Category: FrozenMeursault

  • 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.

     

  • 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.

  • DGG #9: Shibaricon 2013 pt 2

    The second installment of my fun over Memorial Day weekend.
    Cigars, the Cabaret, and my sternum, oh my…

  • Triad

    I sat in the back. Tribble sat in the front. FrozenMeursault drove.

    It was Sunday night, the last night at Shibaricon, and they wanted tacos.

    I wanted a distraction from my emotional diarrhea. Late night food seemed perfect.

    We made our way into the city, parked, and stepped into Arturo’s, a 24hr taco spot. Both FM and I ordered juevos rancheros. Tribble got tacos from which we all pilfered. There was chips and super hot salsa that I avoided. FM ordered juice which he loved just a little to much.

    We all played on our phones. Chatted. Occasionally watched the tela novela on the TVs above us. Bragged a bit about our evenings and past play at the event.

    Late night breakfast consumed, we all wanted dessert. Walking next door, we visited the other 24hr taco spot, Lazo’s. Ordered two flan, split among the three of us, and a strawberry shake, which just FM and I shared. We sat through horrible service, but enjoyed our desserts all the same.

    By the time we were on our way back, all three of us were exhausted enough to pass out once we arrived at the hotel.

    The next afternoon, after the closing ceremony. After lots of people exited stage left, starting their treks home. After I could endure no more long goodbyes, I found myself in their room, lazing on one of the beds, watching horrible TV, but happy to be with them.

    And it occurred to me: I was going to miss our little triad.

    I spent a large chunk of my Shibaricon hanging out with FM and Tribble. We dined a bunch together. Took a few classes together. FM and I played a few times. They were a sizable portion of my event. Two people I never expected to connect with, and yet.

    It was sort of a running joke throughout Shibaricon between the three of us. Tribble brought it up during a lunch, saying how much she enjoyed our little triad. I smiled to myself, not thinking much of the comment.

    But her words were true. We were a fun trio, sharing much of our event with each other. I took the beating Tribble didn’t want. Bottomed to FM when she had other obligations. Encouraged her in her kinky pursuits. FM and I connected in our play. Enjoyed rope and tears, pain and leather. When they needed space, I gave it. When I needed space, I took it. It was kind of perfect.

    And now, two weeks out, yeah. I miss our little triad.

  • Beating

    The Cabaret had just ended. There was a crush of people in the hall. A slow lumbering line out of the main dungeon.

    I was excited, anxious, at what awaited me.

    He stood at the first aid table. When I arrived, he looked me up and down.

    “Am I ripping that off of you?”
    “Uh, no.”

    Costume change. I took off my tight strapless black dress. Got naked in the hallway. Threw on a tank top and boxers.

    He had a rig held for us. We walked back through the throng. Back into the dungeon. Back towards my fate.

    His toy bag sat by a wooden double frame. Scenes were just starting up. We sat down our stuff. Laid down a sheet. Created our space.

    He started pulling out all the items in his toy bag. Mean things. Horrible things. Rope-y things. Many many things.

    He jumped up on the frame. Pulled up, testing the strength of the wood. He thought he might tie me at some point. He never did. But I didn’t care.

    I was a ball of nerves. Jumpy. But also horny. He wore boots. His outfit looked vaguely military. This was going to be brutal.

    Still, I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I talked. Stammered a bit. Giggled a bit. He bought into the ruse. We both knew it was just a matter of moments, though, before I was on the floor.

    In the blink of an eye, I was splayed out on the sheet, sobbing immediately. He went from zero to ten; no warm up. Pulled out his knife. Tore open my shirt. Slashed at my boxers.

    He punched. Kicked a bit. And slapped. Fuck, he wouldn’t stop slapping me. My face. My arms. My back. My ass. That was the worst, at first. The stingy, unforgiving pain. And then gripping the surface he just assaulted. Rubbing in the hurt. Making it last that much longer. It was intense and almost overwhelming.

    But then he started with his toys.

    A small marble dagger-shaped paddle. Smacking my breasts. Attacking my nipples.

    His bath brush, minus the loofah. Burning stings to my biceps, my thighs. It created impressive bruises from the start.

    His cane struck all over me. He’d hit a spot. I’d curl in, trying to get away. But it just gave him something new to attack.

    My hands flew out instinctively trying to stop the pain. He yelled at me for this. And then came the punishment for my infringement: my sternum.

    He slapped my sternum. Hard. And then he told me what he was going to do. Told me he was going to punch my sternum. Told me, if my hands got in the way, he would punch me more than the two times he had planned. He asked me if I could take the two punches without blocking with my hands. Or did I want more?

    He punched me once, twice. It hurt like a bitch. And yet, it was the kind of delicious pain I crave.

    All during his tortures, he took moments to check in with me. Coming in close to my face. Whispering in my ear as I sobbed.

    “Are you okay?”
    “I’m okay.”
    “Do you want to stop?”
    “No,” I whimpered each time.
    “Good girl. You are such a good girl.”

    He took the remains of my clothes. Put them to my face. Wiped away my tears and the snot.

    Once, in the middle of our scene, he asked me a question I suppose many wonder about.

    “Why do you do this?”

    Through snot and tears. Trying to more than mumble. Trying to speak so he could actually hear me, I answered him.

    “Because it forces me to cry. The pain takes me to a place where I can’t ignore emotions. I like to cry. Love the release. And I like to know I can take it. I can take the pain. Even when it really hurts.”

    But he wasn’t always sweet with his words. Wasn’t always kind. More often than not, he was just the opposite.

    “You are in way over your head,” he said, many times, an evil laugh following.

    During one check-in, my back on the floor, looking up at him, he asked me if I wanted to stop. I had no sense of time at that point, and I worried I would not have enough time for our aftercare, my blacking his boots.

    “You are amazing. I’m beating your ass and you’re worried about my boots?”

    He barked at me to kiss his boots. I got on my hands and knees. Planted my face at the toe of his boot. Kissed and licked up and down his leather. Felt the pain melt out of me. Felt the lust I’d had from before build again. My head went back and forth between his boots, loving his leather.

    He moved away. I followed him around. He bent down. Grabbed his whip.

    I felt the first pop on my ass. I shrieked, but kept kissing and licking his boots. Another pop. Another yelp. Another lick.

    He moved about, whipping me. I tried cowering away. He yelled at me. I was to keep adoring his boots. I scrambled around. Towards his leather. Away from his blows.

    He checked back in with me. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to keep pushing myself. But I also wanted to take care of his boots. So I stopped the scene, leather love more important than my tears.

  • 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.