Quarterly Check-In

Posting on a quarterly basis seems to be how things are going these days …

- relationship front:  still with V, and things are still going great.  I know everyone likes to believe that whomever they are with now is superior to previous partners (i.e. “he understands me like no one else has”, “I’ve never felt this happy and complete”, etc).  I will go so far as to say that when I’m with him, I’m happier than I am when I’m not.  I like that feeling.

- sex:  still having lots of it.  Still all good.

- kink:  can I just say that I love the fact that he’s now into mouthfucking?  Foreplay is getting rougher and rougher, and I can’t complain.  The other day we were talking about him making me cry, and he answered with ‘mmm, yummy tears’.   When I accused him of becoming a sadist he didn’t deny it.  A small part of me was surprised and a little uncertain about this turn, but a larger part of me became a very happy little panda.

- roleplaying:  he keeps trying to get me to play Talisman with him … I find myself mysteriously drawn to playing the role of the dutiful housewife in the kitchen.  My latest obsession is baking pies in retro aprons and heels, which apparently is delicious in multiple ways.

- events:  I think that so far this year I’ve only missed one or two TNG events (my kink staple).  Went to a subspace event (bachelorette party).  Pretty consistent with previous years.  V still doesn’t have issues with me going out to kink events solo, but I think if I decided to stop going he wouldn’t be entirely too upset about it either.

Next post will hopefully be some thoughts/content.  I do have them occasionally.

Addictions

I don’t know if I’m hitting my sexual prime or what, but I can tell you that my sex drive seems to be in  a never-ending loop of wanting/needing sex.  Or cock.  Or being touched/fingered/fondled/devoured/etc.  For the past 3-4 months I am constantly wanting physical contact.  Many a date has been spent by getting fucked, and then spending the next hour curled up on the couch, resting my head in his lap while my hand clutches his exhausted cock.

Sometimes I am happy just being like that.  Othertimes I’ll nuzzle it, or stroke it.  Kiss or lick it.   Slap the damn thing around.  Anything that might bring it back to life.  And sometimes I succeed, and he seems aghast.  He’ll look at it, then look at me, with a very clear look of sheer exhaustion on his face.  He’ll give my leg a slap and get comfortable before saying “you’re riding this time”.

Though this makes it sound like I’m having sex all the time, all day every day, it’s not actually true.  I see V about twice a week, perhaps for a total of 40 hours.   I spend about 44 hours a week at work, another 40 sleeping, about another 6 at the gym.  Out of a potential 168 hours in a week, I spend maybe about 8 hours having sex with my boyfriend.  The other 38 hours (if not otherwise occupied) can be pretty sucky, since I’m pretty much sitting on the couch trying to not spend all my free time masturbating.

Though in my relationship I do get pain, I was served a hard dose of reality today.   I decided it had been a long time since I’ve used any of my nipple clamps, so I figured I’d pull a pair out and wear them a bit.  Grabbing the first pair my fingers came upon, I didn’t think “hey, it’s been awhile since you’ve done any of this stuff and these ones are some of the heavier duty ones, so maybe you should lower the tension settings a little and ease back into it”.  Rather, I stupidly threw them on.  My reactions can be easily summarized in two words:

bliss

followed by:

horror

It was an instant orgasm as they dug in, and it was delicious in the entire 30 seconds of its entirety.  But then something bad happened, being that it started hurting in the wrong way.  I fumbled to get them off, and after doing so I felt the ache.  And they kept aching, and kept aching … and even now, an hour later they’re still sensitive to the touch.

I’m not entirely sure what to do about this predicament now.  My stupidity lead to a wonderful thing:  many excellent orgasms.  But if the sensitivity doesn’t diminish by the time I see him, I’m sure he’s going to notice something is off-kilter.  Especially if he looks at them – damn they are red little knobs of anger.  I wouldn’t say that I feel ashamed of what I’ve done; it’s natural for me and something I’ve done many many many times in the past whether in the presence of partners or alone.  I guess my thing is that it’s something I haven’t really done since I’ve been with him, so I’m not quite sure how he’s going to react to “well I was horny, so I decided to put clamps on my nipples”.

