Fire Play and What It Means To Me

February 5, 2013 at 00:54 (BDSM) (, , , , , )

Flames Rising from the Egg Cup 2

Fire is a living thing with a life and personality of its own.  It warms and transforms, but it also consumes and destroys.  Some of my best memories come from sitting around a bonfire or in front of a fireplace, but fire has a way of drawing out fears and passions at the same time.

The first time Angelflare brought up fire play I panicked.  I’ve always been very sensitive to heat and fire, and I had spent a lot of my life avoiding it, not asking someone to touch me with it.  Our first experience was rough, but something inside me was awakened.  I hated it, but I wanted more, so we kept at it.  Today it’s one of my favourite activities in and out of the dungeon.

First of all, the physical sensation of a fire massage and cupping is fantastic.  It’s warm and tingly, and it helps a lot of the muscle problems I face with fibromyalgia.  Feeling the rush of fire and hands flowing over me, the warm hand on fresh, cold skin and the soothing touch of a cold hand on just fired skin, is something that cannot be replicated.

Next there’s a mental and emotional aspect for me.  I still get a feeling of trepidation before we begin, so every session I am forced to face that fear and overcome it.  I give up control and trust Angelflare not to hurt me, and I have learned to ride the play instead of bracing for each new touch.  From there it becomes a very intimate exchange between us.

Fire play has helped me learn to embrace and control my inner fire.  Once I learned not to fear the flames or let them have power over me I was able to stop the irrational flames inside me from consuming me.  There is a warm calm within the fire, but it takes waking through it in the first place.

Then there’s the spiritual side of fire play, which is very strong for me.  Not only does the scene become a very strong exchange of energy and passion between me and Angelflare, but it helps me connect with the element of fire and my patron deity, Brighid in a way that I had not found before fire play.  The physical fire speaks to the fire within me, and quite a few times our fire sessions have become spontaneous meditation for me.  This past weekend our session turned into an impromptu Imbolc celebration and re-dedication to Brighid.  It was probably the most powerful inner ritual I’ve ever done, and it was amazing.

Fire play has taught me not to fear new things, but to embrace them.  I love watching how passionate Angelflare gets no matter who he’s cupping or firing, and I love watching the transformation on the other end of his wands, especially if it’s her first time.  He’s still finding new sensations to give me, and my last session was done by two people at once, which was unbelievable.  I can’t wait to see what he comes up with next.  Until then I will dream in fire.


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Beyond Awareness

December 9, 2012 at 21:02 (BDSM) (, , , , , , , )

I am typing this with my left hand.

I am not left handed.


I have a mid-humeral spiral fracture and radial nerve damage in my right arm that caused a blood clot and acute cellulitis.  The break will have me out of work for at least six weeks, the nerve damage could take much longer to heal.  Until then I have no use of my right hand.  I currently have no income, as even my supplemental work requires dexterity.  It’s Christmas, and we were scraping for bills as it was.

I signed a consent form.

Let me start by saying that no one is to blame for this.  Accidents happen, and with most of our serious interests it’s not a matter of “if” but “when”. Everyone involved was aware of my sensitive spots, and a plan was made in advance to ensure I was safe.  Every precaution was made that could have  been, but still, accidents happen.  I am extremely lucky my accident happened where it did, at a fetish event surrounded by community veterans.  Without the immediate attention of a great group of people with experience my memories of the events that night would have been much worse.

We’ve all been to an event at some point where we signed a waiver.  We look cute in our vinyl, lace, or leather and heels, boots, or whatever else, and we sign it without question.  How many of us take them to heart?  We’ve all heard the term “go hard or go home”. What happens when “go home” becomes “go to the hospital”?

The kink community is a huge proponent of “risk awareness” and safety, but what does that mean beyond knowing it could happen in some hypothetical situation?  It means knowing it will happen and that there is no such thing as an acceptable level of risk.  It’s all or nothing.  You don’t get to decide the severity of an accident.

My point here is not to scare anyone away from anything she enjoys  but to stress that, more than awareness, our minds should be focused on preparedness and acceptance.  If you were seriously injured during a scene right now would you be prepared to accept the real life consequences of that injury?  It’s a pretty heavy thing to consider.  Could your life, and even your relationship, survive that sort of blow?

We could not really have prepared for much of this past having medical insurance and a savings account, but we can get over those hurdles.  It’s the the people who have come together to help us do so that have made the difference between a terrible situation and one we can tolerate.  As soon as it happened our community came together to offer support, concern, and advice.  People I hardly knew before this have messaged me on Fetlife just to see how I’m healing.

