Apr 072017

*Switch: A person who vacillates between dominant (I’ll also use topping) and submissive (bottoming) roles within relations.

So at the GRUE (conference/event), one of the most engaging things to me was a conversation about switching. It was looked down a lot, kind of the way bisexuality is at times: being too flighty to pick a side or not really knowing which side to choose rather than a valid choice and natural instinct.

In my new state, a lot of people identify as switch, by far the majority from what I’ve observed. Once in room full of people, the presenter asked how many identify as a switch and everyone but the presenter raised their hand. It’s a bit odd, but at the GRUE it made for an excellent conversation. Such topics were:

 How do you switch with another switch? My ex husband and I were both switches (to an extent, he was always a service top if he topped). Our dynamics were always very clear to us – there was no mistaking our role for whatever the occasion – a very strange and special knowledge of knowing each other so intimately. He would voice if he needed me to top him, otherwise the dynamic was he would top me. At times we would go for more of a primal, fight to be on top, role but that was even clearly telegraphed in an unspoken manner between us.

In speaking and listening to others at this conference, I realized just how rare and special that dynamic was as there was little conflict in just knowing what the other wanted and being so attuned as to grant it.

Mr. Texas and I are switches, and while we haven’t been together nearly as long and are no where near as attuned to each other, the agreement is for the most part he tops. We do have a few of these complications that others discussed of two switches being together; for example, sometimes it’s unclear who wants to bottom – I top far more than I ever did with my ex. We will also sometimes switch mid scene. The rule that is keeping us the most satisfied in this dynamic is regardless of who is on bottom at first, I cannot go from bottoming to topping. I just cannot get my head space right to submit and then dominate, whereas he can because he can only take so much pain, which brings me to my next topic that was discussed…

Many of them had triggers that would flip the switch. This shocked me to hear, as many of them discussed how mid-scene they would grab the implement they were being hit with and hit the person topping them. I have never felt this urge, it would not even occur to me. To me, that’s a consent violation unless it was agreed upon. I addressed perhaps a need to disclaim that in part of the negotiations to my fellow switches, as a collective group we were trying to come up to some solutions to some of the issues of being a switch.

Mr. Texas and I, prior to the GRUE, did not switch mid-scene. He would ask me to mid-scene after he topped me for awhile, but I always declined (again, can’t do the head space) until we came the agreement that the order could be reversed (I could go from top to bottom). What began as a negotiation and honest communication with what made us tick has worked to our benefit, as Mr. Texas doesn’t necessarily have a trigger that makes him flip roles – it’s more of a pain threshold that he can no longer tolerate but doesn’t want to call an end to. I am really having fun exploring my more sadistic side with Mr. Texas in a way that was unforeseen, but Mr. Texas is not a masochist (we both love each other’s reactions in this dynamic) so once he’s done but too stubborn to color, he simply grabs me and flips me under him, often with a hand around my throat – a simple and consistent action that always gets me in a submitting headspace.

What I have also discovered since the GRUE is that Mr. Texas does have a sensual trigger that makes me want to top me: when I am not obviously topping but being more playful, I will sometimes straddle him, tease him with my body, have the tip of his head right at my entrance and deny him, press my breasts against his chest, and nip at his neck. It’s really the nipping at his neck that triggers him, his moans turn into growls and he begins to grip and grab at me to position certain ways. This tends to turn into a fight for top but only briefly (nowhere near the savage intensity my ex and I played at, which I am fine with).

What’s the difference between switching and bratty. 

*Brat: Within the BDSM lifestyle, the term brat is usually applied to a person of a submissive nature who acts up or causes trouble in order to attract attention. This is generally frowned upon as it is classed as topping from the bottom and trying to control the situation.

I am not sure if the group ever could clearly define this question posed. Bratty also tends to have a negative connotation in the BDSM scene. I know that I am not bratty with Mr. Texas (except once when he asked for a picture while he was at work), but that I was occasionally bratty with my ex husband. Bratty is almost a challenge in my mind and Mr. Texas is new to this role so I try not to challenge him as he needs to gain confidence in it. I was a brat with my ex whenever I wanted his attention, most often when he would tie me and was more focused on the rope than me – a common occurrence. I have not been bratty to The Wanderer – again our dynamic has always been firm in roles, though I am playful at times to get him away from his serious nature, but never in a challenging way or to gain attention. I don’t know if I will be clearly defining the difference but switching is a role and bratty is a mood to me.

