I’m not sure how many of you will have noticed, especially as my blog was down for a few days just after I changed things, but I’ve been making a couple of changes around here and one of them is a very much adapted About Me section. Take a look if you want to know what’s been going on in my head a bit more!
You’re waiting for me, kneeling on the floor, head bowed, patient. I see you have everything prepared, lined up neatly beside you, ready for the task ahead of you. I crack a smile, knowing your little perfectionist ways, happy with you being ready for me. I stand over you, reaching down to stroke your hair, caress your cheek, gently raising your face so our eyes meet. The look of eagerness and excitement makes me smile again. I know you will enjoy this; my little treat for you.
We have our ritual, mainly unspoken, established through our mutual love and enjoyment. You start at my waist, spraying the polish generously and working it into the latex with care and attention. You pride yourself in the shine almost as much as I do, wanting to do a good job and please me as well. Your hands sweep over the surface, caressing the material, working with a rhythm and flow. I see the look in your eyes as your nose is filled with that delicious smell. I see you pause for a second whilst you bring yourself back into the moment.
You work down my legs, your face almost touching them, both hands caressing and smoothing polish into my calves. I see you inhaling, that look of glee. I feel tension disappearing from my body, your touch amplified, feeling more intimate than if you were touching my naked skin. Enclosed and yet so vulnerable, so exposed. I try to stand steadily, stay focussed, but it becomes harder the longer you are working at the job in hand.
My arms are next and then onto my back. As the time passes, the smell engulfs the room, making me take deeper, longer breathes. You massage polish into my shoulders, working away knots whilst making sure my outfit shines. I can feel your breath on my neck, as slow and careful as my own, taking pleasure in the proximity to the latex.
The final part of our ritual. You move around to my front again and dedicate a significant time to polishing my chest. Your attention to detail obvious as I watch you, every inch checked and double checked for shine, making sure there’s enough polish, no corners cut. Your face a mix of concentration and joy, my body melting from your touch and my pride in you.
You finally decide that you are finished and look at me for approval, for praise, for confirmation that I am happy. It takes all my strength not to grab you and pull you into my body, to let you into my secret, to take what I really desire. Instead, I act in control and tell you how pleased I am with you, whilst desperate for the next time, for that touch again.
I’m still not quite sure if I like this piece but I’m posting it anyway. Maybe I shall write what happens next someday too.
It’s just another night, sitting at home and watching a film. You ask me to get you a drink.
“Get it yourself!, I’m busy watching this.”
I sense the mistake the moment I catch the look in your eyes but I can’t help it.
“What are you going to do if I don’t?” sticking my tongue out.
It’s stupid; I’m not even trying to egg you on. You get up and head towards the kitchen and I shout after you, asking for my own. I know I’m pushing my luck, but I don’t see the harm. I’m distracted by the film so I don’t notice you coming back into the room until you’re placing the bowl in front of me.
“What’s this?” disgust undisguised in my tone.
I look up to you and you’re smirking.
“I’m not going to drink it. You can’t make me.”
What am I saying? Your hand is firm on the back of my head as I try to resist, locking my arms out, palms on the floor. Your hand grips at my hair, disabling me as if you were scruffing a cat. My face is in the bowl, mouth open from protesting, held down for as long as you dare, water filling my nose and mouth, making me struggle. You pull me back, sitting me up and looking straight into my eyes. A sensible girl whould be meek and apologetic but it seems that she’s not here today. I stick my tongue out again and you react by pushing me straight back into the water.
When you let me back up, water is dripping from my hair and I splutter water straight out from my mouth and into your face, You’re clearly not impressed. You grab me roughly and pull me over your knee. I’m not going easily though, kicking, scrabbling, wriggling. My knickers are tugged down and I try to pull them back up. Again, you pull my hair. A moment of calm and my knickers are down again. I’m about to protest when the strap comes down on my backside. The pain is intense, burning, stinging, catching my breath. Before I know it, the strap cracks down again and again. You hesitate a moment and I start to wriggle again, trying to get up, to escape, but you have an iron grip on my back. Another series of strokes from the strap and I can feel the heat rising from my bottom but, instead of feeling sorry, I just want to kick and scream. You seem to know this and pull me up off your lap.