Right now all the onus of running our household and taking care of me rest solely on Angelflare’s shoulders.  He’s had to keep up his end and pick up all the things I just can’t do.  Our play is severely limited, and may be for some time, and money is a thing of fantasy.  He really has stepped up to what it really means to be a Master and a husband.  He’s been patient and understanding, even when the pain and frustration make me cantankerous and unruly.  Our D/s is still in place, but he has shown me that it is not inflexible in times like these.   It’s not easy or ideal, but our family has survived worse, and that’s the only reason I accept this kind of risk with him and only with him.  I also know I can trust him to only involve dependable people where my safety is concerned, and because of that I feel as secure as I do with the more high risk play.

Am I turned off to kink?  No way!  Will I consider a short term disability plan in addition to my long term?  Definitely.  This life is about balance.  Right now I’m frustrated and a little concerned, but as all things in life this is fluid.  I will take it as a wake up call and a learning experience and move on with a dedication to my D/s and a firm grasp on just how serious it is to keep a calm head about risk and safety before, during, and after any type of incident.  That’s all we really can do, friends.

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A Fetlife PSA I Wrote About Adult Behaviour

November 21, 2012 at 19:23 (Fetlife) (, , , , )

I am taking time out of my NaNoWriMo word count to write this, because it’s gotten out of hand. I try to keep drama out of my life, and that includes my public life on the internet, especially when it has nothing to do with me. This is a small community, and combining poly and kink makes it even smaller, which means the chance is great that our social circles and event calendars will cross paths. We claim to be an “adult” community. Why then is it so hard for us to act like adults?

Here are a few guideline to help us all get along like drama free adults:

1. When you see post from people you’ve clashed with on the internet, especially on walls of mutual friends, ignore them. I never mind a little venting, but I start to notice that the moment I get a comment on my status update or forum post from the person you are obviously following like a detective I get a text, or worse, a response to their comment ON MY WALL that is in no way relevent except to try to one-up the previous comment. STOP! I am not a mediator, babysitter, or therapist. Deal with your issues somewhere else. If you have to block each other or tell your friends to block each other, this is not adult behaviour. If you’re checking up on who their new play partners, subs, or lovers are to t he point where they have to block you, this is not adult behaviour. You can say whatever you want in your business, but when it crosses over to mine I just don’t care anymore.

2. When you hear of people you’ve clashed with planning on attending events you plan to be at ignore them. It makes both of you look bad if you have to talk to friends, “protectors”, and event staff about your issues, especially if you ask them to talk to the other person in advance “just in case”. It makes you both defensive and prone to be jumpy, and it makes the rest of us want to not even go if our good time is going to be ruined by your failure to deal with adversity like an adult. I certainly don’t want to have my scene disrupted because of some petty dispute, and I look to event staff to handle both of you appropriately if there is a problem, not just the one you perceive to be in the wrong. Keep it private, friends.

3. When you do see people you’ve clashed with in the past at an event…ignore them!
It’s true, and it’s simple. Showing up at the same local public event does not equate to stalking or harassment. Good events are few and far between, and they have just as much a right to be there as you do. On the same vein, you CAN see someone at an event without talking to her. Go figure! This is not the moment to pine or reconcile. This is not the time to feel victimized because she talked to someone you’re trying to play with. This is your moment to shine as a mature adult. There is no reason both of you need to have a negative experience in a room built for hundreds, or even tens. I have been at private residence parties where I haven’t noticed certain people in attendance. If you’re not looking for a problem you won’t find one, but it takes two to make things drama free and fun for everyone.

4. We are here to have fun, so have fun, and say it with me this time, ignore them!!!! I know we are all serious, and this is a big important lifestyle, but when it comes down to it we are all here to enjoy ourselves and have a good time. Anyone who tells you otherwise is in it for the wrong reasons. Nothing personal, but no matter how close we are as friends, if you cause these issues on my wall and create unneccessary stress for me I will simply remove you from my online community. I am not the fet police, and neither are you. It is not your place to make people go away or steer them away from newcomers. If they aren’t good for the community they will be organically pushed out without your help. You should have more important things to do anyway, right?

I hope this has been helpful, especially in cutting down any hurt feelings if this behaviour continues and my friends list is drastically filtered of the people who bring this kind of drama and conflict into my world. We all have the power to act like adults with brains in our heads, and this is not a place for childish behaviour or dick measuring.

