. Quiet now, I float in a distant haze of tiredness and safety as N holds me tight and only lets go of me to pack up, and do what's necessary before she takes me home. She asks me at what point during the sensory play had I realised it was MT - and I slowly understood that they'd planned and schemed to trick me. All along I had thought it was N, and until the hurty toys came out, it hadn't been at all.
We sleep. The next day we're exhausted, and I'm over-emotional but it's okay because we both know why. I cry on and off throughout the day, absently, as if the last of the poison is leaking out by itself. I cry but I laugh too, easily and without effort, restored to my default settings. We drive through windsor and visit the queen's park, gently seeking the restorative surroundings of trees and green and earth smells underfoot.
N is driving down the lanes, and jokingly says 'open your door!' as we pass a young boy on a bike, and before my brain kicks in, I lean over to do it! Talk about pussy-whipped! Fortunately she grabs my wrist before I have murder on my conscience, but it just goes to show the depths of depravity she's taken me to.
On monday I go in for my operation, covered in beautiful bruises, but none are on my bottom so the surgeon has nothing to object to. With my terror siphoned off successfully on saturday, I'm able to remain calm, right up until the last minute, although I had a slight wobble as I went under the anaesthetic. I woke up in recovery to find it all went as well as can be expected.
I'm pretty sore now and it's hard to get comfy (in fact I've written this in short bursts, mostly standing up), but it's healing up well and it looks as if the scar will be smallish. I feel calm and very relaxed about the pain, which is nastily hurty most of the time but improving daily, and most importantly, isn't upsetting me. I can cope.
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
What happened at Club Twisted
OR How I Got It Right and What I Learned From It
I went with N and friends to Club Twisted on sunday, and as a result, I felt like the pussy who creamed on monday (oh no, that's not quite right, is it?
First though, a bit of background. Okay, so I've got to have this annoying operation in a week's time. It involves a general anaesthetic and the removal of an area of skin and flesh at the bottom of my spine, and it'll be a few weeks until it's healed up. Due to the nature of the op, it's notoriously painful (which I can handle), and may leave a nasty looking scar, the size of which could be tiny or could be large but I won't know which it is until after the operation.I'm a bit emotional about it, if I'm honest, but it's one of those things that's got to be done. There are some things about it in particular which are fucking me off.
A) The idea of lying naked with my arse in the air on an operating table, unconscious, while people do disfiguring painful things to me while I can't stop them, makes me want to scream and run for the hills. Do. Not. Want!
B) the scar will be very fragile for a while and it'll be an uncertain number of weeks until I can have play on that whole area. Grrr! Just as I'm discovering this wonderful, fulfilling joy of being given a bloody good old beating on my bum, I have to stop for a bit! Argggh!
C) the scar will have to heal from the bottom up and may look horrible and huge. I'm so self-conscious about my body in a play situation that I honestly don't know how I'm going to feel about playing in public, or playing with anyone other than N, afterwards. Maybe it'll be a tiny scar, and I'll feel fine. Maybe I'll accept it and love my body no matter what it looks like. I just don't know. But maybe I won't want anyone to see, maybe it will change the way I feel about public play altogether. Just thinking about the way it might look makes me feel sad and very, very unsexy. And yes, I know that's grossly superficial and vain. But it's how I feel
So - how do I deal with A, B and C? Go and ask for something very painful to be done to my bum while I AM conscious and while I CAN stop it!
I asked N beforehand if I could have really hard play. I felt like I needed the release, the emotional intensity, as a way to channel my tension and fear. We went in a group to club Twisted, with some really lovely friends of N who I've met before. We spent some time chatting and socialising, and meeting some great, interesting people (like the man who ate his own finger, the TV with bum cheek implants, and the pussycat lady who made me do Automatic Cat Response - OMG lookatthecutepusscat!!!) before we played. There was something a little intimidating about the layout of the club, and I felt a bit uncomfortable, but we both felt we'd waited long enough and had to have it NOW even though the fire performance was going on at the same time. We were in a room made from fabric, which sectioned off the space, and N cuffed me to a metal version of the St Andrews Cross.
I was wearing a burlesque style corset, stockings, very high boots, ruffle pants, and nothing else, so she didn't even need to pull my skirt up to start playing. She gently pulled down my knickers and began. She knew exactly what I needed, and after a quick warm-up, she moved on to the hurtiest section of the toybox. Occasionally she would come to the front of the cross, and I couldn't resist forcing my lips on hers - she looks so beautiful with that expression of power on her face. I kissed her angrily, playing at hating her, in reality loving her, totally immersed in the moment, the pain, the intensity, the emotional and physical rush.
I was a little inhibited though, as I needed a good shout and scream, but felt it would be rather poor form to do this whilst the fire performance was going on. The last thing you need when you're swinging a flaming sword around your head is an unexpected noise distracting you! Also, as our scene wound down, I wanted - needed - to release the emotions by crying, but I just couldn't, not in this space, not in this unknown place in front of unknown people.
As N uncuffed me, my legs turned to jelly, and we went to sit down and recover. I craved physical touch, I wanted her arms around me. She tore herself away to get me a drink, and I reattached myself like a limpet to the nearest available kind hug-provider. Sound was phasing in and out - the strangest sensation. The noise was muffled and at a distance, almost as if I was wearing earplugs, or in the next room. Then suddenly it would seem startlingly loud. Then muffled again.
N returned and we sat where I could get right into a proper cuddle. I practically crawled into her lap, and closed my eyes as everything seemed too bright and shiny. I wanted HER touch more than anybody else's at that moment, it was absolutely RIGHT that she be next to me, feeling her skin, smelling her smell, hearing her voice. She says that my face changes completely after a play - that all the muscles relax, even the tiny ones around my mouth and eyes. I've noticed that she always looks even more incredible to me, after we've played, and wonder if her face changes too, or if it's my emotional state in relation to her that makes her seem so literally adorable.
I was cold so snuggled into her velvet jacket. It took me about an hour and a half to completely come round, before I felt able to stand up without falling over or shivering. And guess what I was angling for very shortly after that? Yup! Another go!
This time we used the cross on the main floor. I had a few moments of EEK! Run for the hills! because it was next to the stage, brightly lit, and with the seating arranged like a roman amphitheater around it, which made me feel a bit 'Oh my GOD, here's my ARSE everybody, why don't you just shine a SPOTLIGHT on it' but at the same time, if you're going to play in public, you at some level enjoy the audience, so you might as well have a large one, right? I'm perfectly capable of feeling multiple conflicting emotions at the same time, thankyou very much!
N cuffed me in, and began all over again, but with less of a warm-up as I was still relatively prepared from earlier. It was at the back of my mind to ask her for a less hard play, as I was still not 100% recovered from our previous scene, but I didn't, and I guess I must have known I really wanted to play hard again. N went easy on me, but because I was sore from the first session, it hurt like hell! Despite my best efforts, I couldn't keep my mouth shut and swore like a motherfucker. It's wonderful that she doesn't mind being called a bitch under those circumstances because she knows she can make me suffer for it.
I'm not sure how long it lasted as it passed in an eye-blink for me. We were close to finishing when I felt the early sensations of fainting, and said 'N...I feel funny'. 'What kind of funny?', she asked. 'Faint funny' I said, and so she immediately uncuffed me and helped me over to a sofa where I lay down with my feet up to help the blood run back to my head.
Did you see what I did there? I detected the early signs of something undesirable happening, let N know, and we stopped! Go me! I really have learnt something from my experience at Guilty Pleasures! If I'd needed to, I would have safeworded, but because N knows me so well, she stopped the scene right there. I'm still getting the whole safewording area sussed, and I'm not confident I could have pulled off the same trick if I'd been playing with someone other than N, but at that time and place, I Got It Right. Go Team!
I lay down until I felt less sick, faint and breathless. N got me a drink, while I snuggled with a lovely Dom we met earlier. He was soooo nice to cuddle with. I really liked his vibe as he had a lovely quiet authority - very non-showy and not in-your-face. I find it satisfying on quite a basic level to be around alpha males who are so confident in themselves that they don't need to be making a song and dance about it, but you feel they are trustworthy.
My N came back and I re-limpetified myself to her. The club was closing and so I scraped myself together and limped out to the taxi. When we got back to our friend's place who had kindly offered to put us up for the night, there suddenly seemed to be about a hundred people in the house, all noise and brightness and shiny colours. Arrrgh. It was a bit much, so I bolted upstairs to bed, where I fell asleep in about two seconds.
The next day I felt like I had the Worst Hangover In the World, which, considering I didn't have any alchohol, made me feel quite annoyed. This was compounded by collecting a friend from Lakeland on the way back. There's nothing worse than pushing your way through a crowd of chavs in a shopping mall when you've had three cups of tea and no breakfast. It must have been even worse for N, as she was driving and couldn't just feebly close her eyes and pull her sunglasses on.
When we got back to N's house, she gave me what I think was probably the best, and certainly the noisiest, orgasm I've ever had. Followed by a short spanking session which has thoroughly converted me to hand spanking. 'Whack! - groan, smack! - moan, Whack! - ahhhh, Smack! - ooooooohh'. Her poor neighbour next door must have been wanking himself inside out to the sounds coming through the wall.
I can't even begin to describe how satisfied I felt after the weekend's fun. I felt - and still feel - fulfilled in places I never knew existed!
I'm going to Sweet Torments on saturday, and even though I can't sustain much bruising, certainly not on my bottom, due to the operation coming up - I'll lap up any sweet release my darling N sees fit to allow me.
I went with N and friends to Club Twisted on sunday, and as a result, I felt like the pussy who creamed on monday (oh no, that's not quite right, is it?
First though, a bit of background. Okay, so I've got to have this annoying operation in a week's time. It involves a general anaesthetic and the removal of an area of skin and flesh at the bottom of my spine, and it'll be a few weeks until it's healed up. Due to the nature of the op, it's notoriously painful (which I can handle), and may leave a nasty looking scar, the size of which could be tiny or could be large but I won't know which it is until after the operation.I'm a bit emotional about it, if I'm honest, but it's one of those things that's got to be done. There are some things about it in particular which are fucking me off.
A) The idea of lying naked with my arse in the air on an operating table, unconscious, while people do disfiguring painful things to me while I can't stop them, makes me want to scream and run for the hills. Do. Not. Want!
B) the scar will be very fragile for a while and it'll be an uncertain number of weeks until I can have play on that whole area. Grrr! Just as I'm discovering this wonderful, fulfilling joy of being given a bloody good old beating on my bum, I have to stop for a bit! Argggh!
C) the scar will have to heal from the bottom up and may look horrible and huge. I'm so self-conscious about my body in a play situation that I honestly don't know how I'm going to feel about playing in public, or playing with anyone other than N, afterwards. Maybe it'll be a tiny scar, and I'll feel fine. Maybe I'll accept it and love my body no matter what it looks like. I just don't know. But maybe I won't want anyone to see, maybe it will change the way I feel about public play altogether. Just thinking about the way it might look makes me feel sad and very, very unsexy. And yes, I know that's grossly superficial and vain. But it's how I feel
So - how do I deal with A, B and C? Go and ask for something very painful to be done to my bum while I AM conscious and while I CAN stop it!
I asked N beforehand if I could have really hard play. I felt like I needed the release, the emotional intensity, as a way to channel my tension and fear. We went in a group to club Twisted, with some really lovely friends of N who I've met before. We spent some time chatting and socialising, and meeting some great, interesting people (like the man who ate his own finger, the TV with bum cheek implants, and the pussycat lady who made me do Automatic Cat Response - OMG lookatthecutepusscat!!!) before we played. There was something a little intimidating about the layout of the club, and I felt a bit uncomfortable, but we both felt we'd waited long enough and had to have it NOW even though the fire performance was going on at the same time. We were in a room made from fabric, which sectioned off the space, and N cuffed me to a metal version of the St Andrews Cross.
