Being a Switch Is Awesome, Part Two: Fire Tickles and Old-Timey Guy

As I was finishing up with The Puncher’s Girl, the Fireman’s Girl (Who, it should be said, is less a girl than a grown-ass woman a more than a decade older than me and light-years hotter. We should all be so lucky!) came over to tell me that it was my turn for fireplay. I went over to the area where the massage tables were set up, handed a nice guy my wings and halo (left on the pretty shoes) and was told to lay down on my belly. Another fire-helper showed me a case full of paintbrushes as the fire Dom asked if I was ticklish.

“Um…a little bit,” I said a warily, but decided to let it happen.

It felt good to be back under the flames, warm hands running over my back and legs. There was none of the romance and Daddy-ness of my Fireguy; this was more like a really excellent massage. With gentle hands on me and the comfort of knowing people were watching, I very nearly fell asleep.

Then he told me to turn over and I got to watch the fire. He dabbed the rubbing alcohol along my legs and belly and then lit the brief flames. There was sometimes a quick burny sting, but mostly just all the warmth. He found a ticklish spot on the right side of my waist (Hey! I even sort of HAVE a waist these days!)  and made the most of it. I held back the laughs at first but he goaded and encouraged me until big shrieky guffaws came out. The Fireman’s Girl was watching from another table and smiled with me every time I got the giggles. So did the spectators watching behind my head. This was a particularly smiley dungeon night.

After I thanked the Fire Tickler for his care, I felt all relaxed and sleepy but also reallyreally ready to get spanked. I asked Cute Master, but he was utterly uninterested—I guess that’s just the end of that. Super frowny face, but also, next!

Old –Timey Guy was all tired out from a day at the Renaissance Fair so I didn’t think he’d do it, but when I mentioned what I needed to Punk Rock Girl, she asked him and he said of course. This is why they’re the awesomest. I may have graduated from having them as protectors, but they still take such good care of me.

He tied my wrists together with my pretty-but-not-super-effectual satin cuffs, and I knelt down on the bench where I’d just spanked TPG. Old-Timey Guy said to leave on my wings and halo, they wouldn’t get in the way. A spectator who’d been avidly watching my girl-spankings raised his eyebrows, smiled big, and said “OH, now it’s YOUR turn.”

Hence the title of these posts. The endorphins of topping and fireplay, combined with the above-mentioned awesomeness of my Dom-of-the-moment made this session utterly, triumphantly delicious. He started with his hands, spanking and eliciting moans of happiness and relief right away. It felt so good that I was making sex-noises, groaning and sobbing and wiggling my ass for more.

Once he’s warmed me up with spanks, he moved on to my favorite strap: sure, thuddy whaps interspersed with little stings. He pulled me close to his front to hold me still and I lost myself in the sensation, intimate and animal, pressed against his junk and wriggling to get closer still. I truly felt like I was going to come—some day before long, it’s gonna happen like that, and it might make a MESS. That’s how much I felt his impact, all the way in somehow.

By the time I moved up to the flogger, I was pulsating with joy, getting ready to float right up off the earth. When he was finished, I told him he’s a nicenice man and asked for a few extra hugs.

I told him I think he’s one of my most successful playpal situations. At no point have I ever felt a bit of fuss or about him, and every single time he hits the spot better and better. I really appreciate the place he has in my life. (Mostly, behind me.)

Next: How to get more snuggles: beat up a boy.

A Veto and a Happy Accident, Part Two: Steampunk Guy Ex Machina

(It’s taking a lot of paragraphs to get to the juicy parts, pals, but I promise to make it worth it.)

In light of having found some real-life snuggles and some more time to rest, I’m feeling really guilty about how upset I got with Cutest Boy. I wasn’t taking enough responsibility for what happened—I walked us right to that veto and hurt our friendship in the process. He was being so good and trying to do the right thing by breaking it off, and I treated him badly about it. I know guys get really upset when they’ve hurt someone, intentionally or not, and I hope he’ll forgive me for how harshly I reacted. Because he’s such a nice boy, he says there’s nothing to forgive, but the most important lesson here is that I am driving this particular sexTARDIS and I need to be the one to take better care of my choices.

Back to Saturday, while I was still smarting from the breakup conversation, I got a text from Steampunk Guy asking if I was going to the Regular Dungeon that night. When I told him I was going to a different party and said he’d wanted to ask me to bring him the rope that he left at my house.

It was tempting to conflate the two conversations, to see this as him saying he didn’t want to remember what happened, that I should give back the rope and move on. The tone of the text didn’t suggest that (in fact, it kind of seemed like the opposite, but maybe that’s just in retrospect) and neither had any other exchange we’d had since July. He isn’t a subtext guy. He was asking for a rope, not a metaphor. Still, I felt a little sad and wondered if I was too fragile to see him. Even though I was sorely tempted to switch parties and go and go say hello, Old Timey Guy’s party seemed like the safer bet.

It was a dreary, drizzly night and I had a tough time getting out the door. When I got to the party, it felt off. My protectors were as welcoming and lovable as always, but the air felt stifling with smoke and I could tell that though the night was headed someplace good, it sure wasn’t headed someplace snuggly. I felt disconnected from everyone even though it was all folks I heart playing with and near.

Punk Rock Girl offered me a drink but I knew I couldn’t stay. I cried on Old-Timey Guy’s shoulder for a minute. I could write again about how aggravated I was to be crying at another party, but I think it’s time to accept that that is just a thing that I do. I picked up my suitcase and wished everyone fun, sniffled my way back to the car.

On the drive home, though, something shifted. My tearfulness turned into determination, anger with myself for giving more time to foolishness. Frustrated from the someday-maybeness of the Cutest Boy, I thought that it might be a good time to clear the docket of all the someday-maybes, and in a weird way, that’s kind of what happened. Spoiler alert, “closure” became the running joke of the evening.

This is a lot of paragraphs of fuss that should just read “I wanted to go see Steampunk Guy.”

He wants his rope back? I’ll GIVE him his rope back.

I texted and said “Am bringing you your rope, be ready!”

And he said “I’m ready.”

