the life and musings of a kinky slut

DOF 2011: Thursday

No matter what way you dress it up, blogs are acts of masturbation.  Whether stroking your Johnson or stroking your ego, it’s all very solo-sexual.  So each time I’ve thought about writing these posts, it’s felt like I’m about to jizz all over the internet, spewing my hot verbal girl juices.  And let’s face it: my time at camp was a boiling pot of lusty awesomeness. 

But what has finally convinced me to write these posts is just the sheer glee in my voice when I told a vanilla friend today just some of the stories of my experience.  If I’m that happy about it, how can I not share it with the world.  And by world, I mean the twelve of you who read this blog.  So here we go, my camp entries.

For convenience sake, I will not give you every single detail of each day, just the highlights.

Pool Time
We (my kinky family and I) arrived at camp around 1pm.  Soon after depositing our things in our cabin, we found ourselves naked in the pool together.  There was a large inner tube, big enough to fit all of us, that we dubbed Slut Island.  We floated along, relaxing, shooting the shit, splashing each other, and generally having a merry happy time. 

At one point, Deep_End attempted to throw TinyGiraffe into the inner tube, which had the hilarious, I mean horrible, outcome of her sliding right threw the hole in the center. 

For me, though, the best part was the ten minutes or so of silent sunbathing.  I laid on the inner tube with Deep_End and FlapJackSlim, my back to the sky, my mind, for the first time in months, solidly centered on my body and the immediate air around me.  I listened to the water lapping.  I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin.  I was grounded, fully in me, and not flitting about.  It was the best way to start my vacation.

Cigar & Ash
I only took one class Thursday, Cigar & Ash, taught by a wonderful gay man named Edge. 

I’ve had sexual inclinations towards cigarettes and cigars for some time now.  I had family members who smoked and both of my serious relationships were with men who smoked. Hence I have lots of positive memories with the smell.  But oh, I had no idea how much I truly loved cigars until this class.

As always, I was teacher’s pet.  I arrived early, wearing my red H&M one piece dress, sat front row center, and tried to strike up a conversation with Edge once he arrived.  As the class proceeded, I volunteered multiple times for demos.  Like Edge would say later, I went from a cigar virgin to a cigar slut in a matter of hours.

First, I wet the end of the cigar for him by sucking on it like a cock.  Then, I held his lighter while he lit his cigar.  Later, I licked ash off of his boot.  Crawling towards my snack, I remember my happiness at finally being able to service leather on foot again.  When I sat up after consuming my morsel, I commented, “Hmm, tasty.”

Later, he showed a trick: blowing smoke into a man’s chest hair.  The smoke lingered for an interesting effect.  So I raised my hand and asked, “Will that work for other hair, like on my head?”  He tried it; a positive reaction from the class followed.

Towards the end, when he asked for questions, I inquired what I should do to become more schooled in cigars.  How does one begin to play?  His response: he invited me to the front and started trying more things with me.  He blew smoke in my face.  He put a gas mask over me and blew smoke into the mask’s air hose.  And finally, he forced me to smoke his cigar, covering my nose with one leather gloved hand, the other holding the cigar in my lips.  I held my breath for as long as I could, but finally inhaled a few puffs.  It was all very naughty.  I was hooked.  

SkinnyBitch, MollyWren, and I decided we wanted to explore camp a bit.  Specifically, we wanted to find the Labyrinth.  We ventured over in the general area where I was told it was located.  After a few false openings in the trees, we did indeed find it.  Gravel and stone marked the path to walk.  Both SkinnyBitch and I walked the trail. 

I am not much for woo woo.  I am just this side of an atheist.  Still, I have to acknowledge I felt something as I took those steps.  I recalled a Buddhist trick I read in a story somewhere about counting your inhales and exhales.  I used it to try to keep myself in the moment, to focus on each step, to follow my path clearly.

Before I began, I took five long slow deep breaths, my hands at my sides, my face towards the sky.  At the center, I did the same.  And as I exited, once again.  I don’t know what I felt, but it seemed right to me that we had come to this place and done this ritual.  I knew I would be back to the Labyrinth once my camp had ended.

Cigar Social & Gray
At the end of class, Edge promoted an event that night: the Cigar Social.  Free cigars would be given away and we were again granted permission to smoke in the Pavilion.  “Just please don’t burn it down.”

So my kinky family and I made our way there after dinner (and a costume change: short red skirt, black tank top).  I grabbed a free cigar and hid it away for later.

I helped introduce SkinnyBitch to some of the fun things you can do with cigars, i.e. I was doing my homework.  I helped light her cigar.  I took in whiffs of her smoke.  I had her and Deep_End do the smoke trick in my hair.  It was a generally happy fun time.

As we were about to leave for another event, Sex & Chocolate held in Sex-o-Rama, Graydancer walked in.  It wasn’t that I was surprised he was there.  I knew he liked cigars and had a feeling he might show up.  It was just that the social had been going on for so long, at least an hour and a half, and he had yet to pop in.  So I surmised he wasn’t going to show.  How very wrong I was.