I was wearing a burlesque style corset, stockings, very high boots, ruffle pants, and nothing else, so she didn't even need to pull my skirt up to start playing. She gently pulled down my knickers and began. She knew exactly what I needed, and after a quick warm-up, she moved on to the hurtiest section of the toybox. Occasionally she would come to the front of the cross, and I couldn't resist forcing my lips on hers - she looks so beautiful with that expression of power on her face. I kissed her angrily, playing at hating her, in reality loving her, totally immersed in the moment, the pain, the intensity, the emotional and physical rush.
I was a little inhibited though, as I needed a good shout and scream, but felt it would be rather poor form to do this whilst the fire performance was going on. The last thing you need when you're swinging a flaming sword around your head is an unexpected noise distracting you! Also, as our scene wound down, I wanted - needed - to release the emotions by crying, but I just couldn't, not in this space, not in this unknown place in front of unknown people.
As N uncuffed me, my legs turned to jelly, and we went to sit down and recover. I craved physical touch, I wanted her arms around me. She tore herself away to get me a drink, and I reattached myself like a limpet to the nearest available kind hug-provider. Sound was phasing in and out - the strangest sensation. The noise was muffled and at a distance, almost as if I was wearing earplugs, or in the next room. Then suddenly it would seem startlingly loud. Then muffled again.
N returned and we sat where I could get right into a proper cuddle. I practically crawled into her lap, and closed my eyes as everything seemed too bright and shiny. I wanted HER touch more than anybody else's at that moment, it was absolutely RIGHT that she be next to me, feeling her skin, smelling her smell, hearing her voice. She says that my face changes completely after a play - that all the muscles relax, even the tiny ones around my mouth and eyes. I've noticed that she always looks even more incredible to me, after we've played, and wonder if her face changes too, or if it's my emotional state in relation to her that makes her seem so literally adorable.
I was cold so snuggled into her velvet jacket. It took me about an hour and a half to completely come round, before I felt able to stand up without falling over or shivering. And guess what I was angling for very shortly after that? Yup! Another go!
This time we used the cross on the main floor. I had a few moments of EEK! Run for the hills! because it was next to the stage, brightly lit, and with the seating arranged like a roman amphitheater around it, which made me feel a bit 'Oh my GOD, here's my ARSE everybody, why don't you just shine a SPOTLIGHT on it' but at the same time, if you're going to play in public, you at some level enjoy the audience, so you might as well have a large one, right? I'm perfectly capable of feeling multiple conflicting emotions at the same time, thankyou very much!
N cuffed me in, and began all over again, but with less of a warm-up as I was still relatively prepared from earlier. It was at the back of my mind to ask her for a less hard play, as I was still not 100% recovered from our previous scene, but I didn't, and I guess I must have known I really wanted to play hard again. N went easy on me, but because I was sore from the first session, it hurt like hell! Despite my best efforts, I couldn't keep my mouth shut and swore like a motherfucker. It's wonderful that she doesn't mind being called a bitch under those circumstances because she knows she can make me suffer for it.
I'm not sure how long it lasted as it passed in an eye-blink for me. We were close to finishing when I felt the early sensations of fainting, and said 'N...I feel funny'. 'What kind of funny?', she asked. 'Faint funny' I said, and so she immediately uncuffed me and helped me over to a sofa where I lay down with my feet up to help the blood run back to my head.
Did you see what I did there? I detected the early signs of something undesirable happening, let N know, and we stopped! Go me! I really have learnt something from my experience at Guilty Pleasures! If I'd needed to, I would have safeworded, but because N knows me so well, she stopped the scene right there. I'm still getting the whole safewording area sussed, and I'm not confident I could have pulled off the same trick if I'd been playing with someone other than N, but at that time and place, I Got It Right. Go Team!
I lay down until I felt less sick, faint and breathless. N got me a drink, while I snuggled with a lovely Dom we met earlier. He was soooo nice to cuddle with. I really liked his vibe as he had a lovely quiet authority - very non-showy and not in-your-face. I find it satisfying on quite a basic level to be around alpha males who are so confident in themselves that they don't need to be making a song and dance about it, but you feel they are trustworthy.
My N came back and I re-limpetified myself to her. The club was closing and so I scraped myself together and limped out to the taxi. When we got back to our friend's place who had kindly offered to put us up for the night, there suddenly seemed to be about a hundred people in the house, all noise and brightness and shiny colours. Arrrgh. It was a bit much, so I bolted upstairs to bed, where I fell asleep in about two seconds.
The next day I felt like I had the Worst Hangover In the World, which, considering I didn't have any alchohol, made me feel quite annoyed. This was compounded by collecting a friend from Lakeland on the way back. There's nothing worse than pushing your way through a crowd of chavs in a shopping mall when you've had three cups of tea and no breakfast. It must have been even worse for N, as she was driving and couldn't just feebly close her eyes and pull her sunglasses on.
When we got back to N's house, she gave me what I think was probably the best, and certainly the noisiest, orgasm I've ever had. Followed by a short spanking session which has thoroughly converted me to hand spanking. 'Whack! - groan, smack! - moan, Whack! - ahhhh, Smack! - ooooooohh'. Her poor neighbour next door must have been wanking himself inside out to the sounds coming through the wall.
I can't even begin to describe how satisfied I felt after the weekend's fun. I felt - and still feel - fulfilled in places I never knew existed!
I'm going to Sweet Torments on saturday, and even though I can't sustain much bruising, certainly not on my bottom, due to the operation coming up - I'll lap up any sweet release my darling N sees fit to allow me.
Monday, 25 May 2009
And crashing down again…
[an extract from an email to Ness, I’d forgotten how tumultuous my emotions were in those first few months, reading this brings it all back again. This was shortly after I’d found out I had to have a fairly major operation at the start of June, and after I found out it had become necessary to cancel some of the play clubs we were planning on attending just before my op.]
…but hey - there always seems to be some reason or another why it’s a bad idea for me to pause, catch my breath, and try to reflect on stuff going on in my head so I can try and share it with you. There never seems to be a good moment to find a moment for self-reflection. But there’s stuff that needs to come out, and it might as well be now as any other time since there’s always so much going on in our lives as we plough hectically along.
I just want to try and make some sense of my experiences, my emotions, and I want you to be a part of that. There are so many thoughts and feelings tumbling around I feel as if I’m going slightly mad. I’ve gone on such an emotional rollercoaster over the last couple of months. Two months ago I was staid, sensible, ‘those crazy rock and roll days are behind me now, I don’t stay out after 10pm, not at my time of life, but hey in my day I knew how to party’. Sane, sorted, wise friend, provider of good advice, a warm and generous person to be relied upon to care about and care for those people who mattered to her - and even those that didn’t. Putting others first, in touch with her feelings. Knows herself well. Stable, minimal emotional baggage, have worked through it all in my time, thankyou. Duty first, committed absolutely to my family, my work. Responsible - can absolutely be relied upon to do what she says she’ll do.
Then - within a month - I’m rediscovering energy I haven’t had since my early twenties. I’m being grossly irresponsible - staying out late, burning the candle at both ends. I’m not putting the energy or emotional commitment into work that I was previously. I’m getting so wrapped up in what I’m doing, I’m forgetting to text R, forgetting my phone, not letting him know I’m safe, not paying him enough attention. But I’m having the most wonderful, fun time. I’m feeling as if I’ve got the wisdom of my thirties and the enthusiasm and energy I remember from the twenties. I’m enjoying going out socialising again, I’m making new friends every day, I’m taking pride in my appearance. I’m trying new things and enjoying them more than I ever dreamed of. I’ve having FUN for the first time in a very long time. I’m beginning to feel attractive for the first time in a very long time. I feel…INTERESTING. I’ve got a secret, and it’s very exciting. Everyone notices. I’m losing weight - I’m sleeping less - I’m moving differently and holding myself with pride. I’m having a really, really good time. I’ve met someone special. I’m falling in love.
I’m looking at the future, and for the first time in years, it looks appealing. I’m looking forward to things with excitement. I’m leaving work on time - or if I stay late, it’s because I’m IM’ing YOU, not because I’m working overtime and stressing about leaving before I’ve finished what I need to do. Or staying working overtime because R’s out/ won’t be back for a few hours, and I simply have nothing better to do. Instead, I’m rushing off, filled with excitement, looking forward to an evening spent meeting new people, or going out with you, or just going home and enjoying the peace because I’ve got other things to compare it with - I’m not just spending yet another evening on my own in the house, alone with the cats.
I’m changing, my life is changing. I feel adrift, not sure who I am. I feel clingy and needy and I don’t like it. You’ve broken down my defences, one by one, and I’m now incredibly vulnerable. All the layers of armour, all the walls that protect the fragile, over-sensitive self I hide away from everyone but R - they’re breaking and falling apart, and I feel as if I am, too. I’ve destroyed relationships before through being too needy, too fucked up, and I’m scared of it happening again. I could hold myself together far better - put some of the armour back, keep the walls up, but it’s difficult. Do I want to? Do you want me to? I let you hurt me until I sobbed with pain. If I put some of the walls back around my soul again, I’ll never be able to experience that release again - I wouldn’t let myself cry in front of you. I’m horrified by the idea that you might stay with me out of pity.
What I’m saying doesn’t invalidate the fact that you are going through a whirlwind, emotions upside down, big thing too. You’ve got loads of changes going on in your life, you’ve just as much going on as me. So please know that I acknowledge that, I’m just taking a moment out to think about how I’m feeling about things.
I’m fighting a passionate urge to withdraw from you so you can’t hurt me, you can’t crush the fragile butterfly emerging from this new me. Part of me wants to return to who I was before I ever met you, before I ever discovered the scene or anything else, and just carry on with my boring, reliable life. And yet more than this, more than anything, I feel this deep need to be with you - to move past this stage and get to the next, where I’m more settled, secure in your love, and you are secure in mine. I want to spend every free moment with you. But I can’t - for all sorts of reasons - and I’m going to get to spend even less time with you than I thought I would, this month. Perhaps I’m a hopeless optimist, but something in me believes that once all the layers of defences are finally scoured off, burnt away, then you’ll wrap my soul in fluffy, warm things, and I’ll emerge as something more beautiful than I ever was before. In the meantime though, I seem to be a complete bloody mess and if I can get through the day without crying, it’s a bloody miracle.
I don’t know. I just want to get back some equilibrium. I want everyone to be happy. I want to spend as much time as possible with you without pissing R off. I want to not go mental again. I want to not have this operation. I want to not have it during my busiest month at work. I want you to cane me until I cry again. I want that a lot. I don’t expect you would realise, but sunday would have been the last chance for us to play before my operation - in that way, at least. I think I told you yesterday - I am craving it. I see long hours, weeks, months, stretching out in front of me with little to look forward to, a lot of pain and stress, and not much to mitigate against that.
I don’t want to be behaving like this, I’d rather have a bit of dignity, but having voluntarily made myself vulnerable in so many different ways - risking rejection from meeting new people, all the socialising I’ve been doing (new people might hate me, I might offend people I’ve met and am spending time with), going out in public in short skirts, outfits that say ‘yeah, I wouldn’t wear this if I didn’t think I looked good (setting myself up for people thinking / telling me that I don’t look as good as I think I do), letting people see my body, my reactions, in public when I play (they might be disgusted, unimpressed, think badly of me) when I express my sexual desires, talk dirty, text you, email you, write about my adventures and my fantasies (might sound stupid, might be laughed at, might get reaction of disgust, disapproval, disbelief), shared my thoughts, my past, my music, my memories, my feelings, my body with you (whole bucket of ways I could be rejected by you, there). I’ve been so brave. It’s been so hard. Guess I see my time with you as a reward for that.
…but hey - there always seems to be some reason or another why it’s a bad idea for me to pause, catch my breath, and try to reflect on stuff going on in my head so I can try and share it with you. There never seems to be a good moment to find a moment for self-reflection. But there’s stuff that needs to come out, and it might as well be now as any other time since there’s always so much going on in our lives as we plough hectically along.