The need to address the things done incorrectly. How we know both sides of the coin and will invariably meet up with people that we’re more knowledgeable but will bottom for. It’s somewhat inevitable that the longer someone is in the lifestyle and educates themselves, that they will know more than the person topping them. It’s the case with Mr. Texas, as he knew nothing so I topped from the bottom as I taught him (which wasn’t the case with everything, some things he just instinctively knew), and I teach him what I do know. Sometimes it’s with demonstrating on him, sometimes it’s talking him through something, and sometimes it’s going to educational events with him. Regardless, it revolves around honest and authentic communication – something anyone with any amount of knowledge should do with the person they are engaging with.
*Terms defined by Urban Dictionary

Sep 082016

*Time to return back to Mr. Texas…after all, I never did finish telling this chapter of my life, the drafts waiting because my ex husband didn’t wish to see the story.  

Mr. Texas is extremely ticklish. Everywhere, all the time.

I can’t handle not having my way with his body, how even giving him head is a challenge because while it feels good, it also tickles him – so he says, and he stops me quite a bit.

Not a thing I’m used to.

He made the mistake of telling me: “you just can’t go soft,” referring to the kisses I was trying to trail around his chest.

“Oh I can go hard,” I smiled down at him and then bit him right above the nipple where his chest muscle gave me plenty to sink my teeth into.

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested, so I clenched down tighter.

“Nope,” I released him, looked at my imprints in his flesh, and embraced it fully. “Too late, I’m playing and you’re my chew toy.” I leaned down and licked softly over the divots, my tongue washing against the redness, listening to his moan and smiling into his skin with satisfaction. I bit down next to the mark, staking new territory, and alternated nibbling and sucking in an arc across his chest muscle.

I could tell he didn’t know if he liked it or not; pain of any sort in the bedroom was a slow process, but towards the center of his chest he gave every indication of liking it a bit more, so I bit down harder in those focused places.

My hand gripped the front of his throat softly, a presence felt and not threatening, my forefinger and thumb moved to the jaw line and pushed his head to the side. I laid half my body on top of him and bit down where neck and shoulder met towards the back. His shoulders came up in defense but I bit down harder and made a noise that argued, my hand a bit tighter to his throat.

He relaxed under me. “My chew toy,” I whispered as I nibbled and sucked along the dip of his neck from shoulder to ear.

“Don’t leave a mark,” he warned.

“I won’t, I’m pretty good at going hard and not,” I assured him in between nips and bites. I alternated the sensations, making his neck a temporary and thoroughly loved red before switching sides.

I loved listening to his sounds, his sharp intake of breath, the way his shoulders and neck rolled and stretched under my mouth, the way his hands fought the urge to push against my body to remove me and ended up gripping me and pulling me closer intermittently.

I moved lower. “Time to see if you like this bit,” I breathed on the head of his cock and he sat up. I laughed and gripped his thigh, my nails digging in. “Relax. I’m teasing, I wouldn’t,” I reassured as one hand pushed on his marked chest to have him lay back, the other hand menacingly pressing nails into his flesh and muscle on the inside of his thigh if he didn’t obey.

He laid down and my tongue swept across the fleshy top, tasted his precum, before swirling haphazardly around the head and under the ridge. My mouth didn’t even come close to closing in on him – I wouldn’t bite but I wouldn’t please either.

I moved to the inside of his thigh, my tongue replacing my nails and tasting the slightly metallic taste of where nails truly imprinted. I was gentle and caressed a wet trail, leaned back a bit and blew some cold air on the reddened divots, so small they were barely discernible. My hot mouth crashed over the cold area and I sucked and nibbled, and when he moved too much, bit along the inside of his thighs.

Gently, I moved to his balls and took one in my mouth, rolling the thicker part with my tongue. He arched and gasped and I increased the pressure just slightly before moving to the other.

Things after all have to be equal, I figured.

So his other thigh also got treated to my rough administrations.

