Canvas

March 13, 2014 at 3:28 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , )

Kneeling, decorated.

The tree on my back. Kneeling, decorated.

“Would you like to decorate me this evening?”

It’s come up in conversation so often, but the mundanities of life tend to interfere. We’re both disabled, he’s my carer. There are events to organise, jewellery to make, songs to practise, writing to proofread, dinner to cook. Games to play. Admin, and housework, and procrastination.

But today, we both noticed that it isn’t such a hard thing to find, that calm space for a while to find a point where our two kinks – his asexual, aesthetic, cheerfully sadistic, cuddly dominance; my intense, playful, passionate, shyly exhibitionist switchiness – can meet and enjoy each other.

And, he’s an artist. And I’m having body confidence trouble. No brainer, really.

So, after dinner, it comes up again. The bed hurriedly cleared of the trappings of a bed-ridden day. The fan heater moved into the bedroom. I wash my face, brush and tie back my hair. He brings through his pencil case. The subject of outfit comes up, and it is generally decided that my wearing clothes would not in any way add to the setting. 😉

For all my eagerness, it takes me a while to get comfortable, and I shift position a few times rather abruptly, trying to find a place where my abdomen doesn’t hurt, where I can breathe easily, where my hands aren’t getting tingly, where the ache of my breasts pressing into the duvet is pleasant rather than distracting.

His hands are warm, reassuring. On my bottom, on my shoulder, on my side. The pen is deliciously scratchy on my back. I trace the pattern of the trunk, the branches, the curlicues in my mind. I know and love his style so well. We share an obsession with trees.

I expect the moment to come when I slide into subspace; then am surprised to notice I am already there. I am naturally such a fidgety person; the necessity of stillness, of feeling him close and quiet and intent upon me, leaves me soft, relaxed, his. I know he could give me a command and obeying would happen automatically, instinctively. But there is just this: the silence, the scratch of the pen, his breath warm upon my lower back, my breath deep and luxuriating into my pillow. I feel myself turn into a canvas. A page for him to pour his work on to.

My mind is busy yet, of course. A restless inner monologue, at odds with my body’s stillness. I, inevitably, write bits of this essay in my head. But over and above it all, the peace of the deep water. Of knowing that I’m here, and his.

He finishes the tree. The grand initial S at its roots could stand for many things. One of them is “slave”.

Tree, lying.

The tree on my back. Lying.

There are photos, cuddling, scratching. I bury my head in his neck, nibble his ear. Ask if he might like to spank me.

Then another pattern, green, on my leg. Almost too ticklish to bear, but weight is firm on my other leg, and I hold myself still with an effort. Sliding further down.

Green branches, leg.

Green branches on my leg.

The first swat from the little leather strap against my left cheek is shocking, and I yelp despite myself. Six of those, twelve from the beautiful soft flogger that he made to fit his hand. More from the strap. More from his hand, heavy and merciless and wonderful. I count and thank him for each one. Thirty-six in all. The strap is hell with each stroke, glorious pleasure in the afterglow. I know I’ve done well.

More photos, then we lie together, the pen drying in the warmth from the heater. He praises me. I surface. We check in. Exchange words of love, of thanks, of reassurance.

The endorphins will take a while yet to fade. The pen still longer – perhaps tomorrow’s bath will wipe it away, perhaps not. We will both watch for the fading lines, grin at the memories. Agree on the general desirability of him decorating me a little more often.

Tonight, I wear his marks.

Tonight, I am a canvas.

Decorated, spanked.

Decorated, spanked.

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A blessed weekend :-)

May 13, 2013 at 10:46 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , , )

Me, just now, to the Magician: “So, should I be worried that I’m pining a bit now for the Ranger? Does it mean that I’m not going to be able to make the long distance relationship work?”

The Magician, grinning: “No, not at *all*.”

Me, also grinning: “Are you pining a bit for [person] now?”

The Magician: “Maaaybe a little bit. 🙂 “

 

Hee. 🙂

It was a glorious weekend. It started rather stressfully – we learned only on Wednesday that we were having a flat inspection on the Friday, specifically during the first three hours of the Ranger’s visit, and well after the Magician would have left for *his* date weekend, with one of his other partners.

