poeticdesires

Category: Dov

  • 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.

  • DGG #10: Shibaricon pt 3

    Some pizza, a pair of shoes, rope, rape play, and goodbyes.
    The last installment of my Memorial Day Weekend adventure.

    listen to ‘010_DGG Shibaricon 2013 pt 3’ on Audioboo

  • Breakthrough

    “I just wanted to say thank you for creating the bamboo rig and encouraging people to play on it. That was the first time I’d self suspended at an event in a year. I’d had an incident before which left me skittish. That tie felt like a breakthrough for me. So, thank you.” – Monday afternoon

    It was late Sunday night. Not quite the end of open play. Maybe two or three hours before the dungeon was to close.

    I was somewhat tired. The past few days of Shibaricon had taken its toll. But I wasn’t exhausted. I still had some steam left in me. But what to do with it?

    I thought maybe I’d drop into my voyeur headspace, roaming around the dungeon, watching scenes.

    And then my friend Meliffica approached me.

    “Could you self suspend? This guy created this awesome rig and all he wants is for people to use it.”

    I turned, stepped closer to it. It was a larger structure made from bamboo and lashed at the top. It looked similar to a swing set, its triangular middle triggering memories of my childhood. On its sides were two smaller triangular areas. These seemed perfect for small, intimate ties.

    I thought about it for a moment.

    “Okay, I’ll go grab my rope.”

    I switched out my bootblack kit for my rope bags in my room. I then threw on a pair on panties and headed back down stairs.

    I rested my bags by one of the smaller triangles. I took a breath. The nerves had already come.

    I happened to glance right and saw Gray tying. I glanced forward and saw Dov playing. More nerves.

    I stopped. Closed my eyes. Took another deep breath.

    Fuck it.

    I dumped out my rope bag. Picked out five 30s and five 15s, four red and one black of each. I placed them within arms reached of where I would hang. I took off my hoodie. Stripped down to just my bra, panties, and boots. I pulled out my gray flag and rested my safety shears on it.

    I stretched.

    I stepped inside the triangle. Rigged my ring.

    I took off my necklace.

    I breathed again, eyes closed, head rested against my ring.

    This is for me, and no one else.

    I opened my eyes. I began tying.

    As my hemp adorned my body, my hands remembered my standards. Swiss seat on my hips. Three bands across my chest. Ankle cuff to the right boot. A short length to lift my hips. The long tail on the ankle cuff to pivot me.

    I sat in my Swiss seat, raised the tail of my right ankle’s tie, and looped it through a carabener. Slowly, I raised my leg. Pivoted my body. Went inverted.

    My left hand found my left boot. My right hand held my right leg’s line. I rested in my body.

    The rest of the world melted away.

    I existed in the pressure on my lower back, which held most of my body weight. The swimming sensation in my head as the blood rushed towards it. My breathing. The slow turn of my body as the ring held me just above the floor, yet high above the world.

    I let my left boot go and allowed my hand to skim the floor. To feel the delicate sway as I moved ever so slightly in my ties. It was if I felt the ebb and flow of life in my fingertips.

    I allowed my right leg to come down, raising my body to a horizontal position, and locked off the cuff. Reaching down, I grabbed a 15. Larks head to my chest. Ran through a carabener. Locked off. My left leg tucked above my right. I closed my eyes. Lazed in ties.

    Again came the gentle sway. Small movements as gravity played with my rig.

    Coming back, I reached down, this time for a 30. Ankle cuff on my left boot. Through a carabener. Down behind my head. Locked off. Neck support, yes, but my whole body weaved into my ropes. My hands laid on my stomach. I relaxed.

    Did I want to try going sideways? Practice the new knot I learned on Friday? Do something with my arms?

    No.

    I was in my happy rope place, but I also wanted my floor time.

    I released my head. Lowered a leg. Then the other. Loosed my chest and hips. And I sat on the carpeted floor. My lines still attached to my body.