Also, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed in myself.  My pain tolerance used to be SO much higher; can one year really have this much of an impact?  I never really considered the idea that it could diminish over time, though it’s quite logical since it increases along with practice/contact.  Just something that I never put much thought into.  Obviously something I will have to consider, granted the idea of the same effects with less impact isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  Minimizing bodily injury is generally a good thing in my case, since one nipple is already less sensitive than the other from similar acts.  Non-random fact there for ya.

Birthdays and Presents

“A diplomat is a man who remembers a lady’s birthday but forgets her age.”  – Anonymous

I think I’ve had what might be one of the best birthdays for the past little while.

I woke up early because I had to be into work ridiculously early, and while doing my hair got a text from V wishing me a happy birthday.  It made for a nice start to what could pretty much be summed up as a wonderful day.  Everything at work balanced itself out and I found the time flying by much faster than normal.  Escaping early, I headed home and showered, relaxing around the house before heading out to meet V.

We made plans to go out for sushi, so I met him at his place and we headed off.  My good day carried on into dinner, with us having one of the best meals and some of the best conversations.  After consuming vast amounts of deliciousness, we headed back to his place and relaxed on the couch.  Played with the dog a bit, then cuddled and talked.

Then he kissed me.  I don’t mean that he gave me a little peck on the cheek.  He leaned over and kissed me.  When I broke away and started to withdraw, instead of letting me do so he worked his hands into my hair and dragged my face back to his.   He didn’t so much kiss me as try to devour me.

And then I got spankings on the couch.

And sex – lots and lots of delicious birthday sex.

There’s something to be said about a man who goes out of his way to make sure that for that one day you get things how you like them.  It’s another thing to have a man who does the things he knows you like, but actually likes them himself.  Any traces of worry I might have been carrying around that he wouldn’t be able to adapt to my kink needs has obliterated.  The fact that expands on what he knows I like without my asking is great, and I find myself frequently noticing how sore my nipples are the next day at work.

Best present ever.

Nudging at Boundaries

“Of course we all have our limits, but how can you possibly find your boundaries unless you explore as far and as wide as you possibly can? I would rather fail in an attempt at something new and uncharted than safely succeed in a repeat of something I have done.” – A. E.  Hotchner

I’ve never made it a secret that I have a sensitivity to latex; the first vibrator I ever owned used to make me so nauseous and ill that I was incapacitated for a good two days.  When I was about 18 my doctor diagnosed the issue and told me to stop using condoms and rely on other forms of birth control.  Even I recognized that’s not a sensible option, as condoms are a vital tool in minimizing exposure to STDs.  So my general principle over the years has been that my partner and I would use condoms until I felt comfortable and secure in our relationship.  At that stage, the gloves came off, so to speak.

Times have changed though, and condoms now come in materials that are latex-free.  During my last relationship there was only one company that manufactured them, and they came at a hefty price (about $5 each).   In my current relationship, we’ve discovered that about three different brands now carry alternatives that, while still more pricey than latex condoms, average about to about $1-$1.50 a pop.  With more affordable options, why stop using them?

V has a long-standing history with condoms – for the most part either relationships were pretty non-committal, or no other forms of birth control were being practiced.  So other than the odd incident of non-practice, he hasn’t really done otherwise.  I, on the other hand, have a long-standing history with the pill and not using condoms.   And I like cum – on me, in me, anywhere really – I like it.   Using condoms limits my exposure to cum, unless we’re talking handjobs or blowjobs.  While I respect the idea of being safe, I also can appreciate the fact that we don’t need to be overly safe.

About four weeks ago I threw out the idea of having sex without condoms.  We’ve been sexually exclusive since the start, which put us just over five months at that point.   I could tell immediately that he wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea, so I was surprised when he indulged me that night.  I wasn’t surprised when the following week he went back to using condoms again.

