Posts from the ‘Play Time’ Category


He quite enjoyed my feet today, I think. Or should I say his feet?


He tickled them and kissed them, but he also bit them. He bit my toes, hard. It was quite the contrast to the sensations that went before. No one has ever bitten the pads of my big toes. I loved it but I’m not sure why.


The more he indulges his fetish the more turned on I am by it, the more I want. There is something very hot about laying there, my feet on his chest, his hands running along my legs, his lips against my instep, his teeth sinking into them. There is something lovely about their being His, about my being His. I feel very much His when he plays with my feet. I wonder why this is? I wonder why I feel so completely His when he is enjoying my feet.


I just took a look at said feet. They aren’t as good a shape as they should have been for him. I haven’t been religiously putting lotion on them like I should to keep the soft and pink for him. This prompted a little fantasy though…


… his taking me to have my feet done and when they are done, and my feet or all pink and soft and fresh like a baby’s he carries me out so that no shoes go on them to mar their perfection, no ground to sully them… and then….and then he takes me and he lays me down and has His feet, His feet all pink and clean and soft, His feet to kiss, His feet to beat on and bite, He feet to fuck, all soft and pink and tender.



Tickling: The Other Sort of Pain


I told Maitre the other day that I loved his tickling me. I love the way it makes me giggle and feel like a little girl. I love how it tortures me and rides that fine line between pleasure and pain. I also love how I’ve given one more tool in his tool.


I told him that he could reduce me to tears if he wanted. I am so ticklish that I can be reduced to a cowering, mess on the floor, begging for my attacker to stop. And when I say begging? I mean begging, for real, the “I’ll do anything you want just please stop tickling me” variety of begging.


I didn’t tell him where the hot button are but I did tell him that once he’s found them and get’s me rolling my entire body becomes ticklish much like once you turn me on my entire body becomes an erogenous zone.


He thanked me for telling him I am ticklish citing how most people find it simply annoying. Well… I do too. I find it almost painful but I do so love working to endure what he puts me through.


Hmmm…. a thought just occurred to me.  Is that submission? Or is that a power struggle? Is my setting my teeth and enduring his ministrations really my enduring for him? Because, I can see where it could be painted as “Ta hell if I’m going to give you the satisfaction! “also.

Bent, Faceless and Happy

You bent me backwards. You bent me so far backwards I could see a couple in the mirror. She, subject to his whim, chest and belly laid bare to his hungry mouth. He, with smooth head bent over her devouring her. And then, as quickly as the vision had come it was taken from me. No time to think, not time to ponder the poetics of submission. I am suddenly reduced to sensation and reaction. Suddenly my reality is immediate, visceral, coming at me in the pain of my scalp and sharp staccato blows across my face.


Later you would cover me completely. Your outsized stature swallows my tiny frame. I am buried in the dark of your arms, your weight extinguishing any thought of movement…as if there is any to start with. Warm darkness, breath in my ear, weight pinning me and cock slamming into my sore pussy over and over. Simply, powerfully, totally consumed, objectified. Beneath you, your length stretched over me, I am little more than a vehicle for your stimulation. You watch in the mirror. You couldn’t have seen much more than you’re having an anonymous ass. Was that lovely Daddy? Was the turn on in taking this faceless, nameless female body?


While my submission was complete and unchanging your dominance shifted in mood and tone. You moved through hunger, to violence and on to objectification stopping along the way at many places I haven’t take the time to name. You take us on wonderful rollercoaster rides on which I hang on for dear life never knowing how it will twist or turn. I gladly am tossed about to satisfy you. I am gladly challenged by the pain that makes you rock hard. And I am gladly little more than faceless form of stimulation.


I had a lovely time today Daddy… thank you.


A note to the chance reader: Do not doubt for one moment that I am loved, cherished and taken care of. He pours far more into me than I could ever repay him with my body.

Current Events

Recently my dear friend A joined Us in play. It was lovely. He commented that it was the most balanced and giving threesome he’s ever been in. I have to agree. It was what I always thought a threesome should be and had always hoped it could be. Just warm, erotic, sensual… sigh… lovely.

