Pup had me hold onto the post and face the girls. He slipped the condom on and entered me roughly, holding onto my hips. He fucked me hard and I knew I was being loud, knew that the girls were aware of me.
I tried my hardest to avoid looking at them, I was pretty shy about the whole thing. But every so often Pup would tug my hair and I would be made to look, or he would grab onto my throat for a little bit and my head would be forced up.
It wasn’t that seeing them wasn’t hot. I’m not much of a voyeur, but the issue was more that I would be caught staring while I was in a fairly compromised position.
I kept my head down while I walked past people to grab a condom, slipping back over to the play area and attempting to avoid conversation. I didn’t exactly want to have to say, “sorry, I have to go get fucked” to somebody who was trying to talk to me.
The section across from us had been behind me while I was being whipped, and aside from brief glimpses into the mirror to see some people walk by or pause to watch, I hadn’t really been paying attention to what was going on there. But when I returned to hand the condom to Pup, I got a look at the people inside. There were two girls: one sitting up on a stool, the other eating her out.
Pup pushed me down to my knees and put the condom in his back pocket. “Come on, get me ready,” he said. But, when I went to unzip his pants, he pushed me away. “Beg for it.”
I rolled my eyes. I have never, ever understood the whole begging to do a thing the person has clearly just asked you to do. Sure, yeah, it’s for the purpose of humiliation, but it seems so redundant sometimes. But, I begged regardless until he let me unzip his pants and take his cock out.
Once I’d sucked him off for a little while, he hauled me up to my feet by my hair. “Hold onto the post,” he said. “I’m going to fuck you.”
I went to get into my old position, but he stopped me. “Nope, this side this time.” I felt myself blushing. He wanted me to face the girls.
“I’m not going to fuck you yet,” Pup replied. “You’re disgusting, you know that?” He reached between my legs and rubbed my pussy through the gusset of the bodysuit I was wearing. “You’re a disgusting whore and I’m going to have to fix you. I’m going to make you a good girl.”
I leaned back against him as best as I could. “Yes, Sir.”
He shoved me forward against the post. “Do you know how I’m going to make you a good girl?”
“I don’t know, Sir,” I said. He hit me with the belt again, hard. “I said I don’t know,” I repeated.
Pup kept hitting me. “Come on, take a guess. How do you make someone a good girl?”
I cried out as he delivered a few more rough blows. “I…I don’t know. You hurt them?” He kept hitting me and I kept guessing. I don’t even remember what I’d said or even what the answer was. But I remember that when he finally stopped and told me, I was both in incredible pain and really, really turned on. I think I’d been crying, and there was a sheen of sweat on my forehead when I looked at myself in the mirror.
“If you can take ten hits from my belt and hold perfectly still and stay quiet, I’ll fuck you,” Pup said while I composed myself. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready?”
I nodded. He went right for the back of my calves, and he got in maybe three hits before I flinched away and cried out. I rested my head against the post and let out a long whine when he told me that we were going to keep going until I got ten. He started over, putting in a few hits on my legs before moving to my upper arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing any attempt at making noise under deep breaths. This time, I managed.
“Good girl,” Pup said and smoothed my hair back. I wanted to be a little defiant, thinking I’d earned it from succeeding, but instead I ended up pressing my head against him until he moved to untie me from the post. I stumbled off of it, Pup steadying me for a moment as I got my bearings. My skin felt electric with pain, my mind both keen and hazy with the weird, blurred alertness that comes with endorphins.
Giving me a shove out of the play area, Pup told me to go get a drink of water and a condom.
I’ve mentioned time and again on here that I’m not a masochist, and people usually find that kind of funny. But I am genuinely not. I don’t enjoy pain. It takes a lot of work (and only recently has this actually come to fruition, but more on that another day) to get the right endorphin rush or zen head going from getting beaten. It’s happened, but it flat-out doesn’t.
Pup’s a sadist. And he, like Sir, seem to enjoy pain play with me specifically because I am not a masochist. I consent to being hurt because I like giving someone the right to do that, I enjoy what that implies. Not because I like getting hurt. Neither of them are the kind of sadists who want someone egging them on to hurt them more. They want someone who, although they are consenting and enjoying the encounter, are not specifically liking what is going on because of the pain. And, yeah, I hate pain.
He mostly concentrated on my back and my butt, as well as the backs of my thighs. He stopped when I needed him to, but I found that as soon as the threshold widened to a point that I would start to adapt to the pain, he’d switch to someplace else. There is a point where I can kind of sink into pain and it becomes so constant that it almost feels comfortable. He never let me reach that point.
As awful as it felt, I liked that. I liked that he beat me on my upper arms, right in the sensitive place between the triceps and the biceps, forcing me to twist my bound wrists and hold my arms out to give him a good point to hit. I liked that he was paying enough attention to figure out when I was sinking into the pain, and then switch it up so quickly I barely had time to react.