Thanks, and carry on.

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The Voice

October 24, 2012 at 23:25 (erotica) (, , , , )

She remembers very little about that place.  There may have been a beach, there could have been a boardwalk, and it’s very possible the view from her window was breathtaking.  The inn was unremarkable, with its yawning beiges and blushes and art deco, its noisy plumbing that let everyone in the building aware of ones every private moment, and its faint smell of burnt coffee at all hours of the day and night.  She couldn’t describe a single face she met or hand she shook, and never ask her to recount a conversation she might have had there.  She couldn’t if she tried.  What she does remember is a corner suite next to her own room and the voice that came from it out of the blue.  This is what she remembers.

She was restless and pensive, feeling every bit as lumpy and misshapen as the bed she was laying on, stretched across it the wrong way like a haphazardly tossed coat.  She felt empty, lonely, and bored.  Strange places were not her forte, and this small town seemed to have tucked in for the night as if to admit self defeat.

How had she come to this place?  She’d left Big City A on her way to Big City B just a little too late to allow for any time to make a wrong turn, which is exactly what she’d done.  Lately it seemed like that’s all she did anymore.  Hell, maybe Big City B was a wrong turn altogether, but at least it was a change of scenery.  She’d lost all hope of redirecting in time to complete her journey before falling asleep at the wheel, and had decided instead to stop at the only inn in sight.  At the time it had seemed like a preferable option to driving straight into the ocean, but she was starting to question that decision as well.

That’s when she heard it.  A voice, faint and deep, ephemeral and ethereal.  It took her a moment to realize the source  of this voice inhabited the room beside her, and if she focused she could almost make out words.  Guilt grappled with curiosity within her as she tried to think about something other than the only thing that seemed to be able to keep her attention, the voice in the other room.

She moved closer, leaning her back against the adjoining wall, closed her eyes, and listened to what seemed to be a fairly menial conversation.  Ignoring the mundane content she let the low hum of a voice, his voice, enfold her and warm her, lulling her not so much to sleep but to calm.  From the sound of him she imagined a man who was strong, sturdy, and charming.  Someone attentive but assertive, caring but confident.  The kind of man who could make a woman melt but probably didn’t know it.  She pictured him sprawled across his bed, relaxed and deliberate instead of all floppy and discarded as she had been, just out of the shower after a long day in the sun.  The image made her grin to herself, and she shook her head at the notion.

Her attention spiked when two words managed to break through her reverie.  “My cock.”  The rest was unclear, but she immediately felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment.  She was eavesdropping, and this was none of her business, but she couldn’t pull herself away from the wall.  She remained there, on the floor, and listened intently, for what she wasn’t really sure yet.  She just needed to hear more.

Still unable to hear every word, she filled in the blanks when necessary, and it was obvious this phone call was becoming more and more intimate, but she no longer cared.   She let his voice fill her mind with images of the man she’d envisioned before, only now he was naked, legs spread, pleasuring himself.  She didn’t know who was on the other end of the phone call, and it didn’t matter.  The man in her vision was talking to her, and only to her, about every primal act he wanted to do to and with her.  Words like “hard” and “wet” started to insinuate themselves between terms she’d never think to utter over the phone. Words like “cunt”, “pussy”, and again “cock”.

Suddenly feeling flush, she pulled her shirt over her head, careful not to hit the wall and give away her vantage point.  Pressed against the cool wall, a chill ran down her spine, sending a shudder throughout her body.  She tilted her head back and gave in, letting the sound of his voice carry her deeper.

Every word breathed its way inside her, filling her with anticipation for the next.  She imagined him, just a few feet away, with just this wall between them, stroking his growing cock slowly and softly.  As he described how he’d roll her nipples between his lips she couldn’t help but follow his prompt with her own fingers.  As he spoke of sucking and nipping she pinched and tugged.  They responded instantly, hardening, sending a shock of excitement to her core.  She exhaled in pure pleasure and sank deeper into the hum of his voice, the vibration of his words reverberating in every orifice.

Desire flooded her as he described in vivid detail how his tongue would circle her clit, lapping up her juices as she’d grind his face.  She ran one hand smoothly down the length of her torso and into her panties.  She was more wet that she had ever remembered being before, and she teased herself lightly with a fingertip before bringing it to her mouth and sucking it clean.  She tasted sweet, and tasting herself sent a rush through her that ended in a moan she could not stifle.

