poeticdesires

Category: Boots

  • Studio 58

    I hadn’t been to the space in quite some time. Drama and yuckiness aside, my life has been far too busy to fathom going out to a random Saturday night party at any play space, let alone the one I found myself in this past Saturday night.

    But there was more than one draw that got me out to a town almost an hour away. Merely looking on the RSVP, I could see so many of my friends were venturing farther than I would need to, and the sheer number of my friends in attendance was more than enough reason for me to go.

    I’m glad I did.

    My night had no play by design. I wanted chill time with friends.

    I spent the majority of my fun in the Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate area. I started off with a cigarillo, but then progressed to a cigar. It was small, but it lasted much longer than I thought it would. I spent nearly an hour slowly shrinking my stick. The taste was smooth and light. The smoke smelled great. I enjoyed the mellow the tobacco imparted me.

    From my vantage point in a camp chair towards the back, if I merely looked to my right I was given a framed viewed of two friends scening. Fire danced across flesh about fifty feet away from me. For about ten minutes my head rested on my hand as I watched them play.

    Once my gaze turned forward, I was greeted with the sight of a hot bootblacking scene not ten feet away. It is a heady thing to be a bootblack in a scene with three other bootblacks sitting near you. I gave encouragement while others heckled.

    During my CBC time, I had a conversation with a friend from Philly. Plans were made for fun in just over a year.

    When I ventured away from the CBC area, in search of a restroom, I found myself giggling with a Bambi while we waited to relieve ourselves. As we fidgeted, I caught peeks of a CookieMonster dancing in rope.

    As my night trudged on, I enjoyed more conversations, more giggles, and more hugs. There was a split second touch of a knife that promised more to come. A random conversation about random things, because that is our way and I like it. A hunt to procure play for friends with a 1 out of 2 success rate. And my perving said one successful pairing.

    More friends dropped by. There was fun had by many. I even squeezed in a poi practice session.

    My night ended with yet another hot scene to be perved: two very pretty people with very pretty knives.

    All-in-all, Studio 58 had a great re-naming night. I hope to make my way back through its doors for many more times to come.

     

  • Deep Throating

    “There is no safety from a sophisticated Top.” – Max

     

    “Do you deep throat?”
    “Yes.”
    “Open your mouth; tilt your head back.”

    I sat on the ground by his knee.  Cigar smoke loomed in the air.

    It was the first cigar social at Paradise, the only one I’d be able to attend.  Keet and Clash each enjoyed their tobacco just across from me.  Other folks milled about.  I had my kit open and at the ready, just in case anyone needed assistance.

    I’d already prepped Kilawama’s cigar.  Already had a fun day chilling in the camp site.  Meeting new people.  Chatting, relaxing.  Taking a nap in the hammock.  Laying across the leather couch (yes, he brought a leather couch; the campsite was amazing).

    As everyone created their temporary homes, I felt the need to do something.  These kind people had been so gracious, Kilawama especially.  While he was away on an errand, I cleaned up Kilawama’s tent, folding clothes and organizing his things.  When he came back, he was quite thankful.  It was then I believe he realized my service nature.  The campsite put me to work and I felt at home.

    That night, as I sat on the ground by his side, I felt like a part of the group.  With his question asked, and my answer given, I obeyed his request and opened my mouth.  I knew, though, that Kilawama was never so straight forward as he might seem.

    With a flick of his wrist, he opened his knife.  The blade loomed above my face.  Like a painter applying his first stroke onto canvass, he eased his steel down.  I trusted him, sunk into my fear, and accepted his knife into my throat.  I gagged, but didn’t move my head.  I maintained control of myself; I wanted to do this for him.

    He pulled the knife out, impressed by my act.

    As the cigar social meandered on, Kilawama found time to wrench my hair, beat on me, assault me with his toes, and open up my ass for boot stompings from Keet (a delightful treat).  But it was the blade that made the greatest impression on me.

    ~

    “I need your permission.  Because it’s your tent and your Hitachi, even though you’re not there, I still need your permission to cum.  I know my brain; it’s weird like that.”

    Kilawama lent me his Hitachi for the event.  After the cigar smoker, he roamed through Paradise greeting friends.  I, however, went back to the tent for some alone time.

    The air was chill, but my writhing and heavy breathing warmed the tent just fine.  Paradise has quiet hours, so I had to hold back my screams as I finally came while in Seattle.

