Fantasy: Tie and Tease

I am naked. Gently, she takes me in her arms. She holds me close, exploring my body. She starts with my hair, gently stroking it, Then my face, holding my cheeks and looking directly into my eyes, telling me that I am beautiful. Then her hands work slowly over my body, stroking, teasing, leaving me with goosebumps everywhere she touches. She intentionally stays well away from those parts of my anatomy that I am most desperate for her to touch.

Her hands move back up to my face again, and she lowers a blindfold over my eyes. Gently, her hands work their way down to my arms, and she slowly takes my wrists and ties them behind my back. She takes me by the hand and leads me into the unknown. I can feel that we have entered another room. It is colder, and the floor is not carpeted like the last. Suddenly, she pushes me backwards and I hit what feels like a soft, warm, cosy hammock. She maintains body contact, stroking my skin with one hand whilst she deftly moves around me, restraining all of my limbs until I am suspended and unable to move. My legs are wide open, and my head is held in place by my hair, which is tied into the swing. My hands are held high above my head, comfortable but out of the way. My head is fixed in such a way that I cannot hold avoid her glare as she removes the blindfold and looks me in the eyes: 'You know, you really are beautiful. I adore you. I want to give you something. Hold still'. She smirks. Of course I am going to hold still, what other choice do I have?

She carefully places the blindfold back over my eyes again. Then earplugs, and a ring gag. Leather mitts over my hands. A large vibrating dildo in my pussy. A smaller one in my arse. She briefly lifts the blindfold up. Her eyes have a mischievous twinkle, and she holds the poppers up to my face. I lip read as she waves and says 'goodnight, baby', before replacing the blindfold and encasing my whole head in a gas mask.

Shit. I have no idea where she is. My mind is clouded by waves of pleasure from what seems like constantly changing vibrations inside me. I suspect that there is something being fed through the gas mask, which is also making me light headed. I cannot focus on anything except for the overwhelming want for sexual contact of some kind. Desperate, desperate want. And there is nothing that I can do about it. I have no concept of time passing, but it feels like forever. I just want to be touched. I want to cry and shout because I am so desperate, but the occasional cloudy headedness is preventing even that.

Suddenly, my bonds are released. My legs are still held wide open, and my arms are still held up, but my body has hit a stone cold floor. A blow hits my side – it feels like it is from a boot. Then another. And another. Then out comes the flogger. It rains down on my flesh, focussing between my legs. It hurts. It really hurts. The continual buzzing inside me and the light-headedness make it difficult to fight back. I can't hear or see anything. I can't speak. I can't scream.

Out of nowhere, my mask is ripped off. My earplugs are torn off. A plastic cock is strapped in place through the ring gag. 'You stupid girl. You are so easy. Are you turned on?'

I can't speak through the gag. Even if I could, I am not sure that I could formulate words.

A slap across the face nearly brings me to tears. 'Are you turned on?'

I grunt in response. It is the best that I can do. Three slaps across the face.

'Look at you. Your legs are wide open. I can see everything. The wetness is everywhere. You are open to abuse. There you are, lying back like a queen, expecting to be pleasured.' She smears fluid across my face. Then, just to make the point, she spits on me. Then she hits me once, VERY hard, with the flogger, between my open legs.

'How desperate are you?'

I still can't answer. Another thwack with the flogger.

'I asked you a question. How desperate are you?'

I do my best to beg. It comes out as a whimper.

'I will take that lack of an answer to mean that you aren't. That you are such a slut that you spend your entire life this wet, just waiting to serve cock. That your shaking and back arching are not symptomatic in the slightest of you being desperate for me to hold this (she holds up the magic wand) against your clit and give you the most powerful orgasm of your life. No? Nothing to say at all?'

I let out a desperate wimper.

'I see. Well, seeing as you are incapable of giving me any clue as to what you might want, I guess I will just have to do what I want. What do you think I want?'

Now I am really scared.

'Hmmm. Let me think.' She starts pacing around the room, casting her eyes over various implements. She picks up a big kitchen knife, and looks it over. Then a scalpel. Then the crop. Eventually, she makes her decision. She picks up two sets of clover clamps, and attached one to each nipple and one to each of my labia. She pulls a latex glove over both of her hands. Then she starts to lube them up.

