Insolence, Part Two

We pulled up to Rex’s place and I felt a lump rise in my throat. He lived in a pretty fancy apartment complex, complete with a freaking person in a little hut who offers you a parking pass. Just…bananas.

So I was all anxious because it was becoming more and more apparent to me that this person is a real adult with nice adult things and I’m, you know, me. And Pup, noticing how I’ve gotten all quiet, reached over and squeezed my thigh. “Calm down. You’re going to have a good time. Just relax.”

To which I’m basically like:

After taking the elevator up to his floor, I started up the hall. The thrumming of the low bass of some music grew louder as I neared his door. I had to smirk, I knew this move. And, okay, maybe he just liked loud music, but I’ve totally thrown that kind of stuff on to drown out the sex I was anticipating having. I figured knowing he was being a little presumptuous would give me the upper hand.

But when I stepped inside, I was taken aback by the fact that he first thing he said after greeting me and kissing me hello was to suggest I take off my shoes. Yeah, after the whole “wear comfortable shoes” thing that left me freaking out over footwear before arriving. It was a fucking power play.

Which, in part, made me crazy. But also, in part, indicated to me that Rex might just be into power dynamics. Or, yeah, he could’ve just been a jerk. Either way, I was totally bamboozled.

His apartment had one of those floor-to-ceiling windows with an incredible view. For a while, was just sat around, talking about ourselves and watching the sunset. “Anyway,” he said. “What do you like? I mean, what are you into?”

I chuckled. “You mean, like, sexually?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly that.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Oh no. I’m not going first. I don’t want to weird you out or set crazy expectations.” He put his arm around me and started laughing. “No, I’m dead serious. You first.”

Rex cleared his throat. “Well, all right. I guess I should start by saying, in at least most relationships, I’m dominant.”

“Well,” I responded, looking at my feet. “I’m usually a sub.”

“Bondage?” He asked, and I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said, “that’s kind of a big thing for me.”

He reached up and slid my blazer off of my shoulders. “Ageplay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes.”

Rex pulled my dress off of me and slipped my stockings down. He kept naming kinks, I kept affirming them. It was going well. And when he rolled on a condom and went to slide inside me, I tried to up the ante by saying, “no. Turn me over. Fuck me like a whore.”

He slipped into me. “It’s always fucking you like a whore if it’s fucking you.”

Me:

Impulse, Part Five

I’d told everyone my limits and clarified what didn’t feel good for me, though I could not clearly express what I wanted. There wasn’t much I could put to words, considering what was about to happen.

I tied the blindfold over my eyes and waited.

For a moment, nothing happened. Naturally, my thoughts drifted to the worst ideas: no one else was into this or into me, I’d upped the ante way too soon, I was making people uncomfortable. It’s the kind of insecurity that has plagued my relationship to kink forever: the fear of being the only one who actually enjoys it. Which, yeah, at a play party is absolutely absurd.

The moment, though perhaps an eternity in my head, was maybe the length of one deep breath. And then everything: hands, mouths. Someone untying the belt on my skirt. Someone biting my neck. A hand in my hair, a hand on my ass. A hand settled at my side, pulled me a bit forward, and someone’s lips met mine. I reached up and placed a hand on the body in front of me. As I felt the scrape of an unfamiliar patch of stubble, I realized I wasn’t kissing someone I had kissed before.

The whole thing – the hands, the fingers, the mouths – was impossibly hot, but something was incredible about the fact that a stranger had come over in the midst of the probing and grabbing and biting to grab me and kiss me. Maybe it was the fact that the action was the most vanilla of anything that was happening, the most commonplace. The only thing that could have been done outside of the context of me being blindfolded at a play party. My friend suggested that it was the fact that the person had grabbed me and initiated something so intimate in the midst of a group like that. “It was like he was claiming you,” she said. I don’t know how sold I am on that idea.

And just as quickly as it all began, it was over. Someone reached out and tickled my stomach, making me double over. I recognised the host’s voice: “I think that’s enough for you.”

I removed the blindfold and sat back down, barely able to look up at the group now that I had no idea who had been touching me and where. Even though I knew it wasn’t him, I turned to Pup and asked, “was that you kissing me?”

“Nah,” he said. “I was biting you mostly.”

Mustering up all the bravery I could manage to make eye contact with everyone, I looked around the circle and asked, “all right, who was it?”

A guy on the couch raised his hand.

I was leaving Pup’s place one night when he grabbed hold of my coat and – intentionally, as to irritate me – buttoned it askew. Huffing, I undid the buttons.

“Do it again,” I said.

He shook his head, “do it yourself.” I pouted, twisting one of my legs and shooting him some puppy eyes. He sat down on the end of his bed and chuckled. “You’re cute, do it yourself.”

“My Daddy buttons my coat for me,” I said, brushing my knees against his.

His hand shot up: palm overwhelming my face, fingers burrowing into the hinges of my jaw. I stumbled back and he pushed me against the wall. “I’m not your Daddy, you little bitch,” he snarled in my ear before releasing me. “Now button up your coat.”

