poeticdesires

Category: RCM

  • Fire Hug

    The night was cool, cooler than any other since we’d arrived at camp on Wednesday. It was the last night of Rope Camp; it felt fitting that it be spent by the fire.

    Elf had prepared the wood earlier and now tended the flames while a smattering of people sat on the benches around him. I rested at Gray’s knee as he smoked his cigar.

    Looking beyond our circle, I saw a small flame on the ground. For a moment I wondered what it was for. I did not have to wait long to learn.

    Elf walked over, quickly spun a can through the air, pulled out fire poi, and lit them. Tonight would truly be a night of flames.

    Elf danced with his poi far enough from the circle to be safe, but closer than I’d ever been to the act. As his poi whooshed through the air, the sound amazed me. I never knew it was so loud.

    His movements were powerful and fluid, almost magical. I was in awe. Lines of burning orange and glowing blue traced across a black background. His body’s form came into light and laid in darkness time and time again.

    When his poi finally went out, I marveled at the act. And then a friend sitting next to Gray and I at the fire made a suggestion.

    “You should get a fire hug.”

    When Elf returned to the circle, I asked. He agreed, but wanted to know if I had experienced the act before. I had not.

    He described the protocol of how I would approach him, how he would take the last few steps, and noted I needed to be wearing natural fiber clothing. Of all that I wore against the chilled air, only my leather boots would be fitting for this endeavour.

    Elf and Ember took multiple turns spinning before it was time for me to experience the hug. In those intervening minutes, Gray finished his cigar and retired for the evening.

    When the time came, I stripped. The cool of the night tickled my skin. Elf lit his poi, stepped back to where he wished to spin, and called me forward.

    “Walk straight towards me.” My steps were measured, even; it felt as if I were entering a sacred space. “Stop.” Elf took the last few steps towards me.

    We were now nose to nose, our bodies less than a breath away.

    “This is how the earth feels. One side of her body is always towards the Sun.”

    I found my eyes locked onto his. The sound of the flames was even more intense than I imagined.

    “This is called butterfly.”

    I could feel the heat pattern change, could feel the increase in temperature as he spun around us. I closed my eyes, felt his flames, felt a connection. I leaned my forehead onto his chin. He kissed my forehead, then nuzzled my head up and kissed my lips. It was magical.

    He stepped back, taking away his flame. My hug ended, Elf continued to dance. I had had my moment.

    As I hurried back to my spot, Rough called me over. On his phone were two photos of my hug which he sent to me.

    Shivering but gleeful, I re-dressed and said to my friend as I rejoined the fire circle, “I need to learn poi.”

  • Service

    As I drove in my car, having just picked up Gray from the airport, I asked him what his expectations for Rope Camp were, specifically surrounding how we would interact.

    “Well if you wanted to be in service to me it would be helpful, but it would only be for the duration of camp.”
    “Ah…no. No no no. No. No.”

    So… my problem with the idea of being in service to anyone:

    It is very obvious that, most times, I acted in a service bottom manner. My latest catchphrase is, “Happy to be helpful.”

    I like asking if I can clear people’s plates, holding doors for people, helping Gray with his classes, carrying things. I like, truly like, being helpful.

    However, a big part of my enjoyment is my having the choice to offer my service but always having the option of not doing so. I have to be able to say no, anytime, for any reason, period.

    I suspect this has to do with my relationship attachment style. Doc and I came to the conclusion that I am anxious/avoidant when it comes to connecting with people.

    I am so fucking independent. I need to be able to do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I want. Otherwise I feel trapped, and I suspect I would grow resentful.

    In this is a fatal flaw simply because I want a Daddy/Dominant/Sir. I want a life partner who is in charge, period. How the fuck am I suppose to accomplish that when I can’t let go? I want to be in control, and yet be controlled.

    Once, at some meal this week at Rope Camp, I offered to take Gray’s plate. I’d been doing it since we’d gotten to camp, along with checking in with him, making sure he had things for his classes, and other very service subby activities.

    Instead of the usual “Thank you” and my taking of his plate, he stood and said, “No thanks, I’ve got it. I need to learn to be more self reliant. Besides, what happened to, ‘No no no’?”

