poeticdesires

Category: RCM

  • DGG #20 Self Care

    The reason for my long absence and how I’ve gotten through a rather difficult time in my life, with some orgasms and adventures thrown in.

     

    Time Jumps (with fun links included)

    1:07 Why I’ve been gone

    4:46 the myth of the uber kinkster & uber poly girl

    6:22 hook pulls

    8:13 soothing activities

    8:44 body painting

    (1)  (2)  (3)  &  (4)

    10:33 spinning poi

    11:23 music

    – My latest songs on repeat I Love This Shit & All The Time & Somebody Else

    12:53 allowing myself to feel

    14:06 the jealousy myth

    16:26 allowing myself to grieve

    17:40 vulnerability

    18:54 allowing myself to orgasm

    20:21 feeling joy again: my fisting at the queer orgy

    22:08 my ‘come to Jesus’ cum: my first sybian ride

    24:38 permission to be happy

    25:17 time

    27:00 wrap up

    – RopenSpace Pittsburgh, Eroticon, DO: Surrender & DC Grue

     

    listen to ‘020_DGG Self Care’ on Audioboo

  • Memories

    The first night of Rope Camp featured Midori’s Meat Market, a fun little event to introduce folks to one another and start the dialogue for play.

    After the get together concluded, I eased my way over to Rough.  He was showing off his Fat Ass Rope, and I wanted a taste of the experience.  I asked for the pleasure, and leaned myself over a nearby table.  Instead, Rough called me over to an open area.

    First he gave me a few whacks, which stung a bit and turned out were his warm up.  He then hit me hard on my back.  Then my ass.  Then my thighs.  And my chest.  I starting yelping and eventually wailing.  I fell to my knees.  In a moment of clarity, I took off my glasses and slid them across the floor towards a small group of friends.

    Rough continued to attack my back as I continued to cry.  He grabbed me, pulled me up to sitting, and wrapped the rope around my neck.  In a moment, his blood choke took hold.  I felt my muscles give way.  He released me before my eyes closed.  A bit of drool leaked from my lips.

    When I brought my head up, when he knew I was back, he began beating me again.  And blood choked me again.  And my muscles gave way again.

    He went for my inner thighs, one of my most sensitive spots.  He regretted not being able to hit my cunt.  His rope was natural fiber and I wasn’t wearing underwear.

    When he finished, I got up, thanked him, introduced him to NYRCherryBondage, and went back to chatting with friends.

    ~

    “Ha ha, I made you have feelings.” – an attendee at Midori’s Negotiations class

    ~

    Sometimes I like to fly under the radar.  I know intrinsically that’s not what’s happening, but in my sub-y mind that’s how it feels.

    Wednesday night a few of us had gathered on a porch for cigars and libations.  I sat in front of Gray and Rough as they smoked and talked.

    Rough’s feet rested on my right leg; Gray’s feet rested on my left.  I always had my torch at the ready, as well as a selection of cutters, boxes of wood matches, and a punch.

    They told stories.  Gray taught MissAmyRed about cigar service.  I sat and listened, content, the occasional small sip of strong Japanese whiskey on my lips.

    ~

    “I am the Dom and you will brush your teeth with your left hand this week.  Ha ha ha.” – Rough, during is D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Friday it rained.  And rained.  And rained.

    I’d wanted to wear my new red leather shoes, but I couldn’t abide getting them muddy.  I opted for my boots instead, which completely changed my outfit for the day.

    As the afternoon came, I decided to do something different.  I grabbed my newly purchased camp chair, took it outside under the pop-up, and pulled out my new voice recorder.

    In the rain, with the pitter patter of droplets above, I recorded a Fusion podcast.

    There was a breeze that made the day cool, blowing the chill of the rain towards me, under my cover.  Because the pop-up had been erected before the turn in the weather, the ground wasn’t muddy in my sitting spot.  I couldn’t help but be happy and bubbly, even as the drops continued to come down.

    ~

    “His desires are my priority and he is where I point my devotion.
    “I am his treasure and I am to be taken care of.
    “He is my King… my dragon.” – MissAmyRed, during Rough’s D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Ropetastic had pimped himself, as well as his two partners, during Midori’s Meat Market.  As per his name, I knew he was into rope.  And I wanted a rope scene.

