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Taking it, Blindfolded

8FEFBF46-7578-4997-891F-E2B3F3E09BB4Last Saturday was one of my favorite parties, Master’s Den. I was going with Ryan, and more than a little excited to get some serious 1 on 1 play time in before the holidays hit. He hasn’t been able to come to BaGG and I’ve been in serious need of owies… though I’ve needed more than that as well.

The night before, I decided to go check out Taboo. It’s a party at the Citadel known for edgier play; sacrilegious scenes, dark age play in public, blood and cutting play… It was one of my favorite parties when I first entered the scene but I had mostly stopped going because it’s not a party James has shot. But, I knew he was going to be there. A dear friend of ours had said they were coming and he was going to give them a massage, and honestly I wanted to watch.
Fast-forward through the evening and the friend ended up bailing. I poked James about playing, but he wasn’t exactly in an impact mood, and he and I both need to be in good headspaces to play in a healthy way together. Right now…impact is somewhat safe, but sensual play, intimate touching, things like that.. not good for either one of us. We are starting from the ground up kink wise and trying to do it right. I got into trouble elsewhere, a light impact scene that was essentially a warm up for the night to follow. A friend used my ass as a punching bag (quite literally.They practiced different style punches on me xD) giving me just enough thuddy impact to silence the worst of my brain squirrels. Brain squirrels silenced, I went to investigate and see what trouble James had gotten into.
He had his big knife out and was trailing it down a friend’s thigh, the one I’ve continued on a three year long love affair with. The knife, not the friend. The friend is a very safe human that I know well, and so watching the scene of the two of them didn’t bring up any negative emotions. They’ve played before, and I love to watch. I sat, eyes fixated on the blade as he trailed it up and down, forcing squeaks from the bottom as he guided them with eyes and hands, not saying a word.
I am a sensation slut. I’ve said this many times. I’ve also said that the cruelest thing someone I care about can do is withhold touch from me. I sat, mesmerized by the scene as James pulled out various blades, his punch dagger, his claws… all things that my body remembers so well. I shivered with each touch as if it were on my own skin. I wanted the cold steel on me. I LOVE sharps. And then James did a thing.
He flipped our friend over and grabbed them by the hair, slowly raising their head before slipping the blade underneath their chin and touching into to the soft flesh. I let out a sigh and noticed an ache in me that hasn’t been present for a while. My brain went back to a long time ago, when a rough voice used to growl in my ear, ‘you are MINE.” There was no hesitation in leaving marks or bruising me; in using me to pull others into the back room by slamming down onto me and making me scream, moan, and cry. There was and is a primal edge to the play with James. The way he pulls hair. The way he claws into skin. The pain of rough hands slamming into an ass. And I found myself not necessarily missing him, but missing THAT. That primal claiming and marking and wanting and… rawr. To the point where I had to step away from the scene and breathe for a few moments, the longing for that kind of primal possession was so strong.
It was a bitter sweet feeling, walking out of the citadel that night knowing that I may never get that feeling again. But at least I had once known it.
The next evening I was there with my Daddy. We got there late, which had me stressed, and so my need for a good beating was amped up even higher. I changed into an outfit made to die a glorious death; a beautiful piece of lingerie that Chris had gotten me during my birthday in Santa Cruz the year before. It had seen many parties, and sadly had many holes in it to prove it. I had asked Ryan ahead of time if it could die a glorious death and was thrilled by his enthusiastic yes.
When play time came he chose a spot all the way in the back. I would be facing the wall and therefore be less distracted than normal. Our scenes have become rather routine. I strip off all that isn’t going to die, he ties me to the cross, he beats the shit out of me and teases me. We go home. This scene..had mostly the same formula, but with some twists that I didn’t know I needed until I felt them.
I had expected to be pulled to the cross once I stripped. Daddy surprised me by grabbing me right away and beginning to tear apart my outfit several feet from the cross. After man handling me a little bit, forcing me to the floor with his boot on top of me. More please..yes… I like the idea of being conquered by Daddy. Putting up just enough of a fight that he uses force to pin me. And I love his boots. And I love that with the boots, and the man-handling, there were also giggles. There’s almost always laughter in our scenes, and I love that so much.
Once he got me upright again he sliced apart my pretty one piece and literally ripped apart my tights in a way that was so satisfying I wanted to purr. At one point as he shredded my clothes with both hands and pointy objects he stuck my own tights in my mouth as a gag; something that at one point would have been a hard limit for me. I was a brat and spit it out several times. But I did not red.
 He has new pretty knives for blade bondage…They are sharp, and shiny, and bite just enough when propped between my inner arms and ribs, blade pointed inward into my side. Ryan does this thing.. He will hit me hard, or do something particularly mean, and whisper in my ear right after. His voice sounds like its dripped in honey..it’s just a wee bit deeper and smoother, and it makes me squirmy as FUCK. As he secured the knives into my sides he did his honey whisper; “Don’t let them drop, kitten.” And the knives did not stop There.  No. That’s when it got interesting.
You can’t be afraid of what you can’t see. Daddy brought some very scary toys to use on me. And so he blindfolded me with my own outfit, using one of the bigger strips that remained as a blind fold to tie around my head. Suddenly I couldn’t see the toys, or the dungeon, or Daddy.. Everything was sensation.
When I say that I was chomping at the bit to play I mean I was squirming for so many sensations I couldn’t keep them all straight. What amazes me about Ryan and our play at times is that even before I vocalize a desire or a want it’s somehow happening. He’s picked up on it, or was following the same wave length.
Blindfolded, still not touching the cross, I felt blades against my skin, and a need was sated. I felt a hand in my hair, pulling, and another need was sated. And then I felt rope against my skin and I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding.
Ryan has tied me a handful of times, including our first date. He’s made rope feel safe for me when for a long time it felt claustrophobic. He’s even suspended me once and yes I would do it again.. I have begun to enjoy the feel of rope, especially when it’s tied around me but not restricting me, in a harnesses with these intricate knots. It makes me feel beautiful.
He didn’t tie me to the cross that night, as he has so many times before. He tied me and then wove the throwing knives through the knots, so that if I moved right the blades poked me. At least I think he did. At that point I couldn’t see a damn thing. I just felt. It was..perfect.
I am an exhibitionist little slut. I like to show off, and to be watched, but that is often a double-edged sword for me. I get easily distracted by what’s going on around me and who’s watching me, and if I’m making the right faces, the right sounds.. if I’m putting on the best show I can. The blindfold removed that distraction, and is honestly something I’d like to play with more. I was hyper focused on what I was feeling, where Ryan was, and not on the people and scenes around me. I felt everything MORE. On top of it I wasn’t able to watch which toys Ryan was picking up. It took away any fear aspect I have associated with some of them..and there are quite a few of his toys that I am actually, actively afraid of.
The evening before, before the play and before watching James, I had watched a brutal impact scene. The Dom went hard on their submissive, to the point of legs buckling and screams filling the dungeon. As the submissive became overwhelmed, the Dominant would grab their face and touch a point between their eyes and their eyes would close. A dreamy smile would replace the pained face. Erotic hypnotism is something that Ryan and I play with a lot, and something that I thoroughly enjoy, and I noticed the button easily. Every time the submissive became overwhelmed by sensation or wasn’t able to take anymore the Dominant would put her into trance again, calming them down.The Dom would also snap their fingers and their bottom would flinch, signaling another button.
We’ve woven my buttons into play before. I have..a lot.. The two easiest that are typically Ryan’s go-to’s are when he snaps his right hand I have an anal orgasm. When he snaps his left, I have a vaginal orgasm. So, he’ll be a big meanie and give me a huge amount of pain and then snap his fingers and make me cum apart at the seams (pun intended). We’ve also played with me entranced before which is.. an odd, heady feeling. I’m awake but I’m not. I know what’s going on but can’t quite stop anything. We’ve also put buttons in place right before scenes too, to up my pain tolerance or make my body more relaxed upon impact (I tend to go up on my toes if something REALLY hurts).
Ryan managed to take what I shared with him about the scene I had enjoyed so much and make it work for us. There are a few of his toys that are hard for me to take a lot of. After a few whacks, even if I can’t see it, I’m dancing, I’m on tip toe, I’m screaming. Each time the pain became too much I would feel arms around me, or feel his scruff near my face before the honey voice would whisper in my ear that I could take more for Daddy, couldn’t I? That this was nothing and I’ve taken much worse. That I could take all the pain for Daddy.. And I was lulled just enough to think that I could. To feel that I could.
I faced a metal cane (a thick rod that I DESPISE), a dragon tongue (soft limit), an evil asshole paddle made out of a beer mat by an evil asshole (that I adore), and a curry comb as a finale. The curry comb was the only part that I actually got to see. Daddy slipped my blindfold off after the dragon tongue left pretty welts on my ass.
I have a history with dragon tongues. I…despise them. A single tail one can gain my trust with in time. Canes are the same way. A dragon tongue cut me up so bad at one point I had to go the ER. I never wanted to face one of those things again. Ryan seems bound and determined to have me face and take every toy I’m scared of. He started slow with it, whacking me when I was partially clothed to lessen the sting. Blindfolded and bare, there was no way of knowing when the dragon tongue was going to hit and where. He could have ripped me up easily. He could have harmed me. He didn’t. And I stood there, clinging to the cross for dear life, because I knew he wouldn’t. I trust Ryan.
You would think the perfect ending to all of this would be me facing my big fear and then Daddy taking me home to cuddle..but I did say that I got beaten with a curry comb, didn’t I? Those round metal brushes used on horses, with the mean teeth? yeah. That thing. On my ass. Our play with it has changed the more times that we’ve used it. The first time was rather timid, with Daddy using a paddle to leave imprints of the teeth in my ass and barely cutting the skin. Tap, tap, tap. That tap, tap went away a long time ago. Now he used pure force, swinging the curry comb itself and slamming it into my ass, leaving dozens of bloody circles in his wake.
I could see the windups to each one, but there’s no hesitation with the curry comb like there is for the dragon tongue or the canes. I love marks. I love sharps. The curry comb is a way for me to get both without being overwhelmed but that one sensation point where the knife blade meets my skin. This is dozens of little knife blades taking delicious bites out of me and leaving marks in a way that is much easier for my body than a basic impact beating.
I felt liquid sliding down my ass and grinned, proud of myself. There’s an odd turn on for me when Daddy makes me bleed. I earned it. And I don’t yellow when I feel the blood trickling down my legs. I wait for Daddy to wear himself out. He’s good at letting me know when the end is close and I can finally fully relax. The warning is usually, “Alright princess, I’m going to give you two more hard ones, one on each side, and then we’ll be all done, okay?” And I take them knowing that I get to rest after.
There were blood spots on the floor of the cross by the time we were done, as well as blood still trickling down my legs. We were safe, of course, spraying everything down properly with cavicide and alcohol respectively (my poor ass…oww.) before flopping over together in an aftercare couch.
We played again when we got home, my ass still sore, my body tired, when I thought we were going to just curl up and sleep. I remember bits and pieces of the sexual play.. I remember lots of orgasms, the honey coated voice, and I remember Daddy putting me into trance, but while he normally helps me out of it at the end of the scene this time he didn’t.. Even clean up was done in trance as I crawled into bed with him and snuggled into the nook of his shoulder. I don’t remember falling asleep. I do remember getting an incredibly good nights sleep as a result..
It was.. a lot in one night, and the ‘a lot’ was exactly what I needed. I’m breathing for now. I don’t feel like I’m starving, even knowing I’ve got about a week until any sort of real play.  And I feel incredibly guilty for wanting more. More rope. More impact, more boots and body play, more hair pulling and more of that honey coated sadist asking me to take all the pain for him. Cause, gods, will I. Happily, and eagerly.
The catharsis of an impact scene is incredible. The za za zooo it can spark or re-spark between two partners is also fantastic as well. But..getting to please my Daddy in a way that only my body can, taking the pain he asks me to take, doing it to make both of us smile? Yeah…that’s the main pleasure button for me.
Please, more, Daddy..
yours, as always
-Rene
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Presents for Daddy

