This is an immediate follow-up to New Beginnings: Part 2
It was perhaps not even half-an-hour before C had recovered and had already tired of the conversation. Rekindling the spark in her eyes that she had talking with him earlier that evening, she turned to the newcomer, and without hesitation, asked R if he'd be interested in playing. While somewhat taken aback ever so slightly as he was pulled out of his observational mode, where he had been just enjoying his time as a voyeur and engaging his new found acquaintances in scene-based discussions, he could not suppress a smile that meant "of course", even before he said it.
She stood up, took his hand, and happily sauntered to the middle of the space that had all the benches and racks. He almost missed the handle to his bag of implements when she pulled him off the sofa.
He reversed abruptly the flow of energy when he reached for her collar and grabbed the D-ring with his finger, leading C to a kneeling bench. He had felt from far away her energy during her previous session with H, and he surmised that it would be easier for her to let go if, in fact, she had nowhere to go. In addition, he preferred her tightly restrained as he would take her measure during this first session. New partners deserved a certain level of caution and attention as different body proportions and reactions could lead to inaccurately placed strikes, something he held himself to high-standards about, and despised in careless tops.
C was in her knee-high boots, black nylons, garters, black panties, and a black bra. He had her face-down on the kneeling bench, with her ankles and wrists cuffed and clipped to the bench. He was always very demanding of his bondage gear, and the cuffs he used were among his favorite...
TO BE CONTINUED
* * * * *
It has always been a thrill to play with C. Her enthusiasm and energy as a bottom brought every scene up a notch (or several). In addition to some fantastic solo scenes with C, I must say that one of my most memorable scenes ever was a double-topping session of C in the company of my Dearly Beloved. An incredible aura engulfed us as this unbelievable eroticism and energy just flowed through the three of us. Watching sessions between C and my Dearly Beloved was beyond hot, and often crowd-stoppers. Overall, a special connection was forged between C and us.
I remember several late winter nights (early mornings?), driving C to her home, with my Dearly Beloved by my side, and so enjoying our post-scene conversations as we were virtually alone on the roads at that time of the night, and large snowflakes falling on the car, some so large they reflect ed part of the light of the car's headlights back to us in a myriad of tiny flashes. As the tires crunched over the freshly fallen snow, it would create a singular set of tracks on the street, and as I got out of the car to chivalrously open C's door for her and help her out of the car, I would look back at the path of the car in the snow, and realize that both for myself, and for my Dearly Beloved and me, we had made more inroads into our own respective BDSM realms, in the companionship of a wonderful play partner.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
New Beginnings: Part 2
This is the immediate follow-up to New Beginnings: Part 1
He had met C at the movie earlier that afternoon. Not tall, but very pretty and curvaceous, he had immediately noticed the beautiful leather boots she was wearing. They probably had a 3-inch spike heel, and came up to just below her knee-caps. She had on some black nylons that bridged the gap to a mid-thigh black skirt. She had a very open and straight-forward manner of expressing herself, and she was not shy about her feelings about anything. This went double for her BDSM lifestyle. She clearly lived her submission on a daily basis, both with her master of many years, and several play partners, some of which she met weekly.
He was immediately fascinated by C and her energy. The discussions throughout the evening had been entertaining and enriching, and she had much of what he enjoyed in a submissive: a strong woman who was comfortable with her kinks, who had a lot of energy, and who genuinely enjoyed getting lost in a sea of sensations and stimulations.
The strength part was very important to him. He had always had the attitude that there could be no power exchange if there was no power to be be surrendered, even if just for a while. C did so with trusted play partners in a fun and flirtatious way, and everyone liked her for what she brought to whatever space she was in.
C was spotted by one of her regular play partners, a very experienced and respected male dominant of the local scene. It was truly impressive to see how fast and how smoothly they slipped into their routine. There was definitely a sense of the familiar, perhaps even of the predictable. But there was no doubt about how much they enjoyed their 15-20 minute skit. H was a busy worker, and this pleased C to no-end as the crescendo of her moaning, as he increased the intensity of his scene, got the attention of pretty much everyone in the room that wasn't at least already part-way into subspace. Even for observers that had "been there, done that", there was a remarkable synergy between these two, and in the counterpoint of percussion sounds coming from their area of the dungeon, C was contributing a melody-line of moans, exhalations, and the occasional scream that was hard ignore. That evening, if BDSM had a porn star, C was it.
