Tag Archives: taboo

Down the Rabbit Hole…

There is a lot about my various kinks that I have embraced over time. The further down the rabbit hole I go, the more I discover about myself. Some of it stopped me short when I realized it was a part of myself… That there is an aspect of myself that is very much a slave to the proper Master, that I just can’t do pick-up-play. That there is a part of me that is a pain slut when I’m in the proper mindset.

That I very much have a little side, and that that little is sexual…

My first discovery of my little side was with Smith…and when that blew up and bit me in the ass my little went into hiding, DEEP hiding. That aspect of myself was a core part of our dynamic. He was the first one to expose me to phrases like ‘princess parts’, who made me stop squirming at the idea of calling someone ‘daddy’. He helped show me that taboo can be attractive, erotic… that the fetish could be done in a healthy way and can be incredibly fulfilling. And then our whole dynamic exploded and I was cut out like cancer, my little discarded because his partner was severely triggered by he and I… Not even James could coax her out again.

For two years, my little hid. Unfulfilled. Slipping out in spirts of a bubbly voice and an obvious love of stuffies; a side of myself that filled me with severe amounts of shame because when she finally came out she was told she was horrible and wrong.

And then I got to know Ryan.

Ryan is a BaGG regular who I’ve known for over a year now, in some capacity. For a very long time he was the rather attractive fellow that James gave rides to from time to time. Then he became the rather attractive fellow that was always at BaGG. Then he was the attractive fellow with the REALLY pretty partner. Like. Really pretty.

And then I found out the attractive fellow thought I was also attractive. Meep. MEEEEEEEEP.

As my squirly brain often does, it had labeled Ryan as ‘crush’ and therefore ‘untouchable. I found out that was very much not the case sometime in the late summer months. He was established with his partner, and I was slowly creeping back into dating after my release..and I was restless. I liked his voice, calm and soothing with a ‘sadist with a smile’ quality. I enjoyed his calm, easy going nature that was a balm on frazzled nerves. I especially liked how well we had begun communicating.

The first time we played he tied me up, giving me a pretty chest harness with bottlecaps underneath the rope for the edge of pain I craved…and then he fucked me into oblivion. Holy crap, that man scratches that particular itch for me in a way that will have me sated for a good few days afterward (a rarity with a libido as active as mine). It was good, comfortable. We played well with one another…though the dynamic wasn’t mind-blowing, it was fun. And I found myself much, MUCH more attracted to him than I thought possible… He has strong arms with just the right amount of muscle, a fit body, and his legs… Yum yum yum yum yum….

Another date followed, this time at his place, and then the weeks went by. We talked, both at BaGG when we saw one another and online when we didn’t. I don’t quite remember how it started, but somehow the topic of me being a little slipped out.

He was interested. He liked the idea of it. More than liked it.

Part of me was hesitant. Yes, it had been two years…and yes, this was a stable play partner that I trusted… but did I trust myself not to fuck up again? What if my little was just bad, and not in the good way? What if it was the rotten part of myself that I just couldn’t show?

…If I didn’t try, I would never know.

 

And so, I dressed up. I wore a frilly pink shirt, my ‘little’ underwear, my hair in pigtails. I brought stuffies and let myself slowly, slowly relax into the dynamic as I drove to Ryan’s house.

I love when risks pay off. He spanked me, of course.. He pulled my hair, played with my ‘princess parts’ and made them feel ‘funny’ and ‘got me all wet’. He had me cumming so many times I lost track, and seemed to all but purr every time I called him ‘daddy’. That magic switched that existed when he called me ‘kitten’ or ‘sweetie’ worked both ways..and the dynamic went from good to pretty fucking fantastic. We found a very natural niche for both of us to play in, a need that others weren’t sating at the moment, and so we played through taboo whispers of mommy not finding out what we were doing, and the little girl begging for daddy’s hard cock in her bum and princess parts… I let myself go, let myself enjoy.