Once again, the holiday season is upon us! As one that lives in an area of transplants, I watch throughout the holiday seasons as my dear ones make their pilgrimages home, returning a week or so later craving their own beds and the cultural bubble of the Bay Area. My Daddy Ryan and myself are two of those transplants and will basically be spending two weeks apart when we’re used to seeing each other a couple times a week. Rather than be down about this (and pout epically, and whine about not getting Daddy for so long) I let my mind wander to possibilities.. Having distance, rather than being a hindrance, can be an opportunity to try a whole new set of games…

I didn’t want Daddy to go away. It scared me, lots. While we ate dinner, it scared me. While he gave me owies and made my bottom red, red red and tried to make it purple, it scared me. Even as he hid his lolly in my princess parts and yanked my hair as he fucked me, growing in my ear, ‘cum for Daddy’ it scared me. 

Curled up in the nook after, Daddy traced his finger up and down my arm. I had my eyes closed, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and was trying not to think about him disappearing for a long long time. And not getting play. Or cummies. Or Daddy’s voice or hands or smell or..

“Kitten, tell me something you need me to know.” 

“MEWWW” I squirmed in his arms as his grip tightened. The phrase was a hypno button he had set up months ago. The he said it, I had to answer truthfully. It was a reflex, an instinct, and a pain in the ass to fight.

“I’m scared of you going away and not getting Daddy time and you not wanting kitten time and being all bored with me and and..and losing connecting.” I hugged him tight, his chest hair tickling my nose as I burrowed further into the nook.

He chuckled. “That’s what’s bothering you? Such a silly kitten. Do you really think we aren’t going to play for two whole weeks?” I nodded frantically and he laughed again. “Oh no, sweetie. Daddy has plans for his little princess. We’re going to play a fun game while we’re apart, one with fun rules and prizes.” He ran his nail down my arm, making me purr at the slight twinge of pain. “Good girls get lots of prizes… Are you ready to learn the rules?”

Days later, Daddy was away. I was taking care of home, cleaning and washing and sweeping and petting the kitty; all the important things, and I was following the first rule of our game. Have my phone on me when I could. When I can’t, tell Daddy I couldn’t talk. Let him know when I come back. 

Buzz Buzz. A message from Daddy. We had been talking all day, but this one was special.

Rule two of the new game was really simple. Look for the magic words.

Mmm.. Kitten? Daddy wants a present.

I squeed and squirmed, plopping down eagerly with the phone in my hands, waiting on further instruction. Rule three of the game was just that When Daddy says he wants a present, his little girl gets to do the best she can to give it to him. Whatever that present is.

How may I please you, Daddy?

Good Girl came the quick reply. I want you to go into the bedroom, strip down, and lay on the bed. Bring your phone and let me know when you’ve done as I asked.

I giggled as I ran to the bedroom, pulling off my clothing as I went. The moment my bare ass hit the bed I messaged Daddy.

Good job, kitten. Now, you see that lovely glass dildo on the floor of the bed? It was pretty, and BIG. Daddy had only used it on me once and it stretched my little cunny wide. I want you to be a good girl and fuck yourself with it. And I want to see. Send Daddy a video of you coming like a good little slut and you’ll get a reward.

I grabbed the dildo and had it angled at my entrance when my phone pinged again. Not so fast, princess. Show me that you properly prepped it.

I grinned, bringing the toy from the entrance of my cunny to my lips, slipping as much of it down my throat as I could and taking a selfie for Daddy.

Good girl. Now. Where’s my video?

The dildo, now slick with my saliva, slid in with little resistance. I propped my phone up against the pillows to get the best angle possible as I eagerly fucked myself, already squirmy from just a couple of days without sex. My moans turned into whimpers as I got close, eyes shut tight, imagining Daddy fucking me hard into the mattress, his hand wrapped around my throat and his cock buried balls-deep in me time, after time after time.

“Daddy!!! I’m cumming… cumming, cumming, cumming!!”

I slumped down onto the mattress, toy still inside me, and sent the video. A few minutes later I heard the ding of a message coming through.

Instead of words it was a sound bite, a short recording. I hit play and brought the phone to my ear in time to hear labored breathing on the other end. “Such a good girl” Daddy growled into the phone. Ready for your reward?” I closed my eyes and moaned as I heard him cumming on the other end of the phone, suddenly turned on all over again. You may cum again if you want, sweetie, but last time for tonight.” Out of habit I heard myself answer, “yes, Daddy” out loud, and then with gusto I began fucking myself all over again, listening to the recording for inspiration.. 

 

The next day I was at work, sitting at my desk trudging through paperwork. I had messages open, hiding behind tabs on my desktop, and saw the flash of a notification from Daddy. “I hope your having a good day, princess. Daddy wants a present.”

I was confused. Daddy knew I was at work. It’s not like I had naughty toys to fuck myself with at the office. “But Daddy.” 

No buts, princess. I know you’re at work. Now, what are the rules of our game?”

I sighed, even more confused. “How may I please you, Daddy?” 

By going into the bathroom right now and taking your panties off. Send me proof.” I stared at the message in shock. I had leggings and a dress on. A lack of panties wouldn’t kill me. But did he really expect me to sit around and squirm all day?

I slipped into the bathroom with my purse and wiggled out of my panties, sending Daddy a picture of them in my hand before throwing them into the bottom of my bag and pulling my leggings back up. My phone buzzed. “That’s not enough, princess. I asked you to show me proof that the panties were off.” My face turned bright red as I yanked my leggings down and raised my dress, sending Daddy a photo of my bare princess parts about to be covered in nothing but the thin leggings that he knew would be soaked by the end of the day. My phone buzzed again. 