    I will not lie: I felt like shit at that moment. Not because of Gray or what he said, but because I wanted to pick up his plate. I wanted to be helpful to him. I wanted to perform that service.

    Is there such a thing as service lite? What about service with caveats? Service with the option to say no?

    Because I like being helpful. I like being there for him. I like clearing his plate.

    And yet, when he asked me, and even when I think on it now, it scares the shit out of me, the thought of being in service to, well, anyone.

  • Worth It

    I deserved it. I totally deserved it.

    Celeste swung and smacked my back hard with her rope, testing the technique Rough had just shown the class.

    It hurt. A lot. I deserved every bit of the pain.

    The day before was the first of two of Roughinamorato’s Rough Body play classes. He spoke about different parts of the body, the ways to hit it, the best places to hit, and those to avoid.

    But there was one topic he said he would get to at the end of class that he almost forgot: the feet.

    As we all worked in pairs, practicing the information Rough had imparted, it dawned on me that no one had brought it up.

    I like Celeste a lot, but I wanted to learn what I knew would be an incredibly mean set of techniques. With a need to give myself an excuse, I saw Elf was about to talk to Rough. Spiriting over, I leaned against him and whispered into his ear.

    “Ask Rough about feet.”

    Spiriting back to my partner, Elf immediately stepped up to Rough and spoke.

    “Rough, could you talk about feet?”

    “Poetic!” Celeste exclaimed.
    “What?” I said with a mostly straight face.

    The pairs dissipated, returning to their chairs. Everyone wanted to see this part of the lesson.

    As Rough worked on Celeste’s feet, French curse words fled her lips. She squirmed. She yelped. Though her face had been very expressive during class, this was the most vocal Celeste had been that day. It was wondrous to watch.

    So, when she struck my back hard, multiple times, I knew I deserved it, knew the pain I endured was recompense for my attempt at underhanded ways.

    But, for those precious fifteen minutes, hearing her screams and seeing her squirm, it was worth it.

  • Rough

    “Do you want to play?”
    “Yes. When?”
    “Now.”
    “But I’m playing with a friend once they get back with their rope.”
    “We’ll play til they arrive.”

    Gripping the side of my neck, right where I’d been bitten not ten minutes earlier, Roughinamorato pulled me forward. Just as we were to find a space, my friend walked into the Dungeon and approached us.

    A dilemma.

    I suggested we combine the two activities, but Rough’s plans for me involved my ease of movement. They asked which I preferred first. Of course, I could not choose.

    It came down to a coin toss. Heads, my friend; M, Rough. The coin landed on M. My friend stepped aside and patiently waited.

    With an enormous amount of room in the middle of the Dungeon, Rough saw where he wanted to work. He found a nearby table, sat down his things, and requested I disrobe down to my boxers and remove my necklace. I could leave my moccasin boots on.

    Leading me to the middle of the empty space, he paused for a moment, looking into my eyes, before slamming his fists into my chest. I rocked backwards, but them returned to in front of him. He did it again. And again.

    “Welcome,” he said before continuing his assault, punching me, gripping my hair, bringing me back, and hitting me over and over.

    This, it turned out, was his warm up.

    After a few minutes of chest punching, he stopped and walked back to his table. Pulling out two coils of rope, he began weaving his chord around his fists.

    “You could cook something on my chest,” I said, happy floaty-high already. He smiled.

    As he constructed his rope fists, I grew nervous. I’d seen his video demonstrating the technique, but now I would feel the full impact of his cleverness.

    Finished, he again brought me to the center of the Dungeon. He stopped and once more looked into my eyes.

    I steadied my breathing. I tried to prepare myself. I knew the next however many minutes would be, well, rough.

    Punches to my chest. Punches to my back. Open hand smacks to my shoulders. I rocked forward, backward. I almost fell to the floor. I began crying.

    And then with one blow I was bent over, sobbing. He grabbed me by my hair, brought his lips to my ear, and quietly whispered, “Shh…”

    I caught my breathing. My sobs eased. He hurt me, and hurt me, but I kept my cries to high pitched low volume close contact utterances.