Their little scene came to an abrupt halt at a change of striking instrument. Among the several toys he pulled out over the course of their play, H grabbed a recently acquired flicker whip that struck fear in the heart of every bottom that saw it in action. C struggled against her restraints when she saw H come toward her with it. We could even hear some rather uneven negotiations happening at a distance. But H was rather unsympathetic to her pleas, and with the skill and accuracy for which he was famous, he changed the mood of their little session completely. After the unmistakable swish-and-hit of the flicker whip, C emitted a short but loud cry, immediately followed by an audible inspiration that sounded like a reaction to a burning pain. H only put her through less than a dozen of those strikes, but that radical change of pace left her exhausted and sweaty, and we made plenty of room for her on the sofa when H came back with her.
He had met C at the movie earlier that afternoon. Not tall, but very pretty and curvaceous, he had immediately noticed the beautiful leather boots she was wearing. They probably had a 3-inch spike heel, and came up to just below her knee-caps. She had on some black nylons that bridged the gap to a mid-thigh black skirt. She had a very open and straight-forward manner of expressing herself, and she was not shy about her feelings about anything. This went double for her BDSM lifestyle. She clearly lived her submission on a daily basis, both with her master of many years, and several play partners, some of which she met weekly.
He was immediately fascinated by C and her energy. The discussions throughout the evening had been entertaining and enriching, and she had much of what he enjoyed in a submissive: a strong woman who was comfortable with her kinks, who had a lot of energy, and who genuinely enjoyed getting lost in a sea of sensations and stimulations.
The strength part was very important to him. He had always had the attitude that there could be no power exchange if there was no power to be be surrendered, even if just for a while. C did so with trusted play partners in a fun and flirtatious way, and everyone liked her for what she brought to whatever space she was in.
C was spotted by one of her regular play partners, a very experienced and respected male dominant of the local scene. It was truly impressive to see how fast and how smoothly they slipped into their routine. There was definitely a sense of the familiar, perhaps even of the predictable. But there was no doubt about how much they enjoyed their 15-20 minute skit. H was a busy worker, and this pleased C to no-end as the crescendo of her moaning, as he increased the intensity of his scene, got the attention of pretty much everyone in the room that wasn't at least already part-way into subspace. Even for observers that had "been there, done that", there was a remarkable synergy between these two, and in the counterpoint of percussion sounds coming from their area of the dungeon, C was contributing a melody-line of moans, exhalations, and the occasional scream that was hard ignore. That evening, if BDSM had a porn star, C was it.
Their little scene came to an abrupt halt at a change of striking instrument. Among the several toys he pulled out over the course of their play, H grabbed a recently acquired flicker whip that struck fear in the heart of every bottom that saw it in action. C struggled against her restraints when she saw H come toward her with it. We could even hear some rather uneven negotiations happening at a distance. But H was rather unsympathetic to her pleas, and with the skill and accuracy for which he was famous, he changed the mood of their little session completely. After the unmistakable swish-and-hit of the flicker whip, C emitted a short but loud cry, immediately followed by an audible inspiration that sounded like a reaction to a burning pain. H only put her through less than a dozen of those strikes, but that radical change of pace left her exhausted and sweaty, and we made plenty of room for her on the sofa when H came back with her.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
New Beginnings: Part 1
The invitation to the movie was innocent enough… as innocent as any announcement posted online to a BDSM brunch might be… An opportunity to meet people from the scene, and a chance to return to that local scene after several years of absence.
The movie? The opening weekend of “The Secretary”. If that post wouldn’t draw out the right kind of folks on an early Saturday afternoon, he didn’t know what would.
He showed up in a nice pair of black leather jeans and a black sweater, perhaps a little stereotypical but classic and elegant, and fetishy enough for those looking for it. He was among the first ones to arrive, and discreetly found a seat outside the theater area from where he could observe the developing scene. Within a few minutes, it was quite apparent, watching the demeanor of some of the people arriving, who the members of the “Computer Group” were.
He went over to introduce himself to a middle age lady that evidently was one of the organizers of this particular outing, and well-recognized by the group. It was his first meeting of ms and her master, and unknowingly, the beginning of a friendship that would make an impact on both sides for many years to come.
He was then introduced to several members to the group, without too many details being exchanged, and he enjoyed the feeling that he was carefully being scoped out.
The movie was a surprising success, and the enjoyment of it was amplified by the indiscreet comments, not to say the heckling, from the leather gallery, which outnumbered the rest of the audience at this early mid-afternoon showing. The feeling after the movie was one of satisfaction, especially since so many mainstream efforts at capturing any real kink so often falls flat, either turning into any excuse for vanilla sex or just demonstrating how little society understands of kink.
