(I apologize for being so behind in posts, lovelies. Much has happened and so I will be posting a couple in rapid succession. It just took me a wee bit to get off the hamster wheel of life long enough to actually write about it).
I feel your fingers
Cold on my shoulder
Your chilling touch
As it runs down my spine
Watcing your eyes
As they invade my soul
I’m afraid to make mine…
A world ago, on one of our car rides home, James and I talked about songs summed up kink for us. We’re both theatre geeks.. a lot of kinksers are, or started that way, and have a love of musicals. My first introduction to kink was Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera. His, he told me, was Dangerous Game from Jekyll and Hyde.
“It’s the perfect scene,” he told me. “Just taboo enough that you can feel yourself losing control, but not so far gone that true harm is done.”
Over a year after that conversation, I sat in the Citadel’s photo room with him, on my perch as always. It was another night, another working party with the regulars. I had a cleanup shift. James was shooting. It was one of my favorites; a nerd themed party that gets busy but not bonkers and attracts some of my favorite people.
We have our routines, he and I, for various settings. Our rituals to continue the dance that is our complicated relationships. One of those steps is me asking in a slow moment if James would like to duel. Our Yu-Gi-Ioh cards have been the preferred, safe method of play since my collar came off. It’s topping, but without the intimacy of physical touch. …It wasn’t nearly as satisfying, but it got me by.
“Not today.” He said when I showed him my deck box and pouted. “I’m actually not in much of a dueling mood.” That’s..odd for him. Very. And I asked what was up. “I don’t know.” He said. He paused and looked at me. “It’s just a weird day.”
Sometimes that man just knows too much.
At the touch of your hand
At the sound of your voice
At the moment your eyes meet mine
I am out of my mind
I am out of control
Full of feelings I can’t define!
“I want you to ask for your collar back.”
The day before the party I was at Daddy’s. It had been a rough night. I had planned to spend the night with Ryan, but at the last minute James had asked me for a ride home. He had a doctor’s appointment early in the morning and would have been stranded without my help. I promised him long ago that if he ever actually needed me that I would be there… and it as the first time I had hesitated.
My feelings for Ryan are… strong. Kick in the teeth strong. He’s the one I spend the most time with. We talk almost constantly at this point, and he knows far too many of my secrets. He has seen parts of my mind that James hasn’t even uncovered, and instead of running stood and faced demons that would have made anyone else head for the hills. I love him. I trust him absolutely.
…I… couldn’t make myself say no to James when he needed me, and so asked my Daddy if I could crawl into bed after driving James.
Selfishly, I’m glad I asked. The ride back with James was fantastic, with banter and stories and him so excited about his new motorized attachment to his chair. The talking was easy and unfiltered. With the only off-limits topic being Ryan.
I crawled into bed with Ryan after 5 am, the cost of taking James all the way to Napa and then driving back to Oakland. And I knew I was it hot water. How I didn’t see two Dominant men in my life butting heads as an eventuality I don’t know, but a bit of a pissing contest had started between the two. Ryan has gotten the closest to “taking Jame’s spot”, making rules for me, setting boundaries and bedtimes. Checking in with me about partners and relationships and statuses… It’s..a primary role without the label. Cause labels can be very bad. James did not respond well to Ryan setting rules for me. Rules he disagreed with, and pushes repeatedly in a “No, I know you best” bullheaded sort of way.
Both men care for me. In very different ways. And both were getting dangerously close to killing one another. To the point where my Daddy asked me to close the door with my former Master once and for all the following morning. There had been other slights, on both sides. Things had been building.
“I will talk to James tomorrow.” I promised. And I would. I promised I would. I did not promise I could close that door. But I could modify the entrance to make it more healthy, for James, Ryan, and myself.
It’s a sin with no name
Like a hand in a flame
And our senses proclaim
It’s a dangerous game!
It was towards the end of the night that the regulars started drifting into the back room to hang out. I moved to the main cluster of chairs with friends on either side and James across from me. The talk turned, as is often did, to James’s toys. He had gotten two new pretties at Dore Alley and had been showing them off almost non-stop since, demoing them when he was allowed.
A beautiful creature from Boston came into the photo room and started chatting with us. She watched how James and I interracted and asked me quietly what our relationship was as we exchanged Fetlife information. I told her the honest truth; the truth that has remained since day one.
“He was my Master. I was his slave. He took my collar back over a year ago. I still love him. I do what I can, and accept the relationship that I am permitted to have with him.” I play by his rules. Or, I try to.
She got teary eyed. “That’s beautiful.”
In a way, I suppose it is, but it’s also incredibly masochistic.
A crowd had drifted into our little room. James turned to face us and join in on the conversation. I was curled up cross-legged across from him, at eye level. This is a rarity for me. It make me nervous. We started telling stories of past parties and surprisingly, he started telling stories of our past. Little things that I had forgotten, or tucked away for another time when sifting through the memories would be less painful. The pinky he used to dig into my skin and drill with that I hated. The hair pulls to kill off some of my worst fatigue headaches when we pushed ourselves too hard. How when the back room got slow he would slam down on my ass to get me to scream and pull people in. A scream that no one in that room had heard come from me. They had all become my friends after the collar came off.
A darker dream
That has no ending
That’s so unreal
You believe that it’s true!
A dance of death
Out of a mystery tale
The frighted princess
Doesn’t know what to do!