    He lifted my arms out to the side and then came down hard, opened handed smacks to my ribs. I screamed and hugged in my arms back in.

    He walked behind me and kicked my ass (literally kicked my ass, though technically using his thigh), coming across my rump with multiple blows.

    And then I was on the floor. He hit me so hard somehow, but I don’t know how, (I actually can’t remember if it was from the front or the back) I collapsed down to the ground.

    Once on the ground, I knelt before him. Rough came down to my level and rested on one knee. And as he did, he just stopped and looked at me again, a small smile electric and alive on his lips and in his eyes. He looked on me. And looked on me. And then spoke.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    Both his fists slammed into my chest. I rolled back and to the right, my body landing half face down on the floor. I pushed myself back up and immediately returned to kneeling, returned to being in front of him, and waited.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    He did it again. I fell, rolled up, and returned.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    And he did it again. And I came back.

    There was no hesitation, no moment between when he made his request and when I spoke mine. No time for rest, no need for it. I knew what was coming, knew the pain I would endure, and knew I wanted it, no doubt in my mind.

    He put his hand on my shoulder, pulled me in close, and stroked my hair. We hugged. I nuzzled his chest. I thanked him and he thanked me.

    It was rough, just how I like it.

  • Teeth

    I looked at him, smiled, and asked a simple question.

    “May I smell your jacket?” He returned my grin and stepped into my personal space. As my feet dangled from the short stage, I felt lost in the wondrous aroma.

    “I got this in Florence.” Real Italian leather, soft and supple leather. I rested my face against it, wanting to melt into him.

    Bringing myself back, I had to ask.

    “So, do you want to do anything?”

    He did, but… he had event duties and other dates already set. Still, he acknowledged the desire was there, as was the feeling that if we played it would be fun.

    For a second I stuck out my finger, but then I pulled back.

    “Do I have permission to touch you?” He looked on me quizzically, but then gave his consent, provided I stayed on the outside of his clothing. I poked his exposed tummy, just above his belly button.

    “May I touch you?” I gave him carte blanche, but then he wondered what my definition of touch was.

    “You can touch anywhere, including under clothing. You may take off clothes, but not rip off without consent.” A devilish grin crept across his face. Out popped his small knife. “Dammit! I’m not wearing destroyables.”

    I gave my usual caveats: no broken bones, no load bearing rigging from my piercings, no riping out of piercings.

    He looked at me, seeming to come to an understanding, and said, “Okay.”

    Slipping his hand into my hair, he gripped and pulled. My moans started.

    Tilting my head to the side, he brought his face to my neck. I could feel his hot breath just before he sunk down, his teeth gripping my flesh.

    I yelped at first, squirming, before settling into the pain and pleasure, my hands finding his hips, holding him to me. My moans grew loud. Symmetry being important, he graced the other side of my neck as well. Pulling my head back, his teeth found the front of my neck, gripping down not as hard, avoiding damage to my wind pipe.

    Stepping back, he looked on his work. His impressions laid in my skin nicely, but he decided to make them beautiful. Attacking each side of my neck again, his teeth once more found their places in my flesh, staying in their spots for much longer, digging in further. My moans, in turn, grew deeper and longer. The pain and pleasure was exquisite.

    To commemorate his work, he photographed each set.

    Later, as I stood around, chatting with him and another friend while coming down from watching an intense needle scene, he slipped his hand to the back of my neck. His fingertips grabbed around my tattoo, pinching the flesh in, intense pain coming from his touch. I whined, high pitched and longingly.

    “What? It’s a neck massage.”

    Gripping my hair, he sunk his teeth down into the back on my neck, framing my tattoo. I screamed, yelped, and then finally moaned as the delicious pain swept through me. I wiggled, squirmed, but again found myself inside his space, leaning into his body, diving into this moment with him.

    And, once more, he took a picture.

    It is now about twelve hours later. No matter how I move my face, my neck always aches… just a little.

  • Mimosas in the Morning

    My final Rope Camp Memory…
    Around 7am, I awoke to lips against mine, a kiss pulling me from sleep. My eyes still closed, I kissed back, the thought of ill intent never arising. Our embraced ended, I heard, “Best Cabin Bitch Ever,” whispered to me. I opened my eyes in time to see Murphy’s dreads as he walked out the door. He had apparently stayed with his friend that night in the half of the cabin that was mostly unused. I snoozed a little longer, not wanting to get up just yet.

