poeticdesires

Category: Rope

  • No Expectations

    I didn’t go into the party expecting to play.  The invitation promised good food, tasty drinks, and friends.  That’s all I needed.  Still, I dressed cute and literally let my hair down, an act I don’t often do.

    People were slow to arrive, but the house eventually filled up with some of my favorite people.  We feasted on turkey, sweet potatoes, and various desserts.  We drank wine and cocktails and recounted stories.  I was happy I attended.

    In my social circle, it doesn’t stay normal for long.  After dinner, people began grinding on each other.  Hugs were close, long, and featured wandering hands.  Finally, one person was bent over and their behind was assaulted by two people at once.  The play of the party had started.

    I ventured downstairs.  While sitting and chatting, a friend asked me to tie them up.  They wanted painful rope.  I was happy to oblige.

    I lashed my friend’s leg into a tight futomomo.  I similarly secured their opposite arm.  I attached the two limbs together with a taut line hitch.  I then stepped back as the other person in the scene began playing with my friend.

    As I waited while they enjoyed their fun, a second friend admired my rope work and then asked to beat me.  I consented.  Before our scene began, I gave my second friend a quick rope lesson on the futomomo tie.

    Right before we were to start my beating, my first friend asked to be untied.  I loosed their binds.  They thanked me for my work.  I was happy they enjoyed their tie.

    My second friend sat in a chair while I sat on the floor.  They used their elevated state to put more power into their punches.  They struck my chest and my shoulders.  My body ached from their strikes for a few days.

    After my beating, I went upstairs for a cup of water before coming back downstairs.  As I entered, a third friend approached.  When my third friend and I had initially greeted earlier, they scritched my head.  Seeing my positive reaction, they gripped my strands tighter.  I then asked them for hair time later that evening.  My re-entry to the downstairs sparked the granting of my request.

    They seized my hair, then rolled it this way and that.  They bit and nuzzled my neck.  Their free hand wandered over my body.  They pulled my head back for a kiss.  My eyes closed, I let myself get lost in the sensations.  They whispered to me, “We should do more of this at Winter Fire.”  I agreed.

    After my hair time, I went back upstairs, went back to chatting with friends.  A fourth friend and I talked about our plans for Winter Fire.  We have a traditional scene we both were looking forward to.  And then I asked a magical question.  “Where is your kit?”

    Back downstairs we went.  In a private room, we closed the door and shared a stare.  They put on a glove.  I crawled across the bed, hung my hips over the edge.  It took no time for their fist to slip in.  I screamed, cursed, moaned.  I told them how I’d missed their fist in my cunt.  And I came over and over again.

    Going into a situation with no expectations can be comforting.  It’s no loss whatsoever if nothing happens.  Going into a party with no expectations and then having more fun than I had imagined possible: priceless.

  • Dark Love

    ~ erotica ~

     

    “Are you ready?”

    The room was loud, crowded.  People milled about taking in the various scenes in progress.

    We didn’t often venture out to parties.  Most of our scenes took place at his home in the basement.  His roommates didn’t mind so long as he let them know ahead of time.  He often suggested they play some music for the few hours I’d come over, in case they didn’t want to hear anything they might find disturbing.

    Now, with the throng of people pressing into the warehouse, the thump of the music, and the heat of bodies everywhere, our usual experience was anything but.

    We’d wanted something different, to try something new.  Tonight at Illicit was living up to our hopes.

    He pressed his hand against my chest.  I felt my heart beat against it.  As we took a moment, our breathing matched up.  Even with the distractions, I felt connected to him, in a place occupied by just the two of us.

    He asked his question.  I answered.

    “Yes, I’m ready.”

    I closed my eyes, pushed all other thoughts from my mind.

    I sensed his hand reach down to his pocket, pull out a hank of rope, and flick it open.  He drew the length across my chest before wrapping it around my body.  He looped above my breasts, under my arms, and knotted the even bands at the front.

    Another coil of rope from his pocket, he knelt down in front of me.  Tied a cuff just above my foot.  His hand grabbed my ankle, eased it up towards my thigh.  My leg pressed against his chest.  My hands found his suspension ring and held it for support.  His rope wrapped around my leg, securing calf to thigh and locking off tightly.