Now, we came into this as a “vanilla experience”. We left the power exchange as out of it as We can. There was no impact play or any other element bdsm element. However, in conversations leading up to it A had eluded to some interest in bdsm and in topping. So, when Maitre left town in March for close to two weeks (by my clock) he left in her care with instructions. I hadn’t wanted to write about it until I had discussed it with both of them.

 I feel privileged to have been there and been the sub on which she spread her wings and took flight, very privileged. Thank you Maitre for seeing it, encouraging it and facilitating it. Thank you A for trusting me enough to let go, experiment and ask me to dig for you.

 Neither Maitre nor I saw the extent to which it would click with A. This left me mentally unprepared for what I would encounter and I suspect left holes in some wisdom Maitre might otherwise have shared. A in her newness did not see the potential emotional impact of some of her choices of play. It was a learning experience for all three of us I suppose but of course especially for me and A.  In retrospect there should have been a three way discussion of limits and experience. But He and I just didn’t see any of this coming. Of course it is fine because we love and trust each other, Maitre knews this and knew that I would be in good hands… despite the unforeseen.

 A collar and leash is somewhere I hadn’t gone yet, with anyone.  So, when A put them on me it was a novelty. At the outset I was fine, cavalier even. Never having played much with humiliation or real objectification I under estimated the potential impact.  I also failed to see how the vulnerability created by a good beating and the control of you body by another (including orgasm). I went into it cavalierly but came out humiliated and upset. I cringed inside from the circumstance. I hated the collar and crawling at her heel on the way back. Her decision to penetrate me anally and the strength of my orgasms only made it more so.  I wanted to cry, I really wanted to cry but wouldn’t. Why I wouldn’t was part of the key to why it was so upsetting…besides the obvious humiliation.

 Maitre and I have longed talked about “playing to tears”. There have been some but not in scene, as these would have been.  I felt the tears should have been his. I felt that he should have been there to experience them, to feel them, to hear my sobs. I reasoned that to some extent they were his because I was there at his bidding. It didn’t help much. I was also upset because I thought the collar and leash had been his idea. I thought that he had given over to another a first for me instead of being under his supervision…and the gift it would have been to him. It never occurred to me to say “no” to her, to express that collar and leash are his before they are hers but then again I didn’t know what his directions were and what weren’t. 

 When I think about it I am still upset that “that” first experience went to another.  I’m still upset that it wasn’t given to him. I am not upset with her, I am not upset with him, nor am I upset with myself…I’m not even upset for having had the experience with her. I just wish that because of the emotional impact of it that it had been his first. But there were so many blind spots for all of us there is no way we could have foreseen the situation. Hell, if you had asked me I wouldn’t have seen it. And as with all things that cause us discomfort they are opportunities for self examination and growth.

We played twice. Both were very intense just in different ways. The first emotionally as laid out above the second physically.
 She was far tougher on me in some ways than he has been. This was a learning experience too. I learned that I like pain, for the sake of pain. I learned that I like to play even without the promise of a sexual encounter. Does it excite? Certainly! But without direct erotic stimulation it doesn’t cause sexual frustration. You don’t play with my pussy? I can enjoy the pain for pain, the dig for the dig and walk away feeling refreshed, feeling like I have undergone a catharsis.

I love to feel the sensations just for themselves and she put me through my paces in terms of sensations… blind folded and trussed to the pipes in her frigid basement there were: tickles, cold, heat, wet, dry candle wax, objects dragged across my hypothermic body, spanking, her belt (I think), the pain of standing in heels for a long time, the pain of being cold… I was never so thankful to be released from restraints and sent to dress! What she never did was truly play with my pussy. So … another first at A’s hands… sensation play for the sake of sensation play. No big emotional struggle this time…just yummm, yummm…YUMMMM!!

So…there we have it…my week at the hands of a budding Domme… excruciating in many ways and a chance to grow and learn about myself. Many thanks again Daddy and A.
Oh…one last lesson…in my emotional turmoil of the collar and leash, is the lesson of how much He means to me and how my desire to give to Him is just not a general desire to give but is wonderfully, agonizingly, amazingly, specific to Him.

Objecting in Scene

I found myself thinking about safe words today, thinking about boundaries and safe words.

