Sunday, March 26, 2006


Blood gets everywhere.
Don't worry. I'll explain in a second.
Last night my partner and I did our first fantasy rape scene. I think there will be a few more in the future... I like struggling, you know, and not being a nice Pet every once in a while, and as we saw the night he made me cry, he's got some desires and issues about serious power and control that could use a bit of working out. So it was hot and sweater and I covered him with bite marks and said no alot, and fought...
And it was a very strange way of doing it, because it was more our usual routine plus struggling than anything else. No rapist forces his victem's legs apart so he can lick her clitoris, and no SMART rapist forces his cock down his victems throat. At least not unles he's got a good bit of backup, or, y'know, a ring-gag. The ring-gag would have been smart.
In anycase, it was a good, sweaty sort of time. And then my partner raised his head and asked me something in a growl, I forget what, and I said "You're covered in blood."
Well, he was.
And so was I, for that matter. Somewhere mid-rape, I hope not because I kicked him in the nose, he had gotten a nosebleed. Who knows, maybe he was just that excited. He's been known to get them before... one time I woke him up in the morning to find his face and bed covered in spots of blood, when he got a nosebleed in the night.
Of course, he didn't notice the nose bleed, and I wasn't noticing much of anything, but then he looked up all bloody, and I just cracked up, and a second later realized large portions of my mostly naked body, and his, were also smeared with blood. It was impressive.
So we stopped, and laughed, and cleaned ourselves up a bit, and cuddled and discussed how it was going... and then started back up again. It wasn't till after the scene ended that I realized what that meant. A nose bleed! We were covered in blood! It was ridiculous! And we were comfortable enough with playing, with the scene and with eachother to start up a rape scene again.
I don't know about you, but speaking as a girl who at one point could hardly look at the boy (not this boy) who was fucking her, that's just pretty fucking awesome, is what it is. Pretty fucking awesome.
Anyway, back to the scene. There was "rape", and I'm going to add wearing a condom to the list of things most rapists don't do. I got very confused, and did alot of shouting that was along the lines of "No! NO NO! YES!! YES!! NO!!". Which was fun. I think the fore-play-rape was probably more fun than the sex-rape for my partner, because after a while he looked down and said "How about I stop being your "rapist" and start being your Master?" and I agreed.
Rough sex with no lube hurts alot... which is ok. I got to suck him off, which I used to do all the time. For a long time playing, for us, consisted of perfecting the art of giving eachother head. It was great. I missed it, a bit.
Then he tied me to a chair and teased me with tongue and vibrator, the bastard.
And teased me.
And teased me.
And so I came. And came.
And then we stumbled to the bed and there was a little more teasing and a little more coming and then we curled up and it was good.
And we're buying groceries later tonight, so it appears all is right with the world.
During the next week or so we are going to finish planning and setting up and holding our very own largescale play part, and sometime before that I'm going to fuck is ass with my pretty strapon, because I like that sort of thing and so does he.
Just giving you all a heads up.

I'm Porn!

Yes, children, it's the moment you've all been waiting for. Little Miss Switch has finally broken into the amateur porn industry, with her lovely Boy on the other end of the camera. I cannot post these pictures, and it's really a shame.
They were taken when we were in NYC, under the harsh flourescent light, on the too-small bed. My partner has been practicing his rope work, so many of them are in fact pictures of my back, because they're focusing on the gorgeous binding of my hands behind my back... soft white nylon ropes are really great, and my partner is getting more and more advanced with rope bondage.
Those aren't all the pictures, though. there are pictures of me with my eyes closed against the light and the intense sensation, with tweezer-style nipple clamps on my nipples and the chain that runs between them clenched between my teeth, so that anytime I moved my head too far (say, to throw it back pleasure) I pulled hard on the clamps.
There are pictures of me with a vibrator tied inside me...
He did this to me once before, with the glass dildo, in a ridiculous incredibly intense play session that I didn't blog about because I'm a failure, but it was great.
There are pictures of me staring up at him with my lips around his cock, pictures of me writhing, pictures of my bound breasts and, what is I think our unanimous favorite, a somewhat abstract picture of my breasts with my wrists held up in front of them, proudly displaying the marks left on me by the rope cuffs.
My partner put that one up as his desktop.
Speaking of desk tops, we had sex on one. It was fun... I was about to fly home for a few days, and we would be without sex. So we scheduled a quickie before he drove me to the airport, and as my laptop was packed, there was room on the desk for maybe the first time ever. So sex was had. And it was good.
As it generally is.
Yay sex.