I straddled him and slowly positioned the tip at my entrance as I nibbled at his neck again. “Just the tip, that’s a fun game, right?”

He groaned and tried to slam his hips up and force the issue, but under my body I felt the tension and moved with him, keeping contact but adjusting so he slid along my wet slit in case I miscalculated how far he would rise.

I bit down hard on his neck. “Stay down. This is my game, chew toy.”

Again, I positioned him rolled my hips so that the thickness of his head rotated around my entrance, barely sliding in. I watched his face as I felt my own sensitivity and the torment that I viewed encouraged me to delay my own sensations towards pleasure when his frustration was far more intriguing.

My darling Mr. Texas has been learning a thing or two, however, and after a few minutes, when he had obviously had enough, he gripped my hair and arched me painfully back, slamming up into me to the hilt.

He kept his painful pressure in my hair as I wildly rode him, my body clenched and drenched around his own orgasm.

Aug 142016

So with my husband and I reconciling, one of the first things on his list was anal play for him. He hadn’t experienced it in months and I think that he was even made to feel that it was viewed negatively in some regard.

He missed it.

He had thrown out all the toys that he was in possession of that we had split, so we no longer had the very cool dildo that went beautifully with our harness (and also fit inside of me with vibrations); I was still in possession of the harness. So, off we went to a sex store where we found just a standard dildo that the harness would hold in. It was more malleable than the other dildo, which actually helped cut down on me accidentally hurting him; the downside is when I really got going it would slip out a little easier. It was also lighter, so while nothing was inserted into me, at least it stayed put in the harness a bit better.

Armed and ready, we were going to try pegging again.

Actually, it was a scene that I was giving him with pegging so he laid down tied in the center of the bed with a pillow under his bottom. I started with softer sensations (he dislikes pain of any kind). My hands would roam and my mouth was active the whole time:

tongues danced together with gentle caresses reaquainting fingertips with his body, soft sighs and a building of passion and love and trust;

blindfolding him with a soft leather strip so he could focus more on the physical sensations and less visually, my mouth hovering above his own as my tongue darting out to trace his lips as he tried to catch a kiss;

brushing his skin with feathers as my mouth would roam and suck at delectable areas that incited moans;

using stinging flicks of a toy as my teeth would nibble and occasionally bite, causing goosebumps and pinkened marks to appear across his body;

taking the tines of the wheel and traversing across his body as teeth would sink into muscles, causing him to jump or take sharp intakes of breath as he worked through the brief flashes of pain;
an ice cube melted in my mouth as my tongue swept across his reddened areas, cooling down the heated flesh right before I would drip hot wax from a candle, reheating the area and giving a contrast.

When I increased the sensations in roughness, I also took less care of tenderness – kissing him less, manhandling him more. When he would try to move away from a sensation, my hand was around his neck or my elbows were digging into a pressure point to keep him still, with a warning that he soon heeded to stay still and work through accepting the sensations. A black hood (a new toy of mine) with just an opening for the mouth was pulled over his face, effectively turning him more of an object that I was toying with and a mouth to fuck, as I immediately told him to stick out his tongue so I could straddle and fuck his face. I made sure to press my hips down every so often to make his breathing a little more labored as he brought me pleasure.
It wasn’t long before I placed on a glove, a lot of lube on one finger, positioned myself between his legs, and then my mouth teased the tip of his erection as I slowly circled his anus before inserting the finger. As my finger moved deeper into his body, my mouth moved lower down his shaft. Two fingers increased my sucking, which moved at the same time of my fingers – down and in, up and out. Three fingers – a bit trickier as my pinky always seems to be in the way, my tongue swirled around the ridges of his head as I inserted before attempting to deep throat him as my fingers tried to fill his body.

