An Impossible Puzzle

Committed, in spite of the fact, or perhaps because of it – I can no longer tell – that his fingers are clasped around a beautiful, free, transforming black belt of pain and his strong right arm is moving it swiftly and with complete authority downward. Our eyes lock in the mirror as the stripe is painted diagonally across my white, white cheeks.  His are filled with wisdom. His are filled with love. Mine are filled with tears. Mine are filled with gratitude. - Anastasia, guest post (Poppy's Submissions) (11/29/11)

"My need for a spanking woke me up this morning , I do not know what that says about me other than I am built for a certain type of man."- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (14 hours ago)

If you do not follow @PoppyStVincent, and read her Submissions, and tumbl(e) her Crimson and Black tumblr, you should.

The recent guest post on Poppy's Submissions made my throat constrict and my heart flutter when I read it a few days ago. I know the feelings Anastasia describes. The above tweet made the girl in me ache when I read it last night. I have thought of it, and my need to be thoroughly spanked for hours on end ever since. I text messaged my Sir this morning and told Him how I am feeling the strain, and very badly need to run away with Him and then be spanked and pushed until I scream, cry and fly.

I have been writing posts all day and now I need to be spanked and ravished. Except I have to wait until Friday. BUT I need a spanking NOW.- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (23 hours ago)

I think I just wrote the rudest thing I have ever written. I need my lover and I need him now.- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (14 minutes ago)

I feel need in my skin. It echoes in my voice. I want to be bratty, to have a tantrum. My body clamors to feel the red sting and to wince and squirm as I find it hard to sit. A part of my mind is working tirelessly on a puzzle -- how to give myself the sorting out I need, so I can just get back to life -- but the puzzle is impossible. There is a reason for the rule against 'self scene-ing.' We joke about it, Sir and I, because I can be a klutz and that may result in bumps and bruises of a very different kind. But the reality is no joke. The need I feel is intense, and it marks me. I am frustrated and am torqued that I cannot push myself this way:

I cannot roll up my own sleeve past my elbow, 

while myself watches, trembling from her bent over place in anticipation.

I cannot lock eyes with the girl in me, and assure her that she can be helped and freed, 

while myself shudders with relief and great big butterflies of dread dance in her tummy.

I cannot be strong and commit to the best course of action, 

when that moment of panic comes crashing in, 

and the pain is the most unbearable thing myself can imagine.

I cannot wield the strap, or the cane, or the hair-brush with love and determination, 

watching her pale cheeks pink, and redden and bruise, 

while myself muffles her cries in the bedding, or lets them echo off the walls, 

begging me to stop with her words, and not to stop with her body.

I need His strength, because I do not have it to give,

 when myself acquiesces.

And He is 251 miles away.

And His text message response reminds me that He needs -- just as I need -- that spanking.  He assures me,

"Remember our times together and draw on that. Reach out and draw from my energy with your mind and heart. It is there for you.  [Soon] we will have time and space."

For now, I will make use of my own strength.  I will write about how I need Him, how I ache and burn for Him.  I will use my words to express the awful needful, hungry feeling that pulls at my flesh and torments my mind. Then I will spend some time imagining the last time He spanked me and pushed me.

The last time I flew.

Finally, I will find my strength in His energy, and I will get dressed and go do some adult things -- like paying bills, or Christmas shopping, I will not have a bratty tantrum when it won't get me the spanking I need.

Soon.

Welcome Morning

Dark haiku:

tension builds with dawn

body twisted in the sheets

swiftly comes uncoiled 

~Ephe 8/28/11

#concupiscence
#darkhaiku

Today I Need

To hear the strength in your voice. To know that calm. To stand silently in the corner and wait for you, for a short while. To feel your eyes watching me from across the room.

To be told to strip, and lie face down in the bed. To feel your hand upon my bottom. To feel the sting of fingers, or a cane, or a paddle, or a flogger.



That first sharp intake of air, and that first groan of welcome, of acknowledgement, pain is mine. The second blow, and the third, the unexpected rhythm, the surrender, the knowing that I do not need to know when the next strike will come, or where it will land, only that it will.

To be pushed, closer and closer to tears, to that breaking edge, to the emotions I've been hiding away because they were too messy to let spill out. To feel them rise in the back of my throat, and leap with every moan, every pain filled cry.

To hear your voice, steady, patient.

To arch my back and kick my feet, and scream my protests into the pillow without fear that you will stop before I'm there.