The group left the movie together to enjoy an early dinner at a nearby restaurant, and plans were made to meet later on at what was then the most active underground BDSM club in the city. The group segmented into teams of anywhere between two and five, and his particular group made its way over the apartment of one of the younger women as she wanted to change clothes. This mix of old play partners and new acquaintances enjoyed a round of drinks while M put on something a more in the mood for an evening over at LJ’s club.
They drove over to the club in a poorer part of the city, quite the stereotypical warehouse with lots of space, a decent enough exterior, but with clear signs on the inside that this building had seen better days.
A brief check at the entrance to make sure one of the regulars could vouch for his presence at the club, and he made his way up some stairs, past walls with the occasional holes in them. The actual entrance to the main room was on his right, and he kept one of the double doors open to gallantly let in his new-found friends. He met LJ, who had a pretty good reputation, as far as BDSM club owners go. His commitment to the local scene was beyond question.
Entering the actual playspace, the feelings that overtook him were quickly overwhelming. The smell of leather was intoxicating, mixed as it was with the smell of smoke and a not-so-faint hint of sweat from those who had already started the action. A BYOB bar was straight in front of the entrance doors, with a refrigerator on the side. On the left of the bar, beyond the fridge, was a mix of chairs and sofas, around a large coffee table, where several individuals, most of them in leather, all of them in black, were enjoying some drinks and chatting rather informally with play partners, friends, and strangers, about play that had happened, was happening, or was to come. Most were seated, but a few subs were sitting on the floor, next to their tops, for at least that moment.
On the right side of the entrance, there were a few more chairs, placed around circular tables that could have been found outside any sidewalk café, and then, in the space that opened up behind these, a collection of benches, racks, and pulley systems that were strategically positioned to take full advantage of the roughly 3000 square feet area that made up LJ’s dungeon.
The lighting was appropriately subdued, with a mix of candles, red light bulbs, and warm yellowish lights that gave the dungeon an authentic feel for the occasion.
The arrival of the different groups that attended the movie more than doubled the number of people in the club, and the anticipation of what might unfold over the course of the night, even if he had come without expectations, provided him for a few seconds a rush that combined adrenaline and a bit of light-headedness.
He took his place at one of the empty sofas on his left, placing his modest toy bag on the outside edge of the sofa. He always believed in being prepared, and one can never know what opportunity can come up at such events. He watched intently as his companions hooked up with people they knew, and as they broke into social niceties, the unmistakable sounds of people playing on the other side of the room punctuated everyone’s conversation. Many of the people he saw in those first few minutes would remain regulars in his interactions with the scene for the next two years, a few even longer.
The movie? The opening weekend of “The Secretary”. If that post wouldn’t draw out the right kind of folks on an early Saturday afternoon, he didn’t know what would.
He showed up in a nice pair of black leather jeans and a black sweater, perhaps a little stereotypical but classic and elegant, and fetishy enough for those looking for it. He was among the first ones to arrive, and discreetly found a seat outside the theater area from where he could observe the developing scene. Within a few minutes, it was quite apparent, watching the demeanor of some of the people arriving, who the members of the “Computer Group” were.
He went over to introduce himself to a middle age lady that evidently was one of the organizers of this particular outing, and well-recognized by the group. It was his first meeting of ms and her master, and unknowingly, the beginning of a friendship that would make an impact on both sides for many years to come.
He was then introduced to several members to the group, without too many details being exchanged, and he enjoyed the feeling that he was carefully being scoped out.
The movie was a surprising success, and the enjoyment of it was amplified by the indiscreet comments, not to say the heckling, from the leather gallery, which outnumbered the rest of the audience at this early mid-afternoon showing. The feeling after the movie was one of satisfaction, especially since so many mainstream efforts at capturing any real kink so often falls flat, either turning into any excuse for vanilla sex or just demonstrating how little society understands of kink.
The group left the movie together to enjoy an early dinner at a nearby restaurant, and plans were made to meet later on at what was then the most active underground BDSM club in the city. The group segmented into teams of anywhere between two and five, and his particular group made its way over the apartment of one of the younger women as she wanted to change clothes. This mix of old play partners and new acquaintances enjoyed a round of drinks while M put on something a more in the mood for an evening over at LJ’s club.
They drove over to the club in a poorer part of the city, quite the stereotypical warehouse with lots of space, a decent enough exterior, but with clear signs on the inside that this building had seen better days.
