poeticdesires

Category: Gray

  • 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.

  • 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.”

  • By Chance

    So much of my WinterFire happened by chance.

    After my scene with CandleLover and PrudeNate, I rushed back to my room to shower. Refreshed and changed, I headed downstairs for next round of class sound checks.

    I randomly popped in on multiple different presenters who hadn’t actually asked for AV assistance. I was inquiring anyway, just in case.

    Heading towards the small side ballroom next to the Champagne Room, I ran into Gray. He was helping Chey, Stefanos, and Nerine setup for their Playful and Predicament BDSM class.

    Chey informed me they did not need sound. Gray grabbed my boob because, well, he wanted to.

    Assured that they were okay, I continued my rounds.

    Satisfied all the classes were good, I was struck with a thought. It was my plan to attend the Introduction to Aerials class, but it occurred to me, “Hold on, I’m about to tie up two chicks, and they are going to fight each other. That is both playful and predicament. I think I should go to that class instead.”

    Slinking in mere minutes before it was about to start, the trio had quite a large crowd. However, there were many seats in the front row that were empty, including a few next to Gray. I excused myself to the front, passing through the attendees. Approaching Gray from behind, I poked him in the back.

    “Someone’s poking me.” He turned around and saw me.

    “Can you move please? I want to sit in front too.”

    “Do you want to sit at me feet?” My eyes grew wide. Hmm…Um yes, yes I do.

    “Sure.” I scooted past him and sat in between his legs.

    Glancing up, I watched as Chey and Stefanos setup an interesting predicament for Nerine, giving her the choice between only a teasing amount of riding the Hitachi or pulling off a line of clothespins on her breasts.

    As the presenters prepped, Gray and I asked if it was okay for me to be seated where I was, seeing as I was quite close to the action. Chey said, as long as I didn’t mind being in the “splatter zone”, I was okay.

    I opened up my notebook, took out my pen, snuggled into Gray’s legs, and grinned widely as the class began.

  • Boots

    I started his bootblacking like I had many times before. Lightly lifting his right boot onto my thigh. Cleaning it twice. Scrubbing the catwalk with a toothbrush. Checking for frayed threads to singe down. He, however, decided to not treat me as he had before.

    He lifted his left boot and placed it on my free thigh. He pushed into my flesh. When I lifted his right boot to clean in close, he lightly rubbed my face, my chin. I kissed and caressed his leather as I continued to work.

    He brought his left boot from my thigh to my chest. He pressed into my breast, stepped into my nipple. He kicked my chest, rocking me back. He used his left boot to spread my legs and began lightly kicking my pussy. I had no choice but to pause my work, marveling in the arousal from his torment. His kicks subsided mere seconds away from my orgasm.

    “I was a few breaths away from asking permission.”
    “Then I did you a favor because I would have said no.”

    Finished with his right boot, I began cleaning his left.

    “I was hoping I’d make you loose your place.”

    I smiled to myself, happy to have again risen to a challenge. He continued to press into my flesh, torturing me as I loved his leather.

    When I finished cleaning, I asked if I could kiss his boots. He replied, but I couldn’t hear him. Grabbing me by my nipples, he pulled me up and into his arms.

    “You can after you kiss me.” Again our lips met, playing as we liked. Again he grabbed my hair and pushed me down to his boots.

    My lips softly caressed his leather. My hands massaged him through the barrier. He punched my ass, my back. For a split second, I found it funny that he attacked me from behind while Jim had attacked from the front.

    He reached down and started fingering me. He teased my clit before easing his fingers into my pussy. As his digits entered me, I immediately asked permission. He gave it, and I rode his hand hard through my orgasm.

    Removing his hand, he began slapping my pussy. Over and over stingy pain mixed with my hot arousal. I took his strokes, one after the other, not knowing if I ever wanted him to stop. Hit followed hit; I moaned with the pleasure. Eventually the pain went far beyond my pleasure, and I rolled my body over to avoid his slaps.

    Grabbing my hair, he brought me again to his face.

    “Kiss me. Kiss me. Once you kiss me, you can suck my cock.” He held my hair, keeping my lips from his. When he sought fit, we kissed once again.

    He pulled my head down onto his cock, and I gladly enjoyed his dick in my mouth. Within moments of my glee of finally having his cock in mouth again, I felt the first of his wicked cane strokes. He aimed for my ass, one of his favorite targets. He said he would stop when I stopped sucking his cock.

