Tag Archives: sex

Snip-Slit-Slip


I got to go play at Daddy’s last night after work, and after a couple of incredibly stressful days.

I needed to decompress, and of course he knew that. Daddy knew about my bad days, and that I had been squirmy most of the week… Daddy lets me tease him sometimes with pretty distractions from Tumblr. Whenever I ask if I should stop distracting him, Daddy says, “don’t you ever, kitten.” And I smile. A lot.

Yesterday we were both tired. We had been running, trying to adult on both ends, and it meant that we finally got to calm down and focus on each other hours into when our date technically ‘started’. I love tagging along to Daddy errands and helping…but we were both squirmy and tired and…we didn’t watch as many cartoons as we normally do.

I was wearing big girl clothes from a job interview earlier in the day; sheer black pantihose and a form fitting deep red dress that has always brought me luck in the past. I had kept the clothing on on purpose. I knew Daddy would love the outfit, and I knew that there were several runs in the pantihose, meaning that it had lived its lfe and deserved to die an honorable death.

I found out several months ago that a meta I have become fast friends with had a fondness for sharps. This is a fondage we VERY much share. I have enjoyed knife play since before I ever identified as kinky. I’m a sensation slut, and the cool steel against skin combined with the adrenaline of the fact that it can easily slice my flesh (because, YES, I love playing with working blades) for some reason makes me absolutely drenched. My body and mind still, and I all but purr when the blade skims over my flesh. I like to share with partners, and gift-giving is a huge part of my love language.. For some reason blades are high up in the hierarchy of gifts I give if I love someone. If I give you a blade, you are a significant fixture in my life.. You mean something. Chris has a blade from me that he often beats me with. James has countless blades from me of different styles (him being an avid sharps collector himself). Ryan has received two blades from me so far as I endeavor to grow his sharps collection for all of our pleasure.

Daddy led me of the couch and through his apartment, stopping briefly to pick up one of the blades I had given him. “Come with me, kitten” he purred, sadist smile on his face as he led me to the bedroom.

He slipped my pretty red dresss up and off, setting it safely aside before spinning me and having me face the bed. I heard the click of the knife coming out and bit my lip, holding off an orgasm when I hadn’t asked permission yet.

He attacked my waistband first, making quick work of it and my upper thighs. ” Oh goodness.. How attached to these panties are you, kitten?” Apparently, Daddy had sliced through the back of them. They still stood, but my red lace panties now had a slit right above my naughty back door.

There are times when Daddy is incredibly tender with me. He holds me, REALLY holds me, cradling me to his chest while I sit in his lap or simply surrounding me with his body. He makes me feel small, and safe, and cherished, and every time he’s done it in that moment it was the best feeling on the entire planet.

This was not one of those times. All the pretties from Tumblr in the last week had been rough. Being fucked with a hand wrapped around the throat or covering the nose, or both. Face fucking. Lots, and lots of face fucking. Hair pulling. Fucking within an inch of your life. I REALLY needed to be taken, and take Daddy did.

He grabbed me by my throat and squeezed before turning me and pushing me on to the bed, so that I was looking up at him. I couldn’t see the knife anymore. Daddy was on top of me, choking me, pushing down on my chest, teasing me. I sqirmed, I cried. He made me cum, purring out “cum for Daddy” over and over again.

He moved down my body, off the bed at one point. I felt cold, cool steel between my legs and then heard the sound of lace tearing. He sliced my panties further, exposing my bare princess parts. The legs and waistband were still in tact and Daddy hesitated. ‘Oh fuck’, I thought, ‘he’s going to fuck me through the panties.

And then his face lowered between my legs. Something he has, never, ever done before… I’m 90% positive that some of the mental, ‘oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck’s became audible at that point as Daddy teased my clit with his tongue. I get eaten out once on a very rare occasion. I’m an internal girl, and so it’s not something I honestly ask for when I know a partner has talented fingers and an amazing talented cock. There was something about the image, though, of Daddy’s head between my legs when I’ve so often been between his, that caused a ripple of pleasure I hadn’t expected. It was.. hot, the image almost surpassing the act itself. Almost.

The scruff of his beard created an usually delightful sensation as he teased and taunted licking and sucking and poking and doing godde knows what while I gripped the bedding like my life depended on it and tried not to curse as I slowly came undone. I cum at the drop of a hat…with almost anything. Only two partners have ever gotten me to cum while eating me out. It’s just a rarity to me.. I’ve faked it in the long past to make partners happy back when I was monogamous.. but..fuck.. There was no faking anything last night. Daddy drove me over the edge before crawling off just long enough to cut off the last of the panties, baring my pussy completely before he climbed on top and slid inside of me, fucking me with a hand wrapped around my throat. He came close to choking me out a couple of times… it’s a sensation I greatly enjoy and ahve missed… I trust Ryan enough that I think I honestly would enjoy him chocking me out and fucking me… but part of me is afraid of squicking him out with how rough I am willing to play and how much I trust him…

Thoughts for another day.

He fucked me, thoroughly manhandling me and positioning me as he pleased. I came, and came, and came, coming undone again and again, wrapped around his cock. Daddy is good to me. He always makes sure I cum a couple dozen times when he’s enjoying his hole.

He slipped out and decorated me, making a mess as he growled out an order to come with him. I, of course, did, and was all but purring by the time he cleaned both himself and I up and crawled back into bed. He pulled me into his arms, both of us panting and sweaty, and slowly, our breathing calmed and synched. Before I knew it I was asleep, surrounded in a cacoon of warmth and afterglow.