    My right ankle cuff became a futomomo, as did my left. As I tied, I remember Wykd_Dave’s words on how to tie. On tension. On being present in every inch of the rope. My chest line wrapped through each futomomo and attached back to itself, pulling my torso down. I felt an urge, and went with it. I reached out, grabbed my leather cuffs, and put them on my wrists.

    I sat. I breathed. Eyes closed. Taking in my body. My breath. My being. Sinking into my flesh. Melting away life. Letting everything else besides my body and my breath not exist in this moment. I found my Zen. I rested in that space.

    Centered in myself. Centered in my ropes. I sat.

    When it was time, I released my chest line, keeping tension, feeling the movement of my hemp throughout my being. I untied each futomomo with concentration, running my rope with as much intention as when I put it on.

    As I lived in my headspace, someone who had looked on came over and asked if I was okay.

    It felt like a window had crashed in. It was gone. My center. My Zen. One sentence and it was gone.

    I gave them a head nod and a yes.

    I continued to untie, but my love felt sullied. Too many thoughts and emotions came rushing in. Too many of the no-good-very-bad thoughts. All the things I didn’t want to think about or feel in what was to be a time of happiness.

    I had opened myself up. Exposed my being. And with one sentence, the light, my Zen, was gone. Whereas before I swam in soft calm, now my mind was a tempest of darkness.

    I shoved my rope into my bag. Took down my ring. Threw my hoodie and my skirt on. Gathered up the rest of my things.

    I couldn’t bring myself to put my necklace back on. It went into a bag. Trying to stem the tide of emotions, I instead tied my gray flag around my neck.

    I rushed upstairs.

    I dropped every thing and grabbed my netbook. Made my way to the lobby.

    Opened a new file. Named it ‘Emotional Diarhea’. Started typing.

    It was 2:30am. I didn’t know how long I would be at that table writing, but I knew I would not finish anytime soon. The storm in my mind ragged.

    But then, thankfully, not thirty minutes into my emotional expulsion, I was invited to tacos.

  • Sternum

    It all started Saturday night…


    “Move your hands. Move your fucking hands.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
    “I’m going to punch you in your chest. Twice. If your hands get in the way, I will punch you more. If you take the two punches, that will be it for your sternum. Can you do that? Or do you want me to keep punching your sternum?”
    “I can. I can do it.”
    “Okay.”

    I held his other arm. The one not going to punch me. The one resting on my chest. He reared back. Landed his blow. I sobbed, and prepared again.

    “One more.”

    He reared back. Struck harder. I sobbed harder.

    “Good girl. Such a good girl.”


    Then came Sunday morning…

    “Go ahead and partner up if you want to practice this.”

    I looked back at him. A few head nods later and I was on my back as he hovered over me. Scott went over how you would initially look for signs of injury in someone. The head. The spine. The chest.

    As I laid there, I remembered FrozenMeursault already knew this stuff. It was a part of his job. As Scott continued to talk, my partner sat beside me, not taking any notes. Instead, he got comfortable, leaning his elbow onto my sternum and resting his head in his hand. I started to screeched.

    “Sh, we’re in class.”


    And then there was after lunch…

    Dragon needed a partner for two classes. I wanted to be in rope. And he’d tied me before. So I volunteered to be his rope bottom.

    Our first class was Newaza to Fly. I found my happy place in his ropes. Our second class was Thinking Rope. Dragon worked on breaking down his TK and figuring out all the ways to make his tie better.

    Once, during a slight lull in the class, he remembered where I’d been attacked the night before. And that morning. And now, by him. He fashioned a different TK, with shoulder straps that crossed right over my sternum. The fit was tight. It hurt like a bitch. He smiled.

    But wait; there’s more…

    At the end of Thinking Rope, people gravitated either out of the class or towards WykdDave & Clover.

    Rough happened to look back on me as I was chatting about my day.

    “People keep attacking my sternum. Every time I mention that I was hurt or show off my bruises, my friends, who are Sadists… Want. To. Hurt. Me. Why did I open my mouth?”

