poeticdesires

Category: DOWF

  • Baby Bootblack

    I had more than my fair share of memorable moments and lesseons learned from this past Winter Fire, but one in particular has stuck with me: I will always schedule myself for the last bootblacking shift of an event.

    The last two hours of my chair time at DO:WF were hectic, and challenging, and I would not trade them for the world. I can’t even tell you how many people sat in my chair. Person after person put their leather in my hands.

    I was nervous at first, but when I saw the long list of people waiting, and it dawned on me the limited amount of time we had, I found myself dropping into a zone I had not felt before.

    Fast forward to this past weekend at Frolicon. I scheduled myself for eight hours of blacking, two four hour shifts over the two days, one of which included the last shift of the event. My chair time was not as hectic as it had been in February, but it was still something altogether amazing.

    Just a year ago, I was a novice bootblack. I sat and watched as Elegant worked, taking pointers from her wealth of experience. Previous to that event, I had only blacked for friends, never publicly. Elegant offered up her kit to me, and a new friend sat for me to black his boots. He took pictures I later posted to my Fet.

    This past weekend could not have felt more different from last year. I was confident. I felt sure of my skills. No more nerves. No more fear. I sat in my chair and waited to perform my service.

    As the last shift ended, after I’d had a couple dozen people cycle in and out of my care, I felt great. I packed up my supplies with a smile.

    But my new found confidence was not the only reason for my happiness. As the last bootblack finished work on her last piece of leather, others gathered in the area. Her friends blocked the view right beside my stand. A person served as a table, holding boots to be gifted.

    When the last bootblack finished, her friends parted. Her mentor spoke words for and about her. There were hugs and tears and cheers. The last bootblack was gifted a shiny pair of boots of her own, showing her progress in her craft, her care, her dedication to her work, all that she had learned over 14 months of instruction.

    As her mentor laced up the new boots with pretty pink chord, I stood on the side of the circle, seeing all the faces of her friends. In that moment, I felt something stir inside me.

    I wanted that, the community, the fidelity, the shared comradery of this group of folks in leather.

    I am not where she is, nor have I had the training she’s had. Still, I am a bootblack (though maybe just a baby bootblack). Each time I sit down and work, I am learning. I am grateful for my haphazard training, for the many voices who’ve guided me along the way this past year and a half, and for those who will teach me more as I grow in my craft.

    And I hope, one day, I too will have that moment of a gift of leather.

  • Influence

    You’re the reason why we’re here.

    I knew, when I participated in the documentary, that it had the potential to reach people. I had hoped it would. I suspected not many people would see it, but I thought if at least some people viewed it, it would be a good start at acceptance from the wider world. That’s really all I expected, a good start.

    Leading up to the premiere, I was nervous. How much would the episode show of what was filmed? How would the kink community accept the work Gray and I had done? How would the viewing audience perceive the interactions between Gray and myself? Would they get it? Of course they were going to judge us (because that is what people do), but would their conclusions be a fair assessment of what was shown?

    As the evening grew near, I was eased at times by the random messages I got from friends who had, to my utter shock, seen the commercials for the show. In my mind, I never thought about that part. Who, among my friend groups, watches that network? Apparently quite a few people.

    And not just people in the kink community. One coworker, female and a mother, happened to mention it one day while we were at work. She was excited for me (You’re going to be on television!), even as my nerves grew.

    As the show aired, I was pleased when multiple friends sent their love via Twitter. The show was a hit.

    Afterwards more messages came in through FetLife. Messages from people I’d never met but had somehow found me anyway. Everyone was thankful for the way Gray and I portrayed kink to a main stream audience. Everyone was complimentary. Nothing negative ever spoken.

    And then came Winter Fire.

    I suspected going in, since the event was to occur close to the premiere, that I would get noticed. I made a joke of it, deciding that my badge line would be, “Yup, that was me.”

    And, sure enough, multiple times a day during the event someone came up to me, whether an old friend or an unfamiliar attendee, and thanked me for my participation in the show.

    And then there was this one woman. I don’t remember what day of the event it was, but I think it was Saturday, just before dinner. I was on the Mezzanine, chatting with a friend, when she came up to me.

    “Hi. I just wanted to thank you for your participation in the show. And I wanted to let you know you’re the reason why my husband and I are here. We Google-d kink, and found this event, and here we are, so thank you.”

    I was flabbergasted.

    I had hoped being on the show would make a difference. I had hoped it would help some people open up their minds about kink, maybe come closer to the understanding that it is just a variant of sexuality and not something to be demonized. I had hoped that maybe others, those who were curious, those who didn’t know there is a safe space for them, would find their way to the community.

    And there, standing in front of me, was all I had hoped for.

    The cherry on top: the couple was black. More persons of color, more diversity in the community, just because I talked in front of a camera and spent time with a friend.

    I had no idea what I did for a few days last year would have such a profound influence on others. It is awe inspiring and humbling. I could not be happier for the small impact I made.

  • Winning

    “Your blogs have been pretty intense lately.”

    Yeah, about that…

    I realize as of late that my entries have been heavy. Life, contemplating my place in this world, how I got here and where I’m going, heavy. And I realize that is not what one would instantly expect from this blog.

    Don’t get me wrong, and I will just say this to be blunt: I’m gonna write whatever the fuck I want here. That has been my goal from the start, and if that ever changes I don’t know if I’ll blog anymore.

    Still, I don’t want to give people the wrong impression. My life is pretty fucking good. Occasionally I’ll have these moments when it is actually pretty fucking awesome. Not perfect, but definitely awesome.

    Case and point (and bringing the sexy back, as it were), there was definitely a good hour and a half at Winter Fire where I was absolutely winning.

    I had arranged a playdate with Shay Saturday evening. In the lobby of the hotel, we discussed what we wanted from our scene. She was interested in fire play and positions training. That sounded great to me, my only stipulation being I was not in the mood for penetrative play.