    I took his hits. In a moment of desperation, I switched to sucking his balls, hoping this was a loop pole in his order. I was given a moment of respite before he began again with his stingy strokes.

    I sucked and sucked, wiggling and squirming my body about trying to avoid his hits. I switched back and forth between his cock and balls, happily sucking away. He grabbed my hair, pushing me down further onto his cock. I practiced my deep throating as he fucked my face.

    He pulled me off of him. Sadly, he tucked his dick away.

    “You made my Punisher face uneven.”
    “He’s smiling.”
    “He can’t be smiling; he’s the Punisher.”
    “As if you couldn’t have a big grin on your face as your inflicting pain.” The vision of him torturing me with his Twisted Bitch during our first play date burst forth in my mind.

    I went back to his boots. Using my Huberd’s, I conditioned his leather. There were a few especially dry spots that I focused on.

    In a moment of pure silly, he used the toes of his boots to push on my breasts and nipples, jiggling them for his amusement. We both laughed.

    “You getting anything out of this?”

    As I continued my conditioning, he again pressed himself into my flesh.

    Finished, I rubbed his chaps, asking if I were to move onto them next. He sadly declined. He had another play date that evening.

    Grabbing my hands, he started to pull me into his lap. Releasing my hands, he grabbed me by my nipples.

    “Having trouble getting up?”
    “No. No. No trouble at all.”

    I straddled his legs; he rested his arms around my waist. Once more we kissed. Again he pinched my nipples. Gripping my breasts, he squeezed hard. With the pain and pleasure rising, I rocked my hips in his lap and asked permission to cum. He granted my request. I breathed hard, and he kissed me as I came.

    He asked me if there were any classes I planned to attend in the morning. I wasn’t certain, as my brain was rather foggy. We agreed to text to coordinate when on Sunday I’d be able to finish my service to his leathers.

    We stood. Surprisingly, he came in close and grabbed my breasts again. I leaned into his body, his chest, gasping. I begged permission. He said yes. I rested in his arms as I breathed heavy and came hard. We hugged.

    On my hands and knees, I collected my kit into my cigar boxes. Ever one for the wacky, he took his rolled up yoga mat and began smacking my ass with it.

    Our things collected, we set off in search of his next play date. With her nowhere to be found, we separated. Not a minute later, she found me. Searching the Dungeon and the Champagne Room, we did not see him. She said she would wait at the bootblacking station.

    I tried upstairs and found him in the lobby. Grabbing him, I brought him to her.

    They set off for their play date. I headed back to my room to grab my rope, and took a moment to journal.

  • Warm Up

    We found a spot by the far wall of the dungeon. There was no equipment, but there was enough room for a chair for him to sit on. He grabbed a seat while I ran to my room for my kit. When I returned, he sat there, waiting. In front of him was a yoga mat. It was to be my work area.

    I sat down and pulled out the cigar boxes holding my materials. I mentioned to him that I still had my gifted raw hemp, if he was in the mood. I asked him if I should keep my boots on. “Yes.” I asked him if he wanted to take my clothes off. “Yes.” We got started.

    He owed me a kiss. At the Cigar Social, he was sick and could not demonstrate for the class smoke kisses. He repaid his debt, pulling me in for an embrace. As our lips played, he lifted my dress up over my hips and began fingering me.

    “You’re ready. Are you wet from your last scene?” I nodded yes.  “How can I compare to that?”
    “There is no comparison.”

    He pulled my dress up and off my body. He teased me with kisses. He flung my garment to the side.

    He pushed my face down towards his crotch. I gladly nuzzled him through his Punisher underwear. He unhooked my bra; it fell free from my arms.

    “Did you miss my cock?”
    “Yes.”
    “But it was just in your mouth two days ago.”
    “Doesn’t matter. I miss it as soon as it leaves my mouth.”

    As I nuzzled him, he pulled my hair and eased his boot in between my legs.  I rode his leather while caressing him still through fabric.

    “What part of bootblacking is this?”
    “Warm up.”

    Gripping my strands, he pulled me in for another kiss.

    “Maybe after you finish a boot I’ll pull my cock out and let you suck it.”

    He forced me all the way down to the floor; time to start my work.

  • Worth Staying Up

    I woke up Saturday morning, groggy and tired, but knowing I could not sleep through the first class session. For every class session at WinterFire, there were sound checks and projector requirements. I threw on a pair of black boxer shorts and wore my Zim jacket over my gray pirate t-shirt which I’d slept in.