He sighed and moaned and groaned, his hips occasionally tried to thrust up and welcome the sensations even further. He was so hard in my mouth, occasionally pulsing at a delicious part, hitting the back of my throat at times, his muscle clenching around my fingers as they curled slightly, explored, slid in and out.
I decreased the sensations before stopping, taking off my glove and moving up his body, briefing sliding my own body to where he was inside of me and grinding on top of him while I took off his hood and kissed back his humanness. I kissed the sides of his neck as I took off his blindfold, slowing rotating my hips rather than fucking him roughly, leaned down to passionately kiss him before I slowly unraveled him to freedom, wanting him to have full use of his hands and legs. His hands immediately went to my hips to fuck us to pleasure, but I removed myself off him and told him to put me in the harness.
Less than a minute later I was again between his legs, liberally applying lubrication on my dildo, positioning it at his entrance. He seemed surprised that rather than enter him, I leaned forward and kissed him, pressing my body down on his own and telling him how much I loved him. Then I leaned up and carefully entered him, watching his face closely in between the toy disappearing into his depths. He gave me verbal feedback the whole way in, positive that it felt good, that it wasn’t hurting, that he could take more. When I was all the way in, I praised him as I leaned forward for a kiss again before straightening up and slowly easing out and then in. One hand stroked his cock and the other caressed his balls. Masturbation Monday Week 102

Soon I was fucking him, both hands gripping his hips like he so often did to me to have more leverage and go as deep as I could, and his own hand was stroking himself. I slipped out a couple of times, but eventually his body tensed and his hips lifted as his hand slowed while white spurts shot across his chest with his orgasm. It was a magnificent sight; it was verbally decadent to hear his sounds; it was incredible to create and be a part of.

I finished the scene for him with a warm wash cloth, cleaned the beautiful white streaks and hardened candle wax off his skin, had him sit up for a drink of water before rolling over so I could wipe off the excess of lube between his cheeks. I had a candle going of massage wax the whole time and poured enough over his broad expanse of back, rubbing his muscles and feeling any residue tension leave his body, before using another warm wash cloth to remove any oil that didn’t soak into his skin. I covered him with a blanket as he laid so peacefully and heard him snore before I even left the room to clean up our toys. Masturbation Monday badge - small



Jun 192016

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI had Mr. Texas lie down in the center of the bed in a dim light. I told him I would do unsexy things for a bit, as I requested first one limb and then another to stretch in a certain direction while I adjusted some velcro and nylon cuffs. Once I felt like there was a certain amount of tension, I tied his ankles and wrists stretched to the four separate corners of the bed.

I didn’t blindfold him right away. Being tied alone was a huge step for him and I kept the mantra of baby steps in my head the entire night. I straddled his body, allowed my lower lips to nestle around his already hard cock, felt his hips try and fail to rise up to push himself against my warmth. I smiled down at his face. I leaned forward and kissed his lips on his mouth, softly, then traced the tip of my tongue against the frame of his lips as his own tongue tried in vain to follow suit. I leaned up and his tongue still sought mine, but he couldn’t lean up any further. I winked at his sigh of frustration.

He was beginning to get the point, understanding the limits of his bondage. I crawled further up and raised my nipple to his mouth, allowing the pink bud to slip into his mouth and he softly suckled before I pulled up out of his reach. I swayed the hardened nipple just out of his reach, let him watch how close he was to having what he so desired.

He groaned in frustration. If there is one thing Mr. Texas loves and does not stop touching, it’s my breasts.

Beside his body, I had a long length of silk fabric and I glided it slowly across his body, starting at his knee, up the inside of his thigh, threading it under his hard shaft, up his chest and across his nipple, and across the front of his neck. It was the soft, colder sensation that I was starting with. Baby steps.  

I gripped the fabric on either side of his neck and just left a bit of tension against his throat. I leaned forward to kiss him but hovered my lips just above his mouth. He leaned forward and increased the pressure against his throat to get his kiss.

Good, he didn’t mind a bit more pressure on his throat. I noted about how much he seemed comfortable with- was willing to do to himself, before rewarding him with a passionate kiss. I slid the fabric across his eyes, such a gentle caress to shut them with the silk.

“I’m going to blindfold you now. I’ll start the knot and adjust it to the side of your head and then re position it once we decide when it’s good,” I whispered down to him.

“Oh gosh,” he murmured when the fabric tightened around his eyes. I tied a knot, asked about the pressure, and then adjusted the knot more out of the way.

I gifted him with a nipple for handling the blindfold so well, letting my hardened bud settle against his lips so he could feel it before allowing his own sucking mouth to envelop around it. I let out a little sigh so he could hear my pleasure since he could no longer see it.