I still haven’t figured out how. But somehow, Daddy seems to always know exactly what I need.

Yours still purring,

~Rene

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Ace in the Hole

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I’m sure this will surprise most of you.

There was a time, long ago and far away, when I was an innocent virgin girl.

Okay, it was LONG ago and far away, but it was indeed a thing. I was a virgin until seventeen. At sixteen, I was restless. My libido was in full swing and I rarely slept before two or three a.m. during the summer months (…that hasn’t changed much). So, being a restless 90’s child, I would go onto one of the few forms of electronic entertainment that I had that wouldn’t cause a lot of noise. I went on to online chat rooms, back in the day when most internet people were catfish and it was still much more of a dangerous place.

On one of those restless nights, I got lucky. I met a twenty-one year old from North Dakota. He and I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning. He told me of his visits to Rome and Helsinki, far away exotic places that I had very little concept of back then. My world was a cage, trapped in a small town in New Jersey, and here was a handsome man offering me a window into another world. We would talk for hours, on and on for week, and my poor little heart didn’t stand a chance. I fell. Hook. Line. Sinker. I fell for him.

Of course, it was an abstract sort of first love. There was the reality that I was a poor sixteen year old and North Dakota was far away. Visiting was an impossible idea at the time, and so I let myself love him. Because I knew I could never have him.

Time passed. Years went by. I remember the sadness that struck when Ace told me he was engaged to a local girl a couple of years later, not much older than myself. At the time I was very much monogamous, and knew that in that world marriage meant there really was no room for my little fantasy. He was lost. Someone else had won him. In the early days of his marriage we didn’t talk much, as life got in the way…but through time, from time to time, my phone would buzz and there would be a text from Ace. We would pick up right where we left off, talking about everything and nothing.

During all this my world was broadening. He was still in North Dakota, but I was in Boston for school. He would call me while running errands for his brothers or on nights alone while his wife was out and we would talk into the wee hours of the morning as we once had. Gradually Skype became a more normalized thing and we saw each other’s faces… and other things sometimes. There was always a flirty energy between us…and often that would cause blocks of silence where we couldn’t talk to one another. Feelings would rear ugly heads and we just…couldn’t. But we never fully left each other’s lives. I would watch his posts. He would watch mine. We always found one another again and continued to talk.

It’s been almost ten years since he and I first began to talk. In that time I’ve had my series of relationships, including a short engagement, and moved from New Jersey to Boston to San Francisco. He picked up and went from North Dakota to North Carolina with his wife and child, and gradually began his own discovery of kink and polyamory. The stars began to align where we were once again on the same wave length as we had been a world ago. We were both poly, and kinky, and for the first time ever I had his partner’s blessing to pursue some sort of..thing with him. But. I don’t do distance anymore. It’s just too hard, and so Ace remained a relatively abstract concept.

Sometimes I make very poor, masochistic choices for the right reasons. One of those was deciding that I was going to find a way to finally, FINALLY see Ace after Fusion this year (I promise there will be a Fusion entry as well. There’s a draft, I swear). Him being an eight hour drive from the campground was the closest we had ever been to one another. He was separated from his now-ex wife, and his adorable kiddo was with grandparents for the summer… We made a date. He got off from work and I drove as fast I could after camp to make something that had been abstract for so long a reality.

Driving through con drop is not one of my brighter ideas. I was wrecked, dealing with mundane blowups (June is trying to kill me…more on that later), and frantically calling my roommate during anxiety attacks to help remind me where the break was on the car when I got out of control at one point. I was exhausted, functioning on almost no sleep, and fucking determined.

The first time I saw him, he had his back to me. He was watching TV. I let myself stand there for a moment and just take in the sight of flesh-and-blood Ace. The summer night was perfectly warm. There were lightning bugs dancing in front of his window. The air was just the slightest bit muggy. It was… surreal. It was happening. He was real.

I knocked on the door and was in his arms before I knew it, and then REALLY in his arms as he picked me up, excited. “You’re here! You’re really here! You’re real!” he said over, and over, and over, putting words to what I was thinking. He smelled surprisingly familiar, right, easy, and I quickly felt at ease in his arms. And then he kissed me…and as far as first kisses go… Whelp. Remember the ending to Princess Bride?

I am a lucky. Fucking. Bitch.

After ten years I was so afraid there would be no chemistry. Which. Would be fine. We had been forced to be platonic before. I could do it. In fact, the opposite was the case. The top had been let off of ten years of sexual tension and we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. He gave me the tour of his apartment and I found myself craving contact with him. A hand on my hip, or in my hair, or on my ass..just to remind me that this was real. That he was real. That we were actually seeing each other.

It still feels like a dream.

I was the bad one that started stripping first. He pinned me to the ground, eagerly grinding against my ass before flipping me over and diving between my legs. I have never been so eagerly eaten out in my LIFE. I don’t like it typically. I’m an internal girl. But my Ace’s tongue is incredibly skilled. K was screaming his name and bucking under him in a matter of minutes. 

There was groping, and playing, and flirting before we stumbled our way to the bedroom, both of us refusing to fully take our hands off of one another. Pardon my gloating, but my godde that boy has one of the prettiest cocks I have ever seen. He is thick enough and long enough that he’s a challenge for me to take… but not so big that I can’t deep throat him. 

