Beaten.

One of the more striking things about being struck…and struck repeatedly…is how fluid time becomes, how simple it is to take leave of your senses and allow your body’s chemical reactions to rule the day.

Rarely do I do well in a BDSM scene when someone comes at me with their energy at a raging level and I am at a dead stop. in the same way that someone about to engage in exercise will have a “warm-up” period, it is helpful to have a gentle entrée to one’s ass-whumping perversity.

Hm…now I am stalling with fluffy paragraphs and not biting into the meat of what I’m trying to say here. Bloody fucking typical. But that is, sometimes, how I roll.

I had a really great evening yesterday. not the least of which because it was within the framework of spending time with some dear friends (who I mentioned in my last post) and for whom the goal of the evening was not to break me into teeny pieces and leave me panting on my own shore, trying to figure out what the fuck happened. The goal, rather, was to have a time together that embraced an enjoyably sensual experience. I’m learning, I think, that it doesn’t have to take me out for days afterwards to be a wonderful scene.

This was more along the lines of arriving at a Dungeon to which I’d not been before, so there was the newness of that. This was walking around and being able to check out the equipment, social area, smaller rooms off the main dungeon, wave hello to an acquaintance I’d not seen in a long while, and then sit on exceedingly comfy couches to chat about what might play out in the night’s play.

Please indulge me and allow me to digress for a moment….well, fuck. It is my fucking blog. I don’t have to ask your permission.

Gods here I go, being all bottomy to anonymous random people reading my blog. Lame.

I’m gonna digress for a moment, dammit.

If you are a kinky person, and are so inclined, I strongly recommend bottoming to a well-tuned switchy couple. Seriously? It is the shit.

By the time I was on my belly with my ankles tied together and my wrists bound above my head with my head cradled in the crook of my elbow, I realized it was a bit chilly in the large main room of the dungeon, and mentioned this to Thendara and Mustang. Mustang immediately had a fluffy towel available to cover my bottom half while he massaged my back and shoulders and Thendara twitched aside the covering to apply tickling tapping cane strokes to the sweet spot just at the meeting place of ass and thighs. I am a sucker for a nice thuddy caning, and that was an excellent way to warm up the skin and muscle and blood of my body for play…something thoroughly enjoyable.

The massage slowly turned to a harder push and pull and grab and scratch to a catch of the flesh between fingers that elicits a hiss and moan that slips into a giggle when the squashy side of my compressed breast is traced with some fingernails.

“Someone is ticklish, I think….are you really really ticklish?”

“No, not at all…” I snerk even as four hands demand laughter from my mouth and futile wriggles from my body

“Oh, and lying about it too, I see!” came Thendara’s mocking response, as sixteen fingers and four thumbs did their evil work of exploring my ribs, under my arms, in the fold of my breast, along the small of my back and dear sweet gods not on the feeeeeet!!!!
My skin is so very sensitive to touch and even more so when it has been so many long months since anyone has paid me this type of attention it seems almost too much input to handle…so I let go of handling it and let the riot of strokes thumps pinches tickles bites and scratches take over.

“Her skin is so soft – ” opines Thendara and Mustang responds with an affirmative and appreciative sigh, which awakened in me a warm happiness that they found enjoyment in something about me.

One series of thuddy flogger strikes melts into a rhythmic paddling of the top of the curve of my ass and then a -owowowowholyfuckow – something that feels like ten pounds of rubber fucking death hits my flank and I pull away…well, all of about six inches away. Because, well, that hurt. And that is kind of the point but whenever play goes from comfortable sensation to painful sensation I hesitate because what if it only … hurts? What if there isn’t that surreal switchback from pain to pleasurable pain to masochistic wire-crossed pain-as-delight that is the whole reason I’m supposed to be here, tied up in a fucking converted warehouse in the middle of Random Industrial Park, California, USA on a Friday night dammit see, this is precisely the kind of shit that takes you right. The . Fuck. OUTTA the scene so shut the fuck up and just calm down –

…calm down…

Calm…down?

Sure. As your friend hits you on the ass with a couple of feet of wooden cane and her husband grabs your nappy hair and pulls your head firmly sending shivers drippling down your back.

Okay.

I’m cool.

Okay….that hurts. And that is good. And that is simple. And you don’t have to think about anything else right now, because they love you, and because you love and trust them, and that’s what friends are for.

So the caning gets more intense and that too is good. So the end of that thick heavy cane pushes at your panties and insinuates its way between your legs and now the panties are kinda wet and so you are moaning between clenched teeth sometimes breathing in a shallow panting and a calming voice reminds you to breathe and then there is a flogger a cane a paddle and …something else…what is it…not sure but then there is a heavy heavy hand right in the thickest part of your ass slamming into the dense muscle and fat and right into your cunt. Amazing, that, because deep inside elsewhere builds an energetic contracting that feels a whole lot like an orgasm, but backwards…like you are rewinding through having just come, really hard and you move from that humming loop of clenched thighs mouth open breathing heavily oddly modulated moans and something else fantastical and there it is again. That cane once more somehow between your legs, and then alongside your face…what is that? Am I supposed to … perhaps kiss it, to demonstrate my gratefulness or…

“Can you smell yourself?”

I can. And I do, and it is emotionally somewhat enervating and it hits a button for me because that embarrasses me, usually, but somehow it is ok because yes, my cunt is aroused and moist and provoked with that lovely fucking cane even through my silky black panties my lusty pussy announces itself with unabashed pheremonal lust…

The towel came back out later, the holding pattern of the end of the scene blended seamlessly to the final approach and…touchdown…water and clothes back on and tidying up and wiping down and all the stuff you do once you are finished with your scene…

And me, brought slowly spinning to rest, off of the teacup ride, a giddily childlike wondrous clean and soft place for my heat to rest, for a time, and be grateful.

Being a pervert is, for today, wonderful.