James brought out his big knife. Now, I have a love affair with this knife so intense that it transcends the affair with its wielder. James spanks with it, and then will slap you across the ass with the sheathe. The combo is by far one of my favorite sensations on the planet. I relish it.
He started giving some of the others tastes of it and I watched, drooling as I have in times past. I knew better, at this point, then to ask for play. He spanked the pretty Boston girl, and then asked if she would like to feel the knife.
She was uncertain.
I don’t know what possessed me to open my mouth. I had asked the questions countless times and doubted that I would end up with a different answer. But, nontheless, I asked. “Would you feel more comfortable if someone demoed the knife before you were hit with it?”
Both her and James turned to me. He had his eyebrow raised. I crept over and grabbed the knife off the table where it laid, then walked over to him and spoke low enough for only him to here.
“There is no going backwards. We will not be getting back together. If we do, it will be a hard reboot form the ground up. That starts as play partners again, and trusting each other on that level. I know this knife. I know it better than most. I would like to feel it again.”
He grinned, and shocked the hell outta me. “Well, get over there!”
Will the ghosts go away? (No)
Will she will them to stay? (No)
Either way, t here’s no way to win
All I know is I’m lost
And I’m counting the costs
My emotions are in a spin
He hit me, without reserve, and gods did it feel glorious. The cold steel against my ass, the blade that I knew was a sharp, working blade that he had used to slit animal’s throats before (he lives on a farm..). The harsh SLAP of the sheathe as it hit me and reddened my ass.
It was short..maybe ten minutes. I caught my face during it in the mirrored wall. The bliss. Caught his reflection. The grin. ‘Oh godde’ I thought. ‘Oh godde this is too familiar. I’m in trouble. How can this still feel so good? I forgot how good it felt’
My turn ended soon enough. Others went. There was more talk. More stories. And then a round with more toys. His wooden sword and dagger, which I had yet to feel.
Again, I got bold. About ten minutes before the party was to end I crept over and took the dagger off the table. I walked over to him, the timid mouse I had once been to him. “You know. I haven’t felt this one before, ever.” He met my eyes. Motioned to the cross. I got back in position, bracing my knees against the cross at the memory of his blows and hugging the center as I once had countless times before.
I don’t know who’s to blame
It’s a crime and a shame
But it’s true all the same
It’s a dangerous game.
I didn’t expect his hands. The hard wood of the dagger, I expected. The softer wood of the sword as well. But his hands. The double blows I had craved for so long, dreamed about, fantasized about. I hadn’t expected a scene.
I howled under his hands, screeching and squealing as I hadn’t in over a year and a half. I had forgotten how sweet his particular brand of sadism felt, how he switched up sensations just as my body adjusted..I didn’t expect him to still know and remember my body’s responses and reactions. He dug his pinky into my ass and I nearly wept as memories came rushing back; things I had tried to forget. Things from when I was his.
I saw him out of the corner of my eye place the toys back on the table and let myself sag against the cross, recovering. My ass was hot, my voice hoarse, and I knew that was barely a warm up for him. We had played for over an hour easily every time we had scened, and this had been only a few minutes.
No one speaks
Not one word
But what words are in our eyes
Loud and clear
All the words we don’t want to hear!
“I missed it!” Our friend stood in the doorway of the photo room, one of the citadel managers that had been keeping an eye on the party. “I heard the screams and I rushed over, and I missed it!”
James turned to me and grinned, then went back to the table.
“Well. Which would you like me to hit her with?” I stared at him in shock. I thought that taste was it. That we were done.
“Whichever one hurts more?” I groaned. He chuckled. We began again.
At the touch of your hand
At the sound of your voice
At the moment your eyes meet mine
I am losing my mind
I am losing control
Full of feelings I can’t define!
He wasn’t gingerly, which I had expected him to be after so long without playing. After all the talk of how he couldn’t trust me in that way. After how he wasn’t comfortable. He pushed me. He slammed into me for a good 20 minutes using the toys, his nails, his hands. I let myself fall, feeling a release I hadn’t known I was craving. I flew so easily with James, so naturally. I had gotten so accustomed to his ramp up and play that my body fell into the memory of it with no resistance.
Again, I watched my face. Again, I watched his. There was a brief wonder as to why but I shoved it away and enjoyed the feeling of him whaling on my ass. Even through panties, I could feel the bruises forming. I don’t bruise anymore. I get deep tissue bruises, but it is almost impossible to mark me.
He did it so easily, without breaking a sweat.
Eventually, the blows calmed. He pealed me off the cross and pulled me into his arms, holding me. My body shook as I sobbed. I think I muttered several, ‘oh my godde’s and ‘thank you’s and ‘wow’s. My body calmed. I pulled away. We both smiled at one another, and then he gave me another quick smack and sent me off to cleanup.
It’s a sin with no name
No remorse and no shame
Fire, fury and flame
Cos’ the devil’s to blame!
We didn’t talk about the play during cleanup. Or after that. I collected his photo signs and folded up the backdrop with him as I had countless parties before. We joked around, talked a bit, and avoided the pink elephant in the room. He had hit me. For the first time in over a year. I had loved it. I had drawn a new boundary in the sand with our relationship, asking for a hard reset instead of ever getting my collar and ring back.