    The following day, in the early afternoon, my horniness surged again.  I again asked for and received Kilawama’s permission to use his Hitachi.  I crept into the tent, no noise ordinace in effect.

    Naked, writhing on my borrowed air mattress, I could hear voices chatting outside, but I didn’t care.  I came.  And came.  And came, screaming as little or as much as I pleased.

    “My blade down your throat.”

    I laughed, then came again.

    Later Kilawama told me someone in their group felt a little uncomfortable, saying it seemed like he was violating my consent by talking to me while I masturbated in private.

    “It’s my tent and my Hitachi.”
    “Oh.”

    Yup.  Oh.

  • SEAF

    Daddy’s Baby Bitch

    It was a small sketch, easy to just pass over, easy to miss.  But, as I gazed upon it, blue ink on paper framed, just sitting on a wall, my eyes couldn’t look away.

    She sat on the floor, her head in his lap; her hair cascaded down her back.  It was as if she were holding onto him tight, finding comfort and protection with him there.

    You don’t see him; only his legs and hand are featured.  But you don’t need to.  You see her, her devotion to her Daddy.  It was a simple drawing, small and inconspicuous, but it was my favorite piece.

    Bootlicker

    Hot.  Just so simple, and yet so hot.

    Her eyes closed.  Her tongue sticking out.  Her hands holding up the boot she is licking.  All of her attention, her focus on this one act, for this one person.

    It reminded me of the times I licked boots, and did other things to leather.  As I stood in the gallery, staring at the drawing, all I could do was sigh and rest in my immediate and sustained arousal.

    Two Parts of a Threesome

    They stare out at you, one with his eyes and the other with his presence.  The two of them, both beautiful, staring at you.  Through the lens, they pull you in.  Through the photograph, they grab your eye, your attention, your desire.

    You know who the missing part of the threesome is.

    Burlesque Beauties

    As I strolled around the gallery, I happened upon prints for sale.  Most were out of my price range.

    But then I saw a pack of post cards.  The backgrounds were earth tones, a favorite color scheme of mine, and the small drawings were delightful.  A dozen lovely ladies in various burlesque performance attire.  From the subdued suits to the flashy feathers, each had its own personality and prowess.

    I bought the pack, knowing I wouldn’t ever mail the cards.  These images would be for my enjoyment, my own small pieces of art.

    Gym Socks

    Again, it was something so simple.  Black drawing on a white background.  Very little detail.  More of an outline than a solid sketch.  But the artist uses his sparse lines perfectly, indicating the curve of the body, the form, the nakedness.  Naked, save for the socks.

    Two pony tails fling out to the side and her body is twisted, indicating movement, as if she had just turn away in shyness or, more likely, in glee.  It is simple, yet brilliant.  As soon as I saw it, I thought Yup, that’s me.

    ~

    As I walked around the gallery, taking in the art, I looked down once and saw boots.  Doc Martens.  The signature yellow lacing.  They were immaculate leather, possibly worked on before the patron came out to the showing.

    Their owner was on the other side of the art wall, behind the paintings, drawings, and photos I wandered past.  I never saw who owned the boots, never saw the form above the knee.  Just those pair of boots tempting me behind the wall, whispering for me to get on all fours and lick them.

    ~

    There was art you could touch: a book with pages sown in, a block of ice melting with each new hand on it, a smooth stone with twisting folding forms.  There were performances; the one I happened to catch was of a woman in geisha attire dancing with a fan.  There were films playing on screens.  The one I will never forget involved giving fellatio to a pistol.

    The Seattle Erotic Arts Festival was much more than I expected.  Photographs, paintings, sculptures, films, and live performance pieces spread out over a space for people to mingle and muse as they wished.  I saw a few friends featured, which made me smile.  I was captured in moments, captivated by work that I am still in awe of.

    There are many reasons why I loved my time in Seattle.  SEAF was the icing on the cake.

  • Memories

    The first night of Rope Camp featured Midori’s Meat Market, a fun little event to introduce folks to one another and start the dialogue for play.

    After the get together concluded, I eased my way over to Rough.  He was showing off his Fat Ass Rope, and I wanted a taste of the experience.  I asked for the pleasure, and leaned myself over a nearby table.  Instead, Rough called me over to an open area.