    Heading down to the dungeon, we found a massage table by the far wall and setup. My friend Alice came by to watch and practice her fire play, to which both Shay and I consented.

    We started our scene with me just in my black wrap dress. Shay was pleasantly surprised at how accessible it made me as she took the single piece of cloth off to reveal my nakedness beneath the fabric.

    Shay inspected my body as she ran me through several poses. She wanted my feet in specific configurations, as well as my hands. There were variations between service poses versus more sexual poses. It all rung my service/submissive bells quite well.

    As Shay went through the poses, she constantly rubbed all over my body both with her hands and her boots. I was incredibly turned on by the end of her instructions and quizzing.

    Transitioning to the table, she had me start on my stomach. Though we had had a brief fire play encounter during the opening ritual, this felt more connected and definitely more intense.

    Shay traced lines of flame over my body, down my back, my legs, gliding the curve of my ass. The warmth was intoxicating. Alice practiced with Shay’s supervision. I moaned from both their touches.

    And then Shay got mean. Instead of softly swiping the line of flame, she began smacking my skin. “What? I have to make sure it’s out.” I yelped and cackled through the pain.

    Flipping me face up, Shay again danced fire across my skin. Bringing out her cups, she tried her darnedest to make my skin look like I was attacked by an octopus: no luck.

    She smacked my nipples with her fire wands, and then smacked my nipples with her hands, again “making sure the fire was out”. She danced flame down my legs and over my cunt (talk about a mind fuck).

    Back on my stomach, she pulled out a spritz bottle and blew balls of flame in the air. The heat came in bursts, warming my body.

    Shay again went for my ass. No more hair and no more dead skin as a barrier, her smacks to the extinguished flame were stingy tortures. Soon I could take no more heat on my cheeks. Happy with her torments, Shay decided we’d had enough pyro pleasantries.

    She helped me from the massage table, making sure I stood up without tipping over. Running through the positions again, I remembered them well. I love rising to the occasion and all.

    Shay brought me back to standing and aftercare ensued.

    As we were finishing up, Stefanos ventured over. With another set of eyes to watch me to as I came back down to earth, Shay went about gathering her things and cleaning up our area.

    “You look like you were set on fire,” said my pinch supervision.
    “I was,” I said, smiley floaty happy.

    Stefanos was in the dungeon awaiting his next playdate. He came closer to me, brought his leg in between my thighs, and asked, “We’re suppose to have a playdate, aren’t we?” He lifted his leg up and down, massaging his leather chap against my crotch.

    “Yes, we are.  We still need to schedule it.” I let my hands and chest rest on his body, trying to not lose my wits in the moment.
    “What did you have in mind for it?”
    “I was thinking we’d try me sucking your cock and then you fisting me.”
    “You want to try it or you want to do it?”
    “I want to suck your cock and then you fist me.”
    “Fisting, you say. You want to schedule that?”

    Stefanos raised his hands to my arms, softly pushed me back to the table I had just occupied with Shay for fireplay (the same table she was in the process of cleaning) and encouraged me to sit on it. I did so, lying back as before.

    “Fisting, hmm?”

    He reached over to the safer sex supplies on a nearby table, gloved up his hands, and poured four packets of lube onto one.

    Standing by my crotch, he looked over my body, locking eyes with me.

    “Fisting, yes we can schedule that. How about right now?”

    Stefanos rubbed his excess lube onto my crotch, at which point Shay returned.

    “Hey baby. What’s up?”
    “Oh, just your normal spontaneous fisting.”
    “Really, cause poetic said she’s not in the mood for penetration.”
    “It’s good! We’re good!” I exclaimed.

    I quickly rattled off something about how I wasn’t in the mood before but I was certainly in the mood for what was about to happen.

    Thinking while horny, I asked Shay to snag a chuck to put under me before we got too far into my “aftercare”. Slipping it under my hips, Shay happily joined in on the fun.

    By then, Stefanos already had multiple fingers in me. “I’m just doing want the pussy wants,” he explained to Shay. Truer words were never spoken.

    [For those of you who are counting, this makes the second time I’ve been randomly fisted as aftercare (the first being when I met Ava Amnesia at Summer Camp 2011). Did I mention my life doesn’t suck? Yup, winning.]

    Stefanos, having two hands gloved, put his second hand to use when he asked, “Poetic, do you like a thumb up your ass when you’re fisted?” Is there any other answer to that quesiton than, “Yes.”

    As Stefanos stimulated two of my holes, Shay asked if I liked vibrators on my clit when I’m fisted. I mumbled something about liking them but they were not necessary, though I enjoyed clit stimulation. Shay, being ever so kind, fulfilled this desire. Hopping up onto the massage table, she reached over my body and massaged my clit while her husband was almost to the point of being full inside me.

    As per my usual, I was quite communicative with both Shay and Stefanos during my “aftecare”. Soon the magical moment came when I told Stefanos, who by now had four fingers in, to push. He did, and slipped his full fist into my cunt.

    And then I was gone. Lots of gibberish ensued, including some of the hottest dirty talk I have ever experienced. Shay (Did I mention she is super hot with a sexy sexy brain?) started talking dirty to me, asking me if I liked having Stefanos’ fist in my cunt. Of course I moaned my pleasure at having his fist in my cunt, how I was a dirty whore, how great it felt when Shay rubbed my clit, how full my pussy felt with his hand inside me.

    By now Stefanos had inserted a second finger into my ass as he also worked inside my cunt.

    At one point I was so excited I lifted my pelvis up, bridging my body, as I fucked his hand. And somewhere there is a picture of this very moment (I know because I saw it on a projector screen in the Atrium the next night).

    I’m fairly certain at some point a crowd of onlookers formed, but with so much stimulation going on my attention was absolutely not on the individuals who wanted to watch the show.

    Needless to say, that hour and a half was so many different levels of awesome. I couldn’t tell you how many times I came. I can’t quite articulate how mind blowing it is to have two amazingly hot people all about you and your pleasure. And the feeling of having my pussy be so full and pleased… I really do love fisting.