I hoped we would have chemistry. I didn’t expect mind-blowing sex. Again. And again. And again. We took a break for food and to sleep, but I can’t think of a point when we weren’t touching somewhere. Hands. Overlapping legs. Me snuggling into the nook of his shoulder. Not even morning breath stopped the kisses. When we weren’t kissing or fucking we were talking, just as we did eons ago. He told me the intimate details of his world. I shared more of mine. 

There isn’t enough time. There never is. He took me to breakfast at an adorable coffee house. As we ate tasty treats he told me more about his amazing child and how much he loved his community. My heart twisted. I was so happy he had found home… And I selfishly wish I could take him to mine. He’s so far away. So. Damn far away. 

It’s been a long time since I have been around someone who’s a soothing balm to my soul… and that’s what Ace is. He pulled me out of an anxiety attack from outside stressors faster than anyone ever has. Being around him calms me down, just as James always has.. and yet he calms me in almost the exact opposite way of James. Instead of a man of few words my Ace is a wordsmith. A beautiful, wonderful wordsmith that showered me in compliments and kind words. 

There’s always been a switchy energy between us. Out of all my partners he is the one I have always felt the most equal too. We are both… fragile in certain ways. Both familiar with brain squirrels pertaining to matters of the heart. I am often pulled out of brain spirals through acts of submission. Focusing on the needs of others fixes my headspace. 

I didn’t know if it would be the same for Ace. He began to spiral at one point and I just… had to fix it. A part of me came out that I didn’t know existed. A Domme. Not a service top. I dominated that sweet boy. I crawled on top of him and rode him with no inhibitions, knowing he wanted me, knowing I drove him wild. The moment he drifted I had him focus on me.  I told him that all he had to worry about in that moment was pleasing me. 

He called me ma’am. For the first time ever that made my pussy wet. 

Yes, he was my sweet boy, and he let me fuck him at my leisure until I wanted him on top again. And then he pleased me with his cock, fucking me until we both toppled over that delicious edge. 

In about 24 hours we found that edge six times, sometimes with him as the dominant partner, sometimes me. After sex we would find equilibrium again snuggling in one another’s arms. I’ve never had such a fluid relationship before.  The switching happens naturally, with the top roll being filled easily in a split second by the proper partner. 

I’ve never wanted to be served before. Never desidered to collar a boy and have him sit at my feet as I socialize in Wicked Grounds. I am naturally very submissive… but also very protective. The desire to help the one I love won out, and even became extremely pleasurable. He is my boy. We belong to one another. 

And I am utterly fucked. 

I thought foolishly getting together after ten years would sate some urges. Instead it was like lighting a powder keg. A hunger that hadn’t existed before now eats at me. I want more of my Ace, both as my sweet boy and as my Top.

We have a lot of exploring to do, he and I. This is the tip of the iceberg with our dynamic, and I know that… Now we are learning how our lives can possibly fit together. He has a partner with a child, and a child of his own to worry about. I have three partners, a complication, and a community. We both have our homes. And there is that fear of once you leave the Bay Area you can’t return. Selfishly, I want him with me, in my world. I want to show of my boy at BaGG and the citadel. And yes, I want to sleep in his arms at night. 

I miss him horribly, and it’s only been a couple of days. Ten years, and it felt like coming home when I was with him. My mind is terrifying me. It’s thinking long term. And that scares me. I’m anxious to get my mark on him, to claim that part of him that submits as mine. And I am anxious for him to claim me again. 

I love you, my sweet boy. I’m.. scared, but excited for the journey ahead. All will work out when the time is right, just as it always has. I will see you in my dreams ❤

Yours hopelessly in love, and suddenly switchy,

-Rene 

 

Shadows of 2016


Hello world

I have started and stopped so many posts over the last few months… and apparently accidentally published a couple when I shoved my phone in my bra or some such nonsense. 

Life happens. I am a flawed human. 

I am also currently wide awake at 1:29 in the morning thanks to some coffee I had at 9:00. Sitting in my parents living room in New Jersey. Letting the weight of 2016 hit me. 

It has been one hell of a fucking year. Every time I think to write something new appears. And so I get stuck. 

When I was being mentored, I was tasked to write 200 words a day. These days I’m not tasked with much. It’s easy to get overwhelmed with life. To let myself get away with the little white lies I process through when I write. Bad habit. Old habit. 

I remain unowned and uncollared.. and no clearer in what I want to do than I was six months ago. I still reach up to touch my neck from time to time and feel the emptiness there. It’s an emptyness I struggle with… because it truly is self-imposed.  James and I are still not together. We’re still working on.. what I suppose is a friendship. I see him twice a week or so. I drive him home when asked.  We talk. We laugh. Inside jokes are slowly returning. But play hasn’t yet. 

I don’t have control over that. Over the play. But he still has my collar, and he knows it. I still haven’t asked for it back. And I know it. Neither of us are there. Neither of us.. can fully close that book. We’re in limbo. Can’t close the book. Can’t start a new one. Can’t move to the next chapter yet. We’re still settling, in a lot of ways. It’s hard. I love him to the moon and back, and he knows that. But I want to strangle him about half the time. I crave touch and connection. I want love (who doesn’t really) but… books. Chapters. Pages. 

I don’t have a primary. But my damn heart does. 