    He kissed my belly, flicked open another coil of rope, and wrapped it twice around my hips.  Adding another length, he pulled down and wound rope around my free thigh, knotting at my hip.

    It was time to fly.

    He first secured my bound leg to his ring, my limb twisting inwards.  His second line attached to my chest wraps.  His palm against my chest coaxed me to lean into the ropes.  His hand caressed my cheek right before he nudged my foot off the floor.  A few quick jolts and I felt my hip harness lifted.

    I let my arms dangle at my sides as I floated sideways above the world.

    He changed the position of his thigh tie, then lowered my chest down.  I went inverted.  My hair danced against the floor.  My fingertips barely grazed the ground below.  He lowered my hips.  All my weight rested on my thigh.

    The din of the room masked my screaming.  I sunk into the pain.

    I reached forward, grabbed my free thigh, and pulled my knee towards my forehead.  I reached back, grabbed my ankle and brought my foot into my hair.

    As I let myself wail, I felt his fingertips graze my thigh, my stomach, my cheek.  He kissed my neck, asked me how I was doing.

    “Swimming in a ocean of agony.  Riding the wave of the excruciating.  Letting myself feel the hurt.”

    “How long?”

    “One more minute.”

    I let my free leg go.  Let myself feel how much my weight pulled against his rope, how much the bindings squeezed into my leg, how much my body cried out for an end.

    I felt the first bump as he began to ease me down.  He craddled my head as my body landed on the ground.  I curled into a ball, melted into his arms, as we sat on the cold floor, our fuzzy blanket the only comfort from the concrete.

    He kissed away my tears.  Rocked me slowly.  I gripped his clothes, let my cry reverberate off his chest.

    As my wailing eased, I looked up at him, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”

    He kissed me again, his lips soft against my mouth, an embrace fulling of knowing.  Understanding how much I needed to feel that pain.  Gratitude for allowing him to inflict it.  And an appreciation of our shared moment.

    We kissed with the sweetness of our shared dark love.

  • Grind

    The music pounded.  Lights danced through the air.  I sat on the other side of the room and watched as people let their bodies move.

    Metkat, one of Amy’s partners and one of her housemates, stood behind his laptop dictating the playlist for this part of the evening.  MissAmyRed was one of the persons dancing.  Occasionally Metkat set a song to play and himself joined the folks moving as their bodies wished.

    I sat in a chair, nerves taking hold.  Even though I knew that’s where I wanted to be, on that dance floor, even though I knew how good it would feel to let go, I felt tied to my seat.

    I looked around the room, taking in the play.

    As I gazed left, I glimpsed a suspension in progress.  The rigger was an attractive man, tall and broad, strong.  The bottom was a beautiful woman.  I let my eyes drift between the bodies on the dance floor and the pair in their scene.  Later I learned the rigger was Kilawama, one of the people Gray and Amy mentioned in our conversation in the Barn at Rope Camp.

    With a bit of voyeurism under my belt, I relaxed somewhat.  I stood up from my chair, let myself walk the corridor to the more lounge-like area before walking back towards the dancing.

    As I strolled for a spell, I saw Clash.  I’d met him earlier that day, too; he was Amy’s other housemate.  For the week, I was staying in the house’s spare bedroom on the third floor, the same floor as Clash’s room.  We attempted to chat over the din of the music before he had to go back to his rounds.  That night he was acting as a monitor for the event.

    Even though I’d grown more comfortable in the space, I had yet to do what I’d wanted to do all night.  I took my spot in the chair again.

    As I went back to watching, I saw Tandava and Amy setup for a scene.  Also, to my right, I saw a hot fisting scene on a nearby couch.

    I also got into a conversation with a guy who took the chair next to me.  I forget what we talked about though, because of the song that played next.

    I recognized the beat as it began, recognized the music and the voice.

    “I’m sorry, but I know this song.  I have to dance.”

    I excused myself from the conversation, stood up, and walked towards the dance floor.

    Still, I couldn’t step on it, not yet.  There was a column just off the wood.  I leaned against it, moving my head back and forth and swaying my hips.

    She Wants Revenge blasted about me, their song Out Of Control, one of my favorites.