Monday, March 20, 2006

"Tears are Always a Safeword"

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have hit three hundred visits! Go us.
Now for the depressing little post it's high time I wrote.
I like BDSM. I like being tied up, and I like being hit, I like being in complete control of someone and I like giving my control up. And I do it so often, and I enjoy it so much, that I forget what it is that I'm doing.
Which is letting somebody tie me up. I really am giving up my power. I can't get out of those bonds, most of the time.
And in a small room in a hostel in New York City, with harsh flourescent lighting and a drafty window, my Master made it that very, very apparent.
I don't have too many precise memories of it. I was blindfolded, but the light got through, and it was a horrible sort of light, and the effect was that I couldn't see what was going on, but that light seeped in around the edges. And I was told alot of things I didn't want to hear... that my comfort was not of any importance. That saying "Stop" wouldn't be enough -- which is fine in itself, but I automatically took to be a threat that my safeword wouldn't work. Of course, I didn't test the theory. I didn't use my safeword at all.
Alot of things that night hurt. I don't remember what, exactly, but not in the fun way, not the pain-that-is-pleasure of being hit with a whip... this was ropes chaffing and bending in the wrong direction. This was the hurt of being afraid and uncomfortable. And I knew it hadn't been that long, but it felt long enough, becuase my Master wasn't being kind, or gentle. He wasn't training me to be a good pet, he was hurting me and using me to fulfill desires, both physical and psychological. It was the dominance of rape, not the D/s. Or that's how it felt to me.
And finally he said "I bet you'd like your nice, kind Master back. I bet you would, slave, but he's gone for the night"...
And I took a deep breath but it didn't work, and the next one didn't either, and suddenly I couldn't breath and I was crying and I curled over into a little ball, and I hadn't been so terribly, horribly afraid in months. The whole thing took me so far away from anything I'd done before, anything I knew, from the delicate ballance of trust that allows such a totally depraved situation to be wonderful and exciting and comfortable and fun.
My partner stopped the scene the second I started crying, curled around me and told me how sorry he was, untied me and gave me as long as I needed to recover, and later on gave me a backrub.
It got better. I think we had sex that night, though whether it was scene or non-scene or mildly-scene I can't recall.
So it isn't always fun. The trust was gone. I was blindfolded, and this boy who taught me what it means to enjoy sex, this boy who gave me the most comfortable and intense and simply happy orgasms of my life was gone. I could hear his voice but it wasn't him anymore, and I didn't believe it was a game anymore. It was all very, very real.
I don't know what to do about it, really. In some ways it was the most effective scene he's ever run. I was terrified. But I wasn't prepared for it and I wasn't enjoying it. I think that if there had been prescene negotiations I might have, but if there had been I wouldn't have been so starkly afraid.
And if the situation had been different, it wouldn't have happened. If it hadn't been in a hotel in a big city far away from my comfortable bedroom, then I wouldn't have been so afraid, and chance are he wouldn't have felt the freedom to try it.
There isn't much more to say, in the end. I thought my partner was going to hurt me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. That didn't prove to be the case, but a vital little bit of trust was lost. I think it's back, at least mostly... but writing this hasn't helped much.
No fun to dwell on it. Because in the end, he didn't hurt me. If I had used my safeword, it would have stopped immediately, but I didn't. I was terrified and unhappy and I didn't use it, and I don't know what that means. Fair warning to my partner, I might use it sometime soon, if anything is a little bit wrong, simply because I need to know that that right is actually excersizable. I should have used my safeword and I didn't, I left it up to him to see what was wrong, and that's no good.
And, it's worthwhile to point out, my partner still very clearly trusts me. You've all recently read his little post about our new toy... that takes alot of trust. We've played with plugs and dildos and other such things, but in some ways what we did that night was a sort of virginity lost. Given, really, and I'm honored to have it. He was nervous, you know, kids. He hid it well... I barely even realized it. Not his style, being anxious about such things, but he was, and he did it anyway.
He trusts me. And he didn't hurt me. And it won't happen again.
So I don't need to be afraid.
And most of the time, I'm not.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Playing lifestyle

