poeticdesires

Category: Cigars

  • Day Pass

    It felt like a rollercoaster going 70mph, and I am just now stepping off.

    The plan came together quickly and quite out of the blue. I was hanging out with EmberBliss, FireMonkey, and IPCookieMonster when the Open Space at TESFest was mentioned. It was occurring on Thursday July 3rd, the first day of the event, along with an Ignite series of kink presentations.

    I knew quite a few people who were going to TES, and it made me sad I would not see any of them. But then Cookie mentioned going up just for the happenings on Thursday. I realized this was a great idea. I had to work on Saturday, but I could manage Thursday only, with Friday to get back home.

    I pulled out my phone, got online, and registered immediately for the Thursday day pass.

    Then another thought popped into my mind. I wondered if Ignite had all its presenter slots full. I texted Gray, who was running both the Open Space and Ignite. Before I realized what I was getting myself into, I had volunteered to give a kink presentation with an accompanying slideshow in three days.

    I finished the slideshow and my flashcards the night before I left.

    The drive to New Jersey was not bad from my home, lasting just slightly over three hours. I made it to the event by 1pm, only an hour after registration was suppose to be open. However, due to unforeseen difficulties, both registration opening and the beginning of the Open Space were pushed back.

    Once everything did start, however, it felt like I barely had a moment to breathe.

    I ran two different sessions for Open Space, and participated, at least partially, in three others. I had amazing conversations, small moments, and saw some hot shit (pickup kidnapping scenes, who knew?). I felt fully engaged in collective knowledge sharing of passions just as it all had to end.

    During closing circle, I found myself de-roping from a self suspension. As I listened to everyone speak, I felt a sudden rush of sadness. We’d jumped into the deep end only to be pulled out much too fast for my liking, but such is life. Hopefully the Open Space will be back at TES next year.

    After the closing circle, there was diner food. After diner food, there was the deluge, remnants of hurricane Arthur that dumped a lot of water on us all as we made our way back to the hotel. After much scrambling, running around, a change of clothes, and prep, Ignite began.

    I was quite nervous before it was my turn to speak. I was the eighth person (out of ten) to present, I suspect because a certain someone is a sadist who likes to watch me squirm.

    Even so, I was not the only person with the jitters about public speaking. My friend FrozenMeursault was just as anxious as I was about the whole affair. His presentation on nerve injury and damage in bondage, however, was amazing. He timed his slides for reveals, blanks for when he just wanted to talk, and animation of the human body that had people in the audience actually awing. When he finished, to a rather large round of applause, I rushed to go give him a hug and tell him how great he did.

    Soon enough, it was my turn. I took the advice of my friends and stood in a power pose (think Wonder Woman) before I stepped up to the front. Funny enough, I think the mental trick worked. I spoke loudly and with lots of excitement.

    It helped that my topic was less technical and more emotional. I spoke about influences in my life that led me to cigar play and how, because I took a leap at one event, my life changed. When I finished, I felt great. FrozenMeursault came up and gave me a hug. The pressure was off. A rather large grin found its way onto my face.

    Post Ignite, it was time for play. Cookie had planned a Spin the Bottle party, which I did attend, but first it was time for stunt sex. As a follow-up to our sex at Fusion during my gang bang (which I will blog about more later), Cookie purchased two baseball bats to stick into my various holes. People watched us with interested, and bewildered, looks. The attention whore in me loved it.

    Before the Spin the Bottle party could start, we needed to find a place to land. We initially looked outside in the courtyard, but the gazebo, because of the rain, was less than ideal. The group decided to find a corner of the dungeon.

    “Hello Poetic.”

    On our way back inside, I stopped, turned, and saw Boymeat with his wife.

    “I thought you weren’t coming to this event.”

    “I’m only here for the day. I leave tomorrow.”

    “Oh darn, and I left my cattle prod in my room. Guess I’ll have to be extra mean to you at Summer Camp.”

    I blushed, began to leave, turned back, politely acknowledged Boymeat’s wife and my pleasure at meeting her, and then quickly scurried away.

    After Spin the Bottle, which was lighthearted and fun, I ventured back outside for cigars. Almost immediately, I shot straight towards a familiar and pleasing face.

