Oct 082017
 

I have a few go to phrases, “I suck at handjobs,” is one of those. It’s something that I don’t have a lot of practice in because that go-to statement is normally enough to get my off the hook and moving onto things that I do better. The reality is just that it’s a nonpreferred activity in a bag full of fun sexiness, and something that felt awkward to me.

The nitty gritty of that statement is that I feel handjobs are an area of weakness for me and rather than encourage practice and learning about it, I avoid it like the plague. There will be no blemish on my skill level. Nope.

That doesn’t mean that my hand doesn’t wrap around a cock, or that my palm or fingers don’t appreciate sliding up and down to feel how thick and hard he is, the pulse that I can create, the veins that create a contrast to the smoothness. Oh no, I appreciate all of that. My hands will still most likely touch and feel, but they won’t ever promise a motion that promises fulfillment. My hands will work in tandem with my mouth, most often, if fulfillment to him and hands are involved in any way. That’s part of my own fetish anyhow, having him in my mouth, perhaps that’s why: my greedy mouth does not like to step aside for just hands.

I love when a partner shows me how they like to grip themselves, stroke themselves, the pace that gets them off. Besides being visually stunning and a turn on, I do learn from that – just don’t feel confident in that I could duplicate that sensation due to my lack of experience. I will mimic it, but more as a tease and less of an act in itself, stopping rather quickly so I can get to something I feel more confident in. Every man is so vastly different, from my experience, in how they want a handjob that it’s a bit daunting.

There have been some exceptions, I am sure, far far into my past where a man came unexpectedly, but I can’t place one situation. With my ex-husband, I would peg him and stroke him with a hand at the same time, but he took control of the handjob the first time so our go-to was I would encourage him to stroke himself while I fucked him. For us, if he wanted me to give him a handjob until orgasm, I would’ve tried, but he let me off the hook every time – besides our fascination was always deep throating or sex to fulfillment.

With Mr. Texas, he finally vocalized and showed me what he liked, but it is not something that I feel I could duplicate – rather I learned where he likes to be touched best and to what extent – knowledge I use frequently. The few times I have tried to give him a handjob, he has let me know he’d rather do other things – somewhat discouraging me when I feel bold enough to try. Which normally I wouldn’t care about – again, a bag full of fun things to do anyhow, but I would like to try to give him fulfillment in this way, as oftentimes he will just finger me to orgasm without his own pleasure pursuit so I would like to reciprocate… but he doesn’t seem to want me to try? Or perhaps I suck at the act? Maybe his own kink is getting me off without any pleasure being returned? (It’s not our lack of communication that stops me from knowing my answer – it’s my own fear of the answer).

The Wanderer, well, now I have a success story for this post. He loves handjobs – something that filled me with dread, but he is an excellent teacher, and he walked through my first successfully tried handjob. He was able to verbalize exactly what he wanted and needed, and that was such a huge turn on in itself. It was beautiful to witness.

“My hand wrapped around his shaft and he directed to where exactly to hold on the length. Unsure, I squeezed a bit and he directed me to clench harder. Up and down, my fingers felt the muscles and veins and ridges, my palm felt how deliciously hard he was. His encouragement with the timber of his voice, the erotic words directing me, and I found myself growing wet, imagining what I felt in my hand sliding up and down inside my cunt.

As he hardened even more, his thigh muscles tightened and his hips thrusted a bit into my hand, and I felt powerful. I was creating these sensations that he was enjoying, producing pleasure that had nothing to do with me and every bit directed just for him. There is something selfless about a hand job: it allowed me to be more of an observer of his pleasure, gifted me an intimate view of how he reacts and what he liked, such an intimate glimpse.

I felt him pulse and throb against my fingers and palm, watched as his milky orgasm reached its climax and shot out of his cock, heard his groan of satisfaction. It was so hot” – Hot Wax and Hands

[jwplayer mediaid=”7535″]

Sep 242017
 

The first time I wrote about this topic was for Kink of the Week over four years ago. At that point, I had just been spanked for the time after orgasms. I really enjoyed that first time, and slowly, tentatively, carefully I was spanked from time to time – but always after orgasms and never with much frequency.