“Stand up straight, facing me”
I do it, looking sullen, apathetic.
“Get the cane from the hook and present it to me”
You’re trying to gain control, to get me to behave. I amble over to the wall, grab the cane and hold it out to you, lazily. You glare at me. I know why; I’m not doing things the way I should, the way you have trained me.
I hold them out, palms down. Instead of shouting at me, you roughly turn them over and place them one on top of the other. Three strokes on each hand. Three strips on each palm. It hurts and it’s hard not to let it show.
“Clothes off and pull up your kickers.”
I do as you tell me, leaving my discarded garments untidily strewn over the floor. I stand, fidgeting, playing with my hair, looking bored.
You’re on me in a second, pulling me by my hair, dragging me to the cage, my feet barely keeping up with you, my body feeling out of control. Bundled inside, cramped, body folded over, I hear you snap shut the padlock.
“You will stay here and contemplate your actions. You will have all privileges removed. No clothes, no attention, no acknowledgement, no voice. Food and drink will be limited.”
You don’t even look at me.
You walk off and I wait. The minutes tick by and I sit, still bored, still fidgeting. I shiver a little in my nakedness but try to control it, in case you come back. I don’t want you to get pleasure from me struggling. More time passes and I rearrange my body, trying to avoid stiffness and discomfort. There’s enough space in here to move but never quite get comfortable. When you haven’t come back in what seems like hours, I finally realise that this is no joke. I have disappointed you. I have disappointed myself. The tears start then, the second I realise that all I want is to be your good girl again.
Since I had major hip surgery 4 weeks ago, my kink life has taken a bit of a back seat as the pain I’m in and the breaks in my bones mean I really should be taking it pretty easy. That doesn’t mean that my mind shuts up though and kink is frequently on the brain, on both sides of the switchy divide. My cravings change on an almost daily basis, mainly because I know I can’t have any of it but it keeps coming back to something in particular that I haven’t had for a long time.
Although I was never formally collared during my time with S, I did wear one for her at times during play and when out together and I did form a psychological bond with it. It made me feel protected and safe, looked after and secure. There was something very comforting in being able to feel the leather against my skin, bound around my neck. The smell is heavenly too ( I’ve got a bit of a thing for leather, can you tell?). Recently, I have really wanted to feel that again, and extend it to leather cuffs too.
The thing is, this all got me thinking about D/s relationships in general. I’ve never really had much of a formal arrangement, having fallen into D/s relationships before, but there are aspects that I would love to see if they would work for me with someone, as a submissive. I did a lot of reading when I found myself as a submissive, as well as going to several workshops and I became rather interested in protocol and service. I like the idea of ritual and rules regarding my behaviour and actions. I am too stubborn and independent to ever want a 24/7 relationship, plus I always wonder how that would work in poly, especially as a switch but I do have a desire to explore this side of myself again in the future, with the right person, when I am well again. The idea excites and interests me, as well as missing some of the things I had before that came with my submission.
I don’t normally just link to other blogs but I love this post too much not to. It’s really awesome and reaffirming for me. Plus Jes is hot!
I crave to feel its touch on my skin.
To smell the oil, the fibre, before it even comes near me.
To feel that connection, the closeness, the unique intimacy.
Desiring the restriction, the way it takes my breath away, the roughness on my bare skin.
Wanting the release of my mind, my thoughts only in that moment.
To see the marks cut into my flesh, the patterns on my body.
The come down in your arms, the flow of our energy, the passion of something so simple yet complex.
I shall leave you with a photo of the last partial I did before my operation. Taken at Rope Office Hours, April 2013 by Eddymonster. Rope by Ruby and Eddymonster. Models: myself and the girl
Things are very different in my life now than they were even just a few months ago. I have changed and adapted so much since I started going out on the ‘scene’ as I met amazing people who have nurtured my development and helped me to learn who I am that little bit more than I could before. I have grown.