    When I did eventually rise, I threw on some comfy clothes: my Invader Zim t-shirt that had “Deal With It” written on the front (my go to shirt for the last day of events) and a pair of shorts. I grabbed my Hello Kitty bag, as well as my bottle of champagne, and headed up to 1/2. When I arrived, everyone was prepped and ready to go to breakfast.

    We encamped again at the corner table (which I believe needs to be claimed in the name of NYR). Setting up their equipment, both Gray and Dov were to record podcasts. Everyone got a plate of food, and filled the table. Gray, Murphy, Dov, Amy Morgan, Lqqkout, MargoEve, CabinCowboy, and I all sat together.

    Before settling down, I opened my bottle of champagne and began making mimosas. After providing drinks for the people at our table, including myself, I gave out mimosas to many others around our area. The drinks distributed, and Gray’s coffee delivered, I settled in to eat and chat.

    The podcasts actually started before I sat down, but they were not too far in before I joined them. As I ate and listened, I realized everyone was talking. For some reason I thought only select people from the table would be speaking. So, since everyone was chiming in, I figured I was allowed to, as well.

    Gray and Dov steered the conversation, touching on some of the awesome things that happened at Rope Camp. They asked everyone about their cherry pops, as well as marveled at Lqqkout’s burning hot scene with mecha-Kate. Gray talked about our Rope and Cigar Play class. Quite a bit of time was focused on the Rigger vs Rigger competition, for obvious reasons. The men went over all the awesome highlights.

    I talked a little, complimenting Lqqkout on his scene and trying to get the facts straight about Rigger vs Rigger, but I was polite and didn’t hog all the voice time. However, with so much fun to spout about, there was precious little time before we all needed to wrap it up. It was getting late and people needed to pack up to go home.

    As we were close to finishing, Slut walked into the Dining Hall to get food. While she waited in line, the table did a toast to the NYRCabinSlut, chanting “Cabin Slut” in her honor. She then forcefully corrected us, noting she was the CampSlut. We corrected our error, chanting “CampSlut” for her.

    Another toast, to end the podcast, was to the NYR Cabin Bitch For Life. I was quite proud.

    The podcasts ended, we cleaned up, and went off to pack our things. I hurried to my cabin, and was able to quickly stow all my gear. Since I had spent most of my time at 1/2, most of my things were still in their bags. I was able to have my car loaded quickly and re-parked up the hill. I then headed back to 1/2 to help everyone clean up.

    Once I arrived, I jumped into helping Dov and Murphy. However, I felt the wave of emotions starting. I went over to Gray, informing him I was completely packed and asked if I could help in some way. He informed me I was, indeed, not completely packed. He pulled out the red tubed cigar that I’d purchased for him and handed it to me. He told me to hold onto it, saying we would enjoy it later. He also asked me to hold onto his lighter for him.

    One gift deserving another, I gave Gray something as well. Pulling out a plastic bag, I handed him mementos from our cigar play class, my burnt tank top and underwear. Apparently he’d forgotten about his request to have them, seeing as I kept the set from our workshopping session.

    Gray now fully packed, he piled all his things outside. I went back to helping Murphy.

    But I felt the emotions rising again. I told Murphy he needed to give me tasks to do. I needed something to help focus my mind on something other than my impending drop. He started giving me small jobs. Pick up this. Grab that. Murphy was the last to finish packing; he had that much stuff.

    At a certain point, though, I knew I needed to leave. Murphy mentioned the upcoming anniversary of the Rope Bomb in New York. I agreed to come up and see the crew again, as well as participate in the festivities. The Bomb-iversary happened to fall on the day before FetFest, which was kind of perfect timing.

    I started my hugs goodbye, embracing Murphy, CabEx, Cabin Meat, and Dov. I headed outside and grabbed my last few things, including my camp chair which I’d left at 1/2 the entire week.