    I happened upon him in the Barn.  Originally I was chatting with my friend Nomad.  She started spinning my LED poi to make herself feel better, so I took the opportunity to speak to a rope guy.

    As we conversed, I realized we were compatible for a scene.  Since we both had time at that very moment, we headed up to the Dungeon immediately.

    We chose a semi-private spot, what seemed to be a lounge room with a few couches but enough open space for us to work.  I stripped down to my underwear, as did he.

    I explained how I liked to be challenged, how I wanted something different besides normal rope forms.  He expressed a desire to explore ichinawa, which I was all for.  We began.

    He wrapped rope around me in asymmetrical patterns, twisting my body this way and that.  He did not make it pretty, but I loved the pain all the same.  He, at times, pulled on my hair, ran a shrimp deveiner over my skin, sucked on my nipples, and tickled my feet.  He rolled my body this way and that, changed his tie multiple times, added a second length of rope, and always kept me guessing.

    We only played for about thirty minutes, but when all was said and done, I felt high, full of erotic and emotional pleasure from being in his binds.

    ~

    “The greasy basement slave…the dirty basement whore.” – a talk on fantasy versus reality during Rough’s D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Friday night we pushed all three of our beds together.  Saturday morning I awoke to dragon cuddles before breakfast.

    ~

    “I want to be treated like a pile of gold.”
    “You want to be a heavy currency?”
    “I am valuable and worthy of protecting.” – an exchange between myself and Dov after a late night run to Waffle House

    ~

    I felt like a voyeur.  No, worse than a voyeur.  I felt like I was intruding.

    It was obvious there was a connection, a slow building of energy as they writhed on the mats.

    I hadn’t witnessed it all.  At times, I was lost in scritches, lost to the rest of the world.  Pulsing pleasure from my scalp kept my eyes closed, my head bobbing about, speech all but impossible.

    But when I came back, I saw them.  Saw the looks in their eyes.  Heard the yelp, the growl.

    I wanted to sit and watch more.  I didn’t want to look away.  That energy.  That pure energy beamed from the two of them.  And I was only, maybe, five feet away.  Had been there the whole time.

    But I did walk away.  Because I wanted them to have their moment.  Without an audience.

    ~

    “You have a natural ability for connection…You seek out people you can connect with.” – Delano, to me, during his Bottoms class

    ~

    He held the balloon away from my body.  I was dirty, filthy from the grim on the stage.  I don’t like stingy, but I take it for the person I’m playing with.  I take it.  And there was the balloon, tied around my chest, and stretched taunt, ready to snap against my skin.

    He held it.  And held it.  And brought it back without snapping it.

    “Really!?”

    He pulled it out again.  I cringed again.  This time would be for real, I just knew it.  This time the pain would come.  And then he brought it back.

    I laughed and hated him at the same time.

    He used a pretty pink dildo on me.  He beat me with a pretty pink dildo, which stung like hell.  He used a collapsible baton and a plastic rod, too.  He punched me and wrestled me about on the dirty stage floor, attacking my thighs.  But it’s the balloon I remember the worst.

    Talk about sadistic.

    ~

    “If you are open to learning, you are open to deeper experiences.” – Delano, during his Bottoms class

    ~

    I spun my poi in the dark.  Spun my poi away from the group sitting in camp chairs out in the chilly night air.

    I stood in the middle of the road.  A cart came by once; I moved.

    I spun my poi and soothed myself.  I accepted my feelings, accepted that was how I felt.  Acknowledged the sad little girl inside me.  Acknowledged what little power I had over the situation except what I did in that moment.

    I spun my poi.

    Then we went to Waffle House, I ate some food, and went to bed.

  • Big R

    “How many of you are in a D/s relationship?”

    I watched as the people around the circle raised their hands.  Rough’s gaze ran counterclockwise until his stare landed on me.  My hand was halfway up.

    “Well, it depends.  What is your definition of a D/s relationship?”
    “That’s a good question, poetic.  We’ll start with you.  What’s your definition of a D/s relationship?”

    I was suddenly a bit flustered.