The dynamic has developed over time, and now our play dates are some of my favorite things. They are catharsis, release, whether he simply fucks me into oblivion or beats me with a hairbrush before. It’s fun, and easy. There is something about Ryan that from the beginning has felt incredibly… safe. Our relationship isn’t romantic, but I do very much love and care for the man, and his partner. I know he’s protective of me, that he has my back. I know that I can run to him and his lovely at BaGG if I feel unsafe or uncomfortable. I also feel so free to talk to him about my headspace, how I’m feeling and what I need from play on a certain night. I don’t feel on edge, or ashamed, or in need of censuring myself with him. Our negotiation skills are kinda top knotch, and there’s an ease to he and I that I respect and enjoy.

Some of my favorite parts of our playdates are our ‘games’. I have a wee bit of an oral fixation, as I’m sure has become quite apparent in my entries.. I love sucking cock. We developed a ‘game’ a couple of dates ago. While daddy is on the phone ordering take out, kitten kneels in front of him and sucks his cock. This usually continues until long after the phone call is over, much to my great pleasure. Ryan is not small..and I take great pride in being able to take all of him down my throat, even if it’s not for long yet.

Last date he led me into the bedroom by his cock, starting with me sitting on the couch. He let me suck him for a few moments, and then took a step back, forcing me to my knees chasing after him. Step by step, he backed toward his bedroom. Inch by inch on my knees I followed, eagerly bobbing my head after his cock in an attempt to keep a steady rhythm as we moved. He’s one of those that I always love the taste of..male and musk and..mmmmm.

He pushed me down onto his bed and thoroughly beat my ass, literally punching into me. I remain very much an impact slut and absolutely love rough body play. I can take a lot of thuddy punching, especially with two or three fingers shoved up my pussy as a fist slams into my ass. I get off on the impact, asking for more, begging for it…and I did beg. Asking daddy for more and begging to be allowed to cum. Sometimes he makes me wait… He gets me there so easily. Other times he forces the orgasm out of me, having figured out on our first date that I can cum on command. By the fourth or fifth orgasm I am spent, screaming and begging daddy, daddy, daddy over and over as fingers fuck me, and then his cock. He’s not one to relent, to let me off easily, and I enjoy the play even more for that. He stretches me, pushing me through orgasm after orgasm, his cock going so deep it hits my back wall more often than not and sends me spiraling even more often. If I’m a good girl, if I ask nicely, he’ll toy my ass. If I’m really good daddy will have me spread my bum and slide his cock, inch by inch, inside, pausing just for a moment before picking up a punishing rhythm that gets me off so quickly I can barely see straight. All the while I cling to the blankets, begging for more, trying not to scream..

Afterwards, there is tobacco (he smokes. I don’t, though I will at times steal a drag after sex). He more often than not will offer his house coat and slippers to me over real clothes, a touching gesture and ritual I’ve begun to enjoy. I like the fuzzy texture on my skin when it’s still buzzing with aftershock goodness. I love it combined with cuddles, the smell of tobacco and man and sex, and the ease in which Ryan and I communicate both in and out of scene.

It’s taken more than words to make my little side feel safe, cared for, and like she isn’t…bad. Innately evil. It’s taken touches and teases. Cuddles, cartoons, and dozens of sweeties, kittens, and lots and lots of patience. Ryan has seen me cry, both in and out of little space, and has offered a safe space for me. He is honestly an incredible top and an even better friend… and I’m not sure my little would have ever been coaxed back out of hiding without him, and the encouragement and support of his epic partner. The combo platter of the two of them in my life as my people, my safe place, my friends… I am lucky. Very, very lucky.

The further I jump down the rabbit hole, the more I learn about myself. I continue to marvel at how kinks and preferences can change, and how relationships can be so meaningful and yet so different as well. A few years ago I never though I would be talking about poly pods and seeing someone I’m involved with not just as himself, but part of a unit. It would have plagued me with so much jealousy and made me feel like a third wheel. Instead, compersion is very much a thing, and my happy little side squees at time with both of them.

And so, further down the rabbit hole I go.

Yours, ever growing and ever changing,

-Rene

Peace of Mind (In Uncertain Times)

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I love watching Kane paint.

