poeticdesires

Category: RCM

  • A Short Outing

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    Graydancer, Lochai, & PoeticDesires walk into a cigar shop…

    This sounds like the setup for a joke, but it’s not.

    After our session of convincing the cabin to have a kinky circus, Gray & Lochai wanted to venture off campus for a cigar run. Gray needed tubes for his Cigar & Rope Play class. Lochai needed to replenish his stock. I came along for the ride.

    I love being a fly on the wall. Sitting in the back seat. Lingering in the corner of the humidor. Waiting patiently at the Dunkin Donuts (the guys wanted coffee; I, who do not drink coffee, opted for hot chocolate, which Gray kindly purchased for me). You get an insight into people beyond their everyday fascade. And you hear the most interesting stories when people forget you are in the room.

    Stepping into the tobacco shop’s humidor, about the size of a large walk-in closet, Gray and Lochai’s faces lit up. They were like two kids in a candy store; the plethora of different varieties had them smelling here and looking there. Commenting on this brand, reccomending another. Both purchased sizeable amounts.

    I also purchased a cigar. Mine was tubed, with a red and black design that caught my eye. I loved the idea of buying a cigar for Gray that he would smoke during our play, with the added bonus of the tube as a sovereign for me. Thankfully, I had just enough cash to cover my impulse buy.

    One of my favorite parts of this tiny adventure was my small moment of panic towards the end. When we traveled off campus, I wore a pair of black boxer shorts, a black tank top, and my Invader Zim jacket. So, when a cop walked into the tobacco shop as we were all paying at the counter, I wondered, Am I street legal?

    Instead of letting my nervousness overtake me, I stopped and thought about it.

    Well, my genitals are covered. That’s good. Technically these boxers are underware, but the style is similar to women’s booty shorts. And it’s hot as balls outside, so I’d be justified in wearing little to nothing. I think I’m cool.

    No look; no ticket.

    The guys got their coffee, and my cocoa, and we headed back to campus.

  • Watching: Gray & Slut

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    I am a voyeur, have been for as long as I can remember. As such, I get to see a lot of cool shit. One such scene happened on the NYR Cabin front lawn.

    On the cabin porch, while Lochai gave me a brief tutorial on different ways to tie a single column cuff, Gray practiced a harness for his Fetish Performance class on his demo bottom, Slut. The idea was he would be able to remove the harness with one long pull.

    Lochai, after he was comfortable that I had the cuff, asked Gray to show him the harness as well. The group moved down to the lawn while I sat on the porch practicing my tie. Once Lochai was satisfied that he could recreate the harness, he left.

    Gray and Slut then seamlessly transitioned into a scene. He tied a chest harness on her and began fingering her.

    If you ever get a chance, watch Slut play. Her facial expressions are well worth the price of admission. She falls into a state of ecstasy one can only hope to attain.

    Gray got her to the ground, fingering her still more. He put her over his knee and spanked her. He brought her mouth to his cock and began fucking her face.

    And all the while I sat, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, leaning forward, watching. I didn’t dare move; I didn’t dare breathe.  My eyes were locked on their scene.

    I still remember distinct moments from their play. The sway of his hips, his hand on the back of her head, as he thrust his cock into her mouth. The look on her face, her head tilted back, her body collapsed as she felt every twitch of his finger. And a moment, a perfect fucking moment, when he glanced up, saw me watching, and smirked.

  • Don’t Touch Me

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    As part of Graydancer’s RACK Roleplay class, I volunteered to be a demo bottom in a test for the top, which in this exercise happened to be Gray.

    My role to play was whispered quietly in my ear. Gray was then instructed to give me a hard takedown and bind me in a constrictive position. He seemed pleased with this prospect, quickly securing me in an arm bar, and forcing me to the matted floor.

    He tied me tight, ensnaring both my arms behind my back, wrapping a box tie around my chest. He sunk his weight into my back using his knee. My face was compressed down; I took no notice of the rest of my body. I was solidly pinned.

    Following the script, my breath became labored. He grabbed my hair and barked in my ear.