    “A D/s relationship is when one person consensually gives up control to another, and the other person consensually receives said control.  But there are big R relationships and little r relationships, and I’m kind of in a medium R relationship.  Gray is my Teacher, my Sempai, and I’m his student, his kohai.  I’m submissive to him, but he’s not in charge of me.  There is no veto power.  We play with whoever we want.  We’re friends and we fuck and play, but he said he didn’t want to do an LDR, so we’re something.”

    I took a sip of my water, trying to hide for a breath.

    As I did, I looked left and saw two people coming up the walk.  Life has a way of having perfect timing.

    Gray, accompanied by MissAmyRed, who was in service to him for Rope Camp, made their way up the lane and towards the class.  The two of them sat down and Rough, thankfully, moved on to the next person in the circle.

    Where Gray and Amy were positioned, I had only to wait for two people to describe their D/s before Gray gave his answer.

    Gray, without hesitation, stated he was in a D/s relationship with me as his student and that Amy was on loan, as it were, to him for the event.

    Hearing Gray’s answer made my heart both sink and soar.  He had just given acknowledgement of our dynamic in front of a few of our friends and had called it a relationship.

    Looking at our pre-existing situation, there are places where Gray had already acknowledged what we have.  There was the status on Fetlife.  There were the times we’d spent together, both at events and not.  He’d spoken about me as his student before both among friends and at the Grue Pitt.

    Yet, I had been hesitant to call what we have a relationship in deference to what I viewed as his preference to our interactions.  I had previously brought up the idea of an LDR, which he did not want.  I had mentioned the thought of moving closer to him, which he discouraged.  In my mind, I didn’t want to give too much weight to what we have believing the sentiment was not shared.  But it was Gray who called our dynamic a relationship.

    I ended up having a lengthy conversation with Doc about this moment.  The conclusion we ended at revolved around my self worth issues.  It is much easier for me to remember the negative.  I took the decline from Gray for both an LDR and the move as indicators that our dynamic was not worthy of the label of relationship.  Instead of noting all the positive aspects of what we’ve shared, instead of using our past emotional and kink interactions as a basis for my answer to Rough’s question, I went with the less-than-pleasant-ness I remembered, the things I didn’t want to hear but had still resounded like church bells.

    After class, I felt the need to tell Gray my response to the question.  Many thanks to Doc for the lessons in being emotionally honest.  I also asked Gray for an explanation of his answer.  He explained, when given the choice between big R and little r, a relationship or none whatsoever, of course we were a big R.  We were not just friends.

    As our Rope Camp continued, our interactions did not seem effected by our discussion.  And, as we spent another day with each other after the event, we were as we were before.

    Now, with time between that class and some life lived, I have had the chance to tell people over and over again that Gray is my Teacher, my mentor, my Sempai.  That I am in a D/s dynamic with him.  Each time I’ve said it, there was a smile on my face and less worry passing over my lips.

    Whether we are Big R or medium R, we are something.  And that’s enough for me.

  • Hot Ash

    My hands shook as I held the match box.  I could feel all the eyes in the Barn on me.  Could hear my breathing loud as thunder.

    I struck the match against the box; no light.  Struck again; no light.  On the third try, it lit.  I warmed the cigar with the match.  Once it burned out, I used another still to warm the tobacco.  With the third match, I placed the cigar to my lips, held the match by the tobacco’s end, and puffed.

    Gray informed me of the Hot Ash competition about a week or two before Rope Camp.  I remember standing by the door of the Craft Room, the words “Hot Ash” coming out of his mouth, and immediately banging my head against the wall.

    I was already going to be in the Roperlesque for two acts.  I suspected I would also be bootblacking.  And now I knew I would be in the competition as well, held in between the acts.  Just one more thing to add to my crowded plate for that evening.

    When Friday night came, so too did the heavens.  All day it rained, in fact.  The weather woke me in the morning, kept me in bed through the first class session, invited a friend under my covers for snuggles and dragon cuddles, and permeated the camp’s mood.

    I intentionally left all my things in the Pavilion for Roperlesque (rope, my bootblack kit, supplies for the fantasy, and cigar accoutrement) during the early afternoon.  As the hour of the event approached, I headed down the hill to help setup for the festivities.  When I arrived, Gray turned me away.  The event was being moved to the Barn.  He walked my luggage across the river of mud in front of the Pavilion, and asked that I spread the word to whomever I passed.