    Saturday night at Winter Fire was absolutely full of win.

  • Opening the Box

    Everyone is a good liar from one hundred feet away.

    It wasn’t a big lie. In fact, it was a tiny one I’m sure everyone has told some time, if not quite often, over the course of their lives. A friend, who happened to spot me standing, looking about at the gathered folks at the event, mimed “You okay?” to me. I gave a head nod. Yes, I was okay.

    Except, really, I wasn’t. I didn’t want to admit this to my friend or to myself, but I wasn’t.

    Everyday I actively forget I will die. I actively forget the people in my life will die.

    Someday, my friends will be dead. Someday, my family will be dead. At that moment, only a few hours til the end of my event, I was trying to not remember that one day my mother will be dead.

    My Mom is sick.

    I got the call Friday afternoon, after I’d checked into the hotel, put away all my clothes, lined up my shoes, and rested naked on my bed contemplating my weekend. I was taking a shower when my Mom initially phoned. I called her back, towel around my middle, thinking this would be just a check in.

    And then I learned she was in the hospital. She had been suffering chest pains and shortness of breath. They admitted her, but didn’t know yet what the problem was.

    Thank whatever creator there is my mother was on the phone talking with me because when I heard chest pain and shortness of breath my mind jumped to heart attack and other no-good-very-bad thoughts.

    And I was in DC. And my car was not. And my Winter Fire had just started.

    I told her where I was (“at an event in DC”), and she told me it was okay. She told me to stay. She had had visitors, family and friends by to see her. She told me not to worry, something that was of course impossible.

    I asked her to text me that night before she went to sleep, and every night til I could see her. She did. I talked to her the next day, and she texted me again that evening.

    My Mom’s diagnosis is a blood clot, which had originated in her leg, but had traveled to her lungs. She’s now on blood thinners, and may well be on them for the rest of her life. She has a history of a clot in her past, caused by birth control and a sedentary job as well as lifestyle. But they do not know why she got this clot.

    The icing on the shitty cake came Sunday night. My Mom is also now a diabetic.

    For almost the entirety of my weekend, I pushed my emotions aside. I created a box, shoved all the feelings into that box, and scooted it to the edge of my periphery. Each time I thought the feelings might jump out in front, friends were there to distract me. I had amazing scenes and awesome friends time with so many people at the event. But my friends didn’t realize they were doing this for me.

    Even as I am working with Doc, it is still so hard for me to talk about my emotions. I have this idea that revealing my not-fun feelings places undue burden on those I care about. I have to be the rock, the one others lean on for comfort and care, to the detriment of my own emotional health.

    When I learned my mother was now diabetic (in her before bed text message Sunday night), I made my way back to my room, hoping it would be empty. It was not. My event roommate was there.

    I could not hold the box at bay anymore. I cried. My roommate rubbed my back and comforted me.

    I ended up going back downstairs, not knowing how I would spend my last few hours of my event. I walked around. I watched pinches of scenes here and there. And then my friend mimed their question.

    And, almost as soon as I answered it, I realized I was lying. I took my ass to bed, knowing that I needed to take care of me. I didn’t need to suck every last once out of my kinky time. I needed to cuddle up with my stuffed turtle and sleep.

    Today’s therapy session was obviously centered around this new development and my emotional wall to the world. While waiting for the session to start, I came to the realization that I needed to at least tell my roommates what was going on. Doc concurred, saying it would be good for me as both an exercise and an emotional release.

    After therapy I saw my mother. She looked like she always does, minus her makeup. Aside from the IV in her arm, you wouldn’t know anything was wrong. I stayed with her for about four hours. We talked, first about what the doctors had told her, and then about nothing important, as you do when someone is in the hospital.

    I walked away this evening feeling less scared. But all during my kinky fun, just outside my periphery, I was terrified. That she would die. That I wouldn’t be there. That I was a horrible person for staying. That I was making a mistake. That I needed to rush to be at her side. That I was a horrible daughter. None of which is true.

    When I arrived home tonight, the house was empty. I flipped through NetFlix, trying to find something funny, my self-prescribed medicine whenever life brings me down. As my roommates filtered in for the evening, I told them each about my mother’s current state. Everyone was comforting, and the world did not end.

    I have to keep reminding myself of Doc’s lessons. I am baby stepping my way to being a more emotionally open and secure person. Each time I’ve let people in has been a good experience, even though I predicted it would not be so. Baby steps.

  • Elevator Entertainment

    The final night, the final hours of WinterFire, of course I didn’t want to go to bed.

    I found myself in the lobby of the hotel discussing possible cookie snagging with TwistedView & Dov. In our conversing, I learned of the secret (not really) rope folks lounge up on the ninth floor. With the allure of sugar at almost 3am, the three of us headed up the elevator.

    But then, magically, we were treated to a show.

    Looking out of the glass elevator car, we happened to see some hot people having lots of hot kinky fun. Not ones to pass up an opportunity, we pushed the button on the elevator to take us back down to the 7th floor. We realized the action was actually happening on the 6th, so we lowered ourselves down, but not before I became quite giggly and super excited.

    “It’s Jim! Oh my God, it’s Jim!”

    Yup, Jim was fisting a lovely woman on her bed, curtains open, lights on. Not only that, there were others in the room, including her partner, who held a fuck-saw; there would be more fun for her later.

    To keep the elevator on the correct floor, TwistedView slipped his bag in between the doors. When the car eventually made its mean noise, we removed his bag, but we had already pushed the buttons for the 5th and 7th floors.

    As the elevator traveled down, I hopped up trying to keep my view. On the correct floor, I stood, still hyper and giggly. One floor above, I crouched down low, trying to keep my excellent view.

    As we three watched the show, Dov realized he knew the lucky lady. He took out his phone and called her; no answer. Instead he left the lady a voicemail, complete with TwistedView’s and my voices in the background wishing her well.

