They say before you die you see your life flash before your eyes. This week-end I had the opportunity to see mine, without the dying part. I am glad for that part! I wanted to do a car wash flogging. I did one several weeks ago, but wasn’t able to go as far as I wanted due to the ropes. We had a suspension and a flogging planned. I have never been suspended, rope just isn’t my thing. I like it, it is pretty, I just don’t have the patience. The suspension was what stopped me. My leg went numb. I had to come down. The scene was ended. It was fun, but I wanted to try the car wash again, see how far I could go. Last night we did it again. I was in a massage chair, eyes blind folded., binaural beats playing in my ear phones. Tutivillus drew some binding signs on my back and both his and MindnBody’s arms. Later he explained the meanings. The open and closed areas for the flow of energy. Lifelines and energy flow patterns. The flogging began. I don’t remember much of the individual hits. The blows seemed to run into each other, an occasional wrap around would bring me to notice. Then I would pop up, yelp or curse. Slowly going back into myself and the “movie , my life in snippets. Swinging on the swings in elementary school, Giggling non stop with friends. Running around the old fields by my house. The same fields where apartment houses now are becoming old, run down “bargain” rental units. Yes, that many years ago. The childlike wonder of Christmas mornings. Almost TV sitcom like in those days, before the greed and materialism of today’s standards. Happy memories. Small, non-eventful moments, remembered in small doses. I remember giggling a few times. Recalling stunts we tried pulling, moving closer to the teen-age trouble making we did, that in today’s world would seem so innocent and non troublesome. Yes, I was a nerdy kid- just on the edge of being a cool kid, not quite there. I was happy with this as a teenager. I grew up with the “cool” kids in my town. Had known them since I can remember my firsts- kindergarten, skipping around the neighborhood, playing dodge ball, football, making sand castles and as we grew older, sleep-outs in the empty lot between our houses. These moments played in my head. Between junior high and high school we moved. To a larger house. My mothers dream house. Perfect in her eyes, the kids could still go to the same schools, a sheltered neighborhood, The first I had ever heard of a homeowners association, a monthly fee for having a park, and activities just for the neighborhood use. Our house bordered the park. Easy access to the large expanse of grass, playgrounds for the younger kids- the older ones later at night, and stuffier neighbors. But not close enough to my old friends. I made new ones. They were not stuffy, nor “conceited” as my old friends complained. They were nice, accepting and fun. Many good times were spent in the park, hanging out with friends. Talking about the future. My old friends were nice enough. I wasn’t included in their plans anymore. I watched them start high school becoming what they always complained about my new friends being. Conceited and mean to others. I was very glad I was not among them. I was never the object of their meanness. I knew them too well. I was just glad I wasn’t one of the “cool” kids anymore. I was just accepted as, well, just there. Not one of them, but not an object of their ridicule. Funny how I have always described my inclusion like this in most of my descriptions in life. Work life, social life etc. through the years. Not quite a part of the group, but not unaccepted. Talked to when around, treated ok, but not totally accepted and included in the initial plans. A periphery acceptance. Moving on to later days, I remembered the fun times of young adult hood. My times spent at the local watering hole, Trying to manage parenting, school and fun. Somehow doing it all without knowing how I did. Growing up, learning the good and the bad about life. Then the stinging sensations began. I do not like stingy. I prefer thuddy. Thuddy sensations put me in a very nice gooey spot. Melty as I like to call it. Stingy makes me angry. Sitting up in anger I am told to not sit up, it is not acceptable- injury could occur and the scene will be done if I do it again. I want to return to the happy memories, I lay back down face first into the chair. The happy memories do not come. Now the sadness. Memories of the unhappiness, the disappointments and the pain in life. Many long forgotten. Relationships gone bad, memories of betrayal, hurt and anger. I think I am crying. I start to get a bad memory, a harsh mean word said to me. Then a realization. Good ones pop in over the bad ones. Harsh words heard with a follow-up of truth from a memory that dispels the words. Swirling of the two. I am now feeling stronger. The negatives I feel are being crowded out with the actions. I hear a phrase