    I went over to Gray. I told him I was going to go walk the Labyrinth and then leave. He gave me a big hug, then grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me. I found myself up on my tippy toes. I felt like a little bird in anticipation of taking flight. It was sweet, cute, an awesome little moment at the end of my camp.

    Our kiss ended, I took a breath, and started walking.

    I entered the sacred space, dropped my things, took off my shoes and socks, stepped to the start of the path.

    As I walked the twisting road, my journey was very different from the walk at the start of my camp. On Wednesday, my steps started as a struggle. I felt ever footfall acutely, but I completed my journey in giggles. On Sunday, my walk to end camp was full of happiness.

    I felt light, almost floating. I recalled all the people who were a part of my Rope Camp: Gray and our experiences, Murphy, Dov, Slut, CabEx, Cabin Meat, Darian, Phoenix, Murphy’s friend, mecha-Kate, Cabin Thug, Lqqkout, Lochai, Deiter and his girl, Lew & Drea. These people all touched me in some way. I thought of all the great things I had experienced, all the amazing people I’d met, all the fun times I’d had.

    When I entered the center, I was filled with tons of positive emotions, and I found myself saying “Thank you”. Normally I’m silent as I walk the path, but I whispered breathy, quiet thank yous, five total. As I continued along the path, I again was silent, but I continued to say thank you with heart, mind, and soul. When I walked out, I felt, I was, happy. So happy I’d taken the leap to come to camp, one of the best decisions I’d ever made.

    I put my shoes and socks back on, headed back to my car, and drove home.

    You know, I’m good. I’m really good.
    I was so tired once I got home that I dropped my stuff inside the front hall and fell asleep on the couch closest to the door.

    I was happy I’d had the experience of Rope Camp.

    NYR Cabin Bitch for Life.

  • Written Raw

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    Written Raw, a poem

    My tears wait on the edges of my lids, permission for their exit pending. Overwhelming emotions, conflicting joy and sorrow, push and pull my heart to pieces. Hiding the tornado of feelings, my face gives the world a smile, or a grin, or a smirk, all lies to appease the soft sensibilities of the herd. If only they knew what my true face looked like: twisted, wrenched with a pain so deep it takes physical form in my puffed cheeks, my tense forehead, my wailing eyes. This version of me I hide from them all.

    Alone, my only company the croaking of frogs and the chirping of insects, I still don’t allow the tears to come. Even now, I lock away my pain, but from who?

    I know I aimed too high, lived too fast, loved too quickly. And so I’m stuck, the unhealthy thoughts drowning my heart, the weight of their constant barrage pulling me down. When will my life be all that I hope for, all that I wish for, all I dream of? When will I really, actually, truly be happy?

    I feast on my salty tears, now. Maybe I will be able to fall asleep tonight.

    ~

    I wrote this poem, sitting in HQ, the dim illumination of a clip light guiding my hand. Bugs swirled about, and the frogs sung me a lullaby, as I scribbled my thoughts in eloquent phrases, trying to give beauty to my sadness.

    It took me putting these words to paper to understand the pain I was in. I had not realized how much I’d come to love my adopted cabin, and how much I would miss them when we all had to part ways. With my takedown now scratched, and the ache of the hurt and disappointment still raw, there was no other adventure to look forward to, no other scheme or scene to plan or play. All that was left was breakfast and goodbyes.

    I fell asleep soon after completing that poem, the dam of emotions inside me broken, my outward masked face washed away. That night I cuddled with Cabin Shell, pushing the sadness from my mind, allowing myself to sink into a denial of how hard the next day would be.

  • One Two Punch

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    The last moments of my last night at Rope Camp were difficult.

    Yes, I had had an amazing scene with Murphy and Gray. I was high from all the attention, not to mention the aluminum ring. Later, I had time alone in my rope, dancing in a frame all by myself, meditating in the moment. There was plenty to be happy about.

    However, nothing in this life is perfect, and eventually you come down from the high.

    After dancing in my rope, I settled on a mat to journal. I had plenty to write about (see above), and knew this would take a spell. I intentionally positioned myself facing the door to the Dungeon, wanting to not be distracted.