Kink of the Week also got me to talk about one of the rare times I bruised from having my bottom spanked a year after that, with a partner that was less careful and tentative, and whose spanking I discovered I really enjoyed despite the less orgasm-hazed brain and more with the warm up of just his hand on my skin. I learned that spanking on its own could be something I desired if done right – though far be for me to deny an orgasm.

The following year, again with Kink of the Week, I discussed how hands on my ass has helped me accept that even this part of my body is sexy – before that I thought I lacked the bottom for anyone, myself included, to appreciate.

That post was two years ago and spanking happened irregularly. Since then, I’ve met two men and they both spank me quite a bit.

The Wanderer’s main kink is spanking, and when we first began playing it certainly wasn’t mine – I was still really new to this activity and had a love/hate relationship with it. But I wanted to engage in a kink that he enjoyed, so he gave me my first over-the-knee spanking and showed me the power dynamics that can be felt from just a change of positioning. I have since learned that I enjoy spanking on its own and sometimes want it under the right circumstances. Bare handed spanking is now part of our play, which I had a strong feeling it would be because it was his kink, but I was pleasantly surprised how much I can enjoy it. We engage in this activity so much that I created a category for it on the blog. He’s taught me that spanking on its own can be a whole scene, that sex and other things do not need to occur for me to get something out of it that I need or want. Though again, far be it for me to say no to orgasms – I’ve even orgasmed from being spanked:

“Right when it began to feel good, it began to really sting again. He swatted constantly and consistently at a fast pace and somehow even with my legs rendered useless I managed to twist and turn around his body, wedging myself between him and the bed for protection.

He simply laughed at me and wrapped a solid arm around my waist, continuing his sting assault as he shifted his own body off of the the bench.

I clung to the bench as if it would save my overly dramatic life, pressed my breasts and belly and thighs into it, willing myself to meld into hiding.

He shifted tactics and used thuds – it was probably from his palms but it felt like his fists. My body tensed at the onslaught and I began to clench. More tension and suddenly my body released and surrendered at the pain, creating a pleasurable orgasm in the wake.” – The Brush

At the same time as spanking became part of my play, I was also dating Mr. Texas. He was a vanilla (big emphasis on that past tense word), and spanking seemed to be a good baby step. Mr. Texas doesn’t always like warm up, he loves to see the marks that his hand can create and is often impatient to get there, but he is a natural top in this. (He’s also taught me that I enjoy punching with the thud far more than spanking with the sting.)

He has also made me cry from spanking:

“Mr. Texas’ hands did the real damage as they almost always do, first caressed my reddened cheeks which felt amazing, softly patted a few times, then pulled back and spanked to where the imprint of every finger and thumb connect to his palm was not only visible – it was felt.

I jumped up and elbowed him in the chest, though not hard as I couldn’t see and he stepped back. If we had made eye contact, I’m sure my gaze would have conveyed my dislike over such extreme stingy pain, though he didn’t need to see – he knew how much I disliked it.

“Mother fucker,” I gritted, tip toeing to relieve some sting on my cheek – it didn’t alleviate any. His hand went to my mid back and he pushed me down to bend over the counter again.” – Wet Leather 

Between these two men, spanking has occurred a lot in the last couple of years, as well as the addition of a play partner in a dungeon who has used me as demo bottom for spanking with newbies. I think I claim that bare handed spanking is a kink of mine, something I could not do when I first began writing about it four years ago.

Sep 172017
 

Wicked Wednesday

photo credit: Gunn Shots (Catching up) Vistas of my youth via photopin(license)

This is a post that is always a work in progress, as I listen to conversations and agree with so many perspectives. It’s also shifted in myself. Consent is something that is on and off screamed about on Fetlife, and trust is something stressed in the kink communities. When the flurry of writings come out, I try to sort out my own perspective and mixed emotions – especially when it came to my own experience of my trust being broken.