    I saw the look in his eyes. The devilish glee. He crept towards me. I knew what was about to happen.

    “Shit.”

    One hand went to my hair. The other formed a fist. Went for my chest. Burried his knuckles into my sternum. I wiggled. I tried to get away. I screamed.

    “Why are you screaming,” he whispered into my ear. “We are in class.”
    “I couldn’t help it. My lizard brain kicked in.”
    “We are humans. You can overcome your lizard brain. Be a big girl and not scream.”

    He dug his hand in again. I didn’t wriggled this time. I took his pain. My muscles convulsed. My mouth stretched open. My eyes pursed shut. But I didn’t scream.

    “Now that’s a big girl.”

    I heard the evil grin in his voice.


    Not done yet…

    “How are you doing?”
    “I can’t tell you because you’ll hurt me.”

    I was walking from class. It wasn’t five minutes later. I was going to meet up with people for pizza. I thought I was safe.

    But then, somehow, Gray and Spicey were in front of me. And Gray asked that question. And I can’t lie to him.

    They both stopped. My arms instinctively crossed in front of my chest.

    “Everytime I tell people about how my sternum keeps getting targeted, they all hurt me.”

    I whimpered my explanation. I’m sure it was like evil candy to his sadistic ears.

    “Put your arms down,” said Gray. I did.

    “Open your jacket.” I parted the fabric. My chest was on full display.

    I saw his hand come close. I prepared for the blow. I flinched as he only slightly tapped my sternum.

    “What’s been happening to her?” asked Spicey.
    “People have been giving her sternal rubs.”
    “Where’s the sternum?”
    “This. See this. Right here.”
    “That?”
    “Yes, that. That is the sternum. That right there.”

    They both jammed their fingers into the center of my chest. I whimpered through my pain.

    Spicey’s anatomy lesson done, we headed upstairs.

    “My friends keep hurting me.”
    “You know, if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t happen.”
    “I can’t help it. It’s in my nature.”


    Yup, again…

    I sat on the couch, waiting for people to show up for pizza. Nomad sat beside me. I was happy she was there.

    “I keep getting hurt. People keep attacking my chest. It’s been, like, six people now.”

    I looked to my right.

    “Shit. Ava. I forgot. You’re a switch.”

    I saw the look in her eye. Knew what was in store for me.

    She scooted closer. Pushed her fingers into my sternum.

    It was the lobby. There is no play in the lobby. My face contorted. My body shook. But I didn’t scream.

    “If you’ll let me make you shiver and shake like that, I’ll fuck you.”


    My chest was given a reprieve for the evening, but not for the rest of my visit…

    It was time to go. The Closing Ceremony had ended. Rope given away. Money donated to charity. Time for the goodbyes.

    I spoke to Dov, who I’d barely seen during my weekend. I started bragging about my bruises. After he said he wouldn’t hurt me.

    I showed him my thighs. My arms. And then, my sternum.

    “You have no idea how hard it is for me to not hurt you right now. Just give me one.”
    “Oh, okay. Since you asked.”

    I braced myself. He held his hand flat, parrallel to my chest. He bent his middle finger. Readying the knuckle. He swung back. Then forward. Connecting in the center of my chest.

    “And, because it’s the sternum, I don’t have to hit you again for symmertry.”

    Thankfully.


    And now, the last…

    Our gradual exit from the ballroom crept like a snail up a tree.

    Rough looked at me. And remembered. And stuck out his pinky finger.

    “Oh god.”
    “It’s just my pinky.”
    “Yes, but your pinky is mighty.”

    He came in close. Leaned forward. Drove his nail into my chest. Twisted one way. Then the other.

    I scrunched my face. Splayed open my mouth. But again, I didn’t scream.

    “Good girl,” he said, putting his digital weapon away.

    He hugged me bye, one of many that afternoon.

    I took a picture of my chest the morning after I got home. The bruise, because I proved that yes you can get a bruise on your sternum, looked kind of like a heart. Sweet, and fitting, for my Shibaricon adventure.