But I didn’t realize how turned on I was getting until he pushed himself up against me again and grabbed my throat. His other hand moved between my legs and he started laughing. “Want it already?”
I looked up at myself in the mirror and realized I was grinding against him. I’d been ready to tell him off, but instead I just blushed and whined, “will you please? I want to get fucked.”
He stepped away from me and managed to hit me between the legs with the belt. I cried out and rested my forehead against the post, feeling my eyes well up with tears.
In mid-December, we all went to a play party. It was the first time I’d gone to a play party without Sir.
The evening started out pretty tame. Saltine, Pup, one of Saltine’s friends and I arrived at the party after hanging around at Pup’s place for a little bit, and a friend of mine who had previously said she was too shy to go showed up anyway.
I congratulated her for being super brave. In addition to just being an awesome thing for her to face her fears and show up at the party, it made me feel good about being there myself. I was a little anxious about being there without Sir, as well as being nervous about being there with Saltine. I am an absolute anxious perfectionist, so the idea of us not really wanting to play together and also not really knowing how to divvy up the time left me a little on edge. It’s the kind of thing were I just want everything to be perfect and everybody to be happy and Jesus nobody wants to make firm plans.
Pup came over and told me that he wanted to play with me. I was feeling a little bratty, so I spent a some time avoiding it by running off to grab a drink or talk to someone. But, somewhere in the middle of talking my friend, Pup came over, grabbed me by the hair, and dragged me off to the back of the party.
The back area was partitioned off into two rows of little semi-private play areas, separated by curtains through which one could easily see silhouettes of the people behind them. The area he took me to was right near the front of the row, such that the party could see us through the curtains. Inside was a small raised platform, and atop the platform was a long, wooden post. The entire apparatus faced a mirrored wall.
Pup moved me up onto the platform and guided my hands to hold onto the post. He slid my legs apart by easing his feet between mine. For a moment, he stood pressing his weight against me, pinning me against the post. It’s a move he’d pulled before, when we were out on our second date and we were playing pool. That time, it was under the auspices of helping me to play, but I understood the intention behind it both that time and this one. It’s a power play, a move to demonstrate the differences in both height and strength, a way to say that he can overpower me. It’s also more or less a way to grind his cock against me.
Gathering up a length of rope, he arranged my hands further up the post and tied them there by threading the rope through a loop at the top of the post.
“Am I in trouble?” I asked as he set to pushing my feet further apart. There were two more metal loops on the platform, and he was already tying two lengths of rope around my ankles.
He chuckled and shook his head. “What do you think, princess?” He’d been in the habit of calling me that then, always condescendingly, always in such a way that I protested being called it. He tied off the ropes and my legs were stuck spread almost uncomfortably wide.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe.”
Pup rose up to his feet and sunk his fingers into my hair. He tugged back so hard, so suddenly that the memory of watching it happen in the mirror in front of me – of seeing it all too quickly before all the saw was the ceiling – is still as vivid as ever.
Me: So I’d rather eat in if that’s okay.
Pup: Yeah if you want.
Me: Okay great I’ve got some stuff in the fridge that I need to get rid of.
Me: Also there’s a sippy cup full of Sir’s piss in there.
Me: So uh maybe don’t touch that.
Pup: …
Sir was here for the weekend for the holiday. Some pretty crazy stuff happened that I promise I’ll (eventually) tell you about.
Strong hint: both he and Pup were in town this weekend.
Sir just left, but we made sure to get in some overdue pet play in before he headed out. I feel so fortunate to have spent so much of this summer with him, but I already miss him like crazy.
“John Martin’s Book for Little Children,” April 1913, Vol. II, No. 1 Subscription
Sir likes to say that my fantasies revolve a lot around being the ingénue. They involve innocence, reluctance, corruption. Within the context of a “scene” or “play,” I never initiate in my ideal scenario.
Call it a way of sublimating shame, maybe. Playing the reluctant victim implies I don’t actually have to own up to enjoying the disgusting things I like. Or it might just be that the idea of not being in control of my experience is kind of hot. But part of it, certainly, is the freedom to be unaccountable and immature.
Saltine showed up almost twenty minutes late for coffee. I considered it a power play until I saw the way they came in: sweatpants, glasses on, no makeup. Saltine’s the kind of person who can carry it off, which is a quality I’ve always envied in that type of person. If I do that, I just look like I’m sick.
But I realized what was really happening here. They ordered hot chocolate while I sat there with black coffee. They spun out on tangents about other people they’d dated, about foolish choices they’d made prior with people whose age and experience they equated with credibility and safety. And I understood why Saltine had annoyed me so much: they were the ingénue.
What’s more, from the things they told me, they were me. Not me at this point. But Saltine was nineteen years old now, just the way I was right around the time I started this blog, when I was at a point where I wanted to take control of myself and my sexuality, when in the past I had kind of been just stumbling around with it, throwing myself into things.