I found myself wondering about the zone between safe-wording and play acting. Is there such a thing as objecting “in scene”? LOL. By objecting in scene I don’t mean “no” but not really meaning it. Instead I mean saying “no, please don’t” and meaning it but saying to my sadist, my Maitre…not my lover, friend and Daddy. Saying it and meaning it but still be willing to leave it at the discretion of Him. I know I could stop him on a dime, that is never in question. But I love the edges and I’m drawn to that place that you come to where you feel it in your soul. I want to cry and beg…nay plead, meaning every word of it but still have him decide if I can go just a bit further. I want to reach that edge of genuine loss of control and feel along its razor sharp finish. I want my tears to be real. I want my fear to be real. I want to beg and for it to be real.

Is this consensual non-consent or is it something different?

Topping from the Bottom

This morning we played for a little while…well, it was actually more like he played with me. He slid his lovely fingers in me and knows me so well that I was on edge almost immediately. This is pretty normal for us. He told me I could orgasm when ever I was ready. I told (struggling to speak mind you) that I didn’t think I wanted too. 

He immediately withdrew his finger. pfftt… but slipped it back in and take me so much by surprise with his accuracy and chi that I really didn’t have a choice, I came. I’m usually pretty good at pushing them down but not this time. I was already excited and he went straight for the kill…the loss of power was sublimely erotic and I came hard for an extended period of time.

Here is my question though…. was I, by saying I didn’t want to come topping from the bottom?

My excuse to myself was wanting to suffer, to yearn, to long physically for him. I wanted to feel that edge but even then isn’t that topping from the bottom? Isn’t that akin to saying “well, you don’t ask enough of me so I’ll ask it of myself”? Wasn’t I pushing his hand? 

Here is another thought to add to the pile. The loss of power over my orgasm… in retrospect it was freeing.  I didn’t have a choice, my body responded. If I did have a choice it was the most tenuous of threads. Anyone who knows me in life will be surprised by this…but I carry a certain amount of guilt when it comes to orgasms. Although completely comfortable with my sexuality, I feel guilty orgasming unless it is during coitus.  Why? I feel selfish.  This next may come as a surprise to him. Although, I come easily for his hands (as well as his cock) there is always a little part of me that is reticent, part of me that feels guilty and part of me that holds back, at least initially.  So this morning when he took my orgasm from me it just poured from me and it reached deep inside me.

I really hate to be one of these women who seems to need to have permission to enjoy sex. True it is not strictly accrate that it is the sex I feel guilty about, but rather being selfish.  But I still hate that it inhibits me…. then again, maybe all of this will only be another toy for him to play with.

Now I’ve made myself late for work.

….the Sum of the Parts

You know, the damn shits addictive. The more I get the more I want.  If I think I remotely have a chance of even a little bit of a fix and it falls through I sulk.

I am of course talking about play and specifically play with Maitre. It’s a multi dimensional fix. Sure, it’s the physical rush. It’s the sweet high of the endorphins. It’s that sublime meditative state I reach with hard impact play. God I love a good beating! I love the pain, the sharpness of it,  how it screams at you for your attention not to be ignored. I also love the headspace. I love a good mind-fuck. I adore digging deep inside me to take more to please him. And yes, subspace is groovy.

But what I really love? What trips my trigger more than any of these? Is what it takes to really make these thing deeply and satisfyingly possible…connection, not just a connection in passing but a deep one. The type of connection that yields an intuitive understanding of one another that resonates deep inside somewhere. The kind of connection that lets you feel their chi running under their skin. One where you feel the little changes in muscle tension doing something as simple as holding their hand, and you know their mindset has changed even if outward behavior hasn’t. It is this type of connection that makes it possible to take the rest to sublime heights, the headspace, the physical rush, all of it is magnified ten fold for me when THAT connection is there.

Oh don’t get me wrong, beat me, whip me, make me write bad checks…but connect to me when you do it.  Maitre told me after a recent bit of play that he almost came while smacking me repeatedly – damn it was hot. What was even hotter was finding out that it turned him on so much, that he could go down that road, that he could indulge in smacking hard across the face repeatedly and enjoy it without reservation or moral qualms.  He could do it because we read each other like a book. My every facial expression, every change in my breathing, his eye and how they change, the way he holds me to him…. all of it weaves us together, making us both strong and beautiful. The whole more than the sum of its parts.