If the man on the other side of the wall heard her he made no movements to change his course.  This thought excited her more, and the next time her hand found its way to her waist she slid off her panties, pressed herself harder against the wall, and spread her legs wide.  Suddenly noticing the full-length mirror on the opposite wall, she watched herself as her fingers once again found her clit, this time lingering to circle then dipping inside her.  She watched herself tease and play, and enjoyed her body’s response to her own touch.

Her stranger’s voice was now joined by the sound of her own pulse in her ears as he spoke of her pussy gripping his throbbing cock, how he’d sink in slow and deliberate so that she could feel every inch of him.  He moaned, and she shuddered, feeling herself contract around the fingers deep inside her as her thumb pressed against her clit.  She could feel the heat emanating from her cunt as she silently urged him to keep going, finger-fucking herself harder and faster as his eloquent descriptions started to devolve into broken phrases and gasping moans.  She could almost feel him getting closer to climax as she pictured the man in her visions vigorously stroking and thrusting, biting his lip in ecstasy at the thought of someone he could not see.

She could feel her own orgasm building, but she wasn’t going to let herself cum until he did.  She watched her expressions change in the mirror as she pinched and fondled her breast with one hand while the other thrust in and out of her dripping pussy.  All around her was the smell of her arousal, her juices combined with the sweat of need and desire.  Occasionally she would pull her hand to her lips and watch herself slowly suck them clean, luxuriating in her own taste, then just as slowly slide them back inside herself before building her speed back up again.  She focused on the feeling of her impending orgasm, the cool wall against her feverish body, and her clit pulsing like it was ready to explode.  She was drawing it out, but she knew when she eventually came she would cum harder than she ever had.  She sat there, watching herself pleasure herself, listening to a stranger pleasure himself to another stranger, mesmerized by the sight of herself losing control melding with the sound of his falling apart, allowing herself to float in pure sensation.

“Oh, fuck,” came his voice through the wall, more strained than it had been before.  She knew this was it, and she braced herself.  He moaned, and she moaned with him, picturing him about to shatter.  “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he choked.  “Me, too,” she answered silently, and desperately. “Please,” her mouth screamed, “please cum for me.”  She slid another finger inside her constricting pussy, ready to push herself over the edge, bracing herself against the wall to fuck herself deeper and harder.  “Here it comes,” he half screamed, half breathed, “oh fuck, get ready.”  “I’m ready!” she thought, reaching a point of no return.  “Fuck!” He shouted one last time, “I’m coming!” At the thought of her mystery man tearing apart, squirting cum all over himself, squeezing out every drop, she let herself go.  She pressed her thumb against her clit and thrust her fingers deep inside her gripping cunt, this time not pulling them back.  She closed her eyes, and the world around her dissolved into pure ecstasy as she came over and over, pouring her pleasure all over her hand, her thighs, and the floor beneath her.

She sat there for a while, reveling in post-orgasmic bliss, shuddering in little aftershocks and moaning as she slowly slid her fingers from her satisfied pussy. She smiled as she gave them one last savoring suck, and opened her eyes.  In the mirror was a woman who no longer felt defeated or deflated but enlivened and recharged.  In the mirror was a woman who was powerful and unstoppable.  At that moment she needed no one but herself.

She considered waiting in the hall way to see who emerged from the room next door, but ultimately she decided it didn’t matter.  He wouldn’t be the man she’d seen in her visions.  He wouldn’t be the man who had so shaken her world.  The man who came out of that door would have been merely the vessel, and more than likely she’d have been disappointed, so she left at sunrise to continue her journey, one that would not end at Big City B, or even Big City C or D.  She could not tell you now what the town was called or if the inn still stands, but to this day just the thought of that voice sends shivers down her spine and a dampness deep inside her.

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What I’ve Done on Sabbatical

October 17, 2012 at 01:57 (M/S) (, , , , , , , , , )


I almost gave it up. In fact, for a few days I did give it all up. I handed in my collar. I was done. It was all quite histrionic, and the fallout was felt immediately. In the course of a day my collar was gone, my marriage was crumbling, and I had managed to begin the process of pushing away someone who I care for deeply. I had worked through a particularly rough week, but something else had broken. To this day I don’t know what it was, but something deep inside me gave up, and something needed to change.