I heard when I was a girl, teen age and pregnant. Very looked down upon back then. “You will never amount to anything, you will be a Welfare bum you know.” Followed by my running into this same person as she is ringing up my groceries that I am buying for my party for Graduation. I have just completed a Master’s Degree program. We talk some little small talk, I am not really interested in how many kids she has, how she hasn’t been able to go back to school or get a job that pays more than minimum wage because she makes more to stay home. I don’t think I even told her what I was up to. I think it is ironic. Karma. Maybe. I feel bad for her. I don’t want to, but as much as I hate her comments, she was just young too. Hopefully she is happy. I continue to see moments of betrayal and negative for what they are. Non truths, people are human. Nothing personal. Everyone has things they are ashamed of, feel bad about, me included. I understand this. I am now going into more happy memories. The time spent with my mother before she died. We did not get along after my pregnancy. I did not spend much time with family for many years. The last few years before she died I became very close with them. I am grateful for this. We didn’t know she would die so soon. I was able to ask many questions of her. Put to rest many unknown whys and let the negative thoughts go about family. I have missed her a lot. Lately, I have been missing her more and more. Not sure why all of a sudden I do, but it has been increasing. I continue into happy memories. Then they fade. I am having a discussion with my mother. Questions, concerns. I am not sure what is real and what is not. I do not really care. I move on to a discussion with an unknown animal. And then clouds. Clouds dissipating from grey to white fluffy clouds in a blue sky. I am done. I am not feeling the blows but just think I have done what I set out to do in this scene. I sit up, I am asked is that red? I say yes I think I am done. The scene is over. I am oozing. I have never had open areas, skin bleeding or large bruises from flogging. We took some pictures. I need to take more as the longer it goes, more bruises show up! I had a fabulous time. I am sore and bruised. And more at peace I think. Maybe I can see myself more as part of things and not just accepted as being there. Who knows!
I am going to a party this week end. I want to play. But what? I am not sure just what I would like to do. I haven’t done very many things lately. Now, I am at a loss what to do? Punching, flogging or cutting? Or something totally different? Hmmm… I will have to think about this! I miss my bruises. I think I need some new ones to push and prod throughout the week. Yes, I need to decide soon!
I am a masochist. When I am not being sadistic. I enjoy being able to enjoy the best parts of both sides of the S&M equation. When I am in a masochist mood, ! have a thing for thuddy. I do not like stingy. I am therefore confused as to one of my favorite activities to do is the single tail whip. I shouldn’t be confused as I have always been drawn to the whip. I guess I should look at why, if the whip is a favorite, why do I not like stingy? I found the local community as I was finally able to admit to myself my true longings and desires. I found people and the website fetlife. I realized a few things. I knew there were more people out there that had strange desires- there wouldn’t be the pictures the stories the movies and all depicting this kind of thing if there wasn’t. I realised that, yes, there were not only people, but a whole community of people around me that were in to these things also. And they acted out on them! I have heard the sound of whips in movies. Read pirated copies of men’s gay leather magazines since I was a youngster. I had an uncle who was gay, he hosted many family reunions. He had “roomates” until I was older, then they were finally introduced as his partners. I remember thinking, I wonder if he knows who takes his magazines? Did he see that in me and never say anything? Or did he just truly wonder which one of his nieces or nephews were taking them? I only took a few over the years. But many more were in different places than before the gatherings! I would look at them. They had dungeons, men chained to walls, whips and leather. The magazines were more about the leather and the men- only a few shots of the dungeons and assortment of dungeon toys. Lucky for me the whips are a staple in Hollywood and such depiction of S & M and leather. Movies of slavery and torture always have some whipping in it. The sound is an aphrodisiac. The cracking of the whip is an exquisite sound. I often wondered why I wasn’t more drawn to horses and racing with the whips and training. The answer came after being exposed to the cracking of the whip on a human for the first time. The thud. The thud in hitting a horse verses the human form is