    I tapped Doug on the shoulder. He turned, and we were in a hug within half a breath. For the next half hour, we chatted and hugged. And I nibbled on his neck. And he caressed his face into my shoulder. And we made a date for the next morning.

    I had found Doug at just the right time. After we set our morning meetup time, he faded quickly and headed home.

    I spent the next hour chatting with friends as we partook of tobacco, and then dragged myself to the nearby hotel room I shared with Cookie, FireMonkey, and Ember for the night.

    This morning I woke up late, got to Doug’s late, stayed too late because I didn’t want to say bye, and ended up heading home much later than I intended. Still, it was worth it.

    My event crash came hard and fast as I left my Fourth of July cookout with family. I spent two hours with them, a helpful distraction, but on my drive home all of my emotions came rushing back. The drop I felt as I sobbed into my arms, while still managing to drive, was immense.

    I slammed into and out of an event in 36 hours.

     

  • 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.

  • Sunday Brunch Plans

    The buzz of the house built as the perscribed time crept closer.  Metkat stood at the stove cooking his famous meat.  Clash prepped the coffee.   Amy took care of french toast, hot chocolate, and busciuts.

    Watching the bustle of the homemates around me, I felt the need to assist.  Amy put me in charge of pretty.  As things finished cooking/baking/brewing, I sat them out on the tables in a neat and logical order.

    Our first arrival was Kilawama; he brought fruit.  A lot of fruit: multiple melons and bunches of berries.  They were washed off, placed in bowls, and I found a spot for each sweet treat amongst the spread.

    Next was a friend with cookies.  And then a few more people, a few more food items, and a few more names.  Within an hour, the house swelled from four to a dozen, everyone hungry for food and company.

    We ate Metkat’s meat.  We drank Amy’s hot chocolate and Clash’s coffee.  We sat and chatted.  Eventually, the suggestion was made to transition out onto the back porch.  Also the not-at-all-subtle hint was dropped by Amy that she wanted to watch me give cigar service.  I ran up to my borrowed room, grabbed my kit, and scurried back to the group.

    Out on the porch, we settled into chairs in an amorphic circle.  I sat between Kilawama and Clash, with Keet, a late arrival, on Clash’s lap.

    Now, with everyone newly assembled, there was the question of who.  To whom would I provide cigar service?  To be honest, I sat in between three people I found highly attractive.  Luckily, one of them was chosen.

    I stood up, took off my jacket, and laid it at Kilawama’s feet.  Cigar kit in my hands, I knealt down and presented my selection of tobacco for his chosing.

    As he looked through the few sticks I had, we made a fun discovery.  NYRCherryBoundage had previously mistakenly purchased a cigar with the note Habe en Cuba on it.  It turned out, she had not purchased one of those cigars, but two.  This was the cigar Kilawama chose.

    I prepped the stick using my Hot Ash cutter and presented the tobacco to him.  As he smoked and I served, I introduced a few nuggets of information for his knowledge.  I spoke about ashing into one’s hand or into another’s mouth.  I suggested blowing smoke into my hair, one of my favorite activites in cigar play.  He gave me the privelage of both eating ash out of his hand and feeling his smoke in my strands.  People delighted in the display.

    As conversation picked back up, Paradise was on everyone’s mind.  Paradise is a local camping event held every year in Seattle as a fund raiser for the Center for Sex Positive Culture.  Most of the people sitting on the porch were going to the event.

    It was my plan to day pass on Tuesday and Wednesday.  Seeing as I had no place to lay my head, I was going to drive out both days and come back to the city each night.

    My plan was altered by two gracious gestures.  Kilawama owned a rather large tent and an extra air mattress.  He offered up his space for me to sleep.  Keet planned to leave for the event on Tuesday morning; she offered me a ride to the camp grounds.

    Amy, the person whose car I was going to borrow, had no problem with me borrowing her car less.  She would pick me up for the airport for my flight home Wednesday night.

    The plan was set.  I was going to spend a day and a half in Paradise.

  • 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.

  • Hot Ash

    My hands shook as I held the match box.  I could feel all the eyes in the Barn on me.  Could hear my breathing loud as thunder.