Then I began to kiss sporadic areas of his body so that he was surprised from one moment to the next where my mouth would be. I began with soft kisses but after a long while the kisses turned more into sucking nibbles. He would gasp from one moment to the next, strained to raise his hips every time my mouth would crash upon his erection.

I grabbed an ice cube from beside the nightstand and surprised his hot skin with the cold wet sensation. The next while was awakening his skin to the coldness or the contrast of an ice cube and a hot mouth when the ice cube melted before I went for another. His groans expressed how much he liked the sensation.

Baby steps.

I began scratching my nails into this skin, softly but then raked trails as my mouth alternated between hot and cold. I would only dig in when I was in a zone that he found pleasurable. “This pleasure with pain is completely new to me,” he muttered at one point, and I acknowledged that it was my intent to only hurt him when it also felt good.

Once I felt that my nails sufficiently warmed him, I straddled his hips and lowered so that just the tip entered me. I positioned myself in a squat position so that my body wouldn’t give away my intent and pulsed up and down on his tip for a few minutes, listened to his begging body cry out to be fully inside of me. I softly rolled the Wartenberg Wheel across his chest. He knew what it was already – I had shown him what was in my rope bag before tonight. I slammed my body down around his hardness while at the same time taking the wheel and letting the tines sink into his skin the same way my hips sank onto his own.

He arched as much as he could, his groan one of both satisfaction and pain. I raised myself up again and softly bounced up and down upon him, only going halfway down his shaft as the wheel explored parts of his skin with half the intensity as the one painful roll. When he began to buckle as much as he could to seek out more, I rode him, grinding myself down and around as the wheel began to leave red streaks across his chest and thighs.

I stopped before he found his release and his noise of protest made me laugh out loud. I wrapped my mouth around his cock and sucked my own taste off of his skin while I explored his thighs with the wheel more thoroughly. Occasionally I would drop the sharp wheel and softly caress the trails I left with gossamer fingertips.

“Are you okay with a bit more intense sensations?” I asked him.

“Sure.” He did hesitate for a moment, as if mulling it over, but he was enjoying himself so far as I could tell.

I made sure he heard the lighter and I heard his groan, yet he didn’t protest. I kissed his thighs as I hovered the candle above him and waited for the wax to melt. He jerked with the first splatter and complained, but didn’t ask me to stop. I let one more drop cover the inside of his thigh and after listening and watching to his reaction, I decided to move to the front and outside of his thigh.  He didn’t like it, though he didn’t ask me to stop. I blew out the candle and praised him for trying it; I understand not everyone enjoys everything.

I straddled his body and softly lowered myself so he sunk into my depth, leaned up for a kiss as I removed the blindfold. Again I ran the silk fabric across his body as I gently gripped him inside my own body. I wanted to end with the softness and his moans showed his appreciation.

I lifted off of him and kissed my way up to his arms and wrists, sucking his fingers as I slowly peeled the velcro away from each wrist. I let him touch me, see me, hold me as I rode him towards his own release.

Jul 092015

Want to read the first part where she is hunted and captured? Though fiction, based on real events. Please do not ask me where or when this event takes places, this is a private event.*

She had been hunted in the woods, discovered hiding, and captured. Once the hunter recorded his prize, she began to strip out of her clothes. She took her time and saw around the corner of the recording tent some of the prey already tied to the posts. There weren’t many posts left and that gave a brief moment of satisfaction that she was one of the more challenging prey to find.

And then her apprehension about now being naked and wrists tied to a post came back. She gulped nervously. A postmaster came up to her and tied her wrists together and then pulled her into the spectator’s view. She walked past many of the posts with people being played with by the spectators. She heard the calling out of people watching, the groans or moans of the prey upon their posts. She tried not to look at anyone, tried to be aware of putting one foot safely in front of the other in a semblance of steady forward motion. Funny how difficult it was to just walk.

The postmaster found the post with her name on it, her hard limits underneath. While the spectators waited for the prey to be caught, they would often wander among the posts and look for names of prey they knew or curiously read the limitations of playing with each prey. Often, the spectators knew who they wanted to play with just based on the limits.