And I didn’t know what any of it meant. I didn’t know if things had changed. If he was suddenly comfortable playing with me now, or if it had just been a weird night. If this was progress toward a more amicable friendship and relationship, or if this was a child throwing a tantrum at his toy almost being taken away. I knew I wanted to do it again, and that is, I think, what scared me the most. I didn’t know what I was going to tell Daddy. There had been a shift in mine and James’s interactions, but I don’t think it was a shift that either of us had expected.
It has been two months since he touched me, and we still haven’t talked about the scene. What it meant. If anything. The next week before BaGG during our duel, while I still wore his bruises, I baited him. Saying he could always beat me for my brattiness later.
“Well we know that’s not going to happen.”
“Meh, never say never.”
Paranoid me even checked in after, making sure that the joking and kidding was okay. That it was just joking. That this new level of banter was alright and that I wasn’t overstepping.. Instead I was overthinking.
I still don’t know what any of it means, especially now.
Daddy still doesn’t like him. Two days ago, he asked me to give up my friendship with James.
I don’t know what anything means anymore.
And the angels proclaim
It’s a dangerous game…
First off, let me appologize for my lack of writing the last couple of months. Summer was hellish, and while fall so far has been diffuclt it has not been nearly as insurmountable. I have multiple drafts that I have started that I hope to post in the next week or so.. so pardon the spam. There is much that has transpired, and I’m sure much to come.
I’m currently sitting in Wicked Grounds, enjoying my pre-BaGG ritual. Come to the city, get noms, curl up, social, get pretty and go to BaGG. In the middle of that there is usually dueling with James, some banter, and my dear friends and Daddy appearing and joining in the fun.
As is typical, James and I show up first. I no longer have the option of spending long afternoons here on Wednesday.. I have a big girl job now, and typically show up around 5:30. James, depending on his work shift, typcially beats me. Today he looks more frayed around the edges than in days passed…and I am protective.
James just got back into his home on Sunday. The fires that have been raging through Napa and Sonoma county forced him and his family to evacuate. For nearly a week he lived in a shelter, went to work, and dealt with the world asking him how he was, how he was doing, if he was alright. So. I did the opposite. I did my plug of ‘you know if you need anything, I’m here’, got growled at, and promptly challenged him to a duel.
He kicked my ass, as he always does. He also smiled.
Caring for someone like James has never been easy.. it likely never will be. It is especially difficult to be close to him when he’s having a hard time of it. James under more stress than his normal overly-full-I-sleep-twice-a-week-dear-godde-how-do-I-still-function plate results in him practically foaming at the mouth, and while everyone else he can act for he long since stopped performing with me. I get the growls and snaps he can’t let loose on anyone else. It’s not healthy..but I’ve learned how to navigate and diffuse him so that he doesn’t snap at others, to the point where when he has a cranky night during a citadel event I get shoved into the back room first to do what I can before anyone else will come hang out.
It’s..hard. Because I can tell he’s going through hell. He will drop hints of it. That things are more right than wrong, but he’s not up to telling stories and I’m not asking. I’ve been trying to make things as normal as possible… but. Oww. Just. Oww.
I can see it wearing on Ryan. When James is backed into a corner he boarders on cruelty, and Ryan is my Daddy. My protective, wonderful, loving and kind Daddy that knows how to communicate, how to express his feelings and how not to take it out on others. There are times lately where I wished James had someone else. That I wasn’t his emergency everything that he never acknowledges but knows is there when shit hits the fan. But. He doesn’t. And so I try to take care of myself while doing as James asks and not more.
I keep thinking about Napa. About walks around the green college and curling up together on a bench in the park. About the wooded drive to James’s front door, the discussions years ago about going stargazing and laying in the back of Vera, James’s old truck, and telling stories of everything and nothing. Bringing hot cocoa because James doesn’t like coffee and cookies of the chocolate variety, because they are his favorite. I think about missing his driveway every other time because it’s so secluded and hidden away. About every time I’ve dropped James off since Vera died, climbing out of the car to get the parts for his chair and gazing up at the stars filling the Napa sky. My heart breaks.
I don’t know what that sky looks like right now. I know there are stars, but are they visible to the people that have lost so much? I don’t know what of the farm is still left other than the house itself. There were animals that they couldn’t take to the shelter. There were crops. Now there’s smoke and fumes.
James has an event on Friday that I drove him to last year, when I had the ability to take days off whenever I wanted. I work a 9-5 now, and he needs to be there Friday morning. So, I’ll be waking up at the asscrack of dawn, driving to Napa, then driving on another two hours to deliver James to his final destination before driving back and trying to make it to work at 9 a.m…and then working for eight hours. Why?
Four years ago, almost five, my aunt passed away. She was the glue holding my family together and on the list of people in my head that were never allowed to die. Ever. And she did. Cancer. My mother and I had to watch it eat at her, and it was horrible. We couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t help. We just watched the most precious person in both our lives slip away.
About two days later I was still home. The wake was the next day and I was in a fog. I came down the stairs from my childhood bedroom to find my mother sitting on the kitchen floor, staring at the oven. I asked her what she was doing, and she replied matter of factly that she was making a soufflé. It’s something she had never done before. She decided today was the day and was watching it rise.
I didn’t understand it then. But. Now? Making a soufflé was what she could do in that moment. So. She did.
James is a beast right now. The Dragon is loose and beyond my taming abilities. He bites. He snarls. I can not make things better.
But I can give him a ride.