What did surprise me was last weekend, when making our way up the stairs we ended up stopping and fucking right there.  Well okay, that part didn’t surprise me, but the fact that he went in without a condom did.  For the entire weekend, I got his cock in my favorite way even though condoms were easily within reach.  I figured he had done the math and guestimated that it was a low-risk period.  But when I saw him Wednesday and the same thing happened again, I started to wonder what was going on.

While I am completely okay with switching to fucking this way, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me slightly.  The extent of us talking about this consisted of me saying “I’m good with going that route, and if you feel that way at some point then we can talk about it”.  But we never seemed to reach that point of talking about it, of verbally agreeing that condoms were old school for us.  At one point I remember laying there and thinking “isn’t this kind of like rape?  I never agreed to this before we started”.  It certainly didn’t feel like rape (it actually felt really good), and it certainly didn’t feel wrong (oh definitely not at all).  And I was willing to concede that I had said last month if he wanted to go that route I’d be open to it .. but we never actually agreed to it, now did we?

It’s got me somewhat wondering as to whether there is an expiry date on consent – just because you agree to something six months ago, and it doesn’t happen, does it mean that nine months later it could just occur without rediscussion and it’s still okay?  I understand that in any dynamic (D/s included) you have certain understandings – you don’t ask to have sex every time you’re about to have it, you don’t ask to kiss each time before you do it, and you don’t ask each time you want to grab your submissive by the hair and shove your cock down their throat.  It’s implied consent, meaning that if you’ve agreed to it once and not indicated any adversion to it, well it lasts unless someone says otherwise.  Had I said something on the stairs, had I stopped him before he entered me, that consent would have been revoked until it had been discussed and re-established.

Granted we’re talking about a span that wasn’t even a full 30 days, so in this situation it’s safe to assume that I wouldn’t have changed my  mind in that short a period of time.  Had it been six months later, it might have yielded a different reaction from me at the time.  As a courtesy, some advance notice wouldn’t be a bad thing.

In my case, the end result was definitely worth it.

A Fine Balancing Act

“Truly successful decision making relies on a balance between deliberate and instinctive thinking.” – Malcolm Gladwell

An interesting conversation was had on the weekend where I came to realize I’ve almost altogether stopped blogging.  Everywhere.  All the time.  This made me kind of sad.

Then I realized the last post I wrote in this blog was about coming out of the kink-closet, in which I never actually filled in what happened after the bomb was dropped.  Silly me.

So I had a talk with him shortly after the post went up.  I asked him if he wanted to grab breakfast, which we did and I didn’t say anything.  Then we did some errands, to which I never said anything.  Only once we got back to his place did I finally suck up the fact that I had to tell him.  And I opened my mouth to tell him, and nothing came out.

I’m not going to go into detail about how the conversation went, because it was rather painful.  Or at least, painful for me, and I assume painful for him to watch me struggling through it.  He didn’t say much, other than he was trying to digest everything that was being thrown at him.  He admitted he didn’t know much about it, but he wasn’t against the idea of it either.

The end result?  Well we’re still together and it’s almost four months later.

He has been completely amazing in adapting to something new and unfamiliar to him.   And I’ve tried my best to meet him in the middle on a lot of things so that my needs are still being satisfied, without dragging out any of the really heavy toys … yet.

For D/s – we discovered a common love of wrestling, and an association of it being excellent foreplay.   He gets off on pinning me down so I’m immobile, and the sex afterwards is usually some of the best we’ve had.  He also is quite natural at the objectification stuff – I honestly think some of his new hobbies include perfecting pearl necklaces and pulling his cock out and shoving it in my face.  Or in my mouth.    I’ve noticed his terminology has changed significantly; while he doesn’t hesistate in calling me cutie (his favorite nickname), he also doesn’t hesistate in calling me a cumwhore or a dirty little slut.  He also has no issue with marking/declaring his territory.   If only I marked easier ….