That’s what I wanted. Good girl.” Another bing as a video came through. “You may watch this AFTER WORK. It’s your reward.” And a reward it was. I sat in my car after work staring at my phone as Daddy stroked himself hard, teasing me with a few for just a few moments before the camera turned off. 

 

Days later I had gone bareback multiple times, slipped him a tit shot while at work, came silently while sitting in our local coffee shop after rubbing one off for him, and managed to send Daddy a photo of me fucking myself with my favorite vibrator with a plug in my ass. Now I was packing for my own trip. Daddy had been back in town for just a few hours, and I was disappearing just as he came back. I thought the game was over. 

My phone buzzed. “Kitten, Daddy wants a present.” I wasn’t going to say no. I loved all the tasks he had given me. And in return, he had given me videos and sound bites to orgasm by. “I want you to bring your little black butt plug to the airport with you, in your carry on bag. Can you do that for Daddy?” I gulped before slipping it into my bag. Of course, Daddy. I like playing games. 

It’s normal for me to let Daddy know when I’ve gotten to the airport, and through security and safely to my gate. What isn’t normal is getting marching orders once I get there. “I want you to go into the bathroom and slip the plug into that tight little asshole of yours. Show me proof.” 

I ran to the restroom slipping into one of the stalls and hurriedly pulling my pants down. My flight would be boarding in moments, and I only had that little bit of time to wet the plug with my mouth and bit by bit toy my ass with it before slipping it in. It’s harder for me to keep silent during anal play. I had my eyes shut tight as I teased myself, trying my best not to pant or moan and alert the people in the stalls on either side that there was more than simple bathroom business going on. Once the plug was insert, I set a timer on my phone, turned, and spread my ass wide for Daddy to see the pretty little plug resting snuggly in my naughty back door. I sent the message and wanted to cry at the reply. 

Good girl. Now don’t you dare take that out until you’ve landed. Send me proof once you land that it’s still inside and you’ll get a very, very big reward sweetie.” 

For SIX HOURS I squirmed in my seat, desperate to find a position that wouldn’t have me horny, or whimpering, or dripping. I kept my legs clamped firmly together and tried my best to sleep. It didn’t hurt, but it did keep me near on edge to the point where I could barely see straight by the time my flight ended. 

I ran to the bathroom, flinging open the door of the first empty stall I could find and snapping my landing photo, ass spread wide again, cunny dripping between my legs. Immediately, Daddy responded. 

“Good girl. You get your reward tonight, when you’re home and able to talk to just Daddy. I want you to call Daddy for a night night phone call, okay?” 

I squealed out loud. I loved Daddy’s voice, and I missed it with him being gone. I suppose I’m a little bit of a sensory slut. “Yes, Daddy.” 

At home, in bed, I called Daddy. I was still squirmy from the flight and had sat through dinner with my bio family and hours of conversation with the thought of what my reward would be. Daddy picked up on the second ring. “Well hello sweetie! Are you happy we’re still playing our little game?”

I giggled. “Yes, Daddy.. I’m just surprised.. I thought it would stop after your trip.”

“OH no, sweetie. That would make your trip just much too boring, now wouldn’t it?”

Do you want more presents, Daddy?”

Oh yes, sweetie. Quite a few more. Daddy is going to keep you nice and busy while you’re away. And when you come home, you’ll be nice and ready for Daddy to hide his lolly. Should Daddy tell you a bedtime story about how he’s going to hide it when you come home?”

“Oh, yes, please, Daddy!”  

Daddy laughed. “That’s my good girl. Now touch yourself while I tell it and imagine all that Daddy is saying, okay? Once upon a time there was a squirmy little kitten that hadn’t gotten nearly enough lolly pop time..” 

And that’s all, folks 😉 I hope you liked my little tale. I wanted to write in a scene about a hypno-fuck over Skype and a couple of naughty phone calls, buuuuut those can be entires in and of themselves. I hope the idea came across with the length being bearable. And now I’m squirmy and want to play with Daddy…

Yours, horny as hell

-Rene

 

Three Necessary Pieces

I was having a rough time of it last Wednesday, so much so that I decided that going to BaGG that evening would be too much for my fatigued body.

I was hitting drop from all angles and just needed to go home. At that moment in time, however, I couldn’t. I didn’t have my wallet. Foolish me had forgotten it in a jacket pocket back at the apartment and I was waiting on my roommate to bring it when she came to BaGG. On top of that, I hadn’t gotten to duel with James yet.
He rolled in when I was lost in melancholy thoughts and pulled me out of them, slamming me with a new brutal deck that I both hated and loved at the same time. There was no way that he didn’t see how eager I was; that he missed my eagerness when I begged for a duel. It remains our play; as safe as it can be nowadays. We are incomplete, he and I. The story isn’t finished, and forcing chapters to completion hasn’t helped. Because of this, we’ve mostly just left it be. I push back when I need to. Like with Surrender; I begged for photos of my partners and I and pressed how important it was that they get captured (an entry for Surrender shall follow later). And he did as I asked, often taking shots when I was too far gone to notice where the camera flash was coming from; piqued in an intense orgasms or being shocked by a violet wand. He’s good like that; capturing those unfathomable moments, but I digress.
I’ve been through four Surrenders and seven cons total; con-drop is not new to me. I knew to pace myself, to give myself Monday off from work, to sleep in and self-care. What I hadn’t expected was the whole separate drop when Ace left.
At the very beginning of our dueling a dear friend, Sage, joined us in our little corner of Wicked Grounds. She passively worked while commenting on our game from time to time, chuckling when James made me curse or when I begged for mercy. When his alarm went off to go over to the club James pulled me into one of his REAL hugs and humored me; he let me bury my face in his hair, relax in his arms for the briefest of moments and let the tension leave my body. There is still something about James’s scent that drives me bat shit; I’ve never been able to figure it out and I’ve never been able to shake it, but in moments when I am at my limit I am grateful for that fact. I’m grateful for the knowledge that a hug and a moment of touch from James is usually enough to calm me down.
Sage remained behind after James rolled off to the club, worried eyes on me. She asked what was wrong and I explained that I was just feeling… off. That I was tired and feeling at my emotional limit and just wanted to go home. A call to my roommate had informed me that she was still 40 minutes out and I was done, so very done. And frustrated without enough gas to get me back.
“And it’s been..how long since Ace left? 24 hours?” They had met at the con when Ace was on security duty and I was curled up at his feet. She had seen him throughout Surrender and began singing his praises when I told her it was his first con, ever.
The truth is, Ace had blown me away that weekend. I hadn’t expected him to take to Surrender like a duck to water, and he had. He made new friends with ease and giggled each time he mentioned my name to find that these new friends knew me already. He excitedly gobbled up information from classes, learning for himself, for me, and for my dear meta (his nesting partner) back home. He even got in a little pick up play and was a good, brave boy and bottomed to me. He paced himself well, ate when he needed to, and blended into my crowd as if he had always been there. And it had felt like he had. My Ace, my constant anchor, navigated my world with shocking ease that there was so much reluctance to give him back. I knew I had to, and know that I always will, but it was not easy.
Ryan, on the other hand, struggled more. He attempted to make new connections but I saw him drifting back to knowns. He circled back to me whenever I was working and spent more time messaging me on shifts than socializing with new people. Another bottom he plays with was also at the event, but with restrictions that prevented him from playing. He kept me going and pleased me to the best of his ability, but having never been through a con didn’t know how to pace himself. He was burnt out by early Sunday evening, unable to do the final scene that he and I had talked about. And yet still, even while he was burning out completely, he took me to the hotel restaurant to make sure I was fed and not crashing with five more hours left that evening.
And then there’s James.. Balancing Ryan and Ace, while also remembering what Surrender was, what it meant to James and I, was hard. There was an ache there when it reached late into Saturday and I hadn’t quite connected with James yet… It’s hard, with Ryan around. The two butt heads at an almost toxic level at this point and don’t particularly social well with one another anymore. When Ryan left early on Sunday it was.. a slight relief. I drifted upstairs to a cigars and chocolates social and found James playing with the cigar cutters up there. We talked, joked, even flirted a little, and I made a point in saying that I would be there till the end and I wanted to say goodbye (the year before I hadn’t had the chance to because of my security shift and it..bothered me a great deal). We talked, shared stories, smiled…and I felt better.
I relayed all this to Sage when she asked about my Surrender, and she smiled as I voiced my frustrations over James and Ryan. “You know why they fight, don’t you?”
“Because they’re two Dominant assholes in a pissing contest?”