I just want to try and make some sense of my experiences, my emotions, and I want you to be a part of that. There are so many thoughts and feelings tumbling around I feel as if I’m going slightly mad. I’ve gone on such an emotional rollercoaster over the last couple of months. Two months ago I was staid, sensible, ‘those crazy rock and roll days are behind me now, I don’t stay out after 10pm, not at my time of life, but hey in my day I knew how to party’. Sane, sorted, wise friend, provider of good advice, a warm and generous person to be relied upon to care about and care for those people who mattered to her - and even those that didn’t. Putting others first, in touch with her feelings. Knows herself well. Stable, minimal emotional baggage, have worked through it all in my time, thankyou. Duty first, committed absolutely to my family, my work. Responsible - can absolutely be relied upon to do what she says she’ll do.
Then - within a month - I’m rediscovering energy I haven’t had since my early twenties. I’m being grossly irresponsible - staying out late, burning the candle at both ends. I’m not putting the energy or emotional commitment into work that I was previously. I’m getting so wrapped up in what I’m doing, I’m forgetting to text R, forgetting my phone, not letting him know I’m safe, not paying him enough attention. But I’m having the most wonderful, fun time. I’m feeling as if I’ve got the wisdom of my thirties and the enthusiasm and energy I remember from the twenties. I’m enjoying going out socialising again, I’m making new friends every day, I’m taking pride in my appearance. I’m trying new things and enjoying them more than I ever dreamed of. I’ve having FUN for the first time in a very long time. I’m beginning to feel attractive for the first time in a very long time. I feel…INTERESTING. I’ve got a secret, and it’s very exciting. Everyone notices. I’m losing weight - I’m sleeping less - I’m moving differently and holding myself with pride. I’m having a really, really good time. I’ve met someone special. I’m falling in love.
I’m looking at the future, and for the first time in years, it looks appealing. I’m looking forward to things with excitement. I’m leaving work on time - or if I stay late, it’s because I’m IM’ing YOU, not because I’m working overtime and stressing about leaving before I’ve finished what I need to do. Or staying working overtime because R’s out/ won’t be back for a few hours, and I simply have nothing better to do. Instead, I’m rushing off, filled with excitement, looking forward to an evening spent meeting new people, or going out with you, or just going home and enjoying the peace because I’ve got other things to compare it with - I’m not just spending yet another evening on my own in the house, alone with the cats.
I’m changing, my life is changing. I feel adrift, not sure who I am. I feel clingy and needy and I don’t like it. You’ve broken down my defences, one by one, and I’m now incredibly vulnerable. All the layers of armour, all the walls that protect the fragile, over-sensitive self I hide away from everyone but R - they’re breaking and falling apart, and I feel as if I am, too. I’ve destroyed relationships before through being too needy, too fucked up, and I’m scared of it happening again. I could hold myself together far better - put some of the armour back, keep the walls up, but it’s difficult. Do I want to? Do you want me to? I let you hurt me until I sobbed with pain. If I put some of the walls back around my soul again, I’ll never be able to experience that release again - I wouldn’t let myself cry in front of you. I’m horrified by the idea that you might stay with me out of pity.
What I’m saying doesn’t invalidate the fact that you are going through a whirlwind, emotions upside down, big thing too. You’ve got loads of changes going on in your life, you’ve just as much going on as me. So please know that I acknowledge that, I’m just taking a moment out to think about how I’m feeling about things.
I’m fighting a passionate urge to withdraw from you so you can’t hurt me, you can’t crush the fragile butterfly emerging from this new me. Part of me wants to return to who I was before I ever met you, before I ever discovered the scene or anything else, and just carry on with my boring, reliable life. And yet more than this, more than anything, I feel this deep need to be with you - to move past this stage and get to the next, where I’m more settled, secure in your love, and you are secure in mine. I want to spend every free moment with you. But I can’t - for all sorts of reasons - and I’m going to get to spend even less time with you than I thought I would, this month. Perhaps I’m a hopeless optimist, but something in me believes that once all the layers of defences are finally scoured off, burnt away, then you’ll wrap my soul in fluffy, warm things, and I’ll emerge as something more beautiful than I ever was before. In the meantime though, I seem to be a complete bloody mess and if I can get through the day without crying, it’s a bloody miracle.
I don’t know. I just want to get back some equilibrium. I want everyone to be happy. I want to spend as much time as possible with you without pissing R off. I want to not go mental again. I want to not have this operation. I want to not have it during my busiest month at work. I want you to cane me until I cry again. I want that a lot. I don’t expect you would realise, but sunday would have been the last chance for us to play before my operation - in that way, at least. I think I told you yesterday - I am craving it. I see long hours, weeks, months, stretching out in front of me with little to look forward to, a lot of pain and stress, and not much to mitigate against that.
I don’t want to be behaving like this, I’d rather have a bit of dignity, but having voluntarily made myself vulnerable in so many different ways - risking rejection from meeting new people, all the socialising I’ve been doing (new people might hate me, I might offend people I’ve met and am spending time with), going out in public in short skirts, outfits that say ‘yeah, I wouldn’t wear this if I didn’t think I looked good (setting myself up for people thinking / telling me that I don’t look as good as I think I do), letting people see my body, my reactions, in public when I play (they might be disgusted, unimpressed, think badly of me) when I express my sexual desires, talk dirty, text you, email you, write about my adventures and my fantasies (might sound stupid, might be laughed at, might get reaction of disgust, disapproval, disbelief), shared my thoughts, my past, my music, my memories, my feelings, my body with you (whole bucket of ways I could be rejected by you, there). I’ve been so brave. It’s been so hard. Guess I see my time with you as a reward for that.
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
The first time I played so hard I cried from pain
To really explain this little episode, I have to go back to the night before, at the LAM after party. This was my second go on LAM, and I just could not get my head round what a different experience it was, for me. I just had *such* a great time, with - for once - minimal conflict. My first LAM was terrifying, intimidating, liberating, devastating...this LAM was relaxed, fun, full of pleasure and new found confidence and new experiences and all things scrumptious which I just want to put into a little box in my brain marked 'stuff to look at when life is boring and I want a naughty little thrill'.
Equipped with a new pair of black ruffle knickers bought for me by N, who insisted I show them off to everyone, my bum received a preposterous amount of attention that night. I'm very ambiguous about that part of my body, which I've always perceived to be far too large and sticky-outy to be attractive. In my thirties, I'm starting to come to terms with it, and so I'll show it off if I'm feeling loved and wanted. It seems to get quite a lot of compliments which go a long way towards mitigating my 'does my bum look big in this?' neurosis. Having said that, my body confidence is a very fragile thing, and I'll not be coming out of the toilets any time soon if I think someone's made a nasty crack about me. Pass the tissues under the door on your way out, I've used up all the loo roll crying. Yes, I can do the social confidence thing, and pull off the act pretty well, I hope. When I'm feeling welcomed and liked, I blossom. When I feel people are judging me and finding me wanting, I curl up and withdraw. I've got minimal body modesty normally, and will quite happily throw off my clothes and pad about naked in most situations, given half a chance. Unless it's a situation in which I think people are judging my attractiveness, a sexual situation, in private or public. It's at that point I need to really fight to overcome my shyness and allow myself to enjoy the opportunity despite feeling very vulnerable.
So I guess what I'm saying is - this LAM round, I was in my happy place, felt comfortable and with people who made me feel good about myself and whose company I really enjoyed, and so it was that much easier to get my bum out for perusal.
N played with me on the St Andrews Cross. She cuffed me to it at the wrists and ankles and we had quite a hard play, which I enjoyed every second of. At one point, S popped up in front of me and grinned - she is one hell of a woman! I didn't know whether I wanted to spit in her eye or scream like a girl, so I settled for blushing and hiding my head against the frame. There are very few women who can make me blush and duck my head, of whom N is first and foremost but S pulled it off twice that night!
God, what it is about that cross that just turns me on so much? It must be my favourite piece of equipment so far. I can feel myself going Very Wrong with anticipation even before I'm cuffed to it. And being cuffed to it is part of the fun - how else am I going to struggle so much without the cuffs? I'll tell you what though, they make these things for tall people, not for little shorties like me. It's a good thing I like a nice high platform boot because otherwise I'd never be able to reach the restraints! They need to think about making them a bit sturdier, too - I nearly toppled it over a few times, which is going to end in tears one day - and not nice sexy crying tears either, more like 'oh fuck I've broken my leg' tears.
I love it so much that I wanted another go after I'd recovered a bit, and so my lovely friend A was kind enough to oblige, since N was busy gossiping (sorry, discussing important matters of state...). She's the first woman apart from N that I've played with in public, and as she's first and foremost me old mucker, it was slightly wierd at first. Good though! She's such a softie that every time I went 'ouch!' she came round and cuddled me and checked I was okay. Bless her. It wasn't long before she got into her sadist mode, and that was fun. She'd picked up a lovely new flogger that she used on me and the funniest bit was where she said 'you do realise I'm flogging you to Enya, don't you? I suppose we lose all our goth points for this'. I laughed so much I nearly had to safeword! Then she carries on with 'you should think yourself lucky - I once flogged someone to the sound of Chris D'Burgh. And made them recite the lyrics'. Some people are sick - just SICK!
The evening was topped off with a lovely young lady getting an OTK spanking with her head in my lap. Crikey.
Anyway, the point of all this rambling is to explain that I had quite an impressively sore bottom the next day, and slept in a treat after a couple of pretty hard plays. The plan was to get up, and go off to a festival day nearby. Didn't happen though, mostly because I'm such a slapper even two nice hard goes on being tied up and beaten weren't enough for me, and I gave N the ole' big eyes routine and so, after 5 large cups of tea and 3 breakfasts, I found myself grabbed by the scruff of my neck and put firmly over the sofa while N experimented with her quirt.
I was wearing nothing but a pure silk kimono, and bent over on my knees with my head against the back of the sofa, and my bruised bottom up in the air. I've been so surprised at how I respond to being beaten - I should have got over the shock by now - but I was still taken aback by my reaction as I moaned little pain whimpers and noises of pleasure, all at the same time. I made increasingly loud pain sounds for N as she hit me where I was so sore already. Her hand on my head, above me, pressing me down. As the pain increased, I started crawling further and further into the sofa and away from the toy hurting me. She would stop and say 'Imp. Get back here. Now'. I would whimper and reluctantly moved back into the right stance. I began curling up into a ball - she stopped me with her voice and her hand on the back of my neck. By the end, each stroke hurt so intensely I couldn't help but cry out, and keep crying out for moments afterwards as the shock and pain from each blow took time to fade. She somehow knew this was the right time to push my limits, that I needed it, wanted it, before I even knew that it was what I needed and wanted.
As we finished, for the first time as an adult, I cried with pain, without holding back, and the purity of release was blissful. She held me, and comforted me, and slipped her hand between my legs. 'Imp!' she cried, in tones of shock. 'You really enjoyed that, didn't you?!'
Afterwards, I felt obscenely tired, and worn out just from climbing the few stairs to bed. I slept, and then for several days after I was headachey and cold, very tearful and oversensitive, achey and sad. And very hungry all the time, too. I don't know how much this was related - it may have been more connected to the fact that I started my period a few days later (two weeks earlier than expected). I also craved, and still crave, a repeat of the experience. If I could have it again right now, I would do. Want. Need. Must have - NOW!