I can’t put the fires out. But I can dust off a small section of ash.
Yours, still standing
I needed to decompress, and of course he knew that. Daddy knew about my bad days, and that I had been squirmy most of the week… Daddy lets me tease him sometimes with pretty distractions from Tumblr. Whenever I ask if I should stop distracting him, Daddy says, “don’t you ever, kitten.” And I smile. A lot.
Yesterday we were both tired. We had been running, trying to adult on both ends, and it meant that we finally got to calm down and focus on each other hours into when our date technically ‘started’. I love tagging along to Daddy errands and helping…but we were both squirmy and tired and…we didn’t watch as many cartoons as we normally do.
I was wearing big girl clothes from a job interview earlier in the day; sheer black pantihose and a form fitting deep red dress that has always brought me luck in the past. I had kept the clothing on on purpose. I knew Daddy would love the outfit, and I knew that there were several runs in the pantihose, meaning that it had lived its lfe and deserved to die an honorable death.
I found out several months ago that a meta I have become fast friends with had a fondness for sharps. This is a fondage we VERY much share. I have enjoyed knife play since before I ever identified as kinky. I’m a sensation slut, and the cool steel against skin combined with the adrenaline of the fact that it can easily slice my flesh (because, YES, I love playing with working blades) for some reason makes me absolutely drenched. My body and mind still, and I all but purr when the blade skims over my flesh. I like to share with partners, and gift-giving is a huge part of my love language.. For some reason blades are high up in the hierarchy of gifts I give if I love someone. If I give you a blade, you are a significant fixture in my life.. You mean something. Chris has a blade from me that he often beats me with. James has countless blades from me of different styles (him being an avid sharps collector himself). Ryan has received two blades from me so far as I endeavor to grow his sharps collection for all of our pleasure.
Daddy led me of the couch and through his apartment, stopping briefly to pick up one of the blades I had given him. “Come with me, kitten” he purred, sadist smile on his face as he led me to the bedroom.
He slipped my pretty red dresss up and off, setting it safely aside before spinning me and having me face the bed. I heard the click of the knife coming out and bit my lip, holding off an orgasm when I hadn’t asked permission yet.
He attacked my waistband first, making quick work of it and my upper thighs. ” Oh goodness.. How attached to these panties are you, kitten?” Apparently, Daddy had sliced through the back of them. They still stood, but my red lace panties now had a slit right above my naughty back door.
There are times when Daddy is incredibly tender with me. He holds me, REALLY holds me, cradling me to his chest while I sit in his lap or simply surrounding me with his body. He makes me feel small, and safe, and cherished, and every time he’s done it in that moment it was the best feeling on the entire planet.
This was not one of those times. All the pretties from Tumblr in the last week had been rough. Being fucked with a hand wrapped around the throat or covering the nose, or both. Face fucking. Lots, and lots of face fucking. Hair pulling. Fucking within an inch of your life. I REALLY needed to be taken, and take Daddy did.
He grabbed me by my throat and squeezed before turning me and pushing me on to the bed, so that I was looking up at him. I couldn’t see the knife anymore. Daddy was on top of me, choking me, pushing down on my chest, teasing me. I sqirmed, I cried. He made me cum, purring out “cum for Daddy” over and over again.
He moved down my body, off the bed at one point. I felt cold, cool steel between my legs and then heard the sound of lace tearing. He sliced my panties further, exposing my bare princess parts. The legs and waistband were still in tact and Daddy hesitated. ‘Oh fuck’, I thought, ‘he’s going to fuck me through the panties.
And then his face lowered between my legs. Something he has, never, ever done before… I’m 90% positive that some of the mental, ‘oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck’s became audible at that point as Daddy teased my clit with his tongue. I get eaten out once on a very rare occasion. I’m an internal girl, and so it’s not something I honestly ask for when I know a partner has talented fingers and an amazing talented cock. There was something about the image, though, of Daddy’s head between my legs when I’ve so often been between his, that caused a ripple of pleasure I hadn’t expected. It was.. hot, the image almost surpassing the act itself. Almost.
The scruff of his beard created an usually delightful sensation as he teased and taunted licking and sucking and poking and doing godde knows what while I gripped the bedding like my life depended on it and tried not to curse as I slowly came undone. I cum at the drop of a hat…with almost anything. Only two partners have ever gotten me to cum while eating me out. It’s just a rarity to me.. I’ve faked it in the long past to make partners happy back when I was monogamous.. but..fuck.. There was no faking anything last night. Daddy drove me over the edge before crawling off just long enough to cut off the last of the panties, baring my pussy completely before he climbed on top and slid inside of me, fucking me with a hand wrapped around my throat. He came close to choking me out a couple of times… it’s a sensation I greatly enjoy and ahve missed… I trust Ryan enough that I think I honestly would enjoy him chocking me out and fucking me… but part of me is afraid of squicking him out with how rough I am willing to play and how much I trust him…
Thoughts for another day.
He fucked me, thoroughly manhandling me and positioning me as he pleased. I came, and came, and came, coming undone again and again, wrapped around his cock. Daddy is good to me. He always makes sure I cum a couple dozen times when he’s enjoying his hole.
He slipped out and decorated me, making a mess as he growled out an order to come with him. I, of course, did, and was all but purring by the time he cleaned both himself and I up and crawled back into bed. He pulled me into his arms, both of us panting and sweaty, and slowly, our breathing calmed and synched. Before I knew it I was asleep, surrounded in a cacoon of warmth and afterglow.