For s/m – he’s quite the budding sadist.  I swear he actually enjoys hurting me.  I understand stuff like that isn’t a switch that is easily flipped – you can’t take someone who was raised on the mentality that ‘you don’t hurt girls’ and suddenly tell them ‘hey, it’s okay because I like it, so please slap/pull/twist/etc at will’.  Since coming out of the metaphorical ‘closet’, I’ve noticed he bites a lot more often and harder, my nipples ache on a regular basis, and he’s even getting into spanking (without my prompting).  While his hands are working their way into my hair more often while he’s mouthfucking me, it’s not the gripping/pulling that I usually enjoy.

On the bondage front – well, no headway there, but I’m not missing it that much.

On social activities – I extended an invitation that he’s welcome to come with me anytime if he so desires, but he seems to respect my decision to go to munches.  He’s acknowledged that he trusts me, and that’s why he’s fine with me going alone.  He always makes it a point to send me messages here and there, and asks how things went, but never in that overbearing or self-conscious manner.  I have noticed he puts extra effort into leaving marks on the day before munches though, just so everyone’s on the same page.

The morale of the story?  Well, it wasn’t all that bad.  Our sex life is abundant and very satisfying;  I’m regularly jizzed upon and cervically raped.   While I recognize he’ll never be ‘UberDom’, I also recognize that not what I need.   I need someone who’s desires match mine, and that’s pretty much what I’ve been getting.  Will it work forever?  Maybe.  Am I going to stress about it?  Nope.  Time will tell.

In the meantime, he seemed surprised I let this blog die so badly when I mentioned it last night.  “Well”, I said, “I suppose I could write in it about the sex that we’ve been having”.  “And being jizzed on?”, he asked.  “Yes!”, I replied.  We then proceeded to sit there and talk about what we felt was some of the hotter sex we’ve had.

Food for thought – might have to blog about these things when they’ve been kinkified.  More often than not mayhaps.

How To Come Out of the Closet

So I have painted myself into a lovely little corner of denial from which I might possibly be unable to escape.

I’ve started dating a man who, at first apperances, seemed completely vanilla and utterly submissive.  But a few months into it, I’m starting to have second thoughts about my original judgment.

After a few carefully placed suggestions, he’s exceeded my expectations when it comes to breast pain.  At first it was a few simple tweaks, but now it’s a rare moment to not find him pulling and twisting them mercilessly.  Pain is so delicious, and I’ve missed it very much.

In terms of sex, it’s become more aggressive and possessive.  His natural desire to take what he wants from me sexually and force me into having orgasm after orgasm, to take me in positions that he feels ‘dominate’ me, and indulge in his voyeuristic tendancies.  He shares in my viewpoint that a  man cumming on a woman is akin to marking his territory.  He also is quite happy in letting me play with his cock as much as my heart desires (which never seems to be sated in his case).

So what’s the issue, right?

Well, I haven’t exactly told him yet that I’m kinky.  And I’m not exactly sure how to go about this.

It’d be a different situation if we’d only had sex once or twice.  If we’d only been on a few dates.  If we barely knew eachother, if he was a relative stranger.  But in this situation we’ve been talking for many months, been going on dates for a few, and been sleeping together for just over a month.  In this situation we’ve gotten to know eachother very well.  In this situation I’ve grown to like him, a lot.

If I said that I ever imagined things would get to this point I’d be lying.  And if I said that I ever imagined that having to sit down and tell someone I was kinky would be hard, I’d be lying.    It’s not the idea of being outted exactly that makes me nervous, because I long ago came to accept that being kinky is part of who I am.  And in that I’ve come to accept that I can’t have a life that is kink-free.  I think my concern comes from the idea that, in telling him, he’ll decide it’s not his cup of tea and decide to walk away.

Which the sensible part of  me says would be for the best, and is better realized sooner vs. later.  But then the other part of me is greedy and doesn’t want to rock the boat.

I guess I just wish there was a guide out there that clearly indicated ‘coming out to your vanilla partner?  Here’s how you do it’, and guaranteed that everything would be fine in the end.  But life doesn’t exactly roll that way, and usually nothing is a smooth transition these days.