Cue frantic tidying and cleaning, all made more difficult by the fact that the Magician and I are both disabled! We had a lot of help from a couple of friends, and vast amount of moral support from several others. And by the time the Magician left, the flat looked really rather nice.

 

The Ranger was comfortably on time. And the flat inspector was right at the end of her window, which meant 2 1/2 – 3 hours of sitting on the sofa waiting for her to arrive, cuddling and chatting and in a state of some desperation because we had been waiting for so long to be alone together…

She arrived, it was pretty painless. And then she left.

And then the Ranger and I were, finally, alone together in an empty flat, with no one scheduled to arrive and disturb us… 🙂

 

I have so many glorious memories of the weekend, it’s hard to keep them in any sort of order, so I shan’t try.

I gave him his first spanking. And he gave me the first spanking he had given anyone. He is… a quick learner.

I left marks on his skin. He left them on mine. My nipples are still a little tender from his teeth. I suspect he still has that bite on his thigh.

We switched a great deal, sometimes with an almost dizzying speed. Sometimes with a few hours between, because there’s a limit to how fast either of us can switch when sunk quite that hard in subspace. 😉

I remember those beautiful eyes of his pinning me to the bed. The quiet, calm, hypnotic intensity of his dom-voice. His hand locking in my hair and pulling tight. The love, the care, the delicately raised eyebrow. He was merciless and sadistic and joyful, and he had me feeling utterly helpless and entirely safe and cherished.

I remember those same eyes, wide and overwhelmed. Gazing helplessly into mine. I remember him shaking. I remember the feel of his skin beneath my hand. His long, slender, glorious beauty. The way his bottom blushed *adorably* beneath my hairbrush. The way in which he drank up pleasure and pain. The sound of him gasping, and crying out.

The way in which he calls me, “sir”. He has a beautiful voice, with a slight west country accent, especially when his guard is down. Between how happy it makes my gender, and the slight, gorgeous burr he put on the word… *happy*.

 

It was like, and unlike, the fantasies we’ve been exchanging. Physical and mental health and other realities intervened. Twice, I had flashbacks – both times he was wonderful, giving me space or cherishing as I needed it. Once, I actually passed out (I was awfully dehydrated, looking back!). He looked after me wonderfully.

And of course, bondage tape wouldn’t tear properly, and things were dropped, and there were socks, all of the other down-to-earth things that involve real bodies and real time, especially with me being dyspraxic. 😉 And, it was all good! We were patient, and loving with each other, and laughed when things went amusingly wrong. I loved the IMs, but reality was just so much… *more*.

 

Plus of course we did various other wonderful things that had nothing to do with sex or kink. 😉 We read Shakespeare in bed together! We went to the theatre! We made each other lovely food! And we talked and talked and talked. We took awfully good care of each other. And a few times I got to lie on my back and hold him curled up against me with his head on my chest, which was more precious than I can easily describe.

I am even more deeply in love with him than I was before the weekend, and I am beyond delighted that I get to see him again in just over 10 days. 🙂

 

I miss him, inevitably. Really rather a lot. I am pining a bit. But mostly, I just feel incredibly blessed. In the Magician and the Ranger, I really do have two quite ridiculously wonderful, brilliant, kind, delightful, beautiful and generally amazing, partners.

I am very, very lucky. 🙂

 

And… and, yeah. I had a sexually/kinkily active weekend. My sexual/kink power is a real thing now, and I get to use it. And to not be totally thrown when my PTSD flares up. This is kind of amazing and wonderful, and *yay*. 🙂

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Teehee…

April 1, 2013 at 10:49 am (Uncategorized) (, , )

I do not actually brat. Honest.

But a couple of days ago, I was giving some (entirely non-kinky) skincare attention to the Magician. I was careful, but it was the kind of thing that does inevitably hurt. He winced and whinged a bit.

I might have made a teasing reference to doms being fragile. I might have mentioned us switches and subs as being all tough and resilient in comparison.