    I struck the match against the box; no light.  Struck again; no light.  On the third try, it lit.  I warmed the cigar with the match.  Once it burned out, I used another still to warm the tobacco.  With the third match, I placed the cigar to my lips, held the match by the tobacco’s end, and puffed.

    Gray informed me of the Hot Ash competition about a week or two before Rope Camp.  I remember standing by the door of the Craft Room, the words “Hot Ash” coming out of his mouth, and immediately banging my head against the wall.

    I was already going to be in the Roperlesque for two acts.  I suspected I would also be bootblacking.  And now I knew I would be in the competition as well, held in between the acts.  Just one more thing to add to my crowded plate for that evening.

    When Friday night came, so too did the heavens.  All day it rained, in fact.  The weather woke me in the morning, kept me in bed through the first class session, invited a friend under my covers for snuggles and dragon cuddles, and permeated the camp’s mood.

    I intentionally left all my things in the Pavilion for Roperlesque (rope, my bootblack kit, supplies for the fantasy, and cigar accoutrement) during the early afternoon.  As the hour of the event approached, I headed down the hill to help setup for the festivities.  When I arrived, Gray turned me away.  The event was being moved to the Barn.  He walked my luggage across the river of mud in front of the Pavilion, and asked that I spread the word to whomever I passed.

    As people hustled to stage the event in the new space, I helped move tables, arranged a few chairs, and generally pitched in as we brought everything together.

    Roperlesque was low key, as Gray had intended, with shared alcohol, cigar smoking a plenty, a game of poker in one corner, a rig for the performances in the middle of the room, and one chair on the stage for my bootblacking.  It seemed almost the entire camp came out to relax and enjoy the evening.

    Just about every bit of my night was unnerving.  I performed an ichinawa scene with NYRCherryBondage, an act we had never practiced.  I re-created my Dirty Pig fantasy with assistance from Roughinamorato and NYRCherryBondage, another time in front of the crowd.  However my heart beat hardest during Hot Ash.

    I was the first called upon to demonstrate my service.  I had my kit prepared, a towel for my knees, and I exuded calm as best I could.

    When Gray called my name, a hush settled in the Barn.  I stepped to the middle of the room, laid down my towel, sunk to my knees, and became focused on my demo top.  I offered them a selection of a few different cigars.  I offered various ways of cutting the cigar.  Did they want it warmed?  Did they wish for me to wet the end or would they prefer to do it themselves?  Butane lighter or wood matches?  I specifically catered what I had available to their desires.

    When the cigar was prepped and ready, I handed it to the demo top, thanked them, rose, and stepped away.

    As the evening grew later, after my Dirty Pig reprisal, Gray called all four Hot Ash competitors to the center of the Barn.  Lochai took the microphone in hand, then distributed the inaugural Hot Ash certificates to the participants.

    For Most Entertaining Service: NYRCherryBondage.

    For Sexiest Service: EmberBliss.

    For Best Mashturbation: Roughinamorato.

    And the inaugural Hot Ash: poeticdesires.

    I smiled, sunk to my knees, and accepted my certificate.  I turned and stood before Gray could instruct me to not rise.  To my right was MissAmyRed.  In her hands was a piece of rope with a cutter attached on the end.  She draped the rope around my neck, my Hot Ash medal.

    I still have the rope.  The cutter is in my cigar kit, but the rope is my new favorite necklace.  It is a reminder of that night, of those people, of those moments I will not soon forget.

    And, as Gray put it, I am now a dual title holder.

    I am, indeed, a hot piece of ash.

  • 30

     

    I awoke, my head on Gray’s chest, my body curled up next to him.

    And then it hit me.

    I’m 30.  I am 30.

    I don’t feel any different. Are you suppose to feel different?

    I’m me.  I’m still me.  Just me, and 30.  Okay, I still feel like me, so let’s go with this.

    ~

    Gray took me out for birthday pancakes, his treat.

    “You order first, birthday girl.”
    “Shh.  There will be no more mention of that.”

    Later, after we’d finished our meals, but had yet to receive the check.