“Well, yes. But there’s more to it than that.” She paused. “Who has your collar?”
“But that doesn’t matter! The collar is null-en-void. It’s been discussed that if we restart we restart fresh and-”

“And you’re right. It doesn’t matter.. The restart, that is.” She smiled, sadly. “You love each other. It’s very apparent, even in small things. That love is very there, and very apparent to anyone with eyes. It’s only a little threatening to someone who wants to be important in your life, especially when you love the other person more.”
I sat, gobsmacked for a moment. I had been wrestling in my own head for months with my feelings for Ryan and James, trying to tell myself that those with Ryan were growing while those with James were fading.
“You two aren’t done, you and James. You aren’t in your final form yet. Right now, what you two are in is limbo, and it’s driving Ryan crazy. You two are either going to grow closer together or further apart, but until then the two are going to fight over you like open game because they both see you as their’s. Whether or not a certain red head admits it.” She smirked. “You are still his, Rene, and that’s okay. You’ve learned to live with that in a way that is much more healthy for both of you, but it’s a different type of love than what you have for Ryan.”
“And I do love both of them! I love Ryan very much!” And it’s true, I do, with a depth of feeling I didn’t think myself capable of.
“Oh, sweetie, I know you do. It’s just different.” And then my wise friend told me about three crucial love figures in ones life, and about how I was blessed to have all of them, whether or not they worked out.
There’s the one you learn from, the one love stories come from, and the one that stays.
Ryan is the one I learn from. Since being with him I have truly learned what self-care is, and how to better take care of myself and set my own limits. I eat better, sleep better, and I honestly relish being Daddy’s little girl. I feel taken care of, loved, cherished…but not claimed. It’s a soft love, a nurturing love. I enjoy doing his dishes, helping to tidy around the house, and yes, I enjoy the fantastic sex.. but even our rough is not too rough. There is a softness and a sweetness to Ryan that I cherish; a rarity that  you don’t often find in tops. There is also sometimes a cockiness about him in that Father Knows Best sort of way that often rubs me the wrong way.
“I had a Ryan for YEARS”, Sage shared with me. “He taught me so much about myself; how to live, how to be, how to help me be more me. I’m incredibly grateful for the time we had together, but it’s not the kind of mind blowing, bone-deep soul connection love I had with my James.” She locked eyes with me. “And you know exactly what I mean by that.”
She’s right. I do. James is the one my love stories come from. It is a bone-deep love that I can’t shake, no matter how I try. It’s why his scent gets to me, why I’m hyper sensitive to him being in a room. Why my loyalty to him just..doesn’t sway, doesn’t go away. Because those moments of sweetness exceed any others even as the sour moments destroy unlike anything else. He has the power to rip me in two; he always has. He almost did once. There remains this pull between us; this interaction that goes passed friends but doesn’t know where to extend beyond that. I can see why that’s a threat to Ryan; because if that gets re-established, then he gets bumped from spot one, and he knows that. Then James gets all the power again, and Ryan doesn’t want that. Right now, I don’t want that, but I miss sweet kisses and brutal hands.
“And then there’s your sweet boy”, Sage said, smiling wistfully, “the rarity we all search for. A gods honest everlasting love.”  The one that stays.
My Ace, my beautiful rarity. Without him, loving the other two would be impossible. He has been my anchor, platonicly and otherwise, for a decade now. When my engagement ended he was a text away. When my first boyfriend broke my heart I could call him. We Skyped to make each other laugh through the tears when his wife and him had a fight or I broke up with yet another partner. He’s always been there, the carrot dangling in front of my face just out of reach. While I may not be able to share a bed with him every night, and while our lives are in many ways very separate..they have always included the other. Even when we weren’t actively engaging with the other. When we lost contact I thought about him, and he about me, and we both knew that eventually one would reach out to the other and all would be right with the world again.
And so it was. And so it always will be.
If I didn’t have my Ace, I would not survive Ryan and James; the ebb and flow, up and down intensities of love. My good, sweet, mellow boy that takes to my world like a duck to water… because he’s always been there, and was always supposed to be there.
“You have what so many of us search for, especially those of us that are poly. You have managed to find an actual love of your life, and hold on to one another for all of this time.” She got tears in her eyes as she said this, and I smiled. “Is it any wonder that you’re dropping, honey, with all these moving parts in your life?”
No, it was no wonder..and after the talk with Sage so much more made sense. There is a lingering of guilt there, for James being the one I write love stories about…but I can’t change my nature, and what I am instinctively drawn to is..him. The edge of him, the gruffness, the growl with a hint of sweetness… What I knowingly go to are soft, kind hands that hold and caress and teach. What I’ve always known, always wanted, and will always gravitate to is an open heart that constantly wishes to learn more, see more, do more, and sees all of it eagerly and wide-eyed with an innocence I don’t think I’ve ever possessed and a nature that is truly… good. No ego. Just good.
Willow gave me gas money to get home when I collapsed in the chair across from her, more emotionally exhausted than I was at the start of all of this. “Go home. Rest. And smile.” She grinned. “It could be worse. Your soul mates could be boring, complacent partners instead of the pains in the ass they are. Now where would the fun be in that?”
Where would the fun be, indeed?
Yours, piece by piece
-Rene

Smol Problems


I’ve been struggling with the concept of “just”, in regards to Ryan and the little aspect of myself.