When I saw him come in, and set up shop on the cushioned table, I told my friends I would go over to say hi and then join them to go up to the other event.  Gray and I met at Winter Fire and had been in contact through emails. I thought it best to reintroduce myself and check in about our play date we had loosely setup.  SkinnyBitch looked at Gray, then looked at me, gave a wry smile, and said, “Yeah, say hi.”  When you are right, you are right.

To be honest, I was nervous.  This is nothing new; I get nervous about a lot of things and because of a lot of people.  But there was more weight to these nerves.  I’d had a crush on Gray since, literally, about three minutes into his class I’d attended at Winter Fire.  My heart was fluttering.  I wasn’t sure my voice would work. 

It did, though.  I said hi.  He said hi.  We began chatting.  I mentioned my attendance in the Cigar & Ash class.  This piqued his interest, and he asked me to talk to him about what I learned that day.

Did I mention I’m a teacher’s pet?

I pulled out my notebook, flipped to the first page of my cigar notes, and began to give him the class I had just attended a few hours earlier.  As I began, he opened what looked like a small briefcase.  Inside lay about a dozen cigars of varying sizes and shapes.  Gray did not dick around when it came to this indulgence.  He selected one, removed its wrapper, lit it, and began smoking.

As I spoke, he often interjected with agreement, but also some tidbits of his own.  I scribbled notes on the tips he spoke of. 

I talked about the three things used in cigar play: heat, smoke, and ash.  I also spoke about the different things I’d done in the class.

“What about spanking,” he asked. 


“Yes, with the ash.” 

“We didn’t go over that.” 

“Oh, may I?”


This night, like almost every other moment of camp, I was not wearing underwear.  He stood, lifted up my skirt, broke off a chunk of ash into his hand, and began spanking me, rubbing the crumbles into my skin.  The feeling was delicious.  My skirt stayed up for the next fifteen minutes, just in case he had the urge to do that again. 

Still talking about ash, he took my right hand, broke off another chunk into it, and closed my hand.  It was warm, comforting.

Speaking about heat, I mentioned how you hold the cigar close to the skin to incite the sensation.  In reply, he hooked his finger into my bra to pull it down.  To assist, I jerked my tank top down, busting one of the seams.  Needless to say, I didn’t care.  He held his cigar close to my right nipple, but the ash was too thick for me to feel the heat.  Once again, this was of little importance to me.  The mere act was enough for my excitement.

When speaking of service, Gray talked about being a person’s cigar holder, which again was not brought up in class.  So, he showed me.  I turned around, leaned back against his lap, and looked up into his eyes.  “Purse your lips as if you are about to kiss me.”  He balanced the cigar on my lips.  I half stood half laid there, looking up into his eyes, happy to do this service for him.  Yeah, I was hooked.

Some time during our conversation Edge, my instructor, came over.  He gifted a cigar to Gray and spoke his infamous line about me.  Also, Miss Bootblack 2011 came over to chat with Gray.  Gray gifted her a cigar, as well.  All the while, I’m standing there, smiling, tickled pink my night was going so well.

I don’t know when it was exactly, but at some point in our conversation, it occurred to me that Gray was flirting with me.  I can’t help it; I am by nature a flirt.  But the realization that my feelings were reciprocated, that he too had affection for me, was enough to fill my night with joy.

To be at camp is to be high off of your body’s own drugs.  Gray had me on cloud 9.

Our conversation did not last forever, and I did want to meet up with my friends again.  Gray, too, had plans for the rest of his night.  We decided our date would be Friday evening after the Wheel of Destiny.  We both strolled up to Sex-o-Rama, chatting about the things we liked to do.  As we walked and talked, it became even more obvious to me how compatible we were.  My anticipation for our date grew.

Once arrived, I gave Gray a hug bye and began meandering around.  I did not see any of my family, but I did see Murphy Blue.  Murphy and I met at Summer Camp last year and he owed me a rope scene.  I had arranged a loose playdate with him as well for this camp. 

I walked over and began to chat with him.  Not two minutes into the conversation, guess who walks up: Gray.  He greeted Murphy and gave him a hug.  ‘They’re friends,’ I thought, a fact that had not dawned upon me.  Hmm, two guys with fun personalities and are known for their rope skills.  Fucking d’uh.

As Gray spoke to Murphy, his hand found its way to my ass, and Gray made mention of my ash spanking.  I don’t know if it was intentional, but that beat felt like he was claiming me, like a dog pissing on a bush.  I can’t help but smile when recalling that moment.  Neither Murphy nor I mentioned our playdate in front of Gray.  Later, while walking to midnight snack, we agreed on Saturday night. 

When we parted, I had an inkling my dual interactions with Gray and Murphy were not over.

As I sat eating and chatting, Darien walked by.  Randomly, he leaned over and punched me in my arm.

“That’s just a taste of what’s to come.”

“What?  I thought since you were on staff you didn’t have time to play?”

“What? No. What are you doing Saturday?”


“Actually, what are you doing in the next eight to ten minutes?”

“I have no idea.”

“It takes me eight to ten minutes to smoke a cigarette.  Meet me outside in eight to ten minutes.”

