The Blurb

Both ski socks and flip flops are pretty everyday objects (if you are the kind of exciting person who, like me, likes to go to snowy mountains and tropical beaches, not if you are a boring recluse). Most of what I write about will, I suspect, seem slightly crazy to your average 'vanilla'. But, to me, kink is so integrated into my life that I sometimes don't notice that it is a bit odd.

Ski socks and flip flops are also both totally contradictory to each other. This, in part, reflects the fact that I go by the online psuedonym 'Walking Oxymoron'. But it also explains me very well. I do not look like someone who you might imagine to be a sexual deviant. When out and about, I don't act any differently from anyone else. In fact, I like to think that I appear fairly innocent and demure.

This blog is about the other side of me - my dark side. Specifically, the emotional side of it. Behind the whips and canes and other fun things is a variety of very normal 'vanilla' feelings. They just choose to display themselves in some unconventional places...

Monday 20 December 2010

The Endorphins Strike Again

For the past few weeks, I haven’t been able to do anything kink related at all. I haven’t even been able to have sex of any description. All because one of my fallopian tubes decided to grow a cyst and my body decided that it needed removing surgically. Yesterday marked two-and-a-half weeks since the op, and that meant that, finally, I could start having some kind of sexual contact again. No penetration, and definitely nothing that might cause impact to my stomach (directly or indirectly), so most sex and any hard play were pretty much ruled out. And yet I still managed to have an evening that ranks in my top 5 most amazing kink experiences ever.

This all took place at the home of a couple of friends. Usually at these parties there is a mix of people that I have got to know quite well over the past year and people that I hardly know at all. As a result of this, I often go into brat mode. For reasons that I won’t go into here, it is my defence mechanism and makes me feel comfortable around new people. However, yesterday this felt strange. I was in quite a ‘submissive’ mood and really didn’t want to be forced to do anything, but rather to do as asked and give up a bit of self control. I was also pretty desperate to play with Doc as we haven’t been able to do so properly in a long time. Unfortunately, he was preoccupied with covering a very sexy lady in cake and icing, so I took it upon myself to go and find some quiet, sedate play. Well, sort of. I was helped along the way by a lady whom I shall refer to here as Wonderful Needle Lady (for obvious reasons), who very subtly waved her bag of needles in front of me and told me that they were a sure-fire way to make sure I got some pain but didn’t damage myself.

At this point, I think that I should enter into the equation a lady who I shall call Bunches (for no reason other than that she had bunches when I first met her and I need to refer to her as something). I have been flirting outrageously with her for a while, and have played with her in the past as well with mixed success. But we get on with each other incredibly well and always have a lot of fun. Now, we both wanted to play with each other, but, again for reasons that I won’t go into here, didn’t want to inflict pain on me. However, when she heard the word ‘needles’ her ears pricked up and she decided to come and watch. So I headed upstairs with both her and Wonderful Needle Lady, and found myself lain across a medical bench.

I have played with needles before, but not with someone with quite as much experience as Wonderful Needle Lady. To start with, she made sure I was relaxed. I lay with my face down as she gently rubbed my back with a gloved hand, and shut my eyes. The room went very quiet. Then, she started putting the needles in, and the endorphins hit. With each needle that she put in, I seemed to go deeper and deeper into my own little world. Everyone describes this feeling as ‘floaty’, but there really is no better word to describe it. I felt like my mind was totally focussed on the sensations I was experiencing and it couldn’t conceive anything else, even the notion that I was a person lying on a bench. I was floating in the whirl of sensations, and everything she did just made it all the more intense. I have had this kind of feeling once before, and both times have been incredibly special. Wonderful Needle Lady was able to read me incredibly well, stopping every so often to play with the needles and making me go even deeper into subspace. At one point, Bunches put a glove on, and, under Needle Lady’s instruction, played with the tips of the needles and stroked my ultra sensitive skin. She also played with me elsewhere, which intensified the experience even more. Then it was time for the needles to come out. Wonderful Needle Lady did this by putting an alcohol wipe over the needle as she pulled it out, and this was an incredible sensation, and forced me even further into my own floaty world. She took her time doing it, allowing me to completely absorb all of the sensations. I have no idea how long it took me to come back to earth, but I am guessing that it took a little while. I know that, even when I went back downstairs to join the party, my head wasn’t really with me.

 Back downstairs, I had a fair few people come up to me and try to talk to me who I didn’t know very well. I hope that they forgive me for being slightly rude, I was feeling slightly vulnerable and not really in the right mindset to play along. Instead, I curled up with a man known as Northern Monkey (the same man who was responsible for the awesome hair bondage I mentioned earlier), who I was able to relax around. He gently held me with his hand around my throat, not really allowing me to come fully back to earth yet. Then he passed me on to Doc, who could see that I was really still quite endorphin filled and decided to prolong it for me. He took me back up to the medical bench and lay me across it, making it very clear that if I made a noise or moved then he would stop what he was doing. He gently flogged my back and my arse, never putting all of his force into it but keeping it heavy enough that it still hurt. Slowly, my head really started spinning and I got lost in subspace again. I was completely overcome with it all, and was starting to cry (a reaction that play with Doc seems to draw from me far more often than play with anyone else).

Back downstairs and slightly recovered, Bunches was on a mission. I said before that I couldn’t have any penetrative sex, and I find it incredibly difficult to cum without it. But Bunches was determined, and she led me into a small study room where she pinned me against a wall and pretty much forced me to cum. She acted like she didn’t really care about me, just about getting an orgasm out of me. I felt incredibly dirty, forced into a tiny room and raped while people were walking about outside. And my head was still a bit floaty, which intensified it all the more. And, to finish it all off, we accidently got locked into the room and had to get someone to break the door down to get us out. Completely accidental and absolutely hilarious, but actually, and somewhat bizarrely, really added to my humiliating rape fantasy – now everyone else knew about it as well. Very humiliating, but incredibly hot.

The whole evening was incredible for me. For once, I was not the brat, the centre of attention or the evening’s party favour, but I got to play the other side of me in a more public place than it would usually come out. The result was amazing.

Sunday 12 December 2010

Princess Fluffyknickers III

Traditional roleplay, whether that be childplay, puppy play or anything else on the list, has never really done much for me. I always felt that it would never seem 'real' enough. However, in recent months, I have begun to develop an alter-ego. This has been quite a natural process, and every so often I just fall into this role with no prompting whatsoever.

Its always when I am in a cuddly, relaxed mood. Suddenly I become kitty. I curl up, my hands retract into paws and I am overcome with a desire to crawl. Kitty likes warm, cosy spaces and being scratched behind the ear and under the chin. Doc has named kitty 'Princess Fluffyknickers III' ('Fluffyknickers' for short). Unfortunately, a kitty can't choose her owner and she is therefore stuck with this idiotic name. In my mind, Fluffyknickers is a very beautiful short-haired moggy with black, white and ginger patches, a pink nose and bright green eyes. She is spoilt rotten and always gets her own way - eventually. If she doesn't get her own way, then she annoys whoever is around until she does. Her favourite foods are scraps of fish and chocolate, but she hates drinking milk and would much rather have a saucer of cream. Occasionally she gets playful but is happiest snuggled up on a warm lap being scratched and stroked. However, she does sometimes get into trouble when she gets too relaxed and starts clawing at said lap. She absolutely HATES having her face splashed with water.
I'm not sure why this role has developed, but I know that it has been a completely natural process with absolutely no prompting from anyone. I love the idea that kitty can be spoilt and feel like a princess, but actually has no control over what happens. She may be stroked and loved and fed or she may be thrown about and splashed and she won't necessarily understand why. There is also the potential for humiliation, which is a huge kink. But, aside from these things, kitty isn't sexual for me at all. It is more a mechanism for relaxation, and something that I fall into naturally when it feels right. But I definitely want to further develop my feline alterego. Soon.

Saturday 27 November 2010

Where Did All Of This Come From Anyway?

One of the most common questions that I get asked when I meet people on the scene is 'how long have you been into this kink business?' I find this an incredibly difficult, and somewhat infuriating, question. The reality is that I have always been 'into' it. So much so that I believe that it is so firmly embedded into my personality that I would describe it as part of my sexuality. Asking me how long I have been submissive is akin to asking someone how long they have been gay.