Hmmm, I'm going to Club Twisted this weekend. *starts practicing big eyes and wobbly lip*
Equipped with a new pair of black ruffle knickers bought for me by N, who insisted I show them off to everyone, my bum received a preposterous amount of attention that night. I'm very ambiguous about that part of my body, which I've always perceived to be far too large and sticky-outy to be attractive. In my thirties, I'm starting to come to terms with it, and so I'll show it off if I'm feeling loved and wanted. It seems to get quite a lot of compliments which go a long way towards mitigating my 'does my bum look big in this?' neurosis. Having said that, my body confidence is a very fragile thing, and I'll not be coming out of the toilets any time soon if I think someone's made a nasty crack about me. Pass the tissues under the door on your way out, I've used up all the loo roll crying. Yes, I can do the social confidence thing, and pull off the act pretty well, I hope. When I'm feeling welcomed and liked, I blossom. When I feel people are judging me and finding me wanting, I curl up and withdraw. I've got minimal body modesty normally, and will quite happily throw off my clothes and pad about naked in most situations, given half a chance. Unless it's a situation in which I think people are judging my attractiveness, a sexual situation, in private or public. It's at that point I need to really fight to overcome my shyness and allow myself to enjoy the opportunity despite feeling very vulnerable.
So I guess what I'm saying is - this LAM round, I was in my happy place, felt comfortable and with people who made me feel good about myself and whose company I really enjoyed, and so it was that much easier to get my bum out for perusal.
N played with me on the St Andrews Cross. She cuffed me to it at the wrists and ankles and we had quite a hard play, which I enjoyed every second of. At one point, S popped up in front of me and grinned - she is one hell of a woman! I didn't know whether I wanted to spit in her eye or scream like a girl, so I settled for blushing and hiding my head against the frame. There are very few women who can make me blush and duck my head, of whom N is first and foremost but S pulled it off twice that night!
God, what it is about that cross that just turns me on so much? It must be my favourite piece of equipment so far. I can feel myself going Very Wrong with anticipation even before I'm cuffed to it. And being cuffed to it is part of the fun - how else am I going to struggle so much without the cuffs? I'll tell you what though, they make these things for tall people, not for little shorties like me. It's a good thing I like a nice high platform boot because otherwise I'd never be able to reach the restraints! They need to think about making them a bit sturdier, too - I nearly toppled it over a few times, which is going to end in tears one day - and not nice sexy crying tears either, more like 'oh fuck I've broken my leg' tears.
I love it so much that I wanted another go after I'd recovered a bit, and so my lovely friend A was kind enough to oblige, since N was busy gossiping (sorry, discussing important matters of state...). She's the first woman apart from N that I've played with in public, and as she's first and foremost me old mucker, it was slightly wierd at first. Good though! She's such a softie that every time I went 'ouch!' she came round and cuddled me and checked I was okay. Bless her. It wasn't long before she got into her sadist mode, and that was fun. She'd picked up a lovely new flogger that she used on me and the funniest bit was where she said 'you do realise I'm flogging you to Enya, don't you? I suppose we lose all our goth points for this'. I laughed so much I nearly had to safeword! Then she carries on with 'you should think yourself lucky - I once flogged someone to the sound of Chris D'Burgh. And made them recite the lyrics'. Some people are sick - just SICK!
The evening was topped off with a lovely young lady getting an OTK spanking with her head in my lap. Crikey.
Anyway, the point of all this rambling is to explain that I had quite an impressively sore bottom the next day, and slept in a treat after a couple of pretty hard plays. The plan was to get up, and go off to a festival day nearby. Didn't happen though, mostly because I'm such a slapper even two nice hard goes on being tied up and beaten weren't enough for me, and I gave N the ole' big eyes routine and so, after 5 large cups of tea and 3 breakfasts, I found myself grabbed by the scruff of my neck and put firmly over the sofa while N experimented with her quirt.
I was wearing nothing but a pure silk kimono, and bent over on my knees with my head against the back of the sofa, and my bruised bottom up in the air. I've been so surprised at how I respond to being beaten - I should have got over the shock by now - but I was still taken aback by my reaction as I moaned little pain whimpers and noises of pleasure, all at the same time. I made increasingly loud pain sounds for N as she hit me where I was so sore already. Her hand on my head, above me, pressing me down. As the pain increased, I started crawling further and further into the sofa and away from the toy hurting me. She would stop and say 'Imp. Get back here. Now'. I would whimper and reluctantly moved back into the right stance. I began curling up into a ball - she stopped me with her voice and her hand on the back of my neck. By the end, each stroke hurt so intensely I couldn't help but cry out, and keep crying out for moments afterwards as the shock and pain from each blow took time to fade. She somehow knew this was the right time to push my limits, that I needed it, wanted it, before I even knew that it was what I needed and wanted.
As we finished, for the first time as an adult, I cried with pain, without holding back, and the purity of release was blissful. She held me, and comforted me, and slipped her hand between my legs. 'Imp!' she cried, in tones of shock. 'You really enjoyed that, didn't you?!'
Afterwards, I felt obscenely tired, and worn out just from climbing the few stairs to bed. I slept, and then for several days after I was headachey and cold, very tearful and oversensitive, achey and sad. And very hungry all the time, too. I don't know how much this was related - it may have been more connected to the fact that I started my period a few days later (two weeks earlier than expected). I also craved, and still crave, a repeat of the experience. If I could have it again right now, I would do. Want. Need. Must have - NOW!
Hmmm, I'm going to Club Twisted this weekend. *starts practicing big eyes and wobbly lip*
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
To submit or not to submit, that is the question...
I had a strange old experience last night, which has left me feeling kind of icky. I realised this morning, having slept on it, that part of the reason I feel squicked is because it's probably the most meaningless sexual encounter I've ever had, with people who I've not built up a connection with, who I don't even really fancy.
Which begs the question (which R put to me this morning), why on earth did you do it then?
Well, it's complicated (what ISN'T?). I initially approached BDG and MN in the context of wanting to get to know them - possibly for more than just friendship. As my understanding of my own desires and limits grew, I realised that being double dommed/ topped was a big fantasy of mine and something I wanted to make happen in reality. I started to wonder if they could be this couple as they were the first pair who I'd met who were interested in that, who I respected and could trust to respect me, and I liked as people. This was slightly hindered by the fact that I didn't actually fancy them that much, but then I'm often surprised how attractive I find people after time, once a bit of flirting and building of a connection has gone on, who I didn't find attractive initially. I had hoped that maybe something could develop.
I offered myself to MN for her rope practice, as I knew she was looking to do this. I went over there a month ago, and we had a discussion beforehand about what was and wasn't okay. I was self-conscious about taking my clothes off, but wanted to, in order to get into the spirit of things and fully enjoy the rope bunnying. She suggested introducing an element of play rather than it being all matter-of-fact rope practicing, to help reduce my embarrassment factor. I agreed, and so it started by being sensual and slow with her, with kissing and touching and nice things, and progressed onto BDG coming into the room later. He only touched me in order to help with the ropes, and I was comfortable with that. I enjoyed it, but in a take-it-or-leave-it fashion, it didn't rock my world, and I was okay with it being a bit of fun, because it mostly felt like mucking about, not anything too serious or important.
There were things I wasn't entirely happy with, though. I told her beforehand I didn't want her to touch my pussy, and during play she did lightly touch me a couple of times there. I didn't say stop though - and the reason for that is complicated and I'm going to think/ write about that in a minute. She did say afterwards, 'I was a bit naughty, but I think you wanted me to' and I suppose I kinda did at the time, but what I want when I'm turned on and tied up is different from what I want in the cold light of day, and as I see it, it's the dominant's job to stick to the limits even if the sub is gagging for it, if the the domme's been plainly told 'no, I don't want you to do that', beforehand. Perhaps others see it differently though - after all, there is the whole 'pushing limits' thing etc etc, it's quite complicated this old business, isn't it? It's a fine line, we tread, sometimes...
I was unable to say afterwards, in reply to her 'I think you wanted me to' comment, that I wasn't happy, that I wished she hadn't. Again, I'm going to think/ write about why this might be, this in a bit.
I was ambivalent about playing with them again, but overall I did have a positive experience, and with an operation coming up in a few week's time, was keen to cram in as many positive play experiences before then. Also, and this is key - I want to please people. I know they wanted me to come over and play again, and I wanted to make them happy, because they've been nice to me.
Yes, I know I know I know. It's not like N hasn't told me a million times I don't owe people anything, and that I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. It's a character flaw of mine. I'll work on it.
I arranged to go over there last night, and I was under the impression that it would be a similar experience to the one before. We had a brief chat beforehand, but didn't discuss what sort of form play would take, or limits, apart from BDG asking if he could take some photos which I would then be able to look at and delete on the camera if I wanted to.
It started off quite slow and I was okay with that. Then things moved fairly quickly. Their domming style - at least with me - is that she directs the action, and although he's co-domming, she's the top dog. I'm happier with that than I would be if BDG was in charge. I did start to feel quite 'not happy' when they put a collar on me, but held my tongue because it's a fine line between genuinely 'stop that, I'm not okay with it' and being gently pushed into things which are not comfortable for you. MN's domming style is to do the thinking for the sub - 'you're thinking for yourself again, aren't you', she'll say. 'Let me do the thinking for you, just relax, I'll look after you'.
Once I've opened up that side of my personality, once I start to submit, it's very difficult for me to stop without a REALLY good reason. I can't just switch it on and off.
I started to get more and more moments of OMG OMG OMG I'n naked in a room with two people and they're doing THINGS to me and I don't even know them properly and they're not even my friends. We're aquaintances, and I'd like to be friends with them, but we're not yet. It didn't feel like practicing my religion, engaging in a physico-spiritual experience, just kind of icky.
I've always thought that guilt and ickiness were big turn ons for me. Last night I learned that, while they might be, in the right context, or with the right person, or in my fantasies, they certainly weren't last night. I stopped enjoying things once I started feeling really guilty.
I had a blindfold on, and I was thinking, hang on - is that HIS hand? Is he touching my breasts? Cos that is a hard limit which R and I have agreed - I won't let another man touch my knockers. And I was trying not to think, as instructed, but but but....
Then later, when I could see, I opened my eyes and yes, he was. I wasn't really thinking coherently at this stage, but I didn't enjoy him touching me, I felt really guilty, I should have said something earlier but I can't say anything now, etc etc etc. I wish this would stop now and I could just go home. Just relax and try and enjoy the bits you can enjoy, I said to myself.
I also felt uncomfortable with some of the things MN was doing. I didn't mind her stroking my clit, but I didn't want her fingering me - that's for N only, right now, and I barely know MN anyway. Plus - I've got my period, and there was no way I wanted to discuss that beforehand.
So I tried to indicate my wiggling away, and she kept trying every now and again but mostly respected it, but I couldn't relax, what if she did it all of a sudden? But I couldn't say out loud, don't do that. I kept making my 'not happy' frown face (not on purpose I might add), and every time I did, MN would say to BDG, 'that's not such a pretty face, is it?!' then when I relaxed she'd say 'that's a much prettier face'. She'd said to me the first time we played, in our pre-play discussion, she feels as if she's failed if someone has to use their safe word, because she's not reading them well enough. All these things contributed to my 'not letting people down, wanting to please' state of mind.
MN was using the hitachi wand on me, and the physical sensation combined with the weird head-space meant I could have had an orgasm - but I resisted and didn't, because I only want N to have that. I opened my eyes and realised BDG was holding the wand on me, and I was really, really not happy with that. I didn't explicitly say beforehand, you're a man, you can't hold a vibrator on me, and it was sticking to the letter of my 'a man can't touch my pussy' limit, but not to the spirit of it. But you can't go through ALL the millions of possibilities in discussion beforehand, saying whether or not they're okay, can you? Anyway, I semi-safeworded at that point (semi because she doesn't actually USE proper safewords) and we very quickly wound down.
I felt so guilty, and the reality dawned that I'd have to tell R that I'd broken the promise I'd made to him that I wouldn't let another man touch my breasts. I felt sickened to my stomach and I was shaking so hard it was actually making me feel freaked out. I lay down on the sofa because I felt faint.