    First he gave me a few whacks, which stung a bit and turned out were his warm up.  He then hit me hard on my back.  Then my ass.  Then my thighs.  And my chest.  I starting yelping and eventually wailing.  I fell to my knees.  In a moment of clarity, I took off my glasses and slid them across the floor towards a small group of friends.

    Rough continued to attack my back as I continued to cry.  He grabbed me, pulled me up to sitting, and wrapped the rope around my neck.  In a moment, his blood choke took hold.  I felt my muscles give way.  He released me before my eyes closed.  A bit of drool leaked from my lips.

    When I brought my head up, when he knew I was back, he began beating me again.  And blood choked me again.  And my muscles gave way again.

    He went for my inner thighs, one of my most sensitive spots.  He regretted not being able to hit my cunt.  His rope was natural fiber and I wasn’t wearing underwear.

    When he finished, I got up, thanked him, introduced him to NYRCherryBondage, and went back to chatting with friends.

    ~

    “Ha ha, I made you have feelings.” – an attendee at Midori’s Negotiations class

    ~

    Sometimes I like to fly under the radar.  I know intrinsically that’s not what’s happening, but in my sub-y mind that’s how it feels.

    Wednesday night a few of us had gathered on a porch for cigars and libations.  I sat in front of Gray and Rough as they smoked and talked.

    Rough’s feet rested on my right leg; Gray’s feet rested on my left.  I always had my torch at the ready, as well as a selection of cutters, boxes of wood matches, and a punch.

    They told stories.  Gray taught MissAmyRed about cigar service.  I sat and listened, content, the occasional small sip of strong Japanese whiskey on my lips.

    ~

    “I am the Dom and you will brush your teeth with your left hand this week.  Ha ha ha.” – Rough, during is D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Friday it rained.  And rained.  And rained.

    I’d wanted to wear my new red leather shoes, but I couldn’t abide getting them muddy.  I opted for my boots instead, which completely changed my outfit for the day.

    As the afternoon came, I decided to do something different.  I grabbed my newly purchased camp chair, took it outside under the pop-up, and pulled out my new voice recorder.

    In the rain, with the pitter patter of droplets above, I recorded a Fusion podcast.

    There was a breeze that made the day cool, blowing the chill of the rain towards me, under my cover.  Because the pop-up had been erected before the turn in the weather, the ground wasn’t muddy in my sitting spot.  I couldn’t help but be happy and bubbly, even as the drops continued to come down.

    ~

    “His desires are my priority and he is where I point my devotion.
    “I am his treasure and I am to be taken care of.
    “He is my King… my dragon.” – MissAmyRed, during Rough’s D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Ropetastic had pimped himself, as well as his two partners, during Midori’s Meat Market.  As per his name, I knew he was into rope.  And I wanted a rope scene.

    I happened upon him in the Barn.  Originally I was chatting with my friend Nomad.  She started spinning my LED poi to make herself feel better, so I took the opportunity to speak to a rope guy.

    As we conversed, I realized we were compatible for a scene.  Since we both had time at that very moment, we headed up to the Dungeon immediately.

    We chose a semi-private spot, what seemed to be a lounge room with a few couches but enough open space for us to work.  I stripped down to my underwear, as did he.

    I explained how I liked to be challenged, how I wanted something different besides normal rope forms.  He expressed a desire to explore ichinawa, which I was all for.  We began.

    He wrapped rope around me in asymmetrical patterns, twisting my body this way and that.  He did not make it pretty, but I loved the pain all the same.  He, at times, pulled on my hair, ran a shrimp deveiner over my skin, sucked on my nipples, and tickled my feet.  He rolled my body this way and that, changed his tie multiple times, added a second length of rope, and always kept me guessing.

    We only played for about thirty minutes, but when all was said and done, I felt high, full of erotic and emotional pleasure from being in his binds.

    ~

    “The greasy basement slave…the dirty basement whore.” – a talk on fantasy versus reality during Rough’s D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Friday night we pushed all three of our beds together.  Saturday morning I awoke to dragon cuddles before breakfast.

    ~

    “I want to be treated like a pile of gold.”
    “You want to be a heavy currency?”
    “I am valuable and worthy of protecting.” – an exchange between myself and Dov after a late night run to Waffle House

    ~

    I felt like a voyeur.  No, worse than a voyeur.  I felt like I was intruding.