Ever since I remember, I imagined myself tied up when I couldn't sleep. Sometimes, when that didn't work, I used my Mum's silk scarves to tie my wrists, and I dozed straight off. By the time I had got to about 8, this was too simple and stopped working quite so well. My nighttime thoughts therefore trailed into realms of strict teachers forbidding me to move or being hung upside down by my ankles...all very much still in the realm of restraint. I was as young as 10 or 11 when I started to sexualise these fantasies and humiliation became a vital part of them. This often required me to be naked, sometimes drawn all over or spat on. These kinds of fantasies always saw me rubbing myself with my pyjamas, but I never remember thinking that they were sexual. I guess that because they never involved sex, I never thought of them as sexual things. They were merely a thought process that I used to relax myself to get to sleep. In fact, when I was 18 I thought that I had never really developed sexual feelings at all. 

I had my first boyfriend when I was 19. He was much older, and had had contact with BDSM before. He recognised that I needed it, and we split when he realised that he couldn't give me what I needed and I would always be craving more. He suggested that I go out to a club in London. So I did. I chose a female only club, feeling more comfortable with that as a first step into the world of BDSM. There, I met a woman who I developed a play relationship with, and things progressed from there...

Over time, my kinks have changed and developed, but several core themes remain: Restraint, humiliation and submissiveness. However hard I try (and believe me, I have tried) I can't get rid of these needs. I just have to accept that they are a very deeply ingrained part of me and get on with enjoying them as much as possible.

Monday 22 November 2010

Why I Love Rope

Due to things going on in my vanilla life, Sunday had the potential to be a horrible, horrible day. It was saved by rope. I spent the vast majority of the day jumping around in excitement for Peer Rope London - an event which saw me tied up, untied and retied in various positions for 6 hours solid.
Most people see me as a masochist first and foremost, but actually rope bondage is one of my biggest kinks. My reaction to the smell of rope and the feeling of it against my skin is akin to the way in which people who have a rubber fetish describe the way that it makes them feel -the rope becomes a part of me, it somehow becomes absorbed into who I am at that moment in time and takes over all of my other thoughts. However, rope can create such a wide range of sensations that, for me, being tied is linked to a huge range of emotions. Everyone seems to connect with rope in different ways, and that means that everyone ties differently, and that in turn can lead to totally different feelings with each person you play with. This meant that, with all of the rope that was flying around on Sunday, I was like a kid in a sweetshop. I think that, running back over it, I experienced pretty much the whole range of rope emotions during the evening:

1. Rope makes me feel pretty
Ok, so this picture wasn't taken at Peer Rope, but I think that it makes my point. I love this picture of me, I think that it is flattering to all of my good parts - that is just what rope does.
The photo was taken at a rope class by a very lovely lady known as Hedwig. The ropework was done by the uber rigger known as Sauvage. It is one of my absolute favourite pictures of myself, and I never like pictures of myself. It was also incredibly fun, and if you could see my face you would see a very dreamy, far away look on it.

2.  Rope makes me relax
I spent the first part of Sunday being a demo bunny for Sauvage, who was using me to teach a fairly simple tie wherein the victims hands are held behind the back and the entire upper torso is contained in a sort of harness (a box tie). It is an incredibly comfortable position to be tied in. This meant to a certain extent that I could sit back and enjoy the feeling of the rope. This kind of confortable, gentle rope makes me relax to a greater extent than most other relaxation techniques out there, and I nearly fell asleep as he was tying!

3. Rope makes me think
I spent a good part of the evening being tied in very arty ties by Doc. Again, this made me feel very sexy. But I also spent a good deal of time trying to escape his masterpieces. One, in particular, saw my hands tied between my legs attached to a crotch rope, which was in turn tied quite loosely to a gym horse. Ever the exhibitionist, I rather enjoyed the fact that people were gathering around to laugh as my attempts to undo the rope pulled on the crotch rope.
Much later in the evening, another ropey friend and I created a new sport - rope grappling. We started facing each other, each holding one end of the rope. The aim was to get the other restrained. It was a surprisingly tactical game. I like playing with this person in particular because I know that he likes the challenge of the fight, and I can really put all of my effort into it. He managed to get me into a hogtie eventually, but I feel quite smug that it took him about an hour - he is much more qualified in tying people up than I am! But it bought out my competative streak...I'll get him next time... 

4. Rope renders me helpless
I like being helpless. I like not being able to fight off what is going to happen and having to accept that it is inevitable. Doc got me strung up in a very pretty tie that had my hand behind my back, my knees tied together and the whole thing attached to a point in the ceiling so that I could move, but not far. Then, a man who I know as Evil Git got out his elastic bands, and started to put them around my face and neck, running through my mouth. Elastic bands in the mouth hurt. And it is VERY scary when both Doc and Evil Git pull at them, threatening to ping them against my face and watching me squirm. And it hurts when they let go! Very very fun.
5. Rope makes my head float
I managed to collar the very first person who ever tied me up (Northern Monkey). He is also one of my favourite people to tie me up. He has a very different style - he likes to come up with something different, and usually quite uncomfortable. He also can handle brat very well, and brat often gets left at home on rope days. He got me in a brilliant tie which completely restrained all of my fingers, attached one hand to the outside of my ankle and the other to my knee, and then attached my hair to my other ankle. This meant that whenever I moved, I tugged on my hair. Later, he also incorporated a rope gag so that movements pulled at both my hair and mouth. He then proceeded to poke me in the ribs. Anything that incorporates my hair will make me go off into floaty land, but when combined with the poking and the complete restraint and helplessness I was totally gone. 

So, in one day I had sleepy, restrained, floaty, pretty and tactical rope grappling. I am very definitely still on a rope high.

Stuff Wot Needs Writing

For my reference...
  • Everyday life in a kinky relationship
  • Thoughts on being 'broken'
  • Where did all of this come from anyway?
  • Subspace 
  • Playing with new people
Ok I know that it is a short list but I need lists in my life!

Sunday 21 November 2010

Fantasising About Rape

Some of my sexual fantasies are...erm..pretty dark. I guess a lot of vanilla people would judge me for thinking things like this. But, on the other hand, I know that rape fantasies are a lot more common than they seem. Call me sick and twisted if you like, but this is one of mine...


I am imprisoned in a very small, dark cell. It is just large enough that, if I stoop, I can stand but I can't extend to my full height. Likewise, if I lay out, I can just about squeeze my knees around to the foetal position but can't extend my legs. I am not sure how long I have been here, but it is beginning to hurt. I have to keep switching between standing and lying on the floor so that I don't get cramp in some muscle or another. 

All of a sudden, the room fills with light and I am dazzled. When I recover my vision, my captor is standing directly over me. She is severe, in a stunningly beautiful kind of way. Her hair is long and bright red, making her stand out. As I cower in my cell, she towers over me, sneering at me in the way that she has every time she has had to lay eyes on me. It feels like her eyes are boring into me for a good minute, and it makes me uncomfortable - I try to avert her gaze in an attempt to stop myself feeling so small and worthless, but she can see right through me. Suddenly, she grabs my hair and pulls me out of the cell, forcing my face into a cold stone wall as she ties my wrists behind my back. 
Holding me tight, she leans in to my ear. 'Pathetic', she calls me, with a soft sneer to her voice. She watches my feeble attempts to shrink into the ground for a second before firmly reinstating her grip on my hair and leading me upstairs.

She leads me into the centre of a large room - it looks a little like a church hall, with its large ceiling and atmospheric lighting. The room is packed full of men. As I enter, they start to jeer. I can't really make out what they are saying, but I know that it is aimed at me. I am led to the centre, where there is a raised bench. I feebly try to escape, but I know that it is hopeless, and the woman ties me to the bench. I am on my back, with my head forced backwards over the edge of the bench and held there by my hair. My legs are spread, and tied to a point directly above my head. Then, she lays a sharp knife on my chest. SHIT. That is not what I expected. I am already panicking as the blindfold covers my eyes.

I hear the woman step away from my body, and the room instantly falls silent. And nothing happens. I am lying in the middle of a room full of men, totally restrained, with a knife lying across my chest. The only image in my mind is of that knife going through me. The silence feels like it lasts forever. Then, out of nowhere, I hear a stampede. I can feel that I am totally surrounded. In an instant the knife has been lifted from my chest. I take in a deep breath, and i feel blades - more than one - rip through my clothes and then get thrown aside. My body is covered with hands. Someone pulls hard on one of my nipples. Another hand is roughly forced into my pussy. Someone else dips their finger into my arse. The men are all over me. I have no clue who they are - I didn't get chance to see their faces. 