This is my response to anyone who tells me that a D/s relationship, let alone marriage, is easy. The “I just do what you say, right?” idealism that any new subs hold on to is not only dangerous but foolish as well. Despite all the work I was doing and all the problems I was having somewhere deep inside myself I still held this belief that it should be easy. I just needed to do what he said. Anyone could do it, so why was I struggling? That initial crack in my self-confidence as a slave began the eventual cave in that lead me to hand in my collar and almost walk away from my husband. It took us an entire weekend to be able to speak to each other in a civil tone, and in the end the only things that was clear to me were that I had a lot of questions and that I didn’t want to leave.


I grappled with a lot of questions.  If I were not his slave would our marriage survive?  Was this the only way I was desirable sexually?  If we did stay together would our family and our marriage ever take priority over his slaves? I was afraid of the answers.  He has been the only constant and the only guarantee I have ever had, and I was handing it over.  How would I move on from this?


Needless to say we had to start over in a sense.  I had to earn back my collar, but I also needed to restructure things within myself that would not just lead to another implosion.  I hadn’t known I was so close to “getting it”.  I hadn’t realized what a good job I was doing.  In my mind I was failing, and failure was unacceptable.  Eventually there was a point where I had to listen to the most simple advice he’s ever given me.  “Stop thinking about it.”  It sounded counterproductive at first.  If I didn’t worry about being better how would I know if I was falling short?  The answer to that, of course, is simply that he’d tell me and we’d correct it.


In the midst of all this I managed to get my heartbroken.  If Angelflare is nothing else, he is supportive and understanding.  He’s let me have my moments as long as we’ve stayed on track, and the experience as a whole has brought us closer.  I can’t imagine going through this sadness and confusion if we were still strained.  I’m not sure I could have handled it.


I’ve spent the last several weeks rebuilding and redefining what my service means, what my marriage means, and what my love means.  In the end I believe we needed this to bring us back to center and show us where we were terribly off base and out of touch with that we really wanted and needed.


I have, in fact, earned my collar back.  I have also learned better coping and communication skills, something that has held me back a lot as a slave.  I am more stable and able to see more clearly how this fits in our lives, and I am really starting to enjoy it…and sharing it with all of you.


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August 19, 2012 at 11:26 (M/S) (, , , , , , , )

couples in park

In the beginning of a 24/7 relationship there are changes and challenges at every turn. Some of them are anticipated, and some will completely blindside even the most prepared couple. Since every M/s relationship has unique a structure, it only makes sense that sometimes it seems like our issues are leading us into uncharted territory, and quite often the path to this territory depends on where the relationship found its beginnings. There Master and slave friends? Strangers? Lovers?

Angelflare and I were married before we decided to be 24/7, and our marriage already had established routines and habits. We played, we switched depending on the scene, and in many cases we were two dominants in a loving relationship. Quite often we’d bump heads, compete for dominance, and end up in a fight with nothing being accomplished. Taking this step helped us have defined roles, which made us a more productive and effective team, but it has lead to a few unforseen potholes in our journey to a functioning M/s relationship.

To be clear, defining these roles does not mean I am any less of a switch, just not with Angelflare. It also does not mean he has completely ceased to be a working member of our household. When I am sick he takes care of things. When I need help with chores or tasks he has no problem helping. In being Master he has not relinquished his role as husband, lover, or best friend. It merely changes the way we interact at times and defines what is expected of me before I ask for help and how I go about doing so.

One of the great things about being married before we were M/s is that we already know each other inside and out. Angelflare knows by my body language exactly how I’m feeling. He knows how I think, what makes me cry, and how to change my mind. I know when his mood has changed by his posture and whether or not he is serious or joking about anything. This has let us skip a lot of “getting to know you” faux pas and move on to the meat of our M/s.

Unfortunately, our familiarity is also sometimes a hinderance. I enjoy being able to sit with Angelflare and watch a movie. I love the moments where we joke and laugh until neither of us can breathe. He has brought it to my attention that sometimes these moments feel like a lapse in protocol and respect, that our familiarity keeps me from living in the mindset of a slave. The fact that I can be completely comfortable and honest with him is one of my favourite parts of our marriage, and the thought of having to give all of that up in the name of constant propriety and structure is not something I can imagine being the rest of my life with this man.

