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

He Wraps me 'Round with Words

My beloved Sir Poet has a way with words. He knows just what to say - just what picture to paint - to quiet the voices that clamor in my head.

Every night He uses those words to bid me sweet dreams, to remind me I am His, to take me to that place where I am wrapped safely in His arms, or my leash is held by His hand as I sleep, or I am tied to his bed and curled upon a cushion at His feet. He binds me, always with words... words of rope, of chain, of leather.

On the best nights, His words bind my wrists behind my back, my arms to each other at my elbows, my ankles, and legs in crimson rope, strong and soft. All the while He whispers to me. His words become the boundaries, the limits that settle over me like a cloak.

After the rope, His words bind a length of violet silk around my eyes, as I close them tightly, focusing on the last image before they shut: His eyes - His determined yet gentle gaze. His words ask whether I have anything left to say before He adds another length of ink black silk that slides in between my lips. I whisper softly that I love Him, and express my gratitude for His words; then I am forced to be silent. To listen to His movements, to anticipate His touch.

Soon His breath grazes my neck, and my ear. His words whisper, and sometimes, He asks me whether I'm ready before He slips the noise-cancelling headphones over my head. The last words I hear are His profession of love, and His bid of goodnight and sweet dreams. He calls me His pet, and then silence.

I feel everything.

The boundary of the ropes, the silk, the weight of silence upon my body. My head echoes with His words, and I feel loved, safe, protected, wanted.

I wait.

I know He will reach for me. He will guide me into His arms, and wrap Himself around me to sleep in solitude, in silence and safety. I dream of being wrapped 'round in his protective wings.

I rest within His words.



image reblogged from http://augustserendipity.tumblr.com/

Take Your Kink to Work

One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important.
~Bertrand Russell (1872 - 1970)

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My work is a game, a very serious game.
~M. C. Escher (1898 - 1972)

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I read somewhere on fetlife that Thursday, April 21 was "Take Your Kink to Work Day", and in preparation I asked Shepherd for bruises.  He was very generous.  Very.  (And there was a dagger involved, but that's another post altogether.)  

In addition to the bruises, I of course wore my elastic band.  Shepherd instructed me to snap the band in conjunction with every "Good Morning" greeting or 'Thank You" I received.  The total was seventeen... and my wrist was nicely red by the end of my four hour shift.

The bruises weren't the sort that _sub_girl and I talked about when we first met... they did not ache and remind me of him every time I shifted in my chair, because too much time had passed from Sunday to Thursday for them to still be that tender.  But I still knew.  Beneath my black skirt... they were there.

In addition to the bruises and the elastic, I wore a simple chain around my neck, and a blouse that was laced up the back like a corset, with Scarlet ribbon -- this in honor of Sir Poet, and at his request.  My shift was only four hours, and fairly uneventful, though the thoughts the whole event afforded me were quite yummy indeed, and that made the work day go all the more quickly.

On the drive home, I realized something.

I take my kink with me to work every day.

by scottfeldstein on flickr

I am who I am.  I am dark and twisted, and surrounded by the things in my life that represent the wonderfully loving, kinky, power-exchange relationships I enjoy.  There is a darkness in me that goes with me everywhere I go.  It looks out at me from my own eyes when I stand before a mirror.  It is part of who I am.

Everywhere I go, I meet that girl in me that is wonderfully kinky.

I hope that never changes.   

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 - Braided, Muddled, Tangled - It's All Me

by dj-dwayne on flickr

Day 27: Do your non-kink interests ever find their way into your kinky activities? If so, how?

I think so, yes, though I've never really thought about it in those terms.  I'm an eclectic sort of person, meaning that I love baubles, trinkets, bits of string and ribbon, trifles really.  I collect them and they soak up meaning, the scent and taste and sounds of my life.  

I wear handmade jewelery that incorporates skeleton keys -- because I am submissive, keys have meaning for me.  I own mine, but I give them freely when I submit.  It's symbol of my choice.  Much of my jewelry also represents my polyamory.  I wear multiple keys with only one lock... because my heart has room for many who hold the keys.