Play Time

I was just out on Fetlife catching up on the SM board. There was a thread on pushing limits and safe-words. The poster was trying to figure out how to have their limits pushed if they can stop a scene whenever they want. Damn good question and if you ask me. Why are they playing these games if they are just going to safe-word out at the drop of a hat?

I have a safe-word. I don’t think I’ve ever used it. I mean what’s the point? If I trust him enough to bind me, effectively putting my life in his hands, shouldn’t I trust him enough to be paying attention and reading me? I guess the answer is no. I guess there are many “Dom”s out there who don’t pay attention, who put their own twisted desires ahead of their subs well being.

Now granted there have been times I’ve hollered ”no” or “stop” and he has immediately done so, based I suppose, on the tone of my voice. But my point is this, I want my limits pushed. I want to be made to hurt, feel uncomfortable, be scared, act out…whatever… I want these things and I want to please him. This puts my safe-word far, far from my mind, purposefully putting it beyond my reach.

Isn’t this part of the draw of BDSM? Isn’t this what it’s all about? Or am I somehow misguided or making gross assumptions? 

Early on he wrote me that he was looking for someone who wanted to “dance on the edge of her limits”. That puts it so beautifully. This is what I want, to dance on the edge of my limits. I want this not only during play but through out my life. I want to always be pushing myself, always exploring, always dancing on the edge of my limits.

I Want

So I’m sitting here missing Maitre. I’m thinking about how I want some contact, nay need some contact. I physically ache I need contact so badly. But I know it will probably be close to another week before I see him.


Then I start thinking about how lovely it would be to play with my sweet submissive, Jay. The only problem being that I am not allowed any gratification with him. The rules of play between J and I are as follows:

  1. My clothes must stay on and in place,
  2. No oral genital contact.
  3. I am not to orgasm.


I am considering breaking my rules.  I am seriously considering spending some time with him tomorrow evening with the express purpose of sexual contact. I am seriously considering going over tomorrow night to be serviced.  Allow him to rub my back, play with my body and satisfy me orally. All one sided. Maybe if he’s a good boy he can cum on my feet and lick them clean.


I really don’t know what Maitre will do with me. It was one thing when it happened that first time with out intent. It was my first real taste of topping and I got carried away. But to sit here and think of it purposefully and then actually seek it out?  That is truly worthy of a punishment… if not actually a deal breaker.


I’m not very much of a Domme, if I can’t control myself am I? Ergo, I should control myself and not break my rules. 


But damn do I want to feel that nice warm, wet, sensuous tongue on my pussy! J has a very talented tongue 😉

The Anima and The Animus

Anima and animus – Carl Jung

As Maitre once put it to me early on in our relationship… “I don’t think you believe that someone can actually treat you well and beat the crap out of you.”

He was right of course and that is what I really crave. I crave the pain but wrapped up in love, respect, and nurturing. I want the pain. I want to explore both physical and emotional pain…but I want to always know in my core of cores that I am safe, that I am wrapped up in love and that I will always come back to reality of being wanted.

And this is why I don’t just “bottom” because it isn’t about the pain on its own. It’s about the lovely juxtaposition of falling head long into the deepest darkest parts of ourselves only to come rushing back up to the surface and the pure joy and light of a warm and caring relationship.

I want to loose control and cower at the possibilities. I want to flinch (and do) when he raises his hand. I want to embrace fear. I want to embrace pain. I want to embrace worthlessness and humiliation. But will only do so, can only do so, if I know that on the other end are his warm strong loving arms.

I suspect we will never go to the deepest darkest places though I trust him to take me there and bring me back safely.  We won’t go these places unless something changes in our lives. I can’t even imagine going these places if I can’t reach out to him when I start to drop hard.  Hell, I drop hard enough as it sometime and struggle with our lives and schedules in those moments. I can’t begin to imagine being reduced to the level I long to and have to cope on my own later. In fact, I would say I don’t want to go these places unless we can spend a weekend at it. If we could have 48 hours locked away on our own, maybe a cabin in the woods, where he could reduce me completely and then build me back up… well, such are the things that fantasies are made of.