poeticdesires

Category: Watching

  • Beautiful

    I didn’t understand it, I didn’t truly see it, until I saw her.

    She was taller than me.  Her skin was darker than mine.  She was bigger than me, probably a few dress sizes larger.  But her body shape was the same as mine.  And she wore a dress like one I own.

    As she danced, her hair out and wild, her body moving with full abandon, I saw it.  I saw the thing others have seen in me.

    I saw why people find me beautiful.

    I was tired.  Exhausted really.  I’d worked for fourteen hours the day before and only gotten three hours of sleep the night before.  I managed a short nap before this particular gig, and I was buoyed with the knowledge that it was to be short.

    Except it wasn’t short.  The times had been mixed up.  This would be a long gig as well.

    I felt deflated, almost ready to cry.  My only solace at the moment was that my favorite work friend was with me.  At least I would have her company as we waited out the party.

    Because of circumstance, I found myself near all the action.  My moving light board was sandwiched in between the bar and the DJ.  I had to be able to see my lights and hear the music as people danced.

    The crowd was slow to pour in, slow to get themselves out onto the dance floor.  I stood by my board and began ticking off the minutes til we could pack up and leave.  But then a small crowd formed, and she was among them.

    As I watched her move, watched her let her body go to the rhythm and be fully herself in the moment, I remembered times past where I felt that.  A smile plastered across my face that hurt from its intensity.  A rush of endorphins as every nerve on my skin tingled.  Glee in the moment, the hot lust in my body, the abandon of just being me.

    Logically I know I’m beautiful.  Logically I know I’m attractive.  I’ve fucked enough people who I find to be utterly gorgeous to know I stand among them, at the their level.  But I don’t always feel beautiful.  I don’t always feel sexy, hot.  I don’t always know why people want to be with me.

    But, standing there behind my light board, watching her dance, I saw in her what others had seen in me, a reflection of my true beauty as another reveled in her own.

    I ended up dancing alongside my coworker as we enjoyed the DJ’s skills and fed off the energy of the crowd.  What I thought was going to be a horrible evening turned into one of my most enjoyable gigs ever.

    And I learned a valuable lesson that night: To be one’s self, wholly and completely, without reservation or hesitation; that is beautiful.

  • Voyeur

    I’ve always liked to watch.

    When I first stepped out into the kink scene, I loomed on the edge of a bar taking in the sights: the people, the outfits, the pairings, the play.  Especially the play.

    And now, some eight years later, I still take pleasure in watching.

    Once, when I arrived at an event late, about two o’clock in the morning, I didn’t want to just dump my things and go to bed.  I threw on a dark hoodie and crept towards the play space.

    Since it was late, most of the rooms were empty.  But one wasn’t.  An older woman and a younger man fucked hard on a bed.  From my vanatge point, I could only see his back and her chest and face.  I heard her moans.  Saw his tight ass as he fucked her.  I still bite my lip now as I think about it.

    Once, my freshman year in college, before I realized I was kinky, it was a Friday night.  I was not the social butterfly then, and found myself in my dorm room alone.  As I lazed on my bed watching tv, I began hearing moans through the wall.  There was fucking happening just on the other side of the concrete.

    Hearing a hot girl we had nicknamed Navy fuck her latest dick of the week was enough to get me incredibly horny.  I masturbated listening to her screams.

    As a kinkster, I have many more opportunities now to watch people play and fuck.  I’ve found I enjoy being a voyuer whether people know I’m watching or not.  But, I must admit, I do love it more when they don’t know.  It’s naughty; good girls don’t snoop.  But sometimes I love not being a good girl.

    Occasionally I enjoy mundane voyueristic activites.  People watching at a mall or in the park.  Seeing the handsome guy in the car to my left stretch his arms and resettle while we wait for the light to change.

    But nothing is so thrilling as lurking on the edge of a dungeon waiting for scenes to unfold.

    When watching, my thrill comes not only from seeing the hotness in front of me, but also imagining myself in one of the roles.  I picture myself as the person being beat or the person being fucked.  I take pleasure in the pain the person feels, reveling in their cries, their tears.  My cunt warms when they gasp or scream during sex.  Sounds, fuck I love sounds.