Her wrist bindings were attached to the rope at the post and raised above her head. The postmaster slowly positioned them, and checked with her level of comfort. It was a friendly female, and her voice was soothing. As she walked away, the postmaster smacked her ass hard. She yelped and jumped a little, startled. Taking a calming breath, not quite brave enough to face the spectators, she put her forehead to the post in front of her and willed herself to relax.

“Oh lovely, we’ve been waiting for you,” she heard a male voice that she recognized say behind her shoulder. His hand softly stroked her back, awakening her skin to his touch; it reminded her of a person approaching an apprehensive dog and letting it sniff their hand, getting the pet accustomed to the smell before petting it – she smiled at the idiotic analogy.

The “we” in that statement was a male and female friend of hers. She felt calmer, grateful that it was people that she knew that would first touch her.

The male spun her to the side, with her face to the spectators and the female friend; she chose to focus on the female within touching distance. Her friend gave her a large smile and winked in encouragement right before she felt a flogger hit her back. Surprised, her wrists tried to move down, but remained above her head, bound. He started with a slow and smooth rhythm, the leather tips almost hypnotically caressing her back and ass. The female moved closer and reached up to stroked the inside of her wrists beneath the rope, trailing a sensual path down her arms. The inner parts of her upper arms were so sensitive to the fingertips that grazed her. Her body began to focus on the sensations in front and back of her rather than the people watching. The woman smiled as if understanding, and then traced down to her breasts, softly circling around before fingertips pinched each nipple and tugged up. The pain was sharp and immediate; she stood on tiptoes to try to alleviate it but could only rise so far.

The flogger bit into her back with force and she jumped a bit on tiptoes to the delight of the male and female around her.

“Down on your feet,” the woman instructed and she obeyed, coming off of tiptoes as the woman released her nipples. The flogger continued to thump and bite into the back of her body and she tried to brace her body still. “Spread your legs,” and the woman reached down into a bag and pulled out a battery-powered wand.  She felt her cunt clench, and with the heat and pain that he was creating, she was looking forward to the pleasure that the woman promised.

She spread her legs and the man paused in his administrations. His hand went around her neck, his body pressed into the back of her body, as if to hold her still, but with wrists tied her movements weren’t that free – and she had no desire to get away. She felt his erection through his jeans, his body a source of strength that her hot body grateful leaned against. She felt more than saw the wand positioned between her legs, briefly touching her thigh before it found her clit.

She moaned softly at the vibration. He moved away from her and her backside reverberated with the force of a paddle, increasing the vibrations somehow of the wand pressing to the front of her.

As the woman held the wand steady against her thrumming clit, the man paddled her ass and then moved to the front and caught her breasts a few times, a bit softer but no less painful. They felt heavy and hot from just a few hits. She felt her body tensing in pleasure, and felt a touch self conscious of coming close to orgasm outside in front of an audience.

He moved behind her and the sharp bite of a cane bit into her upper thighs. She whined a bit and the woman removed the wand. “No,” she gasped in disappointment, so close to an orgasm.

Someone came up and with the thin rod of a stick marked her inner thighs, drenched by now with her desire. She didn’t know this stranger, didn’t try to look at him, as her male friend softly stroked her throbbing ass and heated back with the barest of fingertips. Now it was her front inner thighs on fire while the back of her body was being soothed, and she felt overwhelmed with the sensations. The stranger moved on and her female friend was back with the wand, without hesitation firmly pressing it to her sex, and while the male again continued his rough assault on her back, she came.

Her thighs shook and felt her whole body tense with the effort to stand but oddly also relax into the earth. The bindings at her wrist helped her remain upright, reassuring, and the woman, as if knowing what she needed, pushed the side of her body against the pole for further support. Another stranger came up with a spatula and rhythmically struck the exposed side of her body, rotating between the hip and thigh, increasing the impact force until she squirmed, before chuckling and moving onto the next prey.

She felt exhausted, she was barely aware of her friends sensually stroking up and down her body, only awakening to a sharp slap on some expanse of skin or an implement – though they used those sparingly now.

Someone over the loudspeaker announced that the round was over and all the prey had been caught. Gratefully, a postmaster came over and lowered her wrists, untying her. The male friend was still there, pushing her into the pole forcefully and wedging her there with his body as she was untied, and then scooping her in his arms to carry her to their shady tent on the outskirts of the spectator’s arena.