    As the half way mark came in the song, I started mentally pushing myself.  It’s just a few more feet.  No one will notice.  No one will judge you.  No one will care.  Do what you always do.  Close your eyes.  Let the music take you.

    I took a step.  And then another.  And then another.

    I let my hips sway, let my arms move.  I found an open area on the dance floor and closed my eyes.  I felt the music in my flesh, in my bones.  I let my body do what it wanted.  I let myself dance.

    I stayed on the dance floor for a few more songs.  I let myself be in this tiny world.  Just the back of my lids, or my feet, or the lights filled my field of vision.  I let my body do its thing.  I let go.

    I felt happy, truly happy, to be in Seattle.  And I realized why they named this party Grind.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Lessons

    I was driving.  Gray sat in the passenger seat.  I don’t remember how we got on the topic.  Probably one of my random non sequiturs.

    “The thing is, I have this harness now.  But.  But.  It makes me nervous.  I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

    “Don’t you have experience with a strap-on?”

    “Just strap-on blow jobs.  That’s different.  Fun, but different.  Less likely to be harmful.”

    “What about at FetFest?  Our threesome with NYRCherryBondage.”

    “Yes, but that was fucking a vagina.  Asses are more perilous.”

    “Well, you won’t hurt anyone if you listen to them and follow their speed.”

    “Yes.  True.  It’s just, to penetrate a guy.  To have that control.  And I’m not really toppy…”

    “You of all people should know an act is not inherently dominant or submissive.”

    “Yes.  Yes.  I know that.  I know.  It’s just.  It makes me nervous.”

    “Have you watched any videos on Kink Academy or PassionateU?”

    “No,” I squeaked.  He chided me for not taking advantage of resources I get for free.

    “As long as you listen to the person, you’ll be fine.  And just so that you know, yes, I am open to the idea of you pegging me, even though you danced around the subject.”

    ~

    The first time I licked Gray’s asshole was in London, the morning I was heading home.  The last time we fucked for months.  I didn’t even know what I was doing.  I licked and sucked on his balls.  Licked his taint.  Licked a little further.  And then I heard the moan.  It was different than he’d emitted before.  And I knew what I’d done.  I kept going.

    “Show me how dirty a girl you can be.”

    ~

    He stood in his leathers.  I was on the floor, rope harness around me, my hands covered in soap and shoe grease.

    As I worked on his chaps, I sunk down.  Slithered in between his legs.  My ass the last to drop down and through him.

    I sat.  Rested my back against his left leg.  Tilted my head up.  Massaged Black Gold into his leather as my tongue licked from his balls to his asshole.

    He bent down slightly.  Grabbed my hair.  Maneuvered my face how he wanted it.

    Later, when I finished his leathers, he asked, “Do you want to have some more fun upstairs?”

    ~

    At Shibaricon, he sat on my face, ass pressing against my cheeks, as he fucked my tits til he came.

    The night of my birthday, he sat on my face, ass riding my tongue, as he came in NYRCherryBondage’s mouth.

    There is nothing so scary and so arousing as having someone fuck your face, not being able to breathe, and not knowing if they’ll remember to allow you air.

    ~

    He laid on my bed, still in his leathers.  His vest opened out.  His chaps put his cock on display.  His boots rested at the foot of the bed.

    “You need gloves, lube, and dildos.”

    I introduced him to my drawer full of safer sex supplies and masturbatory accoutrement.  I laid the dildos by his side.  Gloved up.  Knelt at the end of the bed.  Held the bottle of lube.  Tried not to shake from nerves.

    ~

    Now I remember how we got on the subject.  It was the butt plug.  The Mr. S Piggy butt plug.

    I asked Gray for anal stimulation in our fucking.  I wanted to get the plug in before next Fusion.  I asked his opinion on masturbating with my introductory plug, smaller than the Mr. S prize.  Any suggestions he had.

    And then I mentioned the harness.

    ~

    He had me lube my fingers.  Lube his asshole.

    “Too much is almost enough.”

    He was specific; press, don’t poke.  I remembered the tip from the two Kink Academy videos I’d watched earlier.

    I pressed my middle finger against his asshole.  I invited it to open.  I pressed, and then felt the release.  I slipped in, just a little.  And then a little more.