    As people hustled to stage the event in the new space, I helped move tables, arranged a few chairs, and generally pitched in as we brought everything together.

    Roperlesque was low key, as Gray had intended, with shared alcohol, cigar smoking a plenty, a game of poker in one corner, a rig for the performances in the middle of the room, and one chair on the stage for my bootblacking.  It seemed almost the entire camp came out to relax and enjoy the evening.

    Just about every bit of my night was unnerving.  I performed an ichinawa scene with NYRCherryBondage, an act we had never practiced.  I re-created my Dirty Pig fantasy with assistance from Roughinamorato and NYRCherryBondage, another time in front of the crowd.  However my heart beat hardest during Hot Ash.

    I was the first called upon to demonstrate my service.  I had my kit prepared, a towel for my knees, and I exuded calm as best I could.

    When Gray called my name, a hush settled in the Barn.  I stepped to the middle of the room, laid down my towel, sunk to my knees, and became focused on my demo top.  I offered them a selection of a few different cigars.  I offered various ways of cutting the cigar.  Did they want it warmed?  Did they wish for me to wet the end or would they prefer to do it themselves?  Butane lighter or wood matches?  I specifically catered what I had available to their desires.

    When the cigar was prepped and ready, I handed it to the demo top, thanked them, rose, and stepped away.

    As the evening grew later, after my Dirty Pig reprisal, Gray called all four Hot Ash competitors to the center of the Barn.  Lochai took the microphone in hand, then distributed the inaugural Hot Ash certificates to the participants.

    For Most Entertaining Service: NYRCherryBondage.

    For Sexiest Service: EmberBliss.

    For Best Mashturbation: Roughinamorato.

    And the inaugural Hot Ash: poeticdesires.

    I smiled, sunk to my knees, and accepted my certificate.  I turned and stood before Gray could instruct me to not rise.  To my right was MissAmyRed.  In her hands was a piece of rope with a cutter attached on the end.  She draped the rope around my neck, my Hot Ash medal.

    I still have the rope.  The cutter is in my cigar kit, but the rope is my new favorite necklace.  It is a reminder of that night, of those people, of those moments I will not soon forget.

    And, as Gray put it, I am now a dual title holder.

    I am, indeed, a hot piece of ash.

  • Badass

    I wanted to do it.  No, I needed to do it.

    In the intermediate suspension class, the challenge (for both the tops and bottoms) was a transition.  Start with a gote chest harness; attach it to your ring.  Tie a futomomo leg lashing while the bottom is standing; attach is to the ring.  On the opposite leg, a simple ankle cuff.  Raise the bottom to a sideways suspension.  And, finally, the true test: invert the bottom, putting most (if not all) of the weight on the bottom’s futomomo lashed leg.

    As my top tied me, I was nervous.  I’d been inverted before, but the weight rested on my hips and lower back.  I had never attempted a single leg before.  Yet even as my heart raced, not knowing if I’d been able to handle the tie, I was also giddy.  I was being challenged, asked to step up to a level I had not sought before.

    My top tied my chest harness and attached it to her ring.  She tied the futo, but was unsure of the lashing.  She had not tried to bind the tie while the bottom was standing before.  She attached the futo to her ring.  The ankle cuff was simple.  She raised me sideways.  But, as I rested in her ropes, she decided we would not attempt the transition.  The futo was not working properly; she didn’t feel the situation was safe.  She brought me down.

    As soon as she took weight off the futo, the ropes collapsed.  She’d made the right decision.

    Still, I didn’t feel right.  I wanted to try the transition.  I wanted to know if I could do it, if I could handle it.  I wanted to prove to myself that I could be badass, that I was badass.

    Later, I spoke to Bombergrl.  She had accomplished the transition in class.  I trusted her skills.  She agreed to tie me that night.

    A few of my friends gathered in the Dungeon to watch.  I told them what I was going to try and they wanted to be around for support.

    As Bombergrl started, I could feel the nerves return.  In my line of sight was Elf.  I asked them to stay there, to stay close, to talk to me.  I needed to keep talking.  I needed to relax, calm down, do anything but amp myself up.

