poeticdesires

Category: Frolicon

  • 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.

  • Connection

    I expected little from my last night at Frolicon. I had already enjoyed a good event, nothing terribly momentous but a few days of chill fun.

    So as I walked towards Vlad and Itonia, I smiled, happy to see familiar faces. Vlad was dressed in a dapper pinstripe suit and held a length of white nylon rope. Itonia wore a black and red leather corset with decorative buckles, as well as a black skirt to match.

    Vlad was working on an asymmetrical chest harness on Itonia, but his length of rope was a bit short. When I greeted them, he was in the process of untying her. Once free, I asked if I could play with his rope.

    I’m not sure how the conversation veered this way but it was decided Vlad would go get his rope bag. Itonia and I stayed in the dungeon chatting.

    On a whim, I cinched the bite of the rope to my boot with a larks head and wound the chord up my leg, finishing with a loop around my waist. When Vlad returned, he and Itonia both agreed my work reminded them of a bionic leg.

    Almost as soon as Vlad returned, Itonia walked off, saying she wanted water.

    Vlad held rope in his hands, having wanted to tie Itonia again. Being a good friend and all, I offered my body for his work.

    Again Vlad wanted to tie an asymmetrical harness. He started by securing my left wrist in front. Vlad then wound his ropes all around my chest and over my shoulders, creating interesting patterns. He pulled a length through my legs, placing it in the cleft between my thigh and cunt. He finished by tying my right hand behind my back.

    As he worked, I found myself slipping into rope space. I leaned my body into his, brushed my hair and head against his.

    “You smell so good,” he whispered into my ear.

    Vlad too got into the moment, drawing the rope across my body, being brave with his ties. Before, when Vlad had tied Itonia with the one length of rope, he had seemed uncertain. I wanted to make him feel comfortable, wanted him to relax into the tying, wanted to get him out of his head and into his hands.

    Before we even began, while merely chatting, I spoke about how tying isn’t just about the final product. It isn’t just about the type of rope or the knots. It’s about the connection between the persons involved. A rope scene isn’t just about the rope.

    When Vlad tied me, we shared a connection.

    As Vlad worked, Itonia ventured back for a moment, this time with two new acquaintances in tow. She stayed for but a moment before walking off with them. A few minutes later she returned, my body leaning up against a column in the room, my moans obvious, Vlad and I deep in the thick of the scene.

    “Tell me when she looks bored.”
    “Oh, she’s definitely not bored.”

    The playful banter between the two of them only added to the energy we were building.

    I heard them whisper something about having not asked my permission. Vlad was then on his knees by my side holding his cane. I gave my consent to its use.

    My ass had almost forgotten the sting of a cane. Pops of pain seared my rump. With each stroke, I tipped my hips forward, then again arched my back, presenting my ass for further abuse. Itonia stroked my hair.

    As the number of his hits increased, my resolve faltered. I began jumping about, avoiding his blows. Cleverly, I used Itonia as a shield. She had positioned herself right beside me. I twisted my body, pushing my ass into her, anything to avoid the next blow.

    The two of them plotted. How would they get me to stand still?

    Pulling over a chair, they had me kneel in it. Itonia sat in a chair in front of me, stroking my hair still and caressing my face. I kissed her palm each time it came near my lips.

    “Do you like thuddy?”
    “Yes.”
    “Shit, do I have anything that’s thuddy?”
    “Your fists.Your elbows.Your knees.Your forearms.”

    Vlad began punching my ass. Whereas before I had yelped from his blows, my voice once again switched to moans. His punches rocked my body forward. My left hand gripped the back of the seat while my chest bounced off the seat’s back. I could feel myself getting wet.

    I stopped the scene for but a moment, asking Vlad to move the rope near my crotch. It was hemp rope and I didn’t want to…flavor it with myself. He loosened the rope. It now hung low enough to avoid my cunt which had turned quite slick.

    Vlad began his punches again. I groaned and grunt as he alternated his hits on my cheeks. And before I knew it, I could feel it growing. Could feel the warmth in my abdomen. Could feel I needed to ask him a question.

    “Please, please may I cum?”

    Itonia and Vlad were both shocked at my request. Being a good friend, Itonia gave me a little advice.

    “You have to ask nicely. And you have to you the magic word. He likes to be called Daddy.”

    In that brief moment, I was as shocked as they previously were. Was this really about to happen? Was I really about to scream the title I had only uttered alone at home while wrenching around in my bed, my self administered pleasure engulfing me?

    Itonia’s Daddy said yes.