    “How does this make you feel? Are you wet? Am I making you wet?”
    “Yes.”
    “Say it. Say it!”
    “Wet! Wet. You make me feel wet.”

    With my breathing slowed, he went back to his tie. With the intensity of this mock scene, which didn’t feel at all fake to me, one thought ran through my mind. Shit! Are you fucking kidding me? I have to end this now? Now!?!

    I followed the script, even though it went against every fiber of my being.

    I began hyperventillating. Gray put his hand on my back to try to comfort me. I increased my hurried breaths.

    “Breathe with me. Breathe with me.”
    “Don’t touch me! DON’T TOUCH ME!”

    Again and again I yelled at Gray, using the same words over and over, panic in my voice. He stepped back, trying to calm me with soothing reassurances, but it was to no avail.

    “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.”

    An “expert” stepped in to help, asking Gray what went wrong. Gray explained the situation and the “expert” got close to me, attempting to talk to me.

    “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

    Because of his nearness, my voice, which had quieted some, rose again to a scream. He backed away.

    Neither man knew what to do. Gray had his safety shears, but my protestations were coupled with writhing. The last thing Gray wanted to do was risk cutting me.

    In a stroke of quick thinking, Gray called over my “sister” to try to calm me down. The called upon volunteer knelt down slowly, got eye contact with me, and tried to talk me down.

    “Don’t touch me.”

    I still repeated my mantra, though quietly, as if I were trying to talk to her but I did not posess the words. She softly asked if it was okay if they untied me. I tearily complied.

    Once free, I asked, “Are we done?” Someone gave an affirmitive reply. I bopped up and sat back in my seat, happy and bubbly from my performance.

    Everyone else, though, was a little freaked out.

    Yeah, I forgot to tell them I could act. Opps.

  • Why Rope?

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    “Fuck the naysayers, fuck the purists; you do rope for you.” – Deiter

    As a Domme, I enjoy rope because, well, I like tying people up. I enjoy the skill, the knowledge of the knots, and how this winding substance can control a body. I love the feel of rope as I lay it, bind it, across flesh. The fibers in my hands, the way it moves through my manipulations, is just a joy.

    There is the practical aspect of rope that I like, seeing as it is harder for someone to get away when I do mean things to them. One of my favorite rope activities involves tying someone in a carada, binding their hands behind them, and pushing & pulling them back and forth. I call it my ‘Human Yo-Yo.’ I can be seen cackling ecstatically as I keep them off balance, almost, but not quite, falling.

    I also find rope asethetically pleasing. To be plain, I like to make things look pretty. Weaving strands across someone’s body is a skill, but also an art form. There is a reason why we all love to take photos of our work or perv photos of another’s rigging. The shit just looks fucking good.

    As a sub, my love for rope has run deep and long. I cherish the feel of rope on me, multiple tendrils of comforting hugs encasing my body. There is no limit to the amount of rope I want on me, provided I can still breath, somewhat. Big Bro used close to 200ft of rope when he popped my suspension cherry; for all I cared, he could’ve used 2000 and I would have been just as happy.

    There is a practical reason for my love that is obvious, useful, and enjoyable; rope is great for sex. I can still remember the feel of the chest harness Gray put on me the night we workshopped his Cigars and Rope Play class. That particular tie was on me for at least two hours. When we finally did fuck, at the end of our session of play, he used the tie to pound his cock inside me, “riding me like a jockey encouraging a thouroghbred down the home stretch.” Who the fuck is going to say, “I don’t like rope because it takes too long,” to that?

    Beyond the fucking, which I absolutely love, rope is an immediate way for power exchange. Bound in fibers, I relish the lose of control. When I am being tied, I let myself go, allowing my binder to have complete authority over me. Only they may decide what is going to happen to my body. For those precious few moments, I feel owned, fully and wholly. I sink into my submission. I let go.

    So, why rope? Are you shitting me? Why the fuck not?

  • Letting The Lady Walk About For A Bit

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    After Tai Chi with Gray, I headed back to my cabin to get ready for my first Rope Camp class. I quickly showered and slipped on a pair of tight black boxer shorts, a black tank top, some socks, and my black Vans sneakers. I packed my rope bag, full of my poly nylon, and also checked my Hello Kitty bag, ensuring everything I could possibly need was there. I pulled my hair back.