I still haven’t figured out how. But somehow, Daddy seems to always know exactly what I need.
Yours still purring,
I’m sure this will surprise most of you.
There was a time, long ago and far away, when I was an innocent virgin girl.
Okay, it was LONG ago and far away, but it was indeed a thing. I was a virgin until seventeen. At sixteen, I was restless. My libido was in full swing and I rarely slept before two or three a.m. during the summer months (…that hasn’t changed much). So, being a restless 90’s child, I would go onto one of the few forms of electronic entertainment that I had that wouldn’t cause a lot of noise. I went on to online chat rooms, back in the day when most internet people were catfish and it was still much more of a dangerous place.
On one of those restless nights, I got lucky. I met a twenty-one year old from North Dakota. He and I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning. He told me of his visits to Rome and Helsinki, far away exotic places that I had very little concept of back then. My world was a cage, trapped in a small town in New Jersey, and here was a handsome man offering me a window into another world. We would talk for hours, on and on for week, and my poor little heart didn’t stand a chance. I fell. Hook. Line. Sinker. I fell for him.
Of course, it was an abstract sort of first love. There was the reality that I was a poor sixteen year old and North Dakota was far away. Visiting was an impossible idea at the time, and so I let myself love him. Because I knew I could never have him.
Time passed. Years went by. I remember the sadness that struck when Ace told me he was engaged to a local girl a couple of years later, not much older than myself. At the time I was very much monogamous, and knew that in that world marriage meant there really was no room for my little fantasy. He was lost. Someone else had won him. In the early days of his marriage we didn’t talk much, as life got in the way…but through time, from time to time, my phone would buzz and there would be a text from Ace. We would pick up right where we left off, talking about everything and nothing.
During all this my world was broadening. He was still in North Dakota, but I was in Boston for school. He would call me while running errands for his brothers or on nights alone while his wife was out and we would talk into the wee hours of the morning as we once had. Gradually Skype became a more normalized thing and we saw each other’s faces… and other things sometimes. There was always a flirty energy between us…and often that would cause blocks of silence where we couldn’t talk to one another. Feelings would rear ugly heads and we just…couldn’t. But we never fully left each other’s lives. I would watch his posts. He would watch mine. We always found one another again and continued to talk.
It’s been almost ten years since he and I first began to talk. In that time I’ve had my series of relationships, including a short engagement, and moved from New Jersey to Boston to San Francisco. He picked up and went from North Dakota to North Carolina with his wife and child, and gradually began his own discovery of kink and polyamory. The stars began to align where we were once again on the same wave length as we had been a world ago. We were both poly, and kinky, and for the first time ever I had his partner’s blessing to pursue some sort of..thing with him. But. I don’t do distance anymore. It’s just too hard, and so Ace remained a relatively abstract concept.
Sometimes I make very poor, masochistic choices for the right reasons. One of those was deciding that I was going to find a way to finally, FINALLY see Ace after Fusion this year (I promise there will be a Fusion entry as well. There’s a draft, I swear). Him being an eight hour drive from the campground was the closest we had ever been to one another. He was separated from his now-ex wife, and his adorable kiddo was with grandparents for the summer… We made a date. He got off from work and I drove as fast I could after camp to make something that had been abstract for so long a reality.
Driving through con drop is not one of my brighter ideas. I was wrecked, dealing with mundane blowups (June is trying to kill me…more on that later), and frantically calling my roommate during anxiety attacks to help remind me where the break was on the car when I got out of control at one point. I was exhausted, functioning on almost no sleep, and fucking determined.
The first time I saw him, he had his back to me. He was watching TV. I let myself stand there for a moment and just take in the sight of flesh-and-blood Ace. The summer night was perfectly warm. There were lightning bugs dancing in front of his window. The air was just the slightest bit muggy. It was… surreal. It was happening. He was real.
I knocked on the door and was in his arms before I knew it, and then REALLY in his arms as he picked me up, excited. “You’re here! You’re really here! You’re real!” he said over, and over, and over, putting words to what I was thinking. He smelled surprisingly familiar, right, easy, and I quickly felt at ease in his arms. And then he kissed me…and as far as first kisses go… Whelp. Remember the ending to Princess Bride?
I am a lucky. Fucking. Bitch.
After ten years I was so afraid there would be no chemistry. Which. Would be fine. We had been forced to be platonic before. I could do it. In fact, the opposite was the case. The top had been let off of ten years of sexual tension and we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. He gave me the tour of his apartment and I found myself craving contact with him. A hand on my hip, or in my hair, or on my ass..just to remind me that this was real. That he was real. That we were actually seeing each other.
It still feels like a dream.
I was the bad one that started stripping first. He pinned me to the ground, eagerly grinding against my ass before flipping me over and diving between my legs. I have never been so eagerly eaten out in my LIFE. I don’t like it typically. I’m an internal girl. But my Ace’s tongue is incredibly skilled. K was screaming his name and bucking under him in a matter of minutes.
There was groping, and playing, and flirting before we stumbled our way to the bedroom, both of us refusing to fully take our hands off of one another. Pardon my gloating, but my godde that boy has one of the prettiest cocks I have ever seen. He is thick enough and long enough that he’s a challenge for me to take… but not so big that I can’t deep throat him.