To scream until I am exhausted from holding back, and then feel the tears spilling down my cheeks, the sobs tearing from my chest. To tremble and shudder and weep.

To be gathered in your arms, and to blubber, sob, messily, uncontrollably, wrapped in your control. To spend my emotion in your embrace.



Safe.

Loved.

Known.

Understood.

Then, to love you in return, to sate your hunger and meet your need.






But today is not that day.

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 - Distance, Technology and Mental Power Exchange

by Moe_ on flickr

Day 26: What’s your opinion on online BDSM play?


My introduction to BDSM began with online play. I've spoken of it this month, in previous posts, so I won't belabor the point here.

There are differences, yes, and if my experiences were limited to online play, I have a feeling I'd be unsatisfied. However, I still maintain a long distance, online and via phone relationship with a Dominant, I call him Poet, here on my blogs. It's the nature of relationships, that technology helps us to stay connected. I cannot connect with him in person, so many interactions I might like to have with him are not possible. But he does offer me protocols, structure, emotional support, and yes, even some physical, self-directed, orgasmic kink. (Read that as "directed-masturbation, and orgasm control.")

It's not perfect, but it does fill a need where it would be impossible to fill it otherwise. Besides, I also have a very powerful D/s dynamic with Shepherd, which we explore not only when we are together in person every eight weeks or so... but online and via the phone in the spaces between visits.

I know that there are those who scoff at online BDSM, who consider it baby's milk compared to the hard liquor of 'real-life' kinky interaction. I agree, to a point, that there's a great difference. But I also know that for me, personally, having both options works. And, I think I've made it clear this month too... I'm the only one who has the right to define my own lifestyle / kink. Everyone else is of course, perfectly free to define their own.

Can't we all just get along while we get off?

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 - Self Improvement

by fragiletender on flickr

Day 19: Any unexpected ways kink has improved your life? If so, what are they?


Oh my, yes.


I feel balanced, for the first time in a very long time.  It's just that simple.  There's been a need in me for so very long that I didn't even know about, that I didn't understand.  There's a darkness that needs feeding, that needs embracing and acknowledging.  I am this girl, this woman, who needs to chase that darkness.  Doing so balances me.


In addition, the natural endorphins and adrenaline that my body produces when I'm in kink induced pain... are better than any synthetic drug I could ever experiment with.  They are tailor made for me, and fit me, perfectly,  When I get to that space, the stress of the world melts away -- physical, emotional, mental.  It's a happy place with few equals.  (Those would be the birth of my children, falling in love, the BIG moments in life.)  Yes, there are benefits to being kinky.


Silly question, perhaps.


Because of course there are benefits to being me.


I rock.

Thirty Days of Kink - Where Does It Hurt?

(by striatic on flickr)

Day 5: What was your first kinky sexual experience? If you haven’t had one yet, talk about what you hope to have happen.


The first introduction I had to sensation play came mentally, verbally, and via video chat, from Karhu. There was some definite kink involved, and even some sexual play, but it was limited to what I could perform on myself at his command.

I think I would qualify my first kinky sexual experience as my first night with Shepherd. I knew before I met him that I was interested in kink. I'd played around with some things, mostly the mental and emotional aspects of the D/s dynamic. What I didn't know that first night, is that I am very much a masochist. I get off on pain. I can orgasm when my nipples are twisted abusively. I love the sting of a hand when it strikes my flesh.

There wasn't much more that we explored that first night besides Shepherd's hands. He pinned me against the wall, and growled at my throat. He ordered me to strip. He touched and explored my body, listening to its cues, fed me with painful sensations one after another. I was shocked at what my body could withstand, and even more surprised at what it asked for.

I never believed I had a high pain threshold, having always been a baby about sprains, migraines, and stress injuries. I learned that night that if I bite my lip and ignore the clamoring of my brain, there's a quiet place --- an escape from the stresses of my life --- a space where I can let the flood of pain bear me away safe and warm, feeling used, wanted and cherished. I will never forget the night I met my sadistic Top. He took me to his dark world and showed me where it hurt.  Now I am hooked.

By the by, the night didn't end with sex. There was a bit of release offered and accepted by both of us, but the actual amazing sex came later. This night was all about the pleasure of giving and receiving pain.

My name is Ephemera.
I'm a Masochist, and I'm hungry.
It's so good to meet you.
;)

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

http://images2.travbuddy.com/1565695_12553571462545.jpg

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.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/bradlindert/132565415/

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.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/icopythat/18470314/sizes/m/in/photostream/

For firing my imagination and for feeding my appetite,

Thank you.