    Stepping out from my cabin, the first thing I noticed was the weight of my load. My rope bag was heavy, laden with about three hundred feet of poly nylon, as well as my carabeners and brand new Shibari ring. My Hello Kitty bag was not light either; I carried my large notebook, a few smaller notebooks, my large flashlight, my water bottle, and random things that might possibly be needed (pens, condoms, etc.).

    Next, I noticed my posture. My back was straight. My shoulders were square. I held my head up, instead of my usual bob here and there or a slight tilt towards the ground. My chest was high, my carriage authoritative. My eyes always looked ahead. If I caught someone’s gaze as I passed, I did not break it. Otherwise, I kept my sight set on the path ahead, walking past the Dining Hall, over the field to my class.

    Taking notice of all this, it dawned on me that I was sinking into my Domme head space.

    I’ve struggled with being a switch from the moment I realized I had a demanding bitch in me. Most times she comes out as mean but whimsical, playing with people like they are her little toys. Occasionally, she’ll just be plain pissed, wanting to hurt someone for her pleasure. But letting her come out has been a constant struggle.

    Though I know she’s there, I still can’t quite name her. Is she a Mistress? A Madame? A Lady? Does she even want a title?

    Does she wish to wear a tight corset or a tailored business jacket? Tall boots or barefooted with painted toe nails? Naked or wrapped up tight in clothes? Sinister or silent?

    Calling myself a switch is easy; I’m merely acknowledging there is more than one side to my kink. But inhabiting that space where I don’t give a shit and you will cry for me…that is harder than I can convey.

    As the good girl, the Cabin Bitch, the Teacher’s Pet, I often let her languish, relegated to the back of my mind, except for the occasional piqued interest or passing thought.

    She is best nourished when I inhabit my voyuer plane, stalking the Dungeon, curled up on the floor, observing my friends, or a person I admire, as they play. She relishes watching, imagining herself causing the pain. (And while she’s enjoying the show, subby is just as content to watch, placing herself in the path of the mean mean woman or man.)

    But I don’t know how to get there, to sink in all the way, to feel and be her without reservation, without hesistation, without doubt or hyper awareness. Like a new King just given his crown, I don’t know how to rule over this body in front of me, this person who gave up their self to be mine for a short period of time. Of the few times it’s occurred, I mostly just winged it and hoped for the best. I haven’t had any complaints, but…

    Though I am a switch, which I feel through and through, I don’t know shit about how to be a Domme.

  • Stillness

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    Part of my duties as NYR Cabin Bitch was to wake up Gray at 7:45am Thursday for morning Tai Chi. I had met the class instructor while signing in Wednesday afternoon. He mentioned his class, something he was doing just if anyone was interested. I passed the info on to Gray, who liked the idea and requested my presense to get him to it each morning. 

    (Due to unforseen circumstances, Thursday proved to be my only appearence in the class.)

    Being eager and ever wanting to never be late, I arrived outside Gray’s cabin at 7:30am. Sitting in a camp chair, I settled down, waiting til the specififed time to wake him. Not ten seconds after my rear relaxed into the seat, the cabin door opened.

    “Your early.”
    “That’s my nature.”

    Before he was ready to head down to the class, Gray said he needed fifteen minutes for meditation, and instructed me to let him know when his time was up. He sat, cross legged, wearing just his black tied pants, and looked out onto the campus with a grounded, yet distant, gaze.

    I sat in my chair, as quiet as a church mouse, not wanting to disturb him. Knowing myself, I found a way to distract my attention before something to distrupt him occurred (a tickle in the back of the throat, an itch in an inopportune place, a dry cough).

    Having my iPhone handy, I pulled up Words With Friends and began playing. This served the dual purpose of keeping me as still as possible, while also waking up my brain. I was still quite sleepy, but the mental challenge helped.

    At 7:48, I informed him it had been fifteen minutes. He stood and we headed down to the class. Held on the amphitheatre stage, I kicked off my flip flops, opting to move barefooted on the wet wooden floor. The instructor walked through the entire sequence of steps, to be taught over the course of the event, before starting in with the first set of movements.