MN sent BDC out of the room and we discussed what had gone wrong. She said I definitely hadn't told her that BDG touching my breasts would be a hard limit, and I am sure that's true. I know she read my profile carefully, and she thought she understood what I was looking for. She blamed herself for not checking carefully, and we talked about how it was very hard, a fine line to tread between respecting people's limits and pushing them. I take full responsibility because I should have explicitly outlined what was, and what wasn't okay. I also should have safeworded earlier, but this seems to be a really difficult thing for me.
I thought, once I talked to R, and told him what happened, I'd feel better. And I did - too an extent. He was marvellous - he really came through for me. He totally understood how it had happened, and he was even empathising for BDG and feeling sorry for him! Bloody hell, he's just great, just bloody great, I am so lucky.
I also needed to speak to N, as I had some guilt there too - I felt I'd gone further with MN than I should have, as if I was cheating on N, and I needed her to know what happened. Even though that was all in my head and couldn't be further from the truth - N might not in an ideal world want me to play with others, but I know she doesn't want her feelings on that to affect what I do, limit my journey of exploration. N knew that I'd gone there to play, but I needed to talk to her about what had happened.
I thought once I'd done those two things, in that order, that I'd feel fine, but actually - I didn't. I feel anxious and with a sort of low-key panicky feeling today that could develop into a big one if I'm not careful. I will coast through the rest of the day, keep my blood sugar stable as much as possible, try and chill out, write this entry to help me think, get an early night, avoid upsetting/ stressful trigger factors today.
Lessons wot I have dun learnt from this experience:
1) always always always explicitly explain my limits. At least twice. And in writing.
2) if I really can't get my head around safewording early enough, then change the situations I play in:
3) for a while at least, if I'm going to play with any unknown quantities, specifically couples or men, only do it either at a club (where I go less deeply into the d/s dynamic), or if it's in private, N to be present. I've discussed this with her and she's going to look after me. Honestly, I don't know why I don't bloody well just give up on playing with anyone else, it always seems to go tits up (except with A, which was a laugh) BUT it's all experiential learning and nothing actually really bad or traumatic has happened, even during the not-so-positive experiences.
4) While I'm still keen to try the couple thing again, this has made me really wary. I realise that the pre-play stuff is almost as important to me as the play - the flirting, the 'will we won't we', the chase. The building of a connection and a feeling that I care about these people and they care about me. Play as an expression of affection for each other.
5) MN and BDC's style wouldn't be my cup of tea even if I did fancy the arse off them. They're not rough enough, they don't yank me about, I want more physical throwing about to be involved rather than piss-arsing about with ropes and complicated knots. This is the sort of stuff you learn during that build up period.
I had planned to go to club XS with them on friday, but this morning I emailed them and said thanks but not thanks, and explained I don't want to play with them again, although I'd like to keep in touch as friends.
I got a bit of an upsetting email this afternoon from MN saying that I hadn't been honest with them, and that's when things can go wrong. I don't know how she felt I hadn't been honest, but I can't help but feel I've fucked things up.
Which begs the question (which R put to me this morning), why on earth did you do it then?
Well, it's complicated (what ISN'T?). I initially approached BDG and MN in the context of wanting to get to know them - possibly for more than just friendship. As my understanding of my own desires and limits grew, I realised that being double dommed/ topped was a big fantasy of mine and something I wanted to make happen in reality. I started to wonder if they could be this couple as they were the first pair who I'd met who were interested in that, who I respected and could trust to respect me, and I liked as people. This was slightly hindered by the fact that I didn't actually fancy them that much, but then I'm often surprised how attractive I find people after time, once a bit of flirting and building of a connection has gone on, who I didn't find attractive initially. I had hoped that maybe something could develop.
I offered myself to MN for her rope practice, as I knew she was looking to do this. I went over there a month ago, and we had a discussion beforehand about what was and wasn't okay. I was self-conscious about taking my clothes off, but wanted to, in order to get into the spirit of things and fully enjoy the rope bunnying. She suggested introducing an element of play rather than it being all matter-of-fact rope practicing, to help reduce my embarrassment factor. I agreed, and so it started by being sensual and slow with her, with kissing and touching and nice things, and progressed onto BDG coming into the room later. He only touched me in order to help with the ropes, and I was comfortable with that. I enjoyed it, but in a take-it-or-leave-it fashion, it didn't rock my world, and I was okay with it being a bit of fun, because it mostly felt like mucking about, not anything too serious or important.
There were things I wasn't entirely happy with, though. I told her beforehand I didn't want her to touch my pussy, and during play she did lightly touch me a couple of times there. I didn't say stop though - and the reason for that is complicated and I'm going to think/ write about that in a minute. She did say afterwards, 'I was a bit naughty, but I think you wanted me to' and I suppose I kinda did at the time, but what I want when I'm turned on and tied up is different from what I want in the cold light of day, and as I see it, it's the dominant's job to stick to the limits even if the sub is gagging for it, if the the domme's been plainly told 'no, I don't want you to do that', beforehand. Perhaps others see it differently though - after all, there is the whole 'pushing limits' thing etc etc, it's quite complicated this old business, isn't it? It's a fine line, we tread, sometimes...
I was unable to say afterwards, in reply to her 'I think you wanted me to' comment, that I wasn't happy, that I wished she hadn't. Again, I'm going to think/ write about why this might be, this in a bit.
I was ambivalent about playing with them again, but overall I did have a positive experience, and with an operation coming up in a few week's time, was keen to cram in as many positive play experiences before then. Also, and this is key - I want to please people. I know they wanted me to come over and play again, and I wanted to make them happy, because they've been nice to me.
Yes, I know I know I know. It's not like N hasn't told me a million times I don't owe people anything, and that I don't have to do anything I don't want to do. It's a character flaw of mine. I'll work on it.
I arranged to go over there last night, and I was under the impression that it would be a similar experience to the one before. We had a brief chat beforehand, but didn't discuss what sort of form play would take, or limits, apart from BDG asking if he could take some photos which I would then be able to look at and delete on the camera if I wanted to.
It started off quite slow and I was okay with that. Then things moved fairly quickly. Their domming style - at least with me - is that she directs the action, and although he's co-domming, she's the top dog. I'm happier with that than I would be if BDG was in charge. I did start to feel quite 'not happy' when they put a collar on me, but held my tongue because it's a fine line between genuinely 'stop that, I'm not okay with it' and being gently pushed into things which are not comfortable for you. MN's domming style is to do the thinking for the sub - 'you're thinking for yourself again, aren't you', she'll say. 'Let me do the thinking for you, just relax, I'll look after you'.
Once I've opened up that side of my personality, once I start to submit, it's very difficult for me to stop without a REALLY good reason. I can't just switch it on and off.
I started to get more and more moments of OMG OMG OMG I'n naked in a room with two people and they're doing THINGS to me and I don't even know them properly and they're not even my friends. We're aquaintances, and I'd like to be friends with them, but we're not yet. It didn't feel like practicing my religion, engaging in a physico-spiritual experience, just kind of icky.
I've always thought that guilt and ickiness were big turn ons for me. Last night I learned that, while they might be, in the right context, or with the right person, or in my fantasies, they certainly weren't last night. I stopped enjoying things once I started feeling really guilty.
I had a blindfold on, and I was thinking, hang on - is that HIS hand? Is he touching my breasts? Cos that is a hard limit which R and I have agreed - I won't let another man touch my knockers. And I was trying not to think, as instructed, but but but....
Then later, when I could see, I opened my eyes and yes, he was. I wasn't really thinking coherently at this stage, but I didn't enjoy him touching me, I felt really guilty, I should have said something earlier but I can't say anything now, etc etc etc. I wish this would stop now and I could just go home. Just relax and try and enjoy the bits you can enjoy, I said to myself.
I also felt uncomfortable with some of the things MN was doing. I didn't mind her stroking my clit, but I didn't want her fingering me - that's for N only, right now, and I barely know MN anyway. Plus - I've got my period, and there was no way I wanted to discuss that beforehand.
So I tried to indicate my wiggling away, and she kept trying every now and again but mostly respected it, but I couldn't relax, what if she did it all of a sudden? But I couldn't say out loud, don't do that. I kept making my 'not happy' frown face (not on purpose I might add), and every time I did, MN would say to BDG, 'that's not such a pretty face, is it?!' then when I relaxed she'd say 'that's a much prettier face'. She'd said to me the first time we played, in our pre-play discussion, she feels as if she's failed if someone has to use their safe word, because she's not reading them well enough. All these things contributed to my 'not letting people down, wanting to please' state of mind.
MN was using the hitachi wand on me, and the physical sensation combined with the weird head-space meant I could have had an orgasm - but I resisted and didn't, because I only want N to have that. I opened my eyes and realised BDG was holding the wand on me, and I was really, really not happy with that. I didn't explicitly say beforehand, you're a man, you can't hold a vibrator on me, and it was sticking to the letter of my 'a man can't touch my pussy' limit, but not to the spirit of it. But you can't go through ALL the millions of possibilities in discussion beforehand, saying whether or not they're okay, can you? Anyway, I semi-safeworded at that point (semi because she doesn't actually USE proper safewords) and we very quickly wound down.
I felt so guilty, and the reality dawned that I'd have to tell R that I'd broken the promise I'd made to him that I wouldn't let another man touch my breasts. I felt sickened to my stomach and I was shaking so hard it was actually making me feel freaked out. I lay down on the sofa because I felt faint.
MN sent BDC out of the room and we discussed what had gone wrong. She said I definitely hadn't told her that BDG touching my breasts would be a hard limit, and I am sure that's true. I know she read my profile carefully, and she thought she understood what I was looking for. She blamed herself for not checking carefully, and we talked about how it was very hard, a fine line to tread between respecting people's limits and pushing them. I take full responsibility because I should have explicitly outlined what was, and what wasn't okay. I also should have safeworded earlier, but this seems to be a really difficult thing for me.
I thought, once I talked to R, and told him what happened, I'd feel better. And I did - too an extent. He was marvellous - he really came through for me. He totally understood how it had happened, and he was even empathising for BDG and feeling sorry for him! Bloody hell, he's just great, just bloody great, I am so lucky.
I also needed to speak to N, as I had some guilt there too - I felt I'd gone further with MN than I should have, as if I was cheating on N, and I needed her to know what happened. Even though that was all in my head and couldn't be further from the truth - N might not in an ideal world want me to play with others, but I know she doesn't want her feelings on that to affect what I do, limit my journey of exploration. N knew that I'd gone there to play, but I needed to talk to her about what had happened.
I thought once I'd done those two things, in that order, that I'd feel fine, but actually - I didn't. I feel anxious and with a sort of low-key panicky feeling today that could develop into a big one if I'm not careful. I will coast through the rest of the day, keep my blood sugar stable as much as possible, try and chill out, write this entry to help me think, get an early night, avoid upsetting/ stressful trigger factors today.
Lessons wot I have dun learnt from this experience:
1) always always always explicitly explain my limits. At least twice. And in writing.
2) if I really can't get my head around safewording early enough, then change the situations I play in:
3) for a while at least, if I'm going to play with any unknown quantities, specifically couples or men, only do it either at a club (where I go less deeply into the d/s dynamic), or if it's in private, N to be present. I've discussed this with her and she's going to look after me. Honestly, I don't know why I don't bloody well just give up on playing with anyone else, it always seems to go tits up (except with A, which was a laugh) BUT it's all experiential learning and nothing actually really bad or traumatic has happened, even during the not-so-positive experiences.
4) While I'm still keen to try the couple thing again, this has made me really wary. I realise that the pre-play stuff is almost as important to me as the play - the flirting, the 'will we won't we', the chase. The building of a connection and a feeling that I care about these people and they care about me. Play as an expression of affection for each other.
5) MN and BDC's style wouldn't be my cup of tea even if I did fancy the arse off them. They're not rough enough, they don't yank me about, I want more physical throwing about to be involved rather than piss-arsing about with ropes and complicated knots. This is the sort of stuff you learn during that build up period.