One particular aspect of this would be how I approach play, sex and relationships. When I was younger, and probably more naive, I used to see sex as this sacred thing, only to be shared with those that I was devoted to, madly in love with, committed to. I also saw play as a very sexual thing and thought of it as an attachment of sex rather than a separate activity. I didn’t necessarily feel that play was sexual, just often led there. The idea of doing it with someone apart from B was odd. Apart from rope bondage. That always seemed to have a separate entity in my brain, detachable from sex, able to do it with people I wasn’t in an intimate relationship with. Probably because it made me float into subspace. In hindsight, it was probably all a trust thing, as, weirdly, I felt other kinds of play made me more vulnerable. I was very all or nothing, with relationships too. I was young and fell fast and hard for people.
Move on several years later and I have forgotten who I am. I still had these ideas about intimacy and attraction but had few ideas about my own sexuality and arousal. The first time I played with new things with S, I was actually surprised at just how aroused I was, from nothing traditionally sexual in my mind. Pain wasn’t meant to turn me on like this. I loosened up. I tried to get my head around more casual relationships with sexual activities included, to accept my inner masochist, to distance being a demo bunny from full on intimate relationships. I envied those who had play partners who weren’t full on romantic lovers. I envied their ease with each other and their closeness.
It took a few small demonstrations and an operation to get my head around things. My kink drive and sex drive, although not mutually exclusive, have different levels. I craved kink but didn’t feel sexy or sexual, in an obvious way. A sought play that I thought would be less sexually arousing. Some needle play, some service play as a top. And maybe I got into it with the wrong idea but I could enjoy play without sex. This was with people I didn’t have that kind of relationship with. In time, the relationships that started at that point in my life have changed to include more sexual intimacy but that developed rather than was expected. They are both gorgeous individuals that I am very lucky to have that kind of relationship with. I realised that sex is fun and doesn’t just have to be in long term, romantic, ‘normal’ relationships! I also actually realised that topping someone and causing pain can get me as hot as having a knife to my throat but that doesn’t mean I have to have sex that instant!
Which gets me on to playing/demoing with people I am not having sex with, and quite possibly don’t even want to. I can’t turn off my body’s response to things that turn me on, if there is energy in the play/demo but I also know how to behave like a civilised human being and not bone someone just because I’m horny, regardless of what they have done! If there’s a connection in that instant and it makes me (or them) feel good, what’s the problem? Life’s too short sometimes.
I seem to have been rambling again! Brain vomit! Basically, what I’m trying to say is, sex is fun, play is fun. They can be independent of each other or very much intertwined. I don’t have to have a sexual connection with someone to play, but I do need trust and to actually like them!
I wait for her to arrive. I’m dressed in a corset and heels, cleavage on show. My lips are painted deep red, seams run up the backs of my legs, hair pulled back. I feel confident and in charge.
When I see her, I can’t help but smile. She’s followed my orders and looks exactly how I wanted her to. There’s one thing missing though. I watch as she walks over to me and wordlessly bows her head I slip the soft leather collar around her neck, catching a hint of its delightful smell. I fasten it gently and guide her to look up at me, caressing her check, feeling so powerful.
“You look beautiful and I am proud to call you mine”
“Thank you, Miss” barely a whisper
I plant a tender kiss on her lips and lead the to the stage. The spanking bench is waiting and, will a gesture, she bends herself over it. I tighten the restraints around her wrists and stroke her hair, making sure she is ready. I feel her body relax. As I pull on my gloves, I let her smell the leather, seeing her melt and relax further.
I admire the sight of her arse, presented to me, presented to everyone. A warm up to start, well paced, building up, alternating checks, loving the feel of spanking her, the sound of impact, the aching of her back. I lower her knickers to expose her pale flesh, smiling to myself as I think about how unblemished it is. More gloved slaps, getting harder and faster and still she is silent. I pull off a glove and alternate using my hands until I find myself just using the unshielded one. The feel of the sting when my hand makes contact with bars skin. She’s not been able to stay completely silent and now I know she’s ready.