I own and acknowledge that. What I want and what I need right now are two radically different things. I’m not spinstering or anything. I have partners. Chris still exists as my Dominant, though we no longer have a sexual relationship. There’s Grey still, and two regular play partners. Just. Nothing is mind blowing. Nothing is razzle dazzle, za za zoo, dreams of marriage and babies. Every partner I play with or date right now has a primary. And I want to be one (not with any of them!) and I don’t. 

So many around me are happily owned. Happily coupled. And there’s this reality that I could easily move on. I could ask for my collar, close that book, and move forward. And if something mind blowing came along, I think I could. If someone swept me off my feet and wanted to claim me, I could walk away from James romantically. I don’t ignore the za za zoo. It’s how I got myself into this mess to begin with. 

But. No one has. And I haven’t. And I don’t want to. And so here I sit, watching sex and the city, contemplating the difficult creature that is James. 

I never choose the easy ones. Here I go, falling for a man with shattered emotions. Whose feelings settle at a snails pace. Whose brain works so differently than everyone else’s. Who I have to constantly explain. May he never know how much I do, how many fires I put out. He’s an amazing asshole, there’s just so much beneath the surface that other don’t see. He’s my favorite asshole, my butthead, my 5 a.m. Phone call, safe space, and friend. The asshole pushes all of my damn fucking buttons. And I lack the on/off switch he has. 

My Mr. Big.

Can I wait years for him to figure out how he feels? Can I hold out? 

It’s hard. Balancing between the patience needed to navigate James and the desire to.. be desired. To be wanted. And loved. 

To be owned. 

I’ve learned throughout this year that my most satisfying play is tied to emotions. I can go deeper, push myself further, when I love someone. I suck at pick up play. I’m a lightweight when I’m not attached. When I love someone, truly love them, I let them break me. Shatter me. Knowing that they will help me pick up all the pieces. 

Can I go years without being fully owned again? Without being truly pushed? Truly broken? 

I don’t know. Honestly. I won’t let myself get lost in him. He’s not my Master right now. He’s.. complicated. Hurting. Lost in his own world and trying to come up for air. And I love him.  But I’m not masochist enough to dive back into that until his life settles some. And mine. My life being more stable would be nice. 

My play isn’t completely unfulfilling. I love Chris. I give the most to him when we play. I love Grey as well, in my own way. But. I don’t drown in the scenes. I can get lost in Chris’s scenes and get to bliss… but. It’s just. It’s not quite the same. As I’m sure it’s not the same playing with me as it is with his primary. As far as James… he’s not dating. He’s rarely playing. He’s.. not datable right now. And he knows that. I know that. I think everyone knows that. We.. are complicated. And I know that can mean so many things in the kink community. But saying we’re friends. Fuck. There are so many more complicated components than that. We are not together. I am unowned. And I still feel an invisible tag on me somewhere. I’m sure he does as well, and gets frustrated by it in different ways as I do. 

2016 has taught me some hard lessons. It’s taught me that everything ends.  And that’s sad. But everything begins again as well. And that’s happy. 

Life’s too short not to be happy. And it’s too short to date just to date. 

I will wait. I will see what I can learn from this, rather than throw myself into empty rebounds chasing that ownership again. But I will also selfcare. I will remain open to new without discarding the old, and will not let myself be taken for granted. I will make sure what I give I give freely and without regret or bitterness. I will look for what I get in return. I will accept good things. Maybe I will find an Aiden while Big pulls his head out of his ass. Maybe he’s not Big. 

So many maybes. 

One thing I’m sure of. I’m ready for 2017. I’m ready to feel more, to write more, and to embrace what come next. 

I’m still here, lovelies. Still submissive. Still exploring, and learning, and loving. 

And I’m not going anywhere 

Humbly yours,

Rene 

Day 25

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Are there items, objects or rituals that represent or help you express submission? If not, have you ever thought of adding or being gifted one? Is there a special significance to these objects or rituals?

The collar has always been a very important object to me.

I have been owned and collared once, and the feeling when I had that day collar around my neck 24/7 was… exquisite… Yes, I want that again someday. I loved the security of being able to reach down when I was away or a few days went by where I couldn’t see my Dom and have that confirmation of “Okay.. it’s here. I’m still his. I am his… yes…” I loved being able to CALL someone my Dominant. I love my Sir, but there is so much power behind that word… I also got so used to it that in the beginning with James and I, I had to bite back using the familiar term. He is my Sir right now. He dominates me, but he is not my Dominant.

What’s the difference? For him, it’s that he hasn’t completely collared me yet.

I do wear a play collar when we go to kink events. Most of the events that we go to are ones that he is at least partially working. I love watching him work, and love being at these events with him, but there have been times where he’s been in another room or in the back and a creeper has come up to me that just… doesn’t want to go away. The explanation of “I have a partner and he’s in the back doing his thing and I usually stay out here and watch and play and then he comes and takes pictures and everyone is happy.” sometimes takes too long.. I’ve out right run to find him a handful of times when I was very uncomfortable at the club and just needed my Sir.. No one is stupid enough to try anything when he’s near me. Chair or no chair, the man can be intimidating.

The collar does help though… And putting it on has become one of my favorite rituals. We started putting it on me for my comfort level in the clubs and parties he has to work.. but the intensity of our relationship changed when the collar became involved. I am owned by James, even though I’m not owned and collared 24/7, and having a physical reminder of that, something that he puts on me and takes off… Yes, it made things more intense between us.. In a good way.

