Protected by the naked eye

I vaguely remember the feeling of being slightly stunned when I finally realized that when people talked about how reading books translated into something like a movie inside of their heads, they weren’t being hyperbolic. It’s not that I don’t have a loose image of a character in my head when I read about them, or that my brain doesn’t call up the sketch of a coffee shop if a scene is set there, but it’s just that; a sketch, a representational line art that leaves detail out.

I also usually fantasize or think about desired scenes in ways that seem to be somewhat unusual. Yes, I want to use that particular toy, to chain KillBoy down and leave him open to whatever use I wish. Those are somewhat colorless thoughts, flat facts. My fantasy is often a moment on a loop; perhaps something like my hand in his hair, pulling his head back and baring his neck to me. It’s not that it’s a step that gets to the next step, even if I do imagine biting his neck, nipping his ears. It’s that I can feel the way the air feels heavy with erotic energy, evoke the feel of his body in relation to mine. The power of my control takes on a quality that seems like something discernable with one of the five senses, like I could lick his skin and taste his surrender in his sweat. That small action plays again and again in my head, the essence of the interaction becoming more and more intense, my desire for him and for that feeling strengthening. It leaves me with a sensation that I’m at home in my body, in the pleasures of the body, in a way plotting out a scenario never does.

Perhaps others would see it as odd or a loss that I even look back on old scenes and not feel the need to remember all that was done. But for me, the snapshot of standing over my KB as he’s on all fours on the floor, spreader bar between his ankles, toys neatly awaiting off to the side, is enough. I can submerge in the moment of that memory like someone jumping into cold water on a hot day.

I Just Say the Word

I have deleted so much utter garbage writing over the last few months. Strangely, wondering if financial disaster will hit and end up with us getting evicted hasn’t made me feel very creative, or given the general focus of this blog, like fucking.

Things have sorted themselves out for the better, shockingly so. We’ve actually had some good fortune, which is rather suspicious to a pair of people who aren’t used to it and tend to wait for the other shoe to drop. It’s funny, but being in crisis mode over our whole life possibly being upended left me just numb and trying to focus, but having other non-life destroying stresses coming up over the last few weeks is making up for lost time and KillBoy has spent plenty of time talking me down from unreasonable anxiety attacks.

In the meantime, one might hope that in such a situation of new relief and hope, our sex life has sprung right back into place. Mmmm, not so much. Because of who I am and how I roll, I eventually told him that things seemed a little too strained to expect much from our sex life right now, therefore he wasn’t allowed to get himself off until after the first major stressor had passed. He really would have hated it if it had indeed been put off a month like we almost had to! In the past, I’ve declared periods of complete denial before, usually right before a visit while we were still doing the long distance thing. Otherwise, he was allowed to masturbate whenever. When the subject had come up early in our relationship I knew he was skittish about it for reasons more than just “don’t wanna” and also didn’t want to take on that responsibility. It’s something I can’t quite explain easily, but for me, taking on that would have been running before I could walk. 

Anyway, we had a hilarious misunderstanding where I almost called the denial period off because it clearly wasn’t working as intended, and he informed me that it was working very very well. And by hilarious, I mean annoying that he was making assumptions that kept him from using his words and talking to me about how things were going. He gets a pass this time, because good intentions etc, but next time he gets a longer denial or IDK, tied down and made to listen to Phil Collins. I could have brought it up myself earlier, but I’m the one in charge of an at least partially unfair dynamic, so you know, su-su-sussudio oh oh.

Anyway, we actually talked it out like adults because that’s what we do. And then there was some delightful fucking, intense to the point that I did something I normally wouldn’t – I brought up a rule change while we were still having sex. I’ve been thinking about revisiting total control over his orgasms for a while, and it spilled out while I was teasing him about how long it’s been since I told him he was being denied. In the past, there’s been a certain hesitancy to his demeanor when we’ve discussed it, but this time he agreed to it with a sort of “oh no this bus I am throwing myself under is going to hit me at full speed and it will be amaz… terrible, just awful.” that I’ve seen in more than a few submissives of an emotional and/or physical masochistic bent.

Don’t worry, I fully intend to use this power for good. My own personal amusement is very, very good.

A New Recreation to Channel All This Energy

The blog posts about “The Mind of a Domme” always make me cackle, partially self-deprecatingly.

Sometimes when KillBoy asks me what my plans for a scene are, you can practically hear the gears grinding to a halt. It’s just that “Um, hit you with things and uh, stuff. Maybe butt plugs. IDK.” isn’t all that sexy? I like to keep it loose and go with whatever I’m feeling like at that exact time.

