Feb 052016
 

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f4tf_button1n

 

What’s the magic number?  This week we turn our thoughts to how much we need to share about our pasts with current partners

Do you need or expect to know how many previous sexual encounters your current sexual partner has had? Is it any of your business?

To an extent. 

My husband looks(ed?) down at people “like me” who have had a larger number of partners. He wanted firsts; however, he loves the benefits of my knowledge and skill.

I worried when I first met him that he would want to sleep around when it was least appropriate in our life together because he didn’t have a lot of experience – that he would be curious what was out there, that he would want to discover that despite risks to us, that he wouldn’t realize how grand we were because of his lack of experience. He told me he just wasn’t like that, and despite me pushing him to sleep around before something went horribly wrong later in life, he convinced me to have faith that he would love and appreciate what we had. 

In these respects, I believe knowing about your partner’s past is important, though the knowledge obviously didn’t sway my husband or myself in the slightest. 

after a scene

Us after a scene. Look at how many toys this person has! Envious!

Feb 042016
 

*Trigger Warning: dialogue of what consensual rope sounds like versus rape

Want to read her awesome write up of the experience? Click Here. 

Are you ready?

You asked for it

Let me know if you want me stop

Shut your mouth

I’m going to explain what’s happening

You don’t get to speak

It will be a little tight, but I can adjust it for you

If you move you will regret it

Are you okay?

Stop crying

Don’t forget to breathe

Don’t be such a bitch

Is that better?

Don’t scream

Don’t lock your knees

Don’t even think about yelling for help

It’s okay to relax; I’ll support you

If you don’t hold still, I will cut you

How does that feel?

This is going to hurt

I can adjust that for you

Shut up you whore

Now we can make it pretty

You’re disgusting

That would be uncomfortable for you

You’re not going anywhere

Would you like to try something else?

I’m not finished with you

Of course we can stop

Quit begging

Cry all you want

No one will save you

It’s good to learn you boundaries. 20151221_211218

February Photofest Badge 2016

Feb 032016
 

*She called my husband “Dude” in this story 

To read why this was such a triumph, click here (trigger warnings)

To read her observations at her first kink event before she was tied, click here

A Rope Story By JMG

Part Three

While M & Dude were getting their gear organized, they showed me the different kinds of rope that they had, so I could feel the differences between them. I have really sensitive skin, so I took a few minutes to lightly rub the different ropes on the insides of my wrists and my neck to see if I would get hives or a rash. No reaction to any of them, so that was good. Dude started to set up his rigging for the suspension. He was great at explaining the mechanics of the system, not that I could remember much of it, but it was interesting to see how much engineering was required to do the suspension safely. I knew that he had been doing rope for M & others for a couple years already, but it was different to see it in person. He is very fastidious and careful with his knots and loops and whatever. My respect for his skill, precision, and communication grew a ton that night. He really knows his shit, and it’s easy to see how much he enjoys it.

Watching Dude suspend M was a spectacular. Dude explained pretty much everything he did for my benefit. M was adding in the bottom’s perspective and demonstrating the importance of communicating with the rigger. I was impressed with both of them individually and as a team. I don’t remember what they called it, but it was seriously complicated. She was prone, upside down, upright sitting in lotus position, flipped over, legs bent forwards and backwards, almost spun on her head and eventually let down. Her years of yoga practice and his strength and attention to detail are a tremendous combination. I have mad respect for my friends.

Then it was my turn. I was nervous and excited. I told them I didn’t think I should go upside down because of my high blood pressure (so sexy right?). He laughed and said, “Oh you’re not going up tonight. We start with the floor.” I was mildly disappointed, but I was mostly relieved. I hadn’t been sure I was ready for anything like what I had been seeing around me. Instead, he proceeded to tie me with a chest and shoulder harness. My arms were free, and the ropes went from my shoulders to my hips with a “happy knot” that ran between my legs. My yoga pants protected me from the scratchiness of the rope on sensitive thighs, but I did miss out on most of the “happy knot” benefit.

When he wrapped the first few lines around my chest and shoulders, I started to cry. Not a sobbing, sad cry, but an emotional flood that spilled out in a rush of relief and grief and gratitude. I was with my dear friends. Even though Dude was using rope that he had made, he assured me right from the start that he had no problem cutting me out if I needed him too. I trusted him to keep his word and keep me safe. M was encouraging and supportive throughout. She was my anchor when I needed to focus on my breathing or to block out the surrounding mayhem. I was reliving those horrible moments from so long ago and separating the rape and abuse from the act of being tied up. I was acutely aware that my past experience has made me guarded, sometimes too guarded, but I could feel the distance between then and now. The abuse was about humiliation and fear; being tied by and with my friends was about trust and openness.