It’s not one of those things that I can put into words as to why, and it’s a hard balance for me between wanting to indulge in the enjoyment and making sure that my watching doesn’t make him uncomfortable. I don’t particularly like people watching me work over my shoulder. But he puts up with me doing it, and so I watch, content to sit quietly while he paints.

He and I are so different in so many ways. He is practical, he is logic. I am emotion, always emotion first. Sometimes that can be a fantastic mix, and sometimes it can be volatile.

It has been over a year now since I’ve started this journey. Over a year since Cal first messaged me and I jumped down the BDSM rabbit hole. Do I regret it?

Kane and I were out to dinner the other night and I mentioned it to him, that I had been in this world for a year. I asked if he thought I had made a mistake in staying in San Francisco.

“Sometimes.” He said. “I feel like you would had been further down your path if you had gone.”

I disagree. I feel as if I would have been further down my path as an artist.. but my work would be going in a very different direction from the turn it has taken. I would be in a city that yes, I enjoy greatly, but that has very few jobs. I would have enough student loan debt to keep me drowning for the next 40 years. I could teach, yes…but at what cost?

I didn’t choose the path he would have. I chose my heart over my head, emotion and need over logic. Do I regret it? No. Not at all. Not a single day.

Submission is a need for me. Even when I didn’t acknowledge it, it was there. I can remember with my very first “real” boyfriend certain key behaviors; for instance, my favorite spot was sitting at his feet while he played video games in his favorite chair. Why? it wasn’t as if I thought less of myself than I did of him. It was just that I enjoyed sitting at his feet. I felt at peace being there. By the time Jason and I split I knew well what I was. I had gotten him to dress me, spank me, claim me, mark me.. I knelt at his feet out of my own choosing, not his. I had Googled these urges to know what it was without Cal having to give it a name.

With how much these behaviors leaked out of me, there was a time limit on how long I could suppress my submissive side. Cal’s first message was just the final excuse to embrace it.

Submitting is the only thing that makes my brain STOP. All other aspects of my life are under control, for once.. Getting them under control have taken some time (hence my absence lately) but I’ve done it. It’s just.. a constant juggling act. And it’s exhausting. The NEED to submit becomes so strong sometimes it’s painful. Spank me. The silent voice inside me screams. Pull my hair. Fuck my mouth. Use my body for your pleasure. Take control and use to me to ease your aches. In doing so, you ease mine. You make the world stop, just for a little while, and I can be. Just be.

There are very few days where I feel as if I do good for Kane.. The other day I got the chance to do so. To aid him, and to help both of us. I am terrified of his rejection, of his frustration. I know I am a trying creature to deal with at times. I try his patience on a regular basis and can tank his mood if I push a subject too hard. The submissive of me is extra conscious about this…because each time I upset him it feels like I’ve failed him. I’m supposed to bring him pleasure and joy, not frustration and grief.

And so, when given the chance to do actual GOOD for him, un-fuckable good, I jumped for joy. Quite literally at one point. And I took a risk. I asked for what I wanted, for a way to aid both of us in sleeping well. I wanted to service him… needed to. I craved submitting to him, giving him pleasure and only pleasure. No grief. No emotions, no outside world or questions. Just service.

And he said yes.

And for just a little while, my brain shut the fuck up and I did good. I pleased him. And it felt so damn fucking good.

I am a submissive. I am not ashamed to crave his touch. A year ago, I would have been. I would have questioned what was wrong with me, that I wanted this man to use me. That my pleasure stemmed from his. That when he hurt me he didn’t harm me. Instead, that his spankings can bring me euphoric bliss.

A year ago I would not have called myself poly. I wouldn’t have even considered the idea of Smith, in fact a year ago a man like Smith who is VERY poly (enough partners to make up a small harem, as much as he disagrees with me) would have broken my heart. Instead, Smith has done so much good for me. He’s shown me how enjoyable poly can actually be, how multiple partners really do allow you to be the best you that you can be. He pulls out the aspects of my submission I still shy away from and has me stare them down, say that I’m not ashamed of them. Instead, he pushes me to embrace them.

