Positive Messages in the Bathroom

A few weeks ago, one of the women's bathrooms at my university covered the mirror with little pick me up notes.  I had taken a couple of snapshots of them because I thought they were cute and then promptly forgot about them.

Recap because...wtf, where are all the updates?

I guess the biggest update is that...I got engaged! It happened fairly recently, about 2 weeks ago, and a part of me is still not quite sure what happened.  The video to said engagement is posted on my fetlife page (which means, dear viewer, that, yes, it was kind of kinky.)  If I weren't so lazy, I'd upload it here as well, but...I'm mighty lazy.  and also, I really hate the way my voice sounds recorded.

Other than that, the major news is that I was flogged for the first time.  I know that probably seems like a silly sentence; how could someone who seems to be so deep into the BDSM community not have tried flogging before?

Ok, slight edit: It's not that I haven't been flogged before.  In my early baby days of crawling through the plethora of BDSM goodies, I had been flogged a couple of times rather poorly by an unskilled Domly-Doms.  My lack of know-how in negotiating--and trust me when I say almost no one knows how to negotiate when they first start playing publicly-- and research had landed me into thinking that flogging was really...not that interesting.  Wasn't quite stingy.  Wasn't quite thuddy.  Why couldn't it make up its mind?  and the actions done by said Domly-Doms were anything but sexy.  I quietly crammed the notion of being flogged into a small tiny ball and shoved it into the darkest parts of my brain, quickly forgetting about it while I fell in love with being single-tailed and caned.  and those notions pretty much stayed dormant until Fetfest.

That's when we watched Prophet pull out his beautiful handcrafted floggers and show off.

You're probably asking yourself who Prophet is because I haven't ever mentioned him before.  Before I go on, I have to admit, I nicknamed him Chocolate Thunder one day because I couldn't remember his name and felt that it would be the most accurate way to describe him.  He's adopted it and now pretty much everyone in our chosen family has started calling him C. Thundah.  Now...how to describe him...let's just say he follows the Brad Pitt Fight Club exercise regime and he follows it well.

Before we started, we did the typical negotiations:

"Hard limits?"
"No sexual stuff.  Don't break my bones.  Don't send me to the hospital."
"Sure, no problem.  Anything else?
"Oh, yeah, I don't like pain."

He gave me a funny look when I said that; I guessed he had never flogged someone who didn't see themselves as a bonefide pain slut and perhaps he wasn't sure what to do.  He finally decided to start off slow and work our way up until I tapped out.

It didn't seem to have lasted long, but I went through my typical cycle of reactions when dealing with pain: a lot of laughter, tears, rinse repeat.  I'm not sure if that scared Prophet or his partner, who was sitting with Daddy.  She looked quite concerned and I could hear her ask, "Is she alright?  She's laughing...and crying."  Daddy shrugged and said that I knew what to say if I wanted to stop.

It was surprisingly painful.  As I stood there taking the beating, it occurred to me that I not only had never been flogged by anyone remotely close to skilled, but that Prophet was extremely extremely amazing with his craft.  Prophet was able to switch between thuds and stings with little to no effort.  By the end of it, he was winding up and swinging at me the way a baseball player would.  Or at least that's what I'm told.

Later that night, Daddy told me that Prophet was fairly impressed, "For someone who doesn't like pain, she can take quite a flogging."

30 Days of Kink, Take Two

I started 30 days of kink possibly a year ago, but I think I’m going to redo it since 1) My answers have probably changed and evolved from this time last year and 2) I forgot which day I was on.  So here we go.  I've condensed Days 1 and 2 into one blog since I wrote the on my tumblr as two separate ones and I am lazy and a bunch of other adjectives.

DAY 1: Dom, sub, switch?  What parts of BDSM interest you?  Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self for us.

I don’t identify with any set role in these categories.  I feel like labeling myself any of these things automatically allows people to make basic assumptions about me that just aren’t true.  I am submissive to ONE person, that doesn’t make me submissive.  I top people I enjoy playing with, but do not desire to have a relationship outside of play, so that doesn’t make me a Dom.  I also don’t have the desire or ability to switch between being a Top or bottom with others, so I really don’t consider myself a switch.  So, for now, I am just me.

My interests in BDSM lie heavily on bondage, especially rope bondage.  I enjoy being tied and tying in a Japanese-inspired aesthetic.  I wouldn’t say I’m an amazing rope top or bottom, but I’d like to think of myself as pretty damn good.  It’s something that I’ve worked hard at with my partners.