    Bombergrl attached the chest harness, wrapped the futo around my right thigh, and tied the ankle cuff on my left leg.  She lifted me into the air into a sideways suspension.  All the while, I kept my eyes on Elf.  Kept talking.  Bombergrl used her full body weight to raise my right thigh higher into the air.  She adjusted the left ankle cuff up as well, but it took barely any weight.  Then, slowly, she eased my chest down.

    I felt the grip, the pain.  I screamed out as my full weight sunk into my thigh.  The pain was worse than I had imagined.  But as I felt it, the cinching of my skin, the grip of the rope into my flesh, I knew I could take it.

    “Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck fuck.  Take the picture.  Take the picture.”

    Elf grabbed their camera, stood in front of me.  I breathed, melted into the pain, and stopped screaming.  A flash went off twice.  Elf had got the shot.

    Bombergrl eased down my left ankle, then lowered my right thigh.  I landed on the mat below.  As the pain subsided, the ground now taking my weight, my screams were replaced by cackling.  I couldn’t stop laughing for a full five minutes.  I’d done it.  An inverted futomomo single leg suspension.

    I’m 5’5″, 215lbs.  I am not a tiny Asian waif.  Yet, I did it.  I proved, to myself and everyone in that Dungeon, that big girls can not only fly, but fly hard.

    I still have the faint outline on my skin of where the rope gripped my thigh.  I wear the scar as a badge of honor, a constant reminder that whispers in my ear every time I see it.

    I am badass.

  • The Hard Sell

    “I just came back from my trip to Seattle.”
    My friend pat me on my back.
    “Well, it was nice knowing you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Almost every single person I know who visited Seattle moved there.”

    ~

    “I’m going to keep poking and prodding because you’re awesome and we want you here.” – Clash

    ~

    @poeticdesires
    – Maybe I should just stay here. #iWish

    @Graydancer
    – @poeticdesires toldjaso.

     

    I doubted them.  I seriously doubted them.

    It was the night of the Roperlesque at Rope Camp.  The festivities had ended.  Everything was winding down.

    I found myself in conversation with MissAmyRed and Gray about Seattle.  Amy had previously mentioned having a spare room in her house in case I ever wanted to visit.  But as I sat on the bench in the Barn, Amy and Gray began suggesting a little more insistently that I take the trip.

    They talked about the Center for Sex Positive Culture.  They spoke about how there is a party there every night of the week, different groups all converged in this one building.

    They spouted names of people I should meet, how I needed to talk to them about leather or bootblacking or rope.

    I happened to mention SEAF, the Seattle Erotica Arts Festival.  It was being held the first weekend of August.  As I weighed my options, stay or go, taking the leap or letting the moment pass, I just knew I was going to buy a plane ticket once I got home.

    Amy and Gray spoke so highly of the city.  Yet still I thought there was no way it would seduce me as it had them.  Not that fast.  Not in one trip.

    One week.  I landed last Thursday morning.  I returned home this morning.

    I spent seven days meeting people, going to parties, and experiencing the life and culture of a wonderful city.

    All too often, I realized how much I loved being in Seattle.  How much I loved the people I met, the community that welcomed me, and the moments, both big and small, that defined my trip to the northwest.

    Not only did I quickly grow to love Seattle, the people around me seemed to quite quickly grow fond of me.

    There was my new title, The Bane of Pants, so dubbed by Amy because I keep charming them off of people.

    There was the Sunday brunch on Amy’s deck, where Clash first asked if I thought about moving to the city.  My response:  “I can’t answer that question.”

    It had only been four days, yet I was already feeling the pull of the people around me, the pull of the community, the allure of the city.

    The whole group chimed in.  Half a dozen people who had just become a part of my life wanted me to stick around.  They knew I had to go, but they didn’t want me to leave.

    There were my last moments at Paradise, a local camping event.  The goodbyes before my departure.  And the gentle needling, the suggestions, and dare I say hopes, that I’ll make my way back to them.

    As I sat in the airport, I didn’t want to go.  I didn’t want to get on my plane with screaming babies and an aisle seat where almost everyone on the plane bumped into me.  I didn’t want to deal with grumpy flight attendants and a sore neck.  But, most of all, I didn’t want to acknowledge how sad I was that I had to travel away from what felt like a new home to me.