Naturally, he tested this theory by giving me a gloriously hard single hand-spank to my bottom. 🙂

I think I proved my case by my vocal appreciation, and then demanding another one because the first (delivered at an awkward angle) was slightly off-centre. I don’t like being asymmetrical. 😉

 

Nope, not a brat. I will admit, however, to being, in my polygendered way, something of a wench. And when it gets me such a good result, can you blame me? 🙂

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Snapshots from a very good night

October 19, 2011 at 2:24 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , )

The Magician and I had coinciding kink energies last night. And thus, our first really long, in-depth playing session for maybe as much as a year. I am still rather all of a glow. 🙂

Some memories from the night:

Early in the evening, before going out to a pub to meet friends, lying in each other’s arms and sharing some fantasies. My energies were greater than his and I had a lot of pent-up kinky thoughts to express, so I scattered ideas like flowers on him, while he growled in appreciation and stroked and held me tightly. Some of those ideas may come back to haunt me. I do hope so. 😉

One idea which hit both of our buttons was for him to dress me up more often. The Magician is an artist, with a strong aesthetic sense, and a huge kink for decoration as well as giving orders. I only had one outfit to wear for an evening out in the pub with friends and I was wearing it, but I asked him to tell me how to do my hair and he did so gleefully, and also chose a coat for me to borrow from him. I’m looking forward to when my wardrobe recovers from my change of shape more thoroughly so that he can do more than that! But doing my hair (two plaits) under his orders was delightful, as was walking to the pub feeling that sense of having pleased him and demonstrated my submission to him, in a way that we both knew about and no one else did.

The pub time was wonderful. Excellent beer, super friends. Perhaps the Magician and I were a little more snuggled up even than usual. And he kept playing with my plaits. 😉

He was low on energy again when we arrived home. I stroked him and cuddled him and he let me kneel before him and take his boots off and kiss his feet. He stroked my hair and called me a good girl *and* a good boy, which pleased me mightily.

His energies revived a little later. I don’t have the order of events entirely clear in my mind. I recall him holding me down by my wrists and kissing me ruthlessly. Several times, as I kept asking him (very politely) to do it again. 😉 I remember him scratching me hard along my lower back, and telling me exactly how it felt – too distant to be pain, just pleasure and the knowledge that he could hurt me more whenever he wanted to. That hit me hard and wonderfully – I remember moaning just from being told (accurately) what I was feeling, understood and controlled and led to that extent.

I remember him telling me to struggle and try to get away from him. I remember feeling a little uneasy about trying, because the concept of wanting to felt so alien. I struggled hard because he had told me to, though. I remember the relief when he told me I could stop. This may not always work so well if I continue to do press-ups and lift weights. 😉

I remember the moment when he commanded me to feel my nipples pinched as though held by rings, and flicked the rings he had created in my mind until I cried out.

I remember the moment when he collared me, and the immense sense of peace and belonging and sheer joy that it gave me. And a similar feeling when he put me immediately on my chain lead, and hauled me up by it on to the bed and wrapped the chain around me.

I remember giving him a shoulder and back massage when his energies flagged again, and the delight and warmth of knowing I was serving him well and giving him pleasure and relief. I remember sending him energy all along his spine, and the satisfaction of knowing that it was helping, at least a little.

I remember drinking water, desperately thirsty, out of a bottle he held to my mouth.

I remember asking permission to use the bathroom, and walking there upright and unusually gracefully before him, determined to show pride in myself as his slave.

I remember finishing and being told to wait kneeling on the bathroom floor, and then being dragged, crawling by my collar back to the bedroom. I really don’t know which of the two ways of travelling I enjoyed the most.

I remember the longest, firmest hand-spanking I’ve had so far. No triggers, just a glorious amount of pain. I remember after 24, expressing a tentative wish for him to make me cry. He made the next 24 much harder. I didn’t cry outright, but I was definitely tearful by the end. I could have taken far more, but as our first deep session for so long, he was careful not to push me too hard. And my bottom is still a bit sore today, so yay. 🙂

I remember throughout his calm, firm, loving voice – though touched at times with a deliciously cruel amusement at my predicament, and especially at how completely he controlled and owned me. Those times carried with them an intimacy I can’t quite put into words.

I remember him inducing me, finally, to pleasure myself, while he fucked my brain with his words and held me close, and made sure I didn’t come for him until he gave me permission.

I remember being, erm, somewhat noisy. I hope his neighbours don’t mind too much. 😉 I was careful, as I always do now, to draw some power from the orgasm back into myself. As in my masturbation healing exercise, D/S for me is very much now a matter of sharing and transforming power and increasing the power that each of us has. Especially (but definitely not exclusively!) I think, the Sub.