    Our magical elevator time could not last forever. Because it was so late at night, we did partake in the fun for about ten minutes. Eventually, though, the car was called up. We accepted a group of folk, and then treated them to a brief view of the show on our way down.

    Dov needed to grab his bag from the Dungeon and I stilled wanted my cookies. TwistedView and I headed up; Dov went down (snicker snicker).

    TwistedView led me to the lounge area. There was soda and chips and salsa and fruit and hummus, but no cookies. So instead we ventured back to TwistedView’s room. K2 is an excellent baker; TwistedView, quite graciously, gave me the last of a bag of her cookies. I hugged him goodnight.

    Ready to head back downstairs, I ran into Dov. Detoured back to the lounge area, we sat and chatted.

    About ten minutes later, the hosts of the rope folks lounge, PhoenixEddy & Anicca, appeared.  They sat and chatted with us for a spell. Time eased by, and it was soon 4am. Dov and I politely excused ourselves.

    Apparently Dov had not grab his bag from the Dungeon, having been distracted by another group on the elevator that he wanted to introduce to the show. I decided to follow him down to the lobby, my not-wanting-the-event-to-end thing kicking in.

    As we descended down, we again saw the curtains were drawn on the room. Dov attempted his phone call once more, and this time he was answered. After much jumping up and down, the folks in the room saw us and invited us over. We ran around to their room. Excited talk of planned peep shows for next year followed.

    Dov still did not have his bag though. We again found ourselves on the elevator heading down. When we got to the lobby, fortune smiled on us once more. Jim was there.

    Walking over, we greeted him with a, “Nice show.” We then explained the elevator fun we’d had. He was shocked, but pleased.

    Dov drifted off to find his bag. I stayed to talk with Jim. I mentioned how someone had added to his chest bruises, and recounted my Righteous Beating from earlier in the evening.

    I also spoke about how, even though I’d been stressed with AV duties, I had experienced some amazing scenes that made my WinterFire worth the struggle. And, yah know, he was a part of that.

    After watching a drunk gentleman in the lobby for a few minutes, we decided it was time for bed. Getting on the elevator, I pushed the button for my floor and he for his. But, for some reason, my button didn’t light up. We passed by my floor. I told Jim it was a mistake, but he didn’t believe me as he pushed into one of the easy buttons on my chest.

    We reached his floor.

    I mentioned IMsL, and hopefully seeing him there. As the doors closed, Jim mentioned possibly being in my neck of the woods before then. As a last thought, I said if he did show up in town, he should, yah know, “Call me.” I then face-palmed, upset at my ridiculous display of cliche, as the elevator descended to my floor.

    Creeping into my room as quietly as possibly, I still woke up Murphy and Slut. I quickly recounted my evening before ducking back into the hallway.

    Sitting just outside my door, I took a few minutes to jot down my last journaling notes of my evening. Satisfied, I again quietly made my way back into the room, slipped under the covers, and drifted off to sleep, another WinterFire in my memories.

  • Quotable

    “You’re suppose to be working on my leathers. Setup your kit.”

    Like our previous leather scene at Tied Down, I worked on Gray’s chaps and vest. Also like Tied Down, Gray put me in a restrictive harness which, of course, included a crotch rope. He used my same raw hemp, and I had, in fact, saved the happy knot from the previous scene, able to incorporate it into my rope work since then. Instead Gray took out the knot and create a new one, longer and thicker (but, of course, size isn’t everything).

    “Now you can play.”

    During our scene, Gray again instructed me on deep throating techniques. He had me practice holding his cock in my throat for a few seconds at a time and then relaxing. He held his finger on his cock where I last had my nose and encouraged my quarter-inch-by-quarter-inch progress down his shaft. But, after the lesson, he allowed me to just have fun with his cock. I licked and sucked playfully, smiling, my reward for such hard work and effort.

    “There’s cold water dripping down my ass.” – Gray
    “I am desperately trying to not get my ass beat again.” – me

    Unlike the harness at Tied Down, I was able to move more freely while blacking Gray’s leathers. However, I was also under a time constraint. Gray encouraged me to finish up by a certain hour and I did not want to make him late. However, in the future, I will be carrying two towels in my kit to avoid, um, leakage issues.

    “You should call yourself a Leather Bitch and Cock Bitch.” – Gray
    “What about Leather Slut and Cock Slut?” – me
    “No, you need to have Bitch in there. Implies you’ll do anything for cock. Your mouth. Your pussy. Your ass.”

    With my WinterFire fun-ness as example, I can’t really argue with his assessment. And I do already have a title with “Bitch” in it.

    “You love sucking my cock.” – Gray
    “Mmm hmm.” – me
    “I think you enjoy sucking my cock above all other cock.”
    “Mmm hmm.”

    Do I need to add anything to this quote?

    “Just so you know, I’ve gotten about a dozen thumbs up and way to goes.”

    There was a lot of activity in the Dungeon that night, including a scene with my Big Sis right behind me that I saw nothing of. In fact, I didn’t take note of anyone watching us unless Gray pointed them out (RopeBoi’s Phone-A-Friend; elbow count guy).

    Gray utilized my harness for torturing me in multiple lovely ways. Of course there was the obvious yanking. Like before, he pulled on the rope, driving the chord against my clit, pussy lips, and ass crack. God, the pressure on my ass crack.

    Second, Gray slipped his cane into the back of my harness and twisted, constricting the rope around me further, pulling everywhere, cinching it tight.

    As I worked on Gray’s vest, I often bent down to dip my dobber in my saddle soap. Each time I presented my ass. Actually, for the entirety of the scene, if it was applicable, I presented my ass.

    I did this for a few reasons. I knew Gray liked to look at it. I liked the idea of Gray looking at my ass. But, to be fair, I did want more impact attention. Gray eventually caught on, or gave in, smacking my ass.