'There you are, lying back all comfortable, expecting me to pleasure you. Fine then, I will.' She balls her hands into fists. 'These are going in you. Both of them. At once.

She puts the mask back on. Suddenly, the cock in my mouth increases in size. I hadn't realised that it was inflatable. Now I am practically gagging on it, and I can't breathe through my mouth at all. She covers my face with a shirt – the unmistakable smell of poppers. 'That's right. You lie there, all incapacitated. Nothing you can do. No whimpering, no screaming. And if you have an orgasm from this, then that flogger will bite into your clit so hard that you won't be able to move for a week. This is not for you. I want to see you suffer.'

Starting with my pussy, she works her hand inside me. It feels amazing. My head is still all floaty, and I can't quite get enough air to be able to cope with the sensations. I begin to sob. She is relentless, pulling out only to allow her other hand into my arse. She keeps going. And going. And going. It hurts. It really hurts. I want to cum, but I know that I can't. Not without that stimulation on my clit. Or without her permission. I am in floods of tears.

Eventually, she has had enough. Unceremoniously, she unties me and leaves me in a heap on the floor. She throws the magic wand and he dildos at me. She grabs the chain between my nipples (OUCH) and pulls me up so that my face is close to hers. 'You do not stop wanking until I get back. I hope it hurts. The clamps stay on. I don't expect to hear anything from you. I don't really want to see your face right now.' She spits in my face, puts the earplugs and blindfold back on, and leaves me on the cold stone floor, legs still bound apart like a whore, unloved, silently, painfully masturbating in my pool of blood, sweat and tears.

The Vanilla Dominatrix

I originally intended to post this as a response to the comment of ourchangingviews on my last blog, but I feel that it is much better as an entry in its own right.

Her comment was as follows:

'I'm interested that you say you don't want a 24/7 relationship and yet you feel owned all the time. To me that is what 24/7 is: submission that may be called upon at any moment, although the level and protocol is dependent on the relationship.'

This is an interesting concept, because it is one which I think blurs the lines between a vanilla relationship and a d/s one. I can explain this through example.

Of late, I have been working very hard. Harder than I probably should. I was due to go away to work this weekend, and have been getting myself very stressed about it. By the end of last week, I was so stressed that I suddenly burst into tears on one occasion. When Lilith sat me down and asked me what was going on, it became clear to her that my working patterns were becoming too much for me. She suggested that I take the weekend off, but I was incredibly reluctant too because I felt that the work was important and needed doing. I consulted a friend, and she annoyingly agreed with Lilith. I was still reluctant, so Lilith put on her dominant shoes and told me on no uncertain terms that I was not to go this weekend, and that she would help me to talk to the people concerned so that I could get out of it. She has never done anything like this before, and we have spoken about the level of control that it is appropriate for her to have over 'my' life as a separate thing to 'our' life. However, in this instance, she was acting for the sake of my health. I suspect that any vanilla partner would have done the same if they were watching their loved one slowly self destruct, and I am extremely grateful to her for doing it. Was this act of domination made easier because of the dynamics of our relationship? I suspect so. Do I see it as an act of domination in the context of this blog? No, I don't think I do.

Equality and Submission

My last post was all about the way in which I am struggling to fulfill some of my sexual needs. This post is somewhat contradictory, since it surrounds the small gestures that ensure that my submissive needs are met on a day to day basis. Regardless of whatever else is going on, it is important to me that I feel submissive and owned. 

It is important to clarify at this point exactly what I mean when I say that I wish to feel 'submissive and owned.' Unlike some, I do not want a 24/7 power exchange dynamic. I love those intimate moments where I am able to let Lilith curl up and be a little girl in my lap just as much as I love being cared for and looked after. I often secretly refer to her as 'mine', since, as much as I feel that I want her to share in and contribute to my life, I would like to share hers too. I even go so far as putting a necklace around her neck to symbolise this. This equality, however, does not preclude my belonging to her in a d/s context at all times. She is naturally the dominant one, and it is therefore she who makes the rules. Its difficult to describe how this works, since it happens naturally - we don't have a rigid set of protocols (more on rules and protocols coming soon). However, we both know that I am hers.