On a typical Wednesday he and I get a little time to ourselves before BaGG. Sometimes we get food, sometimes it’s just snuggles in his car then snuggles in Wicked Grounds. Sometimes it’s snuggles and spanks and squeaks in Wicked Grounds.. (I love Wednesdays). Then his alarm goes off for when he has to go to the club and set up. While he gets ready to go I get the collar out of my bag, and usually hold it up rather shy and mew…

He motions for me to come closer, and I do.. on my knees. I lift my hair (usually down and pulled back, because the club gets hot but it’s fun to get hair pulled…) and he slips it around my neck and buckles it. I very quietly thank my Sir, knowing that when that collar is around my neck I won’t be able to call him “James”. Not because there’s a rule..but because that’s where my mind goes when that collar is around my neck. And after I thank him he kisses me…

I mean really kisses me.

I mean the world spins on its axis kisses me.

Taking off the collar has a similar ritual to it. I end up on my knees and I bend my head to give him access to the buckle.. and once it is off I say how sad I am, and he kisses me. And the world spins. And I am once again reminded of what a lucky little submissive I am.

We have other rituals that are less D/s related and more relationship related… One that he started early on that continues to make me smile even when I am feeling my worst is that we always end each night by wishing each other “sweet dreams”. Another that I began in order to make him smile is that each morning he gets a selfie… usually naughty, as the goal is to make the man smile, and I do aim to please.

James and I are still really new… It’s only been a few months, and rituals develop over time. But the rituals I have now, especially the collar..they make me happy.

Yours, smiling

-Rene

Day 14

Day 14

Does religion have any bearing on your decision to submit? If not, are you familiar with religious based submission and do you view it as similar to other types of submission or dissimilar.

This one is an odd question to me… I’m familiar with some forms of religious submission, where someone will actually worship their partner (literally…). I’m also well versed in sex magick, though I don’t practice.

I’m Pagan. I grew up worshipping the old ones, going for hikes in nature rather than going to church. I have a pentacle tattoo on my left shoulder blade that holds within it representations of each elemenet in their proper corners.. It was my first ink when I was 19. Many have followed, but it is still one of my favorites. I am branded Pagan for life.

My religion used to have much more of an impact on who I was friends with, what I did, etc.. I’ve gone through the whole story of how I was in a coven for a good length of time before it bit me in the ass. After that… I became much more selfish about who I shared my practice with. I still acknowledge the Sabbats, still feel their energy. I still LOVE Beltane and Samhain the most. But my practice has changed.

It’s more personal.. less open to group activities.. Something I would maybe share with my primary if he was interested.. Other than that it’s mine. It’s my way of getting through day to day life and still being able to smile. Still having faith.

It is one of the few parts of myself completely disconnected from my submissive side. In circle I am not the timid, bubbly thing you would see out at a kink event. I stand differently. My chin is held higher.. I know very well what I can do in a spiritual setting.. I know I’m a powerhouse, even if I don’t flex my muscles as often anymore. There is nothing submissive about me during ritual.. If anything I’m leading it, confidently.

So no, my spirituality and my submission do not go together and are not linked in any way. If anything, they exist on opposite ends of the spectrum that make me up.

Yours, as always

-Rena

but it’s still one of my favoit

Day 13

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Day 13

Is sexual availability, being available to your partner any time he or she wants, part of your submission? Why or why not? Are there limits to this?

So I’m going to start this by saying I have a sky fucking high libido.

I leave most kink events drenched.. It’s just how I am.. And have a collection of vibrators for when sexual tension becomes too much of a thing for me to sleep at night.

Sir is very aware of this…

He has also heard multiple times that I will never say no to giving him a blow job. When you belong to an exhibitionist, this can be a very dangerous statement. At the same time.. I look forward to it. So long as we can avoid getting arrested.

Our sexual relationship is… evolving. But he knows I want him. He knows I desire to please him, and he knows that I am his to use.

I don’t know if that makes it part of my submission, or just part of me.. I was like this in vanilla relationships as well. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve said no to a partner.. I love to please, and as much as I can be a little pain slut I love feeling pleasure as well.

I admit to many, MANY nights spent home thinking about Sir’s cock before going to sleep… One of my favorite things on earth is when he slowly begins collecting my hair into his hands while I am sucking him, and then pulls. His cock will be just out of reach, so that I can tease the head a bit but not so close that I can take it into my mouth.. I will mew, and squirm, and beg to have it back, and he will yank my head all the way down onto it, forcing it down my throat. It is…fantastic…

Erm..whoops… I got lost on a happy mental tangent for a minute there, didn’t I? Sowwy.

So, is sexual availability part of my submission? It’s part of me, in general. So I suppose it is incorporated into my submission to a certain extent..

Yours now exceedingly horny -_-

-Rena

Day 6

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Day 6

What do you feel are the roots of your submission? Do you think it has something to do with childhood? Is it a relationship management tool as in the practice of domestic discipline? Is it a sexual thrill or something else?

Honestly.. I’ve been trying to figure this out for myself for a long while.

It definitely didn’t come from childhood. My mother spanked me maybe twice in my life… My dad even less. Corporal punishment was never a thing in my house growing up. It was mostly “go to your room” which ended in me sitting in a corner happily reading a book.

I don’t know where it came from… My parents shared domestic duties. My mother taught me how to bake, my father taught me how to cook. I was raised in a house that preached gender equality and an even playing field for all… and yet the root of my BDSM relationships is the desire to submit. To please another. To jump when they say jump, knowing how high they want me jumping and instead say “for how long, Sir?” I have in me something that needs to please and be pleasing… It varies and changes from partner to partner, the amount I submit and how that submission appears, but that need never goes away…

Your guess is as good as mine on where it came from.