Let me try to explain.
There are many bottom/little letter roles that I am well-versed in. The reality has slowly been sinking in over the last year that I would be considered a ‘seasoned’ s-type (submissive type) in the local community. This..is somewhat of a rarity. Even in poly circles, s-types get claimed. They have a partner that takes the majority of their time, collars them, marks them, and pulls them back from the public scene.
When I wasn’t in service to anyone, when I was no-ones partner, I was in service to my community. I threw myself into parties and classes, conventions and events, and tried my best to be of help in the ways I knew. Eventually I was claimed by someone who was even more involved in the public community than I was and part of serving him was serving my community even MORE. More parties, more organizing, and in time more networking. When the collar came off I had a choice; I could either return from the shadows whence I came or figure out how to navigate the new dynamic between he and I and keep up the pace of parties that I was helping with.
It was likely not the healthiest of choices mentally, especially in the beginning, but I chose the latter. My submissive side is well honed. My slave exists, and can come out for the right partner. I excel in high protocol and can brat with the best of them if the mood is right. I have even discovered that I can switch.
But my little…my little girl side is relatively new, and in many ways still not fully accepted.
I fought being a little for the longest time because of how I look. Cherub face. Short stature. Squishy, and usually with something chibi or stuffie on hand.. It’s how I’ve always been. I didn’t know it was a fetish. It was Smith who flushed it out first, so long ago now, and then Ryan that allowed the little in me to truly flourish and explore in a safe, loving environment.
I have no qualms littling in Ryan’s apartment, or when I am with him at the Citadel or sometimes BaGG. It’s lower-key in the public settings typically, but it’s there, and it’s a HUGE part of our dynamic. But there is a stigma to littling that isn’t often associated to other s-types. Because of the age regression it’s harder to keep the play between just you and your partner in a public setting. Others will notice, and then it can become a consent issue.
‘Daddy’ can be a triggering term to some. I’ve talked about that before. It can be triggering for some to see a DDlg dynamic, even if it’s a healthy one, because of past traumas. It can make others uncomfortable to see age regression, especially in a kink that stresses adult 18+ or 21+ only.
This past weekend was the first time in a while that I have felt shame associated with my little side. I had brought on the camping trip two stuffies that Ryan had given me over the last couple months. They are my absolute favorites, and sleep in bed with me every night whether I’m feeling little or not. I hadn’t plan on littling or regressing at all over the course of the weekend; it was the first time I’ve spent extended periods of time around my meta, and we were not in a kink setting necessarily. Both factors made something vulnerable like age regression not safe… but I am who I am.
I had brought the stuffies for my own personal comfort. For me. For the person that’s loved stuffies for her entire life. And yet the moment my meta came into the tent I tucked them both back in my backpack where they stayed for the rest of the weekend. Even though I was just..me.. 26, full grown woman who had had a long work day the day before, was in an unfamilar place, and wanted something soft and squishy to cuddle with.
There were the brief moments of jealousy during the camping trip, as are bound to happen at times. I am poly, but I am also human. One of those moments happened after the ritual on Saturday evening. Ryan, my meta, and I were curled up outside by a bonfire.  For a while Ryan stood between us with an arm on each of us, and it was this lovely moment of poly bliss, and then he shifted away from me on to my meta’s other side, crouching by the fire to warm his hands.
She turned to him and cupped his face, looking into his eyes. It was…beautiful, intimate, touching, and there was a sea of love between the two of them. I felt so much compersion watching that moment for the beat or two I did (before looking away because..well, it was their moment!), but I also felt a pang of jealousy, because he and I haven’t really had a ‘grown up’ intimate moment like that.
Have there been intimate moments of love and squish and feels? ABSOLUTELY. FUCK YES. NOTE THE CAPS FOR EMPHASIS YES. But..they’ve all happened when I was Daddy’s little girl. When a part of me had regressed and I was smol and curled up in Daddy’s arms, or at his feet, or curled up in the nook. I had a moment at the campsite where I was at his feet and was able to nuzzle his leg while he pet and snuggled my meta…but it’s a very different type of connection. One that is harder to show in public.
There are two directions my brain goes in with something like this. The first is fear. Fear to want to deepen anything Ryan and I have and let him love the big me as much as the little, worried that he won’t like what he finds. He knows the big me, of course. I don’t little ALL the time.. but I’ve never tried anything overly intimate as my big self. I haven’t done any play with him as a big since our very first date. After that, little play started being discussed and we just..clicked there. I’ve kissed him as a big..but he always boops me or tickles me and I slip and then I’m little.. I don’t have a BIG term to call him. Sir is easier to slip out in public. Daddy.. well, I bit my tongue and talked quietly a lot last weekend, for fear of triggering anyone. I fear wanting big translations of these things and expanding into subby interactions, not just DDlg. I’m not unhappy with our dynamic.. at all. I LOVE our dynamic and that I’m his little girl. I just struggle with having to turn it off or tone it down so much and wish that switching gears in a less stifling way was possible instead. There is a fear of wanting those Big intimate moments..that Ryan will go, ‘but you’re my little girl. Aren’t you happy with that? I don’t think I can give you more.”
The other direction my brain goes in is shame. I am incredibly good at kicking myself, especially when I’m down. I used to be ashamed of the noises I make when I play; high squeaky noises that some people just can’t stand to hear. I’ve gotten sever “Can’t you please be quiet”‘s over the last few year..and to be honest I can’t. I wish I could. James started working on volume control with me before the collar came off..but it was always difficult. The shame is associated with the fact that for the first time I have a fetish that I feel like needs to be hidden more often than not.
I’m not bedroom only. I never have been. My dynamics with my partners are ongoing and I am very much a lifestyle person. I have never hidden my submissive side as far as things like tying shoes for partners, retrieving and disposing of dishes at cafes, fetching things when asked, even sitting at partner’s feet when the facilities permit. But I am also blessed with living in the bubble that I do. In the Bay Area, kink is fairly common. We might get a double take walking through downtown Oakland if someone here’s me call Ryan, ‘Daddy’, but it’s not a huge deal. Leave the bubble and.. it’s a different ball of wax.
Last week, I left the bubble, and ran face first into my dirty little secrets. And I didn’t like that I felt the need to clamp down on all these aspects of myself that I like. I didn’t like that I felt ashamed for wanting to curl up at Ryan’s feet and nuzzle his leg, or for wanting head scritches and pets. I didn’t like that the main way I knew to show someone that I loved and appreciated him was a way that I did not feel comfortable showing in that particular setting.. And if I wasn’t comfortable, then there must be something wrong with it…right?
No. Not true. But that’s where tweaking brain goes. Accepting a kink that can sometimes only be shown behind closed doors, and learning through time what being Daddy’s little girl actually means and encompasses.
There was a night a few months ago where Ryan and I were curled up in bed. It was after BaGG, I was spending the night, and it dawned on me that I could possibly be comfortable wearing a collar for him. It would have to come off and it could not lock..but the idea of him leading me around on a leash was INCREDIBLY appealing.I tried to communicate that and he reminded me that that wasn’t part of our dynamic and not necessarily something he was interested in with me. I got quiet and he nudged my chin and started listing all the things that go in to me being his little girl. I’m a submissive, and a masochist, and a pain slut, and an age player, and a cuddle bug.. I am more than just the ‘submissive’ title.
But where does that comfortably extend to, for both of us? And is there room and space in the dynamic for big me to have a real, intimate, connection with him as well. Would he still beat me as a big? Would he still want me if I called him Sir sometimes?
I suppose I will find out.
Yours, a lil little
-Rene

Annwnf: A Learning Experience

Poly isn’t perfect. Sometimes, it’s actually really really hard.

I’m just starting the comedown from the first leg of polyinsanity and.. It was not at all what I could have anticipated. Yes, I kept a journal those three days as promised..but a lot of the thoughts written were raw and hurting in those moments, and as much as I adore being the exhibitionist that I am, something I have to keep private.

First off… Annwfn the place.. is unlike anywhere I have ever been in my entire life. The amount of peace I felt from the land itself, not necessarily the people there but the land.. It was beautiful. Freeing. Very few places that have claimed to be ‘magical’ have felt to be so to me.. This was one of them. Yes. There is magic in that land. There is a peace and a calm there that seems to breathe out of the ground itself. I found myself increasingly grateful for it as the weekend went on.

That being said.. My head was not in the best place for the majority of the weekend. I got very little sleep the night before the camping trip. Not from lack of trying. I was overtired from attempting to get everything together… I had taken on some of the responsibility from Ryan so that he could have an evening undisturbed with my meta. I knew what I was doing going in, but I pushed my body a bit too hard, stayed up too late, and my brain would not turn off.

The ride up was fun, for the most part. I made a nest for myself in the back of the car and let my meta and Ryan take the lead going up, responding when I could but mostly letting myself doze and try to recharge. Ryan had worried about me being burnt out from work before the weekend started… My own head burnt me out instead.

Something I learned very quickly this weekend. My own space is important. It rained the day we got there, in a place that I did not know with people I did not know. I can poly well. I’m usually very good at it. I like to share. But there are times when I get overwhelmed, and having time to remove myself from a situation, let myself breathe and process through emotions I’m feeling.. it’s important. It lets me keep the peace in my own head more than anything, and without the room to do so I found myself anxious and jumpy most of Friday night. I breathed through it, tried to logic my brain out of it.

On little sleep I discovered I had little patience, and was more than a little needy (in my own head. I didn’t vocalize these needs, of course. That would have been smart, but I keep tripping myself up with not wanting to ruin someone else’s fun, etc, and so I keep any problems I have to myself). It would be little things that made me feel left out and separate from the other two. Walking out of the room to run an errand and here Ryan introduce my meta as his partner..and running back in to the room too late for him to do the same with me. At one of the rituals there was a chair shortage.. My meta got there first, as Ryan and I had grabbed a short nap and some (much needed, on my end) cuddles. Ryan told me to sit in one of the available chairs, and so I did.. and the chair next to my meta happened to open. They got to connect during the ritual while I was surrounded by a sea of strangers.. Sweet people that I slowly got to know, but still unknown to me in the moment. I just wanted to crawl over and sit at Ryan’s feet..instead I tried to focus on the ritual, and ended up in many ways pulling myself further away from them and isolating myself with my own walled-up thoughts.

I know what it’s like to miss a long distance partner. I know how precious that time is with them.. and I struggle with saying when I’m upset as is, so I kept my mouth shut instead of taking the chances to safeword and pull Ryan aside and talk. In hindsight I should have.. I should vocalize my needs more and explained that I wasn’t okay, but that I would be and I was handling it best I could. That I knew he wasn’t causing purposeful harm and that my brain was just twanging in weird ways. I am trying to get better at finding words when my brain gets stuck.. also hard for me. But it is a necessary thing. Ryan is an incredible partner that can often read me like a book, but he is not psychic. He does need some information to connect the dots and figure out what’s actually going on. Just removing myself from situations so he can continue to have fun was not the smartest of things to do.

That night I didn’t sleep much at all. I went to bed needy and squirmy, craving more touch from Ryan but feeling uncomfortable asking for it in front of my meta. They had compared bruises moments before and I wanted play. Not just play. Touch. Connection.  We were all tired from the journey..it was rainy and gross out. I was irritable from lack of sleep and not up to keeping up with my meta’s peppy pace of talk.. and so I tried to sleep. But my body didn’t like the mat on the floor of the tent, and I had underestimated just how cold it was outside… I kicked off my sleeping bag at one point and, afraid of waking the others, couldn’t get back into it without making as shit ton of noise… so I was awake at 4:30 in the morning.

I dressed quietly and crept outside with my camera, my cell, and a book. Another thing I learned… bring a flashlight next time, and at least two books. Cells go down in Annwfn. It would have been easier if I had been able to text my roommate or call Ace. I couldn’t, and I hadn’t known I couldn’t until the service went POOF. But.. I digress.

Those quiet hours should have been miserable, but in reality they were some of the most peaceful I had the entire time I was on the trip. I wandered to the circle area, still damp from the rain, used my camera bag to keep my butt dry, and sat and meditated.

Everything was quiet. The moon was visible overhead and lit the sky enough so that I wasn’t afraid. There were no jitters, no shivers, and I had a moment where not only did I understand the magick of Annwfn, but I understood my Sir Chris just a little bit more. I suddenly got why he woke up at 5:30 in the morning willingly. Because of the peace. The quiet. The stillness that you can only find just at the brink of day. It quieted a chattery mind for a little while.