In the absence of strict protocol, there are some subtle gestures that we use to reinforce the sense of ownership and belonging. Perhaps the most outwardly obvious is my collar - I have recently obtained a beautiful steel necklace which locks around my neck, and which I wear nearly all of the time. It is the smaller gestures, however, that have the greatest impact. A stare directed straight through me, to which my response is to lower my eyes. A tiny tug on, or stroke of, my collar. The phrase 'good girl', or 'I'm proud'. The unwritten expectation of a morning cup of tea. The statement 'well, be better' when I have done something wrong. With the exception of the collar, none of these things are particularly premeditated, but, small as they are, these gestures maintain my submissiveness through the driest of any dry spell.

The Dry Patch

Everyone has them. I am sure. Regardless of how much kinky shit a person gets up to, I am sure that everyone goes through patches where they just can't get it right. And I am also pretty sure that it is not through lack of trying - in my case it is definitely not. Which makes it all the more frustrating.

I feel like I am not getting satisfaction out of play at the moment. I am getting play, but it just isn't right. Things just aren't as mind-blowing as I know they can be. Its not that the play isn't as intense, or that I'm not trying new things, I just don't seem to be able to get myself into the right mindset to be able to relax into the experiences. Perhaps it is because I am suddenly feeling settled and secure and therefore don't feel the need to 'push the boat out', so to speak, in terms of making the effort. This is certainly true of my social life (which I also feel some regret about neglecting). This explains the large blank spot in my blog - I am seriously lacking material!

So what is the solution? I'm not sure. When this has happened in the past, I have just ridden the storm. But this has been going on for months now, and it is getting ridiculous. I am getting incredibly frustrated, and I end up getting angry with myself. Any ideas people?

The Strength of the Submissive

On the BDSM scene, it is not uncommon to hear submissives referred to as having incredible strength for their ability to trust their dominant and allow them to take charge of what is essentially, in some cases, their life. However, it seems that, when it comes to ‘vanilla’ life, being submissive is seen as a weak personality trait. Many people strive to be the alpha, to be in direct control of any situation that may get thrown their way. Even within the scene, most submissives that I have come across pride themselves on their dominant personalities within everyday life.

I do not agree with this. I strongly believe that it takes even more strength to be submissive in a vanilla context than within the more clear-cut roles of BDSM play/relationships. To be able to take on the ideas of others, to realise that they may have equal or greater potential than your own, to embrace them and to take the hits when they are wrong, all whilst maintaining your own integrity and self belief, takes a great deal of inner strength. To do this in the face of someone with whom you have a strong emotional connection can sometimes require even more resilience.

To explain this more fully, I have a couple of examples. The first comes from my Mum, who, in my eyes, is one of the strongest people I have come across. I am very lucky to have parents who, after 30 years of marriage, are still head over heels for each other. However, I think that I can attribute a lot of this to Mum’s approach. As a blind artist with a limited ability to read the emotions of others, Dad can be extremely demanding. There have been many occasions when I have watched Mum go to help him do something really simple, like cook dinner or help with his medication, and he has ended up angry and frustrated because something wasn’t done quite right. Rather than confront him while he is angry, making him stubborn and compounding the situation, Mum puts down whatever she is doing (she usually has a VERY long list), and simply tries again to get it right. Then, when he has calmed down, she talks to him about what has happened and conveys her feelings. I know that it is incredibly difficult for her to do this at times, and I am not saying that it is a technique that always succeeds, but I admire her hugely for being able to put his needs first in such a way.