It’s hard sometimes negotiating dynamics.

So, Craftsmate and I are involved in what can be considered a “vanilla” relationship (boyfriend-girlfriend) and a kinky BDSM (chocolate?) dynamic. And I’m happy about both of these. But sometimes we have trouble finding a balance, if that makes any sense. I feel like it’s the basic Secretary-style problem of “we can’t do this everyday”/“why not?” sort of problem, except both of us seem to embody both of those opinions at once.

So, I guess I’m soliciting some of you guys here: how do you do it? Most of my relationships either had very bedroom-only BDSM dynamics and several of my “serious” BDSM arrangements have not been with primary partners. Sometimes, it’s hard to figure out where one dynamic ends and the other begins.

Contributions, anecdotes and advice would all be appreciated. You guys seem to have it together, so lay some wisdom on me.

Sweetheart learns the tough lesson that asking to be on top doesn’t necessarily imply being in control.

“I think I want to kiss you,” Craftsmate said one night about a month ago while in bed with me.

The last time that I had happened, there was a little bit of an episode, as you may recall. So we had agreed to be play partners and not kiss or be emotionally intimate. Which was all fine and good until there would be nights he would sleep over and we would wake up curled into each other and I would feel some little pang of something growing in my throat.

That night, the lights were already out and I couldn’t see him. “Are you sure? I’m not sure my ego can handle you freaking out over this again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “yeah, I’m sure. I want to kiss you.”

I climbed over him to get out of bed. “I’m going to the bathroom. Think it over and when I get back if you want to, maybe we will.”

When I returned, he confirmed that he was still on board about it. I was a bit embarrassed at how nervous I suddenly felt. It was too dark in my room and we bumped noses. The entire kiss was awkward and reminiscent of a middle school playground.

Somehow, that felt about right.

Chained, Part Five

“I kind of want her to flog me,” Popcorn replied. It was certainly unusual, with me on the end of a chain and ballgagged. But, I wanted to try it.

As Popcorn got onto Penthouse’s bed, I rose up to my feet. Adjusting the chain somewhat, I accepted the flogger from Penthouse and sucked in a deep breath. Joking around with Craftsmate aside, I had never flogged anyone seriously before.

When Popcorn squirmed and squeaked, the bottom of her dress rode up slightly, showing just a peek of a pert little rear. I was surprised by how much I wanted to hit it, but I stuck to her legs and thighs, which she seemed perfectly happy with.

Suddenly, Penthouse grabbed his mirror and moved it over in front of the bed so we could see ourselves.

I froze. Ballgagged, collared, chained, holding a flogger. It was all too much. I squeezed the Taboo buzzer and shut my eyes tight. I don’t know exactly what about it bothered me, but it was something about how real everything became when I looked in the mirror. Seeing myself like that, I was almost scared. Coming to terms with what I’m into has been hard enough, but having to see it so clearly made me squeeze the buzzer without hesitation.

“Good girl,” Penthouse reassured as he put the mirror back. Popcorn joined in the coos. “Very good girl, thank you for letting us know.”

Once the mirror was gone, I felt myself smile around the ballgag as I continued to hit Popcorn with the flogger. Penthouse met my gaze and we exchanged smirks as I delivered the last few blows, gauging Popcorn’s reactions and not wanting to push it.

“You could’ve done more,” Popcorn said as she got off of the bed, rubbing her thighs. “That felt really good.”

I know I could have. Having her, squirming and moaning, while I was still gagged and chained, with Penthouse watching was all indescribably hot. But, I was still treading in new waters. And, as ironic as it sounds for the situation I was in, I was approaching it with some caution.

In case anybody needed to know what makes me blush:

herdirtylittleheart:

Daddy feeds me grapefruit. He eats it a few times a week, “It’s good for you baby.” I hate grapefruit. Unless it’s covered in white sugar. But that’s not how Daddy eats it.

He sits down beside me and peels it effortlessly with his big strong hands. He eats the pieces quickly and without fuss. But for me he does it differently. He takes the most plump section and carefully peels away the skin and the rind and the white stringy parts that make me say ick, leaving just the juicy raw insides. Exposed. It’s always that ruby colour, like the inside of my cunt. It’s always dripping and falling apart. He hands it to me, my fingers accept it gingerly.

I make a sour face when I chew, I shiver a little, but I don’t complain. I know it’s for my own good. He doesn’t pay much attention to my reaction anyway.

“Good girl,” he says when he sees I’ve swallowed.

herdirtylittleheart:

Random mid-day sneaking-a-peek-at-tumblr-and-getting-stuck-staring-at-this-gif-for-much-longer-than-is-appropriate thoughts:

One thing that appeals to me about the Daddy/Little dynamic more so than the traditional Dom/Sub dynamic is that I get to still be treated as precious, even when I’m being roughed up. Moments of tenderness are so powerful when they’re in the midst of (consensual) violence.

Heart gets it.

Ivy

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Insolence, Part Two