I stopped into the apartment, high-fived Sweetie, threw the rope into my purse, and stamped out the door. The rain was coming down hard now and it suited my bratty mood perfectly. Every worry about the dungeon seemed like so much of my own fussy cock-blocking nonsense. Cutest Boy’s Girl was on the RSVPs? So what? Worried about how it might feel to see Steampunk Guy? Jeez, rip the Band-Aid off already. I knew Winggirl One would probably let me spank her and would definitely give me lots of cuddles, and that was the only play I was expecting. I just wanted to be out among people and be finished wasting time being a sniveling scaredy party-crying wuss.

When I sloshed into the Regular Dungeon, it was packed. There was a charity auction that brought together all different elements of the scene. I took off my wet dress and left on my black pushup bra, black and white polka-dot undies, and my new pair of hot-teacher shoes. That plus pigtails seemed like exactly what one should look like when giving back ropes to a favorite former sex-pal. My friends were chatting at the bar and laughed at me for how quickly I’d stripped down. The bar’s right by the door, and I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he walked in.

Next: He walked in.

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part Four: Got in Trouble for Running

When it was Winggirl One’s turn to get spanked by Cute Master, I got all excited and offered to help hold her down—I’ve always wanted to do that! He thought it was a pretty good idea and I like being helpful.

So WO knelt down in the same spot I’d just been in. Pretty Slave held down her left shoulder and I held down her right. She relaxed into his strikes at first, but then started to buck and fight. I loved the tension of her body pushing against me. Forcing her back into position, I felt a real mean streak come out, all the way up from my belly. I didn’t really hurt her, but I was sure riled up to hold her down and I loved that PS and I were working on this together, as a team. I’ve always aspired to be a good team player.

When he offered to beat her up front, though, I had to tag out. I just don’t want to be a part of boob-hurting. I wandered off to where Old-Timey Guy and co were situated and caught the eye of The (soon to be) Puncher. His face lit up with an enormous grin and he said “Oh, I know that look. You’d better run.”

How to have complete and utter joy, if you’re me: be in bra, underpants and heels running as carefully as I could through the party (didn’t want to mess up anybody’s scene or get a stray single-tail in the eye) with a boy in pursuit. What a perfect moment, even after the Dungeon Owner called out “No running!” and I had to only pretend to run. “Run slow!” a member of the crowd called out helpfully, and that’s what I did.

There’s a bar in the corner of the party that they don’t use, and I’ve spent many a happy moment bent over against it. That’s where I chose for our scene. I realized I was still in my bra and had to go get situated—I ended up bonding with some new friends in the bathroom over my Hello Kitty tape, it never fails.

The Puncher was responsible and considerate (part of the reason I trust him is because he’s been guided by Old-Timey Guy) asking what not to do. Most of my limits didn’t seem like things that would come up, but I rattled them off anyway. They just don’t feel the way they used to, the limits. Should write about that sometime.

Aside from his youth, The Puncher is exactly my type--tall, big, and scruffy-smiley, and his big hands did not disappoint. They stung against my end-of-the-night tender behind. I grabbed hold of the bar and held steady, screaming my head off as I’m wont to do.

“Do you mind a little punching?”

“Go for it!!”

And that felt even better than the spanks. Deep, emphatic thuds I could feel all the way through my pelvis. I felt my hoo-ha swell up and get wetter and everything started to seem really out of control down there. I’ve never felt anything quite like it—aroused in like six directions at once and throbbing/pushing back in rhythm with his hits. It hurt so bad and felt so wild but I just kept white-knuckling the bar, braced myself and pushed my ass out for more.

He came close behind me and leaned up to my ear to check in. (Is there any better feeling? Well yes, but Dom-leaning-in-to-ask-how-I’m-doing is definitely close to the top of the (LOOOONG) list.) I was out of breath and flustered, sweaty and a little scared, but I said keep going, and he did for a while. It was one of the few scenes I’ve stopped because I’ve actually had enough. He said I hung in there longer than most.

We hugged a good long time standing up, but I knew I should ask for more snuggly aftercare. (I should’ve asked beforehand, bad girl, but I don’t always want it or need it.) I felt shy about asking because I didn’t know what his agreements were—aftercare just seems so much more personal than all the other parts.

But he was so sweet, and he said it was up to me, not him if we had aftercare, and we went to find a quiet spot. I was still flushed and panting and so was he. It was such a nice purely animal-comfort feeling wrapped up in his arms. His heart was racing so fast and I liked the vulnerability of that. Snuggling with The Puncher didn’t have the same emotional resonance as the CBATP cuddles from the week before, but I loved just feeling like happy animals with him.

He apologized for sweating all over me but I explained about Lesbian Island, how I’d been deprived of men so long that dude smell is always such a very very good thing. The Puncher’s Girl came over and I thanked her for lending him to me—she was so excited that we’d played.

***Note: I am a terrible feminist when it comes to handing out pseudonyms. I keep naming girls after the names I’ve given their boyfriends, when of course they have their own identities and could be named a million other things. But there are getting to be a lot of characters and it’s helpful to keep track of who belongs to whom. Also, I keep referring to women as girls, but that’s just because I like to.***

We all sat around and chatted for a bit before I realized that I was satisfied to the point where I kinda needed clothes back on. (“Boring!” said The Puncher’s Girl, who herself was back in her pretty, flowy dress.)

I went back over to where I’d left my suitcase and got dressed. Pretty Slave very helpfully took my tape off for me. It was time to start saying goodbyes, and in the process I found out that Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl have a party coming (at this house that I got chained to one time) and once I got myself invited I jumped up and down with little-girl glee. Old-Timey Guy always brings that out in me.

I squeezed Cute Master and Pretty Slave into a three-person hug and thanked them for everything.

“Keep inviting me to stuff, ‘cause I’m only gonna get sluttier!”

“We’d like you even if you weren’t.” said Cute Master.

Aw.

The next day I realized I maybe had pushed myself a little too far. I felt a little like I’d smoked a cigarette, even though I haven’t in ten years, and a little paranoid that I’d messed up somehow, even though there was absolutely no evidence. I think partly I’m nervous about how well things have been going, that it somehow won’t be true, but I’m going to do my best to just keep letting awesome things happen, after a teensy little break to process and let all of those fantastic bruises heal.