    The plan was to setup a projector for a class and go right back to bed. The class was about Fem Domme images throughout history, a topic that seemed interesting but did not capture my attention enough to warrant the sacrifice of my sleep.

    As I setup the equipment, a lovely woman entered the class and complimented me on my ass. This was quite a nice start to my day.

    Having finished up, the presenter’s slide show projected onto the screen, I happened to see Gray on his way to his class. He was teaching Apocalyptakink, the new name for his RACK Role Play class that I took at Rope Camp. It just so happened that his class was right next door to the one class I contemplated taking for the first morning session, Claire Adams’ Rope Tops Boot Camp.

    As he passed by, he asked what I was up to. I told him I was contemplating either taking Claire Adams’ class or going back to bed. When I gave him the name of the presentation, he informed me I would probably not learn much from it. Later I found out he was quite right. The information given was geared towards those new to rope; it would have been an unnecessary refresher.

    So I stood at the corner between Claire’s class and his, wondering what I should do. I could take the chance that I would gain something from Claire’s class and go in, or I could just go back to bed. Lord knows my body could’ve used the extra sleep.

    But then a third option came to me. Why not just go to Gray’s class? Yes, I had taken it before, so I knew each scenario that would be given. However, I also knew it was a fun presentation. And, frankly, I was tired but I wasn’t sure if I was able to go back to sleep. I was at WinterFire; my body said sleep, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins screamed STAY UP.

    Instead of trying to force my eyelids closed, I opted to take Gray’s class.

    I sat next to Twisted View and K2. N3rddom, KnownUnknown, and Nomad also sat by me. As Gray welcomed folks in, he greeted a beautiful tall blonde woman. Her name was Chey.

    Gray sat and chatted with folks, wanting to sip his morning coffee. However, a conundrum. Gray had the coffee and his desired taste additives, but nothing to stir it with. Instead, he pulled out his new knife, a pretty piece of sharp and pointy. He snapped it open and stirred his brew.

    As I watched, my heart quickened. I don’t like coffee, at all, but I would’ve licked it off of Gray’s knife if he had allowed me. Instead, the knife came to his tongue. He ran the blade, forward and backward, lapping up the warm caffeine. I sat, gawking, and sighed, “That was worth staying up for.”

    Gray ran his class just as he had the instance I’d seen before. He gave three scenarios, asking folks to run through the mock situations. For the first scenario, Chey volunteered to be tested. It was a simple negotiation, where she was to be a rope top asking a bottom questions before their scene.

    As Chey spoke, I sat both in awe of her beauty and her intelligence. She is an ER nurse and was only the second person to pull from the bottom that they were diabetic. I noted her style of questioning for when I would negotiate for rope scenes later.

    The second scenario found Jocasta, a strong willed woman, dealing with a rude sub and a pushy individual touching her equipment and asking rude questions. She redded out of the scene, then learned the pushy individual was a Dungeon Monitor. The lesson I pulled from her ordeal, “Go away and live to play another day.”

    The third scenario was a test for a bottom, seeing when the over crowding of a space made it unsafe for a scene. The bottom was hit in the face with a flogger, had a puppy mock pee on him, two lovers in amorous affection by his feet, and a group of littles singing ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’ rather loudly, not to mention it seemed like his top didn’t care about the bothers and only half knew what he was doing. The bottom redded out of this scene as well.

    The point of the third scenario: bottoms can’t rely simply on their tops to take care of them. Bottoms do not abdicate taking care of themselves just because they have a top.

    For the last part of the class, Gray separated us into three groups: Bottoms, Switches, and Tops. He asked us to talk about different issues that have come up in our play, and possibly create a test around an issue.

    In the switches group, I sat on the floor and flipped my notebook to a fresh page. I asked people to come in close so we could talk. I asked what issues they had on their minds, what scenarios they had gone through lately as a switch.

    The idea of a switch negotiating a bottom scene, but then wanting to take over as the top was popular. I asked how they wanted to create a test from this, and who would be tested. The idea for testing the top seemed fuzzy. I tried to pull out a more concrete scenario, but time ran out.

    We as a group spoke to the rest of the class about the turning-the-tables scenario. It was agreed this was less of a problem and more just an example of switch play in general. The bottoms talked about tops who pushed their boundaries or ignored them completely, a thought that made me cringe.

    The tops actually had a test. Gray turned to the switches, asking if anyone wanted to be tested as a top. I threw my hand up, until I realized I needed to be in top space. I then politely declined. Gray jumped into the role.