Of course, when I do think about the next scene it runs a little more like this: “He’s gotten really sassy with the terrible puns lately, so I think I’ll pull out the paddles soon. Especially those light little ones he really hates… man the opening to this remix of “World in My Eyes” really makes me think I’m about to hear “Touch Me (All Night Long)”. That would make a really great mashup if someone did it well! Wow, it’s been a long time since that song was on the radio, hasn’t it? I wonder what Cathy Dennis is doing these days? I’ll have to google her when I get home.”

As it turns out, she’s doing just fine. I had no idea she co-wrote the Britney Spears song “Toxic.” Also, I have firm plans to hit KillBoy with things, and use butt plugs.

You see, see what can’t be seen

I wouldn’t let him kiss me. He tried, after lacing my corset, and I turned my head so that he gently laid his lips on my cheek.

I’d just put on my makeup and didn’t want him to kiss off my lipstick before we’d even left the room, and I was already in the headspace where reapplying wasn’t in my timetable. He quickly got the message, though I don’t know if he realized it was about the lipstick; he merely confined his kisses to the rest of my face.

In the play room of the con we were at, I only used three toys. He had been plugged beforehand, and I pulled it out to slide a new plug into him as he crouched on the spanking bench. It was one we’d never used before, and he commented that it was very comfortable and wiggled his butt at me. Smiling, I stripped off the lube covered glove and retrieved my metal claws.

When I’d been planning this scene, I had seen it as something a little more active. I had thought to dig in with the claws and bite and bring out the heaviest of our paddles. However, looking down on him patiently waiting for what was next, I knew I would take a different course. He looked so amazingly hot that I couldn’t resist standing there and just taking in the sight of him. With that in mind, knowing I’d find myself just appreciating him at other times, I pulled the blindfold out of the bag so that he wouldn’t know when I was moving around him and when I was just standing there. It was loud, but the music didn’t drown out sounds he’d previously mentioned while we were setting up. Without sight it was likely that at first he’d be either nervously focusing on noises, trying to locate me, or being poked at by noises made by other dungeon inhabitants.

He was wearing a favorite piece of mine, something that leaves a swath of his back, and only a tiny bit of his neck and shoulders bare. I caressed these areas with the claws, making swooping marks on his skin, only occasionally digging in slightly. I reached around him to squeeze his butt, skirt already hiked up from when I changed out the plug.

“Are you ready for me to turn it on?”

He nodded assent, though his words sounded a little more uncertain. We’d never used vibrating toys on him before. I clicked on the bullet in the plug and his body stiffened.

“That’s… intense” he choked out when I checked in with him.

Watching him struggle to stay still enough while suddenly wiggling and bouncing was amusing and arousing. I had a perfect view of his ass that made me glad we had negotiated public sex out of bounds already and left the harness in the room, because I was suddenly dying to have his hips in my hands while I thrust into him. As I had thought to ask about, and received his consent to have his genitals groped in front of everyone, I instead reached down and rubbed him through the silky thong.

Riding crop came out of the bag. I’m oft amused at the reputation of the crop, since it’s actually a much kinder toy than my paddles, though I put some wrist action into popping him with the leather end and gently drumming the length of it across his ass,  to keep the sensation going in between little pops. More groping, with him just barely audible over the din as he bucked slightly against my hand, groaning in frustration as I stroked him firmly before suddenly withdrawing. Slaps and scratches and caresses, on a mix and match loop as I enjoyed the feel of his skin, of his little responses to my every action.

When I amused myself by brushing the end of the crop against his balls and he only moaned and rubbed against it, I knew he was in the place I wanted him to be. Admittedly, I had been half hoping for an apprehensive inquiry as to what I was planning but that’s never quite as good when I can’t see his eyes at any rate.

Fortunately, when I informed him that he’d be walking back to the room with the plug still going, I got my fix of that fearful look. As our room was on an upper floor, he looked especially anxious as we boarded an elevator full of fellow kinksters, flashing me worried looks. I couldn’t hear the vibration still running, but I’m sure it was a roar to him. I giggled internally, knowing that if anyone were paying attention to anyone else it was the charming extrovert with the loud laugh who was going with a play partner to a room party. He didn’t cease to look terrified until he was able to collapse on the bed.

Here I have only bits of memory. I recall him shakingly assisting me with the straps of the cheap harness we travel with, flashes of taking him as he made the loveliest of noises, of folding him into a slut pretzel, and of getting my face out of the way just in time as he came. He was more emotionally, mentally, and physically drained than I have ever seen him after play, and the extended aftercare included a long hot shower and lots of petting.