Sleep deprivation for long periods of time is a very, VERY bad thing for my brain.. I ended up catching another hour of sleep once I returned to the tent, after my brain calmed down.. and then my stupid alarm went off and woke up the others.. They went to breakfast and I just… couldn’t. I needed to sleep more.. Adding to my anxiety was the fear that I was bringing the other’s down with my bad brain and that Ryan wouldn’t want me to come along with him next time he went to this wonderful place.. I was happy he at least got some alone time with my meta and got to go off with her and have fun.

I was in and out of it for a few hours.. I remember Ryan bringing me food, and me sharing best I could what was going on.. Words were hard. I remember him coming back at one point to the tent and feeling the weight of him on top of me, of him hugging me, and all but purring at the feeling.. There were kisses. I love you’s. That man.. When I let him, he takes incredible care of me.

It’s letting him, more specifically vocalizing that I need him to, that is hard..

The rest of Saturday was..intense in good and bad ways. We went on a ‘walk’ with others that turned into a hike. I could NOT have done it on my own. I’m a klutz, royally, and also terrified of heights. I did not bring sneakers. I was in boots, expecting an easy walk through the property.

The hike took us up and down narrow trails of dirt, soft from the rain. By narrow, I mean that there were maybe six inches of trail after the tip of my boot.. These paths were hundreds of feet in the air. There was no fence or guardrail. I’m terrified of heights.

I tried to backpetal. Tried to run. Ryan grabbed my hand.

I spent most of the time staring at my feet, focusing on not slipping, focusing on the feel of his hand surrounding mine. And I did it. I cried at the end, a wave of panic hitting me as our guide made comments about me doing it despite my fears, but I did it. I completed the whole hike, and honestly I was damn proud of myself.

The evening was… a serious blast from the past for me. It has been about six years since I’ve found myself in the mist of any sort of organized pagan group. The numbers, the way the worked, the songs.. I did not think would remind me so much of the coven I grew up in. Part of me was joyous. I knew the words. I remembered the prayers. Part of me was…triggered, thinking of an abusive high priestess that tried so hard to manipulate my every move.

Paganism used to be a huge part of my life.. I could feel the pulse of the earth without thinking; could connect, ground, and center without a moment’s hesitation. That has not been the case for several years now. The spirituality and beliefs have remained the same. I still feel my Mother watching over me. But the warm, fuzzy feelings associated with magick vanished a long time ago.

The ritual was beautiful, intense…and hard for me. I fought through two panic attacks during the two and a half hours, clinging to Ryan’s hand like a lifeline when he would allow me. Thankfully it was cold out and the tremors looked like shivers… I was hopeful that by the time the ritual was over we could go back to the tent and I could ground in my own way. Touch is huge for me. It doesn’t need to be sexual. Just, that tactile connection. Being held, having my head scritched or my back rubbed. All these things ground me and put me back in my body. Sexual touch and play simply light my fire again.

It didn’t happen. I knew logically that no one had the energy. That we were cold and everyone just wanted to burrow into their sleeping bags and pass out…but Godde did it hurt. Ryan was trying his best, I knew that. But..the pushing off and off and off of play triggered yet another damn attack. There were too many echos, too many memories, and this one was all James. All the times that his body just would not let him play. Play had been scheduled. Play had been promised.. And play just wasn’t allowed. I finally fell asleep hours after the others, when Ryan rolled over and managed to put his leg over me. The pressure and warmth calmed my body enough to finally pass out.

I was…jangled the next morning, is the best way to put it. I needed to talk to Ryan. I did, fairly early on. Being upset and angry at him is…hard. Extremely, and it never lasts long. When I can actually find the words for things we communicate well. It’s finding the words when my brain just doesn’t want to settle. I shared some of my third wheel feelings, as well as the disappointment and the trigger associated to play being put off. I asked that it please not happen again, and vocalized that next time I need some time alone with him..

A lot of it was me being mentally unprepared for what it would be like to be in a place like Annwfn. It’s not kink. It’s not my community. It’s magick. It’s.. a part of my past, with a lot of trauma that I haven’t quite dealt with yet, apparently. I know how to cope next time.. More than cope, make it enjoyable. I know what I need to keep myself emotionally healthy and happy, what to expect, and how better to communicate with my partner and metas. And how to communicate in front of my metas as well, not just tuck everything away for later.

I got the play I craved when we got home Sunday afternoon…and fuck did I need it. Ryan stripped me down, shoved me on to the bed while my meta watched, and touched me. Ran his hands, his nails over my body. That was all it took for me to fully come back into myself. For the last of the anxiety to ease and my brain to go mostly back to normal.. My meta’s participation in the play made me… nervous, at first. She wanted to watch, and mentioned that he would have to talk to her. Part of me had internally growled at that. I needed connection. I didn’t want to forsake that and just get fucked.

My meta is a skilled communicator, has an incredible amount of compassion and empathy, and plays in a very unique way. I have not spent all that much time with her in person..but I know Ryan trusts her completely. And I’m starting to. She asked him questions. About me. About how much he wanted me, how I pleased him, how he wanted me, how it felt.. Things that added to the scene instead of taking away from it. There is a part of my brain that’s always a little self conscious and worries that I am just this adorable little to Ryan..That he doesn’t see me as sexy, or beautiful like he does the others… Her questions quelled a lot of those fears.

After. my meta and Ryan went to grab us food while I started this entry at home, legs too tired to walk. My meta..was not so much herself when they got back, and so after eating I excused myself and curled up in Ryan’s bed. I used the time to call Ace,  communicate some parts of the hard weekend, what I had learned, and what I would need for the coming weekend. Time alone with both my partners. Clear communication when they needed more or less. ..I am blessed with two incredible partners that truly hear me when I need them to, and force me to listen when I need to.

Ryan took my meta to the airport and I let myself take a nap. I woke up to him lowering himself onto the bed, his weight against me, and me wrapping myself around him as he checked in. We talked.. or rather. He let me talk. I finally got to reassure him that the majority of the weekend was NOT HIM. That I wanted to go back.. and he reassured me that we would. That I hadn’t blown my chance and he wasn’t upset at me..

“I need you to here me,” he said at one point when I had been rambling about fears of ruining his and my meta’s good time with my shit. “Really hear me. It is okay to ask for extra when you need it. I need you to ask for it when you need it. Okay?”

There are moments when Ryan blows me away. Where I think he’s reached capacity, I’m too much of a pain in the ass, and he managed to instead prove to be so caring, so compassionate and loving, that I am at a loss for words. This would be one of those moments.

He doesn’t know all my mental struggles.. To be honest it took some time and processing to come up with the right words for what I went through during parts of this past weekend..but Ryan notices a lot. He reads me well, and he cares enough to ease what he can. I thought I knew what compassion was.. and then I met him. I don’t honestly have proper words for how much I love and trust him. I’m grateful every damn day that he’s in my life.

As for now.. my anxiety is ramped up a bit yet again. Ace is on the first leg of his journey out to me. I have the rest of work, and then a couple hours with Ryan to connect just the two of us before I go get Ace. I am all jitters and nerves..but I am not afraid. I have new tools. I have good, communicative partners. I got this.

And I’m sure I’ll have much more to write after this weekend is over.

Yours, the eternal student

-Rene

My Big, Fat, Poly, Kinky Life


So, one of the reasons I’ve been trying so hard to catch up on all these entries the last couple of days is because the next couple weeks are going to be…interesting.