I had planned to go to club XS with them on friday, but this morning I emailed them and said thanks but not thanks, and explained I don't want to play with them again, although I'd like to keep in touch as friends.
I got a bit of an upsetting email this afternoon from MN saying that I hadn't been honest with them, and that's when things can go wrong. I don't know how she felt I hadn't been honest, but I can't help but feel I've fucked things up.
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Behind the Mask
I'm feeling a little bit low today. It's not my way to share, when I'm feeling down. It's usually only retrospectively that I tell people I've had a period of sadness, for example. R would laugh at that - he thinks I give a constant running commentary of my status about everything to everybody, but actually he only sees that because I share everything with him. With others - not so much. So I'm not quite sure why I feel motivated to do a brain-dump today, but I'm trying something new. I would like to avoid the escapist happiness whilst out socialising followed by private misery, so I'm going to record my feelings here. By venting my feelings, perhaps a little bit of equilibrium can be attained.
I've taken some risks recently, and in doing so I've made myself very vulnerable. Maybe this is the reaction to that. I've let people see my body, and now I'm feeling unattractive, made entirely of lard, I think my hair looks horrible at the moment, I look like a twat in photos, I'm gross, gross, gross. Looking at other people's pictures and feeling wistful - it must be lovely to be like that, why do I have to be so yucky?
But, to be honest, I'm used to feeling like that - it's not such a big deal. The fact that I've exposed my naked body to ridicule can join company with exposing my clothed body to ridicule on a daily basis.
It's the stuff in my head - my mind - that I'm feeling the most self-disgust and loathing for right now. I feel ugly - in my head. I slept badly last night and had nightmares. For the last couple of days I've been feeling fragile, insecure, unlovable. I've firmly set that aside and got on as if behaving as if I wasn't feeling that way.
I've written some things recently that I wish I hadn't. The whole blog thing - I've never written down anything like that before. Neither am I in the habit of writing down fantasies or erotic stories. I've never done it before - ever. I have to force myself past the inhibition - because I know if R read it, and be really uncomfortable, finding it overly sexualised. His reaction would be to laugh, nervously, and then quickly change the subject, if he ever saw anything like that. The same way he reacts if I try and be overtly sexual with him in any other way. And this makes me wonder if perhaps others react like that, too. Perhaps they wish I would keep my thoughts to myself, and not embarrass them by sharing TMI.
I've written down a couple of fantasies recently, and sent them to N, and now I'm wondering why the hell I did that. The first one was relatively tame, to test the water, as it were, and the second one was more edgy. I know it grossed her out, and she didn't find it erotic. She said it was interesting, and revealed a lot about my mind, but when I asked what, she basically said - don't go there. Leave it.
I feel sickened by my mind, my body, and my sexuality at the moment.
Part of the reason why others have always perceived me as 'odd' is because I make them uncomfortable. I'm too quiet, then this is followed by something TMI and unusual coming out of my brain. This disquiets people. Am I doing this to all my friends and they're usually just too polite to say? Is my sexuality something best left unexplored and unfulfilled, because I'm basically so damaged that I'm broken?
That's when I'm not pissing people off by being an anally retentive control freak and annoying everyone in my life by planning things in advance to the nth degree.
Definitely having a couple of days where I just feel like going out to the garden and putting my head face down in the soil and letting the rain fall on me.
And now I'm worrying that by sharing how I feel, I'm being all high maintenance and drama queen, and needy, and demanding things of people. I find it very difficult to ask for what I need, in many respects. It's hard for me to ask for reassurance at the time when I need it - usually because it means I'm feeling vulnerable, and showing that, asking for something, means making myself even more vulnerable. Fuck, I can't even get this bit of myself right. What a mess. Just - what a mess.
I've taken some risks recently, and in doing so I've made myself very vulnerable. Maybe this is the reaction to that. I've let people see my body, and now I'm feeling unattractive, made entirely of lard, I think my hair looks horrible at the moment, I look like a twat in photos, I'm gross, gross, gross. Looking at other people's pictures and feeling wistful - it must be lovely to be like that, why do I have to be so yucky?
But, to be honest, I'm used to feeling like that - it's not such a big deal. The fact that I've exposed my naked body to ridicule can join company with exposing my clothed body to ridicule on a daily basis.
It's the stuff in my head - my mind - that I'm feeling the most self-disgust and loathing for right now. I feel ugly - in my head. I slept badly last night and had nightmares. For the last couple of days I've been feeling fragile, insecure, unlovable. I've firmly set that aside and got on as if behaving as if I wasn't feeling that way.
I've written some things recently that I wish I hadn't. The whole blog thing - I've never written down anything like that before. Neither am I in the habit of writing down fantasies or erotic stories. I've never done it before - ever. I have to force myself past the inhibition - because I know if R read it, and be really uncomfortable, finding it overly sexualised. His reaction would be to laugh, nervously, and then quickly change the subject, if he ever saw anything like that. The same way he reacts if I try and be overtly sexual with him in any other way. And this makes me wonder if perhaps others react like that, too. Perhaps they wish I would keep my thoughts to myself, and not embarrass them by sharing TMI.
I've written down a couple of fantasies recently, and sent them to N, and now I'm wondering why the hell I did that. The first one was relatively tame, to test the water, as it were, and the second one was more edgy. I know it grossed her out, and she didn't find it erotic. She said it was interesting, and revealed a lot about my mind, but when I asked what, she basically said - don't go there. Leave it.
I feel sickened by my mind, my body, and my sexuality at the moment.
Part of the reason why others have always perceived me as 'odd' is because I make them uncomfortable. I'm too quiet, then this is followed by something TMI and unusual coming out of my brain. This disquiets people. Am I doing this to all my friends and they're usually just too polite to say? Is my sexuality something best left unexplored and unfulfilled, because I'm basically so damaged that I'm broken?
That's when I'm not pissing people off by being an anally retentive control freak and annoying everyone in my life by planning things in advance to the nth degree.
Definitely having a couple of days where I just feel like going out to the garden and putting my head face down in the soil and letting the rain fall on me.
And now I'm worrying that by sharing how I feel, I'm being all high maintenance and drama queen, and needy, and demanding things of people. I find it very difficult to ask for what I need, in many respects. It's hard for me to ask for reassurance at the time when I need it - usually because it means I'm feeling vulnerable, and showing that, asking for something, means making myself even more vulnerable. Fuck, I can't even get this bit of myself right. What a mess. Just - what a mess.
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Two more bites of the apple...
I had two new experiences last weekend, to add to my collection of 'steep learning curves'.
I went to a members only play club, and it was both terrifying, yet reassuring; alarming, yet comfortable; strange, yet familiar.
I remember when I was 15 years old, and I went to my first goth club. I'd always been on the outside looking in - until that day. I grew up in a small town, where I was, literally, 'the only goth in the village' before I even knew I was a goth my own self. It took somebody yelling 'oi, fuck off, goth' to even make me consider maybe I was one of them funny goffick types.
The main rock/metal/alternative/goth club in those days has long since disappeared, but still conjures up a thousand cherished memories for many people who used to go there regularly. The first time I went there was the first time I'd ever been to a nightclub, and the first time I ever felt a part of anything, instead of being separate; included instead of excluded. I'd found my family - and even now, I love those moments when you walk past someone in the street who's a bit alternative, and there's a little twinkle; not even so much as a nod or a look, just a silent acknowledgment that yup, we're in this together.
Even though I was nervous, and feeling a little flaky, faint, even... that same buzz filled me when I walked into the room at the members' club. There were knockers and willies everywhere, I hardly knew where to look, but at the same time it all felt very natural and un-intimidating. I found it hard to meet anyone's eyes - but at the same time, I felt they were all On My Side. I was with the ever delightful N, who took me round the room to look at the equipment. I felt a little like a large but nervous dog with a very long tail - I was suddenly made of Tense and convinced I was going to blunder into someone/something and knock them/it over, which would in turn cause some kind of domino effect leading to everyone and everything in the club falling over, and glaring at me before sighing and rolling their eyes...
I was really starting to feel a little odd by this point, which may or may not have been exacerbated by a tight corset, choker, two large cocktails with lots of booze in, and a residual 'I've not been well, you know'-ness left over from a lurgy.
N flexed her domme muscles and inserted me into the strange suspension lattice with leather straps, which wraps around you and lifts you off the floor. Unaware that I was ailing in a consumptive fashion, she over-ruled my reservations and popped me inside. I get a bit claustrophobic at the best of times, and this damn near finished me off. Fortunately, alerted by the clammy state of my forehead, she removed me swiftly before I Came Over All Peculiar in a more spectacular fashion. I can see myself trying again at some stage when I'm feeling more myself, but it's never going to be a favourite. Unfortunately, she likes it lots, so I could find myself spending quite a lot of time in it when I inevitably misbehave...
Once I'd recovered to her satisfaction, she hauled me off to try her next toy. Oh gosh, how I was protesting...
She borrowed two fine young men to firmly strap me onto the table. I was facing forward, and my legs were spread, and tied at ankles, thigh and waist. My arms and wrists were cuffed onto the table also - it was supposed to be impossible to escape from. Even before the first cuff went on, an anticipatory warmth rushed through me. One thing that frustrates me is that I have to behave until I'm secured down - I would really love to be dragged (preferably by my hair), kicking, biting and screaming, over to a piece of equipment, able to lash out and fight even while I was being securely strapped into restraints. This would probably require a few burly types though. I'm stronger than I look and it wouldn't do it for me unless I could really writhe around without hope of escape.
Once I was safely lashed down (and I managed to get in a few verbal threats to the crew members helping N - something I later regretted...) I felt free to thrash about wildly. I was really unsure about flogging, beating, caning etc when I first stepped onto the scene, thinking that it would be just the d/s dynamic that would really do it for me, along with liking it rough. Turns out - I really REALLY like being hit with things. My body says 'yes, YES, YESSS!!' even when my mind says 'no, please, don't - you're hurting me...whimper...'. I wouldn't describe myself as a pain slut - although I like a bit of pain - but there's something about the feel and sound of something thudding into my flesh, or stinging my skin, that just sends me a little crazy - especially when I can let loose because I'm tied up. The fact that the implement in question is being wielded by a well fit bird who I happen to adore insanely, is nothing to do with it, of course
It was while cutting loose in the above fashion that I managed to disentangle one leg from the straps on the table - several times. N was already on the verge of unleashing more severe discipline as a response to my accidentally calling her a bitch a few times, and my refusal to hold still so she could tether me back down led to her calling over the guys to pivot the table - who were more than happy to do so after my offer to punch them in the balls, earlier. I suddenly found myself upside down and screeching my head off. It was either behave and let her strap me back in, or stay upside down until I fainted. I chose the former option. Even I'm not that stupid.
With the straps pulled really tight, and the table back in the upright position, I still felt as if I was falling - but this time it was into a pit of moral depravity that I just wanted to roll around in until I was covered in dirty, perverted filth. MMm, that's right, grab me by the hair at the back of my neck and rub my face in it. Yum.
After being upended twice, all the fight had gone out of me, and I submitted meekly(ish) to further torment. Because I'd been a bit naughty, she finished off by offering me 20 seconds of nipple clamps (which I HATE) and 20 strokes of the cane. Well, actually it turns out I am that stupid, because I chose the cane. As she undid the straps and helped me down, where I slumped onto the spanking bench to take my punishment, I wondered what was wrong with my brain that I would choose the worst of two options. Even though I knew it would make her hit me even harder, I couldn't resist yelling a little, and smacking my hands into the bench, it just hurt so much.
My social reserve had pretty much disappeared by that point, having just shown my knickers to everybody in the club whilst upsidedown, so I relaxed enough to chat and talk rot with some lovely people. I peeked out from under my eyelashes at the delicious MT. Sitting next to N and MT and watching them interact was so much eye candy that I Came Over All Wrong. So much so that N had to take me off to play AGAIN! God, it's like I've become INSATIABLE! Damn that woman, she knows she only has to look at me and smile and I'll have a serious incident of Wrongness In My Knickers. Which will be shortly followed by showing said knickers to everyone in a five mile radius. Thank god all my underwear is so pretty. My husband said to me the other day 'I can tell you've been going out a lot, you've got all your best underwear on the washing line'. Damn straight, mister!