    Gray asked for more lube.  I reapplied lube, then reapplied my finger.  Glided in.  My whole finger was in his asshole.

    He wanted another.  More lube.  Again, slow pressure.  And then two of my fingers were inside him.  I felt his prostate; massaged it.  Had his cock in my other hand; licked it.  Inside, I reveled in the moment.

    He grabbed my hair.

    “Don’t you forget who is in charge right now.”

    He let go of my mane.

    He wanted to try a different lube.  I slipped my fingers out; too quickly.  I immediately knew I’d fucked up.

    “I’m sorry.”

    “It’s fine.  Just remember, you go at the person’s pace.  Grab the other lube.”

    I did.  We tried it.  He liked it better, but I made a mental note to buy anal lube the next day.

    I laid my ring finger across my middle and fore fingers; held the three together tightly.  Pressed against his asshole.  Heard and saw the pleasure I gave him as my digits slipped in.  Again, I massaged his prostate.

    His hands glided along his cock and rubbed his balls.  His voice uttered his pleasure, until finally he said, “I’m cuming.”

    I quickly readjusted.  Put my mouth on his cock.  Swallowed his cum.  Played with his cock.  Flicked my tongue along and around his head until he pushed me off.

    “My only critique: I love it when I cum in your mouth, but next time don’t change up what you’re doing as I cum.  Other than that, you were great.  Now, turn around.”

    He fucked me with one of my own dildos before we both passed out for the night.

  • Friday Night

     

    After my piss cherry was popped, my Friday night continued…

    ~

    We all gathered in a circle around our two friends as the handfasting was about to begin.

    I felt a bump in my right arm.  Looked to my side.  Saw Gray, dapper and handsome.  I slipped my arm into his.

    We stood side-by-side with many others witnessing a ceremony of love and devotion.  As our two friends joined their lives for a year and a day, my eyes watered.

    I wish them happiness and joy in their love.

    ~

    As our group dispersed, I walked over to D3.  My arm now wound into his grip as we leisurely strolled towards the Sex-o-Rama stage.

    There was about ten minutes before the burlesque show was to start when we arrived.  I saw the Dirty Pig judge milling about with the other performers.

    “May I make an introduction,” I asked him.  He said it was okay.

    I eased D3 over to the judge.  I could see the instant attraction between them.  My work was done.

    I stayed back, watched the first act of the show, then moved on to my next adventure for my evening.

    ~

    Bear laid on the same mat I had been on Wednesday night.  I worked under the same rig I’d been tied to that first evening.  Our scene had an altogether different tone, though.

    I wanted floor work; Bear just wanted to be in rope.  I bound their arms, legs, and moved their limbs this way and that.  I attached to the side eye bolts, turned their body about, and challenged their range of motion.

    All the while, I had a huge smile on my face because I could not stop talking about my time with Boymeat.  I raved about our initial encounter.  How he had read me so well.  How I had dropped to my knees to lick his boots.  Later dropped to my knees to suck his cock.  Had cum from his infliction of pain and the idea of him pissing on me.  I spoke about my cherry pop in the grass.  The grin on my face hurt from how big it was.

    But then, as I began untying Bear, there he was, slipping into the Dungeon from the side exit, the door right next to our rig.

    “My ears were burning,” said Boymeat.  Rightly so.

    He crept towards me as I loosed Bear’s ropes.  Gently tapped his cane against my leg.  Bear smiled.  I saw one or two people out of the corner of my eye observing my predicament.  My gregarious nature turned shy.  How much had Boymeat heard?

    I eased Boymeat out of the moment.  I still had rope to lay on Bear’s body, a different tie, a meditation my friend wanted.  Boymeat read me and slipped away.

    I tied Bear in an Ebi.  Took them to the place they wanted.  Then released Bear’s body, hugged them in gratitude for the experience, and we parted ways.

    ~

    I dropped off my rope kit, grabbed my cigar accoutrement, as well as my netbook, and headed down to the Pavilion.  I was late.

    When I arrived, she was still there.  I apologized profusely; explained my scene ran long.

    We sat on a bondage table.  I opened up my computer and started talking.

    We heard the crowd before we saw it.  A fire breather announced their arrival.  The mass followed his flame down towards Primal Arts.  She looked on.