I took a deep breath and felt how secure the rope made me feel. M encouraged Dude to go slowly so I could feel the rope as it moved across my body. I closed my eyes a few times to go deeper into the sensations of tightness and scratchiness that were waking up my nerves. The criss­crossed diamonds around my breasts, waist and hips felt like a corset keeping me all together. I could breathe and relax into the rope and still feel secure. The shoulder straps kept everything upright and kept me actively aware of how the tension changed with small movements. The rows of rope around my back gave me a sense of stability. It was decorative and Dude even gave me a little bow on the back. He’s kind of a perfectionist, so he wasn’t totally satisfied with the aesthetics, but I was totally thrilled.

20151221_211204-1A woman came over and asked us if she could use the suspension ring, so we moved all of our gear to the carpeted area in the back. I wanted to try having my legs tied before he undid me. I was eager and excited, and I wanted to take advantage of it before I lost my nerve. I laid down on my back with my knees up and feet on the floor. Lovely M propped my head onto a jacket as a pillow. Dude proceeded to tie my ankles up against my thighs and legs together. My right ankle proved to be a really painful spot for me. He adjusted the location of that loop several times, but it felt like my shin was bruised. It probably was; I bruise easily and often. I was able to relax my knees out a little bit to feel how far the tension would allow me to go. Once the ropes were taut, I took a few minutes to just close my eyes and breathe.

As we were all talking about what I liked and didn’t like about certain feelings, one of them suggested that I might be interested in wrapping because I like the snug, secure feeling. I thought about the old guy blanketing the girl with the rainbow leggings. Dude untied my legs and helped me stand up. M had to keep reminding me not to lock my knees so I wouldn’t pass out. Dude wrapped one more length of rope around me, this time restraining my arms and wrists to my sides. This was my limit. I felt nervous and anxious seconds after my wrists were pinned. I told him how I was feeling, and he immediately started to unwrap me. He didn’t pressure me to keep going. He didn’t discount my feelings. He listened and quickly released me. He was perfect.

The untying process was as enjoyable as the tying had been. I enjoyed the rippling feeling of the rope sliding across my skin and my clothes. As each layer lifted, my body relaxed more and more until I felt like I was melting. I sat and rested while Dude tied M for the last few minutes before it was time to go. We chatted casually inside, and they debriefed me outside. There were definitely some aspects of the evening that were awkward for me, but overall it was a really positive experience. I was proud of myself for trying something that had been scary to me for so long. After 15 years, I made peace with rope.
Wicked Wednesday

February Photofest Badge 2016

Feb 022016
 

*She called my husband “Dude” in this story

A Rope Story By JMG

Part Two (part one previous day, last part here)

20151221_205612-2

A picture from the front of that night

M and I have been friends for over ten years now. I wasn’t there when she met her husband but I was a fan of his pretty much from the start. His youthful vigor was (and is) a beautiful compliment to her voracious sexual appetite. He is strong and gentle with her, but also wrestles with her and challenges her to be her best self. She does the same for him. I love them like family.

I have been following M’s blog journey of self­ discovery, her exploration of her darker desires, and talking to her along the way ­­with friendship and in a sincere desire to understand the appeal of different kinks. I think the most important thing I have learned is YKINMK. I had never heard of that before reading Cammies. It has taken a while, but I have let go of a lot of my judgmental attitudes about what other people choose to do for fun and pleasure.

M and I have talked at length about her journey with rope, doing scenes, suspensions, etc. I’m not exactly sure when I started to get more curious about possibly being tied. It has been a long, slow process for me to separate what my friends are doing consensually and my fear of not being in control of my own body. However, her stories, including the struggles and less successful endeavors, encouraged me to think about opening up a little more and breaking through some of those (now old) fears.

We have lived far apart for the past few years, so I haven’t been around for most of her current exploits. If we had been closer together, I probably would have experimented with rope before now, but the timing was never right. In December, all the stars finally aligned, and I was able to spend a few days with M and her hubs. They were going to a studio for a rope session. It wasn’t really a class, more like open time for people to practice. They invited me and my husband­­, he declined­­ but I was excited to go. I had no idea what to expect.

After he got off work, M and I joined up with Dude at a shop where the rope group meets. It was a rainy night in a not so great part of town. We went in through a blacked out door into a small, brightly lit lobby to sign in. While waiting in line, I could hear more people in the next room. It was loud and the fluorescent lights were making my eyes hurt. On the walls there were some nice black and white photos of people in different kinds of bondage. Leading out of the lobby, a girl was sitting in a chair with her arms and hands roped around her chest, her ankles tied, and a hood over her face. I think it was one of those hoodies that zips all the way up to make a mask. I admit I was a little freaked out looking at her. She was just sitting there quietly and it was eerie.

Walking into the studio for the first time was a overwhelming and seemed chaotic. It looked sort of like a gym with the room split between hardwood floor and carpet. Mats were all over the room and overhead there were two main support beams with three rings on each beam. The atmosphere was positive and friendly, but people mostly stayed in their own area.