    I don’t know what my life will be like next year.  Or the year after that.  Or the year after that.  But I know Seattle is there, looming in the back of my mind, a mistress I cannot deny.  Her fingers somehow wound their way around my heart.  Only time will tell if her hold grows stronger or gently eases.

  • Mild Morning Freak Out

    I woke up, opening my eyes, and at once searching for Tessie. It’s what I do almost every time I wake up. Sometimes, with my occasional tossing and turning, he ends up on the floor. But then, a millisecond later, when I saw him sitting next to my knee, looking right at me, I felt this urge to do something.

    I quickly took off my necklace and held it in my hand for a moment, the metal dangling by my eyes, before wrapping the jewelry around my wrist and locking it there.

    Yes, that could work, I thought.

    But then I missed the weight around my neck. I missed the feel of the metal against my skin. I missed the easy motion of playing with the ring absentmindedly.

    I tried to unlatch the necklace from my wrist, but as if to mock me it wouldn’t come off easily. It was almost as if the metal wanted to remind me how tied to it I am, how much of myself I have poured into this one symbol.

    I finally got my necklace off my wrist and put it back around my neck (where it lays now). And though the idea of wearing it around my wrist is still a bit appealing, I have time before I need to make a decision regarding the adornment at events.

    So, the cause of my mild morning freak out…

    All while I was at Rope Camp, I think I was asked about “my Top” or “my Sir” or “my Dom” about a dozen times. There was nothing wrong with these questions. I, in fact, was happy people asked me instead of holding onto their assumptions.

    But that doesn’t mean the questions didn’t get to me.

    I don’t have a Dom, a Top, a Sir. (Wow, the tears have started to come already. Okay, locking it down.)

    I am unpartnered. I mean that in the broadest sense. No one in my life calls themselves my partner.

    I have so many friends I love and cherish, who I would never give up for anything. I have people that I care about and love, so many connections, but I have no partners.

    When I spoke to Gray about the reoccurring question at Rope Camp, shortly after we’d left, he wasn’t surprised. My necklace, though it is just a necklace (not a collar), conveyed an idea to those who did not know me. He liken it to wearing a black handkerchief in my back pocket and being upset about heavy S&M questions. I suppose it’s closer to wearing a gold band on my left hand’s fourth finger and being upset when people think it’s a wedding ring.

    And I get that.

    I’ve gotten the question ever since I first bought my necklace and put it on. I’ve had this piece of metal since I started in the greater public kink scene, since my first event, since before I joined Fet. So yes, the question comes up.

    Still, it doesn’t make it any easier as a person who is searching for the life she wants to lead and trying to find people to fill the major roles she hopes to someday have in her life to have to always correct the unintentional mistake.

    And, I wonder, how many have not thought of me in that way, not pursued something with me, because of their assumptions, because seeing my necklace made them immediately think Hands off.  Is it a subconscious thought in the back of people’s mind, a quiet barrier to possible connections, possible partners?

    Each time I was asked about my Dom/Top/Sir, each question was a little needle in my side, a little reminder of what I don’t have.

    It’s not set in stone, just an idea, but I don’t know if I’ll keep wearing my necklace at events, at least around my neck. It may dangle from my wrist. It may jingle in my pocket.

    It won’t go away, that much I do know, but maybe a change of place will ease the frequency of the confusion and possibly lessen my occasional small heartaches.

    Maybe.

  • Eight Days

    It was the longest time in a row that we’d spent together. Every night we slept in the same bed (though not always just the two of us). We ate (almost) every meal together. It was eight straight days of being around each other, eight straight days of time together.

    When he left, when I hugged him goodbye, even though I knew I’d see him in just under three weeks, I got into my car, drove just far enough to be out of sight, and started crying.

    Eight days.

    It was as if I was hit by a box truck to my chest. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond trying to regain my composure. My heart actually hurt, ached in fact. It was a severe dull pain that didn’t go away until I made myself drive.

    I made myself go play dodgeball.

    I left him at that specific time so I could make the game. The thought had occurred to me that I could skip the game and drive him to the airport; I’m glad I didn’t.