As for it being a “relationship management too” or a “sexual thrill”… Eh…

Do I enjoy D/s relationships? Yes. But my submission is a part of me.. not some tool to keep relationships on track. As for it being a sexual thrill?

… Do you really think I would have this blog if I didn’t like kinky sex?

Not just kinky sex. Hand wrapped around my throat while fucking me like you’re ready to rip me in two sex. I like that. I also like spanking my ass a bright red before taking it sex, and hair pulling, biting, scratching foreplay before frantic fucking sex.

…But I also love gentleness. I love head kisses and cuddles..and tender touches that make me feel incredible cherished. I love that safe, satisfying feeling of curling up in his arms and feeling every last muscle in my body finally relax. That underlying sweetness that comes with submission… Yes, you will be used, you will feel pain for both your own pleasure and for the person you belonged to… but aftercare is a thing. Tender moments between scenes are also a thing.. and for me, that’s the glue of a D/s relationship. Otherwise… It’s not a relationship. I’m play partners with someone. I let them do things to me, fuck me, push me…and then when the emotional, squishy feels come out they aren’t there. A relationship means the squishy feely parts too.

Day six done, twenty four to go.

As always.. I am his 😛 but also yours.

-Rena

Reclaiming

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I’m still typing these entries on my phone… But there are worse things than lack of a laptop.

Though I’m not gonna lie. I do miss having one.

My car window is fixed and I’m working again. That is a fantastic feeling in and of itself. I have a whiney little cat child that can’t be left alone for too long or he does horribly wicked things… Like eat every flower in the case or open and knock over the giant bottle of lube… So I’m not quite working the hours I was working in December, but I’m slowly putting my life back together.

So far out of the things stolen from me I have reclaimed the cell phone chargers and my books… The books have a story.

I was driving around last night doing the Lyft thing and finally making some much needed funds. There was a particularly difficult passenger in the car next to me, and I was near what I wanted to make for the evening, so I knew he would be the last. He ended up directing me down the route I used to take on the Muni to SFAI what feels like a world ago. While tuning out Mr Difficult I smiled as I passed the It’s A Grind, the cute boutique stores

The Good Vibes.

Did I mention the books that were stolen were kink books?

Technically the first time around the books were free for me.. A world ago Kane and I went to Good Vibes and he went on a bit of a.. Spending spree, purchasing the foundations of our toy bag together. Enough that he managed to fill out four completely stamped discount cards, getting me a total of 40 dollars in free merch… which I spent on boons over about six months.

Yes. Mock me all you want. 40 bucks to a sex toy store and I buy books. They’re good books!!!

Well, before last night I had yet to repurchase a single thing that was lost. I got it stuck in my head that this little pixie would reclaim her books if I could manage to get a parking spot within a block of Good Vibes.

Whelp. I got my spot. I power walked to the store, a determined little soldier on a mission, and walked in just as an orgasm training class was letting out. They had one one the books that I lost.. And another that was similar but not quire right. I took a risk, figuring I could always purchase the other book down the line. Dipshit me couldn’t find my discount card (I had 5 stamp spots left DAMMNIT!).

The nice lady behind the counter stamped up an entire new card for me. So.. Today, I went to Good Vibes #2 and got stolen book #2 for free… Three sexy books for the price of two? I will take that bone, universe.

Next on the list is a new journal and drawing pen. It won’t be from Sir… But I feel naked without it. And drawing and sketching makes me happy. Writing makes me happy.

I like being happy. What a concept. And I can be happy outside of situations where I’m strapped to a cross with a flogger striking my ass repeatedly.

I do miss those moments though.

I didn’t expect while I was reclaiming bits and pieces of myself that were taken that my Dominant would reclaim me.

After a hard day of work there is no better sight than a sexy Dom with a strawberry shake.

Okay. Backtrack. I hadn’t seen Kane in 5 days. 5 LONG days.. I had finally hit the ultimate sexual wall. I could no longer make myself cum with a vibrator and fantasy alone. After nearly a month without feeling Kane’s hands on me my body just quit listening. And I couldn’t make myself think about anyone else’s hands until I felt his on me again. He’s been going through so much and been so stressed.. And I knew that. But he had been so distant. I fought feelings of rejection.. A raw gut feeling that he no longer desired me. Or that he has too much going on to want his sub. That I can’t ease his worries even for a little while made me feel like a failure as a sub. But of course I never discussed this with him. He was too stressed as it was.

I was mentally doing backflips when Kane said he could see me tonight… He gave me everything that I had been needing all in one night.

He showed up with food and a strawberry shake.. Which doesn’t seem like a big deal.. But it’s a little detail he thought of. Strawberry flavored ANYTHING is my favorite. With how much was on his mind, that he remembered that little detail.. It meant a lot.

We snuggled, we talked.. He was holding me but not kissing me, not touching me… My insecurities were going ape shit. All those little voices scurried into my ear and whispered “he’s ending things. He doesn’t want you as a submissive. You’re too much work. You’ve failed him too much.”

At one point he had me presenting my ass to him to take a spanking, back arched. If I took the spanking well I got the fucking I craved. If I didn’t he would plow into my ass, cum, and that would be that.

I cried when he spanked me. I couldn’t keep my back arched through it all. I’ve performed better in the past.. But it had been over a month since I had been seriously spanked and my pain tolerance was shot.