Our little team headed to an open square by the far wall and claimed our territory. The plan was for me to watch while M & Dude practiced one of their super fancy hard suspensions. I came with yoga pants and a tank top just in case I decided to get tied after they finished. I sat down on the floor with my back against the wall and started paying attention to what was happening in the room.

I am a big woman with decades of self esteem issues and tons of body shaming in my past, so one of the first things I noticed was that there were all sizes of people there. Seeing big women topless and suspended in rope was awesome for me. I had the sense that it didn’t matter how big or small a person was; these people all seemed very comfortable in their own skin. I know M has always been comfortable with being naked, but she is petite, gorgeously curvy and adorable. On the other hand, I’ve been overweight since I was about ten, and that combined with a really strict religious upbringing has kept me from feeling like I could ever be naked except for sex and showers. I have started spending more naked time at home when I’m alone as part of my body acceptance practice, but it’s a work in progress. Seeing this diverse group of people in various stages of undress and the casualness of it was a relief. I could feel some of my inner tension dissolving.

One couple loudly spent the evening doing ridiculously unsafe suspensions which irritated M &Dude, often involving the woman’s neck being choked by rope or chain. Every time the woman screamed, I jumped and my anxiety went up a notch. I tried blocking them out and ignoring them as much as possible; a difficult feat considering they were right next to us.

Across from us was another couple- an older man and a young woman. He seemed to know what he was doing, patiently maneuvering her from position to position and playing by randomly tickling, caressing, and spanking her. When he finally laid her down on the ground, she was trembling, making low sighs and moans while he blanketed her with his body. I was fascinated by the exchange, and she had really awesome rainbow leg warmers that went all the way up to her mid thigh.

Next to them was a group of twentysomethings. a girl was being tied and eventually got suspended, but they had to redo her ropes several times before they actually got her off the ground. Their vibe was friendly and fun; I could tell they weren’t as experienced as Dude or the old guy, but they didn’t seem to be doing anything really crazy or dangerous. Once the girl was suspended, her friends took turns spanking her & spinning her around.

Towards the back of the room there weren’t any suspension beams so a few people were low key practicing on the floor. At the front of the room, a person gathered the six or seven newcomers, and started explaining some of the basics of restraint. I couldn’t hear any specifics over the general noise, but at one point I saw a woman standing with her hands tied in front of her. She was just smiling and looking around. It struck me as a good way for someone to start out. An older woman carrying a rope like a leash led the hooded girl in from the lobby and tied her to a ring on the wall. Hood Girl had a short distance that she could move away from the wall, would carefully venture out to test how far the rope allowed her to go then silently return to her post. People continued to flow in and out throughout the night while I tried to keep my focus on my friends.

 

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Feb 012016
 

*The first part contains actual events regarding violence and rape, if you would like to skip to the happy experience of overcoming a fear, begin at the ** midway through this post. 

A Rope Story By JMG

Part One

The first time I was tied up, it was not by choice; there was no consent, and it was definitely not for pleasure. In the universe of my spectacularly bad relationship choices, that relationship and that experience represent the black hole that I’ve been pulling myself out of for the past 15 years. That may sound extreme, but what else can I call an abusive relationship with a delusional psychopath who heard the voice of God telling him to beat me into submission and “true repentance” so that he could start his own church (cult) with me as his pure, prophet’s bride.

One particular night, he decided that I was a flight risk. That was a reasonable assumption considering that I had already run away from the compound once, but came back when he promised that he would “never hurt me again.” That lasted about a week before the tension building part of our cycle moved him into a righteous rage against me. He tied me up with clothesline rope. I was lying on the dining room table with my hands and feet bound and attached to the overhead light. If I tried to relax my muscles, the rope cut into me as the light fixture strained to support the extra weight. I had duct tape over my mouth, and my tears were fogging up my glasses.

Even after all these years, some aspects of that night are still crystal clear in my mind: soda poured in my face with the threat of being covered with ants; a bread knife used to rape me; knowing that if I got out of the ropes and tried to run, he would probably kill me. He had a running monologue the whole time about how I was going to hell, and he was preparing me for when the demons would be raping me with red hot pokers for eternity. He said he didn’t really want to hurt me, but I was just so hard­hearted and unrepentant that he didn’t have a choice. God commanded him to do it.

When he finally tired of me, he duct taped my ankles together, then my wrists in front of me, led me into a closet and locked me inside. If I promised not to scream, he wouldn’t duct tape my mouth. I promised. After what felt like about two or three hours, he let me out, and we went to bed. I had my own room, because he couldn’t sleep with my snoring. I have never been so grateful for my sinus problems.

After about six weeks with this person, I was rescued. I moved out of state. He went to jail for 20 years. I have never gone back to that place, and I have never seen or spoken to him since the day he was arrested.