I hoped we would have chemistry. I didn’t expect mind-blowing sex. Again. And again. And again. We took a break for food and to sleep, but I can’t think of a point when we weren’t touching somewhere. Hands. Overlapping legs. Me snuggling into the nook of his shoulder. Not even morning breath stopped the kisses. When we weren’t kissing or fucking we were talking, just as we did eons ago. He told me the intimate details of his world. I shared more of mine.
There isn’t enough time. There never is. He took me to breakfast at an adorable coffee house. As we ate tasty treats he told me more about his amazing child and how much he loved his community. My heart twisted. I was so happy he had found home… And I selfishly wish I could take him to mine. He’s so far away. So. Damn far away.
It’s been a long time since I have been around someone who’s a soothing balm to my soul… and that’s what Ace is. He pulled me out of an anxiety attack from outside stressors faster than anyone ever has. Being around him calms me down, just as James always has.. and yet he calms me in almost the exact opposite way of James. Instead of a man of few words my Ace is a wordsmith. A beautiful, wonderful wordsmith that showered me in compliments and kind words.
There’s always been a switchy energy between us. Out of all my partners he is the one I have always felt the most equal too. We are both… fragile in certain ways. Both familiar with brain squirrels pertaining to matters of the heart. I am often pulled out of brain spirals through acts of submission. Focusing on the needs of others fixes my headspace.
I didn’t know if it would be the same for Ace. He began to spiral at one point and I just… had to fix it. A part of me came out that I didn’t know existed. A Domme. Not a service top. I dominated that sweet boy. I crawled on top of him and rode him with no inhibitions, knowing he wanted me, knowing I drove him wild. The moment he drifted I had him focus on me. I told him that all he had to worry about in that moment was pleasing me.
He called me ma’am. For the first time ever that made my pussy wet.
Yes, he was my sweet boy, and he let me fuck him at my leisure until I wanted him on top again. And then he pleased me with his cock, fucking me until we both toppled over that delicious edge.
In about 24 hours we found that edge six times, sometimes with him as the dominant partner, sometimes me. After sex we would find equilibrium again snuggling in one another’s arms. I’ve never had such a fluid relationship before. The switching happens naturally, with the top roll being filled easily in a split second by the proper partner.
I’ve never wanted to be served before. Never desidered to collar a boy and have him sit at my feet as I socialize in Wicked Grounds. I am naturally very submissive… but also very protective. The desire to help the one I love won out, and even became extremely pleasurable. He is my boy. We belong to one another.
And I am utterly fucked.
I thought foolishly getting together after ten years would sate some urges. Instead it was like lighting a powder keg. A hunger that hadn’t existed before now eats at me. I want more of my Ace, both as my sweet boy and as my Top.
We have a lot of exploring to do, he and I. This is the tip of the iceberg with our dynamic, and I know that… Now we are learning how our lives can possibly fit together. He has a partner with a child, and a child of his own to worry about. I have three partners, a complication, and a community. We both have our homes. And there is that fear of once you leave the Bay Area you can’t return. Selfishly, I want him with me, in my world. I want to show of my boy at BaGG and the citadel. And yes, I want to sleep in his arms at night.
I miss him horribly, and it’s only been a couple of days. Ten years, and it felt like coming home when I was with him. My mind is terrifying me. It’s thinking long term. And that scares me. I’m anxious to get my mark on him, to claim that part of him that submits as mine. And I am anxious for him to claim me again.
I love you, my sweet boy. I’m.. scared, but excited for the journey ahead. All will work out when the time is right, just as it always has. I will see you in my dreams ❤
Yours hopelessly in love, and suddenly switchy,
It always happens this time of year.
Fusion is approaching. This will be my third year going, and my second anniversary with Chris. I find myself… more unsettled than ever.
Technically I have four partners… I joke that I have four partners and a complication.
The first is my Sir, Chris. I’m proud of us for making it two years. There have been some… severe bumps and nightmare metamours along the way, but we’ve still managed to be a thing. I enjoy our D/s dynamic, and I find great comfort in the ease that has always existed between us when we spend time together…but at the same time I have felt more and more ‘friend zoned’ lately with him.. That spark, that desire that once had him frantically running to a 7/11 to buy condoms so that we could do it in my childhood bedroom just… hasn’t been there lately. I sleep in my dog bed, which I love, but it leaves me… wanting when I know that another partner gets to sleep beside him at night, and frequently. I’m fighting the ache of displacement with him, and honestly hope that Fusion will ease some of those aches and reinforce our dynamic. Fusion has always been good for us.. I am hopeful it will be that way again.
Then there is Grey… We are fantastic when we are together. It’s just.. The getting together part that is hard. I think the last time I saw him was around March.. I can’t even remember at this point. It’s on both of us. My schedule, his crazy life with his awesome life. Poly can be complicated, especially when you throw in the demands of work and home. I miss him, more than I’m probably willing to admit out loud. I miss his touch, him growling in my ear.. his hand wrapped around my throat while his other sneaks between my legs and..