When we made it to bed at 3 AM, with him laying in my arms, I kissed him passionately.

 

 

Full disclosure: this has been posted before, but was taken down some time back so I could edit. 

Digging my heart out of the soil in which it lies

I’m a little torn on how to write this post. Do I talk about the snarl of feelings that popped up and had to be talked through? Do I just jump forward to the hot sex and write something more fun to read? If the latter, does that make me one of those people who are clearly editing their actual lives out of the erotica?

It’s not that we have a serious talk every time we have sex, we have had some excellently fun romps that have lacked both a need to communicate feelings or blog post about a post-gym cowgirl session that was 5 minutes of bliss followed by 25 minutes of “oh god, my legs are telling me that was such a bad idea, but you know nothing legs!”

On the other hand, it’s not like the talk was about anything deep or world changing. It was more the realization that we both have weak points at being engaged with certain things and/or at certain times, and I have to get over my fear of being the Ruiner of Fun and letting it keep me from saying no. The Ruiner of Fun isn’t about being mean. I love mean. I love giggling while he whines. What I hate is feeling like I’m putting the brakes on things and punishing him for enthusiasm; I love his enthusiasm when properly applied. I need to get over my feeling that because I said “I want to play with X toy” that I’m somehow locked into it as a Serious Pinky-Swear Promise and can’t be like “whoa, hold the fuck up, Simon didn’t say” when he’s like “SO CAN I GET X TOY OUT NOW” and looking at me all shiny-eyed and shivering with excitement. We also need to work on that transition from things like sitting around eating dinner to play when we agreed on play earlier but one of us is just not in the headspace. And by we, I mean me mostly.

So, ok, that happened, and I guess I just talked about it. Ugh. Why is real life so real?

That aside, the rest of the evening was lovely. We’ve had our plans to break out the harness and bend him over the bed interrupted by biology, exhaustion and worst of all… housework. As my ass enthusiasm in general remains unabated, we agreed to try again.

It did not initially go well, as outlined above.

I’m not a big fan of a lot of femdom tropes. Sometimes the problem is the not the basic idea but the way they’re commonly played out in public and one of the worst in the performance thereof is the use of “worship”. Usually, it seems to break down to a guy wanting to eat pussy or suck toes. There’s not a damn thing wrong with those things inherently, but the word in question seems to be trotted out by doofuses who wouldn’t know reverence if it came down from the heavens and brained them with a holy scroll. Sometimes, though, I can almost feel it when KB touches me. It’s one of those things I don’t know how to ask for. How do you express something that is literally a mystical concept? And that’s even assuming I didn’t feel like a complete horse’s ass asking for it to begin with, without an internal eye roll at the airs I’m putting on. I have a hard time, even four years into this relationship, allowing myself those airs. All the same, from time to time I’ve brushed the edges of something I desperately want, the specific type of electricity between us I yearn for.

Last night it was a breath away as he touched me, trying to get me into the headspace for sex and hopefully more. It’s when I can feel that, the way one can feel in the air a storm coming, that I feel like I’m drawing power. Last night, it was the difference between pegging because we both enjoy it, and me feeling that the most important thing in the moment is what I wanted to do with the toy I own. While different people get different things out of pegging, for me it’s an act that’s more carnal than I ever would have expected. Yes, I love the sounds of his moans, the feeling of control, the back and forth verbal exchange that underscores the give-and-take of the energy. But I also love the feel of his hips in my hands, the way he pushes back against me, pushing the toy against me. I can feel the physical intensity of it to the point that my cunt clenches and I feel a buzzing in the clitoral area, strong enough that it builds and builds, and I find myself pausing to ward off my own orgasm. Sweeter than getting off is the feeling of leaning over his back, putting my weight to him to pound him at another angle, and just going and going and going and getting lost in it.

I usually finish with him riding me, and last night was no different. However, when I stepped away from him, I instead told him to get on his back. I wanted those beautiful wide eyes looking up at me. I don’t think I can go as hard in that angle, but having his legs wrapped around me, being able to see his face are worthy in their own ways. I could feel my legs giving out after some time, but I was getting drunk on his gasps and pleas and couldn’t stop.

The feeling was infectious. When I finally gave out and had him mount me, I felt like I never wanted to tell him to stop. He told me he could just keep going forever if not for the frailties of the flesh.

This is what a good scene feels like for me, not contingent on actions, but on a completed circuit.