I had a story published in a new online erotica magazine. You can read it here.
I had an experience the other night at the club, that I’d like to share with, well, everyone. I think that everyone inside the kink community and outside of it can benefit from hearing this story.
I was at a club. I am a regular there, and I know quite a number of other regulars, so I was there by myself. Being an attractive 20-something girl, dressed for dancing, I sort of expect/dread being approached by unsavory persons. Generally, I defend myself fairly well, either by slipping away or finding a guy I know to protect me from lascivious eyes, something like that. Unfortunately for me, this night happened to be a special event at the club, so most of the people I knew were busy doing something important about this event, and not around to support and protect me.
I was taking my typical tour around the club, seeing who was there, saying hi to people, when I was approached by a fairly square-looking guy. He held out his hand and introduced himself as Tim. Without pausing in my stroll, I shook his hand, gave him my name, and walked on without a second glance. I thought that was obvious enough, but later, as I was standing alone watching a rope suspension, Tim approached me again.
“I’m going to try this again.” [Never a good second line.]
“I’m a submissive male.”
“Ah, sorry, I’m a sub, and I never top.” [Here I expected him to go away, since we’re obviously mismatched and he should go find a Domme.]
“Oh, well, the scene here is really cool.”
Etc, ad nauseam. Here’s the lesson: Asking people to play is fine. In fact, encouraged. But if you ask, you have to be prepared to hear “no.” And if you do hear it, or even detect any hesitation at all, you must cease and desist, and go away. You can be friendly about it. You don’t need to slink away with your tail between your legs, but you must accept rejection gracefully.
I wrote about this scenario in my personal journal. A friend of mine, who is a Domme, commented that she gets this all the time. And it isn’t very submissive to say “you must dominate me now!” That’s true for sure. Another case against this I believe I heard on Masocast, is: why would a Dom waste their time on a self-proclaimed “worthless” person? I’m calling this groveling.
My personal opinion is that a submissive person, who does not belong to the Dom in question should be somewhat aloof. S/he should offer his/her service selectively, and not to any handy Dom. S/he should never be an imposition. An irritating sub is not going to be rewarded with attention.
“C’mere, punkin.” He patted his knee.
“I’ve got a present for you.”
“Yep. Turn around.” He slid the straps around her chest and shoulders, and buckled them with a click. Then he snapped the leash onto the D-ring on the back, underneath the stuffed animal back pack.
“Does it fit okay?”
She squealed: “It’s pink and Big Bird!”
“Yep, it matches your dress, punkin. Let’s go to the park.”
They made their way toward the park slowly. Punkin needed to stop and pick flowers and look at the chalk drawings on the sidewalk. She showed off her new backpack and lead to anyone who would stop to pet her. She collected pretty rocks, carefully stowing them in the small pocket. When they arrived, Daddy said, “I’m going to let you off your leash, but come back when I whistle, okay? Don’t run too far so you can’t see me.”
She ran away towards the playground. Daddy followed at a leisurely pace, tucking the leash into his pocket. His eyes followed the little spot of pink, bouncing around the playground, swinging, climbing, playing with other children, before she disappeared over a rise. Daddy continued his stroll, until he reached the top of the hill. On the other side was a wide grassy field where people let their dogs run around and play together. Punkin was kicking an abandoned tennis ball around.
Daddy whistled. That ball was too dirty for precious punkin to touch. She picked it up and ran over to him.
The ball fell to the grass. “But I found it!”
“It’s too dirty. Don’t argue.”
“Keep that up and we’re going home, young lady.”
“That’s enough.” Daddy hooked the leash to her harness and tugged roughly. Punkin pouted as she was half dragged home.
Inside, Daddy sat down on the sofa.
“Punkin, pull down your panties.”
Frowning, she slowly followed directions.
“Lean over my knee.”
“Lift up your skirt.”
“Do you know what you did that was naughty?”
“Yes, I talked back.”
“That’s right. How many spankings should I give you?”
“Alright. You count them out loud. Ready?”
Smack. “Ow! One.” “Two.” “Three.”
“Brave girl. Now go stand in the corner with your skirt up until the timer goes off.”
Punkin made a pretty picture, standing in the corner alone, nose to the wall, dress up around her waist. Her leash hung loose down her back and coiled on the floor.