He also.. listens. He loves hearing about Kane and I, about our relationship before we (Smith and I) met, about how it is now. What we do together when we are together. How I feel about him. Without Smith I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask for what I wanted the other night.

I love watching Kane paint, with sure strokes and a steady brush. I don’t know why. When I watch him, I think about my own work. The direction it is going in, the ideas his paintings give me for glazing techniques. As an artist, I admire Kane. On the canvas I see his emotions and his logic, I see his imperfections and his expertise, and part of me understands why I feel at peace when I kneel at his feet. Because for as different as he and I can be, we share a need that overlaps. We both need to create to function.. When we’re not working, we’re not okay. We both gain inspiration from dark desires, he from Dominating, me from submission.

Nothing in either of our lives is easily fixed, and nothing for either of us is certain right now. I don’t know when the day will come where he just doesn’t want me anymore. I’m terrified of that day. Because right now, I don’t need romantic hearts and flowers, or promises or expectations of love. I need use. I need a hand wrapped around my neck and a cock buried in my ass. I need to know that I do good with my service, that for a brief moment in our chaotic lives his brain stops going into overdrive just as mine does, and I bring him pleasure.

Use me. Twist me and turn me as you desire. Fuck me, don’t fuck me. Pull my hair, smack my ass.. because from your pleasure, I gain pleasure. From your release I gain inspiration. I am an artist inspired by my submission. And I refuse to be ashamed of that need. It has been a long fucking year, and I’m sure the next will be just as long, but it has given me a core part of myself and people in my life that understand and accept that part of me.

And a cat. I can’t forget Poe.

Many things in life change. Relationships change. Smith talks about necessary tweaking from time to time… and while my sexual identity may need “tweaking” from time to time, it’s no longer a big taboo question mark. That’s a good feeling.

Yours, as always, a proud subby and a work in progress

-Rena

The Almost-Threesome

I haven’t written in too long.. I’ve been going through a lot, but that is something to write about another time, when I am able to.

For now, I will write about something that did happen, what feels like a lifetime ago.

I was living in Boston trudging through the last year of my undergrad. My aunt was sick, but I didn’t know she was terminal yet. I had a credit card I didn’t pay the bill for, big dreams, and an itch to explore.

My sex life was…limited. I was single but not. Jason and I had broken up the previous May; it was October and we hadn’t seen each other since, but we were calling each other and Skyping regularly, in this weird limbo of sometimes we were friends, sometimes we were more. Feelings were still there, as were whispers of a maybe-future.

I’ve mentioned before that Halloween is my favorite holiday, and October my month. Living in Boston I frequented Salem on a regular basis to frolic with witches, and October in Salem was Halloween central. On one of my trips I noticed flyers for a Vampire Ball at the Hawthorne Hotel the last weekend in October. It was my last year there.. I was in.

I dressed in, for the place and time, what was a racy outfit for me. The shirt was see through, I remember, and the jeans were blacked and hugged my ass without giving me pudge. I put on makeup, a set of fake fangs, and was out the door.

I was a good girl. I called a cab ahead of time to pick me up when it said the ball was set to end, at 1 a.m. (Boston’s mass transit stops around midnight) and psyched myself up for a good time, and whatever awaited me. What I ended up finding was somewhat… disappointing. I was hoping for some spice, for people to give me the occasional double-take. For someone to desire me somewhere.

As the night wore on I managed to make a couple of friends. The place was full of couples, and those I was talking to were amused that I had come on my own. One couple I found to be rather striking entertained me for the majority of the evening.

They were polar opposites. Her head was shaved and completely tattooed. She wore an over bust corset with gaps in the lacing that was one size too small, so that when she was dancing occasionally her nipples would pop out, and you could see the glittery spider web design she had attached to them. Her breasts were quite obviously fake, but they balanced out her otherwise curvy figure. She was covered in tattoos from head to toe. Her arms were completely sleeved. Even her fingers were covered. As she drank copious amounts of wine she pulled me onto the dance floor multiple times, grinding with me and one or two other females that dared to join us.

