Meet the Newest Players...

Things are changing so fast.

I'm separated from my husband. We will probably divorce. At some point in the last few months, the lover's voice took root in my brain: Intimacy is like food and oxygen. There is nothing wrong with me for wanting more from marriage.

I'm sad sometimes, relieved other times. I'm sad because of the pain I will be visiting on my daughter. I'm sad because I feel as though I failed at this. I'm relieved because I no longer have to pretend to be something I'm not.

Weekends are the hardest. I went to a private play party last weekend and, while I had a great time, I cried most of the way home. The feeling of being "uncoupled" is going to take some adjustments. I've been the other half of a couple for 15 years. And, of course, there's the realization that I want to be able to share this, my BDSM interests, with a partner.

There are two new players on the scene: C and A.

A is long-distance. So far it has simply been text, e-mail and phone but daily for 2 months. There are many things about him that appeal to me. He's definitely a Dom and eventually wants a 24/7 D/s relationship. He wants a partner. He's so incredibly fucking smart. I can't manipulate him. He's hung like a horse (w00t!). He is sadistic and likes rough sex. We get along really well most of the time. We can be relaxed and goofy together and we make each other laugh. I've noticed, though, that his self-described control over his emotions doesn't extend to resisting the urge to snap my head off if he's annoyed with me. He claims not to be invested in me any more than friends, yet is controlling my masturbation, my fingernails (hey, I've stopped biting them), and my exercise, and finally confessed to some jealousy about my other play partners. Just friends, though... okay...

C... well, things are complicated with C. He started out as a weekly play partner and I was so sure I'd never develop any other feelings for him. Until he fell in love with me. I'm letting myself fall for him, too... He fulfills so much of what I need. He is a sadist in the truest sense of the word... truly. I'll log some of the conversations he and I have had about sadism/masochism. There's a huge emotional component, though. Because of his love, I cannot close my heart off. It would be so easy in this process (divorce) to let myself become bitter and cynical, closed off to everything. He's keeping my heart open, though. I feel more loving toward the universe, even toward my husband. I am bound and determined to be gracious and respectful through this process. C and I are now crazy for each other. Once a week isn't enough, but I can't get away more. Not now, anyway.

More later.

Every Moment

I went to Wal-Mart today after work. I had my strip of packing tape down my spine and this time I got it closer to the way it's supposed to be. My shoulders had to stay back in order to keep the tape from pulling painfully. My breasts were distinctly front-and-center. Again I felt as though Master were watching... I tried to keep my back straight and I felt distinctly... there's no other way to put this: I felt like a whore. I was keenly aware of my own sexuality. My hips moved differently. I thought of sex every moment and I wondered if anyone else could see, would understand.

I walked through the store, which is in a distinctly redneck part of town. Twice I walked past the same group of three middle-aged pot-bellied men wearing shirts with either rebel flags or beer advertisements. I felt their eyes on me. I wondered if I were sending out a beacon or signal. Master likes to share his toys and I wondered if I was unconsciously projecting an invitation or promise.

I finally turned a corner and nearly bumped into the men. They were just a few feet away and they all turned to look at me. A heaviness hung in the air and I wondered, again, if they could possibly know how I felt, if they could see the submissive, Master's whore. I paused.

Then my phone began to ring. Master's ring. Trent Reznor from Nine Inch Nails began to wail, "It's time to Meet Your Master, Meet Your Master, Meet Your Master." I pulled the phone from my purse and looked up at the men. Their eyes dawned with comprehension as I slid my finger across the green button and said, "Good afternoon, Master."

Random Thoughts

As I type this, I have a strip of packing tape down my spine and two more strips across my nipples. I have my instructions.

As always, the thing that turns me on the most is being TOLD what to do. Every time I’ve ever had a lover ask me what I like or shyly ask me what I want, I’ve cringed inside. Don’t ask. Just tell. Issue orders. Take.

I’m not sure I have the packing tape on my spine correct. It’s supposed to make me stand straight, breasts out for Master. Presenting myself to him for his use. It’s the first time I’ve done it so it’s probably not perfect, but it is serving another purpose: every movement I make, every letter I type, every breath I take, I feel the tape, I feel his control. I’m sitting the way he told me to sit. I think if he called me right now, if the phone rang and I heard his voice, I would come without even touching myself.