I suppose you could compare the way I like to be treated by my partner to a house cat. You wouldn’t hesitate to clean a cat’s ears or face, or feed her, or give her fresh water. In return she trusts you completely; she knows you’ll take care of her. She requires firm discipline, too. After all, you’re the adult in the situation, and you know what’s best for her. She’s cuddly and playful, but fickle and sometimes she hides under the bed.
There’s something very compelling about feline behavior as well. Cats are such sensual animals. They want to be caressed and stroked almost all the time. The rest of the time they want to be played with, intellectually stimulated. And a cat stretching is structurally beautiful, in the way that a well-designed bridge is lovely.
He calls me “kitten.” Kittens are energetic and snuggly, with soft fur and sharp little claws that don’t retract. The pet name makes me feel like he’s holding me, even in public when he’s not. Kitten is a verbal hug. Kitten also flips a mental switch. It’s one of those paradoxes- do I behave in a kitten-like fashion because he calls me kitten, or does he call me kitten because I am kitten-like?
I am dying for a rhinestone collar, like a pampered kitty might wear. I love the idea of being treated like a pet. Walking on a leash, eating out of a dish on the floor, being caged, licking my masters’ fingers in appreciation. Laying my chin on his feet while watching tv. Sleeping at the foot of the bed, perhaps.
The cage is probably the most attention-grabbing of all of these rather cozy activities. There’s a lovely cage at one of the playspaces I like. Someday.
A couple days ago I had a demo-sub practice play session with a friend of mine, Luke. He’s a rope top and also a photographer. We’re planning to do a shoot next Sunday, a suspension rope bondage shoot.
I mentioned before that I love marks. I even like them when the person giving them to me is not a lover. I have a little rope burn under my right arm for my horizontal suspension, two beautiful little dotted red lines. It’s like a temporary body mod. They’ll probably have to be edited out of the photos, they’re very distinct.
I also love suspension, especially upside down suspension. Like a lot of bdsm, it’s not sexy so much as fun and exciting. Much of the appeal of bdsm is that it’s comforting in a deeply psychological way. Rope is not comforting so much as good fun.
Luke taught me how to untie myself, as well, even in suspension. It does meant that I have to be very conscious of what he’s doing and pay close attention to the knots and the order he does them in. We may be collaborating in a street festival coming up soon, and so we’re going to practice a few more tie-and-escapes scenes before then, probably.
Remember this post? That fellow is my costar in this one, too.
Last night was my second spanking from him. He’s the DM at a weekly playspace. Last week I asked him to try a few different toys so I could experience a range of different sensations. They all ran together quite a lot, and when he was finished, he rested his hand on my back, as I slid right off the end of the bench into a puddle on the floor. He looked down at me on the floor, grinning, and assisted me to my feet. Half carrying me over to the edge of the playspace to recover, he handed me over to a friend who set me on a bar stool.
Sometimes one can be so deep in subspace that normal activities seem unnatural. Like sitting on a chair.
“Can I sit on the floor?”
I slid down to the floor, petticoats spread out everywhere, completely unconscious of the staring crowd. S came back and I leaned my head on his knee, his fingers wrapped in my hair.
I wasn’t able to indulge in this very long because this girl lines up several dates in a night; Luke beckoned me over for a suspension. He suspended me from my hips, upside down, hands and heels together. It was my first suspension and I had a great time. But the best part was that I could feel that S was watching.
Last night S noticed me as soon as I came into the club.
Since he’s the DM I have to wait an awfully long time for his attention; he has work to do. About 1:30, I went hunting for him.
“I’m going to have to insist in a moment.”
“Oh no, we’re going upstairs right… in a minute.”
He held me around my waist and chatted with a few people (I love being a trophy on someone’s arm- and the higher the status of the man, the more satisfying the experience) and then took my hand and lead me upstairs. Standing in the playpit, he held me by my hair and instructed me to pick out three favorite toys and lay them on the spanking bench. I chose two different paddles and a crop, and played “poor me” to get a flogger and and bare hand, as well. Five toys? Sure, indulge the kitten.
I stepped out of my skirt. In just a wifebeater tank top, towering heels, and bare-assed, I leaned against the bench, basking in the attention from the growing crowd and letting suspense build. But I forgot all about my audience when S came back. He pushed down hard on my back, down to the bench, gripping my hair, and using first a flogger and then hands to stroke and slap my ass and pussy. He leaned over me, talking dirty in the best bdsm tradition- “You’re a very dirty girl, aren’t you? You like it when I hold you down like that? I bet you’d like to be even more restrained- how’s that? You’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you?” He put his finger in my mouth and I melted. How is it that he knows exactly what I want him to do?