    “That’s odd.  She gave me my to-go box, but not the bill.”

    I heard the clapping before I saw them.  Three servers with a bowl of ice cream walking towards our table.

    Oh.  No.

    I cowered, half-covering my face.  The ladies finished their song.  Our server left our bill.  Gray captured the moment in a picture, forever displaying my awkward-humble embarassment.

    I ate my ice cream.

    ~

    I’d already been to Best Buy and my local sex toy shop.  Next up on my list of errands was the liquor store.  I parked the car, hussled inside, chose a twelve pack of Yuengling, and walked up to the register.

    “ID please.”

    I smiled.

    ~

    “How old are you now?”

    I grimaced.

    “Thirty.  How old are you?”

    “More than thirty.”

    “Oh.”

    ~

    I invited about half a dozen coworkers over to my house for crabs, beer, and shooting the shit.  We ate.  We drank.  We shot the shit.

    And then NYRCherryBondage arrived.  I hugged her for so long at my front door.  She was here, actually here.

    She brought her stuff inside.  I introduced her to my work friends.  Took her downstairs to see Gray for a hug.

    Later, she opened up her suitcase and revealed the motherload: a ridiculous stash of chocolate.  All kinds of chocolate.  Everyone convened on my livingroom floor to marvel at the display.

    I created my own separate pile, chocolate I planned to hide away before the others descended.  It was my birthday, afterall.

    One of my roommates came down stairs; joined our group.  More chatting.  More laughs.

    For a moment, I stepped back and marveled at the disparate parts of my life together on my living room floor.

    ~

    I kicked my coworkers out around 8pm.

    The Sun Room was already covered.  Gray had been in town since Fusion; no need to take the fabric down til his departure.

    Gray, NYRCherryBondage, and I relaxed, the haze of their cigar smoke in the air.

    She extended her hand, ash in the middle of her palm.

    “It’s been a long time.”

    I leaned forward.  Licked her hand.  Ate her ash.  Shared that connection with her again.

    “Lift up your pussy.”

    Gray tossed about ash in his hand.  I planted my feet.  Gripped the carpet with my hands.  Lifted my hips.  He slapped his ash across my lips, a sweet sting to my wet cunt.

    She got on the ground.  Licked my thighs.  Licked up the ash.  And then licked my lips.  I moaned.  Relaxed into the floor.  Clawed at the carpet.  Enjoyed it.

    Gray stood; moved towards my head.  Knealt.  Held my wrists down.

    I writhed; breathed heavy.

    Gray readjusted.  Put his shins across my wrists.  Grabbed my shirt.  Pulled it up over my head.  Held fabric across my mouth.  Gagged me with my own clothing, certainly not a first.

    Still, I moaned.  And, eventually, begged.  Begged to cum.

    ~

    I was still covered in his ash and her saliva.  I was tired, but still smiling.  I had had a good birthday.  No, a great birthday.  And I had the both of them with me, soon in my bed.

    I curled up under the covers.  Waited for them to join me.

    Gray bounded into my room.  Slipped into my bed.  Snuggled up beside me.  He was cold.  Incredibly cold.  Had just taken a shower.  Pulled my body into his.  Shocked me from my sleepy daze.

    Helen joined us.

    And then, somehow, I was sucking his cock.

    And she starting sucking his cock. too.

    And I moved to his balls.  And then licking his asshole.

    “Someone needs to bring their pussy up here.”

    I turned my body.  Straddled his chest.  Tilted my hips towards his mouth.  Started moaning instantly.

    He came in her mouth.  She dripped his cum into my mouth.

    And then we were kissing.

    And he was fingering her, fucking her with his hand.

    And then he was fingering me too, almost fisting me.  And we were both moaning from his work.

    And holy fuck.

    Best.  Birthday.  EVER!

     
    An addition, in case you wanted to hear me reading the story.
     

    listen to ‘PD 7.27.13 30’ on Audioboo

  • 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

  • Exchange Rate

    I dropped off my netbook and my cigar play kit at the cabin.  It was late, but I was awake.  I decided to wander.

    I didn’t go far.  As I crossed the grass in front of my cabin, I saw people gathered in front of the horseshoe.  Gray, Lochai, and Rough were there, smoking cigars and enjoying the company.

