Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Switching
Technically, I'm not just a pro-domme. I'm a pro-switch. I tend to emphasize the domme side as I do relatively few sessions as a submissive. This weekend, however, was a subby bonanza. I had no less than four sub sessions and it was fantastic. I ate it up. I am naturally very dominant, so allowing someone to top me, however rarely, is always a unique thrill. I feel like I learn so much about myself and about topping in general every single time I submit to another.
As a submissive, I am exquisitely aware of the ever-fluid lines of my pain tolerance. Some days I'm stronger than others, and all kinds of things play their own part in it, from how rested I am to where I am in my cycle. This past weekend emphasized for me how very important the chemistry between players can be.
A particular new top, we'll call him G, came to see me. He was exactly the kind of top that makes me want to continue to do professional subbing. He listened to everything I had to say in negotiation. He clearly and completely outlined his interests and experience. He had not the slightest quibble with my boundaries, and when he gave me my requested warm-up, it was a real warm-up. Not 30 seconds of distracted light spanking, but a good 20 minutes of thorough, gentle build-up.
I can take quite a bit, but I need my warm-up. I'm not a natural masochist. In fact, I thought I wasn't a masochist at all. I tolerated pain because it was part of it, but I can't say I ever really reveled in it. Apart from a couple of good spankings, my pleasure in submission came entirely from my ability to withstand the pain, to conquer it, and to please my top. Not this time. G completely inspired me to blast through my upper limit of pain tolerance. I say 'blast' because it was no slow and steady work-through, but rather an incredible near-doubling of my past abilities. When we were finished, I was glowing. I grinned like a school girl. During the session I was yelling like there was no tomorrow, my screams echoing throughout the house, but when I finished, I was floating.
Why was it so compelling for me? He was incredibly respectful. He asked me before he brought in anything new. He appreciated my body but he didn't act like tits and ass were all he was there for. In fact, I was in bra and panties the entire time. He paid attention to my every response, he gave me appropriate breathing room after each peak of pain, and he checked in with me often. He watched my face as he hurt me. He looked into my eyes as he caused me pain. He had no shame about what he was doing, perhaps because he made sure that every moment was consensual. It was easily the sexiest scene I have ever had. And it hurt like fucking hell.
Afterward, he complimented me. I know that a lot of dominants forget to do quality after care. I've been guilty of it myself. But when someone has just given you their body to torture and play with, some appreciation is in order. It doesn't have to be effusive praise, cuddling, or overly flowery gratitude. A simple, "I enjoyed X. I like the way you Y" will do quite nicely.
So perhaps I am a masochist after all. I loved that session, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, despite or perhaps because of the intensity generated by just a few carefully placed clothespins. I just needed the right top to bring it out of me. The right chemistry, the right connection.
I'll have to remember a few of those spots for my own subs. Inner arm, anyone?
As a submissive, I am exquisitely aware of the ever-fluid lines of my pain tolerance. Some days I'm stronger than others, and all kinds of things play their own part in it, from how rested I am to where I am in my cycle. This past weekend emphasized for me how very important the chemistry between players can be.
A particular new top, we'll call him G, came to see me. He was exactly the kind of top that makes me want to continue to do professional subbing. He listened to everything I had to say in negotiation. He clearly and completely outlined his interests and experience. He had not the slightest quibble with my boundaries, and when he gave me my requested warm-up, it was a real warm-up. Not 30 seconds of distracted light spanking, but a good 20 minutes of thorough, gentle build-up.
I can take quite a bit, but I need my warm-up. I'm not a natural masochist. In fact, I thought I wasn't a masochist at all. I tolerated pain because it was part of it, but I can't say I ever really reveled in it. Apart from a couple of good spankings, my pleasure in submission came entirely from my ability to withstand the pain, to conquer it, and to please my top. Not this time. G completely inspired me to blast through my upper limit of pain tolerance. I say 'blast' because it was no slow and steady work-through, but rather an incredible near-doubling of my past abilities. When we were finished, I was glowing. I grinned like a school girl. During the session I was yelling like there was no tomorrow, my screams echoing throughout the house, but when I finished, I was floating.
Why was it so compelling for me? He was incredibly respectful. He asked me before he brought in anything new. He appreciated my body but he didn't act like tits and ass were all he was there for. In fact, I was in bra and panties the entire time. He paid attention to my every response, he gave me appropriate breathing room after each peak of pain, and he checked in with me often. He watched my face as he hurt me. He looked into my eyes as he caused me pain. He had no shame about what he was doing, perhaps because he made sure that every moment was consensual. It was easily the sexiest scene I have ever had. And it hurt like fucking hell.
Afterward, he complimented me. I know that a lot of dominants forget to do quality after care. I've been guilty of it myself. But when someone has just given you their body to torture and play with, some appreciation is in order. It doesn't have to be effusive praise, cuddling, or overly flowery gratitude. A simple, "I enjoyed X. I like the way you Y" will do quite nicely.
So perhaps I am a masochist after all. I loved that session, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, despite or perhaps because of the intensity generated by just a few carefully placed clothespins. I just needed the right top to bring it out of me. The right chemistry, the right connection.
I'll have to remember a few of those spots for my own subs. Inner arm, anyone?
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
And a very merry unbirthday, to me, to me!
Yesterday, my fellow mistress invited me and another pair of mistresses to her pet's birthday celebration. Four hours of festivities, champagne and sweets. K, one of my very favorite friends, and I arrived just in time for a rousing round of "happy birthday", complete with dim lights and dripping candles. Towards the end, it was a little difficult to hear the words over the exclamations of our "cake", but we managed to finish the sing along and toasted the occasion with delicious, fizzy glasses of champagne. The birthday boy, nearly covered with cooling wax, was (un)fortunately tied to the table hand and foot, but he was able to take part in the toast due to the thoughtful ministrations of Mistress C, who lovingly poured his portion from her own mouth into his.
What could be more fun than toasting my lovely fellows over the squirming, moaning body of the birthday boy himself?
The real dessert, however, was most decidedly not for silverware, and as his mistress spelled out the salutation on our delicious toes, we took turns applying and tasting our decorations. Here, a thigh, there, a breast, it was all fair game. As he blew out the candles and tasted his birthday words on our toes, she and I swirled the last of it off of each other with our thorough tongues. The inimitable taste of hot skin, mingled with the sweetness of frosting, lingers on my tongue today.
What could be more fun than toasting my lovely fellows over the squirming, moaning body of the birthday boy himself?
The real dessert, however, was most decidedly not for silverware, and as his mistress spelled out the salutation on our delicious toes, we took turns applying and tasting our decorations. Here, a thigh, there, a breast, it was all fair game. As he blew out the candles and tasted his birthday words on our toes, she and I swirled the last of it off of each other with our thorough tongues. The inimitable taste of hot skin, mingled with the sweetness of frosting, lingers on my tongue today.
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