And then he brought me gently back to the surface, and we cuddled a great deal. And I noticed how wild my plaits had become and how my hair generally kept getting in the way, and observed to our mutual amusement that while I find my submissiveness very much in joyful obedience and surrender, my hair is a *total* brat. 😉

And today my wonderful Magician is nursing me through very bad period, and making art. And we’re both hoping that we’ll have coinciding energies again for something similarly deep nice and soon. And maybe some new things from the fantasies we shared earlier in the evening.

And today, when I’m not doubled-up in pain (damn menstrual cramps!) I’m feeling a discernable satisfaction, pride and joy in how well last night went. Little or no self-disgust or unease or feeling powerless or triggered. This is huge progress, and exactly how I want to be feeling the day after a night like that. Hooray for me, and hooray for the Magician. 🙂

Now, I wonder if I can possibly persuade him to distract me from the period pain for a while. 😉

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A physical challenge ahead…

October 4, 2011 at 1:44 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , )

I have a new, fun challenge ahead of me.

In a month-and-a-bit, I will be spending the weekend away with the Warrior and some mutual friends, reading through and acting out scripts of a certain tv series of which I am very fond.

I shall be playing an exceedingly active, athletic character, who has a great of fighting to do. She’s also US American and I’m, well, not.

Acting is something that’s hugely important to me, and these play-readings are a uniquely accessible way for me to get to do it, without the long rehearsal and performance process of stage acting (as an amateur or otherwise) that has generally proven destructive for my health. Over the last 2-3 years, however, my acting has been weaker than it used to be. Less emotionally engaged, less nuanced – just… well, less. And it would be very good for me to be able to redeem myself at this weekend.

So, I have the acting to work on. And I have the accent to work on, at least to get it to a point where it’s not actively painful for the one American person who’s going to be there!

And, perhaps above all, I need to work physically, to get myself to a stage both where I can deliver the kind of performance I want to, and not find myself utterly wrecked after the weekend.

There’s a limit to what I’ll be able to do – I’m disabled, dyspraxic and funny-jointed. But with gentle, firm, sensible dedication, I think I can get myself at least a bit more flexible, focused and fit before mid-November.

So! I think that means daily yoga, a little bit of weight-training at least a couple of times a week, walking when I feel up to it, and getting plenty of rest. Plus persuading the Warrior and the Magician to give me massages! I shall also practise the jabs, crosses and little bit of kicking that I learned during an abortive attempt to learn kickboxing a few years ago.

If any of you have other suggestions, I should be very glad to hear them!

I am also wondering whether I can bring in the Magician to help me with this. Even more so having watched this glorious clip from a video by Dreams of Spanking. Real, consensual, loving discipline and D/S from two singularly gorgeous performers. I am entirely endeared, and looking forward very much to the full video! And in the meantime, yes. If the Magician and I are both up for it, some motivational discipline from him could be just what I need.

And oh my am I happy that this is an option after all I’ve been going through. Hooray for healing. 🙂

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On stringed instruments, spanking and joyful masochism.

October 2, 2011 at 2:40 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , )

Learning to love being spanked, as a switch, has been a hard thing for me. I was smacked as a child, usually on the bottom, and it caused me real, especially sexual trauma. One of the many reasons why I am passionately opposed to all forms of CP against actual children – it’s not that being smacked turned me into a spanko, it’s that being smacked (along with the rest of the abuse) has been a real obstacle to developing my sexuality in the way that I want to. And that’s just not fair!

I had been fascinated with consensual, adult CP for some time as a Dom, and had caned and paddled the Warrior on many occasions before the Magician and I got together. Meeting and getting together with the Magician gave me a means of finally exploring my submissive side, and it’s been wonderful, not to mention amazingly good for me. The first time we tried some very light spanking on my bottom, however, I became massively triggered, distressed and panicky. Naturally we stopped immediately, and he gave me all of the support, care and love I could want. I was determined to persist, however, and find a way to enjoy this side of myself, free of the flashbacks and intrusive thoughts that my childhood makes me prone to.

It took determination, patience and intelligence from both of us, but these days most of those obstacles have gone, and for the most part, spanking from the Magician is something I utterly love. Well, not necessarily always at the time, but afterwards at least. 😉

It has only just occurred to me, however, that there was something from my youth that I have been consistently tapping into when enjoying spanking, as well as other forms of pain play (scratching and hair-pulling, especially) that the Magician and I indulge in.