The More Things Change...

Written Feb. 20

Big changes in my world. The sadist, while a delightful presence in my life, has been reclassified as friend and occasional playmate. He’s also going to start teaching me a little bit about topping.

Big changes.

I have several other potential playmates. There is a politician in a good-sized Southern city who likes to spank women, tie them up and use toys to bring them to orgasm repeatedly (and wants nothing in return – seriously, where’s the downside for a painslut like moi?), among others.

Yesterday I had incredibly hot sex with a man whose cock I sucked before I ever raised my eyes to look at his face.

Do not think that this is not still incredibly complicated. I have shed incredibly bitter tears through these transitions. The sadist, although not intentionally wanting to emotionally harm me, caused some of those tears, as did the guilt. And the guilt can be so overwhelming.

I am learning a lot, I will say that. For a while I wondered if I was really submissive (as opposed to being a ‘bottom’) but the latest playmate has proved that I am. He was able to dominate me mentally as well as physically. It was fantastic. With the sadist I had a real problem remembering to say ‘sir’ and I had no problem saying it with the new playmate. It is delicious.

My next question for myself: do I want a dom? Do I want to belong to one man? And if so, what are the requirements? Do I want someone who can go to the occasional munch or club with me? Someone with as much to lose as I have? I think I’m pretty clear that I’m not really slave material. Hell, what do I know? Maybe I just haven’t met the right Master, the one who brings out the desire to serve in every capacity.

I am having a fantastic time learning, I will say that…

Portrait of an Afternoon

She walked toward his door. He was standing out in front, smoking a cigarette. They smiled at each other and appeared cordial in front of anyone who could see them. The moment she stepped inside, however, he roughly pushed her up against the wall and ordered her to strip, shoving his knee between her legs and forcing them apart. She undressed, shaking with that delicious mix of apprehension and desire. Ordering her to face the wall and put her hands against it as though he were about to arrest her, he stroked the satin of her lingerie and the lace of her stockings. He slapped her ass several times. He leaned in and gently kissed the spot on her neck that made her go weak. Reaching around he began to twist and torture her nipples and breasts while kissing the same spot, mixing pain with pleasure. The kiss quickly turned into a bite. He spanked her again, then thrust two of his fingers inside her. Naturally, she was already wet. He pushed her against the wall again. The plaster was cold against her breasts.

"Why did you come here?"

"To be punished."

"Why should you be punished?"

"Because I fucked someone."

"Yes, you did. You fucked him and sucked his cock, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You let him put his cock inside your cunt and his fingers inside your ass, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You're a whore, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what must we do to whores?"

"Punish them."

"Tell me again why you came here."

"To be punished."

"What else?"

"To get fucked."

"Whores like that, don't they? Tell me you're a whore."

"I'm a whore, sir."

"Yes, you are. And you're going to pay for that."

*****

Later:

She was bent over the couch. He'd laid his instruments out in front of her and was using them, one at a time, to see what her response was to each item. She told him she'd preferred thud to sting, so naturally he ignored what she wanted. He wanted to hurt her. All the time they'd spent together, all the conversations and laughter, all the kisses and gentleness disappeared when the sadist took over. He wanted to see her ass and breasts get red, then bruised. He wanted her skin to be so sensitive that a finger stroked over it would make her cry out. He wanted to see how far she could go, and then push her further.

He'd promised her the cane. And she would get it. Maybe later, when they were upstairs. He'd have her roll from front to back, choosing for herself where she would get hit. If she rolled onto her back, he'd force her legs open to hit her cunt and breasts. If she rolled onto her stomach, he'd order her to put her ass in the air to receive the cane strokes. Maybe she would end up on her back, head back over the bed so her throat would open up and she could suck him off properly. Maybe he'd restrain her to the bed spread-eagle while he went for a cigarette and to check his email, telling her that she was his toy. And toys wait to be used by their owners.