There were a couple of men who I liked the look of, but I am completely incapable of approaching assertive men without going all girly and blushing. One day soon I would like to play with a man, as long as he could stick to my limits. But I would much prefer someone to approach me, anyway. I quite like the idea of a man grabbing my wrist and dragging me off, protesting, to play, without even asking me. Realistically though, I could never allow this to happen, but the illusion of it would be delicious. N and I discussed how she would make the perfect intermediary for this, clearing play with me first by subtly checking whether I found someone attractive, and using her judgement to decide whether they were a safe player and if she was happy with it. I would never play with anyone I didn't want to kiss. In the case of men, I'm not going to kiss them anyway, as I'm married and that's a hard limit for my husband and I. But the hypothetical acid test still applies. And I would expect any woman who liked me enough to hurt me, to want to kiss me.
My final play of the night was the one that I enjoyed the most. My favourite St Andrew's Cross, being spread and shackled...pulling and tugging against the restraints enough to leave bruises on my wrists, but never able to get free. Able to cry out, without fear, yet at the same time knowing she would hurt me more because of it. Safe in that knowledge.
I crashed out afterwards into serious sleepy mode, and we left soon after. We'd both been up early, and although we checked into our hotel at 3pm, we hadn't got any rest because we'd spent all afternoon and evening fucking, playing, then fucking again. We barely made it to the club at all..
The next morning, we were virtually thrown out of our hotel where we'd overstayed past the checkout time. Ahem.
A medium sized drive later, made longer by a stop in a pub for lunch in the middle of nowhere, and my inability to perform basic functions such as putting water in my bag without leaving the top off, we arrived down south for what would be my first private play party, conveniently situated in a surburban house with its own dungeon.
The host and hostess of the party are such lovely people, it was very easy to relax and enjoy the rather strange ambience caused by having a cup of tea, whilst watching a naked man have clamps attached to his balls whilst lying on a table being beaten until he bled. I found his pained cries rather difficult to take, so removed myself to the kitchen, where my empathy was rewarded by seeing the host play with his sub. She was tied up with rope, and it looked so pretty, it made me envious. He touched her so tenderly, I found myself both aroused and moved. In the lounge, our hostess continued to give Mr Naked Man what-for. And again, despite his agonised yells, she touched him with huge compassion and gentleness, when she wasn't actually hurting him. There's something so beautiful about watching play like that, it makes me feel very privileged to witness it.
As much as I love watching others play, the highlight for me was being taken into the dungeon, stripped, tied up and beaten. The only clothes N would let me keep on, were my hold-up fishnet stockings and my bondage shoes. On the wall of the dungeon is the most solid cross I've ever seen, made of huge chunks of wood, and attached securely to the wall. A system of ropes and pulleys keeps the cuffs in place, so my arms were over my head and spread apart, and she opened my legs and cuffed them to the bottom of the cross. Opposite me was a huge mirror, and my vision was filled with the site of myself displayed and bound for her pleasure, and on the other side, N herself holding various implements of torture and beating me with them - across the breasts, on my thighs, and between my legs. I kept opening my mouth to swear and then catching her eye, and for once in my life doing something clever and thinking better of it. I managed to kick my way out of the restraining ropes a few times, but resisted the temptation to boot her in the leg. Even though I'd been extraordinarily well behaved, I still got punished though - this time I had to choose between nipple clamps, or her. I chose the clamps. Ow ow ow ow ow. I do believe my lower lip actually wobbles when those horrible things are put on me. But she can do far more hurty things to me than any piece of equipment, so I reckon I made the right choice, that time.
She let me out of the cuffs and shoved me roughly onto the oversized spanking bench in the middle of the room. Her hand in my hair, grinding my face into the leather, caused my buttocks to automatically thrust towards her. She mashed my face into the surface of the bench, as little moans escaped me. She put a mindfold on me (like a blindfold but you can open up your eyes, although you can't see anything but black). She alternated a beating with stimulation from the hitachi magic wand, which just fucked with my mind. I heard the door open and several people came inside, whispering, but I had no idea who, or how many, there were. My cries grew louder as she beat me with a toy made from little stainless steel balls, I wriggled and writhed under her hand and would have cried if she had carried on much longer, or if we'd been alone with no-one to witness my disgrace. She took pity on my whimpers and ended it with two loud, hurty thwacks from the flogger.
After a come-down from the experience, and a chat with some of the other partygoers, she took me home, all sated and satisfied and happy. The next day at work, a colleague accused me of looking so pleased with myself, I was dribbling smug all over the table. Every time I have had to deal with something frustrating this week, I let my imagination fill with beautiful images from the weekend, and think 'if you could just see what was going through my mind right now...or if you could see the bruises...!'
I would thoroughly recommend it as an anti-stress technique
Thursday, 23 April 2009
What happened at Guilty Pleasures
OR Why I Got It Wrong and What I Learned From It
I'm a fan of Laurell K Hamilton's filthy vampire stories, so a club named Guilty Pleasures, after the first book in the series, had inevitable appeal. Couple this with the promise of goth, metal, alternative, industrial music and it's irresistibly enticing!
Before I went to GP I negotiated with BD that we would play together. Ever since we first met I'd been intrigued by his ability to turn on the Look and the Voice and make me blush and go all coy and drop my eyes. I talked first to my husband and then to N, and they were both okay with it. BD and I had a chat about what my limits are with men, and what sort of thing I might like and not like (which was a really difficult conversation to have, drawing as I was from an invisible pallet due to my lack of experience). He knew this would be my first play with anyone other than Ness, only my fourth play altogether, and my first play with a man. So I was pretty confident it would be a straightforward, enjoyable session for both of us. BD is a friend, and I trust him. Ness would be present all the time, and I feel safe with her. It was in a reputable public club. What could possibly go wrong?
I know you're all rolling your eyes, sighing and putting your head in your hands. I'm an idiot, okay?
The answer is - *I* went wrong. I made some mistakes, but I was learning, and I'm still learning about what can go wrong and how to do it differently next time.
I'd played with N earlier in the evening, but not hard. BD had found someone to play with earlier, too, and so it was quite late by the time he took me over to the A-frame, chained my hands over my head, and cuffed my ankles to the sides. So far, so good. Then he blindfolded me. I didn't really want that, but I'd dropped into sub mode already by then, so didn't protest. Unbeknownst to me, BD was very sweetly checking with N every time he did anything. "Is it alright if I pull her knickers down?", he asked. "Help yourself, love" I believe was the gist of her reply.
He started spanking me for a warm-up, and I must admit, that was quite hot. It's been 13 years since a man who wasn't a member of the medical profession has touched my naked bum, and under these circumstances, it was really rather saucy. He moved onto beating me, and as usual, I started to get quite cross, and swore, shouted, and generally carried on in an unseemly fashion. And naturally, he started to beat me harder as a result. It very quickly stopped being enjoyable and moved into the realm of something to be endured. I'm not quite sure why I had it in my head that there were only 2 options: A) grit teeth, endure until it was over OR B) call a safeword, stop play entirely.
There were, in reality, many other options, of which the favourite would have been C) agree beforehand a method of checking in on my pain levels - for example, asking me out of 10 how much it hurt, and agree beforehand a number above which I didn't want to go, e.g. 5/10. However, D) whisper 'it's getting a bit much, please back down a bit' to either BD or N would also have been sensible.
I'm very confident and assertive in areas of my life which I'm experienced in. But this is so far out of my comfort zone that I worry and fret and think that I'm getting it wrong, I'm cocking it up, I'll get a rep for being a nob-end and everyone will hate me. I'd heard about 'topping from the bottom' and 'bratty subs' and didn't want - couldn't bear to - be looked down on in that way by the friends I'd started to make in this new community. Everyone's been so kind to me, BD's been willing to give me my first play with a man, he's been a friend to me. It seemed that choosing option C or D would be a poor way to repay him. I realise now that there's a subtle but distinct - and vital - difference between trying to dictate the agenda, and letting your top/dom know when you've reaching your limits. I still struggle very hard with this, but I'm still learning, and I hope I never stop being open to learning.
Because I'm a friend, BD was speaking to me in quite a joking tone, and N had to encourage him to try and sound like he meant business, because she knows I like that. The pain got more and more intense, and I lost my temper, which just made BD bring out his cane and christen it on me. He was trying to make me guess what the toy was ('Is it a flogger?' 'no...whimper', 'is it a paddle' 'nooooo...don't...', 'what is it then?') and I was refusing to say, even though I knew what it was. He started caning me in time with saying in a ridiculous voice 'It's BD's new cane! It's BD's new cane!' which caused N to look at him and raise her eyebrows in 'have you ACTUALLY gone MENTAL?' semaphore. It just shows how much I've recovered from the experience that I was lying in bed between my husband and Ness the other day, started thinking about this, and was giggling hysterically but trying to keep quiet so I wouldn't wake them up and have to explain myself!
But the caning was far, far too much pain. N kept coming to my front and checking on me. She asked if I knew my safeword, and I said yes. She asked BD to tell me what my safeword was, so that I would know that he knew it. So why didn't I safeword? Why take option A over option B? I'm still not 100% sure. I'm stubborn by nature, and prideful. I had heard doms say that they think they've failed if a sub has to use their safeword, because they've not read them right, and I didn't want to let BD down. BD and N interact in a very teasing fashion and I didn't want BD think himself a stricter dom than N, more able to administer discipline and bring me in line when I started shouting and swearing. I had to carry on yelling at him, for just as long and as hard as I would with N. Wouldn't want him to think I'm scared of him in a way I'm not scared of N - it would be letting the side down. And once I'd sworn and shouted at him, I had to take my punishment. I'd made my bed, as it were, now I had to lie in it and get beaten. I couldn't escape by safewording. It wouldn't be fair or honourable.
All these thoughts were at the back of my mind but I wasn't really thinking during the scene, just reacting. There was a point where I mistakenly thought I'd heard N's voice in the other room. I thought she'd left me alone with BD. I started sobbing, and he was banging on about being a dacryphile and how my tears would only turn him on. So I yelled 'they'll be tears of rage in a minute if you don't piss off and leave me the fuck alone!'
Not unreasonably, this got me a few seriously hard whacks, and I was quite prepared to suffer them as due consequence, when it suddenly occured to me I was about to black out. I'd been so pre-occupied by the pain and my emotional response, that I'd been unaware of the fainting sensations creeping up on me. I muttered 'feel wierd...faint...let me out' and I broke out in a sweat. The light darkened to a single spot in my eyes, there was a high pitched humming noise, and my heart was pounding. I knew it would only be moments before I passed out.
Within these rapidly passing moments, BD and N had me unchained and lowered me carefully to the floor. It seemed forever and a day to me though, and I had a powerful urge to pull wildly against the chains, but I had to flex my willpower as I knew this would only make it harder for them to release me. They both went into first aid mode, checking my reactions, giving me juice and a sweet when I was ready. My over-riding reaction was one of shame and guilt - I'd screwed it up, I'd made a nuisance of myself, I was looking like the biggest twat in the world. Poor BD and N, being lumbered with a mook like me. Everyone can see me making an arse of myself. it was the end of the night and the club organisers were trying to clear up so they could go home, and I was getting in the way.
Of course, everyone was kindness itself in reassuring me that this wasn't the case, that it happens a lot, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I wasn't being a nuisance - but that's how I felt at the time.