    It was obvious there was a connection, a slow building of energy as they writhed on the mats.

    I hadn’t witnessed it all.  At times, I was lost in scritches, lost to the rest of the world.  Pulsing pleasure from my scalp kept my eyes closed, my head bobbing about, speech all but impossible.

    But when I came back, I saw them.  Saw the looks in their eyes.  Heard the yelp, the growl.

    I wanted to sit and watch more.  I didn’t want to look away.  That energy.  That pure energy beamed from the two of them.  And I was only, maybe, five feet away.  Had been there the whole time.

    But I did walk away.  Because I wanted them to have their moment.  Without an audience.

    ~

    “You have a natural ability for connection…You seek out people you can connect with.” – Delano, to me, during his Bottoms class

    ~

    He held the balloon away from my body.  I was dirty, filthy from the grim on the stage.  I don’t like stingy, but I take it for the person I’m playing with.  I take it.  And there was the balloon, tied around my chest, and stretched taunt, ready to snap against my skin.

    He held it.  And held it.  And brought it back without snapping it.

    “Really!?”

    He pulled it out again.  I cringed again.  This time would be for real, I just knew it.  This time the pain would come.  And then he brought it back.

    I laughed and hated him at the same time.

    He used a pretty pink dildo on me.  He beat me with a pretty pink dildo, which stung like hell.  He used a collapsible baton and a plastic rod, too.  He punched me and wrestled me about on the dirty stage floor, attacking my thighs.  But it’s the balloon I remember the worst.

    Talk about sadistic.

    ~

    “If you are open to learning, you are open to deeper experiences.” – Delano, during his Bottoms class

    ~

    I spun my poi in the dark.  Spun my poi away from the group sitting in camp chairs out in the chilly night air.

    I stood in the middle of the road.  A cart came by once; I moved.

    I spun my poi and soothed myself.  I accepted my feelings, accepted that was how I felt.  Acknowledged the sad little girl inside me.  Acknowledged what little power I had over the situation except what I did in that moment.

    I spun my poi.

    Then we went to Waffle House, I ate some food, and went to bed.

  • Lessons

    I was driving.  Gray sat in the passenger seat.  I don’t remember how we got on the topic.  Probably one of my random non sequiturs.

    “The thing is, I have this harness now.  But.  But.  It makes me nervous.  I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

    “Don’t you have experience with a strap-on?”

    “Just strap-on blow jobs.  That’s different.  Fun, but different.  Less likely to be harmful.”

    “What about at FetFest?  Our threesome with NYRCherryBondage.”

    “Yes, but that was fucking a vagina.  Asses are more perilous.”

    “Well, you won’t hurt anyone if you listen to them and follow their speed.”

    “Yes.  True.  It’s just, to penetrate a guy.  To have that control.  And I’m not really toppy…”

    “You of all people should know an act is not inherently dominant or submissive.”

    “Yes.  Yes.  I know that.  I know.  It’s just.  It makes me nervous.”

    “Have you watched any videos on Kink Academy or PassionateU?”

    “No,” I squeaked.  He chided me for not taking advantage of resources I get for free.

    “As long as you listen to the person, you’ll be fine.  And just so that you know, yes, I am open to the idea of you pegging me, even though you danced around the subject.”

    ~

    The first time I licked Gray’s asshole was in London, the morning I was heading home.  The last time we fucked for months.  I didn’t even know what I was doing.  I licked and sucked on his balls.  Licked his taint.  Licked a little further.  And then I heard the moan.  It was different than he’d emitted before.  And I knew what I’d done.  I kept going.

    “Show me how dirty a girl you can be.”

    ~

    He stood in his leathers.  I was on the floor, rope harness around me, my hands covered in soap and shoe grease.

    As I worked on his chaps, I sunk down.  Slithered in between his legs.  My ass the last to drop down and through him.

    I sat.  Rested my back against his left leg.  Tilted my head up.  Massaged Black Gold into his leather as my tongue licked from his balls to his asshole.

    He bent down slightly.  Grabbed my hair.  Maneuvered my face how he wanted it.

    Later, when I finished his leathers, he asked, “Do you want to have some more fun upstairs?”

    ~

    At Shibaricon, he sat on my face, ass pressing against my cheeks, as he fucked my tits til he came.