    And then, magically, Gray started smacking my pussy lips. Over and over, smack after smack hit stingy and hard on my crotch, and I loved it. For some reason, I absolutely adore being hit in the crotch. It is the one type of stingy pain I can take and take much longer than on any other part of my body.

    Even though I love slaps to my pussy, love them, like all pain my body eventually makes me stop it. After what could have easily been a few solid minutes of nonstop slaps, I had to curl away from his hand. Pleasure ended, I went back to work.

    “My cock is nowhere near hard. Best way to get me hard fast is to stroke it with your mouth. Can you feel it growing inside you?”

    Gray’s rule for my orgasms during the leather portion of our scene was simple: when I felt it coming, I had to jam his cock down my throat. However, for that to happen, I needed to encourage him as much as he had encouraged me.

    When I finished his vest, standing in front of him, happy with my work, Gray rewarded my efforts with a quick succession of hard yanks to my harness. And quickly I was ready to cum, which then meant I had to drop to my knees and get his cock hard and down my throat.

    It was so nice to feel appreciated.

    “Look at you, showing off.” – Gray
    “I like rising to challenges.” – me

    By the end of our scene, after much practice and hard work, I was able to deep throat Gray’s cock far enough to have my nose touching his pelvis, just the way he had wanted, the way he had described as he started giving that scene’s lesson.

    “How can you do this? Writhing should make it less symmetrical, not more.” – Gray
    “I’m quirky?” – me

    Gray bound his harness on me intentionally a-symmetrical. He thought this would irk me, seeing as I tend to like things ordered. What he didn’t count on was my squirming from his manipulations throughout the scene ended up righting the orientation of the rope.

    Also, since I was so into making sure his leathers were treated properly, I actually barely took note of the tie, instead allowing myself to enjoy the feel rather than be nagged by the work.

    “Do you have a cigar?”

    Also like Tied Down, Gray spent the majority of the blacking with a cigar in his mouth. This time, however, at the end of the scene the cigar was returned to me with an urging, “Smoke this when you are feeling down or want to treat yourself.” I imagine, when that moment comes, my mind will float back to our time in the Dungeon.

    “We should say our goodbyes now.” – me
    “Yeah, should’ve said those goodbyes.” – Gray, about fifteen minutes later

    As Gray and I finished up, I felt I should get my goodbye in then. I had breakdown duties in the morning and suspected I would not see him before he left.

    As we gathered our things, Stefanos, Nerine, and a lovely bottom ended up claiming our equipment for their scene. Gray commented to Stefanos about our inspiration for our play from the class that morning. We then left so that they could have their fun.

    I drifted over to speak to a friend, but then ended up right back next to Gray as he spoke to Chey about our scene as well. Gray left, I gave Chey a hug, and set off to find a friend or two.

    In the hallway, Gray had been stopped by a woman who complimented him on our scene. I ran into the two of them and expressed my happiness that she enjoyed watching us.

    Once again, we drifted apart. I went to the water station, which was empty.  I found another, which had just enough to fill my water bottle half way. Gray approached me from behind, looking for hydration as well. I gave him half my haul.

    Drifting apart again, I found Big Sis and chatted with her. Thankfully, during our conversation, the water stations were refilled. As we chatted, Gray reached over, took my water bottle, and refilled it. He made his way back into the Dungeon area as I stood with Amethyst a little longer.

    But soon I, too, headed back towards the Dungeon. I had made a mental note, as Stefanos and Nerine began their scene, that I would come back to watch them. And, of course, I bumped into Gray again. That was when he made his comment. And, of course, that was the last time I saw him at WinterFire.

  • Warm Up 2.0

    With my beating complete it was time to treat Gray’s leathers. But, of course, first we warmed up.

    While still in the middle of my soothing blowjob, Gray again helped me practice my deep throating. He commented on how he liked the flutter in the back of my throat, which was the physical manifestation of my gagging.

    “Turn around; face down, ass up.” I obeyed.

    Gray began fingering me. I was incredibly wet. Quite quickly, I asked permission to cum. He refused; he only had three fingers inside me. He slipped in his fourth and fifth easily; I was well warmed up from my weekend.

    “I will punch you five times on your ass. On the fifth punch, you are allowed to cum.”

    One. Two. Three. Four.

    He hesitated, and then landed his fifth strike. I came hard, pushing back on his hand, enveloping his fist inside me; no glove, no lube.

    Gray started fucking me with his fist. He got down on the floor and hovered just above my body as he rammed his hand into my cunt. I asked permission to cum again. He denied me. I asked, begged, again. He gave it. My abdomen convulsed.

    My pleasure and pain rose with his strokes. When it almost became too much, I begged for a break, just a moment to breathe. He gave it, but it was merely a few breaths before he again starting pounding my pussy.

    I made myself take it, pushed myself to go further for him, endured more for him. And, because I did, I felt another orgasm rising. I asked permission. He told me it would be my last; make it a big one.

    He ordered me to cum. I screamed as my insides enjoyed the ride.

    Gray slowly pulled his hand out, but then stopped, enlarged his fist at just the right spot, and gave me a last wave of pleasure and pain from the pressure of his knuckles spreading inside of me. Without closing his hand, he pulled out completely.

    “You’re suppose to be working on my leathers. Setup your kit.”

  • Righteous Beating

    I stood by the back of the elevators, excited, almost jittery. I’d demo bottomed in a class, took a shower, changed into a sleeveless tight black dress. I wore my boots, as he had asked me to when I texted him during my brief dinner. I’d already helped Murphy with music stuff, and caught a bit of ManKraken!’s scene with crushpuppy. Now it was time for my reckoning.

    I stood chatting with Veskrashen, nerves, for the first time in a long time, overtaking me. I am such a fucking idiot. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

    I saw him as he descended down the lift. “Oh God.Oh God.Oh God… There he is.”

    I tried to breathe. I tried.

    It seemed like he intentionally paused on the other side of the elevators, though I can’t be for certain. My view of him ended once the doors closed. I waited, trying not to show my panic.