I wear a simple black, elastic band around my wrist.  It was suggested by my Sadist, Shepherd.  He's 251 miles away, and he uses it to give me pain reminders.  It represents my  kink, and his role in my BDSM lifestyle.  It feeds my need for pain, when he's not near enough to administer it.

My love of ribbons, and ropes fuels my interest in shibari, and my love of corsets and stockings, and burlesque feeds my love of lingerie, and photography.  I'm at home behind the camera, and love the sexy, artistic shots of breasts, and leather, and bums and stockings and rope and ribbons and... pardon me while I drool.

My voracious hunger to give words to my erotic fantasies, the stories and poems I write, and the effect they have on others -- these are very much me.  And I write other things too, fiction, memoir, poems about motherhood and tea and blackbirds and autumn.  

In truth, kink is a part of who I am.  

It's part of the darkness in me.  

I'm discovering who that girl is, who got set aside when the demands of motherhood took over twenty five years ago.  I'm learning now about the woman she's become apart from the domestic bliss, and the motherhood, the wife-hood.  I am chasing the heart of that girl, that woman, and discovering every day what makes her tick, and shiver, and fly.  Kink is just as much a part of that journey as poly is -- part of me that was always there beneath the surface, and is finally free to come out.  

Of course my non-kink interests and my kinks overlap. 

They are all me.  

That's what who my journey is all about. 

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 - Fantasies and Realities



by magnumlady on Flickr

 Day 14: How would you say real life BDSM/kink varies from fantasy BDSM/kink? If you haven’t experienced real life BDSM/kink how do you think it might differ?

My first introduction to kink was in an adult online writing community. I met Karhu there, and much of the D/s dynamic we explored was via writing and then voice chat, finally video chat. It was a nice start for me. I learned a great deal about the mental and emotional aspects of kink, but the limits to our interactions were pretty severe.

When it came time for me to explore past those limits, Karhu released me, and allowed me to continue on my journey. I have only just begun that journey, having explored for less than a year with Shepeherd, but the differences are vast. I've discovered my appetite for pain, as well as bottoming, and there's a list as long as his arm that I want to explore.

On the other hand, there are all the new things I'm learning from the crowd over at Devlin's blog, and that's very much fantasy for me right now. In addition, there's Poet... one whom I've been a bit quiet about, writing my kink posts. You'll learn more about him soon, if you keep reading.

Anyway, I think for me, fantasy is an incredible fuel for kink. Fantasy kink feeds me in a way that reality can't. It's not possible for me to be a girl, with a Wolf who loves and abuses me, without a bit of fantasy. And with the distance, sometimes the fantasy helps to make that 251 miles seem fewer. But the limits of fantasy alone are in no way enough for me. I need some real time physical interaction. So, I'm glad I've got both.

Thirty Days of Kink - Sluttiness, the Right Way

by jvc on flickr

Day 11: What are your views on the ethics of kink?

I have a pretty direct and simple take on the ethics of kink. I believe that being ethical means a Top assumes or takes no power/submission/control that is not negotiated or offered by choice. I believe being ethical means a Top only negotiates and assumes power that he or she is capable of handling safely and fairly. I believe it is unethical for a Top or a bottom to lie -- about relationships, about negotiated activities, about intentions, skills, or anything else that would be a breach of the power exchange contract... however formal or informal it may be. I believe an ethical Top, or bottom does no harm -- which should not be confused with the practice of causing pain.

Many of my ethical standards regarding kink are based in my values regarding relationships. A good start for me is the book The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy. I recommend it for anyone who is interested in the dynamics of relationships, especially non-traditional ones.

Thirty Days of Kink - Don't Just Tie Me Up

by DieselDemon on Flickr

Day 8: Post a kinky image you find erotic.

This one's easy.  


I love being tied up.  I do.  But just once (at first), I'd like more.  If you tie me up, I don't just want knots, I want beauty.

Oh, and tattoos are nice, too.

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.