different. The cracking is not frequent in horse whipping. (At least what I have seen and heard) Maybe it is a whole different reason entirely- a consent thing? I do know some activities I find hot and arousing are not hot nor arousing when I see them depicted in shows that are true crime shows. I have limits on what is arousing. The limits that make me very aware that I am not a monster acting out things I want to do to an unsuspecting person and maim or kill them. Consent. Fictional stories are someones imagination. They can be hot. True crime? No, they were done under non consent to someone who did not want nor like the activities and caused permanent damage or death. Maybe the horses fall into this area of my brain instead, I guess it really doesn’t matter. I found the community by way of an accidental meeting with someone at a non kink event. I was exposed, had a few meetings of like minded people and went to a few events. I had an experience of being flogged. I enjoyed that very much, but wanted more! The second masochistic thing I did was the single tail. For many, it is a hard core thing. For me? It was the one thing I had always thought about whenever the words kink, S&M or leather were mentioned. I have since learned many many other kinky likes and fun activities, but the whip. The whip will always be my fondest sound, feel and outlet for expressing emotions. And recently I felt it. I felt it lick and curl my skin. It came close and just lightly teasing at times. Then meeting full force and tearing bitterly into my flesh at other strokes. The anticipation is almost worse than the strike. Time is so noticable. You want more time in between the stroke yet you are very anxious to feel the tip just one more time. It is my crack. I want it and need it. Yet I will plead, beg and bargain for it to just wait one more second to strike. All at the same time. I imagine drug addiction is similar. Curse the need, yet melt at the feeling when it does hit. That. I know not what else there is but the feeling. The same feeling with the beatings. Any of the masochistic things I like. The deep going into myself. That is what I crave.
I decided I wanted to do a scene that incorporates several things into it. I wanted a flogging by several people at once and I wanted to be suspended while they did this. The multiple floggings is a carwash. I have never been suspended. I like chains. Rope is conducive to suspension. Rope doesn’t give me a smile and make the clinking noise and have the cold hard steel feel that warms to the touch and has a metallic smell that is faint, but present no matter what you do to it. Rope is a lot of peoples fetish. I love the way it looks on someone when they are tied up, suspended and in decorative ties. It is pretty. I am very impatient. Rope takes time, knowledge and a lot of talent. I am unsure of the talent part as I have so little of the patience that I have never attempted to learn rope. Knowledge is something I don’t have a lot of in the rope area, but it is very available if I was interested. So, the impatience part really is my strongest barrier. I decided I wanted the suspension. I would be patient. I was for about 90% of the time. Tutuvullus was the one who prepared and asked people for help with the scene. He was able to have Mindnbody do the suspension part and also participate in the carwash. And Novicecub was kind enough to step in when Gameruk was called in to work and couldn’t make it for the third in the carwash. I was very nervous about this scene. I haven’t been this nervous in a while for a scene. So many different aspects. Never have done a suspension, never have had more than one flogging me at a time and I haven never played with any of the participants except Tutivillus. Mindnbody, and Novicecub are both hard players. Could I really handle all three at once? And then there is the suspension. I was suspended for a few minutes with chain by Tutivillus. It was very different. More like being restrained and then put on a swing. The tightness of the rope is not able to be duplicated with chain. The feeling and way it is done is very different. I start the scene out with getting undressed. The party has so many people there this time. Standing room only in some areas, people sitting on the floor. Many people are very new to the scene. Their first party. A few old that have been around a block a time or two is in the chairs right in front of the area we are starting to get set up at.. One person starts to crack a whip right next to me. He jokes about maybe he should hit me a few times while I am waiting to be tied up. It might loosen me up and make me a little more comfortable. I laugh, but really, it might be true! The rope starts. It is not cold like chain. I like that but it doesn’t do anything for me. At least at first. I am pulled up after several adjustments. (I am not a very good submissive, I want