A brief check at the entrance to make sure one of the regulars could vouch for his presence at the club, and he made his way up some stairs, past walls with the occasional holes in them. The actual entrance to the main room was on his right, and he kept one of the double doors open to gallantly let in his new-found friends. He met LJ, who had a pretty good reputation, as far as BDSM club owners go. His commitment to the local scene was beyond question.
Entering the actual playspace, the feelings that overtook him were quickly overwhelming. The smell of leather was intoxicating, mixed as it was with the smell of smoke and a not-so-faint hint of sweat from those who had already started the action. A BYOB bar was straight in front of the entrance doors, with a refrigerator on the side. On the left of the bar, beyond the fridge, was a mix of chairs and sofas, around a large coffee table, where several individuals, most of them in leather, all of them in black, were enjoying some drinks and chatting rather informally with play partners, friends, and strangers, about play that had happened, was happening, or was to come. Most were seated, but a few subs were sitting on the floor, next to their tops, for at least that moment.
On the right side of the entrance, there were a few more chairs, placed around circular tables that could have been found outside any sidewalk café, and then, in the space that opened up behind these, a collection of benches, racks, and pulley systems that were strategically positioned to take full advantage of the roughly 3000 square feet area that made up LJ’s dungeon.
The lighting was appropriately subdued, with a mix of candles, red light bulbs, and warm yellowish lights that gave the dungeon an authentic feel for the occasion.
The arrival of the different groups that attended the movie more than doubled the number of people in the club, and the anticipation of what might unfold over the course of the night, even if he had come without expectations, provided him for a few seconds a rush that combined adrenaline and a bit of light-headedness.
He took his place at one of the empty sofas on his left, placing his modest toy bag on the outside edge of the sofa. He always believed in being prepared, and one can never know what opportunity can come up at such events. He watched intently as his companions hooked up with people they knew, and as they broke into social niceties, the unmistakable sounds of people playing on the other side of the room punctuated everyone’s conversation. Many of the people he saw in those first few minutes would remain regulars in his interactions with the scene for the next two years, a few even longer.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Rant: Reckless First Encounters
I’m still troubled by a post on my good friend morningstar’s blog from a few months ago.
She had had a discussion with an friend that had a dominant rather infatuated with him, and he had asked her friend to drop everything in his life to come join him in Florida (Risk Takers, Jan. 18th, 2008, http://wtsubbie.blogspot.com/). To morningstar’s great shock, her friend indicated that if he had been younger, he would have done it.
While I’m not familiar with the details of that relationship, or the individuals involved, it brought back memories and thoughts of one of the areas of the scene I feel strongest about, and that makes me the most uncomfortable. I’ll call it reckless first meetings, and it is truly the BDSM scene at its worst.
Let me start with a disclaimer: despite some generalizations, this in no way applies to everyone. Nothing in life does. So even when I forget the appropriate nuances, I may be talking about a few, some, or many, but never about all. Am I making myself clear?
In many conversations with a number of female submissives, the fantasy of the first encounter or meeting with a top is something that makes their head spin, their knees weak, and their privates wet. Not that this is a bad thing, or something any bottom anticipating an encounter with a new top is unfamiliar with.
However, this particular fantasy has a few twists. The scene is often held in a secluded or private place, like a McMotel. The stranger, almost always male, is unknown by anyone in the local BDSM scene. He has years of experience from unspecified sources. He says that no one must know what is going on. Instead of raising red flags, each condition seems to enrapture the female submissive even further. The ultimate fantasy of meeting a strong dominant stranger that will bend them to his will in a mysterious place, and provide the power exchange experience of a lifetime is a powerful syren song in the mind of these submissives.
But reality is sometimes much less romance novel-like. Often, the dominant stranger is, at best, unskilled. At worst, he never had any intention of engaging in BDSM play. These predators know enough about the scene to be able to charm their way into such a situation, preying on vulnerable submissives that are searching for answers, for companionship, for release. The results of this scene may range assault to rape, or worst.
* * * * *
I had a close friend in the scene at one point, with whom I have lost contact years ago. We'll call her B. She had been a very experienced submissive hidding behind the facade of a strong, confident, well-accomplished woman. It was difficult to miss B, even in a crowd, and if you caught her eye, you were going to have a hard time not having a discussion with her.
B and I played occasionally together over a period of about 5 or 6 months, in public and in private. She was a woman who lived her submissiveness deeply, and she lived life at its fullest. This was a smart woman, a well-travelled woman, a woman who had seen much happen in her years, now a bit past middle-age.
But one day, I went to see her, somewhat of a surprise visit, strictly social, and I found her with a bruise near one eye, and other injuries inconsistent with what could ever happen in typical corporal punishment session.