    And then we heard the boom.  The fireworks burst in the air.  I could see the look on her face.  Could see the need in her eyes.

    “It’s okay,” I said.  “Go.”

    She ran towards Primal.  I packed up my things and went about my evening.

  • DGG #12 Fusion pt 1

    Some breath play, some ash, a little pain and pleasure.  And this was just the first day…

     

    listen to ‘012_DGG Fusion 2013 pt 1’ on Audioboo

  • Vignettes

    When I dropped off Gray at his cabin, off loaded his things, and made sure he was good, I stepped up to hug him. I kissed his cheek. He turned his face into my kiss. He wanted more than a peck.

    His lips met mine. We kissed. And kissed. And kissed. I stood up on my tip toes. My arms around his chest.

    Eventually he ended our embrace.

    “You better go. My cock’s getting hard and you have to work.” 

    He slapped my ass and sent me on my way. I, regretfully, went back to setup duty.

    ~

    “I just wanted to ask for your advice on running for Dirty Pig.”

    “Well, you’ve seen the show before. You know what to expect. I think the only thing that might harm you is wanting it too much.”

    Brakes screeched in my brain.

    FULL STOP, yelled a voice in my head.

    ~

    “Maybe I’m trying too hard? Maybe I’m taking this too seriously? I’m gonna stop. I’m not going to talk about Dirty Pig for the rest of the night. And as far as bribing the judges…”

    “When it comes to the judges, I think they need to get to know you. You can’t just be the next person offering them something. Not just another pretty face. They need to remember your name.”

    “You know, I was thinking. I went to Del’s class at GKE. And I saw Carol at CatalystCon. And I just got an email about possibly getting a short story published. What if I spoke to them about those things first? Make myself a person instead another contestant just trying to get a vote.”

    “I think you’ve got this, Lil Sis.”

    ~

    “I just wanted to thank you for teaching Top of the Boot at the first GKE. I was fairly new to bootblacking then, and it was the first time I’d seen a class from the perspective of the person receiving the blacking. I really appreciated the presentation.

    “Also…A little birdie told me you were one of the judges for Dirty Pig. I’m running for Dirty Pig. How would you like me to bribe you?”

    ~

    “Yes, you can use rope for breath play. You can use twine. You can use piano wire, but then you’ll run into other issues.”

    “Mmm,” I moaned, while stroking my neck.

    “You are one sick and twisted chic.”

    ~

    “Other fun activities can also be used for breath play.”

    “Yeah, I know.” Rough turned me, noting my sly smile as I stood in front of the class.

    “Really?”

    “Yeah, last night.”

    “Good on him.”

    “Indeed,” I said.

    ~

    “How do you want me to prepare for your Basic Suspension class?”

    “Don’t eat a big meal beforehand, and don’t die in Rough’s class.”

    ~

    “Now, I’m at a disadvantage for my class. Poetic is an experienced suspension bottom. She’s suspended herself and others, and can make up for any mistakes or discomfort this suspension may cause.”

    Wow, I thought. People, even Gray, actually notice my rope-y-ness. I may be kind of good at this.

    ~

    “Now, what if she fainted in her suspension?”

    I let my body go limp in his ropes. Listened as Gray explained how to get someone down to the ground quickly. Felt as familiar hands lifted my frame, loosed the ropes, and rested me on the floor. Kept my eyes closed, and my body unmoved, as people “scrambled” around me.

    “Okay, you can get up now.”

    I popped up to sitting, smiling at the class.

    “Okay, everyone spread out on the frames and try your suspensions.” Gray looked down on me. “Can you…?”

    “Yup.” I scooted my butt across the floor, ropes still tied to my body. In the corner, I started untying his ropes and leaving them in neat-ish lines to be coiled.

    ~

    “If he were at Summer Camp, he would totally win Fresh Meat.”

    “Well, it’s not exactly a competition.”

    “Well no, it’s a popularity contest.”

    Rough looked at my friend.

    “Can you hold this please,” he asked. My friend took up Rough’s bag.

    Rough’s fist slammed into my chest before I had time to register his movement.

    “Thank you,” he said, taking back his things.

    “Thank you,” I said to Rough as he left class.

    I was a smiley-happy-floaty girl again.