    Chey volunteered to be the bottom, since she already knew the scenario. She had Gray tie her hands together and above her head. They spoke for a moment before she fainted.

    He called out her name, trying to get a reaction. He grabbed her body, took out his knife, and mock cut the standing line. He called over Twisted View and asked him to help get her to the ground. He asked Twisted View to elevate her legs. He continued to talk to her. She made sounds. Gray again asked her how she was doing. Lazily she sighed, “Gray, you’re awesome.”

    The test complete, Gray cursed himself for not having his safety shears right by his side. They were, in fact, on a table not fifteen feet away. He noted how, though he “used” his knife, it was to cut the standing line, NOT the ropes by her hands.

    Chey spoke about the latest position nurses used when an individual passed out: having them lie on their left side so that they are less likely to vomit, but if they did it would simply flow out of their mouths, thereby helping to prevent choking.

    I was very happy I didn’t volunteer to be the top in the scenario.

    At the end of the class, Gray noted that it was an open source presentation, welcoming whatever scenarios people came up with later. He also told us that all of his scenarios would change for the next iteration of the class, hence why I mentioned them here.

    I will, most definitely, take the class again.

  • Playful

    After Jim’s bootblacking, I looked at my phone. It wasn’t quite time for my next play date; I was to black MrBlackBeard’s boots.

    I ventured up to a cocktail hour for Amethyst’s birthday. There I found DeepEnd and SkinnyBitch relaxing with our friends. I sipped on my Sparx and eased into socializing with my folk.

    Then, a thought occurred to me. I texted Gray, wondering if he would like his boots blacked that evening.

    As I talked with DeepEnd, he spoke about taking this weekend to chill at the event. I liked spending time with my roommates, just us being, the stress of our everyday lives hopefully a lost memory for the moment.

    I stayed for a bit at the cocktail hour, but scurried off eventually. I had a pair of boots to love.

    Heading downstairs, I met BlackBeard at the bootblacking station. Venturing into the dungeon area, we found an empty spot on a futon in the hallway.

    He sat. I asked what kind of blacking he wished to have. He, quite succinctly, said, “These bitches are dirty and need some cleaning.”

    One of the reasons why people love BlackBeard is that you know exactly where you stand with him. This was not about D/s or service. He had boots that needed blacking and I had promised him a blacking.

    I stripped down to just my boots and a pair of underwear. (Yes, I know, me wearing underwear. Shocking. I was worried about the strict no nudity policy in the lobby, as my skirt was about an inch away from flashing my pussy as I walked.)

    I sat out my kit and got to work. As I loved on his leathers, I could hear my dungeon mix playing. I started lip-syncing to the music. I smiled, enjoying my time with his leather. I let myself play, let myself be, my focus on making his leather shine and pleasing myself in the interim.

    I loved the look of my boots as I blacked his pair. I loved the feel of giving this service to a friend, of enjoying this act as others interacted with him. Normally, when others talk into my scene, I get upset or annoyed or occasionally angry. This time, I truly didn’t give a shit. This was about me enjoying time with his leathers and BlackBeard enjoying his lounge time. Once I finished, he thanked me and we parted ways.

    Gray eventually texted me a few hours later, which surprised me because I had thought he was long asleep. He was not wearing his boots Friday night, but instead suggested we play Saturday night.

    Jim and Gray, the same night, back to back. I felt like a very, VERY, lucky girl.

  • Hugs

    In conversation recently, I’ve heard about a study that showed Americans are not touched enough. As a person who is in fact a “hugger”, I tend to believe this.

    Often we all need our personal space. I wouldn’t want an unwanted individual breaking the minimum eighteen inches around me that I view as “my air”. However, for the people I love, I don’t want us to be farther than eighteen inches apart when conversing, sharing, or just being in each others presence.

    Winter Fire, and its subsequent aftercare, have all included important hugs to me. Yes, hugs are important; don’t believe for a moment that they are not.

    The first official day of the event, when everyone was checking into the hotel and gearing up for massive amounts of kinky fun, I was stressed. This event marked the first time where I was on staff, working for a con. My job included equal parts delight and worry. I was bombarded with these feelings on the first day, not ready for all the work that lay ahead.

    But then, magically, as Murphy and I won the registration lottery (finding a moment when the line was a quarter of its usual length), my roommates arrived. I saw them from the balcony above, and my heart filled with joy.

