<< Mar 2010 ...And Nothing But The Truth... Friday, February 26th, 2010 - 7:36 pm
OK, so I may not have been telling the whole story in my rope bunny post the other day, but wait before you get upset with me. You see, the thing is that Saturday was a pretty busy day for me and it took me long enough to write about the rope tying incident without entering into what went on that evening, so I thought I'd break it into two posts. In hindsight I think it was no bad thing that I didn't blog it immediately after it happened, because it's given me time to mull it over, figure out how I felt about it and also to come to a few realisations which have influenced how I feel about this whole thing.
For ease of telling I'm going to give you the narrative first and then I'll tell you how I feel about it afterwards... this also means if I run out of words I can come back and write the sequel another day without interrupting the recounting.
So... Saturday was spent entirely with Jen. After she spent the afternoon tying me up and letting me figure out how I felt about it she persuaded me to accompany her to a Fet night at a local club. We weren't certain, beforehand, that we were going to attend. She was tired and I was hormonal (and nervous, but shhh, don't tell anyone) but when evening came round I found I was buoyed up by the nerves and Jen, well, if she was tired she didn't let on, I think she was too interested to see how I would find the whole thing :-)
I was a little ansty about what I was going to wear - fet nights have a dress code (fetish or, at the very least, fetish) and my wardrobe is fairly limited - even in the black department (I'm more of a colours girl). In the end I went for a thing, stretchy black dress worn underneath a satin corset (cheap, as could be seen by the way it slowly collapsed over the evening under the weight of my breasts) and black stockings, suspenders, biker boots. It was a curious mix, but the all-black meant you couldn't examine it too closely and I felt dressed up enough to make it an 'occasion' without being entirely outside my comfort zone.
The night was being held in an old art deco building that is more than a little reminiscent of a Bingo hall, but it was clean and newly decorated with nice dim lighting (kind to all of us!). Jen and I were two of the first there, able to find a quiet table and, with impunity, watch everyone else enter after us. Apart from an uncomfortable moment with the proprietor of the venue talking to my (admittedly impressive) cleavage, the whole atmosphere was very... Sunday lunch at a pub feeling, only with more outrageous clothing.
I'm not entirely sure whether I'd had any preconceptions, but I hadn't expected what I got. In a large room that could easily have accommodated one or two hundred people there were maybe twenty or twenty-five spread over a number of small tables. The dance floor portion of the room was nominally partitioned off with leather curtains strung on rails. Whilst this didn't offer any privacy (at a Fet night? Kind of not the point, surely) it did break up the enormous room into two more manageable parts. The curtained-off area was filled with curious pieces of equipment which Jen offered to walk me round. I was so glad she was there with me - I'm not sure I would have had the guts to do anything other than stare if I had been on my own, and there were no meeters and greeters other than Mr Perv at the door. Eww.
Closest to us was a leather-covered padded block with loops to attach strapping/ropes or cuffs to and two little platforms on either side for the 'victim's' knees. I don't think I'm describing it very well, perhaps I'll draw you a picture sometime. Needless to say it set my mind racing. The next piece was more innocent looking: something like an over-sized ladder, with the rungs wide and padded with leather and a narrow platform along the base to stand upon. A ring on a pulley hung down the centre of this, to which wrists could be attached and then hoisted.
There were at least six more pieces of specialist furniture dotted around the dance floor, including a large frame with rings hanging from it that Jen informed me was for the purposes of suspension.
In the very centre of all these pieces was a single pole with a chain and a simple ring fixture at the top and a wide, circular base. It didn't look anything special, but I was soon treated to a show that demonstrated how simple could be clever. The chap selling fetish-wear at the back of the room came over with his (presumably) Sub, a young Oriental woman in a very short, flippy red skirt, high heels and a corset. She was wearing cuffs round her wrists and he used these to secure her to the ring at the top of the pole, right in the centre of the room.