He pulled me to a sitting position, straddling the bench.
“Do you drink vodka?”
“Are you driving?”
He took a shot into his mouth, and then fed it to me, and then another. Let me tell you, I’m not normally a fan of shots, but that was the smoothest vodka I’ve ever had. It probably helped that he was holding me up by my hair and leaning into me like that.
He pulled me up and walked me over the the cross. Kicking my feet apart, he stood with one knee between mine and leaned in, pressing my lower back into the crux of the cross. He nibbled my ears and neck (nibbling for this guy isn’t what you would normally think of as nibbling) finally kissing my mouth before putting his hand over it. I’m guessing that breath play isn’t normally allowed at this PG-13 club, but when you’re the boss you do what you want. I like rule-breakers anyhow.
Someone came over to him and said it was 2:20 and time to clean up. He swore mentally and pulled out a horrible wooden paddle and gave me three of the hardest slaps I’ve ever had. Ouch! That was like a hairbrush. I stood and turned around, sitting down on the bench (so we ended up using all of the furniture in the space) and he wrapped an arm around my waist and invited me to play at his personal dungeon at his home before sweeping me up in his arms. I snuggled my face into his chest and he held me for a little bit, before setting me back on my feet smoothly.
“Scarlett, how old are you?
“22. How old are you?”
“I’ve never played with anyone younger than 30. And I choose my tops carefully.”
He went to tidy up the toy box and get some people to put the furniture away. As I unlaced his corset, he made an apology to the club manager for taking so long: “Sorry about that, I was playing with Scarlett. Look at that cute ass! How could I resist?” I, for my part, hammed it up and he laid a hand on my lower back and bit my right ass cheek so hard I screamed. That bite mark is going to last for days.
Yesterday I had my first pro-sub gig.
Mostly it was very heavy bondage, no pain other than the soreness of very tight bondage over a long period of time. I spent three hours in various rope ties, as well as leather restraints. I had a great time. The following is a fictional story.
I’m gagged and blindfolded when I wake. I can feel rope around my wrists behind me and something is pulling my hair so my head is tipped way back. It’s very quiet. I don’t think anyone is in the room.
Feeling the length of the rope and the ties around my wrists, I find the end and slowly work out the first knot. With my eyes covered my sense of hearing is extremely heightened, but still there is no sound, not even breathing. The rope loosens around my wrists. It hurts to move my arm, but I remove the blindfold and gag. My fingers are tingling as the blood rushes back into them. I don’t know how long I’d been tied.
I take a deep breath and experimentally shift my legs. When you’ve been in one position for a long time it can be very difficult to move. I thought the was the problem, but it seems that my ankles are tied to my hair. My joints are a little creaky, but I manage to get the rope untangled from my hair and realize that my ankles are in cuffs, locked together.
The room is a typical motel room. I’m laying on a double bed. There’s a dresser and a tv and, I assume, a closet and a bathroom around the corner. It’s very dim. There is a bedside table lamp on behind me, but the rest of the room is dark. There’s something on the dresser across the room. Rolling over to my stomach, I stretch out my legs and point my toes for the journey. I skooch down to the end of the bed, and off, onto my knees on the floor. My ankles are pretty close together, so actual crawling is not really possible, but I slither over to the dresser on my belly, crawling on my elbows.
My jaw is so sore from the gag.
Pulling myself up using the edge of the dresser I manage a kneeling position and retrieve the tool- it’s a wire cutter. It’s not the ideal tool for the job, but I’ll make it work. The locks are a little too heavy duty for this tool, but if I just have time I’ll get through them. My hands are so tired and weak. After cutting just the center lock to separate my ankles, I give up. I’ll have to wear the shackles until my hands get back to normal, or I find a better tool.
I stand unsteadily, swaying slightly and return to the bed to rest. My joints are beginning to feel better so I stretch my muscles, my hands, my legs, my feet, my back. After a bit I’m feeling safe and much more comfortable so I find my clothes in the closet and get dressed. Glancing around the room, my attention is drawn to the lamp on the table. There, under the small circle of light is a stack of bills. I tuck that in my bra and leave the room.
S is standing outside. I collapse into his arms and he sets me down on the floor. “I need to go get the camera, babe. Go wait in the car. Here’s the keys.”