So my partner and I went to New York. This is how it worked: I made all the arrangements. I booked the hostel and found us a place to stay the night we weren't booked for. I brought the guidebook, I had all the necessary addresses, I made the travel arrangements. But as soon as we got started, when he was driving my car, he more or less called the shots. Which is the wrong terminology... mostly he just sort of took charge. I'd done the planning, and for the duration of the trip I just sort of relaxed and followed his lead. It was more or less assumed he'd be domming in the bedroom, and for the duration of the trip I wore either my choke chain wrapped around my wrist or my collar on my neck.
We did alot of fetish shopping, though we didn't buy anything. We saw a cute gay lifestyle couple in one shop, and visited a shop full of GORGEOUS leathergoods called Leather Man, and went to Trash and Vaudville. It was different... my city trips tend to involve alot of reading in the park, alot of museums and good food on the upper west side or midtown. My partner crawls the village and shops alot, but as we coincide for the good food bit, and I'm not much averse to pretty vinyl clothings, we got along just fine.
Lifestyle is an equal relationship with a more segrated set of duties, it seems, and I could understand it if I were told that there are dramatically fewer fights between lifestyle couples. It was nice to have an understanding of what jobs were mine, and what were his: I made the arrangements, he figured out subway routes and destinations once we were in the city.
In the bedroom, it was another story entirely.
Soon, duckies. Soon.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

well fucked

this isn't switch, tonight, this is her boy. i've played her Master most of this past week, tied her up in all sorts of pretty ways... this isn't about that. we got a new toy tonight - a strapon. it's something i've fantasized about for a year or so, something i've masturbated to the thought of more times than i can count. come on, how can you not be curious how it feels to be on the other end of a dick, even a silicone one? not to mention the feeling of absolute submission that comes from having a cock shoved down your throat (trust me, it's far far more fun than it sounds).
i think we've found a good toy, my Mistress and i. things are reciprocal now - i can fuck her, and she can fuck me, and if anything, she can fuck me harder. and, though she hasn't yet written about a lot of things i've done to her, she's got a lot of cause for revenge, of the best kind.
half the fun of being a switch is escalation.