Gah. Rabbit hole. Sorry. Summation, I miss Grey. He doesn’t even know Ryan is my Daddy; it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other…
Ryan has the patience of a saint with me at times… Easily the most emotionally accessible of my partners, he’s also human. For some reason days when I get overloaded tend to allign with the same days he is, so the few moments when I would let myself go, “I need my Daddy..” just don’t happen. I don’t let them. I can see him balancing me and my meta best he can, as well as trying to make room to date others… and he tries. He does. There are times when I just feel… forgotten. Like my meta’s shadow. Part of it is because I am the second parter. Secondary or not, I’m entering a dynamic that’s already been established, and that can be hard. She had dibs on certain days of the week long before I arrived, meaning less time for me off the bat. I’m… scared of time right now, with Ryan. I disappear for two weeks on the 18th, and then by the time I get back he’s off on a meditation retreat. I’m scared our dynamic will fizzle while I’m gone, especially when I’m off to something like Fusion. I can feel my emotional walls going up; can feel myself bracing for the inevitable letdown that my brain is convinced is going to happen. I don’t want to shove my Daddy away… If anything I want the opposite.
And then there is Ace, a partner I haven’t talked about on here. He and I have the loosest D/s dynamic.. We’ve also been on and off for almost a decade. I credit him with poking my kinky side before anyone else. When I was sixteen he and I started talking, and though there were gaps in-between he and I have never fully lost touch. Ace is currently where I was last year; dealing with the recent death of a primary relationship, and slowly gaining ground back to peace and emotional health. I’m grateful to have such a sweet, loving creature in my life…but he’s 3,000 miles away most of the time, works opposite hours of me, so that I am sleeping when he is awake and vice versa, and has so much on his own plate that tackling mine as well would be some sort of cruel joke to play on him. I won’t do that to him. It’s easier to try to help him than to try and decode my brain squirrles.
There’s my complication… the same one that’s been there for a year. James. We finally had a fundraiser for him, a week ago. For a single night I saw a James I had not seen in a year. I saw MY James. Sweet, and open, and loving, and willing to go to the deeper, darker areas that we don’t touch to keep the peace. I got my hopes up that maybe, just maybe, we were making progress… I’m not naieve enough to hope for a relationship right now, but I felt this rush of hope that maybe we were to the point where we could negotiate a scene. I wanted to kiss him, hug him. And he let me. And then he snapped back like a rubber band so hard I got whip lash. It’s been a while since he’s gotten me to cry.. Both last Wednesday and Friday he managed it, lashing out at the only safe person to do so to… My James, who does not do emotions, had to deal with a lot all at once. He’s compensating for it. I know that. But still… Godde does it hurt.
Five wonderful people. Five very different dynamics with their own separate challenges… and no anchor. That’s where I struggle. There’s no main, safe person to go to when my emotions become too much. No one to cling to to bring me back when I begin to drift away. I could reach out to Ryan, or even James..but Ryan has been so overwhelmed lately… and he has my meta. James… he overwhelmes himself, and I’m lucky to get an answer from him most days. Ace tries. He tries so hard..but my dark days are… bad. Dark. And with him trying to get over his own I don’t want to infect him with mine.
So here I sit, feeling more along than I have in a while despite all these amazing, loving people in my life. I still reach up to my bare neck and sigh, missing what used to be there; knowing that I’m not at a place where I could have that again right now. I miss the anchor of being someone’s, and that fear exists that no one will ever want me to be theirs again. That I will find all the other pieces of my puzzle.. except for that last one that makes me whole.
I try not to dwell, and to be grateful for what I have…but there are nights like tonight when I am truly lonely. My beloved roomate is curled up with her primary, more content than she has been in days because he’s here. I’m on the couch, restless at 2:30 in the morning and unable to motivate myself to sleep alone yet another night. There are these broken, jagged pieces of myself that cut away at the parts of myself that I thought I had built up… The parts that want to be a kink educator, that shine at things like Bondage a Go-Go and Citadel events. I am the little thing that does tours, and leads discussions, and is always there to get that last clean up shift to make sure that everyone gets out of the Citadel on time. I’m good at it.. I think..maybe.
Fusion, as beautiful as it is, tests me. It’s complete immersion into this world of kink for a solid week straight… and it’s a lot to take. I find myself looking at it similarly this year as I did my first. I feel..disconnected from it, unsure, overwhelmed at the idea of being gone so long and at what I will see and experience there. I don’t know if I’m open to new partners, or pick up play, or exploration with others as I have been in the past. I am freyed and covered in battle scars. You have to cut mighty deep into me to cause either pain or pleasure..and it’s hard for a stranger to get there in a week. I wish.. I wish I had some direction. Some marching orders to follow. Go to these classes. Wear these outfits because it will please me. Get pictures of yourself doing this. I miss that.
I’m going into camp with no plan or goal in mind… I hadn’t even planned on going this year. I’m going because Chris made it happen. He wanted me there, and there I shall be… but my walls are so far up with him as well. I don’t know what I’m doing, or how to make this feeling of being lost go away. I feel as if I am adrift in the middle of an ocean, miles from everyone. Unreachable. Eventually a boat will find me and fish me out, or I will drown.
And if I drown.. does it really matter? There are echos in the back of my mind. Yes. It does. No. It doesn’t. The argument as to which is the truth.
So… adrift I shall remain, in a sea of emotions that I don’t understand right now, and don’t quite know how to sort through. I suppose this is how one learns to be their own anchor. To not need anyone.
I should probably sleep.
Relationships go in cycles, or so it seems. At least, mine always have. Those who are meant to stick around in your life cycle back around in one way or another.