For a play person, consent is crucial. Safe words, negotiations, boundaries being respected are all important factors of the dynamic. Sure, there is trust, but the trust is that those consent pieces are respected. I also have a love/hate relationship with safe words – for a play partner, I keep them at the forefront of my mind; in a relationship I don’t think to use them unless it’s been negotiated prior – I want to go further down the rabbit hole and explore the strange curiosities of comfortably uncomfortable. Safe words imply that a boundary may be crossed due to a lack of awareness of a limit (which may be necessary in both play partners and relationships, but less so in a relationship as the person knows limits).

For a relationship, trust is crucial – consent less so. There is a level of trust that must exist in order for me to fully let go; I entrust things to someone else – including my well-being; I leave it up to that person in that moment. Trust is based on the unknown as well as the known – my partner knows me well enough for this relationship; I trust my partner to choose things specifically for me without my knowledge and based on what is best for me.

To think of it another way: when someone asked what you want at a restaurant and you say, “I’ll leave it up to you,” or “surprise me,” they will not order things that they know you despise. If you go on a date with someone, you strive to the next date – not push your own agenda without care for the other person. So too do I expect my partner to take the time to know me deeply, intimately, to know what I will not do, to push gently for that next step together and go at a pace that is conducive for us both.

I too take that same pace with them – I am not a passive participant.

This type of trust is built over time and carefully cultivated – hence the relationship aspect for me, and it is constantly evolving. It’s a delicate dance of patience and nurturing. And serious communication. It allows me to enter into gray areas, push past boundaries, experiment in a safe place.

Consent is black or white, broken or upheld to the highest degree. It hints at a lack of trust. Negotiation is fantastic, and often necessary in the beginning of two people who do not know each other, but there is something far sexier in the wonder of what’s next in a scene unfolding to me.

At a munch, someone asked the group, “how do you know if someone wants this,” and they replied communication, asking. These are simplistic ways, and truly a great thing, but mid scene I do not want to stop, nor am I going to the very limits of what is negotiated or something that they like. If someone gives a list of kinks, I’m not going to go down every one, I’m going to stroke a few carefully and watch for reactions.

Some examples: with The Wanderer:

“I test the waters, unsure of what he’ll allow…he’s a new partner and I want to please him. I am lucky in that I know a bit about him … but I don’t know what level he exerts dominance, what level of passivity or submission he expects from me.

So my fingertips lightly caress, then become bolder with hands, and then move from fabric to removing fabric, then from hands to mouth.

I never once push, ask, nor even communicate through body language that he should fuck me. I respect his boundary, as I am always very respectful and conscientious of any boundary given,” – Developing 

Okay, now I play with the boundary in a teasing way for fun, though I would never push for sex – it is the boundary. I’ll still mimic the act of sex, grind myself down on his lap, bend over before he spanks me and bump my bottom against his pelvis – but it is clearly a tease and not trying to get away with something I shouldn’t – I only do things of his nature when he is fully clothed, wearing his chastity belt of pants as it were. Even to be comfortable enough to know that my teasing would be acceptable took patience and tiny trials, starts and stops to see how far our trust in each extended.

With Mr. Texas, we started exploring pain elements with safewords, now it is something that is not needed, nor rarely used unless discussed, so it is something I would not think to use unless discussed:

“I also, especially when I top him, realize that I am dealing with a man not used to coloring at all, so I listen to his body language,  his words, his noises, and his actions and proceed cautiously, stopping far before he colors. If I force him to color, I warn him ahead of time that is my intent and do only one action (like bite down) until he remembers to use it.

Again, though, I don’t believe that I should only stop when he uses his safe word. If I am playing to the edge it is with someone I trust and who trusts me, someone that I have played with many times before, someone that will know my tells and listen to my body language the same way that I do theirs.” – Safeword Complication

Mr. Texas and I have extensive trust in each other, and we have certainly baby stepped our way into kink since he was inexperienced and I was untrusting (when he met me). It is this openness of being a strong foundation of exploration that allowed me to relax enough to try anal sex again and impact play has gone far more than any other in more variety of ways.