She confessed that she had not shared with me her plan, since I would not have approved, and I probably would have gotten angry at her. But she had had an opportunity to live out her ultimate fantasy (once more...), the description above based on the specifics of what she told me (but par for the course for so many), and she just needed to live it so badly... so badly.
It turns out the stranger had no leather implements, no latex clothing, no kinky toys beyond some handcuffs, some ropes, and some unidentified cloth items to use as a gag. Her session? Forced oral sex. And not a consensual one at that. I guess the intimidation beating served as the warm-up.
She had no safecall, no one waiting for her, no one looking for her, no idea who the stranger was, or what he looked like. She could not bring herself to make a police report, even if it was probably useless to think that the predator might have forgotten to use a fake name in a motel that took cash payments only.
At that time, she needed support, not a tirade for her neglicence and lack of precaution. I was thinking of a few other words at the time, but she needed those even less. So I let it pass, and tried to be as supportive as possible. Strong woman as she was, she was back in action in a few months. Strong-headed woman that she was, I'm not convinced she would not try that again, perhaps (or not) with a few extra precautions. But would they be enough?
* * * * *
This is not an isolated case. This is not an extreme case either. Even with all the reasonable precautions in place, things can go bad. But as with much of life, it is our responsibility to do what we can to minimize those risks. Prior to such encoubters, face-to-face meetings are important, within the context of the scene (munches, public play) or not. I do recommend within the scene... fakes, incompetents, or individuals with problem-pasts are soon identified. Safecalls are essential. I've been the safecall for about a dozen first BDSM dates, and two of those turned out badly. Play hard, but play safe.
* * * * *
Already understanding something about this fantasy, I did have opportunities many years ago to indulge some submissives that I had had some great email exchanges with. I know, I know... that was many years ago, at a time the cynicism we have today wasn't quite at the same level, and there was hope that with a little scratching below the surface, we'd find the good folks.
But the ethics of it were clear to me. Regardless of what I did, I was perpetuating a dangerous tradition. Even if the submissives in question had their "first encounter" fantasy with me, and we had a great play session, it would encourage them to look for more of those. I couldn't accept that. I had to discourage the habit, and apart from informal discussions that I was pulled into, the best way I could do that was to not engage in them.
At the end of the day, like many other things we do, or don't do, it's difficult to say whether we've made a difference. People will do what their hearts want them to do. But I do hope that my online rants, discussions with individual submissives, and my lack of participating in this particular facet of the BDSM scene has made an impact on someone, and has kept them from harms way. My efforts will be worth it if I know that just one person was spared the danger of this not-so-uncommon fantasy. Or at least prepared adequately for it.
She had had a discussion with an friend that had a dominant rather infatuated with him, and he had asked her friend to drop everything in his life to come join him in Florida (Risk Takers, Jan. 18th, 2008, http://wtsubbie.blogspot.com/). To morningstar’s great shock, her friend indicated that if he had been younger, he would have done it.
While I’m not familiar with the details of that relationship, or the individuals involved, it brought back memories and thoughts of one of the areas of the scene I feel strongest about, and that makes me the most uncomfortable. I’ll call it reckless first meetings, and it is truly the BDSM scene at its worst.
Let me start with a disclaimer: despite some generalizations, this in no way applies to everyone. Nothing in life does. So even when I forget the appropriate nuances, I may be talking about a few, some, or many, but never about all. Am I making myself clear?
In many conversations with a number of female submissives, the fantasy of the first encounter or meeting with a top is something that makes their head spin, their knees weak, and their privates wet. Not that this is a bad thing, or something any bottom anticipating an encounter with a new top is unfamiliar with.
However, this particular fantasy has a few twists. The scene is often held in a secluded or private place, like a McMotel. The stranger, almost always male, is unknown by anyone in the local BDSM scene. He has years of experience from unspecified sources. He says that no one must know what is going on. Instead of raising red flags, each condition seems to enrapture the female submissive even further. The ultimate fantasy of meeting a strong dominant stranger that will bend them to his will in a mysterious place, and provide the power exchange experience of a lifetime is a powerful syren song in the mind of these submissives.
But reality is sometimes much less romance novel-like. Often, the dominant stranger is, at best, unskilled. At worst, he never had any intention of engaging in BDSM play. These predators know enough about the scene to be able to charm their way into such a situation, preying on vulnerable submissives that are searching for answers, for companionship, for release. The results of this scene may range assault to rape, or worst.