“Everyone is here to watch him you, to see the marks made on your body, to hear you scream”
She looks at me, pleading with her eyes, but I turn away to reach for the first cane, medium weight, rattan. I start off slowly, lightly tapping to get a feel of the cane. Small moans and yelps follow as I increase the strength of my whipping, working through the canes from thuddy to stingy, natural and man made, flexible and rigid. Her skin glows a beautiful shade of pink, a smattering of marks but not enough yet.
I pick up the final cane. I pass it in front of her eyes and she starts to protest. It’s the stingiest one, whippy and mean and she knows I will use it hard. Loudly enough for the room to hear, I address her,
“I want you to count in batches of 6, clearly, for everyone to hear just how hard this is for you.”
She nods and I begin swiping the cane across her backside, making contact and waiting for her reaction. A repressed yelp, a gasping breathing, a defiant count. Again, the stick meets her skin, harder. Her reaction is louder but still, a hint of defiance. I will break her. My blows continue, some devilishly hard, others so quick in procession that she can barely count. She’s struggling now, the numbers catching in her throat.
I will make this set my last, put everything in have into it. The first breaks the silence with her cry, the welt on her skin visible almost instantly. By the 4th, she is counting through sobs, still determined. When the set is over, I caress her skin, hand skimming over red marks, making her gasp out. Beautiful lines blossoming on her body. My hand wanders between her legs and I am surprised by her obvious arousal.
As I brush over her cunt, an entirely different moan escapes. She’s forgotten where we are. Gently, I tease her, stroking, prodding, pulling back. Her moans increase, getting louder, more desperate, her body aching into me. A hand at the nape of her neck, pulling her sharply back as my other fingers thrust into her. Another scream, of shock, pain, pleasure. I finger fuck her fast and hard, until I can feel her body contacting, legs shaking, moans climaxing.
A gentle touch, the careful unrestraining, the stroking if hair, bringing her back. A kiss on her forehead
“Well done, my good little girl. You have made a lot of people happy tonight. They enjoyed being witness to both your pain AND pleasure.”
A bashful look, a blush on her cheeks.
“I am proud of you, my good girl. You did well” Her smile says it all; now when to show off my girl again?
This weekend saw the first Liverpool and Merseyside Peer Rope event held at THI (an awesome venue that I shall definitely be going back to). I was lucky enough to act as demo bunny for R and I just feel the need to share.
Sat beside her whilst she gives a brief intro, I’m hugging my chest, already feeling vulnerable and a little nervous. I knew what the plan was and was sure my hip would be fine but I wanted to do my best, to be a good bunny. Plus I knew she was going to ask me to strip and I was feeling a little shy!
She got my to my knees with ease and used the rope against me, whipping, binding me tight, showing me who was in charge. A quick warm up before the main event.
The blindfold on, a technicality as my eyes are closed from the second I am in her arms, in our rope bubble. The mix of mean and gentle, building the connection. My arms behind my back, the bindings around my chest and arms, the adjustments made, all have the same passion and energy as kinbaku with her but there is something so different too. Almost a fierceness in the precision of that rope. An additional feeling. A wonderful one.
She partially suspends my upper body and lowers me back, throwing in some pinches and slaps just to keep me there, just enough to tickle the masochist in me. She hoisted my leg, leaving me feel rather exposed, whispering in my ear to remind me of our audience. I know I blushed slightly, a reminder of my shame, made worse by the moans that I couldn’t contain as she gently ran rope between my legs whenever she had a chance.
The fast, sharp, tight binding round my other leg, pushing me, making my feel fabulous. Her pulling my other leg up even straighter before letting me down. The pinches and digs at my ribs, the punches, the rope pulled suddenly at my neck, the gasp and choke as it catches me off guard. She doesn’t stop putting energy in as she unties, the rope still feels amazing coming off.