    As he taught, he talked, a lot. He explained each step thoroughly: how and where to shift your weight, arm movements and placement, our feet and their angles with each motion, and the constant feeling we should have in our minds of moving as if we were standing in water.

    As he instructed, and I caught on to his steps, I became antsy, almost frustrated. I wanted him to go faster, to show more. I wanted to speed through because the entire sequence seemed long and I wanted to learn all of it by the end of Rope Camp.

    It was about two-thirds of the way into the class when I realized, Stop. Breathe. Feel and move.

    Much like on the porch, this lesson was a time for stillness. It took my fast-paced brain the better part of the class to realize this. Once I understood, I slowed, letting myself sink into the moment, the movements, and the presense of my body. Everything became intricate, slow, focused. And, for a little while, I found my stillness.

  • Whispering to a Stranger

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    Still high off the glow of fucking, I thanked the Sadist by getting on all fours and kissing his feet. This seemed to please him and keep me in the good graces of the cabin. As I gave the Sadist’s feet attention, Gray caressed my ass, the view perfect from his bed. Even after my treatment of Dov’s feet was complete, Gray continued to lightly brush my cheeks, so I stayed as I was on the floor.

    Soon DarianIlRe walked into our cabin and came over to chat. I informed him he had just missed the show, Gray and I fucking for the whole cabin to see, if they so chose. Sitting back, happy and bubbly, I asked Darian what he was doing right now. He had no immediate plans, so I pounced.

    “You’re going to beat on me.”
    “Hmm, I don’t like your tone.”

    Realizing I had offended him, I quickly reached over and began kissing his feet, my apologies spewing out.

    “I don’t like this bratty side of yours,” remarked Gray. “Is this how you are after you’ve been fucked?”

    Having conveyed my apology, I explained to the two men that my last encounter with Darian had resulted in a missed opportunity. I felt the need, since he was here and available, to strike while the iron was hot, grabbing him for play now, rather than waiting and possibly missing out again. Understanding my previous brusk attitude, Darian consented.

    I bid Gray goodnight and left with Darian, heading over to the Dungeon. We settled on the large wrestling mats. I stripped naked; he warmed up.

    “Just to warn you, I’m in the mood to fuck someone’s shit up.”
    “Okay.”

    Gripping a chunk of my hair, Darian forced me to my knees. Crotching down, his knees held my head as he bent over and began with the front of my thighs. He slapped and punched at my flesh savagely.

    Standing, he began kicking and punching the sides of my thighs, as well as my ass. Each time I twisted or moved for a moment’s respite, he targeted the back of my thighs. Pulling me all the way to the ground, he placed his foot on the top of my thighs, shifted some of his body weigth for pressure, and twisted my skin. I screamed out in agony with his slightest movement.

    Finished with this manipulation, he decided to simply stand on me, his full weight on a small patch of my leg. The pain was excruciating.

    Sitting down, he lifted my straight legs, punching and harshly slapping the backs of my thighs. Flipping me over, now face down, Darian kicked me again, once more targeting the back of my thighs. The entire ordeal was similar to our play to Fusion: long, intense, and unrelenting.

    It wasn’t long into our scene that I began to cry, sobs and snot pouring out of me. And, like before, the thoughts I held in my subconscience came roaring to the surface, though these were different than before.

    “Daddy, where are you?”
    “Daddy, come find me.”
    “Daddy, love me.”

    I whispered, cried, sobbed my pleas to him, over and over, in hopes that somehow, someway he would hear me.

    During aftercare, Darian asked what I had been mumbling. I told him my thoughts, and then explained how it was only recently that I accepted my want and need for a Daddy. I had had the desire for a while but didn’t want to admit it to myself. My crying, when Darian beat on me, was my loneliness and pain from the absense of this person, who I have not yet met, in my life. I also talked about my constant struggle for patience, trying to just wait for my Daddy to come to me.