A lot of my other interests stem from the idea of suffering, whether it’s causing suffering in others or if I’m the one suffering.  I tend to say I don’t like pain, giving or receiving.  What I really mean to say is I enjoy making someone suffer (or I enjoy suffering) and it doesn’t necessarily have to come from impact play.  Mind fucks, predicament and the like do it for me just as single tails and needles.

I also really enjoy the educational aspect of BDSM.  I like teaching safety.  People sometimes forget that all this stuff is really dangerous and, if done incorrectly, can cause a lot of damage, even death.  One of our personal favorite sayings is, “I want to hurt you, not harm you.”  Plus, you get to learn some really awesome things in kink educational classes.  Nothing is more priceless than showing your Narwhal friends an event class list and they go, “Punching in the face? Holy fuck!”

Day Two List your kinks

I would say my kinks mostly revolve around suffering and breakdown.  It’s not the crying or screaming that turns me on- it’s the point past that, the sobbing brokenness, the inability to even fight back or show signs of distress.  It’s that moment when you realize that this is going to happen whether you like it or not, so you might as well let it happen…that’s what I love the most.  All with consent, of course.

In order to achieve that, I do really love bondage.  All kinds of bondage, but I have a particular fondness for rope because of the intimacy that it requires.  It’s easy to slap a pair of cuffs on someone; it’s a bit harder to tie them up.  and it’s a process that can take as long or be as quick as you want it to be.

I am a fan of sensual bondage, the slow, sweet touches, kisses, the closeness, but it usually requires me to be with someone for which I have feelings.

I do have a fondness for needles and needleplay. I like seeing my own blood after the fact. I actually hate seeing needles being put into my skin, go figure.  The endorphin rush, for me, is my form of cheating sobriety.  Plus, I can have some really intimate experiences with needles with Daddy.  Energy pulls are pretty amazeballs.  I find absolutely nothing sexual or sensual about needles or needle play, I just think it’s a lot of damn fun.

I am not a huge huge fan of impact, but I really do love single-tails and bastinado via caning. These are probably the hottest forms of impact to me.  Stingy sensations are preferably to thuddy sensations when I bottom/play.

I absolutely love biting, hair pulling, nipple torture and other forms of intimate pain. I usually don’t let anyone, but Daddy do that to me because…well, I ain’t having sex with anyone else at the moment.

Oh, and I guess, obviously, I am into a Daddy-girl kind of relationships.  I call him Daddy because…well, it’s dirty.  Plus, I enjoy the caring undertones calling him ‘Daddy’ has rather than ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’.  That’s just me, though.  When I top, I do not use honorifics, that’s just my style.

I think that may sum up my current kinks pretty well. Woot.

I'm bad at updates

Here's a picture from Fetfest 2012.  Photo taken by Fetlife's TwistedView.

If I'm Playing, it Probably Ain't Pretty

I think a lot of people get lost in the glitzy, glossed over versions of BDSM they find on tumblr or blogspot.  You know the pictures I'm talking about; the (usually) black and white photos of two lovers in which not a drop of sweat is spilled, not a hair out of place and all the bondage is amazingly precise and symmetrical.  The bottom in the photo usually is hamming up the pain and/or pleasure while the Top takes an extra Dom-ly stance, hand around the throat or tugging on a strategically placed rope.

In other words, utterly boring.

Don't get me wrong, I can get into the artsy BDSM photos; in fact, I've probably taken a couple in my relatively short lifespan (Remember The Awakening? Yeah, check out that artsy color selection).  So have many of my photographer and/or rigger friends -tt's just something that happens.  Mostly because it seems to be what's most popular- "pretty" pictures of "pretty" girls and "pretty boys" doing "pretty" BDSM.  I put quotes around "pretty" since it's not really what I consider attractive, but what the standard idea of attractive is. (Give me my short-haired girls who eschew typical gender roles, please!)

There's absolutely nothing wrong with those pictures, either.  They have artistic merit and are beautiful and show the world that BDSM can be just has glamorous as anything else in print.  At the same time...there's absolutely everything wrong with these pictures.  It gives the false impression of what play should look like.

To me, playing, much like sex, isn't about organization, lighting and being "pretty".  It's about enjoyment, pleasure, pain and a litany of other words that don't include "photoshopped", "edited", "color-corrected", "posed", or "modeled".

My play, for example, tends to have messy rope.  Not to the point in which it becomes ridiculous and dangerous, but it shows a sense of urgency or intensity, like we couldn't be bothered to straighten up everything and make it perfect, we were too into each other to think about things like that.