Before the fallout of my ex husband, he gave me the safe space to explore my sexuality and my world to kink (it was a mutual new experience for us both) without judgment. He pushed my boundaries far past what I thought I would be comfortable with, but it was gently, always (until the end) with the intent that the exploration continue and was comfortable with both of us.

I believe in both consent and trust – but my relationships are less about consent because I do trust them, boundaries are more gray areas, safewords not necessary as we read and know each other (though still there, if need be- a safeword would not be ignored). I cannot consent to a journey unknown.

Aug 222017
 

1. For you, can sex be separated from love?

Absolutely it can, actually it usually is. 
2. Can sex be separated from caring?

I don’t know about this one, but my one night stand experiences would lend credence to this. I didn’t care much for someone I had just met, but likewise I wasn’t uncaring. I wanted a mutually beneficial physical good time. 
3. Men: Does sex seem to be something that you can never get enough of and are constantly seeking or thinking about?

I do not identify as a man, but this seems to apply more directly to me than the other question for women. I used to be more like this, honestly my drive is finally calming down (some times, last night would be a poor example as I kept poor Mr. Texas up all night with my demands). 
4. Women: Is sex secondary to intimacy, physical closeness, and commitment?

Sex seems to come first for me, and the other things mentioned just sort of fall together around our sex life. Although with my friends, physical closeness may come before sex.
5. Who is more discriminating in choosing sexual partners–you or your significant other?

For Mr. Texas: for sure he is more discriminating. We actually had a discussion recently where I bemoaned the fact that he was so particular. 

I am unsure of The Wanderer’s preferences and discriminating factors. For him perhaps it’s more of a matter of time and convenience, though I think he would be somewhat discriminating.

Bonus: Who is more likely to take on additional sexual partners, you or your significant other?

As with the above, I am far more likely to take on additional partners, in comparison to my significant others, at least if I were to look at the past and present as indicators. 

————

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Aug 152017
 

Kink of the Week’s prompt sparked my interest on names and titles. Actually, that’s like saying I read the prompts and just this one caught my eye – truth is I rarely even know what the prompt is. But I discovered this one, and it’s awesome and thought provoking.

I tackled titles in 30 Days on Kink where I tried to define my kinky self. Then, on the way to a GRUE, Mr. Texas and I were discussing how we define (well, a lot of things), and names and titles are handy for that, though no one model always fits. I stated that I’m going through a kink midlife crisis – I no longer know how to define my kinky self, nor necessarily how to define my relationship with others.

In the 30 Day writing prompt: I defined myself as wife – I am no longer, nor do I have any desire to take on that role.

ADD Brat: yeah, I’m really not that either. I don’t brat often with Mr. Texas – it began as more of trying to show that his role of top would be respected and now is just a natural role with us. I also don’t brat with The Wanderer.

Rope bottom: this has led to the most crisis type feeling with my kink identity as that used to be a primary role I would tell people and now it just doesn’t feel true. I’m sure that rope is still my most responsive kink, but I no longer actively look for it nor do I initiate any rope play. Therefore, can I even really claim this role?

Lightweight bottom: still am this, but I’ve learned I can take far more than I thought possible.

Primal: still am this, though it’s rare I’ll engage, and not with the same intensity (mostly because I’m not physically cool enough).

Switch: I’ve taken on this role far more than I would’ve thought possible.

Submissive: I’ve taken this role far less than I used to.

New to me roles:

Top: A role I find myself enjoying more and more.

Mistress: I’ve been called this in the past on a rare occasion, likewise with the present. It makes me feel slightly like a fraud – I simply don’t feel cool enough for this title, nor does it seem to fit anything I am seeking.

Impact bottom: Surprisingly, I like impact far more than I could’ve thought possible, given my wimpy nature.

Girlfriend: I use this term with vanillas.

Speaking of vanillas…

A few weeks ago Mr. Texas asked what I refer to him as. I asked him in what context.He mentioned that I introduced him as my partner at a rope event. I told him to vanillas, he’s my boyfriend (a term I rarely use), my guy (most frequent), my spouse, or my husband (it’s easier, I found). (No, we’re not legally married.) To kinky people, I refer to him most often as my partner. To people really seeking what type of partner, I would use the term primary, though nesting would work. We’re committed, as much as our relationship defines, and living together and raising little folks. I haven’t quite put a title on it, nor do I feel the urge to (though I know it’s peace of mind to give some sort of shape to dynamics).

