Monthly Archives: January 2014

Musings on the raven

Somehow he manages to be the perfect mix of unpretentious intellectual.. challenging me to think, to ponder, to consider, to keep up with him…

man’s man… having worked as a farmer, done minor construction work, and studied martial arts…

romantic artist… creating his own art and sharing my past and present artistic loves…

geek… talking computers, video games, and sci fi with me…

and whore… eagerly awaiting what i might do to him or ask him to do for me…

i want him. i can’t have him. it pains me.


This is my life: the object of my affections

He was tired, but he would try on some of the new panties for me anyways. I had ordered 5 new pairs and could barely wait to see him in them. “Which ones?” he asked me. “The purple ones. I was thinking of having you wear them tomorrow and I really want to be sure they fit.” I answered. So he rifled through the packages of lace and frills til he found the purple lacy panties. He put them on awkwardly and turned around. They were a perfect fit and looked amazingly hot just barely containing his package. I was instantly turned on. “Well it looks like they fit.” He quickly removed them and hopped back into bed.

I was trying very hard not to get too worked up. He’d had a very long day and had already told me he was exhausted. He lay there for a few minutes while I tried unsuccessfully to calm down. I was fidgety and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. He opened his eyes and peered at me. “Did you want me to try some more on?” he asked me. “I know you are really tired. You don’t have to.” But I think he heard my desire. “I can try on another pair. Which ones?” I didn’t hesitate. “The red ones!” He hopped out of bed again and began rifling through packages. “These?” He looked a little confused. “No, those are actually pink, the red ones have black on them too.” These??” “No, do you want me to get them?” “Wait, these.” “Yes, those.” He put them on. When he turned around, he was hard and his cock didn’t fit in them any more.

“Well I guess those don’t fit quite as well now do they!” I was even more excited. “Yeah I guess.” He took them off in a hurry and jumped back into bed. “I guess you are getting excited by being dressed up in lacy panties too” I teased him. “No, I’m not.” “Really? You were looking pretty excited to me.” I was dubious. “It’s just morning wood. It’s morning you know.” But it hadn’t been. He was not hard when he put the purple panties on. Nor when he had gotten back out of bed to try the red ones on. I knew.

“Well I guess it’s too bad it’s just morning wood and you’re not turned on. We could have put it to use.” I was goading him. “We could still put it to use.”

“Go put on the boots and the inflatable hood. And the black panties. The tiny ones.” I was already wet. He put the boots on first. Tall and black and shiny. Then the panties. Even smaller than the purple or red ones. They were really only a slight piece of see-through black fabric held together by a few pieces of elastic. They almost didn’t cover him. They were incredibly hot. I grabbed my hitachi as he went around to the other side of the bed for the hood. He slipped it on and zipped it closed as he stood by the bed. Once it was all on, he tried to climb in the bed.

“No.” I said. I was already breathing hard. I started pumping up the hood until it was squeezing his head and making him a faceless creature. “Can’t I get in the bed?” His words were slightly muffled from the breathing tube, but I understood him. “No. You will stand there and you will not move.” He did as he was told. “Why?” “Because I want to look at you while I get off.” He was my thing to dress as I pleased. All in black and faceless. Nothing but an object for me to use as I saw fit. A toy for my pleasure. No longer a person. Merely a faceless object. The object of my desires.

“Stroke your cock through the panties.” I heard him whimper as he began stroking his already hard cock. It was straining so hard against the fabric that I was afraid he would rip right through. But he didn’t. Not even as he stroked more furiously. I came. He said he was close. It was muffled but I knew that sound well. “You may not come.” He whimpered and stopped for a moment. I covered the breathing tubes with my fingers. “Can you smell me?” He whimpered and started stroking again furiously. “Please?” He wanted to come so badly. “No.” I covered the tube completely, making it even harder for him to keep from coming. When he stopped stroking and started whimpering, I uncovered it and let him breathe. As he was standing there gasping, I came again.