    More than once I’ve watched a person play, hopefully without their knowing, and then approached them later on for fun myself.  You can learn a lot about a person from how they play: the way they interact with their scene partner, what toys they use, or if they use any toys at all.

    One might argue that a night without play was not as good as it could have been.  I would say take a look around you.  See what people are up to.  I have had enjoyable experiences, titillating thrills, excruciating highs just from watching a scene unfold.  And, if nothing else, some twisted fucked up ideas have been inspired from others play.

    Happy watching.

     

  • 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.

  • Subtle

    ~ erotica ~

    A beautiful woman and a handsome man, both dressed to the nines, entered the bar.

    The air was smokey, filled with the hew of cigars and the ting of a few naysayers who still insisted on their cigarettes.

    The couple found a table, their table, in a corner in the back, just to the left of the smoking circle, a ring of tall chairs often occupied by various groups of work colleagues.

    The couple had been coming to The Smoking Lounge every Thursday since I’d started working there. I knew what he liked (Scotch neat) and what she liked (champagne, the most expensive we had). And I also knew he liked it when she got up and walked to the bar to pickup their drinks.

    As per always, I approached their table, greeted them warmly, asked, “The usual?” He reply, “Of course,” with a little head nod and the slightest of smiles.

    I’d slink away, wondering if either or both noticed the extra bit of sway in my hips or enjoyed the clack of my heels as I walked. I wore my tightest black skirt on Thursdays, my stocking seams straight a ruler, guiding the eye all the way up.

    I loved serving them, loved watching them. I often wondered if they noticed me watching.

    The Smoking Lounge attracted a certain clientele. Coats were made of finer fabrics. Skirts were short, but never completely revealing. Men wore suits. Only certain women wore pants. No cigar we sold was cheap. The ones they brought for themselves always cost more. The women who walked through our doors generally fell into two types: the partner or the player. The men: old or older.

    But these two, these two were different. The woman, though obviously in some soft of relationship with the man, had a stare that bore through me when our eyes met. And the man, I couldn’t peg his age. He couldn’t have been past forty-five, yet there was something about him that looked wise, knowing, as if he had a secret he wasn’t telling.

    Every night, after they left, I went home and thought of the two of them as I writhed on my bed exploring my body. Thought of their hands on me, thought of their bodies, their lips.

    In their corner, when no one else watched, I saw them. I saw the pinch on the back of her neck. The grab of her hip. The hand that at first massaged her scalp before lightly tugging on her hair. And the ash which he put in his palm before his finger explored her strands.

    I saw how he’d ask her for something, something he haphazardly dropped on the floor just to the left of her. And she’d stand, and bend over, trying to find it, her ass always towards him and away from any other gaze. I never, ever, saw a pantie line under her skirt.

    Him throwing his arm over her shoulder. Her leaning into his chest, licking his hand, the same hand that had had his ash. Her picking up a menu, though they never ordered any food, shielding their bodies, her face, as magically the head of ash on his cigar would disappear before she’d put the menu down.

    Whispering into her ear, and then the slightest of jumps from her body. Her right arm which always disappeared under the table.

    Every Thursday night, without fail, they came, bringing an air of lust as intoxicating to me as any of our brews.

    Every Thursday night they ordered Scotch neat and champagne and nothing else, sitting in their corner for an hour, disappearing into the anonymity of the smokey room.

    And every Thursday night I went home, thinking about them, fantasizing about them, counting down the hours til next week.

  • Perched

    I initially saw them in the hallway just outside of the Dungeon.

    A Submissive, A Switch, and A Dominant.

    The Domme was female bodied, standing back from the Sub and Switch, wearing black Carhart pants, a black t-shirt, and black leather boots. The male bodied Switch wore a leather thong and a leather chest piece with a chain attached on the back. The chain connected to the leather straight jacket worn by the female bodied Submissive. She had no choice but to walk behind him.