    As the night wound down, Gray came over and asked if I would bring Murphy’s things back to the cabin. Apparently he’d left some on the stage from the circus. I of course said I would. Gray then informed me he would not be sleeping in the cabin that night. He needed quiet to rest and his back was still in great pain. That was the last time I saw him that evening.

    After he left, I grabbed Murphy’s things and placed them beside me on the mat. Soon after, Murphy, along with Dov, showed up to retrieve the items. I wasn’t finished writing, though, so I stayed behind, still resting on the mat, as they headed back to the cabin.

    It soon grew late; the Dungeon was almost empty. Darian, the taxi driver for the night, came in and asked if I needed a ride. I told him I was okay and would just walk. He then asked if I wanted one more entry for my journal. He pulled out his cock and I began giving him head.

    Though he is a beautiful man, though his cock is gorgeous, and though he fucked my face and made me gag, I was not completely fulfilled by our interaction. Darian did not react, at all, to my manipulations.  No signs, no moans. I had no idea how I was doing, if he was enjoying it.  It wasn’t until later, after camp, when we spoke at a Happy Hour, that he informed me he does not give vocal feedback during oral. He had, in fact, enjoyed my work, and praised my skills. But until I got to talk to him, about four days later, I felt like I had done him a disservice; I thought I had given him a bad blow job.

    Once we finished, Darian walked with me back to cabin 1/2. It was evident as soon as I entered that the entire cabin was down. Everyone lumbered around, tired, sleepy. I had missed Slut’s takedown, a muddy affair. Murphy and Dov were in towels, having just gotten out of the shower. Slut was passed out on her bed.

    As I settled into the empty bed next to Murphy’s, CabEx informed me Gray would not be sleeping in the cabin that night. Coming from Gray’s lips earlier, the news had barely scratched the surface. Coming from CabEx, it felt like a annoying little jab in my side. I told him I knew, but thanked him for the consideration.

    I sat on the bed, chilling next to Murphy as he worked on his computer editing photos. I journaled some more, recounting my time with Darian.

    After a few minutes, Murphy looked up at me somberly. I asked him what was wrong. He said, quietly, that he wasn’t able to get to everything he had wanted.

    I knew what he meant. I was not going to have my takedown.

    I told him it was okay, I understood. I hid my hurt and disappointment.

    As people lazily lumbered towards their inevitable crash for the night, a run to Waffle House was the last thing I wanted.  Around 2:30am, when Waffle House was officially nixed, I headed back to cabin 20. But I couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts and emotions were swirling through my head.

    So, instead of forcing sleep, I dropped off my things, carried just my notebook and a pen, and wandered around camp trying to find a place to write.

  • Co-topped

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    As Gray hovered close to Cabin Meat, he asked her if she found him intimidating. She, in fact, did. Gray then turned to me, and asked me the same.

    “Yeah, sometimes.” He grabbed me by my tie, pulling me close, his face a breath away from mine. Gray asked again. I let out a breathless yes.

    Murphy, by my side the entire time, commented, “You know what’s intimidating? Doing the Care Bear hug.” Gray looked at him quizzically. 

    Murphy reached from behind me, placing his head on one of my shoulders, his arms encircling me; the care bear hug. Murphy then moved me forward, and beckoned Gray to try it. Gray hugged me from my front, his head on my other shoulder, both boys now completely encircling me. I didn’t know how to react, other than to giggle.

    With their affection finished, Murphy wasn’t sure if it was intimidating anymore. Murphy grabbed me by the hair and asked if his current action was intimidating. Gray, who looked on, said it wasn’t. In fact, he said I looked pre-orgasmic. Wrenching me from Murphy’s grasp, Gray turned me around and pulled my hair as well, showing Murphy his previous view. Murphy agreed with Gray’s assessment.

    Murphy then began hitting me from the front while Gray hit me from behind. They then flipped me around again, switching targets, but continuing with their blows, each man punching me, rocking my body this way and that.

    Murphy mentioned, “Yah know, there is something softer we could be hitting.”

    Gray pulled open my shirt, quickly unbuttoning and pulling it off of my shoulders. He started punching my boobs, and then decided to rip off my shirt completely. Finally understanding what was going on, I quickly took off my glasses and threw them aside onto my shirt, which had ended up on the edge of the stage. Gray, with two quick snaps, unbuttoned my bra and flung it off to the side, as well. My black tie, however, stayed on. The boys continued to assault me from all sides.