The Wanderer and I also recently had a discussion on roles and titles. He has a few he uses for me, though to be honest none of them stick in my head where I could even state them now. I wouldn’t even know how to define our relationship – and I expressed the vague sort of titles I would use for him, though admitted that none felt accurate.

I really dislike titles and roles, though again I know people use whatever vocabulary they have at hand to try to describe just how important a person is to them, and what they consider themselves to be. I am not picking my titles, I’m okay with people defining how they will, and I’m trying to give the same respect when asked how I would describe them (though I’m not assigning titles or roles even in my head either).

The problem…

At the GRUE, there were great conversations on defining what the term relationship even meant to an individual, and what sort of poly they were (if they were poly). Defining things, people, ourselves seem to matter, regardless of how much I dislike doing so – it does increase effective communication with others, something I dearly want.

And the hard limits:

I have a serious dislike of the term “girl” in reference to myself, it just takes me out of my head space in unpleasant ways. Likewise, daddy or mommy (or other parental names) wouldn’t work for me either. I am indifferent on names like slut, I’m learning – it simply does nothing for me.

Jul 112017
 

The night prior The Wanderer and I did wax play but it brought up our need to have a knife. I love feeling a cold, sharp knife slide between hardened hot wax and my sensitive skin.

So the next morning, with a free day ahead of us (an unheard thing), we went a store and I selected a knife that I wanted. He was kind enough to buy it for me. Next time, we’re ready;considering my love of knives, it was really quite strange that I do not own any.

We decided to head towards a boardwalk on a nearby beach, where our first order of business was food. Splitting two meals so we could sample a variety of what the menu offered: shrimp and lobster. Sitting in a shady place on the boardwalk, with the ocean breeze drifting, and after he allowed me to caress him for an hour, the day promised peace that I don’t often feel. Conversation flowed as beautifully as the weather around us – I regretted not wearing a dress again and felt warm as the sun shown upon my jeans. Our friendship is easy enough for the silences not to be awkward amid a constant flow of any topic to happen back and forth.

Lunch was delivered and the lobster arrived wholly intact. I could barely even look at it and before I could request that they de-shell it, the waiter left. Fortunately, it seems The Wanderer is handy with cracking seafood and didn’t mind that I would not be helping in the slightest. He also was incredibly generous with gifting me with some of the best pieces. It was endearing, caring, sweet.

After we finished lunch, he asked me to hold his phones for a moment. It was a first and when he put a hand out, I smiled and cradled them closer, turning away and demanding a kiss. I was secretly worried that he would freak out without not immediately being handed the phones back, but he hesitated, reached around to grab them but briefly kissed me as he did so. A token price, but a huge step in the right direction of relaxation and playful interaction for us.

We walked to the end of the boardwalk after lunch where he had to take a phone call. A slight breeze cooled an otherwise far too warm day and I had to the urge to frolic among the much cooler waves. After he was done with his call, we decided to walk along the shoreline. I took off my sandals and rolled up my jeans above my calves; he did similar though was far more dressed so the casual rolled pants and finger hooked around the heels of dress shoes made a startling contrast. It was simply another reminder that I didn’t observe him relaxing much.

As we walked, we had discussions of vacations that were sadly more of dreams far more than plans – as more time goes on I realize this is unlikely to happen as a marriage and children take the spare down days; still, how nice to dream at times. It was truly our first date, and as dates go this one had visions of a future between two hopeful people establishing a connection; I believe one of us even mentioned that it was an actual date rather than our kink sessions mixed in between his business meetings, even the morning had no real BDSM elements (though the night prior was filled with such explorations).

Eventually we reached my vehicle, and after brushing the sand off of our feet and legs, unrolling our pants, and a brief hug and kiss, I’d drive him to the airport and watch the methodical way he grabbed his bag and made his way in the hurried no-nonsense manner I see every businessman do.