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part One: Maybe I Am a Girl Gone Wild

At the M/s meeting last weekend I got an interesting piece of advice. The head Master said “The only way to really learn what you want is to go out and try lots of things. You can’t do that with just one person.” That might explain the trapped feeling I’ve gotten even in recent lovey-dovey relationships I really liked. It’s probably just time to run and play on my own terms for a while.

But as I was getting ready to go out to the dungeon that night my heart was kinda full of the Cutest Boy at the Party. I was fretting about my crush on him because I knew neither one of us was in a place for too many feelings and had to admit I had the beginnings of them. I also knew that if I let the crush win, there wouldn’t be any more cute boys at all, just the missing of parties. So I put on my favorite black and white striped dress and cute underpants and drove over to the beloved Regular Dungeon. I didn’t know if I was gonna play but I knew I wanted to be surrounded by friends and spanky energy.

(By the way, since it was the weekend after my birthday, my brother had originally offered to fly me up to my sister’s to spend time with her family. I agonized over the two choices, but ultimately decided I’d spent too long using her family as a substitute for making my own. This is my way of making my own family, I think.)

When I walked in the door, the first people I spotted were Pretty Slave and Cute Master, sitting all cute in a row with their date plus their friend that I’d liked from the previous weekend’s party, the lady-sub who was so good at spanking me and whom I shall call Winggirl One--I have a feeling there may be some more Winggirls in my near future. I waved frantic-cheerfully to them across the room as I paid and rushed over as soon as I had my door bracelet on.

“He says I have to kiss you,” said Pretty Slave and I know I balked at that last time but apparently this time I had absolutely no problem with it. Maybe I really am a Girl Gone Wild but more likely, I just like her. Jeez she was so pretty with her collar on and her flowy hair and her being shorter than me so I feel all nice and protective.

I asked Winggirl One if she would beat me up after I had a glass of wine and she agreed. Pretty Slave was all, “Oh, I’ll have to see that,” and I was superhappy at the idea of entertaining her.

Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl weren’t there yet and it was a little strange focusing on other characters. I was starting to feel like I didn’t need protectors as much as I had before and that was a little sad.

Two bottomy-types trying to work out a spanking scene is pretty funny. I of course wanted to be out in the middle of things to show off but she felt self-conscious about it so we stayed in the bench (regular bench) area to the side of the room. I took off my dress and leggings, left on my purple shiny bra and lacy peach-with-purple-polka-dot underpants.

Winggirl One is about as Amazon-like as me but she has eensy little stingy hands. She hit hard and fast and it was so sweet that she didn’t want to make me uncomfortable by pulling my panties up my ass-crack for better cheek-access. I reached back and helpfully yanked them up for her. Unsurprisingly, I love a good wedgie.

I was kneeling on the bench and bent over a railing. My head was pretty close to some dude’s ears and I apologized but he just decided to become an instigator, egging her on and inspiring me to be louder and louder. Of course I’ll take any excuse. I met other strangers’ faces in the crowd and smiled.

After she was done hitting me, we had a nice long hug and Cute Master (being Cute Master) said “Kiss her!”

“Ohno,” said Winggirl One, “I don’t know how to initiate that.”

“Let me show you,” said Pretty Slave. She got up and gave me a kiss that went all through my body. I lost the self-consciousness of it, pulled her towards me by the waist, ran my hands up the back of her hair, and kissed her like I meant it, and I did.

Winggirl One was still hesitant still so I said “Do you need me to initiate it? Do you like your hair pulled?”

Her face got all lit-up and we practically high-fived for the awesomeness that is hair-pulling. She grabbed the top of the back of my hair, close enough to the scalp but still stingy, pushed me to my knees and put my face on the bench. I just lay there flattened and gasping.

“Wait, what was I doing?” I pulled myself back up, took off her glasses and handed them to Pretty Slave, grabbed the back of WO’s hair and went in hard for the kiss. I hadn’t tasted lipgloss on another girl since high school, and I have to say Katy Perry was not wrong about its appeal.

Then we really DID high-five and Cute Master admonished us for wrecking the hotness. But high-fives are awesome!

Next: There’s a LOT of girl-smell on this bench.

First Single-Girl Dungeon Night, Part Three: A Vibrator Fit For Judy Jetson

It might seem strange to readers that I didn’t mind that people kind of milled in and out of this scene. I guess it comes down to being with a Master that I trust, in a place where I feel like my well-being matters. Also, it’s very easy to feel at ease with Punk Rock Girl checking in on me, looking me in the eye and making sure I approved of each new development. I’m reassured by her care because I know exactly how tough she is.

Old-Timey Guy was fumbling around in his stuff and plugging something in.

Punk Rock Girl said “Uh-oh, I know what’s coming…”

What was coming was the most enormous vibrator I’ve ever seen. It was the width of a fist, like 15 inches long, and looked like it was from the 1960s version of the space age. The business end was in the shape of the top of an enormous egg, and shiny blue. It’s hard to believe that a girl who was once afraid of a bag of dildos would be okay with this, but I was.

I was still cocooned in plastic wrap, and Punk Rock Girl set to work cutting a hole in the front so they could put the contraption where it goes.

“It’s gonna make you look like you have a penis…” she warned.

“I’m totally fine with that.” Obviously.

I’m not a girl who gets superexcited about devices, but I had fun with this one. I liked the humiliation of being made to hold the cord between my teeth while Old-Timey Guy hit me with his heart-shaped crop. (It still hurts like fuck even through the plastic, but there was a sad lack of bruising.) He leaned over my shoulder and pushed the device in so that I purred and smiled.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you say you like it, I’ll have to take it away…”

“NOOOO!”

After that, Punk Rock Girl took hold of the device and ran it all over me—my neck, my ears, my face, my belly. It was tickly and nice. Then she got a really mischievous look on her face and ran it over my nipples—I shrieked and laughed and it felt amazing.

She put it back in my crotch and got out of the way while Old-Timey Guy flogged the part of my back that was exposed from the plastic. I leaned forward and relaxed into complete bliss.

“Yespleasemoremoremore!” I said, being careful not to turn around. He flogged me for a little bit longer and then (OMG cute) he planted a little kiss at the base of my neck, right in the hollow of my collarbone. Tenderness I loved and which made me nervous, but not nervous enough to stop him.

He came around to the front and held me, moving against the vibrator to press it into my clit. Since all the breakups I’ve just been taking these little rests in men’s affection, little teensy moments of letting go. When he put his hand on my head and said “Good girl.” it was one of those rests. I’d been waiting to hear those words for months, from any number of guys—I heard it and it hit home.

The feeling of being cut out of the plastic was so blessedly freeing (even if I did somehow end up with a hole in my underpants) that I am tempted to indulge in a marriage/cocoon metaphor.

I sat my sweaty ass down to rest. Other Ribbons offered me a massage, and I gratefully took her up on it. It wasn’t a Naughty Thing, but it was certainly welcome and lovely. She worked hard on my shoulders, rubbing out the tension from the restraint and from life in general.

It depends on how you count, I guess, but in spite of V and V’s Hot Girlfriend’s enthusiastic encouragement, I never did make it to my third naughty thing. HempRopes apologized for running out of time, and I felt superproud about having waited with such grace. (The weirdest things are feeling like accomplishments lately, I know.) It helps that I was so busy being thoroughly entertained and also that I was kinda lukewarm about playing with him anyway.

“That’s the problem with having high standards—I tend to like the really popular guys.”

Huh. I guess that’s true. It’ll be a comfort until I find the guy I want to have and claim as my own. Meanwhile, I kicked that party’s ass, and I think that speaks of good things to come.

First Single-Girl Dungeon Night Part Two: Some Backtracking, Some Good Bad Influences, and Some Plastic Wrap

Though he doesn’t do much in this story besides be pleasantly in the room, I think now’s a good time to backtrack to when I reconciled with Fireguy. The first time we spent together was when he took my author photo, so when the book came out last summer I mailed him a copy, along with a looooong love letter. In the letter, I apologized for my part in our fight and let him know the feelings I’d gotten for him. (How many versions of this letter will I write in my lifetime? At least maybe I’ve gotten past the breakup fight aspect?) Even though I had him blocked in nearly every possible way, he still found a way to get through to thank me for the letter and tell me he was proud of me for the book. Of course I got a little thrill from him being proud.

We didn’t run into each other in person for another six months or so. When I saw we were both in the RSVPs for a Regular Dungeon night back in January, I decided it was time to go ahead and unblock him. I emailed him to touch base and ask if he might be able to bring the cupcake taker I’d left at his house the previous April. (Man, that was an awesome cupcake taker. I really miss it.) When we saw each other at that January party, Sweetie said he and I both turned into Muppets upon seeing each other. While I stood around post-scene with Sweetie’s ropes on, Fireguy and I got the chance to apologize to each other in person. We both expressed regret that we couldn’t jump in the sexTARDIS and do things differently.

Anyway, I say all that just to say he was one of the people I was glad to see last Saturday night. Even though our playing-together time is over, I still really like playing where he can see me and watching him set other nice ladies on fire.

I also had the unexpected pleasure of running into V,a one-date guy from last year, and his superpretty (queer!) girlfriend. Even though they aren’t a match for me playwise, I was so happy to add them both to my collection of good bad influences. They egged me on and watched me play the whole night and I loved showing off for them. Maybe I’m just collecting pals to show off to right now, that’s a good project!

While I was mulling over what to do for Naughty Thing #2,  I stood in my favorite spot, a raised area at the back of the room, watched all the wonders going on around me and did a good job of reaching my chatting goal. It was hot in there so I ditched the nightie and stripped down to my bra and undies, white with pink polka dots and hot pink lace, respectively.

Probably I should branch out from just playing with people I already know, but when Old-Timey Guy brandished a giant roll of plastic wrap, I shrugged and said “Why not?” Though I’m usually averse to plastic, the restraint aspect seemed right. Plus, this is a time for trying new things.

“If you do a good jo—ob you’ll get a flog—ging!” He said in his silly singsongy voice as he made me spin around and around to wind the plastic. Eventually I got dizzy and made him do the winding. My arms were behind my back, hands to elbows. His other playpal for the night (Besides Punk Rock Girl, of course) was an adorably affable Asian girl (I’ll call her Other Ribbons, since she loves them as much as I do.) and she very kindly held my glasses for me.

I was bound from my shoulders to my ankles, so that I could only move my feet a teensy bit. I was trapped and sweating, a little scared but going with the fear. An onlooker helpfully suggested that Old-Timey guy move me away from the stairs, lest I should fall. One new guy was for some reason walking around with a spatula, and I let him give me a few whacks. He had to hit me really hard in order for me to feel it through the plastic. The spatula gave me a heart-pang since that was Sweetie’s implement of choice at home.

Next Time: Punk Rock Girl and the device.

First Single-Girl Dungeon Night, Part One: I Spanked a Girl (And it Was Kind of Okay)

One of the reasons that I put off divorce is that I felt like Sweetie was my armor—I thought walking around the scene without her would make me too vulnerable, that I’d be too needy to make any more connections, but it had the complete opposite effect—I ended up feeling like a nearly-naked superhero, invincible even without her ropes to hold me together.

I had three goals for the night:

1. Talk to people and get to know them better.

2. Practice confidence.

3. Get some catharsis if it feels healthy.

I still felt a bit skittish about the car, so I took the bus over. I put on a respectable dress because I almost always run into my students around the neighborhood. In my suitcase I carried my purple velvet-and-fleece blanket (in case I needed to give myself aftercare) a little black and white nightgown, and the shoes I bought for my first scene with The Man. Among my many small accomplishments was the fact that the shoes were redeemed.

Back in June when I decided to reenter the scene, I’d asked Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl to be my protectors, so I had the extra security of knowing they’d be looking out for me. That’s a nice feeling. I always wanted protectors and they are good ones.

I’d gotten myself added to the end of HempRopes’s dance card. I figured that was a longshot and probably just an opportunity to practice the useful skill of waiting confidently, but if it did happen I thought suspension would be a good way to give myself a rest. I stopped playing with HempRopes last year because it felt too casual, but it didn’t feel like that would be a problem now.

When I walked in, the party was in full swing (or full spank, I guess.) I immediately wanted about eleven things to happen to me. Before I even put my stuff down, I got a bunch of hugs and knew that I was completely at home. I changed into my nightgown and heels, and Isweartogod this happened:

A very pretty young lady that I was kind of acquainted with stopped mid-chat and said:

 “Just so you know, this? Right here?” (Gesturing to her corseted self) “You have full access. You can do whatever you want.”

I hadn’t even gotten a drink yet. I promised to come find her. At the bar, I ran into Old-Timey Guy, who pulled up the back of my nightie and spanked me while I ordered my glass of wine. (Actually not so much a glass as a plastic cup, but still.) I asked him if he had any advice for my newly single self.

“Just let it all go.” he said. Okay Sir, if by letting it go you mean writing seven million paragraphs and also maybe some lists, then sure. But I didn’t say that, because in the moment I actually felt like I might be someone who could let things go.

“Tonight you have to do three naughty things,” he said, “And this doesn’t count.” He proceeded to tickle me until I asked again why he’s the only one who’s allowed to do that.

Unfortunately for the purposes of writing about Naughty Thing #1, I didn’t remember to ask the girl if I could write about her and I couldn’t find her online to ask, so I won’t go into detail. It felt hot and pretty and fun and definitely cathartic (And sweaty, jeez! Tops work hard!) and I loved that I was making her happy, but in the end (ha) it just wasn’t my cup of tea. But! Definitely something to be proud of trying.

She went back to her boyfriend and I stood back and watched, seeking inspiration for Naughty Thing #2.

Next: Some reunions, plastic wrap, and a vibrator fit for Judy Jetson.

A Gold Star in Getting-My-Ass-Beaten

It’s time to sing the praises of Friends Who’ll Hit Me With Stuff, and also to get more of them. Yes, I want romance, I want to be adored and rabidly pursued, I want to have a Dom who’s at the party for the sole purpose of yanking my hair around, but until Boyfriend Guy comes along and/or I’m in a playspace with Mr. Sweetheart, it’s helpful to just get on with my life and appreciate a good walloping for its own sake.

Saturday night was everything I’d hoped it would be: I played with Sweetie, hugged friends, I stood around in Wonder Woman posture with my ropes on feeling invincible. But something was missing. My scenes with Sweetie are always wonderful, but they are about feeling quiet, all princessy and soft and snoozy with my ass in the air and my hair draped over the edge of the kneeler. I enjoyed it but when we were finished I needed something louder, meaner, dirtier. I don’t think I’ve ever come out and said this before, but I needed a sadist.

The only guy there who I knew and trusted enough to play with was Old Timey Guy and I wasn’t sure if he would have time to fit me in. As always, I loved watching him play with Punk Rock Girl, and when they were done, he was in social butterfly mode, which I always feel reluctant to interrupt. I didn’t want to pester him but Sweetie was all “Just ask him! Tell him specifically that you need to be flogged.”

He was talking a couple through what looked to be their first flogging scene—his face was all lit up from the joy of being teacherly and he was covered in sweat from his own scene. When I got a chance to ask him, I asked him:

“Can I be the next thing that you do?”

He laughed and gave me some little spanks and then flitted off to do some more stuff.

“You weren’t specific enough.” said Sweetie. (Sweetie’s never met Steampunk Guy, but they seem to be in a conspiracy to make me a braver asker. Begrudgingly I’m grateful.)

After assisting him with giving a new girl a shrink wrap corset (I love that he sees a shrink-wrap gun and thinks “Let’s do this to people!”) I was sad to see that he went over to clear his stuff off the cross he’d been using earlier. At that point I indulged in some fairly unnecessary pouting until he said:

“Just because I don’t have a cross doesn’t mean I can’t flog you. Ohlook! Here’s a chair! straddle it!”

The few other times I’ve played with Old-Timey Guy, Punk Rock Girl was a big part of the pleasure of it—she’d egg him on and help me get into my shackles—so I was sad that she’d gone home early but was still so excited to play.

Sweetie was sitting only a few feet away and I wondered if I should send her to the bar or something so she wouldn’t get jealous or worry, but she seemed excited to watch me be all ridiculous so I kept her near.

Anyway, back to me, in ropes, little purple lace pajama bottoms, and of course my Hello Kitty nipple tape, straddling and red and black banquet chair. He lewdly pressed himself against my back, growling just a little. He ran his hand gently through my hair and as soon as I was all purry-relaxed YANKED UP on the crotch rope with its knots in the right places so that I let out an “Eeek!” and a tumble of laughter. Though we’ve only known each other about a year, it was like hanging out with an old pal. A really nicely filthy old pal.

I put my head down on the back of the chair and he took out a really scary-looking switch—long, skinny, hard with a tiny little tab on the end. I got scared because I usually go for thuddy rather than stingy, and I knew this would sting like a motherfucker. He ran it over my back, across my neck, back and forth on my wet crotch, right where it counts. He yanked me up by my ropes and thwacked, making me wiggly, hot, and screamy. I yowled and he said

“I told you of it hurt too much you had to give me jazz hands!”

“And I didn’t give you jazz hands!”

There’s one toy in his kit that I kind of think of as mine, even though it isn’t. He bought it (and hit me with it) the day I met him and it’s appeared in this story before-a pretty little cane with a blue ceramic star on the end.

“You’re the only one who gets happy when I take this out.”

“Ican’thelpitIjustloveit!”

As before, he tried to leave a star-shaped mark, hitting lightly and counting down to the hard smack, then trying to surprise me on the other cheek. It equally fucking hurt both ways. The cuteness of the star sure doesn’t stop it from stinging the bejeezus out of me, it hurts so badly and I just love yelling about it. I should probably stop trying to say that I’m not a masochist.

He flogged me like I’d asked. It felt good on my back but he wasn’t quite getting the right angle on my bum—I switched to kneeling on the chair with my hands on the back of it. He spanked me so hard that I started to scream-laugh, loving the heck out of the sound of my own voice. There’s such a happy release in those screams, letting them out to be themselves in front of everyone. It’s not exaggerating to say it makes my heart leap.

“That’s what you get!” said Sweetie.

Yes! Yay! It’s what I get.

Next came a paddle. By then a friend of mine had come over near us to get her aftercare, and I apologized for hollering so close to her face, but she seemed perfectly happy and joined in the handful of onlookers cheering us on.

He asked what else I wanted and I asked for the big strap, my very favorite. First he put it around me and pulled me against him, wiggling against my back in such a nice lascivious way. He tried to put it around my neck, which, forget it. Other than getting smacked with the strap, the best was when he wrapped it around my wrists, held my hands in the air in front of me, and tickled my underpins so I’d shriek and squirm and laugh. Don’t know why he’s the only one I like tickles from, probably because he brings out the little bit of little in me.

After the strap came the soft little flogger that he has just because it won’t leave marks on boobs. It was actually kinda fun. I’d tell Steampunk Guy to make note of this, but he only reads the posts that he stars in.

Speaking of Steampunk Guy, I had to mentally high-five him for the amount of fun I was having. He tends to (vexingly) make me ask a whole bunch of times for stuff—I’ve almost learned to stop seeing shame in pursuing what I want, even if I have to ask more than once. This seems like a good step, so thanks pal-who’s-not-reading-this…

Once the scene was done, I pulled Old-Timey Guy into a sweaty hug, thanked him profusely, put my aftercare pajamas on over my ropes, and walked out of there feeling like Wonder Woman. Remember, this was a place I was afraid I could never go back to! There’s just nothing like going home knowing that I’ve gotten myself what I wanted.

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.

Hooray!! It's Time to Rejoin the (Public) Kink World

Okay so readers know I really never left kink,but I haven't played in the local scene since all that nonsense with The Man back in March. Last night at a reading, I was overjoyed to run into my old pals Old-Timey guy and Punk Rock Girl. We picked up exactly where we left off, which is him making me feel all giggly and her alternately egging him on/ adorably shushing us.

They agreed to be listed as protecting me when I rebuild my Fet account and assured me that there's no reason in this world why I shouldn't go to the next party at the Regular Dungeon, which is week after next!

Special underpants must be gotten!

Dungeon Love and a Happy Anniversary

This place where you are right now, God circled

on a map for you.

Wherever your eyes and arms and heart can move

against the earth and sky, the Beloved has bowed

there,

the Beloved has bowed there knowing you were

coming.

-Hafiz

This week was the 11-year anniversary of Sweetie and me getting together, of the night she told me, okay, she’d give it a try, and that I would be her first partner of any kind—it’s a lot of responsibility, and I took it, and I am so glad. She and I have had rocky times this past year, and in some ways our relationship is still in limbo, but we have a lot to celebrate, too.

Last Saturday was the holiday party at our regular dungeon—just the phrase “our regular dungeon” just fills me with pride. We missed the dinner part of the festivities because some dear friends were having a going-away potluck, but we got there early enough that the crew was still setting up the furniture.

Everyone looked so pretty and festive—lots of fancy red dresses, formal kilts, shiny studded gauntlets. There were cute little glowy candle lamps everywhere, and a Christmas tree. When we arrived, Old-Timey Guy was shrink wrapping a girl in a red and white plastic corset.

HempRopes was there with his beautiful wife, and meeting her made me wish that I hadn’t sworn off him—she’s strong, vivacious, and smiley, just the kind of lady I wouldn’t mind being tied to—oh well, maybe someday.

I think my decision to swear off casual play was a good one, though. Instead of resenting HempRopes for having a long line of ladies, I felt happy love for the good time that they were all about to have.

Old-Timey guy asked if I would like another star mark from him and looked taken aback when I said “I’ll think about it.” He’s still calling me his “little girl” but I felt distinctly like a woman, and I’m excited that I’m reserving my right to play as one.

Sweetie and I set up our scene in a triangle with the people we love to play next to: Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl were on the St. Andrew’s cross to our right, and Hot Switch Couple were getting their bag of tricks ready the next kneeling bench over. We all hugged and smiled about the prospect of being near each other.

It was one of the happiest nights of my life. Sweetie made me feel like a rope-covered princess. She ties me to a kneeling bench and figured out how to spank nice and firmly without hurting. I don’t always go all the way to a subby place with her, but this time I did—I felt like I was getting spanked inside a glowy pink cloud of well-being. As I was spacing out to the comfy rhythms, I noticed that Punk Rock Girl was getting flogged to the exact same beat—it was such a lovely feeling of oneness.

I knelt there giggling with joy, mostly naked in from of my friends, just like I love to be. I am so proud of the life that Sweetie and I have created in the last year, the way we have made a space for ourselves in the world where we can be in love and hot and safe and in front of everybody. Even though I’m often distracted by what’s missing from my life, I have to admit that this new life is like a miracle.

“You Know You’re Chained to My House, Right?” Part Three

So Punk Rock Girl convinced Old-Timey Guy that I should be second. As I stood in the doorway getting ready to be shacked up, I said “Wait, why am I wearing all these clothes?”

OTG instructed PRG to start getting me naked. “What do you want off?” she asked me.

“Everything but undies and socks! Can (Sweetie) help too?”

It took a little cajoling, but finally Sweetie left her looky-loo perch on the stairs to come over and help. She reached around me to unbutton my jeans and as the two women gently took my pants off, OTG unshackled me and pulled my shirt off over my head. It was a perfect wish come true of a moment. I was so happy.

“You have choice whether you want your bra…” began OTG.

“OFF!” I interrupted.

I think Sweetie unclasped it and OTG took it off. That’s not a collaboration I’d’ve imagined a year ago, or even a few months ago, but look at us! Yay, me and Sweetie, we’ve come so far!

OTG looked at me appraisingly ran his hands lightly over my nipples, alternating between gently grazing them and pinching. I love that feeling of being examined and approved-of. The up went my arms back into the shackles and out came the blindfold. I was ready.

He leaned up against me in the front and whisper-growled “What do you want me to do?”

“Um, hitting?”

“What kind of hitting?”

“Around the ass area?”

“What do you say?”

“Please Sir.”

“Please what?

“Please may I have the strappy thing?”

OhmanIlove the strappy thing. Thwack, thwack, thwack, nice thuddy, insistent impact. I wigged my ass for more.

It felt so good but it was hard to fully relax sometimes. I felt nervous that I couldn’t check Sweetie’s expression. I had to resist the urge to keep on calling to her to see if she was okay. Occasionally she’d laugh or chime in with a sassy comment and I’d know she was doing allright.

Next: Barehanded spanking, a saw horse, a Hitachi, and possibly an Otter Pop.

“You know you’re chained to my house, right?” Part Two

It may not have been wonderland, but the evening did have sort of a down-the-rabbit-hole feeling to it.

Of course I had to try out those living room shackles—there was no use even trying to be cool about it. The first time, it was clothes-on, just goofing around. Old-Timey Guy made ticklish threats without touching me, and I squirmed and giggled. I’m still really surprised that this tickling business appeals to me at all! At that point I got the most (Well, maybe not the MOST) disagreeable nickname—“Twitch.” Sweetie was the one who said it, but OTG saw that it bothered me and decided to go with it. I’d have to earn my way out of it, he said, by being less squirmy. I didn’t see a lot of not-twitching in the near future, and I was correct.

OTG is always trying to goad me into admitting I am not entirely adultlike:

“Are you a good girl?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you a good little girl?”

“Uh, no Sir, I am TOTALLY an adult.” The pigtails and the fact that I punctuated this statement with a little foot-stamp may have hurt my argument. Also the fact that I spent most of the night giggling.

He continued with the diminutives the rest of the night, and I was careful to disagree every time. “My three little girls, “he said, as he was setting up his electroplay toys to demo them.

“Two.” I said. “TWO little girls.”

(It occurs to me that this is an odd stand to take, considering that my first dirty-talk pet name was “brat.”)

One of those little girls, Squeak, took my place in the shackles, now naked except for a teeny-tiny black thong. She’s an electro-slut, they explained, it’s her favorite. I’ve always thought violet wands are pretty, but I hadn’t yet had occasion to try one.

How it works is, the “wand” is plugged in, and various glass implements are screwed into it. It is a very mad scientist-type situation. Nothing happens if you press someone’s skin firmly to the glass, but if you hold it near them and graze lightly, little tiny sparks leap out. He held the wand and its flat-headed bulb against Squeak’s nipples and she wiggled, sighed, and yes, squeaked. Then he held out the wand for Sweetie and me to try.

I don’t like the feeling. The sparks are tiny and don’t hurt, they’re more like a tiny, prickly irritation—it’s weird how something as strong as electricity could give me the soft-touch heebie jeebies.

It was really fun sitting with Sweetie watching Squeak enjoy her torture. Usually in these sorts of situations I feel protective/defensive of Sweetie, or just impatient with her, but she really seemed at ease, and not just because Punk Rock Girl was serving her some really fancy whiskey.

As Squeak was getting taken down from the shackles and warming her hands up in OTG’s kilt, I said that I’d like to go in the shackles again please.

“It’s (Punk Rock Girl’s) turn next,” said OTG, but bless her, PRG said that she’d go third because I was the guest. I was really flattered that she seemed to want to see me play!

Next: I may have been tickled with an Otter Pop.

“You know you’re chained to my house, right?” Part One

Sweetie and I were sleepy and at loss for something to do Saturday night, and I was feeling the way I usually do on the weekend, which is buried in homework. We’d just been to the library so the temptation to spend our extra Daylight-Savings hour in bed pretty compelling. But! Old-timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl turned out to be having a last-minute party because one of their events got cancelled—and they live right near our neighborhood!

So Sweetie and I did something that we hadn’t done in a shameful while—we bought a bottle of wine and headed over to our friends’ house to pal around. It felt great.

It ended up being a teensy party, which appealed to both my introverted half and my love for hogging attention. Punk Rock Girl answered the door in a gypsy skirt and corset, with nothing covering her pretty boobs. We’ve seen each other nearly naked lots of times, but this would be our first chance to play together sans nipple tape—hooray! Hooray for boobs! Is how I felt walking into their house.

As I hugged Old-Timey Guy hello, his other slave came bounding down the stairs. She’s a green-haired Muppet-adorable girl I’ll call Squeak. She had on a collar and a little black satin nightie. She had kind of an undergrad way about her, but not unpleasantly so. OTG is the same age as me but his slaves are in their early 20s, which feels a little annoying to me, but who am I to judge. (Answer: the inner judgey part of me that spent many parts of that evening with arms folded, pondering the ethics of nearly consenting to being called a little girl, but I’ll get to that in a bit.)

“Welcome to Wonderland,” he said, “If my shtick gets too much for you, let me know. I generally rein it in at (the public dungeon.)” It didn’t look too wonderland-ish, except maybe for the rather large number of hats. It was a stonerish house like I went to a million times in my college-townie twenties. They had beanbag couches, the TV tuned to Bugs Bunny, and shackles up in the wide doorway between the living room and the dining room. OTG’s spanking implements were neatly arranged on a rack next to the stairs. Cozy.

As often happens when you visit a BDSM person’s house, we were given a tour of the basement. No Scooby-Doo style trick bookcase, but these was a “Naughty Room”—a chilly stone room furnished only with a dropcloth, an ominously tiny chair, and of course loops in the ceiling. Perfect for some Buffy and Spike actions, but we went upstairs.

Next: “I’m nooooot touuuuuching you….”

A Whole Bunch of Firsts Part Two: Suspension!!

After my flogging fun with Old-Timey Guy, I put my PJs back on and found a spot to stand and watch everybody play. I hovered near a rope-acquaintance of mine, who happens to share a name with the most vexing character on this blog, so I’ll just refer to him as HempRopes. I’d watched him before in rope class and admired his style, and earlier last Saturday night he’d offered to tie me up if he got time.

HempRopes was spotting a young man who was doing self-suspension. People who do ropes on themselves are my heroes; I’d really like to learn that for myself someday.

I was hoping I might be next after HR’s spotting task, and I was!

He gave me the option of clothes or not clothes, guess which I chose? I left my little pajama shorts on but of course opted for toplessness.

HR is kind of my type, stocky and vaguely nerdish. He had very warm hands as he basket-wove the ropes around my thighs. My favorite part of getting the harness on was when he said “Put your arms around my neck” and picked me up by the thigh ropes to make sure they were adjusted properly—I squealed.

I kept getting distracted watching Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl playing, so I asked for a blindfold. I was surprised to want one after the fainting time. He had a nice leather one that he bucked on loosely and I started to feel all soft and safe.

For weeks and weeks, my brain has been in a state of constant chatter; lesson plans, homework, discipline problems, all of the cerebral, not-sexy stuff that’s really important but can take me out of my body too much. As HR worked the ropes onto me, as his warm hands wove hemp gently around my chest, I heard something strange and wonderful in my brain: silence. Ahhhhhhh, relief.

He was apologetic whenever he had to adjust the ropes between my legs, but I told him he didn’t have to be quite so polite. When he was finished putting the harness on me, he put me in a chair and got to work doing the rigging on the suspension frame. It took quite a while. People strolled by oohing and ahhing about his work, and I felt like I wasn’t there, in a good way. Once the rigging was done on the frame, he came back over to the frame and tied on some comfy ankle supports—it felt like a one-column tie. then he picked up the ankle supports and led me over to the suspension frame.

In order to get situated on the frame, he had to tie me at my heart first—I liked the feeling of that first support rope pulling up from my heart, it stretched me out in a new way. When he was getting my back supported, I had to lean back a couple of times to get the rope into position. Then it was time to lean back all the way and I was suspended, just a few feet off the floor. It felt wonderful, like a cradle. He tied giving me a head-support, but that felt too choky, so my head just hung down, not-unpleasantly.

He rocked me. I felt warm and contained and cared-for. I’d heard other bottoms talk about feeling like they’re in a safe little bubble and I felt what they meant. The bulge in his pants was now friendly against my shoulder every time he rocked me back. I liked the way that it felt sexy but undemanding—kind of matter-of-fact.

Next time: I heart the knife.

A Whole Bunch of First Times Part One: Flogging

Just when I was getting to the point where I thought I’d have no more paragraphs, a whole bunch of stuff happened all at once.

I went to our usual dungeon last night, and it was the first time I went by myself. It felt strange—there’s a whole new level of slutty to standing around in shorty pajamas, no bra, and heels when nobody in particular is looking after you. I was a little worried that I was humiliating myself, but I knew I’d just have to stand there and talk to people if I was ever going to have hope of finding guys to play with.

I sort of had somebody in mind. He was the first guy to spank me in front of Sweetie—his ceramic-star cane is now my nemesis—and also part of the couple who helped Sweetie rescue me when I fainted the time before last. They are both a little younger than me and vaguely steampunk—I’ll call them Punk Rock Girl and Old-Timey Guy. I knew ITG was enough of an expert to make my first flogging experience meaningful—and it was!

I think I may have been a little overeager last night—next time, I think I’ll let people settle in a little more before I ask them to do stuff to me. Old-Timey Guy made fun of me for being impatient (okay, so I may have jumped up and down a little) but agreed, making it clear that it was a strictly demo situation. He gave me the nickname he likes to give subs—“Little One”—which in my case is adorable/hilarious because I am a big giant Amazon.

He started hooking up carabiners to the St. Andrew’s cross. There was already a couple playing on the other side of the cross, an adorable switchy couple I’m quite used to playing next to. (It made for some cute “I know how you feel” moments while chained face-to-face to the girl) Old-Timey Guy instructed Punk Rock Girl to put shackles on my ankles and wrists and get me attached to the cross.  She took a lot of care to make sure that my wrists were comfortable—“I can fix them now, but once he starts, it’s too late.” She got me all snug and settled in and then moved away so that OTG could take over.

He leaned against me and asked “Do you think I’m a bad man?”

I laughed but nodded empathically. The truth is, his face is fundamentally good natured—all beardy and trustworthy. He makes me feel all silly and innocent, plus he is often wearing a hat with a feather in it, but I was overjoyed to play along:

“Oh yes, very bad man.”

“Do you want me to do bad things to you?” More smiling and supercheery nodding.

The first implement he brought out was a pretty silver filigreed thing, shaped like a little tiny garden rake, but dainty and fancy. He said, “Now I’m just gonna warm you up.” He raked the little filigree thing over my back, my shoulders, my neck, my hair, the backs of my knees. It felt firm sometimes and tickly other times. He tickled me with his fingers, too. I never thought that I would like that, but I did. I loved all of the squealing and wiggling. The dungeon owner says ticklers are the hardest on his furniture, and I can see why. Very squirmy!

All the while, PRG was watching and assisting. She was the one who took my glasses off when I needed her to, and the one who told me to keep my head forward so that it’d be a little more safe.

OTG started flogging my back—he’d asked if I liked thing more thud-y or sting-y and this was as thud-y as I had requested. I relaxed against the cross in a semi-subby state until the thuds got a little harder and I had to brace against the pain a little. I gritted my teeth and balled up my fists, but I didn’t cry out or make the stop signal.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, but you could go a little, um, lower,” I said, wiggling my ass in his general direction.

“This looks like it can take some pain,” he said, and got started, first with the flogger, then with a strap thing that I really, really, REALLY loved. Rhythmically, one cheek, the other, I never wanted it to ever stop. But too soon, he leaned into me and said “My dear, you have now been flogged. Did you like it?”

“Ohmygoodnessyes.”

As a finale, he pulled down my undies and left a heart shaped marked on one side and a star-shaped mark on the other. It hurt like a sonofabitch.

I was sad that it was over, that there wasn’t an aftercare factor, but I hugged and thanked him and helped get PRG into her shackles for their real play. (Really, she helped me help her into her shackles.) It was melancholy feeling, but centered and very warm about the back and ass.

Next: Hello, suspension!