“Get in the bed.” I directed him so that he was on top and inside me. He started moving immediately. I used my hands to pump up the hood some more and then cover all the breathing tubes. I squeezed them and let them go, periodically cutting off his breath and then letting him breathe. “You’re so fucking hot.” I loved how hard it made him when I was cutting off his air. He started begging me in short muffled bursts. I laughed at him. “You’re such an easy slut.” He just begged more. “Are you done so fast? Already wanting to come?” He was trembling and shaking. “Please, please let me.” “Yes. Yes you can come, but you better hurry before I change my mind.” I laughed and squeezed shut all the tubes. He cried out as he came and I growled as I did. Again.

Musings on the necessity of leadership in D/s relationships

lead [leed]
verb (used with object), led, lead·ing. go before or with to show the way; conduct or escort: to lead a group on a cross-country hike. conduct by holding and guiding: to lead a horse by a rope. influence or induce; cause: Subsequent events led him to reconsider his position. guide in direction, course, action, opinion, etc.; bring: You can lead her around to your point of view if you are persistent. conduct or bring (water, wire, etc.) in a particular course.

All over the world wide web, I hear that dominants are Leaders… with a Capital L. Submissives follow, dominants lead. They lead their household. They lead their submissive. They probably lead at their job. And they lead their friends too apparently. This is something that I am not really sure I believe. I know for sure that I don’t believe that a dominant must lead all the time. If that were true, no dominants would ever be able to be friends with other dominants. It would be a constant power struggle, and that doesn’t lend itself to lasting friendships. I’m also unconvinced about the “leader at work” part of this assessment. I know many very successful people who are fantastic leaders in their professional life but are very submissive in their personal life (or are vanilla). So I’m completely fine in calling bullshit on people who think this way.

Where things get iffy for me is on a personal level within my own relationship. I don’t really identify as a leader. I certainly don’t identify as a Leader (with a Capital L!) at all. So then if the entire internet agrees that dominants are leaders (at the very least within their personal relationships), then can I claim that label? Well I do. More and more, I claim it and am comfortable claiming it. So the questions is what is my relationship with leadership? And do I agree that I need to be a leader in my D/s relationships? Perhaps I’m deluding myself that I’m not leading. Or perhaps leadership is not intrinsic to D/s. go before or with to show the way; conduct or escort: to lead a group on a cross-country hike.

Ok I’m really not going to lead anyone on a cross-country hike. Let’s just get that out of the way. So anyone who was putting on their hiking boots and grabbing their walking stick can just stop right now. But the rest of this… well maybe. In a metaphorical sense, I do show him the way. I will be happy to show him the way to make me happy and please me. I will show him how I like things. I will show him what I want. So while I’m not exactly good with directions (I could probably get lost in my own closet), I can let people I’m close to know what I want. Though they are not always good at listening or hearing me. I am good at expressing what I need. So by this definition, I’m a leader in my relationship. But then again so is he. He shows me what his needs are and lets me know what works for him. So now we’re both leaders? conduct by holding and guiding: to lead a horse by a rope. influence or induce; cause: Subsequent events led him to reconsider his position.

I don’t have a horse. Not even a human horse. In fact, I’m not into animal play of any kind. So all you pony people, don’t get excited. So do I guide my submissive partners? In a way I do. I think that It’s been drilled into my head over the years by various people, the media, movies, books, etc… that the best way to lead is by example. Which is pretty problematic for a lot of D/s. I have no interest in showing him how I want him to submit by submitting to him or anyone else. I am not going to be interested in doing a lot of the things (probably most of the things) that I will ask of him. Those things don’t fulfil me, and are quite likely to annoy me. Or worse. But when it comes to modeling personal growth and integrity and things like that, I can lead by example. I can guide. I feel confident in that. In my relationship with the husband I do it whether he likes it or not. With the raven, I only tend to suggest and encourage. But I still expect and encourage personal growth and living life with integrity. I will nudge, poke, suggest, demand, or insist on it. So in this, I can claim that I lead. And they don’t. guide in direction, course, action, opinion, etc.; bring: You can lead her around to your point of view if you are persistent.