comfort and stuff…dammit!) No, I am a masochist. A sadist. And occasionally I can be a Domme . But I am a picky masochist. I want the types of pain that I like, not whatever anyone else wants. So, rearrange to get the pinching areas tweaked. I am suspended up. I then have earplugs placed and a blindfold put on me. I relax and am just there. Floating in my own little world. Almost sitting, but leaning forward. No pinching, no pulling no noticeable anything. I start thinking about popcorn. It is popping so light and fluffy and white. Flowing down the side of the yellow tub. Red letters on the side of the tub and the white popcorn is so big and fluffy. All the kernels are popping. None of the kernels laying in the bottom of the tub. It smells like fresh popped at the movie theater. Ouch, I can’t remember what I say, but something about hitting my butt without a warm-up is not a very nice and proper thing to do. Probably not worded that way but…. who can remember specific words! I realize the flogging to my back is what feels like popcorn popping would feel like. A little burn now. Fireworks. I see the fourth of July celebratory red, white and blue sparkles of light flash across the sky. Cascading down with trails of glowing embers fading away into nothingness just as new ones glow ablaze in glorious flight. The floggings to my back are continuing but now are peppered with thump thump thuds of sticks. One of them has a stick. My stick probably. My glorious sticks that I love to hit people with. I also love the feel of the wood hitting my skin. Thump thump thud thwack. A beautiful feeling sound. I hear bickering. A few words here and there. It sounds distant. The earplugs take away a lot of the noise but not the talking near me. I can’t make out sentences, only a word here and there. The grumpy old men movie comes to mind. I can’t remember the title. I let them know how old menish they sound. In a nice pleasant pleasing way I am sure. Surely I would not have been sarcastic at this time. In their mercy. No, not me. Gunfire. I am hearing gunfire all around me. Hiding in a bunker I realize it is the sound of a battlefield. The rifles ring out. Shots are regular but not in a rhythm. Very thuddy. Sticks. I feel sticks. The gunfire is getting farther away. Now, I think of pie. Sitting on a red and white gingham tablecloth. I am unsure as to the nature of this battlefield. No anger, no angst. Just shots, rifles and then at the ease, thoughts of pie. Not until a few days later did I think about this and wonder. Was this a battlefield or was it a recreation of a famous battlefield. There was not any emotion to it. So, at the time it didn’t feel the same as other times I had felt I was somewhere else. Voices. I am hearing voices. It takes a second to realize they are talking to me. Asking me if the ties are ok, are my feet, legs, arms doing ok with the ropes. I can tell my leg is numb. My thigh is throbbing. I say something about being ok. Just that my foot is numb. I am fine. Just a little nauseous. I am not done with the hitting. They decide it is over. The ropes are beginning to be undone. The nausea comes on stronger. I was not done with the hitting I keep saying. Just untie me and we can finish. My leg starts to hurt, it has been asleep. I can move it but it is throbbing. I begin to get impatient. I just want to lay down, sit down something- the waves of nausea are not liking standing up anymore. Finally the ropes are off. I sit down. I feel alone. I look up, Tutivillus is talking to someone. Getting water. Everyone is blurred. I can tell I am on the floor and many people are still around. I just want to lay down. I just want to be touched. Water is here. It tastes good. The nausea stays. Mindnbody tells me it is from the decreased circulation in the leg. I should have told them sooner. I just didn’t realize it until they asked. It wasn’t causing any damage. I just wasn’t used to it. It will go away. We leave and go home. I am still nauseated and my leg is painful. On the way home we talk about ways to do it again but not having the nausea. One is to do more suspensions so I am used to it and my body won’t try to revolt. The blindfolds and earplugs with the suspension was very disjointing for my brain to figure out. Next time I won’t do the nausea! I will have that part figured out or else adjusted to.
This was a very fun scene. Different in that in a usual flogging there are swing breaks and “are you ok” breaks. In this, with three of them, there were no breaks. Someone or two were always impacting me. I do like that part of it very well! I do want to try this again. But it will be after I am accostomed to being suspended. The suspension was very good too. I was surprised at the amount of relaxation it entailed and how I was able to just let go. I didn’t even notice when they started hitting me with the floggers.
Thanks to all three who participated!