Once she was secured thus he ran a single-tail whip through his hands and flicked it out towards her. She squeaked, like a kitten, and dodged sideways, but he flicked out the tail again and caught her as she moved. That was the beauty of it - the pole gave her the sense of being able to get away - able to move all around the pole, but with a single-tail he could reach her easily without having to move, himself.
After a while of sitting and talking Jen asked if I was ready to go and try the furniture out. She let me choose and, feeling comfortable with its sense of the familiar and its position directly behind the curtain, I chose the ladder-like piece. Instructing me to remove my boots and stand on the platform, Jen roped my wrists together and attached them to the ring fixing. Even fully dressed I felt self-conscious and odd, the wood texture against my stockinged feet unusual as I curled my toes around the edge of the platform.
Jen didn't tie the rope very tight and I'm sure that, had I tried, I could have wriggled myself free, but I wanted the illusion of being unable to escape - held there no matter what. I twisted my hands in the rope, so I could hold onto the rope tails, removing any chance that my hands would pull free and rested my cheek against my shoulder.
I'll have to be honest with you here. Much as I wish I could remember everything in clear detail, events from here onwards were slightly fuzzy. I remember Jen flicking me with a light flogger that didn't really have much of an impact and wishing that my skirt wasn't in the way. I remember being shocked when the flogger feel across my back and shoulders - I hadn't really thought of a flogging being applied to any body part other than bottom and thighs (which, in retrospect, was kind of foolish for someone who spent several childhood years being obsessed with the English Navy and the horrors of the slave trade. I know I know, I was an odd kid.)
Then I remember her stepping up close to me, the scent of her perfume as she ran her hands down my sides, her fingers warm through the satin of my corset. She used feathers to tickle me, a strange little pinwheel thing that just felt odd and something sharper to create a scratching sensation. Next thing I know, she's stepped away and is lashing out at me again with the flogger I'm starting to call my favourite. It's made with about 50 strands of leather, each 5 mm wide and the sensation is just delicious - heavy with a sting that fades to a tingly memory of a blow. I can't really do it justice, but I love the way it feels. I wished that I could be naked so it would fall, unhindered, against my skin. I wished she would aim more blows at my bottom (what can I say, it just feels good) and then, all too soon, I wished that she would keep going.
Stepping in close to me again she ran her hands over my body - not touching me anywhere inappropriate, not coming in contact with any body part that I wouldn't be happy for my sister to touch, and yet every touch was loaded with eroticism and made me shiver. Without realising it I had closed my eyes, ignored the other people who had started to use the equipment around us and all I could focus on was Jen and what she was doing to me - what she'd do to me next.
I was unprepared for the stinging lash that landed across my upper back next, followed by another lash across my thighs and bottom - I squeaked, or maybe it was a squeal... I can't really remember, so surprised was I by the suddeness of the assault. Jen chuckled and did it again, then came in close once more for some caresses.
I wasn't sure if up was down - the touching and the floggings blending into pure sensation, but Jen was the touchstone - I focused solely on her and before I knew it, it was over and Jen was untying me. She seemed bizarrely protective of me - offering me a blanket, leading me over to our table, ignoring my silly giggles.
It was something that I hadn't expected, even though I had read about BDSM, read about aftercare, I had always assumed that it was simply tending to any injuries, I never thought about the emotional care.
It makes a bit more sense to me now, although I can't pretend to understand the Dom/me's side of it from an emotional point. If someone has trusted you with their body, their emotions - their *self*, then afterwards you have some sort of moral obligation to look after them, I guess. This seemed clearer with some of the other women - and it was mostly women - who were tied to the equipment. Their sessions lasted longer and were more intense and, when they were let down, were obviosuly not compos mentis. One woman seemed almost to be swooning. In that situation then yes, I get why the Dominant would need to step in and look after them. It just seemed silly with me, I was just a bit giggly and kind of embarrassed.
A few days on and a few conversations with Jen and I get it a little bit, but it was a pay off that I really didn't expect or look for and feel incredibly (and excuse the brief moment of schmaltz here) blessed to have found Jen, who ties me up and treats me as I wanted more than I ever realise and then takes such good care of me afterwards that I feel more protected and looked after than I have in a long time.