Jul 072017
 

To strip out of lingerie, slowly touching. To fuck myself with the wand, to make myself squirt. The bed had a puddle. To orgasm over and over again. To take my toy and fuck myself, to edge myself, to finger myself. To watch him play. To play while he does. To orgasm with him.

I was a sweaty, drenched mess resentful of squirting, of so many orgasms. Overwhelmed.

These were the notes to finish the punishment post – which I never did finish as we (of course) broke up shortly thereafter. It was our longest reconciliation, and our final break up, before we finally reconciled the fact that we were no longer meant to be together.

We jumped right into the power dynamics almost every time we reconciled, but this was different, this punishment – as it was truly a punishment. I dislike so many aspects of this scene:

To perform on command

To masturbate in front of another

To push past one orgasm towards another

To squirt

Edging myself

Sweating

To dress sexy

To be told what to wear

To watch me over the phone live

I won’t finish this post either, as this is a purging, but it was incredibly fucking hot. And horrible. A great punishment for failing at a task.

But this isn’t just a purging, it’s a reflection also. My ex husband knew me so well that sometimes that’s what I ache for. He knew what was pushing my limits, how to control me, how to give me a look that could silence me, the tone of his voice that I simply could not argue with, what my limit was, and when I was hitting peaks.

As I explore power dynamics: both with Mr. Texas and The Wanderer, I miss this awareness that my ex husband had. I miss the absolute knowledge to control me. The Wanderer I heed to simply because it’s our dynamic, because I sense when he holds back for my sake and I am grateful, but also slightly intimidated that he does hold back a bit at times (yay for not always now though, I survived one time he didn’t). Mr. Texas is learning, but it is slow, as it will be with another, as my body and words and my actions are often at odds in pleasure and pain. I do not always feel the need to obey him, sometimes truly debate if I should (because I want him to grow confident in dominanting me and that’s what we negotiated so how horrible if I didn’t) or I should not (because he’s pushing me far more than he realizes, or doesn’t know my exact limits, or can’t read me so beautifully). He’ll get there – this is all new to him.

Mimir got it very quickly, but Mimir has a true gift in the BDSM realm of being able to observe, to withhold, to read people, to push people, to listen, to know them. He is incredibly intelligent and has such a background in kink that his bag of tricks never ceased to amaze me. Even with a bag of tricks, and a breadth of knowledge on things, I have nowhere near the patience nor the skill to read people the way that Mimir did.

The way that my ex husband could read me.

Mr. Texas has no advantage to him other than me as a bottom – who knows that he is capable and the love to be patient.

But how I crave, how I ache, for what my ex and I had. If I have to debate power dynamics, they don’t feel very powerful to me. It’s a choice I am making, a request I am granting; though I know that it is and has always been a choice – it felt more instinctive, allowed me to get out of my whirlwind thoughts and simply obey.

Neither of my current partners are capable of this dynamic – The Wanderer does not even have the time nor the inclination to pursue it at this point in our relationship, and my darling Mr. Texas and I are exploring it – not always with success, but more with persistence. We at least have physically forcing going for us – that’s hot.

Though I sometimes ache, sometimes crave, the power dynamics that force me with just a presence.

 

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

Mar 262017
 

The Wanderer and I spent a night together in which he immediately, with no warm up, beat my ass with a thick leather belt and created welts that marked for a week. We did so many things in the short amount of time we spent in the hotel. Here’s three:

Throat. Something I know he doesn’t do much of but something I enjoy is a hand around my throat. After a belt spanking, playing around a bit, dinner, orgasms, and a spanking, he laid me on the bed and fingered me to an orgasm. Nothing out of the usual, until his hand went around my throat. I’m pretty sure it was for my benefit far more than his, but instantly his large hand held my every thought. That physical reminder that I was vulnerable was all I needed to surrender any shred of control to him. He didn’t apply a lot of pressure along my pulse on either side of my neck, but I didn’t need it to feel powerless. I shut my eyes, focused on his other fingers deep inside of me and curling slightly, rubbing at place that had me crying out and shuddering in ecstasy.