20151221_205732

A picture of the two of us the night she allowed herself to be tied by M’s husband.

**Flash forward about six years to when I met and became part of a strange and wonderful group of friends, one of whom was M. She was the first person to talk to me about the positive aspects of being restrained. She had previous experience with light bondage and sensory play. Of course one of her favorite playthings was a knife, because, it’s M. She is one of my great loves, but I declined the invitation to be tied up for all the reasons above.

Over the next few years, my trust in her grew until I finally asked her to tie me. She was so excited and giddy that you’d think she won the lottery. I can still her sweet “Yay!!!” and see her clapping her hands delightedly. She was very gentle and considerate. She used her velcro ties on her four­poster bed to restain my arms and my legs. She kept the bonds a little loose, so

I could still wiggle a little but not too much. She put a washcloth over my eyes as a non­restrictive blindfold. I was fully clothed, but my arms, neck, and stomach were all fair game for her. She checked in on my comfort level frequently between applications of feathers, ice, and the cold steel of the flat of the knife blade. My skin was covered in goosebumps. The base of my spine was tingling, and my breath was shallow with my racing heart. But I felt safe. I knew she would never hurt me. I trusted her. It was amazing, and then it was over.

After just a few minutes, maybe five or ten, she unstrapped my limbs and bounced off the bed with a giggle. I was actually disappointed that it was over so soon, which was a complete surprise to me. I had been so afraid of flashbacks and breaking down, that I was astonished at how much fun I had. It was playful and exciting to not know what was coming next or where it was going to land. The suspense was a positive heightening expectation rather than a fearful experience. I will never forget it, and I will always be grateful to M for helping me start to break through my trauma walls.

……To continue reading where she attends a rope event and is tied, continue here

February Photofest Badge 2016

Jan 312016
 

A Dissolute Life Means writes about seeing multiple men and poetically using a carousel analogy. I love how beautifully she writes this, how it doesn’t diminish her want of something more permanent but she is accepting of the fun as it comes along. Another of her posts that I love is how she leads with her sexuality and that it is okay for her to do so.

Michael, from D/s Life, writes about men marrying a slut, and I love his words. I love men like this.

Esther Perel writes about what happens in couples after someone cheats, where she follows up with some past clients and categorizing three primary reactions.

 Posted by at 6:49 am
Jan 282016
 

Being desired, feeling my body build in tension and release in nerves of pleasure, is an addiction to me, there is no doubt. It also gives me a sense of purpose.

I shave my legs, I trim my pubic hair, I care about what I look like naked.

I am not placed on a shelf, forgotten neglected body.

I am shown, touched, played with, cherished.

When taking care of myself, I like the purpose. I need to feel my body come alive.

 Posted by at 6:50 am
Jan 262016
 

Mimir called the scene just practice. Then watched and hit my limit with multiple orgasms. “I like to get someone to color right away. It tells me limits and that they will communicate those limits.” I shared my unedited write up of the scene. He was thoughtful enough to expand with his perspective:

So, I will clarify a few things since I wasn’t quite as distracted:

“his joyful smile and obvious pleasure at the denial of an orgasm”

yes my smile was joyful, but it wasn’t denial. Sunday had some denial in it, but only very briefly to let it build. Sat was the opposite of denial.

Sat after your first orgasm was “Ok now that you have had an orgasm, give me a second to set up some more ‘me learning about you’ experiments. The first one was definitely me trying to answer the question: how sensitive after the first one? That was why I went with vibration from afar as the test. Sat was all about the color experiment. THAT was why I was smirking, the experiments were me getting mine, as it were, afterwards, once I knew you had gotten your first one. You got the first one free because it was about making it happen for you. The others were only as feedback from experiments in what you liked and didn’t like, and what was the uncharted point that would show me where yellow was. Most of it was spent trying to understand if “please” meant, “please more” or “please less”, that is why I reminded you “Please isn’t a color” if you meant it as “please less!” which I currently do take as my indicator to back off some, and wait for more signals before resuming — if for no other reason than to let you catch your breath first. Clinical was a good word for Saturday. But not cold clinical, just curious clinical, studious clinical, and yes, a bit of mischievousness added in to keep it fun and lighthearted.

“And the wand unhurriedly slowed to a stop”
— not unhurriedly at all!

Yellow is usually my “this is getting a bit much” flag but Sat, yellow was the goal and had tints of red in it for me. I made every effort to stop there as quickly as possible BUT without making it a jarring stop for you. The second you said yellow the dial immediately started rotating back to full stop, though I can see how even a few extra milliseconds could have seemed longer to you.

I am beyond grateful that he shared his perspective – it’s unusual and just goes to show that my thoughts and perspectives are solely my own and may not be shared with another.

 Posted by at 4:15 am