    Randomly, also during aftercare, I told Darian about my prophetic dreams, and how one had come true at Rope Camp. Once Gray and I had arrived back at the cabin from dinner, earlier that evening, I asked him to show me ways to hang my Shibari ring. Sitting on the edge of the bed next to his, I realized, as it was happening, that I had seen this all before, down to me having to call out Gray’s name three times before he responded.

    Darian, ever full of Woo, asked if I had tried to cultivate this gift. I explained how haphazard it was, seemingly inconsistent, utterly random. He believed, since it was a gift none-the-less, that I should find a way to develop it. If there was a way, I told him, I would try to find it.

    Tears and snot cleaned off the mat, we grab our things and left, the last persons in the Dungeon that night before it closed.

  • Ride Em Cowgirl

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    Finished with the ice cream, I quickly shuttled it to my cooler and returned to his side. In the interim, he had laid down on his bed. Moving the towel, I again rested on my knees, my head near the middle of the bed as we chatted. After about ten minutes, he looked at me and asked a direct question.

    “What do you want to do right now?”
    In a blunt and honest mood, I responded, “I want to suck your cock. May I suck your cock please?”

    He unzipped his pants and pulled out his semi-hard dick. Taking him into my mouth was a familiar and pleasing sensation. Stroking the shaft with my tongue and my lips, I bobbed my head up and down the length. I wanted to enjoy the taste of his balls, but they were still inside his pants. Assisting me in my efforts, he took off his bottoms, as well as his shirt. We were both naked now.

    I sucked on his balls, the familiar groan escaping his lips. As I transitioned back and forth between his cock and balls, he asked, “Do you want to fuck me?”
    “Yes.”
    “Beg me for it.”
    “Please, please let me fuck you. I yearn to feel you inside me.”
    “Do you have a condom?”
    “Yes.”
    “Get it.”

    Scurring to my bag, I rifled around until I found one of two condoms I had haphazardly thrown in earlier that day, just in case. Ripping the packaging open, I tried to slid the condom down his cock using the common mouth trick, but this proved difficult. In my lust to just start riding him, I reverted to using my hands, extending the latex down the length of him.

    He instructed me to ride him reverse cowgirl; he wanted the pleasure of spanking and punching my ass while we fucked. Lifting myself up and on top of him, his dick slid in smoothly, my warmed and wet pussy hungry for it. I bucked my hips back and forth as his hands and fists pounded into my rear. Blow after blow matched stroke after stroke as we fucked and fucked on his rickety camp bed.

    Soon I felt the usual build up in my inner walls, the sweet rumblings of an omcoming orgasm. As a good girl, I asked permission for my pleasure. As an excellent Dom, he made me beg. But this time he instructed me to plea to his cabinmate, a Sadist, a man who took pleasure in other people’s pain. I begged sweetly, quietly at first, but my body made me scream, the wanting pleasure of my orgasm just over the horizon. And, magically, the Sadist said yes. A warm deep orgasm surged through me, across my hips and into my thighs.

    Done with my ass, he instructed me to turn around. Riding cowgirl, he began playing with my breasts and nipples, pinching, massaging, wrenching my flesh. He put his hands around my neck and choked me, my breathing now his choosing. He grabbed my hips and pinched in the spot I oh so love, pleasure and pain our constant modis operandi when playing or fucking. He thumbed my clit; he teased me horribly.

    Feeling another orgasm build, I again begged for my pleasure. This time, he instructed me to scream so loud that people would hear me through the wall. This was a joyful request to fulfill, my orgasm surging through me, my screams a natural and wanted extension of my pleasure.

    Using his grip on my hips, he slowed down the pace and made our thrusts deeper, pushing still further in me. My breath slowed, my body moving with his, his cock so far inside me.

    Gripping my hair, he pulled my ear to his lips.
    “Imagine me all lathered up, in your asshole, fucking you.”
    I was gone.

    He thrusted harder still, a slow deep grind, as if he were kneeding dough or churning butter. My third and final orgasm swelled. Once more I begged, and he quickly consented, his own orgasm nearing. Fucking slow, hard, and deep, we came together, a sweaty pile strewn across his bed, exhausted, sex funky, and fulfilled.