Over the next hour, my body is thoroughly used. Men force themselves into my mouth, leaving cum all over my face, while others are taking my arse and pussy. Still more come over my nipples, stomach and legs. It doesn't matter to them who I am, they just want to rape someone, to leave them totally degraded and used for their own pleasure.  I am unable to hold back my tears. Eventually, finally, they have had enough. I feel the woman near me again, she is untying my hands and removes my blindfold. She, and three of the men are standing over me. I recognise all three of them. This isn't comforting, I feel even dirtier. They know what just happened. One of them puts a vibrator in my hand.
'Filthy bitch, look at you. You are disguisting.' His hand slides between my legs. 'You enjoyed that. You are still soaked.' He wipes his hands across my lips to demonstrate the point. 'Now show us how much you enjoyed it. Make yourself cum.'
I look at him. I can't quite take in what he is asking. 
'You heard what we said. We know you enjoyed that. Now show us. Show us how hard you cum when you play with your dirty little pussy and think about what just happened to you.'
I am almost totally broken, but I just about have the reserves left to say 'NO' and throw the vibrator to the ground.
Calmly, he picks it up and slaps me very hard around the face.
I throw it back to the floor again. This time, his hand hits me at my most sore spot - right between the legs. I can see that I have no choice. Tears flood down my face as I hold the vibe against my clit. I feel totally humiliated. But my body is reacting. My hips start bucking. Covered in other peoples cum, and watched by a room full of men who have just raped me, I give myself the strongest, most powerful orgasm I have ever had. Everyone laughs in my face as I collapse in post rape, post orgasmic bliss.

Friday 12 November 2010

A Strop

Last weekend, a bit of harmless fun yet again forced me to look at myself and discover things about me that I never knew. It seems that this is happening a lot lately, and I think that it links back to my Dark Past

Myself, my boyfriend and two girls that we occasionally play with went out to a club last weekend. I had a fantastic time sitting in a cage and chatting and laughing until about 1am. Then my boyfriend dragged me off and fixed me up to a cross. This was fun, but I felt that he was a little distracted. I think this was for two reasons: a) I wasn't fighting back too much and that is exactly what he was in the mood for (I was just craving pain and intimacy) and b) he was distracted by the fact that he hadn't bought any nasty toys with him and that is clearly what I wanted. After a while, he disappeared for a minute or so, and came back with a leather strop that he had borrowed. Now, I love love LOVE the feeling of leather strops, tawses and belts. But they were also one of my ex's favorite things to use on me, and I haven't really used one in play since. I told my boyfriend (You know what? He needs a blog name. He is Doc) all of this before he started, and I said that I wanted him to use it on me and that I was liable to safeword. So he hit me. And it felt amazing. So he hit harder, and harder. And it still felt amazing. Eventually, I broke into tears and I couldn't take any more, so he got me down. It was at that point that it hit me that I had managed to overcome something that I had been fearing, and I had enjoyed it. I felt so amazingly proud of myself.

After about 10 minutes, I suddenly suffered from sub drop. This usually doesn'y happen to me so quickly - it is usually a 'morning after' affliction for me. I think the problem was that I was very emotional. The strop had bought up a lot of memories for me, and, although I didn't realise it at the time, my mind associates it with feelings of inadequacy and incredibly low self esteem. I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the surroundings of the club. I didn't want to talk to anyone, and when I tried to I broke into tears. By this time, Doc was playing with one of the girls who we came out with. I love this girl to bits, but all of a sudden I became insanely jealous. I was watching how much she was taking, and I felt like a whimp. Her play looked far more exciting and dynamic than mine had done - I'm sure that that wasn't the case, but that is how I saw it at the time - and I began to wonder whether he had wanted to play with me at all or whether he was just getting me out of the way. I felt physically sick watching. 

When they had finished, I told Doc that I needed to go home. But the two girls we came with were crashing at our flat, and so we needed to wait for them. At that point, I felt like I was walking around the club in an angry daze, totally lost. I was angry at Doc, and at both of the girls, and especially at my ex. I felt totally worthless, de-valued and like I wasn't wanted because of what he had done to me. I refused to speak the whole way home until I was alone with Doc. At that point, I burst into floods of tears. 

I know that I have had my confidence knocked, but I didn't realise until this happened just how badly this has affected me. I now feel awful about what happened that night, and have profusely apologised to all involved. 

I want to play with a strop again. But I want to do it in a more controlled environment, and I want it to be something that makes me feel special.

Monday 8 November 2010

A Dark Past

For about a year, I had a happy play relationship with a woman, who we shall call Gladys even though that is not her name. She had a long term girlfriend, so our relationship was strictly d/s related play, and it worked well. It was with her that I had my first real experience of BDSM, and I thought of her as a kind of mentor. We had been discussing for a while a fantasy of mine which involved being ‘given’ to a man for an evening. One evening, I went over to her house and was blindfolded the moment I walked through the door. I was led into the living room, where she asked me how I was and generally made me feel comfortable. Then she told me that there was someone else in the room. She told me to go over to him and try to work out what he looked like by touch. She then told me that she was going to ‘give’ me to him for the evening, and that if I accepted I should kiss his feet before removing the blindfold. I knew that I would be safe, that she knew this bloke, that she would stay with me all night and that I could back out at any time because we had already discussed all of that stuff, so I did it. Phil (again not his real name) and I had a great evening together, and decided to meet up independently to play again.

A couple of weeks later, Gladys started arguing with her girlfriend over me, and we stopped seeing each other. However, I carried on talking to Phil. One day, he sent me a message saying that he had hurt his back and couldn’t move, so I offered to go round and give him a hand and check he was OK. He told me that he really appreciated that and it made him see that I was a decent person, and he began to trust me. We got closer, though remained as friends who played, nothing more. He began to confide in me about his life, the fact that he had cheated on his vanilla wife with a sub girl and his wife had found out, divorced him and tried to stop his kids from seeing him. He told me that he often contemplated suicide, but that I helped him to deal with that. I know that at that point I should have got help, but I couldn’t tell anyone about him – for one, he was older than me, and secondly, people would ask how we met and I couldn’t tell them. I tried to talk to Gladys about it, but he specifically asked me not to. The moment that he found out that I had tried to talk to her, he mysteriously had a falling out with her – he assured me that it was nothing to do with me, but asked me to stop talking to her out of respect for him. I wasn’t happy about it, but I did it. There was a part of me at this point that felt that if I didn’t do what he needed, he would decide to top himself and I would hold myself responsible.

We go closer, everything was fine. He was very protective of me, but it was always in a nice way. He called me ‘his’. Every Saturday, we would go out for a walk together, and it was then that we tended to talk about our lives. I discovered that he had a very shady past, and came from a family of East End gangsters who set themselves up in the wake of the Cray twins. He told me about how, when he was younger, someone had said something against his Mum and he had gone to their home with a knife – they ended up in hospital and permanently scarred. He said that he never regretting doing anything like that because he only every acted to protect those close to him, and he has grown up and knows now that there are much better ways of dealing with things. He said he denounced ‘that side’ of his family when he got married and never looked back. I believed him – I had no reason not to.

As the relationship began to develop, he became more and more interested in d/s, setting rules for me. They were fairly simple – I had to text him at least once every 3 hours, let him know where I was and what I ate, and give him the passwords to all of my internet accounts, and always wear a chain that he had bought me around my neck. Gradually, he began to know more and more about my life. He started asking about my friends, what they were like and where we went out together. He was particularly interested in my gay friends, who I went out in Soho with about once a month. He said that he didn’t like it, he thought they were a bad influence on me. But if I wanted to carry on seeing them then that was fine, he just didn’t like it. I carried on seeing them. He carried on not liking it. He had a way of flipping during conversations about this. He began by telling me that he was trying to protect me. Then he got angry with me, telling me that I clearly didn’t want his protection or anything else that he offered me, and that I obviously didn’t like him enough to ‘do this one simple thing for me, its not much to ask’. Then he would break down into tears, saying that it was all his fault, no-one wanted him around or respected him, he deserved nothing more and he might as well go kill himself. Our arguments always ended up with me consoling him, telling him that he didn’t have to go through this alone and that he could talk to me about it. I always felt that if I said anything he didn’t like he was liable to do something silly, either to himself or someone else, and that it would be my fault.