“Do you deserve to be fucked?”

Did I?
Was this a trick question?
Did I fail him again?

“I don’t know”.

Over and over he asked. Over and over I answered that I didn’t know. I finally cracked.

“I don’t know if you want me anymore.”

I heard my Dominant sigh. “Lay back”.

Completely naked, still teary eyes, I laid back in his arms. The fatigued eyes of Kane were gone.. I was looking at my Sir, taking control, correcting and calming his submissive. If my panties weren’t already off I’m pretty sure they would have magically disappeared.

“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not about the pain or how much you can take. It’s about your willingness to submit. To let me push you. To take you there. Letting me spank you until you were crying? ” He gave me a look. “I would say you were pretty deserving. I just wanted to hear that you thought you were.”

By the end of the night he took what was his in every way imaginable. I missed my Sir.. Seeing him again was.. Incredible. I was so afraid he was gone for good. Now my body is singing… Every muscle content. I was taken. I was used for his pleasure. And I could not be happier.

He took the time at the end of the night to outright squash some of my insecurities. Yes, he still wants me. Yes, he still loves me. No, him not seeing me has nothing to do with him wanting to see someone else.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Right now a lot sucks. But things will get better.

Eventually, I will financially be able to get back all that I lost.

Kane will be able to breathe again, in a new place with a new start.

My Dom still wants me and loves me.. And GODDE do I love and want him.

I am very happily and proudly his little monster.

Yours (FINALLY!) sexually sated

-Rena

Two Worlds

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I have hit the sex wall.

I didn’t know that I HAD a sex wall

But good Godde almighty I’ve hit it.

I am horny every fucking second of the day right now… I am so tightly coiled, so tense, that I think my Dominant could just look at me and I would come on the spot. And it would do NOTHING because it’s not his hands on me. Kane sent me a photo today after he got to his destination..and he was so sexy, and scruffy, and my badass biker boyfriend…

And I orgasmed. From a photo. And there was clothing. Nothing was unclothed.

…although he was REALLY fucking sexy.

….I have slammed into the proverbial sex wall.

FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME AAUUGGHHH!

I love my parents, and my sisters, and my friends and my pets here…but I need to rejoin my life. It’s been too long. This is the LONGEST I have been out of San Francisco in a year. And the longer I stay, the more I see the separation between Rena of New Jersey and Rena of San Francisco.

Rena of New Jersey is a good girl. She does not say “fuck” in front of her dad (but in front of mom it’s okay because she curses like a sailor too) because cursing isn’t ladylike. Nothing she owns is see through or sexy, and it’s all about minimizing her size, because she is fat. She eats way too much and is not nearly active enough. She loves her pets, and leaves her bedroom door open at night so her dog can sleep at the foot of her bed even though there is a strict no pets in bedrooms rule. She has a super conservative older sister that is still a virgin and will not even acknowledge anal sex as being a thing. She has one sad little vibrator that she hides in her TV stand when she isn’t home, and will not use it when her parents are home. She sleeps in a tee shirt and undies minimum, and feels dirty looking at porn.

Rena of San Francisco is kinky as all hell. She wears see through clothing and has little issue showing off her body when the parts of her that are clothed are clothed well. She is sex-positive and open, with a chest of toys and outfit devoted to BDSM play and her sexual survival. Her bookshelves are full of kinky novels, and more than two days without sexual play results in a very horny submissive. Thankfully, she has a very horny Dominant whose sexual appetite matches hers. She takes care of her cat, and has extreme guilt about leaving him for more than a couple hours (no matter 18 days…18!). She works her ass off to make it on her own and keeps herself super busy, earning her play from a lot of work. She has no shame in saying that she goes to dungeons, and that she plays on crosses and loves the kiss of the flogger. She has no shame in saying that she is poly, that she has a primary and a secondary partner, and that poly keeps her sane and balanced. She has no shame about serving her Dominant, feeling feminine and empowered when in service to him, and more herself than any other time.

San Francisco Rena has very little shame, period. She is at peace with herself and who she is becoming. New Jersey Rena is a project on hold, something left behind because she just couldn’t develop anymore.

I am so much more my San Francisco self than I ever was my Jersey self.. and while I love all of my pets equally, the amount I love myself varies radically depending on what city I am in and what stigmas are being levied against me at that moment.

The longer the parts of me are repressed, the hornier and more sexually frustrated, and then ashamed, I become. It’s not a healthy cycle..and as much as I love being with my family I am learning a hard lesson with this visit.

I can’t be here this long without a partner… without play to remind me that it’s okay to be my San Francisco self. Kink is too much a part of my life. My submissive side is just too much a part of me.

I have to fight the urge to beg Kane for play when I know he’s busy and riding. But the riding on the big fancy motorcycle just adds to sexual fantasies which just makes me horny which just makes me more worked up and…

You’re seeing the vicious cycle right?????

I don’t want to wish the rest of this trip away. I don’t want to wish the last of Kane’s trip away… But at this point no amount of orgasms is releasing the tightness in my body. I can only fantasize so much.. I need at least a voice… a face on a screen watching as I perform… something..

Okay… this time next week I will be back in San Francisco with my cat… where I can at least regain certain parts of myself that I have to hide when I’m here.

I can make it. I can make it…

If you can hear screaming, that would be me.

HOW DO I MAKE THIS TIGHTNESS GO AWAY??? AUUUGGGHHHH!!!!