    I arrived just as the opening horn sounded. I stood on the sidelines and cheered on my team before being allowed in to play. I ran around. I caught a few balls. I smiled and was happy to see my friends. Afterwards a few of us went out for a beer and greasy food. It was what I needed.

    Little moments over the course of the week still punctuate my memory.

    A locked intense stare while demo bottoming for his Military Style Bondage class. Following his rhythm for push ups (which I hate) but my unwillingness to let him down.

    Sitting on the ground while he and others stood around me, smoking and chatting, patiently waiting til I again received his ash.

    My head on his chest at night as we slept. His arms around me when we adjusted. Hearing his heartbeat in my ear.

    Listening to him talk for hours, twice.

    His smile, when it appeared every so often, even when it wasn’t because of me.

    My forehead on his boot, my hands cupped on his heel, as he slipped his foot out from his leather.

    And, yes, there was sex and play. But there is always sex and play.

    Eight days. Eight straight days of Gray in my life.

    Even with the eventual hurt and the occasional frustrations, even with the drop all at once. Even with it not being perfect, because we are not perfect people. Even with the tired and tedium and sometimes some bullshit, I could not be more thankful.

    Eight days of Gray, eight days of my Teacher in my life; really can’t beat that.

  • A Good Time

    It was Friday night at Rope Camp.

    Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate was winding down; fewer than a dozen people remained in the Pavilion, though we all stood around smiling and chatting, still enjoying each others company.

    The social had gone well. Even though I arrived late. Even though I had to run back to the cabin for supplies. Even though I didn’t black one boot. There was laughing, good conversation, chocolate, some whiskey, and of course cigars.

    Funny enough, there was also coconut rope.

    As per Gray’s standing request, whenever I took his ash into my mouth, my boobies had to be out. For this particular evening I wore my black-top-gray-skirt dress and was easily able to free my chest for his amusement.

    But somewhere during the social he decided he wanted me in coconut rope. Dictating that I should just pull my entire torso out from my outfit, I pushed my dress down to my waist.

    And then came the rope.

    He wound it around my chest, over my nipples, secured it under my piercings, and placed knots in wicked spots all over. Just wearing coconut rope is a predicament in itself. You feel it dig in with each and every breath.

    Throughout the evening, the attendees of the gathering would approach me with one of two requests: may I touch it or may I pull on it. I granted both, either slipping into to teaching mode or willing bottom space.

    To make up for the lack of bootblacking at the get together, Gray instructed me to lie on the floor of the Pavilion. Then he and Rough provided the necessary boot action by suffering my body with their leather.

    Both men stood on my body in various places (back, thighs, hair) and marveled at my ability to take all their weight with my flesh. Gray also thought it fun to kick my crotch. But as I laid on the floor, Rough’s boots on my hair, and the toe of Gray’s boot occasionally connecting with my cunt, I heard laughter from the attendees. As I learned later, Gray decided to dance in between his crotch shots.

    When I stood, I let both men in on a small detail they failed to realize: with each of their movements, my nipples rubbed up against the floor. Not only did I feel their leather bound blows, I also contended with the abrasions of the rope and the floor. Personally, I think I was bad ass to have taken so much.

    With just over half a dozen people left, Gray removed my box tie. And oh, it hurt just as much coming off as it did going on. Gray made sure of that. Gliding the rope along my skin, whipping my body around, push and pull. If ever there was any doubt, yes Gray is most definitely a Sadist.

    When finally the last inch of rope was gone from my body, he rubbed all over my skin. I slumped forward, relieved at the soft and caring touch.

    However, with my coconut rope gone, I now felt the cool of the evening. I pulled my dress back up and slipped on my jacket. Our small group continued to chat.

    I don’t remember how we got on this topic, but there was one conversation exchange I will not forget.

    “How about making a bottom cum til they pass out,” someone suggested.

    “No,” Rough argued. “How about making me cum until I pass out.” I grazed Rough’s left bicep. He turned to me.

    “Hi,” I said with a wink and a smile. Everyone burst out laughing.

    And then it happened, my last highlight of the get together.

    To end the evening, and once again I don’t remember how this happened, but somehow we all ended up in a group hug coalescing around Rough. I stood behind him, my face on his back.