The realist in me knows that odds are I’m worrying over nothing – he’s already shown proficiency in giving me pain, and eagerness to do so in my favorite way, and has a personality that has no issues with being the dominant personality in the bedroom.  But there’s just that nagging doubt in the back of my  mind that acknowledges this is going to suck if he can’t accept me for who I am.

Whoredom

When you have nothing much to say .. well, what can you say?

(1) I bought more slut heels yesterday. Hot pink needle-thin stilettos.

(2) Munching on Monday.

(3) Picture – jazz hands.

Fin.

After Effects

“The worst ache is the present ache” — Lebanese Proverb

Yesterday I was at an appointment with my naturopathic doctor and she noticed that I looked tense. Pressing on my muscles she found them to be solid knots and forced co-erced me into letting her give me a massage.

She was right; the massage was a deep-tissue one and hurt like a total bitch. There were times that I felt like screaming, but I kept my mouth shut and let her work her magic. And for all my suffering it was worth it — my shoulders have never felt so loose and relaxed.

But last night crawling into bed, I couldn’t get comfortable. Tossing and turning it took me a few minutes before I realized that the issue was my shoulders. They positively ached, and everytime I rolled my shoulders they made me well aware of their irritation. But I didn’t hate the pain, in fact I rather liked it. It reminded me of the kind of ache that is left after a good beating. No marks, but that dulled pain that you just can’t shake. I missed it.

So since I’m not bred for casual playing, I might have found my subsitute until someone with potential happens along …

In other news my crotch is very itchy, and not for any/most of the reasons you would probably imagine. After a year of deciding to ‘let things be’ I’ve finally gotten back into the habit of shaving. And for anyone who is appauled by that thought let me state this: though I may be french, my bush does not represent this. I have a very nice anglo-saxon vagina, and in that sense it requires very little maintenance. And when I say shaved I don’t mean bare — I just .. can’t. It feels dirty, in bad ways. But more presentable, or aesthetically pleasing. Easier to locate the key players.

I have this post I’ve been planning to write for like two months, but never get around to sitting down and doing it. Maybe I’ll try this weekend.

Everyone’s Property

“Mine is better than ours.” — Benjamin Franklin

I’m pretty sure I’ve blogged about the whole concept of communal property before, and probably will again since it’s this outstanding theme I seem to encounter frequently within the community.

A person sees me hug one person, then hug another, and for some reason in their brain this equates that it’s okay for them to hug or touch me, even though we’ve never met and they don’t even know my name. Which I’m sorry, I take offense to this kind of crap. I’m not a person who is huge on physical contact, so if I’m comfortable in letting you hug me it’s a huge thing for me. And if I let you hug or touch me obviously I feel I can trust you and have a degree of respect for you as a person.

This isn’t to say that people I don’t hug are people I don’t trust or respect (though in some cases that is accurate), it just means that for the most part I don’t know them well enough to feel comfortable with that level of physicality.

So when leaning against a wall and I noticed the guy standing next to me easing closer, his hand brushing against my thigh I started to get a little uncomfortable. When it brushed again, that fight-or-flight instinct started to creep in. And when moments later I felt his hand touch my ass and slide across it to the other side, ugh. I stepped forward and very obviously shrugged his hand away from my body. The irony is that even after that the guy still wanted a hug at the end of the night. He was drunk, but really? I sucked it up and gave a crappy hug, but I was rather annoyed by the whole process.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m not offended by strangers trying to touch me, but it does irk me slightly. Well probably more than slightly, and I guess I could say it is offending me. And the environment I generally find myself in with these situations is one that is very open to people touching one another (do not read as: orgies, because that’s not what they are). So I understand how people get the vibe that everyone there must be on the same wavelength, and everyone is down with that type of behaviour. But you know what? Sometimes people aren’t, or maybe they are okay with that type of stuff with the people they have known for years but not with random people that they’ve known like two minutes.

I get this at work too — a friend from work found out I got the job and started approaching me to give me a hug in the middle of a busy hallway. I freaked out a little but let her hug me, mainly because I’ve known her six years now. But I still felt weird about it, because that hasn’t really been our dynamic, having physical contact. Now it is and I’m fine with that, but for that moment it just felt odd and uncomfortable to me.