Her partner was completely silent and dressed sharply in a suit with a blood red tie and white undershirt. I remember being puzzled by him; he was quiet, barely said a word to me all evening, and yet filled up the room more than any other person there. He was older than her by at least ten years, with a military style buzz cut of salt and pepper hair and laugh lines around his eyes. Not a tattoo in sight. Comparing him to his flamboyant partner and attempting to see their compatibility boggled my mind for the rest of the evening.

From time to time the man would beckon his partner over and whisper in her ear, a hand on her hip as he spoke. She then would run off to one person or another and speak with them.

Eventually, she came to me around 11. “We’re going to go outside for one last smoke break and then head upstairs to our room, want to join us?” (they were not locals, and because of this rented one of the three hundred dollar rooms for the evening). I nodded, curious, and also a casual smoker at the time (I blame art school). I had my camera with me, a new Nikon D3200 that I was slowly learning to master. I took several portraits of them under the Hawthorne Hotel’s back entrance light, puffing on my bummed cigarette the whole while. I still have the portraits, backed up on various hard drives.

When we got to the room the couple motioned for me to get comfortable. She was slurring her speech at this point, and I myself was giddy on a few glasses of wine. They were from out of town, the man explained, from the midwest. He traveled a lot for work and brought her with him when he could. They had two sons. It had been so ling since they last played with others.

That last bit was where they lost me..and where I apparently lost my top. I remembering laying on the bed with the woman on top of me transfixed by the man as he shed his layers. When his suit came off I saw what it covered.. He had a body suit of tattoos under his suit, all traditional Japanese style. When he wore long sleeves and slacks you had no close. He crawled onto the bed next to me and showed me where, in all the ink, his wife’s name was hidden.

As if on cue she proudly stripped and showed me where her man’s name was on her, right above her lady bits. “He owns me.” she told me. “I’m branded by him over my most intimate area. I am his property, to do with as I wish.”

…That’s about where vanilla me’s head exploded.

The man ordered the woman up to mix drinks for all of us..not that I can remember what I drank. I liked how he smelled, the musk of his scent, and didn’t resist when he pulled off my bra and underwear. They asked what my limits were..

Here I was, extremely attracted to these two people and extremely confused all at once, and I started rambling on about Jason, about how I loved him about the weirdness between us..

Somehow this led to me making out with the man as he fondled my top and the woman fingering me. I remember her murmuring “You’re so fucking beautiful” over and over, the man agreeing, saying I would make such a nice little pet.

“Look how responsive she is.. It’s like a living squeaky toy..”

Part of me wishes I had been much more sober for this experience than I was..and part of me wish I had recognized them for what they were back then so that I could write this all down sooner, before the details got blurry.

I vaguely remember them having a conversation about me; saying they would like to see me again when I was free of hang ups, that they wish they were closer, that they wished I could fully play. At the time I had only been with three men, so penetration was a very much no-no. It was taboo. You didn’t have sex with strangers! Whores did that.

…I wanted to have sex with him.. really badly. I liked her too..but I wanted to fuck him. Quiet, brooding, and calling the shots.

My cab called me right on time to say he was outside of the hotel. I quickly dressed, despite the protests of the couple, and went outside to go back to my boring college life, trying to process what had just happened and what I got myself into. I had willingly gone to a stranger’s hotel room to fool around with a couple. They saw me naked. She talked about being owned by her husband and seemed giddy when he asked her to make us all drinks.

…So imagine my “DOH!” reaction when I dove into the world of BDSM and remember all I could of this event.. He owned her. She was a submissive to his Dominance, and from all appearance they had a 24/7 arrangement. Throughout the night she had mentioned rewards for things, like her breast implants and tattoos being gifted to her for this, this and this.

Very few people know this happened. I never shared the experience for fear of judgment, only telling that I was propositioned, not that I went upstairs with the swinging couple.

You think that would have gotten me to figure out what I was sooner.  Whoopsie?

Yours,

~Rena