    He walked around the elevator bank, easily finding me. With my toybag at the ready, I followed him into the Dungeon.

    Many scenes were going on. It was Sunday night, the last night. Everyone wanted to get their last play in.

    He settled on a tall wooden chair with a winged back and post at its center; the seat was more like a stool. I put my bag by his bag and stood, waiting. He turned and stood in front of me.

    “Leather or beating first?”
    “Whatever you wish.”
    “That’s not an answer.”
    “Beating.” I made my decision quickly. I could hear the anger rising in him.

    Grabbing his toy bag, he pulled out and showed me each implement. There was the Brat Bat. His thumpy flogger. His new paddle, the one I’d christened less than a week earlier. His cane. And, of course, he pulled out the Twisted Bitch. I anticipated its appearance, and tried to not react when he produced it. I don’t know if I was successful. Either way, he already knew how I felt about the toy.

    He circled me, screaming at me. He asked me why we were here. I said because I made a mistake. He said it was not a mistake. I said because I hit him.

    He grabbed his paddle and began hitting me. Attacking my ass and thighs, my clothing gave little cushion to his blows.

    He yelled for me on my knees.

    He questioned me, interrogated me, asked me what I did.

    “How did you hit me? What did you use? Show me.”

    He stood over me, straddling my body with his legs. I mimicked the act, lightly elbowing his leg. “Yes, you elbowed me. Why?”

    “Because I wanted Chey to use my coin.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I’m Cabin Bitch. I have to save the day so people will like me.”
    “Chey used my coin. I got Chey’s smile. You didn’t want me to have that smile, did you.”
    “No; I wanted Chey to like me.”

    He unzipped my dress and unhooked my bra. He pulled my clothes partially off.

    “Get your fucking dress off! Get your fucking dress off right now!” Standing, I quickly flung the garments off. He ordered me back on my knees, and then reprimanded me for being on my hands and knees.

    He ordered me into a yoga pose, with my chest craned back and my hands on my ankles. I still wore my boots. He elbowed my breast, and I fell out of the position. I quickly recovered and he did it again. And again.

    “Why do you keep falling out?”
    “I’ve never done yoga in my boots.”
    “Learning something new today.”

    He continued to elbow my nipples and breasts.

    “Do you understand why I’m doing this?”
    “Yes?”
    “Is the fair?”
    “Yes.” What else would I have said?

    He ordered me up on the seat of the wooden chair, and yelled for me to grip the post. He pulled out his cane and began work on my ass and thighs.

    He asked me, on a scale of one to ten, one being almost nothing and ten being excruciatingly-can’t-stand-it painful, what his next blow was. He struck my ass hard. I gave it a six. It quick succession, he gave me six cane strokes. He asked me for a new number. I said seven.

    “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He struck me again. “Want to give me another number.” I kept quiet. “Now you’re learning.”

    He elbowed me on my back and shoulder blades. He came around and slapped my face. He elbowed my chest, and then yelled at me for not turning away to protect my face.

    He couldn’t elbow my arms, but he had an eviler idea in mind. Grabbing my right arm, he drove his elbow into my flesh.

    “What nerve is this?”
    “Radial,” I screamed.
    “What nerve is this?”
    “Radial! Radial nerve!”

    He switched to the inside of my bicep.

    “What nerve is this?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “What nerve is this?”
    “I don’t know!” I suspect he heard the desperation in my voice.

    “Do you want to phone a friend?” I looked over and saw Parker was watching us.
    “Parker, what nerve is it?”
    “It’s the median nerve.”

    “Really,” asked Gray quizzically. “I thought it was the brachial nerve.” He drove his elbow into my median nerve again. “I know this is the ulnar.” His elbow ran across the inside of my forearm. I cried out in pain.
    “Yup, it’s the median.”

    “What nerve is this?”
    “Median! Median nerve!”

    He pulled me down to the floor and had me lie face up. He sat on me, elbowing my chest. He used pressure points. I let out a guttural scream. He enjoyed that.

    “People like you. We like you because of the wonderful sounds you make.” He gave another reason, but I can’t remember it. All I could remember were my deep-chested grunts as he dug his elbows into my torso.

    In my mind, I switched to combat mode. All I knew was that I needed to endure. I made it about me overcoming his pain, going beyond what he could unleash. If I was going to get through this, I had to wrench back, if in no other way than to not let myself give in or give up.

    He had me spread my legs. He elbowed my inner thighs, tricking me again. He called me out on my assumption of where he was going next. That would be later.

    As he hit me, my arms instinctively flinched down and my legs flinched closed. He again screamed at me. “Put your fucking arms up!” “Keep your fucking legs open!”

    He talked about his old rule, of how anything someone did to him he would do back to them tenfold. As such, he would give me ten elbow strikes to my pussy. I would count each, and, once he was done, I would beg his forgiveness.

    He began. Each strike rocked my body forward, the blunt pain like a dull wave centered on my pussy but flowing through my legs and chest. I counted, screaming, almost angry numbers coming out of my mouth. I got to six. And then I jumped to eight.

    I didn’t even notice the error, but he did. He pointed to a person watching us to confirm. I cursed myself. We started again.

    I counted. He struck. I got through it, somehow.

    At ten, when the pain was at its worst, when I had finally endured my punishment, the tears started. I curled my body up, crawled to his left boot, encircled it with myself, and cried.

    “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Please Gray, please forgive me. Please. Please don’t hate me. I can’t live knowing you hate me. Please Gray. Please forgive me. Please. I’m so sorry.”

    In that moment, I didn’t worry about the leather and how my snot was not the best thing to treat it. I didn’t worry about my new crushes, my amazing scenes from WinterFire, the stress of Music/AV, or anything else at all. The only thing on my mind was the fear that Gray hated me. I didn’t want to live in a world where Gray hated me.

    He reached down and softly brushed my hair. Slowly, he raised me up and pulled me into a hug. I still sobbed, but I could feel the anguish diminishing. Soon my cries quieted to just sniffles. My head rested on his leather vest. I could smell the sweet aroma of the material. My mood began to ease.