    I took a seat.  Pulled out my notebook.  Wrote about my day.

    As I worked, Rough called me over; he had a head of ash for my consumption.

    After my treat, the back and forth to Oink began.  Rough asked me to retrieve his wristband for the Whorephange game.  Then he wanted his money from the packet.  Then his leather wrist band.  Then he sent one of them back.  Once, I remarked to myself, Ah, the joys of service; I feel like a gopher.  I laughed to myself and kept to my task.

    As I nestled on the grass, Rough had me tear up the sheets of paper that were his money.  He then needed to sign the back of each fake bill.  As he worked, I offered him a business deal.

    The rules of Whorephange stated as a bottom I won if I had the most money in the end.  Rough could win if he had his signature on the most bills.  I suggested Rough and I trade money.  He’d have his name on twice as much fake cash to start.  I would have a pile of fake cash to claim as my own.

    Rough didn’t quite like my terms.  He didn’t want a 1 to 1 deal.  He wanted more bang for his buck.  A 3 to 1 ratio was his preferred exchange.  Since we each received $1400, Gray calculated this would be about $470.

    “$500,” I countered.

    “You want to go against Gray’s wishes?”

    “Yes.  I know I’ll pay dearly for that.”

    I was sent back to the cabin, this time under Gray’s direction, to retrieve his big bundle of ow.

    When I returned, Gray made me play a little game. First I picked three toys; they were immediately discarded. Next I picked two more. They were kept. Both were canes. The last toy I picked was the one Gray would use on me. The other cane was for Rough to use on me some time in the future.

    Gray wanted me face down in the grass, but first I was to strip.  As I gave my show, I turned my body so both Rough and Gray would enjoy the reveal.

    Twisting my body, I got on my hands and knees, my head by Rough’s boots.  Gray stood.  Asked me what ratio of cane strikes I thought I deserved.  I suggested 1 to 10.

    “No,” said Gray.  “You said one word that cost you.  You said you’d pay ‘dearly’.  One to one; thirty cane strokes.”

    “That’s a lot,” said Rough.  “I may get bored and just leave.”  I looked up at him.

    “Am I ever boring?”  Rough gave me an intrigued look.  “I am never boring.”

    I laid in the grass.

    Gray came down on my ass hard.  I whimpered.  Said, “One, thank you.”  He continued.

    I sobbed.  I writhed in the grass.  I counted each of Gray’s strikes and thanked him for each punishment.

    Rough rested his boots on my back as Gray attacked my ass.  Gray’s strokes grew worse and worse through to the final lashing blow.  Once he finished, Gray sat back down and join Rough in his use of me as a foot stool.

    When I regained my composure, Rough leaned down with a stack of money, signed.  I had earned my payment.  He said I could deliver his cash whenever; he trusted me.  He stood, ready to go.  I tried to peek under his kilt.  He wagged his finger no at me, then left.

    Gray, however, wasn’t quite done yet.

    He stood up and began alternately caning and kicking me to the beat of the music playing in the background.  He had me flip onto my back.  And then he began kicking my cunt.

    “Are you gonna cum on my boot?”

    “If you let me.”

    “Sure, but you have to do it before the song ends.”

    I writhed my clit against the sole of his boot.  Heard his instruction and let my orgasm fly.  Squirmed in the grass as the pleasure raced through me.  Smiled, happy and sore.

    I tied up his big bundle of ow.  Returned it to his cabin.  Came back and saw my friend ArrogantSlut arrive.

    “I was just stood up for my bootblacking,” he said as I re-entered the lounge area.

    “No,” I said.  “I didn’t stand you up.  I was in the middle of a scene.”

    I ran back to my cabin.  Grabbed my bootblack kit.  Set up in the grass by him.  Began working on his shoes.

    Gray was tired.  He gathered his things, kissed me on my cheek, and headed off to bed.

  • DGG #12 Fusion pt 1

    Some breath play, some ash, a little pain and pleasure.  And this was just the first day…

     

    listen to ‘012_DGG Fusion 2013 pt 1’ on Audioboo