So, where do we find the balance where I can be the slave he needs but still have the moments that have always made us us. I find it hard to believe that we have lost our identity as a couple. How do we find ways to express that identity and have a strong M/s dynamic? How does he tell me when he needs me to be on pointe with my protocol, and when how I do let him know that I need the comfort of the man who makes me feel at home? Where is that place where it ebbs and flows and all becomes who we are? Has our identity changed, and if so has it changed for the better?

The answer to the latter is obviously, yes, as any relationship changes and evolves. The catch is finding the comfort, joy, and love in every new place life takes us together and not give in to nostalgia and feelings of loss, There are, however, key elements that will always be a part of us, and I know those things don’t go away because there are new rules. Our moments of familiarity will always be there, and part of my trust and confidence needs to lie in the belief that those key elements do not change or go away when those moments are over, when he may seem a little cooler, or when I’m being punished. I need to know that the familiarity we have will never dissipate, we just need to find the right ways to channel it into this new dynamic.

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A Very Merry Sinbirthday to Me

August 11, 2012 at 22:03 (BDSM) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

birthday party

It all started with a Tweet.

This year I spent my birthday at the Floating World, a weekend long fet event.  Being my first, I was excited, and admittedly a little nervous, but I went into the mode in which I work the best; pack and prep.  Once that was done, the only recourse I had was to make sure I made an appropriate entrance into the realm of local kink events.  The fact that it would be my birthday had already given Angelflare delicious ideas, and I was anxious to see how the weekend would treat me.

Then there was Twitter, where one of my followers is The Floating World.  I very naively had sent them a Tweet asking if they had any packing sugegstions for newbies, obviously forgetting the kind of smart-assed crowd our community can be.  I received an answer, albeit an entirely unhelpfull one, suggesting newbies be wraped in bubble wrap.  “Not because they’re fragile.  We just like bubble wrap.”    With that in mind, I got to work.

What I ended up with was this:

And so, our adventure began!

I arrived Thursday night straight from work, still in my work uniform and exhausted from the ride, which included two SEPTA trains and a New Jersey Transit double-decker.  I managed to gt us unpacked and organized, double-checked our class schedules, and hit the bed running with dreams of suspended sugarplums dancing in my head.  My classes of the day included tips in suspension for curvy girls, M/s philosophies, and service positions.  I met some new people, made some new contacts, and had some insightful conversations.  I ran into a few people I recognized, which is still a rare but joyous thing for me, and managed to find my foothold in a somewhat overwhelming environment.  I felt immediately upon entering the facility that I was somewhere I belonged, but by the end of the day I felt like I was not going to just follow; I was going to flourish!

That night Angelflare decided it was time to debut my creation, and for him to unveil his plans to honour my birthday.  I bounced in my ebullient plastic skirt as people stopped me to ask for a pop or two, and I considered auctioning off the bubbles in the good bits.  Then it was time to really get the fun started.  I was pierced in both arms with a total of twenty-nine needles with birthday candles glued to them.  Once they were lit, a group of people who had flocked to watch sang the slowest version of Happy Birthday I have ever heard as birthday candle wax started to trickle, drip, and coat the skin around the needles before I could blow them out.  The resulting high was phenomenal.  I don’t remember the rest of that night, but at some point I lost the bubble wrap dress and sang some Eve 6 at Kinky Karaoke.  With Angelflare on his volunteer assignment, the night was mine, and I soaked up as much of it as I could before my head and body demanded sleep.

The next morning we were at it again with classes on cell popping, punishment, service, and single tailing.  I realized a love for swivel handled floggers and mentally added them to my Domme list, but ultimately we walked out that night with a newly adopted Violet Wand.  I skipped dungeon time to save my energy for the last day.  Instead I sat in the hotel room watching Mean Girls with the cheesecake Angelflare had bought me from the diner across the street.

Our last day was a lead up to dungeon time, with classes on duct tape and..well, duct tape!  I bought a new book on M/s, which I will review when I’m done, and we learned yet another suspension harness. Our time in the dungeon that night was intense.  I still have polka dots on my back from the fire play, which left me buzzed and alive all over.  Then there was flogging and my first single-tail experience.  A puddle of myself, I was given the best birthday gift a slave girl could ask for when Angelflare told me I had earned his mark (in the form of a cell popping).

At that moment I couldn’t even properly respond except to keep sobbing and let my mind whirl.  I hadn’t felt that wanted and cherished since he proposed to me.  In hindsight I realize it was the moment I finally felt like I was his, that I’d surrendered, and that I wasn’t just going through the motions.  He had noticed my evolution as a 24/7 slave, and he approved.  At that moment I felt and owned my position as a slave, and it was an indescribable release.  At that moment it felt like my birthday.  I had been given new life, as his slave, with new purpose and new resolve.