Monday, March 06, 2006


I honestly don't know where to begin.
Well, it began with shopping. For groceries. Actually, for pretzels and for coke and for Hershey's kisses. And then we stopped at McDonals, because we hadn't eaten and we didn't want to get grumpy.
And then we drove, and then we got lost, and then we got unlost, and then we were there. Standing in front of a tan house in a somewhat depressed or possibly slowly gentrifying neighborhood. There was a little camera, and the door was opened very slowly, and we had to give our names. But we were on the list. It was ok.
And there we were. Our first ever play party.
What a bizzare, surreal little thing. It had a karaoke theme, and the food category was "Chart Topping Casserole" (we brought the snacks because we don't have a kitchen. Or a casserole recipe, for that matter.) Unsure if we wanted to be rockstars or roadies or fetishists, my partner and I both dressed in basic black... but I had a chain locked around my neck.
Next time I think I'll wear my collar.
Because nobody else had such reservations. There were two gorgeous steel-boned corsets, a black waist cincher and a grey silk brocade bustier. There were fishnets and striped stockings there was vinyl and leather and lacings and straps. There were collars. Lots of collars. And cuffs -- oh yes, the cuffs. My partner, playing Master, brought ours along without telling me, and early on in the evening, once he'd got his bearings, he took them out and had me put them on.
That was nice.
With one exception we were the youngest people there, and everybody seemed to want to take us under their wing. Various people would come up and ask us what we were into, and tell us what they were into, and let us know that if we had ANY questions, we should feel FREE to come and ask them.
We learned new rope tricks. We played with floggers.
Well, before I get to our playing, I'll tell you about other people playing.
I saw a tatooed, kilted man, who was peaches-and-cream friendly and complimented my glasses, go at a naked woman on a spanking bench with a single-tail whip so hard it hurt me to hear it. I stood next to my partner and held on for emotional support as the woman, who was pretty clearly loving it, screamed and moaned and called out "Yellow" (remember the Traffic light system, kids?) on at least two seperate occasions.
I saw a female domme go after her transvestite male sub with a violet wand.
I saw a lifestyle dom tie his slave up and work her to orgasm, and then to orgasm, and then to screaming orgasm, and so hard that a man who knew them stood by with a cup of water because the woman's been known to dehydrate herself.
I saw needleplay. Clean, safe, sane, consensual, but I clung to my partner and eventually left the room. The fun bit, actually, was running into the girl in the hallway a few minutes later, happily chatting away, with hypodermic needles suck beneath her skin.
Not my thing.
This house... This house had three different floors of play spaces. There was one main dungeon, which had everything. A cross, a big old wall, a bondage chair, a spanking bench a billion different things on which to tie somebody up. There were more floggers than I can tell you about. Suede. Rabit fur. Everything fromt the softest thing, to the stingiest, to the thuddiest heavy leather thing you could imagine. And single tail whips, and dragon tails, and crops. There were places that were private, but that main dungeon was open. Downstairs there was a swing, and there was a table for waxing. Upstairs in another room there were black lights and massage tables for more sensual scenes. In yet another room, the medical supplies for the things like needle play.
My partner and I played.
We played with an armbinder. We've been eyeing them online for a while, but they're far from cheap, and here was one that we could just checkout. I liked it. It's not comfortable, but you can feel the binding when you're in it, and it's not like cuffs and carribeaners. I wasn't getting out.
My partner told me it was one of the few positions (along with staring up from between his legs with the ring-gag in my mouth) that could get him hard just from looking at me.
The leather stained by hands black, but I loved the attention I got, people stopping to watch as he put it on me, people watching us play. Apparently I'm something of an exhibitionist.
We played with floggers, and I stood tied to a wall, and he flogged my breasts with something light and stingy, and a very experianced Master told us "Nice scene." (actually, I thought he said "Nice seeing you", and was confused, but once my parter explained what was going on, I was very happy.)
We played with wax, which is strange and amazing. Very intense, but not for terribly long... it's like reversed ice (which is unsurprizing).
And we played with a violet wand.
I have a lowlevel obsession with violet wands. They're so beautiful, and strange, and magical.
What we played with was a hand held attachment, such that the electricity moved through my partner into me. He touched me and it sparked, he ran his hands along me and I buzzed. It was magic. It was good. It made very literal the old adage that everytime he touched me, sparks flew. I tingled from him, and I loved that, loved the romanticsm and the magic of it all.
Eventually, we were tired, and the party had indeed devolved into strange drunken people in fetishwear singing country-western hits to the karaoke machine, so we bid our goodbyes to the friends we had made, and drove home.
And basically walked straight up stairs, brushed our teeth and screwed like horny kinky bunnies.
And collapsed.
And I very, very much hope we get to do it again next month.