    I asked Murphy to hold my place, scurried over to the railing, and emphatically jumped and waved, grabbing their attention. They eventually walked up to the registration area, and I attacked my people with hugs.

    I first latched onto to DeepEnd, who is tall and broad. I sunk my head into his chest, closed my eyes, and let the feeling of holding my friend, and my friend holding me, wash over and through me. I breathed out. I relaxed. I didn’t want to let go. In fact, as the registration line moved, he and I moved with it, dancing our way along.

    After an almost-awkward-but-not-quite-because-we-are-friends amount of time, I turned to SkinnyBitch and attacked her. I held her tight. I soaked in the scent of her perfume. I rested my head on her shoulder. I relaxed more. Again, I danced my way down the line with them. I felt better.

    Seeing them, hugging them, reminded me why I showed up to Winter Fire in the first place. I wanted to spend time with the people I care about. I did the work because I wanted to make the event better for them. Sometimes people need to be reminded what the struggle is for.

    Days later, towards the end of my Winter Fire, I received another significant hug. It was part of a scene I had with Gray. It was comforting, forgiving, accepting, caring. It was what I needed for what we had just gone through in our play. And though I worried about tears and snot getting on his leathers, I didn’t worry about our friendship or our connection, which is most important to me.

    On the last night of the event, I gave a friend a hug. They felt jarred and needed comfort. I would’ve held onto them longer, but it was just a few breaths in my arms that they required. I was happy to give them ease.

    My final hug of note came from my Big Bro. I saw him last night before he had to venture back up north. I don’t know when I’ll see him again, but I’m sure our paths will cross soon. And I’m certain, no matter the time or distance, we will still be family.

    Hugs are important folks. I hug when I greet and I hug in our parting. I hug because I feel happy. I hug because I feel sad. I hug when I need it, when others need it, or just because. I hug because I know my world will better afterwards, no matter the circumstance of the few seconds beforehand.

    I hug. And you know what would be nice? If you hugged too.

  • Cigars, Social

    “Life is meandering between passion and pain.” – me
    “Life is pain…As light as pain.” – Gray
    “Life is as light as pain and as heavy as love.” – me

    Today (the 15th) was Gray’s birthday. He just so happened to be teaching a cigar play class near me, for which I was the demo bottom. Before heading to the Playhouse, I picked him up, dressed as dapper gentleman, down to his stylish suspenders and handsome hat. We had a delicious sushi dinner, which I tried to pay for (it was his birthday), but he insisted on giving me half the bill in cash later.

    “I got the impression he was into you.” – Gray
    “Really?” – me
    “You didn’t get the impression that he wanted to play with you?”
    “Yeah, when stuff like that happens it almost always goes over my head.”

    The class was quite fun. Gray and I have played a lot with cigars; my lamp table, with its cute assortment of burnt clothing, can attest to that. Though I knew the basic outline of what was going to happen, Gray also incorporated more activities he’d picked up in his travels. I enjoyed the “smoke rise”, as well as his sadistic sensation play with the hot cherry.

    But, of all the new tidbits, my favorite was the cig-matta. With ash from Lochai’s cigar in Gray’s palm, Gray grabbed my hand and made me endure the pain of the hot nugget. All the while, he felt the same; we shared the burn. Next time I will stare into his eyes as he had wished me to tonight; I could not fulfill his request at first. I can still feel the spot in the palm of my hand from his hold.

    “Wow, that yoga is really paying off.” – DeepEnd

    “It looks like pounds have melted off of you.” – Gray

    It’s hard for me to see it, but two different people tonight commented on my lost weight. I still don’t know how to process that other than I will keep up with my yoga/treadmill/bike riding, if for no other reason than they are fun activities that help get me out of my head. And I guess because obviously others are noticing what I cannot.

    “Do you want to suck my cock?” – Gray
    “Yes.” – me
    “Beg me for it.”
    “Please let me suck your cock.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “Please let me suck your cock. Please. My mouth misses the feel of your cock inside it. Your cock is the only cock I want in my mouth.”

    After the class, which included elements of service, knife play, a lovely smack across my breasts, a cigar blow job (which I quite enjoyed), and so much more, Gray and I had time to play. He brought an assortment of mean things to use on me.

    His cane was the first of Gray’s toys to receive attention. Initially Gray had me lying on the floor, using the heels of his shoes to press into my nipples. He then used the cane to hit my nipples, at first lightly, but then with suffering blows.