I want my Dom so bad T.T *sniffle*

Yours feeling pathetic,

-Rena

Longings

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I had forgotten how much my arms ached when bound behind me. It’s not a position he normally puts me in, and he hasn’t pulled out the rope in so long.

The bound wrists are tied to my ankles, which rise to meet them from my painfully bent knees. My legs have been pushed to their limits time and time again, my arthritic knees bitching at every turn. I could feel a slight shaking as I tried to maintain my balance on the squishy mattress, keeping my back arched and my ass on display without flopping over or suffocating myself. The soft mattress attempted to suck in my face and I bit back the growing panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?” Ah… the voice. I love that voice, the slight accent drowning out the growing buzzing built by panic. I feel a hand caress my rounded ass and exhale, my body relaxing to the best of its ability in my current position. I no longer feel the strain in my limbs or the rope against my skin. I no longer notice the awkward angles of my limbs. Only his hand, where it touches the area of me that belongs to him the most.

The gentle stroking suddenly turns to six rapid fire, hard smacks on my ass, causing me to cry out. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

“Yes, Sir. I remember.” And I do, very well. I have never been bound before Sir, for any reason. I am slightly claustrophobic, and when I can’t breathe properly and can’t escape of my own power I get panic attacks. Not with him.

The last time he bound me I felt like a goddess on display. He tied me to the bed, on my back, facing the foot of the bed. He took polaroid photos of me bound from different angles and then bent over and kissed me, passionately.

He fondled and fucked, and in the middle of it all, just as my orgasm built and I began to beg for more, he would pull away and pull out his sketchpad. Frantically he drew, capturing me as I was with the emotions of what we were doing coursing through him. I watched him each time he pulled away with half-lidded eyes, drunk on passion and honored that I inspired him enough to be considered muse worthy. I had never considered myself more than average in appearance. Inspiring a talented artist to work was almost an even greater honor than being permitted to submit to him.  Over and over again, he fucked me then drew me, until finally we were too entrenched in the scene for him to pull away any longer. He fucked me bound until I came, hard, trembling in my bindings.

Afterwards, he showed me the sketches and I knew I was in danger of loving this man. He drew me like a Matisse nude, with a simplistic beauty that took my breath away. He made me feel like a was a stunning beauty for the first time in my life, and then topped it all off by giving me art supplies on the way out the door. “I was in Flax and thought of you.” he said, as if it were nothing, handing me pads, and brushes, and a beautiful watercolor set. In that moment I wanted to cry. He made me feel so cherished. He thought of me outside of our BDSM hookups, when I wasn’t tied to his bed. It was the beginning of loving him.

“Do you remember how that night ended, beautiful?” His voice brings me back to the present. I close my eyes, savoring it. His hand cups my ass and squeezes as he asks.

“You fucked me, Sir, until we both came and I had gumby legs for the rest of the night.”

That earned me a short chuckle and another swift smack on the ass. ” I did. And do you know how it will end tonight?”

“No, Sir. But I can hope.”

His hands, along with his body heat, left me, and I stifled a whimper. When he is Sir he points out my little noises and chides me for my whining. It’s not about what I want. It’s about trusting him to give me what we both need.

I hear the ‘pop’ of a cap opening. A shiver runs through my body.

The gel is cold against my skin as he rubs it against my anal opening. It quickly warms as his finger follows, slipping inside and toying me gently. I moan and push back eagerly, or as eagerly as my bonds will allow, causing another amused chuckle.

“Good girl. Someone’s greedy tonight.” He slips another finger inside and I moan. Before I can push back he pulls away completely, his warmth leaving the bed.

I hear the scratch of pencil against illustration board and moan again. He’s sketching me, my ass facing him, all my bits and pieces and pudge on display for this man. Not only does he want me, he wants to capture me. I’m dripping wet by the time he returns to the bed, trembling head to toe and on the brink of orgasm and he’s barely touched me.

A pattern emerges similar to the first time he tied me up. He toys my ass, smacks it, even bites it, and then pulls away. I hear more sounds of pencil on board, and then he returns to torture me once more.

Time doesn’t exist in those moments. Your limbs reach a point where they are numb. You no longer feel the ropes binding you; forget they’re even there. You only hear the sketch sounds and feel his hands on your flesh and in your holes.

Finally, he gives me what I crave; what only he can give me. He seats himself inside my ass and begins pumping vigorously into me. He uses my bound wrists as leverage, pulling me to meet his cock with each thrust, and I know the sketching is done for the evening. I let myself get lost in the feel of his cock inside me, chanting over and over, “Oh Godde, oh Godde. Thank you, Sir, thank you! Oh Godde thank you for fucking my ass..”

And then I wake up. Shaking and midway through another round of “Oh Godde”. My undies soaked, my body tight beyond words, I reach for my vibrator and finish the job in hopes of some peaceful sleep that evening. I force two or three orgasms out of my body, all the while picturing my Dominant between my legs instead of my piece of vibrating silicone, and exhaust myself physically, hoping my mind will follow. I close my eyes again, knowing that a similar dream will appear the next night, and the night after that until his hands are on my body again.

I miss him. I want him.

And I am so grateful to have had inspiration for such vivid dreams.. I may be sexually frustrated, but I am blessed. I crave his hands on me..because I remember just how wonderful it feels.

It’s 2:28 a.m… I need to go grab my vibrator and exhaust myself to sleep.

Yours,

-Rena