Or rather, the next couple weekends.
I have an amazing, sweet, spitfire of a metamour through Ryan that is one of his long distance partners. She’s going to be in town starting tonight, and tomorrow her, Ryan, and I are going up to a pagan camp ground for the weekend to celebrate Samhain. This is one trip where I can’t possibly begin to have any expectations about how it’s going to go or what will play out..and I’m excited about the prospect of that.
There are some worries, little brain squirrels I’m trying to quell. I’ve never been in a situation where it’s been such an extended amount of time of sharing a partner. We will be together for three days. That’s three days where I get my Daddy but I don’t. And I honestly requested that. When Ryan invited me on the trip I said I would go on the condition that my time and hers were equal, that the attention was equal..meaning me coming didn’t take away from the attention he would give her. I adore them together. I think she’s absolutely fantastic for him, and brings out some of his best nature whenever they’re together. But, I am human. I do get jealous.
The jealousy… doesn’t manifest in the ways you would expect. I’m not jealous she’s with him.. Not at all. I feel quite a lot of compersion when I think of the two of them. The jealousy is more in that so often when I look at her I see so much of what I lack. Shes in better shape than I am. Her life is much more put together and stable. She’s a better communicator, while I still get stuck when I’m upset or something is wrong.
But..I also know that, for some reason, she tends to do the same thing with me and can have a similar type of jealousy at times. There are many reasons we get along well.
I know that Ryan would hang the moon for her. But I also know that he would shoot up a couple of stars for me. There is.. a nice balance. But it’s still uncharted territory, so much so that her and I each have safewords to use if something isn’t right and we need to talk to Ryan in private, nicknames that we normally wouldn’t use with him to get his attention. Mine is puddin’, as in Harley Quinn in the Joker.. After all, I am Daddy’s little monster and it doesn’t get much more unhealthy than the two of them.
There has been a LOT of preparation for this trip. I expected most of it. Food prep, camping supply prep. Things like that. I didn’t expect the emotional prep, and the amount of care and consideration that Ryan would put in to making sure I was alright and that we got our time together. Tuesday was, of course, Halloween. It was also our last chance to have a private date for about two weeks. It’s not that I’m not going to see him. I’m actually going to spend quite a lot of time with my Daddy in the next couple of weeks.. it’s that I will be sharing him or he will be sharing me for all of it.
Ryan has been teaching me slowly not to have expectations. To go with the flow. To be in the moment. And so, when I requested to spend Halloween with him I didn’t expect a yes or a no. We have a packed weekend, and I would understand if he said no, he needed the night to himself. I will be clinging to Monday night for all it’s worth as my one night of recovery before poly insanity part two begins.. but more on that in a bit. He didn’t say no.. At the end of our date on Sunday he asked me to come over on Tuesday evening.
Halloween is one of my favorite days of the year, and I have my traditions. I eat pizza. I watch Nightmare before Christmas. I requested both these things of Ryan.. He got free tasty Tibetan curry from work that would have been enough to feed us. He still ordered us pizza. I didn’t find out until halfway through the movie that he’s not a huge fan of Nightmare (it’s fairly pervasive throughout the kink community as a staple..my fault for assuming). He put it on to make me happy… and was happy making me happy and cuddling with me. And I have to admit, I was utterly content curled up in my Daddy’s arms, wearing a bat onesie that he got for me (I’m his little fruit bat ^.^) watching one of my favorite movies and sharing a couple small traditions with him.. but that’s not where the prep and care ended.
Wednesday is always a long day for Ryan. He works in the city, drives home, changes, and comes back out for BaGG. Some nights we play. Others, we just socialize with friends. I expected last night to be a socialize night because we were both tired and had just spent time together the night before even though we didn’t play.. I was very, very wrong. Daddy got a new bat. He was very excited to try the new bat. On my ass. For the record, oww.
I didn’t know I needed the owies until they started… didn’t know I needed that connection, that reassurance from him with my pretty, amazing meta coming the next day. I love playing with Ryan.. The level of connection he maintains is unlike anything I’ve felt with others, even James. He knows just the right moments to touch and check in, when I need a push, a “You can take more for Daddy, can’t you kitten?”. I didn’t know that I needed, “Who’s Daddy’s good girl?” I did. The pretty meta is coming. Ryan will be sharing time with both of us. She is his pretty, amazing, creative, spitfire partner. I’m Daddy’s good girl, Daddy’s kitten, Daddy’s poppet and lil love.. They are both important. My Daddy is very good at figuring out what I need long before I know how to vocalize it..
Can you see why I have little hesitations about this trip?
But wait, there’s more!! Oh yes, this is but episode one of my big, fat, poly, kinky life. We get back from the camping trip on Sunday. On Tuesday, I am given a tremendous gift. My darling Ace is coming to visit me for an entire WEEK. After a decade of knowing one another and only 24 precious hours in person together.. My brain can not fully wrap itself around the concept of it yet.
He will be coming with me to BaGG the next night.. It will be his birthday BaGG. He..hehehehe… It will also mean sharing BaGG with him, and him and Daddy spending time together..something that has me THRILLED. And him and James spending time together..something that..has me more hesitant. James does not seem to react to me having partners well..but that’s its own separate blog entry.. For now..focusing on my Ace.
I get him for BaGG, a night of just us, and then that Friday begins Surrender. Me, Ryan, and Ace will all be in a hotel room together, along with one of my kinky sisters and her partner. To say I am excited and nervous… I can’t even tell you. There are visions of threesomes and double topping and passing off and…all the yummy dancing in my head. I am nervous to see how my brain handles splitting time with the two of them, and with the very different dynamics that I have with each man.
Top it all off with Surrender being the anniversary of the first time James and I played, and James being responsible for my pictures there…yeah..there are nerves. There are many nerves. I am curious to see how Ace reacts to my little self, a side of me he’s never seen. I am curious also to see how Ryan reacts to my toppy side controlling Ace, and then the fluidity of Ace topping me.
To add to the insanity, these two men that I love so much that will get to share space with one another have birthdays about two weeks apart. I have plans for both of them.. Ryan knows some of his. Ace has no idea. I get my Ace through until the following Tuesday, and that Monday after Surrender will be a day for him. I’ve taken off, and I plan on showing him my home and spoiling him after he is done spoiling me at Surrender.
It is a lot, me sharing Ryan and then Ryan sharing me back to back..but I have faith in us, as I have faith in my meta and my Ace. I plan on bringing a journal along to each event and writing at least once during each of the days. These entries will be turned into blog posts after. Another new thing, another experiment.. I am hopeful that it will work out.
The cherry on top of all of this is the moment of re-connection and calm. The day after Ace goes back to his nesting partner and his life in NC is Ryan’s birthday BaGG. So, after the camping, the cons, the sharing and the excitement, I get to crawl on a spanking bench in front of my community and take spankings for my Daddy’s birthday. The timing could not be better. 
See you on the others side of all this insanity, readers.
Yours, until then
-Rene

Teacher’s Pet


Cal and I have been dancing around each other for four years, on and off.

