The rough hemp fibers bite into my ankles as she pulls my legs apart. She fiddles with the rope for a moment tying it to the bed frame. The restraint combined with the roughness of the rope is delicious.
“Just relax, toy.”
I pull her in for a kiss with both of my hands on her cheeks—a sweet gesture, a possessive gesture. The kiss is hungry—we both want more. Her knees buckle and I tighten the grip of my fingers on her face—I can tell she’s hoping to kneel so she can lick my cunt.
I whisper, “Just stand here and look in my eyes.”
The first gift I was given as a top was the gift to freely do what I wanted to. After discussing what that meant, of course. She said I could tie her up and hit her lightly. It was amazing to realize that kind of power exchange, that freedom.
I pull the black nitrile glove onto my hand. We don’t use them often with each other—it’s not how we do things—but when we do it means something. Sometimes it means “I’m not myself tonight.” if I put them on. It can mean I’m more detached, or maybe it means that I plan on being rougher and don’t want to worry about nicking her with my nails, no matter how short they are. It always means that it’s going to be an intense scene.
I’ve collapsed in a rumpled heap on the damp, leaf covered earth. Mistress and her dark-haired friend are standing over me, looking down over my bloody, beaten body. I feel fantastic, riding the wave of endorphins and orgasms. I start to come back to earth, getting ready to give up the freeing, floating feeling.
Mistress hooks a finger in the ring on my collar and jerks me to my knees. “Get up, fucktoy. It’s time to go inside. We have a feast to prepare.”
I’m breathing heavily. We haven’t even started and sweat is dripping down my back. I haven’t even started moving. Mistress is somewhere nearby, but I don’t know where. She said she’d have friends with her. I haven’t seen them, yet. I’m sure they will find me, though. I shiver at the thought, my bare skin puckering up as my hair stands on end. Excitement and fear building in me.
If you follow my tumblr, you know that I value consent.
Wait. Let's take a moment and look at that. Nowhere in this world should that even have to be questioned. Everyone should value consent and seek to secure informed consent before doing anything that will impact another—whether we're talking about sex or kink. If I feel the need to preface my remarks like that, our society is broken.
Enough of the rant. The point I was trying to get to is that there are things that everyone can agree are fine so long as the people involved are consenting adults: spankings, light bondage, blindfolds, sensation play, love bites… you get the idea. These are the things that come up in conversations about "spicing things up" in the bedroom.
Then there's what I do. I push limits. I like to see blood and play with it (there's a name for that). I enjoy causing pain for its own sake—real pain (there's a word for that, too). I like tears (guess what?) and sobbing. I enjoy seeing my playmates broken—and having them know how much I care about them and love them.
But it's not abuse—if not from a legal perspective, at least from my perspective (and the perspective of anyone I'm playing with). My partners know what they're getting into, they know the risks—and they've said they want it. I'm not going on guesswork or making assumptions about what I think they'd love. I'm not deciding everything for them even if it is that kind of relationship—we've talked about hard limits and soft limits, we play with safewords.
Consent is why I don't do kink with people who can't tell me exactly what they want at least once, in enough detail that I know where their limits are.
So if you're a top (because this is much less of an issue for bottoms), consider the position you're putting your bottom in. If you're hitting that emotional point where they are breaking, they are not able to make decisions anymore. If their body is flooded with endorphins, there's no way you should be pushing past a hard limit or doing something that wasn't negotiated.
I'm all for edge play, but keep it respectful—your partners are people, too.
I gently lower Kitty’s bound body into the corner, sitting her up against the wall so she has a clear view of the bed. I pet her head and let her kiss my hand. She doesn’t really know what’s coming next.
“Enjoy the show, pet.”
I stretch my fingers out around her throat. I’m not tightening my grip, just giving her a hint of pressure. Her whole body trembles as she stands there, naked with her feet apart slightly, her hands clenched at her sides.
Remember my post about costumes?
I've completely changed my mind. I want to dress up as a goddess and be worshiped.
Let's start with this:
It's that time of year again when all the kids (and many adults) dress up in costumes. It's fun and it's magical. We get to be someone else for the day.