The second example is more personal. Of late, I have been living in a household with two people who are essentially both trying to be ‘alpha’ (this may be a bone of contention to both of them when they read it, partly because the truth in this statement is debatable at times). I get on extremely well with them both, but often find myself caught in the middle of the struggle to be on top. I am trying to let them both work it out between themselves, sitting back and listening both to their arguments and the times when they are really getting on well, trying to give them the space that they need to work it out. I know that my role will fall into a slot that will be defined by how their relationship works out, and I need to let them work that out for themselves. In a sense, my fate is in their hands. I often have a strong urge to protect one or other of them from arguments that I can see coming a mile off, but I know that to do so would be damaging to them, which would, in turn, be damaging to my relationships with them both. It is not that I don’t air my feelings and opinions, but, like my Mum, I wait. Sometimes the wait is long, but I feel that it is worth it. Inside, I know that I have taken care of myself and ensured that my needs are met eventually, and that I don’t have to feel that I have in some way backed down. Equally, I have done my best to ensure that their needs have also been met.

It is all very well and good feeling strong inside. But I am increasingly getting the impression that people on the outside view me as weak willed, and this is making me start to question myself. Is it okay to be viewed as weak when you feel strong inside? Would accepting their opinion make me weak merely by removing my inner unquestioning strength? How far is too far when it comes to putting myself in the firing line, albeit temporarily? Does submission really equal strength, or is it just an excuse?

Fundamentally, I believe that since I am making a conscious decision to take this submissive approach, I am not weak willed. It is when I feel forced into taking such a stance (which has happened to me in the past) that submission becomes a weakness. Like many things, this is basically an extension of my kinky life – it is easy to sit back and let someone beat the shit out of you, but to choose to hand over that power to them to do whatever they will takes a huge amount of courage, self worth, personal integrity. Herein lies the strength of the submissive.

More on Being Little

More and more, I am finding that I want to regress into my newly discovered childish state. However, this is becoming less and less linked to sex/BDSM play. Instead, I find that I slip into this state when relaxed - it is a way of enabling me not to have to think or worry about any of the boring grown up stuff. A slightly unconventional form of stress relief, but one that I am keen to explore further.

A few weeks ago, I had a friend 'over to play'. That is exactly what we did. We simply let our inner children out. We coloured in, Mummy cooked us chicken nuggets and alphabetti spagetti and helped us to make chocolate brownies, and we make a den. Then we both curled up in Mummy's arms with our dummies and watched a film. The next day, I felt relaxed, recharged and ready for anything. 

Having allowed myself to do this once, I now feel able to let myself slip into little girl mode more often. In the past, I have felt guilty about landing all of the responsible stuff onto others and have stopped myself from regressing. However, I am now learning that, when the time is right, I don't need to feel guilty about it. I also am starting to worry less about having a responsible figure around. I am realising that it is okay to curl up on Lilith's lap and suck my thumb when she just wants to relax and watch TV. I don't need Mummy around to be little. In fact, recently, she and I were curled up by the fire on a blanket. As I regressed, I started sucking my thumb and realised that, in that moment, I would really like her join me in her little state. I have to admit, this confused me slightly as I definitely do not want to surrender my place as her little girl. But maybe, just maybe, we can work out how to do both?

Using roleplay in this manner (i.e. not in a sexual capacity) is something that never really occurred to me before. Indeed, I have come across very few people on the kink scene who openly broadcast that they do this kind of thing. But I hope that it can, and will, play a very valuable part of my everyday life from now on. There are not many people who are lucky enough to have found a way of excluding all thoughts of responsibility from their mind completely for an hour or two. 

There is a secondary motive behind all of this. One that negates all that I have said above. If I can learn to slip into a genuinely innocent childlike state, it will make the virgin sacrifice scene all the more fun ;)

***AN ADDITION***

Now that I think about it, I am not sure that I am a little girl. I was either a little boy or very tomboyish. Cue forthcoming post on genderbending ageplay...

West Of The Moon, East Of The Sun

The road goes ever on and on,

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the road has gone

And I must follow if I can...

Pursuing it with eager feet until it joins some larger way,

And whither then? I cannot say.

Still 'round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate;

And though I oft' have passed them by,

A day will come at last when I

Shall take the hidden paths that run

West of the moon, east of the sun.

J.R Tolkein.

It is now. A new feeling of security allows a new start. I am far more than I am allowing myself to be. Time to explore...