I think this is where I have the bulk of my issue with the idea of being a leader. I do not have much of a direction for my relationships. And I have always associated leading with leading the led in a particular direction. I would say that the closest I have to a direction for my relationship with the husband is parallel growth so that we can hopefully grow old together. So my direction is, at best, vague. I don’t have a game plan. I don’t have any ultimate goal. I don’t have any long term plan for us other than that there should continue to be an “us.” I do know that a lot of my dominant friends and acquaintances tend to have a game plan. They are heading somewhere and expect their submissive to follow behind them. I don’t. In this way, I am very much not the leader of my relationship. Neither is he. Nobody is leading. Nobody is following. We do our own things.

It’s chaos. CHAOS!! But wait. It isn’t. It’s fine. Maybe I lead and maybe I don’t. We don’t have a master plan. We are not headed “somewhere important.” I try to live my life in a way that models honesty, integrity, and authenticity. I push him to do the same. We seem to muddle along pretty well. We’re muddling along a lot better than several of our friends and acquaintances who are in a leader/follower model. We’ve already outlasted 4 of them. Though I also have a friend who is a leader in her D/s marriage who is going on 17 years now. So maybe leadership is… optional. Do it or not. But get off my lawn with the idea that I have to lead or I’m not a dominant.


Open letter to today

Dear designers of dog kennels,

Your designs fucking suck. And I mean that in the worst way you can take it. You must not actually own any dogs. If you did you would not design round edges so that it must be either taken apart entirely or held with one hand (and still rocks back and forth) for cleaning. If you did, you would not have so many vent holes on the sides because you’d know that is just another way for pets to get waste out of the kennel (and also all in the vent hole while they’re at it). You would know that having all sorts of little nooks and crannies in the bottom makes it at least twice as hard to clean. And you would know that having deep slots wide enough to have packed-in dirt (or, you know, dog shit) and urine but not wide enough to get any kind of cleaning implement into IS A BAD FUCKING DESIGN ELEMENT.

No love,

Dear husband,

Your “easy fix” cleaning was way easier for you but created exponentially more work for me after you were gone. And I was stuck dealing with it because… someone had to and you’re gone. If you want the easy way out, then I will hire a kink friendly maid and you can pay for it. Otherwise, fucking clean it they way I tell you to. And if I find one more toilet scrubber caked in disgusting, yellow, dried urine… I will fucking use it on you as an insertable. No lube. I don’t know any other way to make it clear to you that it is not acceptable to just use it and put it back in the holder without rinsing it off. Clearly asking you repeatedly not to do that didn’t work. And showing it to you didn’t work either. I guess it doesn’t bother you. And fucking use some cleaning agent. Not just the scrubber. Things don’t get fucking clean without some kind of cleaning agent.

No love,

In addition. Fuck my wireless router. And fuck static electricity.

Doing it wrong: rope

I like bondage. I like it a lot. It’s really one of my favorite things. But I’m not that fond of rope. Now, this is not a popular opinion right now. Maybe in a few years it will be. I find things tend to go en vogue and out over time. If I wait long enough, I won’t be doing it wrong any more. Maybe.

So I took a few classes from some very famous people, and it just didn’t strike me as something I wanted to get into. It wasn’t that it took so long to do. I love mummification, and that’s at least an hour of my time just getting him all wrapped up. I always plan for plenty of playtime. It wasn’t that even the learning process took a long time. I love blood play and that required a lot of extra learning about the dermis and sterile technique and general anatomy. It wasn’t that the gear is expensive. Nothing is more expensive than my fetish clothing habit. It was that rope (the way I was trying to learn it) was really just in my way.

For the most part, all the classes I took involved putting a whole lot of rope on someone and quite possibly getting them into some odd contorted position. They stayed in the rope for a while. Then you were done. That was completely unappealing to me. As much as I love bondage, it’s never just for the sake of the bondage. The bondage is like the ribbon on a present, and the things inside that package… the whipping and watching him endure or struggle against the bondage or listening to him howl… are what feed my soul. No matter how beautiful the rope, it’s never enough on its own to make me feel ten feet tall the next day.