    It was by pure luck that I had encountered the Trio. As Amethyst, Devi, and I made our way back towards our shared hotel room, I happened to gaze upon the group in an intense exchange against a wall.

    “Can we pause for a moment?”

    I leaned against the opposite side about fifteen feet down the hall.

    The Domme watched as the Switch held the Sub against the wall. The Sub’s mouth was covered with black tape. He held her neck while kissing her lips through the barrier. There was just something about that moment, about that chemistry, that caught me.

    Devi and Amethyst could see my interest. They said they were going to head back to the room and, if I wanted, I could meet them at the Burlesque show at midnight, in about an hour and a half.

    As they walked away, I turned back to the Trio. The Switch now massaged the Sub’s crotch through her skirt. Still, the Domme just stood back and calmly watched. A breath later, the Domme stepped forward, pulled back the Sub’s hair, and spoke something to the Switch. It was too noisy and I was too far away to hear them.

    Releasing the Sub from against the wall, the Trio moved. I stayed where I was, not wanting to disrupt their dynamic.  And I didn’t want to seem like a stalker. I watched as they progressed down the hall and into the Dungeon.

    And that was the moment; that was the choice. Go back to the room or follow them?

    I eased into the Dungeon, seeing an all-to-familiar scene: the last night of a convention, a room full of people, play happening everywhere. I glanced around, and through the ordered chaos I saw the Trio slowly slinking about.

    Instead of following them, I sought out an already in-progress scene. Almost at once, my eyes locked on a simple impact scenario. A man was kicking a woman on all fours in her ass. I smiled, knowing the delicious feeling, and re-positioned myself for a better view.

    As their scene intensified, his kicks grew harder, rocking her body on the ground, to the point of occasionally splaying her form across the floor. In a flash, she would pull herself back up. I knew that need, that desire to take the pain, to be the good little bottom for your top. I watched them play til they finished.

    As fate would have it, as they began to wrap up, the Trio again came into my sight line. They had finally found an open piece of play equipment, a mere twenty feet to my left. As they set up, I took a moment to slowly turn around, taking in the rest of the scenes in the room. I noted some amazing rope work on the main suspension rig, two spanking bench scenes, some wax play, and other various happenings.

    As I slowly rotated, a woman sitting on the floor looked up at me and commented on how much she loved my boots. The man sitting with her gave equal compliment to my leather. I thanked them.

    Slipping into a conversation, we chatted about the scenes surrounding us. The gentleman stepped away for a moment, returning with two chairs.

    “Would you like a seat?”

    I explained that I don’t really sit in chairs in a Dungeon, with my constant looking all around at the sights to see.

    “Oh, so you perch?”

    Indeed, with the chair he gave me, I rested a knee in the seat while leaning my body against the back. Catching bits and pieces of multiple scenes, my eyes drifted first to the Trio. The Sub was restrained to a chair similar to those used for massages. Her skirt and straight jacket removed, her arms were secured as the Switch and Domme worked her back and backside with impact toys.

    Next I saw a new rough body play scene had started on the opposite side of the Dungeon. A Top and Bottom fought, wrestling on the ground until the Bottom submitted. The Top and Bottom would then stand, the Top transitioning to using impact implements as the Bottom leaned against a cross.

    Also, nearer to the Trio, a whip scene had begun, the thrower kissing strikes across the receiver’s back and ass.

    Finally, with a suspension rig close at hand, there was also a steady stream of turnover as waiting rope duos prepped on the side while the current two-some flew.

    Surprising to me, I found my eyes going back to the rough body play most often. The power dynamic between the Top and Bottom sizzled even as I watched fifty feet away.

    The Trio’s play, though interesting, seemed monotonous. Lots of flogging, but little obvious variety. It was not until they broke out in a quite sexy threesome on the floor that they held my attention for more than a minute.

    When all my viewing eventually died down, I thought I might try to catch the end of the Burlesque show or possibly go to bed early. But, as I grabbed my things, I looked up and saw Itonia and Vlad, who I had met the night before. We had initially connected as friends of friends, messaging on Fet before the event.

    With smiles exchanged, I went over to say hi.

  • 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.