* * * * *
I had a close friend in the scene at one point, with whom I have lost contact years ago. We'll call her B. She had been a very experienced submissive hidding behind the facade of a strong, confident, well-accomplished woman. It was difficult to miss B, even in a crowd, and if you caught her eye, you were going to have a hard time not having a discussion with her.
B and I played occasionally together over a period of about 5 or 6 months, in public and in private. She was a woman who lived her submissiveness deeply, and she lived life at its fullest. This was a smart woman, a well-travelled woman, a woman who had seen much happen in her years, now a bit past middle-age.
But one day, I went to see her, somewhat of a surprise visit, strictly social, and I found her with a bruise near one eye, and other injuries inconsistent with what could ever happen in typical corporal punishment session.
She confessed that she had not shared with me her plan, since I would not have approved, and I probably would have gotten angry at her. But she had had an opportunity to live out her ultimate fantasy (once more...), the description above based on the specifics of what she told me (but par for the course for so many), and she just needed to live it so badly... so badly.
It turns out the stranger had no leather implements, no latex clothing, no kinky toys beyond some handcuffs, some ropes, and some unidentified cloth items to use as a gag. Her session? Forced oral sex. And not a consensual one at that. I guess the intimidation beating served as the warm-up.
She had no safecall, no one waiting for her, no one looking for her, no idea who the stranger was, or what he looked like. She could not bring herself to make a police report, even if it was probably useless to think that the predator might have forgotten to use a fake name in a motel that took cash payments only.
At that time, she needed support, not a tirade for her neglicence and lack of precaution. I was thinking of a few other words at the time, but she needed those even less. So I let it pass, and tried to be as supportive as possible. Strong woman as she was, she was back in action in a few months. Strong-headed woman that she was, I'm not convinced she would not try that again, perhaps (or not) with a few extra precautions. But would they be enough?
* * * * *
This is not an isolated case. This is not an extreme case either. Even with all the reasonable precautions in place, things can go bad. But as with much of life, it is our responsibility to do what we can to minimize those risks. Prior to such encoubters, face-to-face meetings are important, within the context of the scene (munches, public play) or not. I do recommend within the scene... fakes, incompetents, or individuals with problem-pasts are soon identified. Safecalls are essential. I've been the safecall for about a dozen first BDSM dates, and two of those turned out badly. Play hard, but play safe.
* * * * *
Already understanding something about this fantasy, I did have opportunities many years ago to indulge some submissives that I had had some great email exchanges with. I know, I know... that was many years ago, at a time the cynicism we have today wasn't quite at the same level, and there was hope that with a little scratching below the surface, we'd find the good folks.
But the ethics of it were clear to me. Regardless of what I did, I was perpetuating a dangerous tradition. Even if the submissives in question had their "first encounter" fantasy with me, and we had a great play session, it would encourage them to look for more of those. I couldn't accept that. I had to discourage the habit, and apart from informal discussions that I was pulled into, the best way I could do that was to not engage in them.
At the end of the day, like many other things we do, or don't do, it's difficult to say whether we've made a difference. People will do what their hearts want them to do. But I do hope that my online rants, discussions with individual submissives, and my lack of participating in this particular facet of the BDSM scene has made an impact on someone, and has kept them from harms way. My efforts will be worth it if I know that just one person was spared the danger of this not-so-uncommon fantasy. Or at least prepared adequately for it.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Act 1 Scene 3: Shibari
Mistress S could just not wait to put him in ropes. She had told him so within the first few minutes of the preliminary conversation, and during some early warm-up play. For his part, he was just as impatient for them, as he had been awaiting this moment of surrender with anticipation for days, as important stage in the further offering of his submission to her.
She ordered him over to the suspension rack where he was to remain still as she carefully considered her options in ropes. Once the decision was made, he experienced his first taste of shibari as she expertly weaved her web of bindings over his upper body. She started at his mid-section and worked her way up, pointing out the "man-boobs" she created that would leave his nipples vulnerable to the delicious tortures to come.
Once she completed in the intricate pattern over his torso, she paused to admire her artwork before moving on to binding his arms to his sides. While he could only get a partial perspective of the design she had created, he saw in her eyes the satisfaction she felt, and that engulfed him in a wave of warmth and lightness simultaneously. How beautiful the bondage must have been!
Bound as he was, he was helpless to avoid her next move, a gentle kiss on his lips, a delicate, teasing kiss, that had him slip further into subspace. Already feeling his tenuous hold on the moment sliding from his observational and analytical consciousness, the softness of her lips on his, the smell of the herbal/flowery fragance of her skin, was intoxicating.