And the positions are all wrong for the kind of play I do. When the arms/hands are behind someone, I can’t hit where I want to hit. They are in my way. (Granted, I’ve modified tons of things that are more traditional in order to make them much more useful for impact and sexual play.) And let’s not even mention things like hogties. So my partner is laying face down on something and both the arms and the legs are behind the back… and in the way. Really in the way. What can I hit? The shins? The face? The bottoms of the feet? Great if you’re into face slapping and bastinado. Otherwise pretty useless.

I get bored. I don’t want to watch someone in pretty rope for hours any more than I want to watch someone in mummification for hours. The rope is a means to an end. And because it’s a means to an end, it mustn’t be in my way. And most rope… is. VERY in the way. I had to find someone who doesn’t do traditional shibari/kinbaku/rope in order to learn there was a way for me to enjoy it. And it’s very enjoyable because its so very versatile. One piece of rope can replace a set of wrist cuffs, a set of ankle cuffs, 4 lengths of chain, and all sorts of things. It is much more versatile than leather bondage when it comes to suspension. So it really has its good points.

But I’m not really a rope person. In the kink community (both online and in person), I keep hearing how the only right way to do rope is to use it to connect to your partner. Use it to create intimacy! Feel how personal and intimate and connecting the rope scene is!! And for the love of all things holy, don’t suspend anyone!!! That’s just showy and you can’t possibly be connected to someone that way.

Well I’m doing it wrong. I don’t want to use rope to create a rosy-colored scene with my partners. I want to use the absolute minimal amount of rope I possibly can to immobilize that hot piece of meat. And there better be vast tracts of skin left uncovered by that rope. If all I can hit is rope, it does nothing for me. And I don’t want to run rope sensually and connectingly over his body. I want to get him tied the fuck up so I can hurt him and use his body. And what’s more, I love using rope to suspend him. Not because it’s showy and impressive and oooohhh ahhhhh, look at what I can do! I like it because he’s still pretty mobile while also helpless and vulnerable. Once someone is completely and helplessly bound, it can be complicated and difficult to move them around if they are not in a good position for me to do what I want to do. A hoist fixes a whole host of those problems. And not only that, but I mostly do it at home where nobody can see me. Because after I beat him for a bit, I’m going to fuck his ass. And that’s pretty bloody connecting and intimate and PERSONAL.

So I may not be doing it right. But I never said that just because I know how to tie someone up or hang them from a hard point that I’m a rope person.

I’m not. I use it. It’s a tool. And it’s not even one of my favorite tools.

New year’s resolutions, sorta

Over the holidays, my mother asked me where I’d live if I could live anywhere. And really, I didn’t have an answer for her. There are places I would rather live because the cost of living is so good. There are places I’d like to live because they would afford me easy access to experiencing different cultures. There are places I’d love to live because the weather is grand. Sadly, there is very little overlap in these categories. Not to mention I would hate to live anywhere that my kinks weren’t acceptable.

So in a perfect world, I’d love to live in a place where the cost of living was fantastic, the weather was warm, I could travel to different places easily, and I could be my normal kinky self. Or perhaps I just need to be independently wealthy so the travel and cost of living wouldn’t be much of an issue. Then I could build my very own kink compound where I could have events, parties, classes, and play to my own heart’s content!

In addition to that, she asked me what my goal in life is. I told her my goal is to be happy. She gave me the funniest look. Then announced her goal was to cure world hunger. Now I’m happy she has a goal that works for her. But why isn’t being happy a “good enough” goal? So many people are NOT happy. At. All. And many more are only happy periodically. I know very few people who are happy most of the time. So I think my goal is a really good one! I may not bring about the end of poverty or hunger in the world. I may not cause world peace. But I’m happy. Most of the time. And I think that’s really important in the world today. I wish more people were happy. And along the vein of “Be the change you want to create,” I’m being happy. I think that is good on a personal level, and also I hope to model that out in the world. It’s possible to be happy. Most of the time. It looks a little different on everyone. But this is my life and my goal. I feel successful in life when I am actively working to maintain my happiness.

And if that is not a good enough goal for anyone, well it really doesn’t matter. They can fight my mom for the honor of curing world hunger. And when one of them does, I’ll be happy for them.