I’ve been a stringed instrument player since I was a small child. During my teens, I was a jazz double bass player of some skill. At gigs, in that delightful mindspace that one enters when the music flows through you and all is adrenaline and energy and glory, I would play and play and ride past what was often quite intense pain that the playing invoked. On at least one occasion, literally until my fingers (specifically the index finger on my right hand) bled. I wore the blisters and the soreness as a badge of honour afterwards, and somehow the pain was just another, beautiful element of the general delight that a good gig gave me.

To my regret, I’m no longer a double bass player – it’s a frightfully impractical instrument when you have ME and back problems! But I am learning the ukulele at the moment, and as I type this my fingers of my left hand are stinging and aching and… it’s rather fantastic.

It reminds me too of sore feet when I’m well enough to go on long walks. Of the scratches on my hands when scrambling on rocks. The kinds of pain that come as a welcome intensifier of joyful, life-affirming activities. The kind of masochism that is absolutely about being strong and creative and delighting in the world around me. I usually regard myself as a sadist, a dominant and a submissive in terms of my sexuality. But I really do have a masochistic streak as well. And it lies so close to a lot of the healthiest parts of my brain, that this may help me spread that healthiness around all sorts of bits of me. 🙂

I admit I am also wondering whether, at some point, the Magician might be up for a scene that involves me practising my uke under his orders. I could see that being a quite ridiculous amount of fun. I shall have to ask him. 🙂

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Mountains, blackout curtain and finding my wings

September 28, 2011 at 11:29 am (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , )

I’ve recently returned from a glorious holiday to a mountainous region of the UK, with my Dom, my Sub and some friends.

I had little sexual energy. But one evening when some of the stress of the last few months was getting to me, my Dom and I both found some kink energy from somewhere, and got to work. 🙂

He tied my wrists with strips of blackout curtain (which I thoroughly recommend as a bondage material, incidentally!) and took out his rather pleasing paddle brush. He warmed me up gently and kindly and thoroughly, told me not to bother counting, and by the time he started to strike with real toughness, I was ready to take anything, and relishing every hard bite of the brush.

My usual image for subspace is that of falling into the sea, deeper and deeper and deeper. It’s a gorgeous image, and one that my Dom encourages, hypnotising me by sending me down beneath the waves and telling me to breathe in the water until I am part of the sea, indistinguishable from it, utterly in his power.

I love it. Naturally. 🙂

But I have read so many accounts of bottoms/Subs taking wing, soaring with pain and pleasure, and this I had never experienced. Until last week. It’s what I needed – the holiday as a whole was very much about finding my wings, about feeling free in all that I do and am.

I started to rise up into the air with the spanking. And when my Dom put down the brush and started to dig his nails hard into my sore and throbbing bottom, I shot up and flew. It wasn’t pain, it was lines of brilliant cold fire across my tender places, and it was beautiful.

He wrapped me in his arms, and I continued to fly, quietly, for perhaps another ten minutes, while he tethered me and caressed me. He apologised profusely that one scratch had inadvertently drawn blood – not the kind of mistake he usually makes – and worried that once I had come down I would be unhappy about it. I wasn’t. It’s not something I’d want him to make a habit of, and did occasion a sneaky trip down into the lounge of the cottage we were renting to retrieve some antiseptic cream! But I wore that scratch like a private badge of honour for days afterwards. Although not as proudly as my pink and glowing bottom that evening. And tensions ages long had fallen from me as I rose into the air, and didn’t come back.

For anyone who’s not seen it yet, Pandora Blake has a wonderful post from a few days ago, about storing emotions in the body, and the therapeutic power of spanking. It’s something I can definitely vouch for! I have to be careful when trying to find that place, given my background. But consensual, enthusiastic D/S, as a free adult sharing my power with my Dom… so very much yes. Gloriously therapeutic. Although, as my Dom rightly said, that’s not actually why we’re doing it. More a happy side-effect. 😉

My wings are growing. Not just in terms of my kink energy! They are growing in all areas of my life, and it’s wonderful.

Now, if I can get some Dom energy myself at some point, that would be rather wonderful too. 🙂

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