One day, I found a letter from the courts in his flat, mentioning ‘bail conditions’. He broke down in tears in front of me. He had been accused of trying to run over his ex wife’s new boyfriend. He told me that he hated him, he couldn’t cope with living life like this and now the police were trying to interfere as well. It emerged that our Saturday evening walks were actually him going to spy on his wife’s boyfriend, and see whether she was out with him on a Saturday. He effectively stalked her. It had been on a night like this, before we met, that he tried to run him over, but he stopped himself because he saw that his wife was there as well and he didn’t want to hurt her. It was only because I came with him now that he didn’t do things like this any more.

We were laying together in the bath in his flat, warm and surrounded by candles, when he asked me to lie for him. He wanted me to sign an Affidavit saying that I was with him in the car when he allegedly tried to run the guy over, and that it didn’t happen, he drove straight past. He told me that if I didn’t, he would never be able to trust that anyone cared about him enough to do anything for him and that he might as well be dead. I felt like I had no options – lie in court or be responsible for his death. I really believed that he would do it as well, and that these were the only options. I tried to tell him how I felt and that I really wasn’t comfortable with it, but he just kept telling me that it was the only option. I hate myself for doing it. He deserves to be locked up, but he got off.

Gradually, play between us happened less often. He developed a focus on punching and kicking – pretty much to the exclusion of everything else. I wanted to do other things, and he always promised it but never delivered.

The arguments about my friends continued. I pretty much cut all of my acquaintances out of my life, only my closest friends wanted to talk to me because I wouldn’t socialise with anyone else – I was too scared of how he would react. When I did go out, he wanted to know exact details – who with, what time I’d be back, how much I intended to drink. If things didn’t happen as I told him, he would get angry and then start crying. One day, I introduced him to my flatmate Cath. I have known Cath since I was in playschool, and we are quite close. Their meeting didn’t go to well, he asked her some personal questions and she ended up slapping him. He walked out in a rage, I stayed behind to comfort her. When I knew that she was OK, I went back to his to check on him. This was the first time he hit me in anger. He said that clearly my loyalties didn’t lie in the right place, and that I obviously didn’t care about him at all because I went to her first, when she should mean nothing to me after what she just did to him. He slapped me around the face, threw me to the floor by my hair and walked off. For days, he talked about ‘sending someone’ to Cath to teach her a lesson. I was terrified for her. I wanted to leave but I felt that my staying and pleading with him to calm down was the only thing protecting Cath and myself.

Eventually he calmed down. He was incredibly apologetic, saying that he hated himself for getting like that. I felt safe enough to tell him that I was leaving him. For three days he didn’t stop texting or calling, telling me that he felt awful, this was all his fault and there was no point in him living any more. He threatened to turn himself into the police, saying that everything he had said in court was lies – he reckoned it didn’t matter if he went to prison now because clearly I didn’t give a shit. He didn’t stop until I went back to him. For a couple of weeks he was different, forgiving, patient, and didn’t try to pry into my life at all.

He hated the fact that I still lived with Cath and that there was nothing he could do to stop me seeing her. He tried to get me to stay at his house as much as possible, and my social life dwindled even further. He also became even more possessive, wanting to know what I was doing and where I was all the time. He wanted to scar me with his initial so that I would be marked as his forever. I refused. Somehow, all of our arguments became associated with shouting, threats, him breaking down in tears, me apologising, and then us playing to make up – and the play always involved punching, kicking and violence.

As his divorce went through, he began to lose it – I started to believe that he was slightly schizophrenic. He believed that he could influence people’s decisions by calling on spirits and demons, that he could perform black magic and that he could read minds. He flipped readily between being a peace loving hippy and a violent satanist. I tried to convince him to get councilling but he refused. He stopped threatening my friends and began telling me that he was going to hurt everyone in my life through his mind and there was nothing that he could do to stop me. He told me that he was going to make Cath want to kill herself, to make her feel what he feels. I couldn’t hack it.

I wasn’t scared of being responsible for his death anymore, I was scared of being responsible for physical attacks on my friends and family, and I was scared for myself. I was too scared to leave. So I set up a new email account and new internet profile and started to secretly meet people online. One day, he read my text messages, and he found out that I had been on a date. I tried to explain how I felt, but he was blinded by rage and jealousy. He made me sit and listen as he called up the guy and threatened to come and find him and kill him because he had set hands on ‘my property’. I vividly remember he was shaking, he was deadly silent. He told me to get out. I went.

The phone calls started again, him pleading for me to come back. I told him that I was leaving him. He said that he agreed, but he couldn’t leave things as they were, he wanted to apologise for his threats face to face first. He drove to my flat to pick me up. He sat me down in his front room, and told me to close my eyes and hold out my hands as he had a parting gift for me, something that he wanted me to have. I sat there waiting. Suddenly I heard a swoosh and a crop hit me around the side of the face. He kept hitting me and hitting me with it, telling me that that was for what I had done to him. Eventually I managed to grab hold of the end of the crop. I looked him dead in the eyes and said the words that I knew would make him realise what he had just done: ‘That wasn’t consensual, that was assault.’ He broke down into tears. I said nothing for ages. My only words then were ‘Its time for me to go home.’ It was 3am and there were no tubes, and he wouldn’t let me go until morning. I was still terrified, I just wanted to get out of there, I didn’t care that there was nowhere to go, but he blocked the door. I locked myself in his bedroom until morning, when I left without saying anything else to him.

I am still scared of him. I am scared that he stalks me like he did his ex wife. I am scared for my boyfriend and for other people I know. And I hate myself for being stupid enough to go along with it all in the first place. I am not the person I was before I met him; I used to not care what people thought of me. I was spontaneous, slightly nutty, a bit of a performer and had a good social life. Now I am always worried about what people think, I’m much more reserved. I miss my friends, but I feel like they are gone – I treated them too badly. I still see Cath, but I can’t tell her what happened.

Sentimental Violence

*Originally written 31st October 2010*

I very rarely write anything that is all sentimental, but my brain is a little bit floopy today and so if this turns out to be really sickening, then I apologise. 

I think that I should start with some background. A few days prior to this, I had played with a very lovely lady. Through no fault of her own, it had gone a little bit wrong. I'm not going to go into the details here, other than to say that the play involved some slightly edgy punching which made me a little angry at the time and left me in a bit of a negative space afterwards. After this, I was feeling a little aprehensive about going out to AntiChrist and playing on Friday (but extremely excited nevertheless).

I put a lot of effort into my outfit, partly because I wanted a project. I decided that the most appropriate outfit to wear to a goth-fet crossover club on Halloween was that of a virginal angel. I felt sexy and stunning. I played for a short while with a wonderfully sadistic woman who left me with some delicious scratches and promises of an evil violet wand (which I still need to cash in on). Then, finally, after a good few months since we had last played with each other alone and properly, I got led to a bench by my boyfriend. He wrestled me to the floor, cut my wings off and threw my halo away. He stripped me of my virginal white underwear. Then he lifted me to the bench and cuffed my legs down (I think so that I couldn't kick him in the face - he knows me well!). Having symbolically torn away my mythical innocence, he began hurting me fairly gently by his standards. Already sensitive from the earlier play, I was quite quick to drop into a bit of a euphoric state. Then he got harder. I can't remember what he was using, but it was either a cane or his evil flogger, and it hurt. So, being me, I wriggled and screamed. After that point, I don't remember much of what happened. I know that there was lots of hard punching. At one point I think I was thrown to the floor and kicked between the legs. It was the same kind of edgy play that went so wrong earlier this week. And I reacted in a similar way - anger built up within me. But this time, I felt like the anger was pointless. I knew I was safe. I was able to get totally lost in it, the helpless feeling slowly overcoming me. That is the first time that I have become spacey from that kind of play. I was in tears and he still didn't stop, and it just got more and more intense. I was still fighting back, but it was feeble and pointless and I was floating. Normally, that kind of play would freak me out but this didn't at all. I knew that it was safe and controlled and all for my pleasure as opposed to being an angry attack on me (that is NOT what happened earlier that week, but it has happened in the past which is why I sometimes get scared and why I reacted like I did in the previous play). I felt extremely loved, and I got quite emotional about it. I think that I was crying more because of the fact that I felt this overwhelming sense of belonging than because I was in pain.