    Once again, Big Bro had an idea. “Yah know, there is a better spot on people of color that you could be hitting.”

    Gray pulled down my skirt, bent me over, and commenced punching my ass.

    Murphy mentioned how he liked to leave marks. His nails against my skin, Murphy scratched the top of my left boob. Gray said he also liked to leave marks, but he liked to use tools to do it. He went to his toy bag, which I’d laid out for him earlier, before the circus had started.

    Gray grabbed a small bat, and talked about how he didn’t need much effort to give a lot of pain with it. Murphy placed his hands on the front of my shoulders, and braced me as Gray hit me from behind.

    Gray then reached down, and started fingering me. He remarked on how wet I was already. As my body’s ecstasy swelled, and I could feel an orgasm growing, I asked permission to cum. The boys said I had to ask God for my pleasure. “Oh God, Oh God, please.”

    As Gray continued to finger me, I started cumming, the waves of pleasure racing through my hips and down my thighs. As my ecstasy subsided, Gray removed his hand from my pussy and inserted his fingers into my mouth. I licked my juices off of him happily.

    Continuing their mirrored actions, Murphy reached his hand down to finger me, as well. Once again, I asked if I could cum. Murphy said I had to get permission from Gray. I begged, pleaded to Gray, and, thankfully, he let me. Murphy, though, said I had to scream out my title, scream out NYR Cabin Bitch for Life so the whole Dungeon could hear me. With orgasm number two surging through me, I did just that.

    Gray grabbed me by my hair again, and pulled me up onto the stage. He ordered me to hold onto the aluminum ring and to not let go. He bent me over, my ass sticking out. Both boys remarked how good my ass looked, which pleased me.

    Gray started using his flogger, which compared to the bat felt like a rough massage. I loved the thud of the soft leather. Unfortunately, he brought out the Brat bat again, and wailed on my ass once more. Somehow, I knew I would not get off so easy.

    The boys tied my wrists to the ring, and Gray began fingering me again. As my third orgasm grew, the boys felt a small competition had started in the Dungeon. Multiple scenes were happening at once, with many subs and bottoms screaming. The boys wanted me to scream loud enough to out yell the others around us. I came, and I screamed.

    Finished with giving me pleasure, I was to receive yet more pain. Gray pulled out his cane, saying it was time for them to leave marks. I was going to receive fourteen strokes, one for each person in the cabin, to be evenly divided between the two boys.

    Gray started, lashing my ass three times. With each stroke, I thanked him for his kindness. Murphy, in turn, gave me three more.

    From the beginning of the scene to the very end, the boys kept talking back and forth, pinging off of each other. Gray once mentioned how I probably thought the scene wasn’t going to happen, and that that would make them liars. He asked me if I thought they were liars? I desperately said no.

    He also noted how, because of this blog, I was probably already writing the post about the scene in my head.  Well, kind of…  Some of the time, yes.  Most of the time, no.  You guys were quite distracting.

    With each stroke of Gray’s cane, I was ordered to count. As I counted, Gray got a little confused by my method, as I totaled their strokes individually instead of combined. Testing me, he asked if I knew the overall total. I said I did, noting that in college I was briefly a math major. Gray then asked if that made me smarter than him, seeing as he was a dance major. I exclaimed that of course he was smart, saying all dance majors were smart.

    “If you were a math major, what’s the square root of eleven?”

    “The square root of eleven is the square root of eleven.”

    Murphy sighed, “Yeah, she’s right.”

    “Well, what’s the square root of twelve?”

    “Two times the square root of three.”

    Murphy again sighed, “Yup, she’s right.”

    Finally, each had gotten to their last stroke.

    Gray took one side, Murphy the other. With their final flourishes, they lashed my ass one last time. I will not lie: their attention was difficult to take. I even cried a little, a very good sign. I was happy to be co-topped by them.

    At the end of the scene, the boys started tickling me. They had both experienced my giggling fits before, where I am unable to stop myself, lost in the playful painful haze of endless laughter. Thankfully, this didn’t last long.