Until fairly recently, we’ve gone in cycles of being connected and falling out of contact, usually because a partner of his has blacklisted me yet again. I stopped being a threat to his partners a long time ago romantically. Nevertheless, until recently it’s been an ongoing thing that I’ve been aware of. Cal will come back. We will get in close contact again. He will disappear. Again.
Lately, and lately being the last few months, he hasn’t. It’s been nice having my old teacher around, and having him meet those that I consider my people and be part of my family as he considers me part of his. As I’ve grown and matured in the kink scene here in San Francisco, Cal has become something that I never thought he would be.
Safe.
We are aware that we are on each other’s radar, and have been forever. We are also much more aware now of each other’s limits than we were when we first started this little dance of ours. Neither of us is any sort of ‘primary’ material for the other. However, Cal has become a trusted confidant for myself and he has always respected the weird, complicated relationships I have with the people (cough cough James) I have in my life. He lets me figure things out in my own time, though will give me a good mental thump when I need it and I’m stuck in my own way. He’s honest with me, sometimes brutally, and I’m grateful for that.
I had a hard weekend ahead of me a couple weekends ago. James had asked me to trek him up and back to a campsite two hours north of him, and I was the stupid ass that agreed. It ate up my weekend, except for Saturday evening, which Ryan was busy for. I was frustrated, frazzled, and in desperate need of a good beating. Cal had offered to ‘break me’ if I needed it weeks before. And so, I finally took him up on it and asked him to a party I don’t normally go to, with both James away and Daddy busy and my brain fairly safe from squirrels.
It was Meet Market, an auction not unlike Master’s Den, however anyone is allowed to auction themselves off. Top. Bottom. It doesn’t matter. It’s a bonkers party with many of the people showing up that don’t like the hetoronormative spin that Master’s Den has. I can understand that, however I also enjoy the vetting system of the Master’s Den parties, and the talk about proper behavior that they have before. I trust the people at the Master’s Den parties more.
I was a dittering mess before the party, texting Ryan (whose playdate ended up having to cancel 😦 ) about what I should wear, all the nerves of finally having a scene after four years of sexual tension. I ended up getting to the party late, having to park blocks away and fight catcalls along the way to the citadel door. Cal was kind enough to pay my entry once my frazzled self got inside, and together we watched the Meet Market auction.
I tried to bid on a couple pretty things to beat, to no avail. All of those that I would enjoy playing with went for extremely high prices, and even with Cal’s and mine’s money envelopes combined we didn’t have that much. He and I both rolled our eyes, chuckled and winced at all the ‘this is my first time’ers.. Those whose first kinky event it was. First play. First auction. We were two jaded kinksters in a sea of noobs; him because of the amount of time he’s been involved in kink and me because of frequency in the time I had been involved. I learned fast, especially with him as my jumping off point.
After the auction and its follies we searched for a place to play. “Cross or bench?” He asked. I’ve always preferred crosses, to brace myself against hard impact.
We ended up at the predicament chair, a piece of equipment that essentially looks like a shorter, fatter cross with a chair attachment for when you decide to flip the brat around and beat the crap out of their front. The shorter worked to my advantage. Normally I’m too short to be shackled to crosses with just simple clips. His cuffs managed it without problem. I braced myself, the edge of the chair only slightly touching my stomach, prepared to show off and show him just how tough I had become. That I was far from the little one that he had found so long ago.
“How hard do you want me to go?” he asked. After four years of waiting, I asked him not to be nice
BAM. Holy crap. I saw stars. The wind left me in one foul swoop as his palm slammed into my ass. To my shock I realized he could actually PALM my ass (no small thing…as my ass is no small thing…). I had always considered Cal’s hand to be rather small. His fingers are short. Turns out, his palms are massive. And hurt like a sonofabitch.
Bam bam bam. Tears started rolling down my cheeks as he hit me full force, with no warm up. I felt disappointed in myself. I thought I could take more.
There is something about Cal, probably because he is where I started and because of how we started, that always feels like I’m letting him down. That I’m sub par. That I fall flat at what he expected me to be. Logically, this is not the case. But logic and emotion are two radically different things.
He checked in with me after a few of the harder blows and in a shaky voice I tried to express how I was feeling; that I felt like I wasn’t good enough all over again and that I was letting him down.
“Oh no!” he said with a grin. “You’re not disappointing me at all. I told you I hit hard. I’m just happy that this is finally happening!” And to tell you the truth, I was too.
I registered the noises that came out of my mouth as he laid in to me with hands, with a wooden paddle, and with his flogger as well as mine. They were screams that only one other person had managed to wretch out of me since I had stared playing.
He hit harder than James.
It was a startling revelation, but also rather freeing. If I had started with a warm up (as any smart submissive not hell bent on showing off to her former teacher would have) I would have lasted longer, but even with the length of our scene being rather short I felt the catharsis that came with especially hard blows. There were points that he hit me so hard that my feet curled up under me and I hung from the cuffs. I screamed bloody murder. I shook. I cried. I wanted more, and was bound and determined not to be the one that called for the end of the scene.
I wore him out. I have various stages to hard scenes; transitions that my mind does. When I’m adjusting to the pain I scream and shake. When I’m more used to it I start cursing. When I’m flying I become much more silent. I was cursing, playful, and jumping when he leaned in close to my ear and said, “Okay, the mean man is warn out. I’m done.” And I giggled.
He set my wrists free and let me drop to my knees for a moment to recover before I cleaned off the chair and we went to cuddle. It was..easy…and yes, I very much felt safe and protected. That big bear of a man wouldn’t let anything hurt me, and knowing that..is an immense blessing. He’s a good man, at least to me. The cuddles were nice, the chatter our normal dialogue..and I found myself looking forward to the next time he beat the crap out of me.
The only thing I would change is with Cal I would actually climb up on a spanking bench. He’s not used to small people…I am tiny. I think he’s gotten so used to my tiny that he forgets sometimes… When he tried to flog me the falls either hit my tail bone or my neck, and that made me sad as this little leather slut loves a good flogging.. But that was discussed. Lessons were learned, and I was gifted with another safe outlet to find catharsis. He can make me fly just as easily as James could, without the emotional baggage attached… I can keep up with him and let him play heavy when his partners tend to be..fluffier, newer, and not quite used to a thorough beating. The balance is nice, and easy.
I suppose this four year dance is finally paying off. We are finding balance with one another..and I look forward to discovering more.
yours, most certainly a pain slut at times
-Rene

Dangerous Game

(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
Forbidden pleasures
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
Silence speaks
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…

-Rene

 

BDSM and Sex

I’ve seen a couple Dominants write about this topic, but rarely is it discussed from a submissive’s point of view.
Sex and BDSM are two things that are often closely linked together, and it’s little wonder as to why. We, especially submissives, tend to dress up in revealing clothing (or no clothing at all). We are seen as sexy, sensual creatures. BDSM is still seen as a rather taboo thing, and taboos in and of themselves tend to have an erotic twist to them.
But the reality is, there is so much more to BDSM and kink than sex, and often sex can manage to not play a part in the equation at all.
I am a rather sexual being. I have been since my early teens. I once explained to a partner that I will very rarely say no to sex when a partner is interested, even if I’m exhausted or low on spoons or some such thing. However, it’s hardly something that is required for me to be in a relationship with someone.
A main dynamic in all of my relationships is some sort of power exchange. For some, like my relationship with my Ace, that exchange is incredibly fluid. In the span of five minutes I can go from calling him sir to him calling me ma’am…and that’s just how we work.. For others, like Ryan and Chris, they are always my Daddy and my Sir. I willingly always hand over a certain degree of power to them, in different ways, and it pleases both the top to receive the power and the bottom to give it, immensely.
Chris and I haven’t had a sexual relationship for over a year now. We started out VERY sexual (honestly, I can understand the appeal of wanting to fuck like rabbits with someone half your age :P) and there was a time when it was a rocky transition between our sexual relationship and just having a D/s relationship. It’s not to say that I didn’t miss all the fucking..I mean..for the love of godde he managed to fuck through a condom at one point he was pounding me so hard..and that was wonderful. But there are other things that can be even more wonderful than that
The power exchange was still there..it was just that when we played we didn’t fuck after. If anything, the lack of sex meant that intensity was redirected elsewhere. I was even more devoted when we were in scene, even more willing to take pain for him, to learn new tricks and positions to please him. Our dynamic has still mange to keep its edge after two years, it’s just that the edge has changed. There are times when I ask for reassurances that he’s still attracted to me, and he is quick good at communicating that with kisses, and ‘sexy angels’ and a hand on my ass at times. There is still spice, still za za zoo, and yes, it can still be VERY sexy.
I didn’t honestly know how sex with Ryan was going to work the further down the DDlg rabbit hole we went.. if we were going to engage in dark age play or not. I didn’t know, personally, if I would be comfortable letting my Daddy ‘violate my princess parts’ when I’ve mentally regressed to a two year old..
Yes, we go there. And yes, it is naughty as fuck and we love every second of it. But what gets me wet starts far before fucking.
Saturday, Ryan and I went to Flash at the Citadel. I dressed up as his little fruit bat for the Halloween party; made pretty wings and all and wore a onesie for a bit that he had gotten for me that was a bat with wings and all (IT’S SO FLUFFY). After a bit of socializing and a wee bite of food he led me to a cross, stripped me out of what was not safe to cut off, and tied me to the damn thing so I couldn’t run away.
It was NOT an easy scene. We played for over an hour, staring with knife play slicing off my body stocking and ending with a curry comb slicing open my ass and leaving beautiful marks and drips of blood in its wake. In between there was a metal cane that I have a love/hate relationship with, wooden canes that make me yelp, a meanie stick that terrifies me, and a foam bat that makes fantastic sounds when slammed against my ass. And of course, Daddy’s hands.
But, as much as the pain and adrenaline that follow are wonderful at times, those were not what kept me up on that cross for an hour. What kept me up there were the moments when Daddy would put down the mean, wrap an arm around my chest or a hand around my throat, and growl in my ear,
“You can take it for Daddy? Can’t you?”
“Are you still with me, kitten? Can  you take more for Daddy?”
“You are doing sooo well, lil love. I’m so proud of you. I’d like to do a little more. Can you do that?”
Always that asking. THAT is what sates me. That is what keeps me going.
Can you do this for me, little one? Can you take this, not for you, but because it pleases me to do this to you? Can you serve me in this way?
Absolutely, yes.
And taking what is given to me, what my partner asks of me to take, will nine times out of ten be even more satiating to me than a good fucking, as was the case on Saturday night.
Aftercare was very much needed after our scene. Normally I bounce back pretty quickly. Within 10-20 minutes I may still be cuddly, but I’ll be chatty and smiling and goofing around. I was so sated, so sore in the best of ways, that I just wanted to cuddle and sleep. My ass was so raw I had to wear panties to protect the couches from my blood (…mmm….more please, Daddy), and the best feeling in the WORLD after such a hard and long beating was curling up in Daddy’s arms and letting my eyes fall closed, knowing he would wake me if he needed me. Knowing I was safe. I didn’t want more. I didn’t want to rile energy to climb on top and fuck him (even though it’s the citadel..that kind of thing is allowed, and sometimes encouraged). I just waned cuddles and kisses and a safe place to rest.
BDSM is so much more than sex. It’s trust, and constant learning, and knowing how much power to give to who and where to draw your lines. It’s understanding whose arms you truly feel safe sleeping in, and letting yourself go there when the time is right. It’s pushing your own personal limits in healthy ways, communication, thrills adrenaline, mind fucks. And yes. Sometimes sex.
But. Why would you want to focus on sex..where there is so much more?
Yours, ever exploring.
-Rene

 From the Ashes

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 

-Rene