She wasn’t sure she could walk, and was immensely grateful for his assistance. The female friend grabbed the toys and a bottle of water and followed along, sinking into the blanket where she was lowered. They wrapped her and praised her, the male holding her still on the ground, the female taking a few moments and then taking the bounty to the hunter who had caught her in the first place.

It was such a unique, exhausting, awesome experience.

 Posted by at 6:10 pm
Sep 222014

I’ve been asked to do a public scene with my boy. There aren’t a lot of female tops in these parts and there also aren’t a lot of male subs willing to brave the fem in public. I’ve tried to think of things and finally it is coming together, thanks to a dream I had.


I don’t do the latex dominatrix. I’m a very classy lady, and I don’t deviate. Think pinup, pearls, lace.


I call him my pretty little princess. He starts to open his mouth to object and I tell him to kneel. Stilettos, silk stockings, lace garter. His hands skim past all of these as he follows my instructions to remove my panties. Silk and lace slide down my legs and I take my panties from his hands and tilt his head back. I kiss him and tell him he’s my good princess again, right before I shove my panties in his mouth.


I remove his shirt and and pat his ass as he stands up to be bound in the leather cuffs attached to the winch. As his arms are raised above his head I go work on removing the last vestiges of masculinity from him. Now he stands before the crowd, bare except my panties still working as gag. I reach into the bag and grab the frilly pink panties I’ve got for him. He can’t hide his pleasure as he rises in excitement. It’s just as obvious as his embarrassment that is staining his cheeks a rosy red.


I dress him as my little princess, encase his feet in dainty heels. He’s aroused, humiliated, and straining to figure out my next move. I pull the hair brush from my bag and his body instinctively twitches away from me. I give a husky laugh as I know what he’s thinking. The paddle, crop, whip and flogger that follow make his eyes grow wide and the dainty panties fail to camouflage just how incredibly aroused this makes him.


I warm him up with light flogging. I want his back to match his cheeks. I call him my prissy little princess and he moans into my panties as I deliver the first stinging blow to his buttocks. By the time I release his wrists, his ass is glowing and he’s whimpering for more.


I bend him over my knees and coo in his ear just as my arm brings the brush crashing into his inner thigh for a stinging blow. The whimpers increase and I have to remind him to keep his legs spread. He doesn’t want what he’ll get for disobedience at this moment in time. I continue to lovingly torture my boy until he’s unable to remain still. That’s when I decide it’s time to play one of my favorite games. I call it “insult to injury”. There’s just not quite enough color in his backside so I decide it’s time to decorate. He skin is glowing and changing color. The blood has more than risen. It’s time to wax.


Whereas moment’s before my boy was wilted over the bench, his whole body seems to perk up as he hears the lighter flick. He’s suddenly hyper aware of what is coming next and begins to squirm. He knows my honeyed tones belie the sensations that are coming. I have no mercy. I pull the panties further down so as not to ruin them as the first drops of wax hit his already abused posterior. I tell him to look at his audience. To make eye contact, see how much they revel in his torture, his helplessness. He moans further and drifts away into the joyous abyss of sub space.


When finally I am finished, his sleepy eyed smile and kiss are all I need to know I have done good by my boy. He nestles into me in thanks and cuddles me as he knows I will take care of him and provide for him. This is my beautiful reward at the end, and although the dungeon is still full of people, I know he and I are all he sees right now.

Sep 022014

I’ve noticed a trend in my boy. It’s one I don’t particularly like. He has a problem saying no. He generally doesn’t care if people are rude to him either. It gets me bristly. ONLY I have the right to boss my boy around, other people have to treat him like a person. He’s not their property, he’s MINE. He also gives very little feedback of what’s being done to him. I’ve started a system where every time a blow is particularly painful he will say “thank you ma’am”, and to enforce it, if I see that something is hurting I’ll hit him until he DOES say what he’s supposed to. It’s worked pretty well.