Later, I found out that this particular session did not feel as wonderful for him as it did for me. In fact, he felt incredibly frustrated and wound up with the crowds in the club and was taking it out on me a little bit. Normally, I would have flipped at this. But, again, I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to. I knew that he felt horrible about it, that it wasn't his intention and that, whatever happened, I was safe. Bizarrely, knowing how he felt took nothing away from how special it was for me. As I hugged him, I felt all of those things that people tell you that you are supposed to feel about your boyfriend but I had never experienced in the past - pride, an overwhelming sense of wellbeing, a giggly, childish happiness, and a feeling of belonging. On top of that, I felt physical pain at the thought that he didn't enjoy what he had done and that I had caused him to feel guilty. Ridiculous, I know, but that is how I felt. I am still slightly overwhelmed by it all - both the play and the aftermath. I wish that he could feel how I felt about that session, because for me it was one of the most amazing play experiences that I have ever had.

Brat

*Originally written 26th September 2010*

I have been given the name 'brat'. I am a brat, and I know that I am a brat. But I don't always want to be a brat. The thing is, its a defence mechanism. Unlike most, I don't (always) brat for attention. I will continue to brat even if I have attention. Its my way of controlling what is happening I guess. Its a bit of a security blanket, and it makes me feel comfortable. Plus, I enjoy it. I need to feel that I have a good reason to bend over or stay still or whatever it may be, and I like to feel forced and helpless. But at the same time, it annoys me because I can't stop and I know that sometimes I go to far and can even be insulting to people - that is not my intention at all. Doc can manage the brat in me, and he knows how to allow me to brat within boundaries. But now I want to know what it is like to give up that comfort blanket...I just don't know how to do it, and whether I am even capable of it. But its always fun to try things...

Just a Couple of Piddly Orgasms...

*Originally written 7th September 2010*

Anyone who knows me will know that, once I am aroused, my body becomes incredibly sensitive. This results in lots of fun, especially after sex when I am ready to curl up and sleep (yes, I am a man), and he decides its time to play with my nipples. Last night, this is exactly what happened. I was innocently lying on the bed, and suddenly I was being stroked, caressed, fingered to orgasm. Yummy. And then again. And again. I was begging for him to stop before he even started fucking me. And he can go for a while. I was pretty much dead when he pulled out, and was expecting to collapse, but no. He started playing with my nipples. Unrelentlessly. I couldn't stop cumming, it was an orgasm frenzy. It bought me to tears. My body has never been that overwhelmed before, its natural reaction seemed to be to shut down everything. I couldn't see, I couldn't talk, I couldn't move, I was crying and hyperventilating and could barely breathe. I felt totally paralysed. It was terrifying. And yet so so SO hot. 

Except for one thing. I couldn't explain how I was feeling. When he started asking me questions that I couldn't answer (really complicated ones, like 'what's two plus two?') I was unable to communicate the fact that I was completely overwhelmed and terrified and this was compounding it even more. Quite naturally, he took my feeble groans as happy ones, when really they were all that I could muster. He could see that I was out of it, but he couldn't see just how out of it I was and how scary it was for me. So, quite naturally, he said 'I'll be back in two seconds, I'm going to get you a drink.' He couldn't tell that, as thirsty and in need of sugar as I was, I was feeling isolated and terrified by the fact that I couldn't see or move. I just lay and sobbed until he got back. Not just cried, but sobbed. The kind of crying where you gulp in air, you can't focus on anything and you feel helpless as the tears keep coming. It was incredibly cathartic, but I still can't decide whether I really enjoyed it or whether it was too much. I'm leaning towards the former. But it was one hell of an over-reaction to a couple of piddly orgasms!

Pain

*Originally written 22nd August 2010*

There's that initial moment of contact where, for barely a milisecond, you feel nothing. Then, it hits you. And its not nice. It hurts. It burns. It stings. Your body tries to fight it, will do anything to stop it. And then it realises that it can't stop it, and that you have to suffer it. It fills your entire head, echoing around in there. Its like listening to a really loud noise, its all you can focus on. The longer it lasts, the louder the noise gets, filling up every single little nook inside your head. And you get lost in it. Totally lost. Blissed out. As much as you are fighting against that noise, you almost don't want it to stop. You can't quite remember what things were like a mere second ago, before that noise started. You whole body reacts to it. Your breathing gets faster, more shallow. You start to sweat. Your muscles tense up. Your body is confused. It has had these sensations before. They are good. Your prepare for something big. You start convulsing. The orgasm has hit.

Ok, so it doesn't always get to the point of orgasm, sometimes I space instead and sometimes I only get as far as the loud noise. But this is what pain does to me. A big change from when I last wrote a weblog on the topic just a few months ago. And I need it. I am addicted. I'm not sure how I feel about this, but that is the way that it is.

That is all.

Needles and Topping

*Originally written 8th August 2010*

To follow up this post...

Needles
I recently volunteered myself to a very lovely lady who wanted a needle bunny. It was a first for me, and I have fallen in love. They are just so relaxing! Now I am greedy for more...


Topping
Not so fun for me. I tried it, and I don't think that I will be trying it again. I got slightly dominant with two very lovely women (to whom I should stress that the way I feel is in no way their fault) at the U35 midweek munch, and regret it. I am embarrassed, I feel the need to apologise for the way that I behaved. I had had a little bit to drink, which didn't really help. Now, we didn't really do much play (aside from some friendly spanking), but for me the dynamic that I am comfortable with was totally switched around. It completely knocked my confidence. When I sub, I seem to retreat into myself and find all of the parts of myself that I love, and I end up with this amazing sense of self confidence. Topping had the opposite effect. My confidence vanished, I spent the following day really really hating myself for no good reason. I think that it was partly a bit of domly guilt, but not wholly - there was more to it than that. I spent the whole day crying and needed to be put back together again. I guess I can put it down to experience, but I don't want to do that again!

Kinky Wishlist

*Originally written 1st August 2010*

If you had asked me a year ago, I would have struggled to come up with anything that I really desperately wanted to try bdsm wise. Not for lack of experimenting, I just felt that no new experience would give me anything different to what I had already come across. Yes, I know that I was naieve. Extremely. With retrospect, it was because I was bored with where I was in life. But now, I am hungry for every new experience that I can get my hands on. I'm getting greedy - the more I try (and, believe me, I love what I am experiencing at the moment), the more I want to try. What I have now realised is that my bdsm cravings are incredibly dynamic things. There are things that I would love to try now that I would never have considered in the past. Likewise, some things that I have always wanted to do seem to hold no interest at the moment. So I figured that I might make a kinky wishlist. Not just as a not-so-subtle hint, but also as a record of exactly how I am feeling towards bdsm at the moment. Something that I can look back on in the future and think 'Huh. Thats interesting. But look at me now!'


My Kinky Wishlist
In no particular order...
  • Fear play. The kind where I am actually scared. Not just pretending to be scared but knowing in the back of my head that nothing is going to happen.
  • Sensory deprivation.
  • Interrogation (again, realistic).
  • Kidnap.
  • Topping a sexy girl.
  • Water bondage.
  • Waterboarding.
  • Anything else with the word 'water' in it.
  • Humiliation. Something that I have tried before, but that has always left me feeling 'hmmmm, this really should be making me feel tiny and worthless and embarrassed. But it isn't. So I'll pretent it is.' Thats not enough. I want to be so degraded that I am in tears.
  • Kitty play.
  • Stinging nettles (though I have a suspicion that I may be disappointed).
  • Anal hook.
  • Nasal hook.
  • Hair suspension.
  • TOTAL immobilisation. Vac bed perhaps?
  • Forniphilia. Just curious really.
  • Dacryphilia. I am really getting into this now and want to push it further.
  • Objectification. Not just as a part of a scene, but as something that lasts a whole evening, for example. Basically, I want to be made to feel worthless.
  • Needles.
  • Forced orgasms. Again something that I have done, but I have this lovely image of being very tightly restrained and a magic wand relentlessly held in place...
  • Heavy breath play.
  • Orgasm control. Again, something that I have done before, but I want to try it at a more intense level.
  • Learning how to tie people up and make them look pretty!
  • Emotional masochism. Big time.
  • Roleplay. Particularly prison roleplay. Over an extended period of time, and in a fashion that makes me really believe it!
I suspect I will be adding to this over the next few days!

A Weekend of Relentless Kink

*Originally written 25th July 2010*

I love play, In fact I would describe myself as a total play whore. However, sometimes I play and it is somehow extremely powerful and very special, above and beyond the average play experience, and I feel the need to record what happened. This weekend was definitely one of those times.