    Gray slowly lowered me down to his cock and allowed me to suck it.

    “Feel better?” Smiling, I looked up at him, mmm-hmm-ed, and nodded a yes.

  • Girl Fight

    So… after Gray’s edict. After Chey & Stefanos & Nerine. After laughing and screeching, boots on flesh and twisted faces of pain. After all that, I still had a scene to oversee.

    It was time for some chicks to fight.

    My whole point for going to Playful & Predicament BDSM was to germinate possible ideas for what was to be my early afternoon: Girl Fight 2.5.

    Girl Fight 1.0 happened before I met SkinnyBitch and PrincessA. I heard the story of the incident, an amazing scene that the two women wanted to repeat. Unfortunately Girl Fight 2.0 was scheduled but did not occur.

    As WinterFire approached, and planning of scenes started, SkinnyBitch mentioned Girl Fight, saying she wanted to have another. With a roommate and friend like me who just so advantageously had rope, and would love to watch two of her friends go at it, I most humbly, joyous, jumping-up-and-down-screeching “Me! Me! Me!” volunteered to help make this happen.

    Since PrincessA would not be at WinterFire, SkinnyBitch had to figure out who else she could rumble. After a few thoughts, she settled on HoopFlyBurn.

    Now looking at the two women, they are somewhat evenly matched. SkinnyBitch ran marathons. HoopFlyBurn was currently slogging her way through the Insanity workouts. And though SkinnyBitch was smaller than HoopFlyBurn, SkinnyBitch was scrappy. In my mind, it was a toss up.

    When I entered my roommate’s hotel room, I was lent a special prop for the scene: SkinnyBitch’s rape whistle. As it hung on my neck, I felt so proud.

    Heading down to the Dungeon, the only open play area for us was the small side Dungeon across the hall from the classes, the first afternoon session just underway. We laid out three large mats. I set the ground rules.

    No eye gouging.
    No closed fist punching.
    There would be three rounds, five minutes a piece. Person who held their opponent down twice would win.
    They had the option of tapping out for a round.

    In attendance for the festivities were DeepEnd, RockStarIsis, Alice, Cairo, LooksRDeceiving, and Amethyst, as well as the other scenes going on in the small room.

    The ladies removed their clothing, down to just their underwear, and we began.

    For each round, I gave the ladies rope predicaments to deal with. For round one, both ladies had their right legs bound. I whistled the start and they began. Surprising only to me, the ladies did not last long. I had not anticipated five minutes being too long of a time span for their rounds. However, all the same, HoopFlyBurn landed the first blow, pinning SkinnyBitch around the three minute mark.

    For round two, SkinnyBitch’s leg remained bound, but HoopFlyBurn now had her arm tied instead. I gave the ladies a little time to breathe before I whistled the round to start; only three minutes for this one. SkinnyBitch, now with the advantage, bested HoopFlyBurn, scoring a pin. They were tied, 1-1.

    It was time for round three.

    Somewhat mimicking the rope in Girl Fight 1.0, I secured crotch ropes on both of the ladies. I then tied simple chest harnesses to each and attached the harnesses to the opposing person’s crotch rope. Because of the extra rope work, again the ladies were given a breather.

    With their binds secure, I whistled the start. Once again, they scrapped on the mats, rolling and twisting, each trying to get an advantage on the other. But, after the three minute round, no woman had bested the other. Both were exhausted, and their audience was left with a tie.

    I loosed their chest harnesses, giving the ladies more time to breathe and take a quick drink. With their crotch ropes still on, it was time for sudden death.

    Two minutes. Winner take all.

    I had the ladies start on the mats at opposite corners. Breathing heavy, ready to see who would win, I threw a length of rope between them. “Have at it.”

    I whistled the start. HoopFlyBurn got to the coil first. SkinnyBitch tried her best to wrench the cord away from HoopFlyBurn. In a desperate, and rather clever effort, HoopFlyBurn flung the rope away. (Later she mentioned how she had no skill when it came to tying and figured her best bet was to just get rid of it all together.)

    The two women grappled, tired, but neither wanting to back down. Finally, with mere seconds left on my iPhone’s timer, using the crotch rope as leverage, SkinnyBitch pinned HoopFlyBurn to the mat. We had our winner, oh scrappy roommate of mine.

    After the laughs and hugs, and cleaning and putting away of the mats, and finding the piece of SkinnyBitch’s nipple ring that fell off, we all happily made our way back to our regularly scheduled WinterFire Sunday.

    I returned the rape whistle, grudgingly.

  • A Playful Predicament

    First off, I must take a moment to, well, swoon. The trio of Chey, Stefanos, and Nerine is, well, an amazing wet dream. Each of them separately is a gorgeous individual. Together the hotness in the front of the class on Sunday morning was almost too much to take in.

    I had had little interaction with any of them before their presentation. I was so very glad that, by chance, I had this opportunity to learn from them.

    As the class began, Gray lightly rubbed my shoulders and occasionally brushed his fingers through my hair. Meanwhile Chey and Stefanos started with a game of Rock Paper Scissors; this was how, each day, they decided who was Master and who was slave. Stefanos threw Rock; Chey threw Scissors.

    To describe their dynamic, the trio explained that Chey and Stefanos were married, Nerine was Stefanos’ slave, and Nerine was in service to the both of them. Seeing as there was only one poly class at WinterFire, I was pleased to have an example of a poly configuration pop up in a presentation I attended.

    Chey and Stefanos made sure to emphasize at the beginning of the class that their presentation was on playful and predicament BDSM, not rope bondage. Yes, there would be some rope elements, but this was not going to be a rope centered class.

    With Nerine in her predication, clothespins attached to a line of rope holding a Hitachi just out of reach of Nerine’s clit, Chey toyed with her, asking Nerine how much she wanted to ride the vibrator. Unable to take the tease any longer, Nerine said, “Fuck it,” ripped the line of clothespins off her breasts, and rode the Hitachi happily. And then it was turned off.