I am free but her arms are around me, bringing me back down. Only then can I even think of opening my eyes and registering all the people watching. I barely have that time when the punches begin to rain down on my again. Again and again, with the slapping and pinching and meanness. A pause to tidy and realise that everyone had left, leaving R to beat me some more and realise just how turned on I am, and how much more so as she slaps my cunt. My legs spread, facing the open door, commanded to wank as she abuses my nipples, given permission to come, knowing that people will have heard, not knowing which people have seen me.
The final comedown, the awesome hugs and the energy that’s still there . And the bruises to follow!
I stroll into the pub and glance around. You’re waiting at the table like I told you to be, and I can see you must have listened to at least some of my message as I can see your hair’s tied up and you look suitably made up. I take my time, grabbing a drink and chatting with the girl I know you think is really cute. I can see you fidget and squirm in your seat, the look on your face expressing your discomfort.
I sit across from you, refuse to touch you, refuse to greet you with more than just a nod and a look. You’re wearing just as I asked, the low cut dress, the plunging bra, the heels that you can barely walk in. There’s a glimpse of thigh as your skirt moves and it takes me all my will power not to lustfully pull you towards me. I finish my drink in silence, looking at you approvingly, chuckling gently at your obvious impatience.
I give you the signal and you teeter off to the toilets, wobbling a little, pulling on the hem of your dress. I wait until you’re round the corner, then take my place in the side street outside. When you reappear, I just hold out my hand and into it you drop your sodden knickers. I can smell you on them without having to move my hand and, again, I have to hold myself back. Into my pocket they go and I walk off towards home, knowing you will follow. I keep a brisk pace in my DMs, partially as I am desperate to get into the privacy of the house, partially because I know just how hard you will find it trying to keep up with me.
The second we’re through the door, I pin you to the wall by your throat, my tongue in your mouth, my other hand pulling at your dress. “Teasing little slut” I growl in your ear and I feel your body melt. Roughly, I bundle you into a room and throw you to the floor. Before you have time to react, I’ve ripped your flimsy dress away from you, exposing your body to me. Soon your bra is off and all you have on is too high heels and the butt plug you obediently inserted earlier. You’re shell shocked, afraid to move. I smile to myself, happy to know you’ve been my good little girl but I’m not going to tell you that yet.
Before you can realise what I’m going to do, I grab the rope and use it to immobilise you. I’m quick and rough, not caring if the rope rubs against your skin, pulling it tight in sharp movements, binding you so that you cannot escape. The smell of the hemp mixed with the smell of your cunt makes me ache but I still hold back. I have plans for you.
My fists rain down on you, I’m punching you on the back, your arms, your arse, anywhere available to me. You whimper and moan, I’m not even started yet. My boots meet your flesh, you gasp, I carry on, nudging your legs apart, kicking your cunt with the toe of my boot. I grab you by your hair and snarl at you to clean my boots, shoving your head roughly towards my feet.
Once you’re done, I go back to the kicking and punching, pausing to make you clean up my boots, interspersing the physical abuse with some choice words about your sluttish behaviour. One final grab of your hair and I pull your head back, slapping you across the face.
“Who’s the little whore who was enjoying everyone letching over her in the pub, sitting there with the biggest plug in her arse, soaking her knickers through, knowing I was coming?” I don’t expect an answer but when you start to mumble at me, I grab your knickers out of my pocket and gag you with them. I push you over the sofa, arse in the air and leave you to wait.
My strap on is waiting on the other side of the room. I’ve picked the largest dildo, wanting to fill you. I strap it on and move back over to your waiting arse. A few more slaps and punches have you trying to scream through the gag. I position myself just at the edge of your cunt and I feel you trying to push back. Knowing you want this as much as I do breaks down my will power and my femme cock slams into you. The muffled gasp eggs me on and I pound away, knowing just how much this is pushing you. The friction against my own clit has me screaming out as a wave of orgasm hits me, just as you come all over me.
We collapse in a heap, both panting, sweaty, hot. I tenderly remove your gag, plug and ropes that bind you. I carry you to bed and we curl up. You look so peaceful, so carefree, makeup smeared over your face but you don’t mind. You seem to have forgotten it’s me you’re with and that was nothing.