I got well enough to sit up, then stand, then be helped down the stairs by N, during which I came over all peculiar again. Every time I touched the memory in my mind, a fresh wave of sick dizzyness came over me. My mind was protecting itself, but trying not to think about it was almost as hard as ignoring the proverbial pink elephant. BD waited with me while N brought round the car. He held me close because I was shaking and so cold. I felt fresh waves of faintness; my body remembered it was this man right here holding me now who had hurt me. And yet, conversely, I also felt a yearning to be around him. I was strangely disappointed when he left.
I stayed with N that night and my mind and body were galloping headlong furiously, fuelled by body chemistry and unable to rest. It took hours, and N gently stroking my forehead, before I dropped into an exhausted and troubled sleep.
I woke the next morning feeling stricken, my thoughts and stomach churning. When I checked the mirror, the sight of the bruising nearly made me throw up. I've not got a weak stomach - I'm a first aider at work and have happily mopped up blood, piss and puke , I've bandaged up innumerable fingers sliced open by scalpels in the pursuit of art (don't ask...) but knowing you are looking at damage caused by someone which you asked them to do to you, you let them do to you - it's very different.
N settled me on the bus home. I'd been advised I might start feeling odd again about twelve hours after the event - and unfortunately this co-incided with an unavoidable one and a half hour bus journey. I rang my husband and asked if he could meet me at the bus stop and walk me home; only about ten minutes away but up six flights of steep stairs in an alleyway. I'd already given him a brief summary on the phone, and only needed to fill in the gaps in person. I was worried about how he'd react but simply wasn't able to cope with thinking about that too much as my brain was overloaded enough. I needed to rest and went to bed, but when I got up, I had to face up to him. He was absolutely furious, although he never raised his voice or acted as if he was angry - I just know him so well that he might as well have shouted, it was that obvious.
He said that from his point of view, another man had beaten His Wife almost unconscious for his own sexual pleasure, In Public, (there were definitely capital letters in his sentence), so much so that she could barely walk the next day.
We had the 'yes, I see why you might think that and be angry, but that's not really how it was, it was like this...' conversation. He felt plenty better after lots of explanation, reassurance and discussion. I, on the other hand, felt like shit. What the fuck was wrong with me that I would let someone do this to me? That I could hurt my husband so, for my own selfish reasons? I felt like a bitch, a slut, a sick freak. My husband refused to even look at the bruises - they disgusted and repulsed him. I was disgusted and repulsed by myself. For a few days I felt like turning my back on the scene altogether and never looking back.
But...time passes, the memory settles in, it no longer stings like a nettle every time you touch it. And the trouble with turning your back on something you really want is that it always ends up looking over your shoulder and whispering in your ear. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone screws up. It's what you do next that counts, as someone very wise pointed out to me. And what I did next was go to Club Crimson and have the most fantastic, hot as fuck play.
I'm a fan of Laurell K Hamilton's filthy vampire stories, so a club named Guilty Pleasures, after the first book in the series, had inevitable appeal. Couple this with the promise of goth, metal, alternative, industrial music and it's irresistibly enticing!
Before I went to GP I negotiated with BD that we would play together. Ever since we first met I'd been intrigued by his ability to turn on the Look and the Voice and make me blush and go all coy and drop my eyes. I talked first to my husband and then to N, and they were both okay with it. BD and I had a chat about what my limits are with men, and what sort of thing I might like and not like (which was a really difficult conversation to have, drawing as I was from an invisible pallet due to my lack of experience). He knew this would be my first play with anyone other than Ness, only my fourth play altogether, and my first play with a man. So I was pretty confident it would be a straightforward, enjoyable session for both of us. BD is a friend, and I trust him. Ness would be present all the time, and I feel safe with her. It was in a reputable public club. What could possibly go wrong?
I know you're all rolling your eyes, sighing and putting your head in your hands. I'm an idiot, okay?
The answer is - *I* went wrong. I made some mistakes, but I was learning, and I'm still learning about what can go wrong and how to do it differently next time.
I'd played with N earlier in the evening, but not hard. BD had found someone to play with earlier, too, and so it was quite late by the time he took me over to the A-frame, chained my hands over my head, and cuffed my ankles to the sides. So far, so good. Then he blindfolded me. I didn't really want that, but I'd dropped into sub mode already by then, so didn't protest. Unbeknownst to me, BD was very sweetly checking with N every time he did anything. "Is it alright if I pull her knickers down?", he asked. "Help yourself, love" I believe was the gist of her reply.
He started spanking me for a warm-up, and I must admit, that was quite hot. It's been 13 years since a man who wasn't a member of the medical profession has touched my naked bum, and under these circumstances, it was really rather saucy. He moved onto beating me, and as usual, I started to get quite cross, and swore, shouted, and generally carried on in an unseemly fashion. And naturally, he started to beat me harder as a result. It very quickly stopped being enjoyable and moved into the realm of something to be endured. I'm not quite sure why I had it in my head that there were only 2 options: A) grit teeth, endure until it was over OR B) call a safeword, stop play entirely.
There were, in reality, many other options, of which the favourite would have been C) agree beforehand a method of checking in on my pain levels - for example, asking me out of 10 how much it hurt, and agree beforehand a number above which I didn't want to go, e.g. 5/10. However, D) whisper 'it's getting a bit much, please back down a bit' to either BD or N would also have been sensible.
I'm very confident and assertive in areas of my life which I'm experienced in. But this is so far out of my comfort zone that I worry and fret and think that I'm getting it wrong, I'm cocking it up, I'll get a rep for being a nob-end and everyone will hate me. I'd heard about 'topping from the bottom' and 'bratty subs' and didn't want - couldn't bear to - be looked down on in that way by the friends I'd started to make in this new community. Everyone's been so kind to me, BD's been willing to give me my first play with a man, he's been a friend to me. It seemed that choosing option C or D would be a poor way to repay him. I realise now that there's a subtle but distinct - and vital - difference between trying to dictate the agenda, and letting your top/dom know when you've reaching your limits. I still struggle very hard with this, but I'm still learning, and I hope I never stop being open to learning.
Because I'm a friend, BD was speaking to me in quite a joking tone, and N had to encourage him to try and sound like he meant business, because she knows I like that. The pain got more and more intense, and I lost my temper, which just made BD bring out his cane and christen it on me. He was trying to make me guess what the toy was ('Is it a flogger?' 'no...whimper', 'is it a paddle' 'nooooo...don't...', 'what is it then?') and I was refusing to say, even though I knew what it was. He started caning me in time with saying in a ridiculous voice 'It's BD's new cane! It's BD's new cane!' which caused N to look at him and raise her eyebrows in 'have you ACTUALLY gone MENTAL?' semaphore. It just shows how much I've recovered from the experience that I was lying in bed between my husband and Ness the other day, started thinking about this, and was giggling hysterically but trying to keep quiet so I wouldn't wake them up and have to explain myself!
But the caning was far, far too much pain. N kept coming to my front and checking on me. She asked if I knew my safeword, and I said yes. She asked BD to tell me what my safeword was, so that I would know that he knew it. So why didn't I safeword? Why take option A over option B? I'm still not 100% sure. I'm stubborn by nature, and prideful. I had heard doms say that they think they've failed if a sub has to use their safeword, because they've not read them right, and I didn't want to let BD down. BD and N interact in a very teasing fashion and I didn't want BD think himself a stricter dom than N, more able to administer discipline and bring me in line when I started shouting and swearing. I had to carry on yelling at him, for just as long and as hard as I would with N. Wouldn't want him to think I'm scared of him in a way I'm not scared of N - it would be letting the side down. And once I'd sworn and shouted at him, I had to take my punishment. I'd made my bed, as it were, now I had to lie in it and get beaten. I couldn't escape by safewording. It wouldn't be fair or honourable.
All these thoughts were at the back of my mind but I wasn't really thinking during the scene, just reacting. There was a point where I mistakenly thought I'd heard N's voice in the other room. I thought she'd left me alone with BD. I started sobbing, and he was banging on about being a dacryphile and how my tears would only turn him on. So I yelled 'they'll be tears of rage in a minute if you don't piss off and leave me the fuck alone!'
Not unreasonably, this got me a few seriously hard whacks, and I was quite prepared to suffer them as due consequence, when it suddenly occured to me I was about to black out. I'd been so pre-occupied by the pain and my emotional response, that I'd been unaware of the fainting sensations creeping up on me. I muttered 'feel wierd...faint...let me out' and I broke out in a sweat. The light darkened to a single spot in my eyes, there was a high pitched humming noise, and my heart was pounding. I knew it would only be moments before I passed out.
Within these rapidly passing moments, BD and N had me unchained and lowered me carefully to the floor. It seemed forever and a day to me though, and I had a powerful urge to pull wildly against the chains, but I had to flex my willpower as I knew this would only make it harder for them to release me. They both went into first aid mode, checking my reactions, giving me juice and a sweet when I was ready. My over-riding reaction was one of shame and guilt - I'd screwed it up, I'd made a nuisance of myself, I was looking like the biggest twat in the world. Poor BD and N, being lumbered with a mook like me. Everyone can see me making an arse of myself. it was the end of the night and the club organisers were trying to clear up so they could go home, and I was getting in the way.
Of course, everyone was kindness itself in reassuring me that this wasn't the case, that it happens a lot, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I wasn't being a nuisance - but that's how I felt at the time.
I got well enough to sit up, then stand, then be helped down the stairs by N, during which I came over all peculiar again. Every time I touched the memory in my mind, a fresh wave of sick dizzyness came over me. My mind was protecting itself, but trying not to think about it was almost as hard as ignoring the proverbial pink elephant. BD waited with me while N brought round the car. He held me close because I was shaking and so cold. I felt fresh waves of faintness; my body remembered it was this man right here holding me now who had hurt me. And yet, conversely, I also felt a yearning to be around him. I was strangely disappointed when he left.
I stayed with N that night and my mind and body were galloping headlong furiously, fuelled by body chemistry and unable to rest. It took hours, and N gently stroking my forehead, before I dropped into an exhausted and troubled sleep.
I woke the next morning feeling stricken, my thoughts and stomach churning. When I checked the mirror, the sight of the bruising nearly made me throw up. I've not got a weak stomach - I'm a first aider at work and have happily mopped up blood, piss and puke , I've bandaged up innumerable fingers sliced open by scalpels in the pursuit of art (don't ask...) but knowing you are looking at damage caused by someone which you asked them to do to you, you let them do to you - it's very different.
N settled me on the bus home. I'd been advised I might start feeling odd again about twelve hours after the event - and unfortunately this co-incided with an unavoidable one and a half hour bus journey. I rang my husband and asked if he could meet me at the bus stop and walk me home; only about ten minutes away but up six flights of steep stairs in an alleyway. I'd already given him a brief summary on the phone, and only needed to fill in the gaps in person. I was worried about how he'd react but simply wasn't able to cope with thinking about that too much as my brain was overloaded enough. I needed to rest and went to bed, but when I got up, I had to face up to him. He was absolutely furious, although he never raised his voice or acted as if he was angry - I just know him so well that he might as well have shouted, it was that obvious.
He said that from his point of view, another man had beaten His Wife almost unconscious for his own sexual pleasure, In Public, (there were definitely capital letters in his sentence), so much so that she could barely walk the next day.
We had the 'yes, I see why you might think that and be angry, but that's not really how it was, it was like this...' conversation. He felt plenty better after lots of explanation, reassurance and discussion. I, on the other hand, felt like shit. What the fuck was wrong with me that I would let someone do this to me? That I could hurt my husband so, for my own selfish reasons? I felt like a bitch, a slut, a sick freak. My husband refused to even look at the bruises - they disgusted and repulsed him. I was disgusted and repulsed by myself. For a few days I felt like turning my back on the scene altogether and never looking back.
But...time passes, the memory settles in, it no longer stings like a nettle every time you touch it. And the trouble with turning your back on something you really want is that it always ends up looking over your shoulder and whispering in your ear. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone screws up. It's what you do next that counts, as someone very wise pointed out to me. And what I did next was go to Club Crimson and have the most fantastic, hot as fuck play.
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