Back to the Dungeon Tonight—It’s Complicated

Last week when I ran into Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl, going back to the Regular Dungeon seemed like it would be an unmitigated joy, and I hope it will be.

But I feel really smushy about it. It’s hard to forget that the last time I was there, way back at the end of February, was my fourth date with The Man and our best scene. I remember standing at the bar in a skimpy nightie and pretty patent-leather heels I’d bought for the occasion, telling him how happy I was to be there.

“You should be happy,” he said “You’re beautiful, you have a beautiful wife, and now you have… me!”

I loved the idea that I “had” him and the energy between us felt so good. We’d only kissed once before that, but I loved the way he rubbed my knee in a proprietary way during the dungeon owner’s “don’t break your toys” speech. He fumbled with his knots though—at one point during rope class the owner came over and asked if he’d got the Somerville Bowline down and The Man was all, “Yep, yep, got it.” but I exchanged a “not so much” look with the owner—maybe that’s when I should’ve known it wouldn’t work…

I loved kissing The Man, even if he was a little withholding with the tongue. I loved the way he expertly slapped his handcuffs on me and shoved my head down when I “tried to get away.” That night he found a loophole to the “don’t restrict my voice thing” he said “You don’t have to speak until spoken to.” I can’t really look back and see that as a red flag, even though I know now that I shouldn’t have trusted him.

But I was so happy to have his attention. During aftercare, he told me he wanted a relationship, not just a play partner, and I had no reason not to believe him. I sat at his feet in my fuzzy pink robe and he stroked my well-pulled hair—I felt SO CLOSE to having my dream. Or, I guess more accurately, my dream did come true, it just didn’t last.

He was fulfilling a lot of needs that night, not least the need to have my head held down. The need that frustrates me and pisses me off the most is the feeling of having everyone see that a man wants me, that I’m wanted and worthy of his attention. Of course I am! Everyone is! But there’s something so gratifying in having everyone see me that way, even as they’re quipping “She got ARRESTED” as my arms are being pulled behind my back.

That need makes me more grateful, more desperate, way needier than I’d ever want to be. I hate that need but I think it’s probably a good thing to embrace it, to have compassion for the vulnerability of it.

At any rate, none of that is what this night is about. Tonight I’ll be there to play with Sweetie, catch up with friends, reunite with my Hello Kitty nipple tape, with the invincible feeling I have there sometimes. If I can find a not-so-nice man to beat my ass for a while, then that would be the icing on the cake.

Happy About Ms. and Mr. Sweetheart

Last Sunday, I had my favorite metamour day so far. Ms. Sweetheart was in town for a meetup with one of her online communities and I was superexcited to spend some time with her. To tell the truth, if we hadn’t been with a rather vanilla-y crowd, I’d’ve been an eensy bit snuggly toward her. I like the way she makes me feel looked-after: During dinner, a chocolate chip from my bread pudding fell on my jeans and she didn’t hesitate to try and clean it off—to no avail, but still.

When Sweetie came to pick me up, Ms. Sweetheart walked me over to the car, saying “Do you think I should’ve blown their minds and told them you’re dating my boyfriend?”

And that’s how I found out that Mr. Sweetheart and I are dating, and I guess he felt the same. When I told him what she said, he said, “Oh, I’ll have to thank her, now I know!”

So yay, we’re dating. We have a weekly phone date on Wednesdays at 8 pm and plans for a visit are starting to come together.

And, (I can’t resist saying) speaking of coming together, during this week’s call he suggested talking about regular stuff for the first hour and then getting smutty after that. Sweetie even gave me the house to myself for the evening so I could speak (etc) without worrying she’d hear more than she wanted to.

When it came time to talk dirty, I was uncharacteristically shy—there are a lot of things I’ve written that I have yet to feel comfortable saying. He was kind enough to do the talking and oh, swoon, what a talker.

I kind of flunked “what are you wearing?” I had cute lacy pajama shorts on but I had to admit to a ratty and less-than-hot old top. Next week I’ll take the opportunity to put on an outfit—for a nudist, I’ve been getting preoccupied about outfits lately. I think that’s partly because I’ve been working out and I’m starting to feel a little more lingerie-able or something.

I was surprised by how intimate and sensual it felt—the sound of his voice made it feel like he was close. I got all warm and soft as if he were there to run his hands over me. He told a rope-themed story full of helpful angles and detail, but the part that gave me such a squirm/twinge/sparkle of lust was when he said something like “I’m getting nice and hard for you” and then said my name. What was it about hearing my name? I don’t think I’ve heard it said to me like that before.

“Are you ready to come for me yet?” he asked, saying my name again.

“Aaaalmost…” I sighed. I couldn’t really scrape together too many words the whole time, mostly moans and breaths and sighs which I felt oddly self-conscious about on the phone but nonetheless could not stop making.

I was in a dreamy, sleepy state and held the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I rubbed my nipples and clit.

“Come for me.” (Is there a better sentence in the universe?) and I did come, a new kind of orgasm swelled up and crested like an obedient (but still naughty) wave. I heard him come on the other end of the line too, and we were together and happy. We panted our way back to regular talk until it was time to say goodnight, at which time I texted him 1. The doodle I’d made during the regular part of the conversation and 2. A picture of the wet crotch of my PJ bottoms.

Even writing this a couple of days later, I still feel like we should high-five. Instead, here's a star: