The Night Calling

There's a new chill in the autumn air, and I yearn for the crunch and crackle of leaves beneath my feet, the aroma of a bonfire drifting on the wind.  I close my eyes and dream of pools of moonlight, tendrils of fog, and the irresistibly spooky sounds of the night.  

I'm not really the kind of girl who will willingly watch a scary movie. I don't love roller coasters, or sky diving, or those strange, expensive slingshot rides at the county fair that shoot you into the sky and bounce you several times while you scream in terror, before you can get back safely on the ground.  I'm not an adrenaline junkie, per se.  

Yet, there's something to be said for pushing myself to venture out into the darkness.  There's an excitement that comes from plunging into the domain of spiders and snakes, and the occasional green-eyed nocturnal cat that brushes by your ankles in the shadowy night. I'm not into the blood and gore hallow e'en stuff, or the kind of supernatural evil that makes one wake screaming with the bedclothes clinging to damp skin.  But I do love to entertain the cold fingers of fear along that line between my shoulder-blades, and the papery voice of dread as it whispers into the hollow just below my earlobe.

I want to feel my heart flutter like a startled bird in a tiny cage.  I want to explore the darkness, and let my imagination carry me away, so that when my feet do finally find the path toward hearth and home, I can be the courageous girl who lets you welcome me back with open arms, soothing me as I fight to catch my breath.  I want you to tell me how very brave I've been, and how proud you are.  

Then after a nice cuddle, please usher me off to bed for a wholly different kind of dark fun.

So many sensations I want to write indelibly upon my mind and heart, and never, ever forget.

The flow of silk stocking drawn upwards from my toes to my hip... and then repeated. The cinching of ribbons until I feel every single stay. Garters fastened at the top of each thigh, snapped into place with a playful tug. Breathing made shallow by the corset and by the excitement as he takes me by the hand and leads me to stand before the mirror.

'Look at how beautiful you are.'

His hungry eyes just over my left shoulder and the flush of color on my freckled skin. Leaning forward, at his insistence, until my breasts spill out over the top of the fabric while his hands pull my hips backwards into his.

Later, propped upon pillows in the center of the bed -- my legs wrapped around his shoulders. Ribboned black silk a stark contrast against his sandy hair. The swell of fabric over my hips and my utter amazement at my own curves swaddled in midnight silk and brocade. The trembling excitement I feel in my limbs. The way my nipples harden and my insides clench in anticipation.

I have never felt so deliciously lovely, and the light in his eyes is my mirror.

I can't wait to look again.


Photo borrowed from knownbeauty, the tattoo text is this:

"Now I will believe

that there are unicorns;

that in Arabia

There is one tree, the phoenix' throne,

one phoenix

At this hour reigning there."

- William Shakespeare,

 The Tempest, 3.3

Hello, My Name Is...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The Switch in My Looking Glass

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!"
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
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“I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)

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"How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
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"Be what you would seem to be - or, if you'd like it put more simply - never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
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"Speak in French when you can’t think of the English for a thing-- turn your toes out when you walk--- And remember who you are!"
- Lewis Carroll (Through The Looking Glass)
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’The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’
’The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master — that’s all."
- Lewis Carroll (Through The Looking Glass)
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I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then. "
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
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I came into D/s drawn by the strength of a male partner... his restrained desire, eventually unleashed because he could no longer hold back; his ability to draw from me responses I didn’t know were in me; his acknowledgement of my darkness. I’ve always loved the feeling of being worth so much attention -- because he had to be very attentive to keep me on the edge, to be the kind of dominant I didn’t even know I wanted or needed until Karhu was.

In my day-to-day life, I am a strong-willed woman, intelligent, creative, and driven. I’m the one who gets things done, who delegates, who takes charge of a situation and bends it. I am responsible for my own life, my own pleasure, my own orgasm. Three years ago I began exploring D/s, and I was intrigued by the idea that there might be someone out there strong enough to accept the control I willingly surrendered -- and to wield it with skill; to take me to places I’d never been. That’s essentially what I’ve looked for in every D/s dynamic I’ve encountered or negotiated since.

Because that exchange of power is what I wanted, I used the labels I had a grasp upon to define myself as submissive -- forgetting that I am also strong-willed, driven, and very much a Mom. When I met others in the community who responded alternately to my labels or my personality, I came away surprised. Some expected me to be very subby, others were surprised when I insisted I was not dominant.

I’ve resisted the label of switch, out of fear. I do not want to lose the submissive in me. I am still learning what labels mean, and how I fit. I think part of me hates the idea I mighy be expected to be strong, when what I’m really looking for is a safe place to not be the strong one.

On the other hand, I’ve been struggling with the realization that I don’t fully fit into what I perceive as the subby role. This weekend over the course of several conversations, Shepherd figuratively held up a mirror and insisted in his gentle, indomitable way, that I take an honest look at my own reflection. I had to admit it.

There’s a dominant in me.

She is the woman who told Husband a year ago I was going to be polyamorous, and he could believe I loved him, or go find his happiness without me. I wouldn’t be angry at him if he made that choice for himself.

She is the woman who successfully negotiated a play-partner relationship based on her own wants, needs and limits.

She is the woman who found herself in a situation she didn’t understand, got defensive with a Domme who made her feel intimidated, and stood up for herself, making a mess of things. Now she is faced with the task of making it all right again.

She is the Mommy, the wife, the Child of the Wild Blue Yonder. She is me, and I am determined to go out and find what I need to be happy, only choosing to surrender and submit what I want, what feeds me, what meets my needs.

I may never own a submissive, though I’m learning never to use never definitively. Shepherd says some day I’ll meet someone and say “Mama want... Mama get. Period.” He’s probably right. When it comes to showing me myself, he usually is.

After all, he sees the darkness in me, and loves me for it. He’s the one person in my life I trust and love completely enough discuss a collar with. So, here I stand before that mirror and I see both dominant and submissive. There are needs in me fed by both of these dynamics. How I choose to explore and let them play out in my life is my choice. I will do so in my time. This is my privilege. I don’t have to surrender one aspect of myself, in order to have the other.

In fact, if I am to be true to me, there is no choice, but to acknowledge and celebrate who that woman really is.

Who is in your mirror?

Thirty Days of Kink - Tying One On

by northerngreenpixie on flickr

Day 30: Whatever BDSM/kink related thing you want to write about.

Today's post is a response to a question from Sir Poet. When I told him I was trying to come up with an idea for this last post, he offered several until we settled on this one. I can understand why he likes it: 

You've been told you're to be restrained - that is all. What image comes to mind? How do you envision yourself restrained/bound/etc? What position, with what materials (rope, silk, leather, iron, steel, etc.)? Any additional toys?

In my fantasies, I've been restrained in many different ways.   Probably one of the most incredible ways was introduced to me in a bit of long-distance-fantasy-role-play, by Maks.  In this fantasy, I was bound with scarlet thread--simple cotton thread, easily broken, except for my absolute desire to submit to him, and to surrender to the mental bonds that made that scarlet thread powerful enough to hold me down.  I have always loved this idea, and hope to try it out sometime, when the mood is right.

I've also entertained many a fantasy about shibari, with a moderately soft, scarlet rope, possibly made of silk.  I've mentioned more than once that I love the imagery, the art, of shibari, and would love to imagine myself so beautifully bound.  That someone or Someone would take the time to get the knots just so, and make the pattern of the ropes exactly right speaks volumes to me, and I would not pass up the experience if it came from someone I love and trust.

Since my trip to Shepherd's local dungeon, I've imagined being bound and locked away in that tiny cell located in the theme room.  The bars are cold iron, and the space is small.  I'm sure I can imagine that sort of delicious dread that would accompany such a bondage.  I have a feeling that before long, I'll find myself smack in the middle of just such a fantasy, and probably when I least expect it.

However, none of those fantasies are what I imagine in the scenario Sir Poet describes above.  Lately, when we are on the phone, or chatting online, and he is ready to say goodnight, I ask him to bind me, at least in our imaginations.  It helps me stay focused on his presence, and to rest feeling secure.  That type of bondage is what I imagine most often and here it is:

I am bound in soft red ribbon, three inches wide, and several yards long.  The ribbon binds my hands behind my back, and then is drawn upwards through the D-ring in my collar at the nape of my neck.  The other end of that ribbon is bound to Sir, tied 'round his wrist, or least, gripped tightly in his hand.  Even in the night, when the house is quiet and dark, I know that at the other end of that ribbon is the hand of my Sir, who cherishes me, and honors my submission.  I love imagining this.

I don't normally imagine additional toys, as my focus is on breathing in the moment, and feeling the connection to the one who binds me.   It's very much first a mental thing for me, and the physical reality is something I look forward to with great anticipation.

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And with that, I'm finished with the Thirty Days of Kink posts!  

I hope you enjoyed reading.  I hope to think of other ineresting topics in the future.  Keep reading, and I'll strive to give you something worth reading!

 

Thirty Days of Kink - Life's No Dress Rehearsal

by Erix! on flickr

Day 28: How do you dress for kink/BDSM play? What significance does your attire have to you?

Because I don't yet play publicly, I don't dress.  


I undress.


When Shepherd bids me strip, with that throaty, hungry growl, I am with every item of clothing removed moving into that mindset of being used for his pleasure.  Nothing of me stands between him and his prey, his food, his girl.  This is a significant transformation for me, and it results in amazing peace and subspace that feeds exactly what I need.


I do plan, at some point, to play in public.


I do plan to pay close attention to what I wear (or don't) in those scenes, too.


I mentioned in yesterday's post that I love laces and ribbons and corsets.  I fantasize about ripped stockings and smeared lipstick and torn skirts.  The clothing I wear for kinky play in public will represent my frame of mind -- being tied in ribbon, wrapped in silk and lace, or simply bound in a scarlet rope.  I want to be that visual prey, that sensual treat in every sense, and that includes what my partner sees.  I want to step into the magic, the fantasy, and lose myself completely... and I wanna take my big, bad wolf along with me.


So bring on the leather, the lace, the period costumes, the fishnet, the white cotton panties beneath my skirt...  


I want it all.

Thirty Days of Kink - Interest(ing) Perspectives.

by jontintinjordan on flickr

Day 23: Since you first developed an interest in kink, have your interests/perspectives changed? How so?


The more I explore, the more I want to explore.  I think that's not unusual. I'm learning that I don't have a true subbie heart.  It is not in my makeup to submit and serve.  I'm not a slave.  I do love to submit, and I do so by choice, because of the way it feeds me.  I am probably more a switch by nature than I want to admit.  But I do know I have no desire to switch roles.  I like my kink just the way it is for now, thank you.


I'm still learning, still discovering, still waking the sleeping beast inside of me, and finding out what it is that feeds her darkness.  I love the journey so far.

Thirty Days of Kink - What Curiosity did to the Pussy... Cat

Day 20: Talk about something within kink/bdsm that you’re curious about/don’t understand.

I'm not sure I understand everything, in fact, I know I don't. But that's not to say I don't understand something that I've explored. That's the great think about kink, the resources are limitless, and information is readily available. In addition, I'm curious about a lot. There are so many things to explore. That's what my journey is all about.

I am learning every time I read, every time I watch, every time I try something new, about what works, and what doesn't work for me. You see, I feel that kink is a very personalized thing. My journey is all about figuring out what makes my skin tingle, the hair stand on the back of my neck, my pulse race and my body temperature rise. It's not about figuring out why someone else likes a flogger over a cane. It's a very personal experience.

You know what I'm really curious about... the history. I wanna read a definitive work on the life of the Marquis de Sade. Now THAT would be intriguing.

Thirty Days of Kink - A Taste of Something New

by -ebelien- on flickr

Day 15: Post a BDSM/kink activity you’re curious about and would like to try.

There's a list of things I'd like to try, because I'm still fairly new to the buffet, and I haven't even seen the whole menu. I suppose, if I had to choose one item on which to focus, it would be this:

I have a bit of a fear of being trapped --- just enough to make every nerve in my body stand at attention, and tingle. I love the intricacies of these knots, and the lines they make on her flesh. I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

I want to know what it would be like to explore pain in this state. Though I'd have to trust my Sadist, and I do, because I couldn't squirm away. I want to see the rope against my pale skin, and taste the coppery penny taste of anxious anticipation as it tightens and draws me into something lovely in a way I've never seen myself before.

Someday soon, I'll get my chance.  Who knows, I may not even like it.  In the meantime though, I'm certainly enjoying the fantasies, and the conversations, and the images I come across as I wander around in the idea.

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I'm halfway there... this 30 Day thing isn't so bad!  If you're reading consistently, thanks for doing so.  I'd love to read a comment from you!

Thirty Days of Kink - Funny Bone

Day 12: Tell us about a humorous BDSM/kink experience you’ve had. If you haven’t had one, talk about aspects of kink/BDSM you find funny.

I'm not sure I can think of a funny experience, or aspect when it comes to kink. I've spent much of the day pondering the whole question. I do think, however, that it's important to laugh in any sort of relationship.

Laughter, when it is shared, and not used to separate, is an expression of acceptance. Laughter at myself helps me see that I am human. That I can make mistakes, look foolish, and fail without being a failure. I think successful relationships, especially between Tops and bottoms, Doms, and subbies leave room for "oh-my-fuck-that-was-funny-and-awkward-and-we-should-take-it-out-of-the-playbook." Laughter makes life a bit easier to live, and I think there are moments, when it really belongs in the lifestyle.

Though I don't think that split second before my Top's hand, or paddle, or other implement hits my ivory ass-cheeks is a good time for laughter.

Not at all.

Thirty Days of Kink - This Thing We Do (That I've Never Done)

(by aubergene on flickr)

Day 6: Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

I confess, I peeked ahead, and I've been thinking about this post, and the corresponding fantasy all week. I'd planned to write about a scene that exploits my appetite for fear -- a scene about ripped stockings, and a growling voice in the dark, about a glittering blade that flashes in the low light and makes me shiver when it touches my bare skin...

And I might write about that fantasy soon, but not today.

Today, I happened across a couple of blog posts on my Blackberry, via Social Feeds. I found Poppy St. Vincent a few months back, completely by accident and I read her religiously now.  Though I don't consider myself part of the TTWD community of kinksters, there's a certain way that Poppy has of looking at life, and at the relationship between herself and Devlin, her Top, that I am drawn to. I don't think of myself primarily as a little girl, or a brat, though both live inside of me, and I don't know that I could give up THAT much control, and give a man who loved me the right to take me over his knee like a child. 


Yes, I am a masochist... and yet I'm not sure I could deal with the physical AND emotional pain of being scolded THEN spanked... soundly.  Still the more of her I read, the more I wonder what it would be like to be loved by that sort of man. This morning I read another of her insightful posts, and it brought tears to my eyes. On Poppy's blog, or perhaps on Devlin's, I can't remember which now, I came across a link to Erica Scott's blog, and the post I read there today also made me teary-eyed. 

I'm still not convinced that I need the sort of relationship where I'm disciplined by a man, but the more I read and identify with Poppy, and others, the more I'm not convinced I don't want one, too.

And so, for today, the fantasy that's running around in my head involves a slightly older, distinguished looking man, with dark eyes, and a growly voice, who will draw me into his lap for a cuddle. He will also look at me and know that I need to be drawn "strictly into his boundaries where I feel safe and relaxed." He will know that I need to weep away my stress, safe and under his firm hand. He will sort me out... telling me calmly to pull down my panties, and bend over... warming up my backside slowly at first, then with harder and harder lashes of his hand, a hair brush, a spoon, and maybe even a belt.

He will not let me get away with bratty comments, or boundary pushing, but will be strict and firm... not stopping until I am sobbing and warm, and feel as though the world has righted itself. Then he will draw me back into his arms, onto his lap, where I will kiss his neck and dry my tears in the collar of his shirt. He will soothe me, and cuddle me, and I will float.

I don't think this man exists in my life right now. I find myself wondering whether he ever will. I am not complaining, because my life is full of joy and darkness and love and the good sort of pain that feeds me. And though I have a wonderful place to explore things like torn stockings and smeared lipstick and the cold steel of a blade against my skin... I can't seem to stop thinking about a very different sort of path to that adrenaline release and endorphin rush I get when my Sadist feeds my masochistic side.

I suppose that's what fantasies are all about... and this is only one... only today's.


Funny how that works out.

Thirty Days of Kink - Clueless?

(by txberiu on Flickr)

Day 4: Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?

I'm not sure there were any early experiences that pointed to my kinks.  Honestly, my childhood was very sheltered, and I didn't have sex until my senior year in high school.  I went away to college the next fall, and by Christmas I was home, pregnant.  The next twenty years were spent marrying, having babies, getting divorced, getting remarried and being a mom.  I didn't really feel the freedom to explore me until my kids began leaving home and I realized how unhappy I was with my life.


It didn't take me long though to figure out that there WERE early hints that I am polyamorous.  I'm married to someone who knew me in high school.  He confirmed that he's always known I fall in love easily with more than one person at a time.  I guess I was naive, but I learned quickly.  Now I'm hungry to make up for lost time!

Thirty Days of Kink - My Pen is Bent!?

(by Phil_Parker on Flickr)

Day 3: How did you discover you were kinky?

It all began with a pen...


I started exploring my late adulthood sexuality via the 101 Nights books. Later, I discovered a community where I could broaden my horizons writing fantasy and erotica. There I met and fell in love with a sweet, growly bear of a Finnish man I'll call Karhu, here. He's the one who introduced me to the D/s dynamic, and allowed me to explore both mentally and emotionally my submissive and kinky side. Karhu and I are still very close, though the time difference between us is nearly ten hours, and staying connected is hard.


In Karhu I discovered the strength and hunger that I was longing for, and I also found the flicker of fear that makes my heart race, my pupils dilate, and my core overheat. Much of my early exploration into kink involved fiction, written role-play, and fantasy. I co-wrote stories about wolves and girls, vampires and girls, tentacle monsters and girls... mind you, all the girls were adults. I'm just saying, I'm not into that kind of underage kink. With Karhu though, I began to implement some of those protocols into my day to day life. It wasn't easy, the distance again made connecting a challenge. But some kinky things can be done via video chat.


With Karhu I learned a great deal about the mental, emotional and spiritual aspects of submission--of being owned, cherished, and dominated. I learned the pleasure of wearing a collar, and was amazed at the emotional response that simple accoutrement brought out in me... not just a change in my demeanor, but a sense of being treasured, sheltered and valued. Even now, thinking about the relationship I shared with Karhu, I tear up, and find a lump in my throat. We outgrew our intense Power Exchange dynamic and he released me from my collar so I could explore those things physically, in person, but I miss them with him. I miss him.


When Shepherd and I met, I learned very quickly, to my surprise, that I am one of those fortunate people who gets off on pain. I get the adrenaline, the endorphin rush, the orgasms. I used to think I had a very low tolerance for pain. Now I know with the right mindset, and with the right sadist, pain feeds me... it FEEEEEEEDS me!


I'm still fairly new on this twisted road of kink. If discovering I am kinky is the first step, I can't wait to discover more.

Thirty Days of Kink - What Pushes Ephemera's Buttons?

(by Indi on Flickr)

(by Indi on Flickr)

Day 2 - List Your Kinks.


Once again, I followed _sub_girl's lead and took advantage of FetLife's great resources for this one. I should note that there, my list evolves, because I add something wonderfully sensual or kinky or clever every few days -- the clever ones usually stolen from someone else's list.

What? Sharing is encouraged on Fet!

Anyway, here's my list:


I'm Into:

"I love you, but I will hurt you."

"Enough. now come here..."

a brilliant mind, a creative player and imaginative lover

a fistful of hair and a passionate kiss

a growl from out of the darkness, behind you

a hand on her (my) throat

a kinky mind with a wicked sense of humor

a lovely shade of ouch

a voice that calms, comforts and reassures

absolute trust

anal (receiving)

art erotica

bare bottom spanking (receiving)

bare handed spanking (receiving)

being a hopeless romantic

being capable of loving more than one person

being devoured by your eyes from across the room

being told "you're mine"

biting (receiving)

blindfolds

blogging

bondage

bring-them-to-the-edge-of-orgasm-but-don't-let-them-cum-for-a-while (receiving)

bruises (receiving)

burlesque

candle wax

caressing

clamps and clips

collars

control (surrendering)

covert bondage

d/s

domination (receiving)

erotic literature

eyeglasses

fingering (receiving)

fingernails (receiving)

fisting (receiving)

flirting

flogging (receiving)

geeks

glass dildos (receiving)

hair pulling

hands

humor

intelligence

kilts

kissing

librarians

light bondage

lingerie

marks for you to remember me by (receiving)

masks

masochism

massages

masturbation

multiple orgasms

music

mutual masturbation

necks

online play

orgasm control

pain (receiving)

phone sex

photography

pin-ups

pinching (receiving)

polyamory

power exchange

restraints

sadomasochism (receiving)

scarf bondage

scratching (receiving)

seduction

sensation play

sensual play

submission (giving)

subspace

tattoos

the sound of rain while cuddling on the bed

torn skirts, ripped stockings and smeared lipstick

touching

toys

vibrators

voyeurism

writing erotica

I'm Curious about:

breath play

caning

consensual non-consent

electrical play

fear

fucking machines

kinbaku

mental bondage

outdoor sex

predator/prey

public play

rope bondage/suspension

sacred sexuality

sadism

spreader bars

swinging

tantra

threesomes

Victorian pornography

vintage lingerie

~*~*~*~

I'm even EARLY on this one! It's not yet 8:00 in the morning!

Bring on Day 3!

Appetite for Darkness

I believe in the impossible, in fairy tales. I believe in the magic that hovers in shadows, perches in tree branches on gnarled claws and whispers dark incantations on the night air. There’s a little girl in me that carries a flashlight aloft and chases fireflies at the edge of the forest, who attempts to reach into mirrors, who peers into the deep, dark depths of wardrobes, ever eager to slip through a portal from the mundane world into the fantastic. And it’s not just the happy endings that bring out that little girl in me. It’s the frightful possibility, the hunger flickering in the eyes of the wolf, or the envious rage of the wicked queen. I confess, I’m enchanted by the frigid hand of fear that fastens itself upon my heart and compresses my breaths into frantic gulps.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/alyssafilmmaker/4386251915/sizes/m/in/photostream/

Fairy tales were not always meant for young ones. "The term fairy tale, now used as a generic label for magical stories for children, comes from the French term conte de fées, which refers to for a group of 17th-century tales written for adults.” Quote borrowed.

Originally, a fairy tale did not sew up all the loose ends of itself with happy-song and passionate-kiss threads. These fantastical myths probed the darkness, and prodded the wild spirit that lives in each of us and thrives outside of us, as well.

Fairy Tales were meant for the likes of me, and I love them. I believe in them. They feed my hunger for wildness, and for the foreboding that burns the back of my throat and reduces me to a trembling little girl, with a feral imagination that races with the pounding of my heart -- this appetite is the creature that taunts me in the darkness, fuels my yearning for that man with a growl living in the back of his throat -- who bares his teeth in an innocuous grin, but is betrayed by the craving in his eyes; it is why I look for ways to escape into the shadows and let the girl inside me get lost in the forest, wandering in wide-eyed trepidation.

Therefore, I was thrilled when Shepherd --- a man with wonderfully frightening growl --- recently invited me to board a plane and fly 251 miles to see him, and to spend an afternoon in a strange dungeon, with a virtually unknown crowd. I’m still fairly inexperienced when it comes to public play and dungeons. Most of my explorations into the darkness have been in my creative fiction writing, and one-to-one with Shepherd. He’s very good at feeding the masochist in me. I wrote about my first dungeon experience back in October, and it was something that awakened my appetite for the intensity, the energy exchange that happens between a submissive and a dominant, a top and a bottom. I am captivated by the quick intake of breath, the flash of hunger, the glint of steel, the scrape of rope, or the sting of leather gripped by trusted fingers, laid against quivering flesh. I was eager to experience it all again in a new space, with new people.

The dungeon warehouse Shepherd took me to was amazing, aptly described as a haven. There were people from all walks of life enjoying the darkness. Every corner was filled with things to make a girl’s flesh tingle.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHo_oaBhVfrvWQxJMhKZsTjLZ1S-MR7Yim72zfcHKr5i1Os9Vc8vt3XI5zByCsn9cusV0TTd6PH5cN_l6sCITJSrnvMBZGCShmuSgeS9bwEC-KkxhWos1jSThjNje5DPqoNHWKODzXW5g/s1600/Torture.jpg

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There were rooms in the dungeon that had a profound effect on me, but none like the very small chamber bisected by iron bars. The cell itself was dark, and confining. In the corner outside the cell rested simple tools of torture. Stepping into the space, I shivered and felt a rush of adrenaline. My imagination flew in a hundred directions at once. I think if I’d been alone, I would have entered the cell itself, slid down into the corner with my tiny notebook, and scribbled some notes or a poem about how deliciously vulnerable I felt there.

More than just the spirit of the space, what drew me in and made me feel at home was the passion of the individuals at play. When I wrote about my first dungeon experience, I focused on the energy exchange that happens between submissives and their dominants, tops and bottoms; and once again -- in this sanctuary - I saw that same trust and vulnerability painted on faces, written on torsos, recorded in flesh. I confess that I admire anyone who has the courage to bare themselves in public, in pursuit of that endorphin rush, that contact high.

I’m not just speaking about the actual nudity - full or partial - that often accompanies a scene. I admire that sort of abandon, to be sure, but there’s a vulnerability, a nakedness, if you will, that goes deeper than that. A submissive, or a bottom, who will bare themselves, and share their pain, their pleasure, their bliss, with an audience: is brave indeed. Of course, I acknowledge that that baring may well be part of the voyeuristic pleasure derived --- still, as an observer, the gift is not lost on me. I watch, I receive, and for that I’m grateful.

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I found one scene between a beautiful female bottom, and a charming male top particularly moving; and when what would take place was described to me, I never expected to have such a visceral reaction to it, as I did. It sounded like fun - Saran wrap, bare breasts, balloons popping -- doesn’t that sound like a carnival to you? And it was, great fun. But there were moments.

I’m not sure I can describe it, and do it justice, but there was a delicious sting that I very nearly felt every time the top in this scene popped a balloon against the bottom’s bare flesh. There was a shiny, large blade that flashed in the low light, and when I saw her shiver as she sighted it, I felt the chill on my skin. I held my breath along with her at each caress of the blade, silently voiced her yelps and felt my body tingle as she shuddered at each sting of broken rubber that snapped against her ivory flesh. I observed as her eyes flashed and locked with his gaze, seeking his strength, the reassurance of his control, and the subsequent surrender to sensation. I saw in her expression a serenity that I craved, and felt vicariously, because she was so honest and vulnerable.

It lasted only a few minutes, but I felt it... acutely, spiritually, physically.

And I treasured the gift both of them offered to the crowd.

I think I’d like to go back to this haven, Shepherd's shared refuge. I would love to capture on film, on paper, and eventually in my own flesh, the beauty and the power that fed me that day. I can say that later, in the privacy of Shepherd’s home, the hunger in my flesh for that pain was fed, and for me, that is an important part of my journey. I need that pain. But my soul also needs the beauty that shimmers before my eyes when I witness the scenes I did in that dungeon. I am very much a watcher, and a recorder of that exquisite grace that happens in a split second between those of us who understand the pain, and how it feeds us.

Someday, I will be the exhibitionist. I hear the darkness beckon, drawing me farther, deeper, making irresistible promises. I do not doubt that it will have its way with me. For now, I am the voyeur, and to those who allow me the pleasure, I respond with humble, consummate gratitude.

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For firing my imagination and for feeding my appetite,

Thank you.

It Was the Pain

I was amazed.

Not shocked -- in the way you might think one should be -- but overwhelmed. Dare I say it? Titillated. I saw unsurpassed beauty in the nudity of average bodies, and did not look away. I was captivated. I heard the sounds of leather, wood, rope and metal against flesh, and did not cover my ears. I heard gasps and groans and cries of pleasure, and I smiled, I shivered, I watched in awe.

I bore witness to the grace of a Top who knelt before his beloved bottom, and bid her breathe, trust, relax as she was lifted from the floor by ropes that intricately bound her body. His gentleness and her surrender brought tears to my eyes, and made my heart trip in my chest. I felt the pleasure I saw painted on her flesh, on her face for the rest of the night.

I observed as two old friends negotiated and agreed to something they'd never done before, and then marveled at the exquisite beauty of her body as he deftly drew the pleasure from her flesh with the sting, and strike, and slap of one tool then the next. He watched her, carefully, read her breath, her trembling muscles, her groans and giggles, until she erupted with a look of surprise etched across her lovely face.

It was my first dungeon experience, and I had no idea what to expect. I found myself among friends. I relaxed, and chatted, and wandered around and watched. I became the fascinated spectator, holding my breath, trembling with the gift of their generosity, aching with epiphany. I realized that what brought each of us to this place was something truly phenomenal. It was, for me, a very spiritual experience.

I found myself, again.