*****

They went out in the late afternoon for a sandwich and a beer. Naturally she wasn't wearing panties. He sat next to her in the booth and periodically reached down the back of her pants to pinch her hard. He could hear the intake of her breath every time. She was wearing a skirt and he refused to allow her to close her legs. Let the other men see you, he said. Let them see what a slut you are. Then you'll leave with me and they'll all wonder what we're going to do with the rest of our evening.

*****

They dozed off at some point, curled up in his bed. Both were self-proclaimed solo sleepers but physically and mentally they were exhausted. Between the beatings and the conversations, they had a tendency to wear the other out. She woke after just a few minutes to feel him stroke her hip, then reach around and gently touch her clit. She flinched a bit, her skin still tender. He smiled. He kissed the fading bite mark on her neck, kissed shoulder and the tattoo on her shoulderblade. She reached back and pulled his hips against her, feeling his cock against her ass. They lay there, stroking each other softly, no hurry to achieve orgasm this time, just touching the others' skin.

*****

Her jaw was sore by the end of the night, she'd spent so much time worshipping his cock.

*****

By the time she left, she felt more natural being naked in front of him than clothed to the rest of the world. Her body felt pleasantly used. She'd be sore in the morning but the euphoria held as she drove home, windows down, music loud. She sang along and didn't think. Didn't think about her husband, or her child, or even the sadist. Just drove, even deliberately missing her regular exit to enjoy the feeling of being alone for just a few more minutes.

Thank you, MLK Jr, for making sure I had a day off!

My ass is still sore. I was bratty and provoked the sadist. He’s still very controlled with me but there are moments when his eyes change and I’m reminded that I’m in the presence of a man who genuinely enjoys hurting women. Rather than simply asking for what I wanted, I challenged him – several times. As a result I was bent over a stool and spanked with several implements (note to self: get their names for blog fodder) and was also introduced to wrist restraints, nipple clamps and a clothespin zipper. The clamps I could breathe through, turning the pain into intense sensation. The zipper had these annoying, humiliating little bells. I had to stand still while he went for a cigarette and when he returned I received a few more strokes on my ass. He then pulled the zipper off and Jesus Christ on a rope I screamed and thought I would pass out.

I loved it.

I reached the point where I could no longer keep up the civilized mask, the “poker face” that I perfected as a child. It was my only real power when I was growing up: keeping my reactions to myself. I wasn’t allowed to feel anything negative so I learned to bury everything. The sadist has been trying to get me to reveal more of myself, what I want, what I need, what turns me on, off, etc. Between the way I was raised and the way my marriage has gone, I’ve become an expert in not knowing what I want.

Complicating things even more is the fact that, as it turns out, what turns me on is being told what to do. That and the pain. When I lost the mask, when I turned to him, completely helpless, his eyes darkened again. He’d warned me not to offer “anything you want” to a sadist – him or anyone else. We had certain restrictions this visit and he wasn’t going to violate them, but I could see the promise there. We are in for some very interesting times indeed.

Of course, I could only offer him that because when it comes right down to it, he is very respectful, tender and watchful with me. He watches my face and the way I curl my fingers. He can see the light in my eyes when he introduces me to a new toy. He strokes me constantly when we’re talking and kisses the sweet spot on my neck. I’m learning to trust him, which makes me willing to open up and let go of the mask. I can start owning my urges and sharing them.

I’m having a complete blast.

Whore

The lover was everything he claimed to be and more. I just had the best sex I've had in years.

I was so scared. I was shaking -- more nervous than I'd been at the sadist's house the week before. So the lover held my face and kissed me deeply -- over and over and over. We had wine, we listened to music, we kissed some more. It wasn't long before we were naked on the bed. He was right -- he can seriously eat pussy. I came twice.

That was when the tears started.

I sobbed. He pulled me close and held me. I never wanted to be this person. I never wanted to hurt my husband. I never wanted to be a cheater. I was reminded that physical intimacy is right after food and shelter on the list of human needs.

When the tears were over we could laugh. Then the kissing began again, and the stroking. And I had at least two more orgasms. And he had a pretty good one, too. There was a whip, and lube, and ass play, and kissing and stroking and loving.

Two and a half hours in total.

I had a very good day