Almost always, any play that manages to get photographed (we usually get too caught up to take pictures of play, just the aftermath), tends to be on a shitty cell phone, blurry and something that makes Hamsandwich want to claw his eyes out viewing due to the lack of any photographing ability ever.  These photos are never edited because it takes a certain something away from it.

A lot of play with Daddy involves tears, sweat and an actual suffering that the average narwhal wouldn't feel comfortable looking at.  It ain't pretty and at the same time it's the most beautiful thing ever.

Art and General Bric-a-Brac

(Not going to lie, I just wanted to use the term 'bric-a-brac' because I haven't done so in a while)

The BGSC (Baltimore Guerrilla Suspension Crew for those of you who haven't been paying attention) did a pretty epic photoshoot a few weeks ago.  It's probably been in the works for almost a year when Sir Ron C. sent Daddy a media text of this epic hand rising out of the sand with three simple words following- "Next BGSC hit?"  Daddy then sent me on an whirlwind internet search to discover everything I could about this mysterious Hand.

It turns out that it's part of 'The Awakening', an artistic installation at the National Harbor.  It was originally somewhere else and was moved once The National Harbor was created, although I'm not too sure why.  The entire installation is actually an entire 'man' rising from the ground, a bit reminiscent of a giant titan or god arising from...I guess the ground still. It's very Clash of The Titans-y.  Or Games of Thrones-y.  Because of that feel, we decided to forego the gasmasks and head in a different direction: togas.

We pulled the hit off really early in the morning in hopes of beating the elderly morning speed walkers.  Luckily (and unfortunately) it had rained heavily right before the shoot, so there wasn't many people out, except for the few workers setting up for some event going on there later that afternoon, who were probably too sleepy to even really notice us.  The shoot went off with relatively no issues and we got some pretty awesome photos from the shoot  (these were taken and edited by Hamsandwich)

The top photo has gotten pretty popular and we've gotten a lot of requests for prints.  I'm thinking that we might want to donate one for a fundraiser we're planning in September.  You know how Daddy loves his fundraisers.  

I've been spending my last few weeks of freedom being extraordinarily lazy. I think the lazy lifestyle suits me :) I look healthier with a tan, I eat better and am way less stressed.

Begging

"Do you ever think about what life will be like five years from now?"  I asked idly as I stretched out across the bed.  He climbed in as well, pressing his body against mine, I closed my eyes to enjoy the warmth of his skin against mine.  He didn't answer, instead Daddy toyed with my nipples, so gently it was almost like not being touched at all.

"Well? Do you?"  His fingers, so gentle at first, began to massage and pinch a little harder.  I felt myself get a bit excited, but continued my random chatter as his hands continued to drift over my body.  Daddy slid closer to me and I felt him grasp both of my wrists with one hand and pull them above my head.

"I'm going to bite you.  If I stop, you are to ask me to bite you again, do you understand?"  I opened my eyes lazily, not really registering what he said.

"Wha-" I didn't get to finish before he sunk his teeth under my left breast.  I gasped and snapped out of my relaxed stretch, but Daddy had me pinned underneath him, his weight pressing down on top of me.  He released the bite and nipped along my inner arms under his mouth was next to my ear.

"I said," he said as he bit down on my earlobe, "I'm going to bite you and if I stop, you're going to ask me to bite you again.  And you had better not scream.  Wouldn't want to wake up our room-mates, would you?"

With that, he began his onslaught.  His teeth clamped down on me everywhere, my arms, my rib cage, my nipples, stomach, anywhere he wanted.  In between each bites, I would gasp and ask him to bite me again.  Each bite was harder, more painful from the last.  By the time his teeth were set on my hips, I was crying, barely able to get the words out of my mouth.

"I can't understand what you're saying," he said as he continued his rough nibbles and nips.  He had let go of my wrists, knowing I wouldn't try to fight back, pried my thighs opened and bit my inner thigh.  I bit my tongue in order not to scream.  Instead of letting go, he clamped down harder as his fingers dug into my legs.

"Please make love to me!" I blurted out randomly.  I must have surprised him, he released his bite and looked up at me from between my legs.  The look he gave me caused me burst into tears. "Please make love me, Daddy," I begged again as I sat up.  I clumsily pulled myself into his lap and dropped wet kisses all over his face and neck.  He licked my tears and pushed me back down on the bed.  He sat between my legs and looked at my face, then at my sex.

Both were wet.