    Gray spread my legs and focused his attention on my clit and pussy lips. Again he started lightly before steadily increasing the force of his blows. Pain and pleasure danced in my nether region as I moaned through his strokes.

    Gray ordered me to lie in front of him in child’s pose. With my arms at my sides, my chest rested against my bent knees. Gray went for my ass, starting with soothing strokes. As he increased the pain, I started yelping.

    Gray ordered me to reach back and begin fingering myself. As his strikes stung and burned against my flesh, my fingers whirled frantically. The pleasure rose and I begged permission to cum. Gray said I could, but only after he inflicted three wicked blows across my ass.

    Ordered up on my knees, Gray used his cane on my breasts once more. Pinching a nipple, he lifted my breast and struck on its underside. This was a first for me.

    Finished with his cane, my ass then christened his new paddle. Gray had me lay across his knee, my ass ready and accessible to his bidding.

    Gray started unexpectedly with thuddy strokes using the edge of the implement. As he beat into me, I moaned. Gray then switched to light stingy hits. He was preparing my ass for what was to come.

    Gray smacked my ass hard, the crack of the blow bouncing off the walls of the small smoking lounge. Again and again, he wailed on my ass, but while also fingered my clit with his free hand. My voice traded shrieks and moans back and forth. His playing with my clit caused another orgasm to rise in me.

    Like always, I asked permission. He said I would have to endure five hard paddle strikes before my cum. In quick succession he stung my ass with the toy, holding for a moment before giving me his fifth stroke, and with it my permission to cum. I writhed across his knee, moaned, struggled to breathe as the sensations rolled throughout my abdomen.

    Afterward my reward came the fun part for Gray. With sadistic glee, he again used his paddle to beat my ass, no pleasure given to ease my pain. He steadily increased his hits until, in need of a moment of respite, my knees buckled and I collapsed down.

    Two breaths later, I was back up across his lap ready to endure whatever more pain he wished to inflict. Again he smacked my ass, stinging blow after stinging blow. Finally my body let go, the pain washed through me, and I sobbed and cried.

    Gray put aside his paddle, and brought me into his arms, soothing my cries. As he stroked my hair and held me tight, he softly whispered, “That was beautiful.”

    I was granted the pleasure of sucking his cock multiple times over the course of the evening. He helped me practice my deep throating, first swelling inside me and later ordering me to hold his cock in my throat for a few breaths at a time. I still need quite a bit of work. I gagged multiple times, but once or twice I was able to keep his cock down while relaxing my throat muscles. Baby steps.

    Once, as we were coming down and I softly nuzzled his crotch, he allowed me, as part of the process, to again suck his cock. He dubbed it a “cuddle blowjob”; I lightly, softly sucked on his cock in a nurturing comforting fashion as my head laid in his lap and he brushed my hair.

    Gray also, as a part of our aftercare, drove me to orgasm just by pinching my breasts and nipples incredibly hard. At one point, he pinched them as hard as he possibly could. There is just something magical about my nipples and the mixture of pleasure and pain. My orgasm was a new experience for the both of us.

    As the night grew to a close, we gathered our things and prepared to leave. There were hugs all around for the few who stayed for so long, and pledges to see one another at WinterFire.

    I drove Gray home; sleepy conversation and general checking-in made the drive pleasurable.

    “So, what is your relationship status?” – Gray
    “Ha, I have no relationships. I have lots of friends. I fuck a few people. I play with a lot of people. I am emotionally connected to some, but no. I have a lot of friends, but no partners…I have a plethora of appetizers, but no main course.” – me

    At one point, Gray grabbed my hand to demonstrate a special sub-dermal piercing two known figures in the kink community had. As he held my hand for that short time, less than thirty seconds, it dawned on me that I had not held hands with someone in a long time.

    And at once my mind cut itself on a dual edged sword: I am a happy-go-lucky free single kinkster having lots of slutty fun. I have no one to share in my happy-go-lucky slutty kinkster existence.

    And just as the thoughts came, Gray released my hand and I went back to focusing on driving. The trick with being Unpartnered Poly is to not think about it. Just let life take you wherever. When you figure out how to do that, please let me know.

    I picked Gray up at 4:35pm (traffic) and dropped him off at 12:15am. I have yet another set of burnt clothing to add to my collection, as well as two burnt cigars from our presentation. He has a handmade scarf and some chocolate to snack on.

    It was a lovely evening spent with a great friend on his birthday.