One of those that has cycled back for me is Cal, the person who started all of this. I still chuckle when I think about how I was when I started this journey. Monogamous, green, terrified of pain. Spankings were far from enjoyable for me and knives terrified me.
Now, most of that is the opposite.
Cal and I have danced around each other for years now… and we’re still dancing. It’s never been the right time. Things have always gotten in the way. He hasn’t been available. I haven’t been. And so, I swallowed the bits of desire that remained after his last breakup and told myself, over and over and over, I would be a safe person for him. I would be a friend.
What I didn’t factor in was that nothing about Cal is safe. At least for me.
I have several people that have always been kryptonite for me, just on a visceral level. James is one of them. He gets to me on every level. His voice, his smell, his presence… Cal is another one. When I was his mentee I would sleep in tee shirts that smelled of him. I think I still have one of his old green shirts stashed away that I sleep in on colder nights (I don’t normally wear shirts to bed. I get strangled by them). He figured out how to fuck my mind before he ever got to my body, which hardly helped things when I was first starting out. And he was protective of me. All things that give me a lady boner.
He started coming to BaGG, on and off, a couple of months ago. He saw James again (James doesn’t like him), met my Daddy and my Sir. BaGG… is a work in progress for Cal and I. The first time he got me shit faced on scotch and left me before saying goodbye and after making out with me. Several times. And telling me that he would be there long after James was gone, and we would end up together because we’re both too broken not to. The second was similar to the first, only I was more sober and stuck him on a stool for the last hour of the night to sober up while I rubbed at bruises he left on my neck. He’s into breath play, which is something I also love, but when he’s drunk his hands are very rough. And I was afraid.
Still. There had been kisses. And hugs. And he called me little one.
I found myself protective of this man, broken again by a relationship that I saw going down in flames long before it did. And I found myself terrified of him as well. He apologized for the incidents and promised to try and manage the alcohol more. He’s hurt, physically, and not eating as much as normally, and so alochol is affecting him more strongly than it normally does.
There is a war in my head when it comes to Cal. There is the good, protective friend that kinda wants to guide him back into our local scene and then there’s the submissive chomping at the bit to prove herself to him. To show what he missed. It’s the submissive that gets me in trouble, in ways that I didn’t see coming. And it’s the submissive that still.. can’t help but react to him. Smell. Voice. Presence. ESPECIALLY when he milks it. When he purrs my nickname after too many drinks and I tell my brain to shut up for a minute so I can enjoy.
He’s gotten better. We both have. Thank godde for time, firm boundaries, and bunnies. He has a new love that has slowly wrangled a lot of the darkness he has been carrying..and it means he’s behaving a lot more. And she is lovely.. Full compersion here. She’s the right age and the right temperment to actually be GOOD for him after his string of lemons, and I’m happy for him. I truly, honestly am. I just…have brain squirrels.
Last week, Cal came to BaGG. I was freshly back from a trip east and felt like absolute shit. I now know I probably had a fever..but I was determined to go. My friends wanted to see me. My meta wanted to talk about her trip and mine. I wanted my time with James. I was getting there.
I spent a good portion of the night on my knees, which were so sore they could barely support my weight. I didn’t think about this, until Cal saw me do it in the back of the smoking alley.
His hands were in my hair before I could warn him not to. He pet me gently, and I purred. Daddy was right in front of me. I knew it was safe, and Cal kept saying it wasn’t sexual. He was careful not to call me my nickname. I was careful not to call him sir. We were Cal and Rene and it was just a few head pets when I was in pain.
Later in the back room, he hugged me hard. He gets emotional after a few drinks and has a habit of thanking me for still being around.. which I appreciate. The hug captured my head. He had his hand in my hair and pulled, hard. I whimpered and reached for Daddy’s shirt, tugging just as hard. It was a signal we had agreed upon earlier in the evening that I would do when I was scared. Daddy interviened, gently pulling Cal off of me while my meta calmed me down. I blamed the last double he had and tried to shake it off.
It’s just with alcohol that I find myself on edge with Cal. When four or five drinks are removed he’s a safehaven. I crashed at his place after a play party last weekend, grateful for the couch and a day when I didn’t have to pay a bridge toll in order to get to work. He hugged me hello and I smelled him and immediately knew cuddling was out of the question. I put a big, fat blanket between he and I on the couch until he went to crash for the evening.
The next morning I tried to sneak out, dressing quickly for breakfast with Chris and scampering out the door. I dressed quickly before tossled hair and a furrowed brow stumbled outside, slightly confused. He was adorable. Bits of me melted that had been holding firm, and I smiled. He hugged me goodbye a beat too long. A dangerous beat. I wanted to kiss him.
But. I also want his head on straight. I want him established with his new parter. I want him happy and mostly whole. I want him to know that I am safe, and stable, and honestly pretty fucking close to poly saturated right now. I want to see more than one BaGG in a row without me getting scared of him physically harming me.
I want time, that lovely balm that heals all things, to finally decide the course for Cal and I. I keep telling myself that we are going to be friends. Friends are safe. Friends are good.
And all my instincts keep wanting more.
Yes, Cal is my teacher from a world ago, but lately we’ve been teaching each other. We talk daily, reading one another and keeping each other in check. For now, this is healthy.
I don’t know. Time will tell. Time always tells. For now, I have brain squrrels and he has a bunny. And this is how it should be.
So, what have you got left to teach me, teacher mine?