    The night of my birthday, he sat on my face, ass riding my tongue, as he came in NYRCherryBondage’s mouth.

    There is nothing so scary and so arousing as having someone fuck your face, not being able to breathe, and not knowing if they’ll remember to allow you air.

    ~

    He laid on my bed, still in his leathers.  His vest opened out.  His chaps put his cock on display.  His boots rested at the foot of the bed.

    “You need gloves, lube, and dildos.”

    I introduced him to my drawer full of safer sex supplies and masturbatory accoutrement.  I laid the dildos by his side.  Gloved up.  Knelt at the end of the bed.  Held the bottle of lube.  Tried not to shake from nerves.

    ~

    Now I remember how we got on the subject.  It was the butt plug.  The Mr. S Piggy butt plug.

    I asked Gray for anal stimulation in our fucking.  I wanted to get the plug in before next Fusion.  I asked his opinion on masturbating with my introductory plug, smaller than the Mr. S prize.  Any suggestions he had.

    And then I mentioned the harness.

    ~

    He had me lube my fingers.  Lube his asshole.

    “Too much is almost enough.”

    He was specific; press, don’t poke.  I remembered the tip from the two Kink Academy videos I’d watched earlier.

    I pressed my middle finger against his asshole.  I invited it to open.  I pressed, and then felt the release.  I slipped in, just a little.  And then a little more.

    Gray asked for more lube.  I reapplied lube, then reapplied my finger.  Glided in.  My whole finger was in his asshole.

    He wanted another.  More lube.  Again, slow pressure.  And then two of my fingers were inside him.  I felt his prostate; massaged it.  Had his cock in my other hand; licked it.  Inside, I reveled in the moment.

    He grabbed my hair.

    “Don’t you forget who is in charge right now.”

    He let go of my mane.

    He wanted to try a different lube.  I slipped my fingers out; too quickly.  I immediately knew I’d fucked up.

    “I’m sorry.”

    “It’s fine.  Just remember, you go at the person’s pace.  Grab the other lube.”

    I did.  We tried it.  He liked it better, but I made a mental note to buy anal lube the next day.

    I laid my ring finger across my middle and fore fingers; held the three together tightly.  Pressed against his asshole.  Heard and saw the pleasure I gave him as my digits slipped in.  Again, I massaged his prostate.

    His hands glided along his cock and rubbed his balls.  His voice uttered his pleasure, until finally he said, “I’m cuming.”

    I quickly readjusted.  Put my mouth on his cock.  Swallowed his cum.  Played with his cock.  Flicked my tongue along and around his head until he pushed me off.

    “My only critique: I love it when I cum in your mouth, but next time don’t change up what you’re doing as I cum.  Other than that, you were great.  Now, turn around.”

    He fucked me with one of my own dildos before we both passed out for the night.

  • DGG #15 Fusion 2013 pt 4

    The pitter patter of rain fills the background as I chat more about my Fusion adventure (during a break in the middle of my Rope Camp).

    Time Jumps

    1:30 Boymeat
    5:29 Handfasting
    7:20 Rope with Bear (and a special appearance)
    10:03 Cigar Lesson
    11:14 Paying Dearly (canes with Gray & Rough)
    19:42 Warrior Kitten Memorial
    20:19 Poi Time
    22:00 My first bootblack shift
    23:38 Protocol Training with Shay & Stefanos
    24:35 Doug, the Dragon Girl, and our bootblack orgy

     

    listen to ‘015_DGG Fusion 2013 pt 4’ on Audioboo

  • DGG #14 Fusion pt 3

    Playdate with the Pros, D3, Bastinato, and a few fun moments in between.

    Time Jumps

    1:35 Playdate with the Pros
    3:48 a beer odyssey
    4:43 Poetic, the tour guide
    7:20 Waffle House
    10:05 D3 and his hotel room
    14:08 Carol Queen and Robert
    [14:28-15:02 podcastus interuptus]
    15:43 Bastinato
    19:50 Jon’s boots
    20:37 DM Training
    23:34 Black Beard’s leathers
    24:07 teaser

     

    listen to ‘014_DGG Fusion pt 3’ on Audioboo

  • Boymeat

    “I was disappointed I missed your class. I was demo bottoming for another presentation at the same time. So, if you don’t mind me picking your brain, how did you get over piss play?”

    “I’ve liked piss since I was a kid. The class was about piss play and different ways to use piss.”