  • Perched

    I initially saw them in the hallway just outside of the Dungeon.

    A Submissive, A Switch, and A Dominant.

    The Domme was female bodied, standing back from the Sub and Switch, wearing black Carhart pants, a black t-shirt, and black leather boots. The male bodied Switch wore a leather thong and a leather chest piece with a chain attached on the back. The chain connected to the leather straight jacket worn by the female bodied Submissive. She had no choice but to walk behind him.

    It was by pure luck that I had encountered the Trio. As Amethyst, Devi, and I made our way back towards our shared hotel room, I happened to gaze upon the group in an intense exchange against a wall.

    “Can we pause for a moment?”

    I leaned against the opposite side about fifteen feet down the hall.

    The Domme watched as the Switch held the Sub against the wall. The Sub’s mouth was covered with black tape. He held her neck while kissing her lips through the barrier. There was just something about that moment, about that chemistry, that caught me.

    Devi and Amethyst could see my interest. They said they were going to head back to the room and, if I wanted, I could meet them at the Burlesque show at midnight, in about an hour and a half.

    As they walked away, I turned back to the Trio. The Switch now massaged the Sub’s crotch through her skirt. Still, the Domme just stood back and calmly watched. A breath later, the Domme stepped forward, pulled back the Sub’s hair, and spoke something to the Switch. It was too noisy and I was too far away to hear them.

    Releasing the Sub from against the wall, the Trio moved. I stayed where I was, not wanting to disrupt their dynamic.  And I didn’t want to seem like a stalker. I watched as they progressed down the hall and into the Dungeon.

    And that was the moment; that was the choice. Go back to the room or follow them?

    I eased into the Dungeon, seeing an all-to-familiar scene: the last night of a convention, a room full of people, play happening everywhere. I glanced around, and through the ordered chaos I saw the Trio slowly slinking about.

    Instead of following them, I sought out an already in-progress scene. Almost at once, my eyes locked on a simple impact scenario. A man was kicking a woman on all fours in her ass. I smiled, knowing the delicious feeling, and re-positioned myself for a better view.

    As their scene intensified, his kicks grew harder, rocking her body on the ground, to the point of occasionally splaying her form across the floor. In a flash, she would pull herself back up. I knew that need, that desire to take the pain, to be the good little bottom for your top. I watched them play til they finished.

    As fate would have it, as they began to wrap up, the Trio again came into my sight line. They had finally found an open piece of play equipment, a mere twenty feet to my left. As they set up, I took a moment to slowly turn around, taking in the rest of the scenes in the room. I noted some amazing rope work on the main suspension rig, two spanking bench scenes, some wax play, and other various happenings.

    As I slowly rotated, a woman sitting on the floor looked up at me and commented on how much she loved my boots. The man sitting with her gave equal compliment to my leather. I thanked them.

    Slipping into a conversation, we chatted about the scenes surrounding us. The gentleman stepped away for a moment, returning with two chairs.

    “Would you like a seat?”

    I explained that I don’t really sit in chairs in a Dungeon, with my constant looking all around at the sights to see.

    “Oh, so you perch?”

    Indeed, with the chair he gave me, I rested a knee in the seat while leaning my body against the back. Catching bits and pieces of multiple scenes, my eyes drifted first to the Trio. The Sub was restrained to a chair similar to those used for massages. Her skirt and straight jacket removed, her arms were secured as the Switch and Domme worked her back and backside with impact toys.

    Next I saw a new rough body play scene had started on the opposite side of the Dungeon. A Top and Bottom fought, wrestling on the ground until the Bottom submitted. The Top and Bottom would then stand, the Top transitioning to using impact implements as the Bottom leaned against a cross.

    Also, nearer to the Trio, a whip scene had begun, the thrower kissing strikes across the receiver’s back and ass.

    Finally, with a suspension rig close at hand, there was also a steady stream of turnover as waiting rope duos prepped on the side while the current two-some flew.

    Surprising to me, I found my eyes going back to the rough body play most often. The power dynamic between the Top and Bottom sizzled even as I watched fifty feet away.

    The Trio’s play, though interesting, seemed monotonous. Lots of flogging, but little obvious variety. It was not until they broke out in a quite sexy threesome on the floor that they held my attention for more than a minute.

    When all my viewing eventually died down, I thought I might try to catch the end of the Burlesque show or possibly go to bed early. But, as I grabbed my things, I looked up and saw Itonia and Vlad, who I had met the night before. We had initially connected as friends of friends, messaging on Fet before the event.

    With smiles exchanged, I went over to say hi.