Hot wax. The sad fact is that we were planning on playing with wax six months prior – he even bought the candles. But then I reconciled with my husband, so that didn’t work out at all. I had actually used one candle he bought on my friend – to show her how sensual and intimate wax and knife feels.

With The Wanderer, it was what I thought it would be – sensual and intimate. I was fuzzy brained from pain, tired from orgasms, yet for some reason I was a bit squirmy every time the drops hit my body. It hurt and stung in a way that I was surprised with, but perhaps my head space was all over the place by that point. He measured the drops, his eyes never leaving my body – I was the sole focus of his attention, something that I adore with any type of scene – the sole focus and connection found. After awhile, the pattering of the drops calmed me and I was able to breathe a bit into the rhythm he set, to watch his gaze, drops sizzling and then cooling to hardened little reminders of his travel. He teased around my nipple, not quite touching it but circled around. My skin was pinpoints along the trails, flushed from his attention as much as the heat.

Hand job. Prior to the wax, he had requested a hand job. If anyone were to ask me my deficiency in the bedroom, I would tell them that it was a hand job. I rarely even attempt to give them, and here he was asking for one. “You’ll have to teach me,” I warned. So he promised me he would, and he was an excellent teacher, able to verbalize exactly what it was he wanted from me. My hand wrapped around his shaft and he directed to where exactly to hold on the length. Unsure, I squeezed a bit and he directed me to clench harder. Up and down, my fingers felt the muscles and veins and ridges, my palm felt how deliciously hard he was. His encouragement with the timber of his voice, the erotic words directing me, and I found myself growing wet, imagining what I felt in my hand sliding up and down inside my cunt.

As he hardened even more, his thigh muscles tightened and his hips thrusted a bit into my hand, and I felt powerful. I was creating these sensations that he was enjoying, producing pleasure that had nothing to do with me and every bit directed just for him. There is something selfless about a hand job: it allowed me to be more of an observer of his pleasure, gifted me an intimate view of how he reacts and what he liked, such an intimate glimpse.

I felt him pulse and throb against my fingers and palm, watched as his milky orgasm reached its climax and shot out of his cock, heard his groan of satisfaction. It was so hot.

I can’t wait to see him and learn some new techniques to pleasure him with my hand(s).

Masturbation Monday Week 134To read his thoughts on hand jobs, click here. To see a picture of the wax, click here.

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Mar 052017
 

It had been months, and I was emotional. Yet, to see The Wanderer’s smile, I was smiling and felt myself relaxing (later irony considering how tense he made me that night).

He was on a conference call, his standing figure silhouetted against the backdrop of the city lights in the large window (what is up with him and large windows in his hotel rooms?). Airplane shadows in the sky, colorful cars nonstop – my eyes were only on him, though I did appreciate how the background represented him so perfectly – always a traveler.

On my stomach, I stretched out on the bed, muscles appreciative after the drive to meet him. He came over to perch on the edge, my dress allowed me to feel the light tracing of his fingers from toes to calves to thighs, up over the curve of my bottom, lingered there with soft circles, followed the sensitive hollow of my lower back, up my spine, across my shoulders, brushed my hair back to smile down at me. I smiled back at him.

He muted the call for a minute. “It’s good to see you smile.” The concern was in his voice and I appreciated it – him caring.

I rubbed his thigh through his denim, had the urge to undo his pants and take him into my mouth. Resisted and listened instead to the timber of his voice as he talked. He threw down his phone, having the device in his ear, and began massaging my feet, took a moment to look at the design I had painted on from the last pedicure and commented it was cute. His hands rubbed and massaged up calves and thighs, became a bit rougher at my rounded cheeks.

His spanking kink is obvious, though this trip he was almost as enamored with my breasts.

I had the urge to take him into my mouth again, whispered I was going down to the bar so that I didn’t distract from his call. He gestured five more minutes, handed me a room key, and we parted ways.