    “Oh, well… Um, then may I ask your opinion? How can one get over their hangups about piss?”

    “There’s a few ways. Some people simplify it; think about it like it’s just warm water. Others will take the degradation route. Like, say… There are a few drops of piss left on my boots from my class, and only a filthy fucking slut would want to lick the piss off my boots.”

    I met Boymeat last year. We spoke less then ten words during our initial introduction. Hellos were exchanged as Boymeat began punching a mutual friend. I quietly excused myself as to not disturb the two of them.

    The Thursday night of Fusion, I patiently waited for my shift at Playdate with the Pros. I had arrived early in case Shay needed help; she didn’t. So I found myself with an hour to kill. And then in a conversation I desperately wanted to have. And then in a situation that both scared and thrilled me.

    “Boymeat, do you want to sign up for one of my playdate shifts?”

    “No.”

    “Shit.”

    “It’s so hard, the torture of deciding what to do. Knowing that you’ll have to ask for it. Get my permission to lick piss off of my boots. That I won’t give you any help. That you will have to make the decision yourself.”

    I bent and twisted inside. I was wet, wetter than I wanted to admit. The idea of piss play had been on my mind for some time. Readers of this blog may have noticed its occasional appearance in pieces of erotica as of late. And now here was this sick-twisted-incredibly-hot man pushing me to do the things I wanted but feared.

    And so, I leapt.

    “Boymeat, may I lick the piss off of your boots?”

    “Drop.”

    I sunk down to my knees.

    “All the way down.”

    On all fours, I stared at his leather. At the drops that would soon be in my mouth. I crept towards his boots, stuck out my tongue, and licked. Lapped up his piss. First one boot, and then the other. The event swirled around us, but the people were far way. My world held only my body, writhing in pleasure, and Boymeat’s boots for my tasting.

    When I finished, I stood, a huge grin on my face. Boymeat adjusted himself.

    “The problem with not cuming after your pissing class, and then having someone lick piss off your boots.”

    He must’ve seen my smile. Must’ve noticed the extra perk in my face. Boymeat is great at reading people.

    “I’m gonna go sit on a bench over there and light a cigarette. Only a filthy fucking slut would randomly sit down, pull out a cock, and suck it from a guy she’s never met. Let’s see if a filthy little whore is going to come by and service me.”

    As soon as he walked away, I dashed about looking for safer sex supplies.

    “Where are the condoms?” I asked Shay in my rush. She pointed me towards a small table in the middle of the room.

    “Poetic, what’s wrong?” asked Stefanos as he mingled among the guests.

    “Oh, nothing. I just need a condom, now.”

    I found the condoms, grabbed one, and scurried through the crowd.

    Boymeat had just lit his cigarette when I stood in front of him. He looked up and smiled at me. I handed him the condom. He ripped open the packaging, pulled out his cock, and put it on.

    In a breath, I was down on my knees with his covered cock in my mouth.

    As my mouth bobbed up and down on him, took all of him in. As Boymeat gripped my hair, guiding my lips along his cock, he spoke sweetnesses into my ear.

    “Such a filthy little whore. Such a dirty little slut. Sucking on some stranger’s cock. You don’t even know me.

    “You licked piss off my boots and we barely know each other. You want me to piss on you now, don’t you?

    “Tonight, when you’re lying in bed, touching yourself, you’re gonna think about my piss in your mouth. When you masturbate tonight, you’re gonna cum to the idea of me pissing all over you.”

    He fucked my face til he came.

    “Are you one of those lucky few whose clit is hard wired for pain?”

    “Yes.”

    He grabbed my shoulders, turned the flesh. He hurt me as I writhed in his crotch. First my head brushed against him stomach, then lifted closer to his face. My body snaked across his chest. My hands rested on his thighs. My noises came. He enjoyed them.

    He gripped my breasts, pulling, twisting at the flesh, deep under the muscle, rubbing against my ribs.

    “Please. Please.”

    “Please. I love to hear that.”

    I was so wet, so slick from his work. I begged. Whispered my pleas.

    He allowed me to cum. I twisted in ecstasy from my pleasure and his pain.

    He started punching my chest. Concentrated on one side. And planted the seed of yet more fun to come.

    “Sometime tomorrow, when you least expect it, I am going to find you, throw you to the ground, rip off your clothes, and pee on you.”