I felt like a different person on my way to work Monday morning, still in my event buzz.  I can definitely say this was one of the best first experiences I could possibly have imagined.  The people I met were fantastic, supportive, and immediately accepting, and Angelflare managed to make me feel loved and celebrated.  It was, indeed, a Very Merry Sintangible Birthday to me!

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Choosing Pain

July 28, 2012 at 00:12 (BDSM) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

BDSM activity

I was recently asked to give my two cents for an article about chronic conditions, physical limitations, disabilities etc and kink, the main question being Why would one who is in chronic pain choose to be in more pain?  As some of you may know, I am have Type 1 Diabetes and Fibromyalgia, and because of both I can be anywhere from mildly irritated to severely debilitated on any given day.   This has created a few extra considerations in how I lead a BDSM lifestyle, and at times has been a slight inconvenience.  It  has also not only helped in some ways, but the benefit seems to be mutual, meaning my kink and my chronic pain have found ways to improve each other.  Who knew?

A friend of mine who is a tattoo artist mentioned to be during my last session  that she has noticed a higher tolerance from people with chronic pain when it comes to tattoos.  The theory there is that we have grown so accustomed to dealing with deep aches and pains on a daily basis that the superficial irritation caused by tattooing is not registered as intensely by our nerves.  I have noticed the same can be said for flogging, spanking, scratching, and most other surface sensation pain during a scene.  Unless it’s a particularly bad day for me, as long as Angelflare doesn’t bite into me right away, I have more endurance than I used to.

Having a day-to-day condition has pushed Angelflare to get to know my body language more intimately than he might have to otherwise.  I never have to tell my Master I’m having a bad day or what tasks I may be incapable of performing.  He already knows.  This has strengthened the trust I have that he will always protect me as his slave, and I am more ready to be blindly obedient knowing he has that kind of consideration and ability to read my pain and energy levels.

In what ways has kink helped my chronic pain?  For one thing, fire play and percussion play are an excellent way to massage and loosen muscles, not to mention the endorphin release our bodies naturally experience at times of intense pleasure or pain, but it goes even beyond that.  Being in service has done wonders to fill the hole my illness tore in my self esteem.

When I started to get sick I felt useless as both a wife and a lover.  I couldn’t take care of my family or our house.  We couldn’t have sex at all let alone engage in any kind of kink activities.  I was sure Angelflare hated me and regretted marrying me.  I felt sick, ugly, old, fat, weak, and broken.  It took me a long time to heal those wounds to my confidence, and being in service has helped with that.  I feel wanted, I feel capable, and I know that I will be pushed to go until I need to stop not just until I want to stop.  Being a slave has also given me a constant awareness of my body, which has helped me identify bad days from just feeling down or every day aches and pains, and has given me no wiggle room to make excused.  Angelflare will tell me when to rest.  Until then, I have to believe I still have the strength.

The biggest benefit I have gotten out of kink has been community.  Whenever I have been sick or had a particularly bad stretch our friends in the community have been the first to offer support in any way possible.  It’s always been one of the best unexpected side-effects of our lifestyle, and I would never trade it for anything.

To answer the original question, why would I choose pain?  It’s the same reason anyone in the lifestyle would still be mad at an unrequested punch in the face.  When the pain comes from something I’ve chosen, something that brings me pleasure, or at least brings Angelflare pleasure, the pain is acceptable.  Chronic pain or not, I can’t think of anyone who would get pleasure out of breaking a leg in a skiing accident.  The concept here is the same.

The pain I choose is pain I can harness and transform into something powerful, something positive, something that cannot be replicated.  The pain I choose is mine, and it is bliss.  The pain I choose makes the pain I do not seem a million miles away.  The pain I choose makes me feel desired, and beautiful, and strong, even when I do not feel like it.  The pain I choose makes me feel human again, and that’s something I never want to lose sight of again.


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Common Sense as Protocol

July 26, 2012 at 21:48 (M/S) (, , , , , , , , , )

la dame sans merci III duotone

I was recently sunk into several layers of thought after reading this blog by Graydancer.  In fact, I had to read it several times, follow the rabbit hole of links he provided for references, and read it again to begin to comprehend what I was reading.  It seems, friends, as if I’ve been doing it wrong.  Try to suppress your surprise that anyone in an alternative lifestyle should think anyone else in that same lifestyle is doing it wrong, and therefore offensive to the lifestyle as a whole, but this seems to be a more widespread topic of conversation than I thought, and I have come to the only possible conclusion one can in this situation, which I will share at the end just to keep you reading.