    Chey and Stefanos talked about how the play they were teaching was still rooted in a D/s dynamic, but involved elements of the silly, joking, and playful. They emphasized having fun while still inflicting pain. The play took place just as much in the head as on the body.

    Stefanos talked about engaging the bottom mentally, giving them assignments that created difficult cognitive tasks. For instance, make them choose between two negatives (the horrible tease of an almost Hitachi or the pain of clothespins coming off).

    Nerine, ever the SAM (smart ass masochist), turned the Hitachi back on while Chey and Stefanos were speaking. “Did you turn your Hitachi on, slut?” Chey barked. “You’re only three fifths a person,” Nerine retorted.

    Stefanos next talked about negotiations of limits beforehand, as well as implied consent in certain situations. He made note of explicit boundaries (no anal) versus fuzzy boundaries (oral possibly leading to sex).

    Stefanos gave the example of a scene he had with Nerine Friday night. Stepping into the cage, he threw done his toy bag and said, “Let’s fight.” He did not give explicit permission for her to kick him in the back of the head, but he did allow for mistakes and mishaps to occur, which in that particular instance was the case. Basically, you can’t account for everything; shit is going to happen. Accept it and deal with it or don’t bother playing.

    Next they talked about how humiliation could be incorporated into the play. Chey suggested yelling at the bottom; she loved using the word slut. Chey also mentioned possibly thinking of yourself as a drill Sargent. Stefanos, who had experience in the military, was helpful enough to give an example of just such loud interaction, dispelling Chey’s previous view of such actions.

    When the talk of punishments came up, Chey mentioned a creative one called Spending Time With US Presidents. No one in the class knew what she meant. Chey asked if anyone had a coin. I, of course, pipped up that I did, but Gray quickly rushed into his pocket as well, as I leafed through my Hello Kitty bag, each of us racing to find a coin. Gray produced his a split second before I did, and Chey took his instead of mine, rewarding him with a smile. I instinctively… stupidly… idiotically… without thought or any notion of the ramifications of my action… elbowed Gray in his leg.

    “Did you just hit me?” I sunk my head into my chest.
    “No.”

    Where as Gray had previously rested his boots on my thighs, using me like an ottoman, he now pressed hard into my flesh. He slid his boot down and across my skin. He gave me but a taste of my future punishment.

    As I winced and lightly screamed, he bent down and said, “This is a class; be quiet.” For the remainder of the presentation, I suffered my agony in silenced, twisted facial expressions my only solace from his pain.

    Refocusing on the presentation, Chey suggested a good ice breaker for a scene: have the bottom lay out the toys in your bag in order of nicest to meanest. This would give the top incite on the bottom’s likes and dislikes, as well as where the bottom imagined the scene might go. Chey also mention watching the bottom’s body language as they laid out the toys. Maybe they lied about a certain one in hopes that you would not know how much they hated it.

    Chey and Stefanos suggested starting this type of play slowly. As always, no one wants to break their toys, and you don’t know what might trigger the person you are playing with. They also mentioned this type of play was good for experienced bottoms and novice tops, a point I noted to make to the Gent in our future interactions.

    Chey had Nerine write directions on the best way to eat pussy and draw a diagram. Nerine was given five minutes to perform her task. At first Nerine was her bratty self, initially suggesting step one was to boil water and step two was to scald the pussy. With three minutes left, she drew a squiggly line and started again. Nerine had five decent steps down, and something close to a drawing of a pussy, when time was called.

    Gray, ever helpful, pointed out that Nerine misspelled tongue multiple times. Chey, ever in charge, exclaimed, “Are you sorry for what you did? You made my pussy look like a boat!” And, of course, Nerine just had to use the word ‘moist.’ “I think the word is lubrication.”

    When it came to wordplay games, Stefanos excelled. He came up with ever changing rules for Nerine, so much so that even the attendees were baffled. And then there was his title: The Majestic Maharajah Maestro Stefanos the Magnificent. I think, though I cannot be sure, I jotted it down right. It was definitely a tongue twister.

    To be truly cruel, the next game they showed pitted one bottom against another. When Stefanos asked for a volunteer, I immediately shot up my hand, but he required someone who would not take joy in causing another pain. I was out.

    Instead another bottom came up to the front. He had her lift her leg and tied a rope to her thigh that was attached to Nerine’s chest full of clothespins, again. If the volunteer bottom dropped her leg, the clothespins would come ripping off. Nerine played up the scene, begging the bottom to keep her leg up. The bottom’s top came up to the front, taunting the bottom, knowing just where she was sore from the night before. Eventually, she could not hold her leg up anymore.

    A so-very-simple game was called Who’s Who. Nerine had to guess who was spanking her. Was it Chey? Nope, it was Stefanos. Was it Stefanos? No, it was Chey. Was it Graydancer? Nope, another random audience member.

    Towards the end, Chey toyed with Nerine’s favorite implement: the pink bat. Chey looked at Gray and asked him, “Gray, do you have hard or soft balls?” Gray replied that his balls were, in fact, hard. Chey said this was good because the bat was only for ‘soft balls’; Gray was in the clear.

    Gray took this last section of the class to change up his torture of me. Instead of his boots driving into my flesh, he used the end of his pen to apply pressure points on my head and neck. He never let up his torment throughout the presentation.

    As the trio finished up their lesson, taking bows with each of them showing their beautiful ass to the class, everyone clapped their approval; meanwhile, Gray punched me multiple times on my back. The attendees dispersed. I knew I was in for it.

    I stood up and turned around. Gray stood and said some of the most wonderful horrible words I have ever heard.

    “Tonight, during our scene, I am going to beat you harder than I have ever beat you before, and I will be justified in doing so. It has been a long time since I’ve given a righteous beating, but you have given me reason.”

    “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

    “Nope, too late now.”