  • Vignettes

    When I dropped off Gray at his cabin, off loaded his things, and made sure he was good, I stepped up to hug him. I kissed his cheek. He turned his face into my kiss. He wanted more than a peck.

    His lips met mine. We kissed. And kissed. And kissed. I stood up on my tip toes. My arms around his chest.

    Eventually he ended our embrace.

    “You better go. My cock’s getting hard and you have to work.” 

    He slapped my ass and sent me on my way. I, regretfully, went back to setup duty.

    ~

    “I just wanted to ask for your advice on running for Dirty Pig.”

    “Well, you’ve seen the show before. You know what to expect. I think the only thing that might harm you is wanting it too much.”

    Brakes screeched in my brain.

    FULL STOP, yelled a voice in my head.

    ~

    “Maybe I’m trying too hard? Maybe I’m taking this too seriously? I’m gonna stop. I’m not going to talk about Dirty Pig for the rest of the night. And as far as bribing the judges…”

    “When it comes to the judges, I think they need to get to know you. You can’t just be the next person offering them something. Not just another pretty face. They need to remember your name.”

    “You know, I was thinking. I went to Del’s class at GKE. And I saw Carol at CatalystCon. And I just got an email about possibly getting a short story published. What if I spoke to them about those things first? Make myself a person instead another contestant just trying to get a vote.”

    “I think you’ve got this, Lil Sis.”

    ~

    “I just wanted to thank you for teaching Top of the Boot at the first GKE. I was fairly new to bootblacking then, and it was the first time I’d seen a class from the perspective of the person receiving the blacking. I really appreciated the presentation.

    “Also…A little birdie told me you were one of the judges for Dirty Pig. I’m running for Dirty Pig. How would you like me to bribe you?”

    ~

    “Yes, you can use rope for breath play. You can use twine. You can use piano wire, but then you’ll run into other issues.”

    “Mmm,” I moaned, while stroking my neck.

    “You are one sick and twisted chic.”

    ~

    “Other fun activities can also be used for breath play.”

    “Yeah, I know.” Rough turned me, noting my sly smile as I stood in front of the class.

    “Really?”

    “Yeah, last night.”

    “Good on him.”

    “Indeed,” I said.

    ~

    “How do you want me to prepare for your Basic Suspension class?”

    “Don’t eat a big meal beforehand, and don’t die in Rough’s class.”

    ~

    “Now, I’m at a disadvantage for my class. Poetic is an experienced suspension bottom. She’s suspended herself and others, and can make up for any mistakes or discomfort this suspension may cause.”

    Wow, I thought. People, even Gray, actually notice my rope-y-ness. I may be kind of good at this.

    ~

    “Now, what if she fainted in her suspension?”

    I let my body go limp in his ropes. Listened as Gray explained how to get someone down to the ground quickly. Felt as familiar hands lifted my frame, loosed the ropes, and rested me on the floor. Kept my eyes closed, and my body unmoved, as people “scrambled” around me.

    “Okay, you can get up now.”

    I popped up to sitting, smiling at the class.

    “Okay, everyone spread out on the frames and try your suspensions.” Gray looked down on me. “Can you…?”

    “Yup.” I scooted my butt across the floor, ropes still tied to my body. In the corner, I started untying his ropes and leaving them in neat-ish lines to be coiled.

    ~

    “If he were at Summer Camp, he would totally win Fresh Meat.”

    “Well, it’s not exactly a competition.”

    “Well no, it’s a popularity contest.”

    Rough looked at my friend.

    “Can you hold this please,” he asked. My friend took up Rough’s bag.

    Rough’s fist slammed into my chest before I had time to register his movement.

    “Thank you,” he said, taking back his things.

    “Thank you,” I said to Rough as he left class.

    I was a smiley-happy-floaty girl again.

  • Practice

    “Poetic, you like breath play.”

    “Yes.”

    “And I know you.”

    “Yes. Rough, do you need a demo bottom for your breath play class?”

    “Yes.”

    “We should probably practice.”

    “Yes.”

    Rough stood and beckoned me from the porch into the cabin.

    It was early in the event; most people had yet to arrive. We crept through the cabin trying our best to not disturb Gray was napping before dinner. We found an empty quad in the back, new beds barely broken in.