Once he joined me at the bar, mere minutes later as promised, conversation between us was casual, though it would have been odd for me if it didn’t contain some flirtation – so of course there were a few remarks. I spoke softly of my urges in the room and he mentioned that the call would have been a lot more pleasant if I had given in to the urge. A man sitting near us would occasionally give a sidelong glance, a smile, and perhaps he heard a few things I shared.

We had a drink, a meal, then opted for nothing else but the rest of the evening in the room. Our time is few and far between for too many practicals and not enough fun.

The Wanderer allowed me to push him down  sitting on the bed as we kissed; I straddled his lap while tasting his lips, used my body to press his further down into the mattress, my hips ground down in promise as my lips and tongue tasted from his mouth, moved onto skin.

Having excellent control and never getting too far carried away, he stopped me, though the regret was still evident in his body language. Still, with a devilish smile, he told me to get up and unpack the items I brought. I moved over to the large suitcase, complaining that toys took up a lot of space. In part, I was a bit defensive – he’s an expert traveler and will be away from home far longer periods and dressed spotlessly yet I always use larger luggage.

Days before, he had instructed that I bring a few items:

  • 3 impact implements (I only had two, he reassured me he brought 3 belts just in case, well isn’t that considerate?)
  • 3 insertables (which really brought up the fact that I need a dildo)
  • My violet wand kit (a huge amount of space needed just for this)
  • Rope

As I took out the gorgeous paddle, he swatted me with it, told me to be grateful he kept on the clothes after I whined. It wasn’t much of a warm up with the force – a sign of what was to come. Next, the crop kissed me through far too thin fabric and my noise signaled complaint…and apparently a please-hurt-me-more if his reaction was any indication.

Grabbed, spun around, and pulled over his lap on the nearby bed before I could catch my balance, his large hands caressed my dress up, he seemed delighted and slightly distracted at my polka-dot panties just briefly before slapping until I’m sure my cheeks were a pinkened hue.

Got it…don’t complain or he’ll give me something to complain; on the other hand I also stored the message to complain so I no longer have to anxiously unpack torturous devices: I’m a flexible learner that way.

He pulled me up and undressed me slowly from behind, sensually his hands caressed,  his mouth kissed up and down, his body pressed against my back and ground his desire against my cheeks. My own hands reached back to fondle his growing erection and in my impatience I undid the buckle of his belt. He must’ve felt it as his hands gripped my wrists between our hot bodies.

“Oh you want my belt, do you?” He whispered menacingly against my ear, or perhaps I heard the menace in the meaning.

“No.” I certainly didn’t want his belt but I tightened in anticipation anyhow.

Regardless, he threw me down on the bed and his belt licked painfully at my rear. It stung and felt like it sliced, my skin not warmed up enough for the force.

Yep, I was totally justified in hearing a threat with the belt.

He stood me back up and told me to put back on his belt. I took my time – partly because I had never put on a man’s belt, usually just the opposite, but also to take advantage of slowly touching him even though I had just been punished for trying to take advantage.

I may be a flexible learner, but I also apparently don’t learn the lesson the first go round.

Next, I was ordered to roll up his sleeves and I joked of how boding. Apparently I’m dense as a rock because while I joked, I didn’t foresee the threat that was to come.

He moved a chair into the center of the floor and had me bend over, grabbed a larger, thicker belt and went to work on my ass, not gentle but harsh and painful. I cried out my dismay and pain, trying to escape. Normally at this much distress signs, he would have slowed or gone softer, however this time he simply wrapped an arm around my waist to hold me down and continued his onslaught.*

As if the belt wasn’t enough, he spanked over the belt marks’ welts. Perhaps he wanted to lower the racket I was making with crying out in pain, or perhaps he wanted the racket to be one of pleasure, but he promised me an orgasm as he picked me up to lay me down in the center of the bed. I laid on reddened fire as his fingers delved into my wetness, his words speaking of how I clearly didn’t dislike the belt as much as noises indicated. My body betrayed me.

*This was after my sister died and the weeks in between I had told him that I needed a rough beating to penetrate through the haze and just feel something. He gave me what I asked for – and to date this is probably the hardest I’ve had an implement strike me. 

***To see a picture, click here

***To read his account of this scene, click here

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