So the moral of the story? I guess take a moment to consider that the random stranger you’re about to hug/touch/molest/poke might actually not be okay with you doing that. Maybe talk to the person a bit, get to know their name at least, and try and gauge how open they are based on your interactions. Then, if they seem receptive, give it a go. But don’t make assumptions, because everyone knows what assumptions do. In my case, they just annoy the crap out of me.

Quasi-Socialism

“What was hard to suffer is sweet to remember.” — Seneca

I find myself sitting here, staring at my cup of steaming coffee and trying to digest the events of the past week.  I made the resolution to myself this year to try some new things, and for my kink-oriented resolution I told myself I would try to attend 10 events in 2010.

Event #4 – The Venetian Ball

So here’s the skinny on the VB — It was another S.A.D.E. affair (Sir Alex Dark Event) being held at Patricia Marsh’s Dungeon, which is in fact a dungeon. Playrooms galore with different themes to suit pretty much anyone’s fancy. Because of the location it was a limited grouping, and somehow a friend of mine managed to convinced the organizer that I was awesome enough to be added to the guest list. And I’m glad she did because I had a great time.

For the Ball I ended up finding this lilac floor-length gown , which suited my purpose fine since it would allow for comfortable footwear. I also picked up a mask, since it was a masquerade (though for the most part people really weren’t wearing them continuously). I got to see some people I’ve known for years, and meet a few new ones. I still find myself being somewhat of an introverted socialite at these things, and the few glasses of wine had before the event might have helped to ease that … slightly, but not tremendously. The fact that I preach (accurately) that I am a private practioner seems to seep into my personality at these events, being that it is a setting where it’s a public play environment tends to make me step back a few paces.

As for the playing itself — it didn’t really bother me as much this time. Maybe it was because I was still pretty loopy while sitting on the floor in the dungeon, or maybe because I was easily distracted by the conversations and the people I was with, but whatever the case I just felt more comfortable at this event than I did at the Black and Blue I attended back in January. For the latter part of the night the group I was with was hanging out in the schoolroom, which has to be the best room in the house I think. Writing lines on the chalkboard was good unwholesome kink-family fun, and there was some play for people I knew which wasn’t overly traumatic to watch.

(Really, I’ve got to work on getting over this hang-up)

Apparently earlier in the night I volunteered myself to be tied up with someone else, but coming down to the wire I wasn’t really comfortable with that. However .. I did end up being bound with a bit of fooling around — pretty much hair-pulling, a bit of scratching, and the occasional bite. I’m not someone who’s into exhibitionism so it was rather hard to get into it, especially when the spectators kept saying my name periodically. My tormentor (okay, it was yummy torment) even pointed out that I couldn’t get into headspace because of it, but whatever. On one hand I was having fun when I could forget the people, but then I just got uncomfortable whenever I remembered they were there. What I found the most interesting is that I wasn’t nearly as squeamish about a random stranger touching me as I would have expected myself to be. I figured that would make me uncomfortable but it didn’t at all.

Besides, now I have pretty ropeburns around the bottom of my neck. And I do love me some pretty marks.

All in all? I’d love to go to another of these events if the opportunity came up. And I might if I can, which I suppose is a smooth transition into ….

The Employment Situation

I recently got offered a job that is a brand new position in my company, for which I have been told I am the perfect fit without a doubt. Like any decision I have to make I’ve gone back and forth, up and down, plus a few diagonal paths before settling on the decision to accept it. This of course means a change of shift to days, which will free up my evenings to do other things, such as kink events. This makes me a very happy girl. But now I have the rest of today to spend questioning whether or not this is the right choice, as I always do. But new things, and all that jazz.

Hard Limits

I think I proclaimed about 52 hard limits yesterday, which means I am now one of those girls who creates silly limits on a whim. In fact, it became my motto — “no I’m sorry, that’s a hard limit for me”. The most notable ones were Tina Fey, hngs, and sucking jizz out of a carpet. I might have to create a fetish out of that one; ‘nonsensical hard limits’.