  • Peanut Butter Cup

    Rope Camp Memories continued…

    He sat on the edge of his bed, spooning ice cream out of a just opened pint, savoring each bite slowly. I looked on wantonly.

    “Would you like some?”
    “Yes, please.”
    “Not in those clothes.”

    Obediently, I stripped. He instructed me to grab his towel and I knelt on it in front of him, my hands tucked behind my back. Staring at his treat, my lips watered. He ate one more bite before offering me my first.

    Delicately scrapping the cold dessert from the carton, he waved the spoon just off the edge of my lips. Slowly he glided the ice cream into my mouth and my tongue lapped it up gratefully. Tipping the spoon upward as he removed it, my lips pressed together to capture every last drop.

    After taking another taste for himself, he again brought the spoon to my wanting mouth. I instinctively moved forward for my bite, but he moved away, teasing me. I slightly snipped at my treat before settling back on my knees. He again glided the ice cream over my lips and I again enjoyed the sweet rich morsel.

    For his next bite, he decided he wanted to eat it another way. Scooping up another spoonful, he spread the ice cream onto my breast and licked it off sensuously. It was all I could do to not buckle under the sheer intensity of this moment. Skipping my next turn, he spread the dessert over my other breast and again enjoyed his treat.

    As he ate, I could feel a few melted drops slide down the center of my cleavage. Instinctively, I brought a hand forward to catch the liquid before it made a mess.

    “Put your hands behind your back!”  He smacked my breasts and nipples hard, reprimanding me.

    “If the ice cream falls, it’s because I want it to.” I bit back an apology, knowing he did not want to hear it. Seeing I was upset, he again fed me another bite.

    “You’re a slut; why are your legs closed?”

    I opened my legs wide on his towel. He reached down and began fingering my already wet pussy. I moaned and writhed against his hand, but he commanded me to not cum. The sensations ripping through my body were so intense, I had no choice but to start begging.

    “Please, please let me cum. God, please let me cum.”

    And when he finally said yes, I ground my hips hard against his fingers, fucking his hand and screaming out his name. 

  • Midori Wants Ice Cream

    Today’s blog is another fun Rope Camp memory I wish to impart.

    After the opening night’s Meet & Greet, which originally was to be smores around the campfire, but was moved into Dungeon because of the rain, members of NYR Cabin congregated towards the front entrance, ready to take on an important mission: Midori, an amazing woman and rope goddess we all love and admire, wanted ice cream. As Gray, Murphy, and Dov brainstormed about transportation, I quietly said, “I have a car.” With the addition of NYR Cabin Meat’s vehicle, our formiddable caravan was set.

    In a quirky moment in the parking lot, people debated who would go in which car.
    “Gray. Murphy. Dov. Sasha. My car!”
    “So that’s what your Dom voice sounds like.” Actually, Gray, it was my lead voice. I saw a problem and took control of the situation to get us to a solution. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.

    Traveling through the wet warm night, we soon made our way to 7-11. Along with partaking in ice cream, there was a collective desire for Slurpees. To everyone’s amazment, I admitted to never having had one before. This needed to be remedied.

    The commemorative cups at the time featured a hot profile picture of Daniel Craig, therefore I had to buy one. Only thing is, the cup was the Super Big Gulp, the largest possible Slurpee I could have purchased.

    Big Bro, being kind of heart and empty of stomach, offered to kill said drink with me. Stepping up to the Slurpee machine, I chose the Coco-Cola flavor and filled my cup up to the top, including its dommed lid. Paying for all our drinks and ice cream, we quickly huddled up for a group photo before heading back to camp.

    The inspiration for our Slurpee purchases came from Midori, who thought of a fun way to prank the attendees at Rope Camp. We were going to “Slurpee” their scenes: encircling their space and staring at their work, everyone sipping on their drinks while queitly commenting. It was to be like Glee, but without the mess. Unfortunately there were few people in the Dungeon when we came back, leaving us only the pleasure of Slurpee-ing a scene with Scott Smith, who found our presence amusing.

    After our fun, we all gathered in Cabin 2, and toasted to NYR with sake, a fitting start to an amazing Rope Camp.