She makes me feel like it's OK to lean on her, be honest with her about how I feel, not try and pretend that I'm OK when I'm not. For my own health I have to control myself rigorously, even control my emotions and reactions because otherwise they subsume me and drag me down. Finally I have found a way to be released from that - forget myself and just experience sensation, be entirely taken by the physical and know that afterwards I'm going to be looked after. Like sex, but more intense.
I can't imagine what kink would be like combined with sex, I don't know if I'll ever experience it, but I know that I have to go back and experience that release again. I've told Jen that I'll do as she says if she asks me for more. I'm not entirely sure what she'll ask me, but I trust her and she can read me better than nearly anybody I know, even though we've only been friends such a short while. I know that she'll know how far she can push me without me even having to say anything, because she'll be able to tell when I'm just embarrassed or unsure, rather than freaked out or overwhelmed. Even if she doesn't, I know that she'd stop as soon as I asked her to and would make sure I was alright afterwards.
BDSM can be a dangerous path, I think perhaps far more than even I realise, so it's good to know I have a woman I can trust to hold my hands - and tie them securely to the nearest object :-)
Not Dead Yet Wednesday, February 24th, 2010 - 10:09 pm
OK, now I know the majority of stereotypes exist for a very good reason, but at the same time I think we can agree that a)we know that stereotypes by no means encompass every type and b)we know when and where to fall back on these stereotypes.
That being said, can I say that, due to a stereotype and one very stupid woman, that I have had some of the best laughs of my life this evening! I was at my evening class, the one I met Jen at, and she was sitting next to me. Now, Jen is by no means a girlie girl, she doesn't really *do* glam, but at the same time she is still feminine and - imho - sexy, just not in a makeup-and-heels way.
You can imagine my glee when stupid woman (or SW from now on) decided to launch into an ill thought out monologue on what 'one' would see as the stereotypical lesbian with Jen sitting right bang next to her. Now, I know bull dykes exist and yes, they're fairly macho, but I don't think even they frequent purveyors of lumberjack shirts any more - or do they? I have to say I'm not very au fait with the latest in lesbian fashion, but I thought it was more SuperDry anoraks than plaid. And even bull dykes hardly make up the whole of the lesbian community, so to lump every gay woman into one category and say: that's what a lesbian looks like could have been fairly insulting... only somehow it was just fucking hilarious. I mean - SW must *know* Jen is gay, she certainly did halfway through her diatribe after one acid comment from Jen and yet she kept on digging. Every woman there could see the hole was so deep it was filling with water, but SW just kept right on.
By this point I was laughing so hard that I had stomach cramps and tears running down my face. It was truly a "you really had to be there" moment. But wait... it got better.
Next thing I know someone was suggesting Jen turn up to next week's class wearing 6 inch stilettos and some lipstick (and possibly a lumberjack shirt also) and then SW came out with the one that had me rolling on the floor.
"I'll even lie down and you can walk up and down my back wearing them."
Well now I was lost. Did SW know that Jen's a BDSM Domme? The wicked grin on Jen's face would have had me in fits even if I hadn't been primed and ready from my previous fit of hysterics. I put my forehead down on the table and shook with laughter. Next to me I could almost hear Jen's wry grin. I don;t know what tickled her more - that this woman had accidentally hit on a BDSM punishment, or that she would quite like to inflict some pain on her for her ignorance that bordered on prejudice. Personally I think such stupidity is its own punishment. Did SW know why we were all laughing? Did she realise it was purely at her? I really hope, for her sake, that she's absent or quiet next week.
And my parting shot to Jen across the car park...?
"Shall I bring my stilettos next week?"
I'm still grinning and giggling to myself now. Prejudice ain't dead yet, but you really had to be there...
Fit To Be Tied Monday, February 22nd, 2010 - 3:15 pm
So... I had an interesting experience recently. I didn't blog sooner for two reasons 1) I wanted to mull it over a bit first and 2) I was on cloud cuckoo land for a while there...