To set the scene: I was at a house party, surrounded by people who, over the past few months, I feel incredibly lucky to have become very comfortable around. One minute, I am going to fetch myself a drink. The next, my boyfriend has his hand around my wrist. His other is hidden behind his back, but that doesn't stop me hearing the 'click' of the handcuffs. So, naturally, I pulled my wrist away. But, very quickly, he wasn't the only one who I was fighting, and I couldn't resist the combined strength of all of the people around me. My wrists were quickly cuffed to the railings of the mezzanine above me, and one of my legs wrapped in rope and also hitched up. I had clamps attached to my nipples, and two lovely men and a very sexy lady attacking my thighs with a cane. Now, I thought that that wasn't a very nice thing to spring on me from nowhere, so when they let me down I gave two of them a nice friendly, and in now way vicious, tap with my fist - just to make sure that they knew that they were both mean people. Apparently neither my boyfriend, the other bloke or his girlfriend appreciated it. Shocked looks spread across all faces; 'Ohooo, did you just punch us?'
Shit. Suddenly things had turned, and I knew that I was about to feel a whole new world of pain. Fuck balls bugger.

'Do you really think that you can punch us?'

Silence, and a pause. Then, suddenly, three or four people are manhandling me towards a spanking bench. I tried to escape, I really did, but I was totally outnumbered. My hands, thighs and ankles were forced into cuffs, and my torso strapped to the bench. An inflatable gag was shoved into my mouth. 

From that point on, I have no idea who was hitting me, what they were using or how long it lasted. There are a few little snippets that I was aware of. I know that, at one point, three people were holding canes and taking it in turns to take a hit. That hurt. Someone was florentining with a flogger for a while, which felt AMAZING. And there was an evil wooden paddle and a crop (my personal nemisis), which both hurt like fuck. In fact, all I really remember is being in a LOT of wonderful pain, and feeling like I was really going to take a lot. From the pain, I was drawing very intense feelings of physical pleasure, a massive endorphine rush, and an incredible feeling of totally losing control of my body to the crowd of people in the room. I didn't lose awareness of the pain, as can sometimes happen, rather each blow was more intense, more painful, and yet more enjoyable. I was vaguely aware of the voices in the room, discussing what they were going to use next on me, but they turned into a blur behind the wall of sensation that I was lost in.

As time went on, I was becoming more and more sensitive. Just when I was getting close to tears, out came the fingernails of one of the most sadistic women I have met. The scratching on my highly sensitised skin honestly felt more like knife blades than fingernails. I tried to wriggle away from them but couldn't go anywhere. She kept relentlessly scratching and gouging at my flesh until she drew blood. Somewhere in the fogginess I heard her complaints: 'Why does she bleed so easily? We were trying to play noughts and crosses. Now we have to stop and clean up.' I was so sensitive that even the feeling of the antiseptic wipes across my back made my whole body tingle. I don't really remember being untied and let down, but I assume I collapsed into an over-sensitised mess with a huge grin.

I'm not sure what happened next. I assume I regained composure for a little while and socialised. But it's all a big blur. I know that, when I was put into the gyno chair, I was still slightly wobbly from the previous attack. But not so wobbly that I didn't make an escape attempt. Now, I would absolutely never take the piss out of the person who was trying to cuff me, so when it took him three attempts to restrain my wrists I absolutely didn't point out that 'I thought he was supposed to be good at this'. Apparently that wasn't such a good idea. I very quickly found myself completely restrained, to the extent that my hands were in mitts, I was gagged and my head was strapped to the chair so that I could only look in one direction. Wow that felt good. The feeling of being COMPLETELY restrained and helpless, slightly uncomfortable and without having even a millimetre of movement makes me all gooey inside. Total loss of control and inability to do anything but accept whatever may be coming. And what was coming hurt. A lot. In the spread eagle position that I was in, there really was only one target, and it was flogged repeatedly. And much harder than it had ever been flogged before. It wasn't long before I was in tears. Now, I have been reduced to tears by play many times before, but what happened next was totally new. The fact that I was crying didn't make me feel that I had to stop. I didn't safeword. And, with each hit, more tears flowed. I have never felt that helpless before, I was completely out of control of my bodily reactions, I couldn't move, and I couldn't stop the pain that was inducing the tears. When it stopped and I was released, I was a complete mess. There was snot and dribble everywhere, and eyeliner and mascara streaked all down my face, and yet I have never felt sexier.

After all that I had been through, my body was ridiculously sensitive, and I was curled up in a corner thinking that no more could possibly come my way. I was a broken wreck. How wrong I was. My boyfriend very kindly decided to share the fact that, when my body is as sensitive as it was at that moment in time, just playing with my nipples makes me cum. That became my party trick, and everyone wanted to have a go. I didn't have the energy to resist, my only choice was to endure orgasm after orgasm after orgasm, so that everyone could be thoroughly entertained by my party trick. The more I came, the more sensitive my nipples became, and the easier it was to make me cum again. I was collapsed on the floor, completely helpless to my own body and unable to control anything, while everyone stood around and laughed. That moment was one straight out of one of my favourite fantasies, and was just SO HOT. I was barely aware of what was going on, everything was a daze, but it was still hot.

Bed that evening was very welcome, especially since we were going out to Sweet Torments the following night. After what had happened at the party, I requested a quiet night. I spent most of the night sat around with friends, chatting, and being a rope bunny very briefly. But then, towards the end of the night, my boyfriend got me on my own. I was feeling unusually subby and delicate, and didn't really put up much of a fight as he tied my hands above my head and raised me up onto my tiptoes. I also didn't put up much of a fight when he got out the sash cord flogger. But boy did I scream. I already felt broken, I felt like my body had no more fight left in it, and yet he relentlessly hit my back. I don't think he was hitting that hard at all, but it bloody well felt it. My body had no reserves left to fight the sting of the knotted falls. And it was a completely different play experience to anything I had felt before. Usually, even if I am completely restrained, my body is able to deal with the pain to some extent. This was different. Not only was my conscious mind submitting to the pain, but so was my subconscious. I had completely surrendered. And it was such a release. I was in tears, and yet I kept going. Eventually, he put his arm around me and asked 'Enough?' and I was unable to answer. I stuttered 'I don't know,' and I really meant it. I no longer knew what was best for my own body or what it could take. All I was aware of was that I felt totally in awe of the person who was wielding the flogger, who knew me so well and had managed to get me into this state. I felt pathetic, broken and worthless, and yet incredibly sexy, confident, loved and wanted all at the same time. I am always amazed at what this kinky shit can do to me.

My First Suspension

*Originally written 13th July 2010*

I was suspended for the first time at the weekend. I absolutely loved it. But my reaction was not what I expected. Usually when I am tied, I become very aware of my surroundings, all of my senses become more sensitive and I can hear every little noise, and then I start to space. For me, that means that everything starts spinning slightly and I am in my own little world, completely blissed out. I get a similar reaction to pain, and really to most other things.

Suspension was different. From the age of about 5, I imagined that I was tied up when I couldn't sleep because it relaxed me so much. Being suspended gave me the same relaxed feeling, and quite literally sent me to sleep. I can understand something sending me to sleep if I was spacey and really really relaxed, but this didn't make me space much at all. I just fell asleep. It was a very similar feeling to crawling under a clean warm duvet on a winter's night. It was wonderful. Obviously for me, suspension is not a kinky activity but a 'curl up with a hot cup of cocoa' one!

Changes

*Originally written 27th May 2010. This was written as an emotional rant to myself, and refers to the ways in which I have changed since a kinky relationship went wrong (something which I will blog about later).

'Ive got this image. I imagine a huge cliff-top in a world of darkness. Above the cliff there's a tribe of cave dwellers, who keep a fire burning in the mouth of the cave. The fire lights up the cave, but obscures everything outside. The cave-dwellers wonder what's outside, but are afraid to leave the safety of the cave and eventually forget outside altogether and take the cave for the whole world. But a few crawl out onto the dark cliff-top, inching forward, feeling for the Edge. Because edges define. Think about it. How can you picture a thing if you can't see it's edges?
'There are always people who go beyond the everyday. Mystics, shamans, meditators, scientists, artists, mountaineers, acid-freaks, masochists, perverts...but its interesting that shamans say you need to confront fear of you want knowledge. That's what I think. It's fear that holds most people back from exploring the universe around them. That just seems such a waste to me. 'If I've got an aim in life, I guess that's it - to find the Edge.'
A reworking of Plato's Allegory of the Cave. Taken from 'The Gringo Trail' - a true story by Mark Mann.