    And then people, while still in the hug, started hurting me.

    Rough stepped back, pressing the heel of his boot on the top of my right foot. And Elf pinched the back of my neck, right where he had bitten me before. And another pinched my left arm. And I think Gray went for a pressure point on the right side of my jar. I can’t really be certain because my eyes were closed for almost all of this, but fuck did it hurt.

    My face sunk into Rough’s back as new sensation after new sensation took hold. I screamed and yelped as they all laughed and enjoyed my pain.

    And yet, we were all still hugging, throughout the entire time. It was funny and odd and… something. Something.

    A good time. It was a good time.

  • Escape

    “The goal of the captive is to escape. The goal of the captive is to escape. The goal… of the captive… is to escape.”

    Oh, I realized. I was suppose to try to escape.

    I looked on as Gray’s minions (volunteers from the class) began to stand. I back pedaled, rushed to the right, saw a side door, and took it. The day had grown cool, my skin almost prickly in the air, but I only noted it as I ran as fast as I could.

    In my periphery, I saw someone coming from the right. I swung left, but the chain link fence surrounding the tennis court was in my way. Before I could traverse its length and rush towards the asphalt path, I was down in the grass. Soon two guys were on top of me. Gray, along with the rest of the class, slowly walked over. He congratulated me for getting farther than any other before.

    Grabbing my ear, he demonstrated a technique to control a prisoner. First he gripped my right ear, then switched to my left. I quickly assessed my surroundings and realized I had a shot to get away again, so long as I didn’t mind the pain. His hold on my ear was strong, but I knew I could get out of it if I tried.

    With a burst of energy, I rushed away, essentially ripping my ear from his hand (and loosing an earring in the process). Again I ran, but not very far before one of his minions took me down.

    Gray once again sauntered over, never in a rush. This time, when he knelt down, he riped up grass and dirt from the ground and held it over my lips. I refused to open my mouth. He held his hand over my nose. When I finally needed air, I thrashed my head back and forth. Gray then pulled up yet more grass and mashed it into my hair. He finished with a warning: if I tried to get away again, he would put something in another orifice.

    Instead of pulling me up by my ear, he let me stand on my own. I stood for a very long time before I moved. I thought maybe I could get into a favorable position to run again, taking my time with my steps. Instead his minions read my actions and positioned themselves in my way.

    Gray encouraged me to quicken my steps, and I was the first one to enter the Dungeon.

    I immediately broke for the side door again. Bracing my arms, I swung through the opening in the hand rail and sped along the grass on the side of the building. Out of nowhere, a minion tackled me. He held me down as the rest of the class again surrounded me.

    Gray loomed over me, holding two pine cones. He ordered a minion to go get a condom.

    Sitting on me, he said I had two choices: my pussy or my mouth. Again I took a long time to weigh the options before finally opening my mouth. When it came close to my lips, I bit the condom and tried to wrench the pine cone from his hand with my teeth.

    Gray swiveled, trying to open my legs, trying to force the condom wrapped pine cone inside me. I struggled. I screamed, guttural and full of rage. I would not let him succeed.

    Before I knew what was happening, I was standing, stumbling forward, pulled along by Gray back into the Dungeon by my hair.

    A minion now guarded the side door. I was flung onto the mat, held down by Gray’s knee on my head. Even though I knew it was almost impossible, I still tried to calculate a way to run, but there was no way to wrench my head free from his knee. For a good portion of the ordeal, I had a splitting headache.

    Soon his rope was on me, unforgiving ties on one wrist and both ankles. With my free hand I tried to untie, tried to get away, but he held the power now. When he threw the rope over the arch and pulled my body up, I screamed, not like my combative yells of before. I was in pain, real not-fun pain.

    “What hurts?”
    “My left ankle.”

    He let me down. I cried a little. I no longer thought about escape.

    Gray, at this point, told the class how, as in all scenes, both tops and bottoms have the option to safeword. He was not going to let me hurt myself in a way that would lasting or jeopardize my job.

    For all intents and purposes, I was broken.

    PS. Afterwards there was giggling (on my part) as I untied the ropes and Gray went on with his class, talking about and demonstrating hog ties, strappato, hojojutsu, and other mean mean ropey things. The experience was awesome.