After said prescribed time, following a quick restroom break, I met Darien and we walked over to the empty Pavilion.  He had me strip and lie down face up on the same cushioned table I had just a few hours earlier spent chatting with Gray.

Darien started with a massage, working out the muscles in my shoulders, arms, and legs.  Then he began to lightly slap and punch my chest, my stomach, my thighs.  Gradually, the force of his blows increased.  My body shook with the thuds of his fists.  It was, at times, unrelenting.  He used his elbow to press in hard on parts of my body.  I began to cry, as I often do. 

I wailed.  I wept. I let my emotions flow out.  Often he looked down at me, a stare of at once apathy at my pain and glee at his inflictions.

And of all the things that could have come to my mind and floated in that space, the only sentence that repeated over and over again in my head was, ‘Daddy, why don’t you love me?’  With each hit, those words came.  ‘Daddy, why don’t you love me?  Daddy, why don’t you love me?’  Again and again and again.

When it seemed like I could take no more, when my safeword was a breath about to escape my lips, Darien told me to roll on my side.  He then got up on the table, held his body close to mine, and let me weep in his arms.  He had hit me for about 45 minutes.

After what was probably five minutes of me balling in his embrace, I was able to sit up.  He got me paper towels to wipe my face and blow my nose.  It’s not pretty when I start wailing in a scene, at least not on my end.

As I cleaned up, he noted how he believed I had yet more to let out, yet more to release.  Somehow, I found myself in a thirty minute conversation with this man, who was far more profound than I had ever imagined, talking about the locking away of my emotions, my fear of crying in front of my friends because I saw it as a sign of weakness, how I had to be strong for everyone else around me. 

And then, magically, he said the most obvious thing.  “I believe just the opposite. Crying in front of others is a sign of strength.  And, if they are really your friends, why would they think less of you for showing them that part of you?  If anything, they’ll love you more.”

My mind was blown.  Some part inside of me shook.  It was as if a tremor had set off some unknown set of dominoes.  And all that from pain, tears, and words. 

Murphy & the rope dildo
I never want to go to sleep at camp.  And I’ve found that if you just stay up, good things happen.  Case in point, my first night at camp.

I’d already had amazing flirty time with Gray, lots of fun in my cigar class, been punched by Darien, and made new friends at the Boston Smokers’ Circle.  So my first day at camp didn’t need anything else to make it amazing.  And yet, because I stayed up, I had my first orgasms of my vacation.

I meandered my way into the Dungeon around 5am, hoping to see an interesting scene.  To my delight, I saw Murphy was working on a suspension.  But, almost instantly, I could sense something was off.  His bottom was not giving him any energy.  I could see the care and effort he was putting in, but there was just nothing coming from her end.  Maybe she was tired.  Maybe she was expecting something different.  All I know is he was giving and she was not. 

And, as if on cue, as soon as he lifted her, she began complaining.  She was in pain and would not give him any time to adjust the harness.  She wanted down, now.  Murphy obliged, grounding her and quickly removing the ropes.  She gathered up her things and left; no hug, no bye.

I felt bad for Murphy.  Again, as is my nature, I wanted to make him feel better.  He noticed his small audience of one and beckoned me over to talk. 

I offered to help him pack up.  He taught me how he liked his rope coiled.  I had him check my work.  He approved of my coil and I started another.  I was not near as fast as him, but I was able to finish a few.  I then organized his rope in three piles, for the different types of rope he had, and ordered them by length approximately from their size.  I helped him pack his bag, first handing him the rope, then his other accoutrement (carbiners, straps).  I was very awake, so I offered to carry his bag back to his cabin.  He thanked me, but politely refused.

We began to commiserate about how we would both need to make ourselves go to sleep.  Even so late in the evening, which was soon turning into early morning, I didn’t feel groggy. 

Then Murphy got this look on his face and said, “You know what, I’m going to do something to help you sleep.”  He pulled out a piece of rope and began to work on something.  I, in turn, pulled out my little piece of rope I carry in the pocket of my Zim jacket and began to play.  When I looked back up, he was finished.  He had created his rope dildo.  ‘Oh,’ I thought. ‘But, no.  He’s just made this to show it off to me.’ He pulled out a condom and put it over the rope.  ‘Hmm.’

Murphy stood.  “Come on.”  I followed.  He told me to take off my clothes.  ‘Ok,’ I thought.  And then, ‘Wait, is this really going to happen?’

“Lie down here.”  It was yet another cushioned bench, this one suspended from truss.  It swung as I hopped up.  I laid down and looked up at him.  A breath later, I was gone. 

He began massaging my clit, but not slow and soft.  This was hard and fast, like a human vibrator.  I immediately began moaning.  My eyes closed.  My head rolled back.  I reached out my hand and found his leg.  I pulled him closer to me.  I wanted to feel his body against mine. 

And then, he inserted the rope.  One loud deep breath and “Fuck!” escaped my lips.  There I was, first day of camp, being fucked by a rope dildo at 5:15am.  My hand found his ass.  I squeezed it.  Heavy breathing mixed with expletives.  I came, twice, screaming his name.

Bedtime: 5:45am.

Categorised as: BDSM | Friends | Sex

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