I had to log into an old profile for the first time in nearly 18 months to find where I had saved this quote. I have now deleted the profile, but I had to save this one remnant of it. I used to love it; it's not the most eloquent piece of writing in the world, but I thought that it summed up my life. I used to be the kind of person that would take every opportunity I was offered, I was always curious about new experiences and I was very spontaneous. I had a close group of friends and lots of acquaintances who I would go out and do crazy things with. If I had a day to spare, I would always go off and do something. Anything, I didn't really care what. I know it sounds ridiculously cliché and romantic, but that is really how I was. And, I admit it, I loved myself. Sometimes to the point of complete arrogance, but at least I had the confidence to say 'I'm going to do this, I don't give a fuck what you think about me I'm just going to enjoy it.' I was the person who walked into the party wearing the most ridiculous outfit and who everyone laughed at, and I loved it.

Since I posted that quote 2 years ago, I feel like I have completely lost touch with the person I just described. More often than not, I reject opportunities because I'm worried about money, or the fact that I might be leaving someone else out, or I just don't have the time. If I have a day off, I am likely to spend it in bed curled up with a film. Don't get me wrong, I have always loved doing that, but I do it far too often now. I have turned lazy in my old age. It sounds geeky, but I used to write journals and keep scrapbooks – now I don't have much to write in them. And its awful that I just used the phrase 'it sounds geeky but...' – there was a point when I really wouldn't have given a shit if it was geeky or not. Although I am still very close to my friends, the other people who I used to go out with have slowly fallen out of my life, and my social life dropped off.
It has been suggested to me that all of this was depression, and maybe it was. I don't know, and right now I don't care what it was because I am slowly starting to snap out of it. Gradually, I am beginning to get back to how I once was. Ok, maybe a little less naive and, sadly, a little older and with more responsibility, but I am getting there. Its so bloody frustrating, because I can't just 'snap out of it.' I find myself feeling like I want to get out and do something crazy, I want to be that person who is 'trying to find the edge', but I can't quite remember how to do it. I am so desperate to wake up one day and just be able to go FUCK YOU WORLD and go out and do exactly what I want to do and enjoy every minute of it. I know its coming, and soon. I'm slowly building up to it. So beware!!!

I just re-read that, with the promise that, since it was a rambling of my thoughts, I wasn't going to edit any of it. My god it sounds self indulgent! But that's it, that's the last time I get like that. Suddenly, just by writing this, I feel all empowered. That's the first time that I have written anything down like that in a very long time, and it feels damn good. And slightly strange as well. I hide this from people. There are a few that know, but not many. I've just realised that, in putting all of this into black and white, I have done exactly what I wanted to. FUCK YOU WORLD, THIS IS ME. DEAL WITH IT!

A Fantasy

*Originally written 10th May 2010*

Exhausted, I curled up naked in your arms, the duvet wrapped tightly around me. I was still spacing very slightly, but the light headedness and wobbly legs were slowly fading away. As I lay still, enjoying the sensation, I was only vaguely aware of the noises of the party finishing off around me. He gently stroked my hair as he held me, lulling me into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Out of nowhere, a sudden movement woke me up. I was in a complete daze as the hand grabbed my hair and pulled me upright. The bright lights as I opened my eyes disorientated me even further, I felt stunned and confused, not awake enough to work out what was going on. Before I could get my bearings, a black cloth hood was suddenly forced over my head. I couldn't tell you at what point my wrists had been tied behind my back, but they were uncomfortably tight and, as hard as I tried in my confused and un-coordinated state, I couldn't get them free.

I had absolutely no clue where I was or who was watching me when the cold metal chair hit the back of my knees. Before I could work out what was happening, five or six sets of strong hands were at work. Cold chains were tightening around my limbs. I couldn't fight it off, I didn't have the strength. My ankles were secured to the chair legs, my thighs were held open, my shoulders, chest and upper arms secured and my wrists tied together behind the chair back. My long hair, hanging down my back outside of the hood, was somehow secured to the floor. I could wriggle about a bit, but essentially I could do nothing about the fact that I was totally exposed.

I couldn't work out whose voice made the first demand: 'Right, where is it?' 

The question threw me totally off. What the fuck was going on here? There was only one reply to give: 'Where is what?'

Another unfamiliar voice: 'Don't fuck us around, you know exactly what we are talking about. Now where is it?'

'I really don't know what you are talking about.' Suddenly, fingers closed around my exposed throat.
'Look you little fuck, we know you have it, just tell us where it is.'

I choked the response, 'I don't know.' Suddenly, a sharp blow fell across my hooded face.

'Let's try again. Where is it?'

I was getting irritated now, this was stupid. 'I told you already, I don't know!' Another sudden SLAP. Immediately followed by another. And another. Then, as I braced for more, abrupt silence.

I hated the silence. Far more than the unanswerable questions. I knew something was going to happen, I just didn't know what. I was uncomfortable, confused and scared. After what felt like an indefinite period of time, I heard footsteps. I braced myself for the pain that I felt sure was about to come. But, instead, someone knelt gently beside me. He put his familiar hand softly onto my bare thigh, and wrapped a blanket around me. As he carefully removed the hood, he knelt in front of me, allowing me to see his face and gaze into his eyes. I was transfixed. I wanted nothing more than for him to take me into his arms; I knew that he would protect me. He came in very close – close enough for me to feel his warm breath on my face – and whispered, 'Look, they really need it, the want their stuff. If I were you, I'd give up now and hand it over. Trust me. You can tell me now and this all stops and you can go back to bed. Where is it?'

My voice was shaking. 'I'm sorry, you know I would tell you, but I really don't know what the hell you are talking about.' 

The tone of his voice suddenly changed. It was no longer gentle, but cold and heartless. He called out, 'She's not going to tell. Go ahead, do whatever you have to do.' Hearing that really stung. He had betrayed me. I had really thought that he would protect me and instead he was going to stand and watch as I was tortured. Tears began to prick my eyes. 

I was in a state of emotional shock, which only served to intensify the shock of the cold water as it suddenly hit my face. The sudden cold and my spluttering meant that I didn't notice the men untying me and roughly dragging me across the floor until it was too late to try to resist.

I was aggressively forced to my knees and held in position, my arms still tied behind my back. That oh so familiar hand, suddenly so cold and vicious, pulled off the hood, grabbed my hair and rammed my head backwards. I hated him, and I felt sick with his betrayal as he leaned into my face and demanded, 'right, lets try again. WHERE IS IT?'

'I don't know!'

Suddenly, he forced my head forwards and it hit the cold water. I was held under. I couldn't breathe. I thought I could take it, but after a few seconds my body naturally began to fight. I was panicking, I needed to breathe. But still they held on. When he finally lifted my head out I barely had time to catch my breath before I hit the water again. The panic set in again instantly. Again, I was lifted out. This time I braced myself. But, instead of another hit, he paused. 'I'll ask again. Where is it?'

'I don't...' I was halfway through the sentence when the water hit the back of my throat. This time, someone raised my feet up as well, which only increased the drowning sensation. 

'I panicked. I did NOT want to go back into that water. I spluttered out the words 'bottom drawer.'
Suddenly, it stopped. I was left alone, gasping for breath, shivering on the cold floor. I was too weak to move, but I could hear them going into my bedroom. I heard them open the drawer. I heard their disappointment as they discovered that whatever they wanted wasn't there. I was frozen to the spot as I heard them storm back in. Before I knew it, I was blindfolded and forcibly, and extremely tightly, restrained. The position was ridiculously uncomfortable, with my legs spread and my feet tied behind my head.

'Right, this isn't working. We know you have it. And we are going to find it. Where shall we start?'

His voice, cold, unforgiving, uttered a single word response, filled with a tone of disgust. 'Mouth.'

He hadn't even finished the word when I felt fingers forced roughly between my teeth, pulling my lips open and forcing my mouth uncomfortably wide. He unforgivingly probed the back of my throat and, when he found nothing, spat down my gullet. As I gagged, I felt completely dehumanised.

'One down, two to go.'

Shit. No. Having my mouth violated and invaded by strangers was bad enough, but this...

Suddenly, someone unceremoniously shoved a finger deep inside my pussy. As it moved around, I suddenly became ashamed of the intense pleasure I was getting from it. But my tormentors didn't care how I felt. Without comment, the finger was removed and replaced with something cold: steel. Then it began to stretch me open. 

'Enough yet? Can you see?'

'No, bit more.'

'Now?'

'No keep going.'

They kept stretching and stretching. If my jaw didn't ache so much I would have begged for them to stop, but I couldn't. I felt totally humiliated, very aware of the group of men staring straight inside me as I dripped wetness everywhere. 