As physically vulnerable to her whims as he had dreamed he could be over the course of the past several days, there was no turning back. Not that he would have wanted to. This was another staircase to take him into the depths of his submissive consciousness, and he knew that she would be the perfect guide to this particular journey.
* * * * *
At the end of the session, as he came out of the shower and started drying off with the towel she had left him, his fingers brushed against an unfamiliar texture on his skin. As he looked down, he saw the rope marks still present from the bondage. The pattern sculpted into his skin was absolutely beautiful, moving him deeply, and as he already longed to have her bind his body once more, he experience their fanthom presence for a few fleeting moments as he closed his eyes and travelled back through a kaleidoscope of scenes and images where he served as the canvass for Mistress S' shibari artistry.
* * * * *
Later, a fascinating, and unexpected, realization washed over him as he visually and kinesthically relived the experiences of the evening in his mind. A transformation had happened. It was difficult to say when it had happened, or what had triggered it. Perhaps it was only the progression of events that Mistress S had conjured up in her wickedly creative mind that lead him there. Busy with a multitude of sensations, sights, sounds, and smells, some of them new, the others at an intensity he had never experienced before, Mistress S' bondage had moved him from one destination to another without him noticing the transitional change of emotional scenery. The shibari she had weaved him in left him excitedly powerless in the anticipation of what may come. But the catharsis was that the feeling of helplessness at the hands of Mistress S' had somehow morphed into a deep sense of security, of caring, that engulfed him in an overwhelming feeling of release. The chains and weights of the world outside their space had been removed and left behind. And he could truly, finally, express his submissive self, and offer it for the taking to his muse.
She ordered him over to the suspension rack where he was to remain still as she carefully considered her options in ropes. Once the decision was made, he experienced his first taste of shibari as she expertly weaved her web of bindings over his upper body. She started at his mid-section and worked her way up, pointing out the "man-boobs" she created that would leave his nipples vulnerable to the delicious tortures to come.
Once she completed in the intricate pattern over his torso, she paused to admire her artwork before moving on to binding his arms to his sides. While he could only get a partial perspective of the design she had created, he saw in her eyes the satisfaction she felt, and that engulfed him in a wave of warmth and lightness simultaneously. How beautiful the bondage must have been!
Bound as he was, he was helpless to avoid her next move, a gentle kiss on his lips, a delicate, teasing kiss, that had him slip further into subspace. Already feeling his tenuous hold on the moment sliding from his observational and analytical consciousness, the softness of her lips on his, the smell of the herbal/flowery fragance of her skin, was intoxicating.
As physically vulnerable to her whims as he had dreamed he could be over the course of the past several days, there was no turning back. Not that he would have wanted to. This was another staircase to take him into the depths of his submissive consciousness, and he knew that she would be the perfect guide to this particular journey.
* * * * *
At the end of the session, as he came out of the shower and started drying off with the towel she had left him, his fingers brushed against an unfamiliar texture on his skin. As he looked down, he saw the rope marks still present from the bondage. The pattern sculpted into his skin was absolutely beautiful, moving him deeply, and as he already longed to have her bind his body once more, he experience their fanthom presence for a few fleeting moments as he closed his eyes and travelled back through a kaleidoscope of scenes and images where he served as the canvass for Mistress S' shibari artistry.
* * * * *
Later, a fascinating, and unexpected, realization washed over him as he visually and kinesthically relived the experiences of the evening in his mind. A transformation had happened. It was difficult to say when it had happened, or what had triggered it. Perhaps it was only the progression of events that Mistress S had conjured up in her wickedly creative mind that lead him there. Busy with a multitude of sensations, sights, sounds, and smells, some of them new, the others at an intensity he had never experienced before, Mistress S' bondage had moved him from one destination to another without him noticing the transitional change of emotional scenery. The shibari she had weaved him in left him excitedly powerless in the anticipation of what may come. But the catharsis was that the feeling of helplessness at the hands of Mistress S' had somehow morphed into a deep sense of security, of caring, that engulfed him in an overwhelming feeling of release. The chains and weights of the world outside their space had been removed and left behind. And he could truly, finally, express his submissive self, and offer it for the taking to his muse.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Act 1 Scene 6: Fire Play
Still bound on the bench, lying face down, the slotted headpiece at the top allowed for easy breathing but also acted as a blinfold that would magnify every sensation he felt a thousand-fold. Mistress S knew that, and she had already taken advantage of it, taking him into new lands full of undiscovered sensations and mental imagery with the help of her deliciously wicked electrosim tools.