    Whispering in the empty room, Rough asked me about my previous experience with breath play. I informed him only one other person had used blood chokes on me: NHF in Minnesota. I described NHF’s technique; Rough was familiar with it. I also mentioned how NHF had taken about 7-10 seconds to get me out.

    Rough had me stand at the edge of a bed. He stepped behind me. Asked me to lift my head. Point my arm up and to the left at a forty-five degree angle. He wrapped his arm around my neck and squeezed.

    I felt my body fall through the air, but I didn’t feel the impact of the bed, though I may have heard it. It was as if I were moving through water, as if I were a marionette and the strings on my body had been cut. I never went out, never forgot where I was. But for a moment I lost control of my muscles, lost the ability to stand.

    Rough stood over me. “That was faster than seven to ten seconds.”

    I smiled into the mattress. I talked to him about my experience. Explained what it felt like.

    “You were in that sweet spot, loss of body without the loss of consciousness.”

    We decided to go a bit farther. Again, my arm rose. Again, his arm wrapped around my neck. He squeezed and I held my arm up. Held it with all my might. Held it until…

    When my eyes opened, I had forgotten where I was. I don’t know what I dreamed, but I know I dreamed something. I looked up and saw the ceiling. When I registered I was in a different place than I had been, that what I thought was real was actually a dream, my memory came crashing back.

    I was at camp. Rough was behind me. And I was high as a fucking kite.

    I was so gleeful, so full of the awesome with life, that I couldn’t stop smiling. I picked my body up off the bed. Rested on my knees on the floor. Looked up at Rough. I couldn’t remember feeling this good in so long. I was so appreciative of Rough for giving me this gift, for imparting these feelings in my brain, I asked him an odd question.

    “If it is not against your dynamic, may I kiss your boots?”

    “Of course.”

    I bent over and met my lips to his leather. I kissed both his boots in appreciation and adoration for my experience.

    My Wednesday had been shit. Setup had been difficult. And hot. And full of starts and stops. And took so long. Before I laid on the porch of the cabin feeling dejected. My camp had just started, but it felt like all my possible glee was gone.

    And then Rough’s arm had been around my neck. And my world felt right again.

    Rough had other material he wanted to go over before class. I stood, my back to the wall, Rough standing in front of me. With a quick move, he clamped his hand over my mouth and nose. I tried to hold back my lizard brain, tried to keep myself from struggling. But soon enough I couldn’t stop my hands from grabbing his hold. His other hand found my face. I flailed about. I pulled; he followed.

    And then he let go. And breath rushed back into my lungs.

    For his next practice, he instructed me to give him a double tap when I wanted him to stop. Again his hands clamped over my mouth and nose. My hands twitched. My feet stomped. I held out for as long as I could trying to stop my lizard brain from reacting. But, eventually, I tapped on his arm four times.

    “You know, since that was a quadruple tap, I shouldn’t have let go.”

    He pushed me up against the wall. His fingers pinpointed on my neck. I slipped once, twice, before I felt my muscles about to give out. Rough slipped his knee between my legs to stop my descent.

    “How are you?”

    “Excellent.”

    “How do you feel about face slapping?”

    “Absolutely.”

    Rough hit me hard across the face, left to right. He grabbed my head and bashed it against the wall. All the while, my arms lazed at my sides, scratching against the wall.

    “What’s with the gripping?”

    “When I’m cuming, or when I’m about to cum, I grip. When I’m turned on, or wet, I grip. It’s fun when I’m on a bed.”

    Rough sat on the bed to my left. I settled against the wall for a moment, perfectly happy, before transitioning to the bed on my right.

    “Why would anyone take drugs when you can do things to make your body this high?”

    I rested my head against the wall, lazing in my post play haze. In that moment, I was completely uninhibited, and decided to be bluntly honest.

    “You have this look in your eyes. You always have it. It’s… gripping. Intoxicating.”

    I saw his satisfaction at my revelation.

    “You know I’m gonna write about this, right?”

    “Kinda figured. Just wait til Tuesday.”

    In that moment before dinner, before it was time to wake Gray, I realized I didn’t have my notebook on me. I needed to take notes, now. I made my way back to my cabin.

    As I skipped towards my temporary home, a giddy-happy-bubbly-girl, I stroked my neck and said over and over again to everyone and no one in particular, “My life doesn’t suck. My life doesn’t suck. I love my life.”