The conversation went well. They understood that I had different standards about boundaries and said they would respect them. And though I acknowledged it was unhealthy to project it on Saltine and I shouldn’t try to protect them, I told Pup that he and Saltine could sleep at my place after the play party.
As I’ve said before, Saltine was eighteen years old when I met them. And as I’ve said before, I don’t like to date people that young.
I had genuinely no problem with Pup going out with them, but I had zero intentions of getting involved. I found Saltine pretty childish in the few interactions I had with them, in the way that I was when I was their age. Precocious but still young, too smart for their own good. So, on the one hand, I could relate, but on the other I was like ok mama has no time to get mixed up with this child.
After Pup and Saltine hooked up, I ran into Saltine at a munch. I had been perfectly prepared to be cordial. I was happy Pup was getting out there since his breakup, and I was glad things were going well.
But Saltine came on super strong, in a way that was so blunt it was alarming. When they’d walked away, my friend said kiddo needed to chill out. I had to agree.
However, Saltine most definitely did not chill out. And Pup, kind of new to the practice of dating two individuals and calling neither one of them a primary, was not yet accustomed to setting boundaries. So the night I came over to meet Pup’s good friend, guess who was already at his house and on his couch: Saltine.
I shouldn’t have felt entitled to anything, but I did. I’d seen Pup through a pretty big breakup. We’d been seeing each other for almost five months at that point. And then there was just this person traipsing in for what my traditional little brain had categorized as a pretty big milestone: meeting the best friend.
So I was annoyed, but I thought if I vocalized that I’d come across as thewet blanket or selfish. Especially with Saltine being so down for stuff. They’d been interested in hooking up with me, and I had not returned that interest. They were clearly easier to deal with on paper: down for threesomes, down with hanging out all together like this. I needed time. I needed fair warning. If I was going to show up somewhere and Saltine was going to be there, I needed to know ahead of time. Saltine proably didn’t need that.
And so intestead of taking care of myself and asking Pup to talk in the next room, I decided to turn on way too much shade and basically ignore Saltine. I just spoke directly to Pup’s friend, and after his friend had left, I whipped out a book from my bag and started reading it on the couch rather than attempting to engage Saltine in any kind of conversation.
To make matters only worse, there was a play party coming up. I lived a convenient distance from the venue, and so Saltine asked if we could all go to my place after and just sleep over. I also had, as it turned out, the biggest bed.
Dumbfounded and not wanting to be the partypooper, I agreed. But internally I was kicking myself like mother of fuck what did I just agree to.
Eventually, and I honestly do not know how it happened, but Pup and Saltine wound up on the couch with my while I started reading. And then Saltine ended up taking Pup’s cock out or maybe Pup just took his cock out? I genuinely do not remember. But basically the two of them were pretty hot and bothered and bursting with new relationship energy and I was like
Bottom line, I should have been assertive. But I wasn’t. And instead of even just asking them to stop or going home, I told them to keep going and that I didn’t want to ruin their fun. Which was totally stupid on my part, but I was pretty insecure abut the whole thing. Saltine was young and hot and exciting, down for just about anything. I didn’t want to be the boring one. It’s hard not to feel like everything is going to be a comparison.
So I literally gave the okay to them having sex while I was there. And it was so weird. Because I was essentially this dog:
It wasn’t until the next day until all the feelings came flooding to the surface and I found words for them. And I ended up texting Pup novel after novel of upset and anger and outrage. Saltine was not sleeping at my house, I said. And if Saltine was at his place when I was coming over, he’d better tell me. How dare the two of them impose upon me like that and make me feel as if I were the eternal partypooper if I didn’t go along with every ridiculous plan or impulse, I’d said. Pup apologized and promised he’d establish better boundaries, though I conceded that I should have articulated my discomfort better.
After that, all that was left was to talk to Saltine. We made a plan for coffee later that week. Naturally, I was freaked out. But more on that later.
This is your hostess apologizing for being pretty quiet for the past while. I know I’m behind on 365 photos. I know I’m behind on updating you all about my life.
Facts are, my life has been the most hectic it has ever been, for good and bad reasons. I finished up my Master’s, I have a job in the city where I completed it that I’ll be beginning soon after I return from this trip to be with Sir. Things are crazy and exciting. I’m starting to get situated in my field, and so tumblr has fallen a bit by the wayside.
However, this inactivity has also been for some crummy reasons. Basically, I’ve been putting off writing about two things that are kind of sucky. The first is the relationship Pup and I had with Saltine. The second is a rather rough spot, kind of an ultimate low, with Sir. Both have resolved themselves in different ways: Pup and I are no longer seeing Saltine, Sir and I kind of had to hit rock bottom to rebuild back to what we had.
Neither of these are particularly appealing to write about. The first feels so strange in the sense that I know this thing is over, and it colors all the stories I have to tell you. The second is buried beneath a lot of shame: I hate to admit where I’ve messed up, I hate to portray my relationship with Sir in a negative light.
So bear with me, tumblr. The stories are coming. They’re just going to take a lot out of me.