Before I can tell you, though, I have a confession to make. Promise not to tell? OK, well, here's the thing... I may not be quite as 'experienced' as perhaps my writing indicates. I mean, I'm no innocent, believe me, but a large amount of my stories are drawn from pure imagination, rather than experience, especially my more kink-related ones. In essence, whilst i am fascinated by BDSM and the like, my only real experience of it to date has been a bit of bedroom spanking and those ridiculous 'toy' handcuffs that you can get out of if you push a lever - and probably just if you pulled hard enough!
Well, that's changed now. I have a new friend and she's a bit of a rope fan, so I volunteered myself as a, what did she call it now? Oh yes, a rope bunny :-) Basically I offered to let her practice her ties on me. Well it started out simply enough - she tied my wrists together in a basic tie, showed me how it could be used in different ways - such as for leading about, tying to stationary objects etc.
We talked for a bit, lying on her bed, then she told me to kneel up on the bed - she was going to tie me in a harness. Well, OK then. I did as I was told and knelt up on the bed while she passed a rope around my waist and chest, over my shoulders, around and under my breasts. Hrmm, I understood what she meant by getting quite close when you tie someone up - I don't think I've ever got so close to someone before and not ended up having sex.
I looked in the mirror when she was done. Well, holy hell. I looked like an Anime character in a costume and my breasts looked *amazing*. The rope encircled them completely, stretching my t-shirt tight across them and hoicking them up so they were front and centre. The ropes felt snug around my chest and rib cage, a bit like wearing a corset, really. My face was all pink and flushed, even thought the room was cool and I wasn't wearing a sweater.
"That'll be the rope." Jen smiled at me and I felt myself go pinker. "You're a natural rope bunny."
Sitting down on the bed she pulled me backwards against her by the harness and, even though my arms were free, I fell completely onto her unable to stop myself.
"And that's what you can do with a chest harness."
She laughed at me as I fell about giggling, then put her arms around me and played around with a length of rope in front of both of us as she created a treble coin (I think that's what it's called). Then she demonstrated how it could be used to encircle three fingers, pulling the wrist backwards and securing the forearm against the upper-arm, allowing the bunny's arms to be rendered useless, especially if the elbows were pinned back like a chicken's legs. Interesting...
I can't really remember how I ended up in just my underwear by the time she suggested tying me into a karada. It wasn't sexual and I think I was trying a dress on when she suggested it and said that it would go between my legs, so it seemed easier to take the dress off and let her get on with it. Well, I thought the chest harness was intimate! Funnily enough I was mostly giggly, especially when she pulled taut the rope going between my legs. The rope was dark green and it stood out in startling contrast against my winter-pale English rose skin. When she had finished I looked in the mirror and didn't really see my self in there, but just saw the rope and its patterns. Little diamonds down my stomach, my breasts standing proud under the rope's influence, I loved how it looked and felt. From being cold enough for my nipples to harden (a rare occurrence unless under direct stimulation) I was suddenly flushed with warmth and giggles, moving around to see how the rope felt, especially between my legs, I have to admit.
The rope went at its most taut when I lay down on my back and had its biggest effect when Jen placed a tiny vibrator against one of the strands of rope and I felt the whole harness shiver and vibrate against my skin. Jen was enjoying taunting me - sexual teasing without a sexual edge. very strange. Finally I was starting to understand how kink could be a thing in and of itself, not something connected inextricably with sex... even if it did give rise to sexual feelings and lend itself, generally, to sex in a useful way.
One thing that made me smile, and made me feel a little proud, especially considering my up and down self-esteem, was Jen's statement that I looked good in the karada, or, more specifically, that the karada looked good on me. When pressed for an answer she replied something along the lines of because I was in proportion, and didn't bulge over the rope, so it was displayed well. I can only assume it's some artistic, aesthetic thing, like the golden rule (or rule of thirds) and that the tie just looked at its best when certain parts of it fell in certain places and my body was the right shape to assist that.
All I know is that I love love loved it and I wanna do it again :-)