'Its not there.' I knew what was coming next. And I knew I couldn't fight it. They pulled out the speculum as quickly as they had thrust it in. I wish I hadn't felt so unfulfilled, so damn horny, but I did.

'Good thing she is such a whore, her filthy juice will make this a bit easier,' he said as the speculum was forced into the final hole. It hurt. That excruciating stretched, burning, almost ripping feeling. The one type of pain that I just can't take. And he knows that I can't take it. Why is he doing this? Tears are streaming down my face. I feel a hand moving towards the speculum to begin stretching me further, to increase the burn. I know I can't do this, I just can't. I open my mouth, slightly ashamed that I have reached my limits and am about to safeword. 

But, before I get a chance, his voice interrupts me. 'Guys, I think I just found it.' A sadistic grin spreads across his beautiful face as he pulls the key from his pocket, where he had been keeping it all along.

A First with Whips

*Originally written 6th March 2010*

For about a week, I have been being told that I would meet someone with some very lovely whips. I have been excited about it, terrified, and, in my usual style, trying to make sure that I wasn't going to get it easy.
Last night, we walked into the club, and one of the first people we met was a gentleman with a grin. My introduction to him went: 'This is *insert my name here*, she doesn't think that we can get her to safeword, what do you reckon?' The response was a smile with a glint in the eye.

Spent some time wondering around and meeting people, and then went to watch some play. I had no clue when it was going to happen, but I was getting nervous. After what seemed like AGES, I was told to go and fetch the floggers. I did, and was led over to a cross. Naturally, I resisted when he tried to fix my hands, but very quickly a finger was pressed into a pressure point behind my ear and I couldn't fight any more. Control with one finger. Yum.

I thought that he was going to start soft when he picked up the gentle (i.e. weedy) flogger and began stroking my back with it. But he only reached 4 or 5 strokes before I felt a thuddy blow from the sash chord flogger. He started very slow, letting me watch him prepare for every stroke and anticipate it, and then giving me plenty of time to recover before the next one. Just the right speed and intensity to make my head begin to float.


Then, he decided to increase the intensity. I watched him turn to someone with a large collection of canes, ask to borrow one, and slowly select his weapon of choice. The biggest, fattest, scariest looking one that he could find. The wait for that first stoke felt like an eternity, but when it came it hurt. And then he put another in exactly the same place. And another. And another. Slowly but very certainly building up the intensity.
Then he came around to look into my face, and said 'how about we give *the man with the evil scary whips* a turn now? I think I just gave him a look of fear in response. The fear just got worse when he secured my ankles, which had previously been free to jump around in pain, to the cross. I suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable, wondering who this man was and what he was going to do, how it would feel, would I be able to cope. A face appeared in front of mine, telling me to look into his eyes and focus on him. Then I heard the CRACK of the whip. But I didn't feel anything. Bastard. And again, another crack. I felt a breeze next to my skin, but again no impact. And again, a third crack. By the time the fourth crack came, I was desperately anticipating the pain. And it came. Much gentler than I was expecting, a kind of faint stinging sensation. Then another, barely touching the skin, barely registering. Then the third, slightly harder this time. The face in front of me stared into my eyes and said 'it all stops when you say the safeword.' My response was something along the lines of 'fuck off I'm not going to say it.' So he, very calmly, turned to the man weilding the whip and said 'she's fine, carry on.'

The intensity built, the number of cracks with no pain less frequent, until my head felt like it didn't have the capacity for more pain. I screamed. But whenever the question 'do you want to say it yet?' came, the response was the same: 'fuck off no I don't'.

Before I knew it, another sadistic bitch had appeared. She had sjamboks. Two of them. I had watched her playing with them earlier in the evening, seen how they hit the flesh and drew screams. Unlike evil whip man, she didn't give me a warm up. She went straight in, both at once, one hitting my shoulder and one my arse. Completely relentless, no chance to recover between blows, hitting exactly the same spot every time. My breathing was getting shallower, my body was struggling to cope, I felt weak, I couldn't get control over my body at all. Yet she kept going. I couldn't help trying to jump out of the way. Until a firm hand clasped my throat, holding me still: 'Don't fuckng move, we want to make sure we can get the same place each time.'
Finally, I couldn't take any more. In between gasps, I managed to yell out my most hated word: 'C*NT!!!' And it stopped. But I didn't feel right. I wasn't crying, I wasn't a wreck on the floor. And my lovely sadist knew it. He didn't untie me, but put his arms around me and gently said 'you're ok baby. you did well, *evil whip man* was about to have to get the bigger whip out.' I'm sure that he knew what my response was going to be: 'ok then!' And they all grinned. And then the pain started again. I was at that point where my head was all spinny. Every blow was a huge explosion of pain in my head but it all made me more spinny. They were landing everywhere, across my shoulders, between my legs, they kept coming faster and faster. I didn't last long this time. 'C*UNT!!!'. And with that I collapsed into his arms, convulsing, in floods of tears.

In a complete daze, and apparently with a giant grin on my face, I was lead to a sofa, had sugar forced into my mouth, wrapped up all warm and hugged. It was incredible. It never fails to amaze me how close you can feel to someone when they have just reduced you to tears and enjoyed it. All in all, it was one of the most perfect scenes I have ever been involved in, because everything happened at just the right point. The right level of pain to start me off and get me all spinny. The right evil sadistic look at just the right times. The right mix of anticipation and delivery. And the hand around the throat, the 'I really couldn't give a fuck' demeanour.


So thank you, and more please!

What is Masochism?

*Originally written 19th January 20108

Why do I like pain? Do I really like it? What does it mean to be a masochist?

If pain is administered in a scene it hurts. Usually I am very aware of the fact that it hurts, and, truth be told, a little scared of it. However, if it is done in a certain way (and I have yet to work out what that way is), I go into a floaty, sub-spacey daze. At that point, I don't care what else is going on, I find I can 'ride' the pain, and it sends me deeper and deeper into my own floating world. I definitely enjoy that feeling.

Unfortunately, it is extremely rare that pain will get me to that point - in fact, I think it has only happened once or twice. Frankly, usually pain just hurts, plain and simple. I don't enjoy it because its, well, painful. But I do enjoy the fact that I am surrendering to it at the will of someone else, and in that I am able to enjoy the pain itself. I also see it as a bit of a challenge...I like to think that I can take as much as is given. And usually, when it is over, I don't want it to stop. And I can't deny it, this kind of pain turns me on. I don't know why or how it does, because, like I said, it hurts. But it does.

Its not only pain either. I don't actually enjoy the feeling of humiliation, but love being humiliated at the will of someone else. I don't enjoy feeling rejected or unwanted, in fact it makes me feel like crap, yet being pushed away by someone and told to 'fuck off because you are a useless whore' is incredibly sexy. It seems that, for some reason, I actually enjoy things that really aren't enjoyable in the slightest. Maybe its because I like the challenge. Maybe its because I like the fact that I am surrendering to something that I would not normally do. Maybe its a combination of both. Regardless of the reasons, I think that, for me, it is the fact that I enjoy NOT ENJOYING things that makes me a masochist.

A Brief Introduction

It probably seems that the title for this blog is totally random. It is. But it does summarise my intentions for my future ramblings pretty well I think. Firstly, both ski socks and flip flops are pretty everyday objects (if you are the kind of exciting person who, like me, likes to go to snowy mountains and tropical beaches, not if you are a boring recluse). Most of what I write about will, I suspect, seem slightly crazy to your average 'vanilla'. But, to me, kink is so integrated into my life that I sometimes don't notice that it is a bit odd. In fact, it is so 'everyday' that can quite happily walk into a friends house and obliviously sit on a spanking bench whilst we have a nice chat about the weather. Secondly, they are both totally contradictory to each other. This, in part, reflects the fact that I go by the online psuedonym 'Walking Oxymoron'. But it also explains me very well. Like many people on the scene, I do not look like someone who you might imagine to be a sexual deviant. When out and about, I don't act any differently from anyone else. In fact, I like to think that I appear fairly innocent and demure. But I have a dark side...

This blog is about my dark side. Specifically, the emotional side of it. I want to convey the idea that, behind the whips and canes and other fun things, is a variety of very normal, 'vanilla' feelings. They just choose to display themselves in some unconventional places.

My first few posts will be a backlog of some of the existing weblog that I have - I want to transfer my blog here to try to retain some anonymity. That explains my prolific blogging on the 8th November.