Back to the matter at hand.  This all starts when Graydancer types the word “domist”, which I read as the belief that Doms are privileged and subs are devalued.  The topic at hand was third-party permission, meaning this:  As a third-party, should one ask permission of my Master to speak with me assuming our dynamic is obvious and that third-party is familiar with what I have always assumed to be “scene courtesy”?  I have always taken this as a sign of respect for a couple’s dynamic.  If the slave is free to interact on her own I have still done no harm by asking first.  If not I have saved myself the issue of stepping on her Master’s toes.

Apparently there is dissent and disagreement on this matter.  There were two reactions that Graydancer garnered that particularly rubbed me in funny ways, especially as a slave.

The first was, “I don’t like being ignored!”, which nearly caused an aneurysm.  Seriously, I had to walk away from the computer and find something to beat my head against that Angelflare wouldn’t beat me for breaking.  The idea that my Master is the privileged one of the two of us is a bit of a “duh” statement for me.  Isn’t that the role I accepted when I chose to be a slave?  My pleasure is his pleasure.  My life is his life.  I am property.  It really doesn’t matter if I like being ignored or not.  That’s not my choice to make.  Greydancer does point out that if someone is asking permission to talk to me it’s not being ignored, and to me it’s even more than being spoken to directly.  I’m worth asking  permission to talk to!  That makes my slave heart smile!

The second comment that ruffled my slave feathers a bit was the idea that by expecting this courtesy Angelflare and I would be forcing our scene on them without consent!  Yeah, read that again.  What?  Here Graydancer does a great job of explaining that for many of us this is not a scene.  This is how we live our lives.  This is who we are.  Angelflare and I are not forcing you to do anything.  Of course you can ignore our wishes and talk to anyone you want, and I can choose to ignore you until you’ve obtained permission from my Master.  Who are you to assume you deserve a breach in my obedience?

The basis of Graydancer’s post, and the original one he links to about “domism”, seems to be gender.  The original poster seems to focus on male Doms and female submissives, citing “Patriarchal and heterosexist patterns” in a scene that, in her experience, is saturated by male Dominants.  I have to admit I can’t relate to her feelings, as that has not been my experience.  As a pansexual female switch married to a pansexual male switch who just happens to take the role as my Master I have not noticed a dynamic paradigm.  Our local community is fairly balanced, and I had not assumed others to be any different.  Nor is it really any of my business.  As a female I don’t take any offence to it. I don’t assume any of it happens because I’m a woman; I assume it’s because of the collar around my neck.  If I’m the one holding the leash I expect, and am afforded, the same courtesy no matter what the gender of the person on the other end.  This is how it should be.

My conclusion?  That we are all taking how other people live their lives way too seriously, especially for people who are publicly hailing our rights to live the way we wish and talk to who we wish, and so on, and so forth.  This is not high school.  This is not a life or death decision.  You will not die if you speak to me and I ignore you because I refuse to let you impose your desire to be a rebel on my protocols.  Just don’t do so if you don’t like to be ignored, because ignored you will be.

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Opting for Hopeless (Part 2)

July 20, 2012 at 00:57 (BDSM) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Gothic Ballerina, October 2008, Marcillé Raoul...

I wrote a couple days ago about the place for romanticism in a poly relationship.  As I did, I realized that I have heard the same comments about BDSM, D/s, and similar relationships.  Is there a place in a 24/7 M/s relationship for romanticism?  Dear gods, I hope so.

I think the first thing to address about a 24/7 relationship, well mine anyway, is that while I am always in service we are not always in a scene. We do have loving, tender, married couple sex.  We do have dates, sweet moments, and do touching things for one another.  So, yes, there is still room for romance in our life.  No, I would not expect flowers and mushy cards on a dungeon night, although I may expect a flogger or two to show up at the end of date night.  I’m kidding, but you get the point.

Unless the relationship is a completely detached, casual play situation with no intimacy I think romance finds a way in to a loving BDSM relationship.  It’s unstoppable, it’s inevitable, it’s vital.

Just an opinion from a slave who happens to be a hopeless romantic and wouldn’t have it any other way.



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