So far I’ve spanked him with a variety of things, introduced him to the horrors of hairbrush meeting inner thigh, and light to moderate flogging. We’ve been exploring with other things and have found he likes choking, but not during sex because he loses his erection. He likes being slapped, the more the merrier. He likes being scratched and gets turned on by marks left.


Last night as we’re lying in bed a goodnight kiss turned a bit more intense, I felt his hand move to stroke himself, and I started warming up to the idea. I deepened the kiss and started to scratch his chest, stomach, and side. Everything ramps up. I gradually increase the pressure of my nails and his mouth becomes voracious. I feel him reaching ever closer to the peak and dig in for all I’m worth to his side.


He moans and whimpers. My temperature rises. He bites my cheek, my neck. The whimpers increase. Suddenly though, I don’t feel his arm moving. I know he hasn’t cum. I lean back and stroke his cheek. Something is off.


It turns out, my grabbing a nice hunk of him with my nails hurt. Not the good hurt fun times, but the ouchy-no-stroky kind. He didn’t say anything. Not a peep. His in distress moans and his happy ones are identical. When I bring up the biting he told me it was “panic biting”…


Yup. Panic biting.


I feel like an ass. I’m also frustrated. I feel like an asshole because he MADE me feel like an asshole.


Then I compound my asshole-iness by giving a lecture on how I need him to TALK to me, to TELL me what’s working and what’s not. Don’t sit there and let me hurt you unendingly and just take it. Even if it’s an experiment past a soft limit, you at least need to let me know what that limit is so that way I’m aware and in control of crossing it or not.


Despite me knowing that the blame for this one ultimately doesn’t land on me, it doesn’t stop me from feeling bad… Nailed it!



Wicked Wednesday
Silence isn’t always golden.

Aug 122014

So, he had asked for me to dominate him. For those that regularly read, this is always tricky for me. We even had a conversation a few days prior how I need something specific from him, how he has expectations that I don’t know about and therefore fail at, how I grope around the dark (as it were) trying to find that magic desire. He stated that I should just keep trying something different every single time until I get it right, that he is unsure how to verbalize.

I postponed it for weeks. Yes, weeks.

He was home for the day, on the computer relaxing. I told him to let me know when he finished a game he was playing, and then set myself off  to the bedroom. I opened up the toy chest and was immediately thwarted in not being able to find our ties and velcro cuffs.

I’m not cool like him – I am not good with rope.

I found the strap on dildo and harness. I couldn’t find the blindfold either.

I laid down and do what I do best: I made a list of what I needed and what I was planning – though the planned part was vague so that he didn’t understand.

When he came in, and saw the strap on tools, he requested for a quick break and shower. By the time he toweled himself off, I was done with the list, laying the middle of the bed with just a t-shirt on. I threw him the list. “Complete each one, wait before completing another as I have a task you need to do in between each step.”

He cleaned out the wax warmer and put in massage wax (listed). Then fingered me to orgasm (not listed).

He tied the ties around the bedposts and set them for his size (listed). Then edged himself (not listed).

*That was fucking hot. I had never had him do that before. I watched his body and facial expressions but didn’t touch. It took awhile, but while one hand was stroking his amazing looking cock, the other would roam – it was this hand I was most interested in. What felt good to him, where did he go and what did he do that I may not be doing? He was panting by the time he stopped, just short of an orgasm.

He found the blindfold (listed); he gave me three orgasms through sexual intercourse without cumming (not listed). I tried to push him to a limit that I thought he was capable of but we had not attempted yet.

Next up on the list was him being tied. He touched my nipple as I tied a wrist; I warned him. He did it again with the other wrist; I unstrapped him. “What are you doing? Why are you doing that?” he asked.

I laid down after unstrapping him fully. “You need to give me two orgasms with sex again. The first for touching my nipple after a warning, the second for questioning me.” Surely he knew in dominating me that there are always consequences for not obeying, especially because I cannot physically force his body to do anything – no, I needed his cooperation fully.

This time it was an obvious struggle for him to continue pumping in and out of me without cumming, I counted the orgasms – tried to squeeze my body to make it easier for me to cum so that he wouldn’t struggle as much with shortened time. He was panting again with the effort to hold back the pleasure.

But I wasn’t done with him; after all, I had a list of things and we had barely scratched the surface.

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Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 7:42 am