Clearly, the joy of popping one more of his cherries was not going to be denied her. Not now, powerless as he was lying on his front, with his hands tied behind his back. And not now, after he had trusted her with leading him down whatever path she desired.
The feel of the alcohol-based gel hand sanitizer had a soothing effect on the skin of his back after the electrosim play. But the feeling was short-lived as the gel was ignited by the electrical spark of the device Mistress S held in her beautiful hands. The coolness of the gel, as it started evaporating after a few seconds, turned into warmth in a fraction of a second, and rapidly became a much deeper warmth over the gelled surface and through his body. Ever vigilant about his reaction to her ministrations, and attentive to how his skin responded, she blew out the flame before the heat damaged his skin or overwhelmed him with sensations he could not handle... yet.
She moved from spot-to-spot on his back, describing both the beautiful forms and colors that the flames would take depending on the relief of the specific area she chose, and the feeling of excitement that grew within her.
The playful sound of her voice, firm but reassuring, was the safety rope that held him steady through the waves of sensations that the flames brought as the waves crashed in, and the waves receeded as she blew out the flames with her breath. Her vivid descriptions reached deep into his mind as he visualized the flames dancing on his back, moving up, down, and across, akin the notes moving across the screen in Walt Disney's Fantasia.
As he released what little was left of his tension, helped by the breathing techniques she had taught him before play started, she pushed the edges of his sensations and his mind by varying the quantity and the pattern of the gel she spread, extending the time of exposure of the flames, and occasionally moving to more sensitive areas on the canvass of his body. Each new pattern and each new location was an unexpected treasure, like a diver coming upon a more spectacular coral reef each time he turns around. Each extension of the duration of the flames, before she blew them out, was driving him deeper in the sea of sensations she was creating for him.
In an unexpected turn she had warned him about beforehand, she revealed the mounting excitement she felt at what she was doing, what she was seeing, what she was feeling from the play. Deep within him, an incredible joy rose up, temporarily disrupting the complex and beautiful imagery that her web of sensations had created. The source of the joy was the feeling that the gift of his submission to her will, to her skills, to her creativity, and to her wishes, had not only been accepted but enjoyed.
In this moment of acceptance, a connection was made, and his surrender was complete. He knew that he had found his Muse and his Guide for his journey through this deepest of realms.
Clearly, the joy of popping one more of his cherries was not going to be denied her. Not now, powerless as he was lying on his front, with his hands tied behind his back. And not now, after he had trusted her with leading him down whatever path she desired.
The feel of the alcohol-based gel hand sanitizer had a soothing effect on the skin of his back after the electrosim play. But the feeling was short-lived as the gel was ignited by the electrical spark of the device Mistress S held in her beautiful hands. The coolness of the gel, as it started evaporating after a few seconds, turned into warmth in a fraction of a second, and rapidly became a much deeper warmth over the gelled surface and through his body. Ever vigilant about his reaction to her ministrations, and attentive to how his skin responded, she blew out the flame before the heat damaged his skin or overwhelmed him with sensations he could not handle... yet.
She moved from spot-to-spot on his back, describing both the beautiful forms and colors that the flames would take depending on the relief of the specific area she chose, and the feeling of excitement that grew within her.
The playful sound of her voice, firm but reassuring, was the safety rope that held him steady through the waves of sensations that the flames brought as the waves crashed in, and the waves receeded as she blew out the flames with her breath. Her vivid descriptions reached deep into his mind as he visualized the flames dancing on his back, moving up, down, and across, akin the notes moving across the screen in Walt Disney's Fantasia.
As he released what little was left of his tension, helped by the breathing techniques she had taught him before play started, she pushed the edges of his sensations and his mind by varying the quantity and the pattern of the gel she spread, extending the time of exposure of the flames, and occasionally moving to more sensitive areas on the canvass of his body. Each new pattern and each new location was an unexpected treasure, like a diver coming upon a more spectacular coral reef each time he turns around. Each extension of the duration of the flames, before she blew them out, was driving him deeper in the sea of sensations she was creating for him.
In an unexpected turn she had warned him about beforehand, she revealed the mounting excitement she felt at what she was doing, what she was seeing, what she was feeling from the play. Deep within him, an incredible joy rose up, temporarily disrupting the complex and beautiful imagery that her web of sensations had created. The source of the joy was the feeling that the gift of his submission to her will, to her skills, to her creativity, and to her wishes, had not only been accepted but enjoyed.
In this moment of acceptance, a connection was made, and his surrender was complete. He knew that he had found his Muse and his Guide for his journey through this deepest of realms.
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