    The boys let me down. Murphy stroked my hair. Both of them hugged and comforted me. “You’re our Cabin Bitch for life,” Murphy began. “We claim you.”

    As I was coming down from my high, I realized Gray lashed my left cheek, and Murphy hit the right. Left cheek, right cheek. Left cheek, right cheek. If you know the song, you’re probably black or really like hip hop music. Booty Wurk was instantly stuck in my head, and I started laughing again.

    Gray instructed me to go into his toy bag and pull out the dark chocolate, yet more Ghirardelli. We shared the treat between us three. As we enjoyed our sweetness, a bottom came on stage and asked for some, as well. We popped a piece it into their mouth, and they happily scurried away.

    As the boys walked off, Ammre showed BendyYogaGirl how to do a trick on the aluminum loop. If you flip your body up just so, your weight will rest on the back of your hips and it will look like you’re floating. After Bendy successfully performed the maneuver, I tried it. The best way for me to do it, as Ammre instructed, was to just have faith and flip.

    So, I did. I was instantly cackling. It was amazing. Flipping back down, my head was deliciously floaty. But just as I was about to walk away, Ammre told me Gray was coming back over and I should do it again. Once again, full of faith, I flipped onto the ring and showed Gray. Murphy, who was still with him, took a picture, which is now featured on my FetLife page.

    Back down on the ground, I was high beyond measure; I was gone. I sat on the edge of stage, blissfully floaty, as Gray came over to chat. We watched Celeste self suspend inverted, and jack off Slut with a Hitachi, as the favor was reciprocated.  That night was a good night for many at camp.

  • Triggered & 60/40

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    As the boys finished cleaning up, I sat by the corner of the stage, talking to Cabin Meat. I showed her the photos I took of the acts, pleased at my work. When I looked up, at the frame on the ground across from the stage, I saw a bit of a really hot scene with Lqqkout & mecha-Kate.

    I then looked to my left, and saw Murphy with Janice and Gray with another girl on his lap.

    I was triggered.

    I was trying to brush off Dov’s comment, having heard it only a few minutes prior. I knew he didn’t mean to hurt me, but he did. But then I saw the two guys supposedly co-topping me that night hanging out with two other beautiful women. I felt the emotions swim up on me, like a heavy wet blanket.

    You motherfucker. You’re happening again. You’re happening again? Right now? Why are you doing this to me? Why?

    Waves of insecurity came back in one quick rush. Feelings of inadequacy, of not being good enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, submissive enough, anything enough flooded my brain.

    I immediately went into self soothing mode. I looked at my photos again. This didn’t work.

    Thankfully, I looked up and realized I should watch Lqqkout & Kate’s incredibly hot scene. It was, by far, the closet thing I’ve ever seen to fucking with a guys pants still on. Lqqkout suspended Kate high up on the arch. With gloves on, he began to finger her, which then translated to fisting her. He slowly let her tie off, lowering her down, so that all her weight was supported by was her chest harness and his hand in her pussy. She began screaming and cumming, squirting on the mats below.

    Just then, Murphy approached and stood next to me. Pushing my feelings aside, I showed him the photos I’d taken of the circus. Gray then came over, too, and I showed him, as well. But, I soon realized my efforts were not going to work, as Gray kept distracting me, poking me in the boobs.

    Gray then poked Cabin Meat in the boobs, too. She, in turn, poked Gray back. His focus latched onto her. “Whatever you do to me I’m gonna do ten times back to you.”

    In an instant, my head went in two different directions. 40% of me was jealous Cabin Meat was getting this attention from Gray. But 60% of me couldn’t stop looking at her. When Gray was up in her personal space (doing I’m-not-sure-what to her) her head rolled back, her eyes closed, and her face smoothed out.

    I stood, scrunched up, a hand under my chin, my arms closed in on my chest. I just watched. All I kept thinking, as I took in this moment, was I want to play with Cabin Meat. I want to play with Cabin Meat.

    And yes, there was a part of me that was jealous of the attention she was getting, but, at the same time, more of me was pulled in by how gorgeous she was, how much I wanted to taste her lips. All I wanted, in that moment, was to kiss her.