Last night we went to a party. I haven’t played in a while. Too long. I was very nervous. I like to play and I like to play hard, but I was not sure if I would be able to hang. Literally! I have never done a suspension. I am not sure why I need to “prove” myself to myself any more. I had a very good time, I have some bruises- I had a reaction I never had before. But all in all it was a very good time. On the way home I had a discussion with Tutivillus about why I still need to prove myself and worry about being wimpy after all these years. It was something I need to try to remember and just not only enjoy myself but enjoy the after without worrying if I could have done more. When I first came into my local community I met a lot of very nice, good people. But they are human, like the rest of us. I was older than the regular first time around people coming in to the community. Finding yourself later in life is common for a large majority of people. Living double lives is how I have heard some describe the feeling they have when they finally break free of the “social norm” of their life that they have lived most of their lives. They reinvent their lives, get in touch of the repressed part of themselves and go with it. They are liberated and love themselves. I understand and see this losing the social norm and finding happiness. For me, I didn’t have a total life break free event. I have lived a life that bordered on a social norm yet different enough that others just knew I was a little different and quite quirky. I was ok with coworkers, family and strangers not knowing my thoughts, desires and wants. They did not warrant the information, nor need to know. I was able to make comments, tell stories and make jokes that many kinky people would not feel comfortable saying at work or at family reunions. It was so a part of my conversations, it was always just laughed off. I have not had many relationships- that was where I was not ok with pretending to be something I wasn’t. It was better to be alone than not be me. Finding the kink community was not a life altering great big change in my whole lifestyle. It was finally finding the answers to many of my desires and longings. Answering questions I had as to why I would do this or that. It fit nicely with my life already formed. I did not have to change friends or have people around me wonder if I had gone off my rocker. My family and friends only noticed I had a more active social life and was happier. I came into the community a little shy. I had life experiences that shaped me how I am. I did not jump in and then look back and say oops I should have done this differently. I looked cautiously and went slowly. I went to parties and slowly started playing. I mostly played privately. I heard comments, I heard gossip. Not real bad things. Actually, some of them should have been flattering. The context and the way they were said were the issue for me. Comments around my weight. Me not playing in public. The way I dressed. I think the term “Just for looks Barbie doll” was the one that set me off. Not anger, just set off a doubt that I was taken seriously. Just made me react by becoming more shy about expressing what I wanted to do, cautious with who I played and what I did in public parties. I did not want to do anything I had never done as I didn’t want to prove the people making comments right as to what I could do and what I was in this community for. Funny, as I have never cared in my personal or work life what anybody thought of me or what I did. That I have to admit is something that I don’t like about me from coming into this community. I worry what others think of me and the way I play. It is leaking into every aspect of my life. I don’t like that. That needs to change. So, in taking back my worry- I am through worrying about what others think I can do in my play. I am done worrying about how I look, act and feel about things. I am me, and I feel, look, act and am the way I am. If you don’t like it. There is the door. This is something I have had my whole life. Finding happiness in some areas doesn’t change my happiness in other areas. So, now, I am striving to be more content with who I am and just totally enjoy the moments. And play more!
This week end Jujubees came up, we spent some time relaxing, chilling, and making plans. We were invited to participate in a Dungeonplace podcast. The podcasts were stopped a year ago. Some chats the past few weeks and the podcasts were resurrected. Getting together with some returning and some new people was a lot of fun. I had only done a few of them when they were stopped. Juju had done a few more than me. They were fun but Tutivillus was at a needing a break point so, as life is ever changing they were put on hold. Now, it lives again! Fun times, fun conversations and creative juices for scenes are popping up! I am in the process of setting up a few scenes for a party next week and may even do a scene where I am at the mercy of more than one or two people. I have never been a bottom with Juju in a top position- she just might get to join in on this one! I will tell all about it next Sunday!
The podcast is here:
DungeonPlace Podcast EP:50 – Why Are We Doing This Again?
I have written a few times of me being absent, not being around. It is hard to write about kink when you are not doing any of it! It also makes it noticeably more missed. I have been a little stir crazy lately. Not enough kink. Life just keeps happening. Talk of soon, soon, yes soon. I am not a patient person! Dammit! We have been talking a bit lately with a few of the people Tutivillus did the podcasts for Dungeonplace with. Talking of doing some more, and getting back into a good mix of the kink community events. The past three or four parties and events we were planning on attending have been cancelled at the last minute. One as we were getting ready to leave. Frustrating when you are missing that part of life. Necessary as life and health does come first. Recently a few talks on the fetlife groups prompted a topic of very basic proportions. This was the catalyst to get a date and a plan going. Fitting that on Friday the 13th- a new Dungeonplace podcast was recorded! A few party scenes were also discussed for an upcoming party, and yes, barring any new undergoing the knife requirements- the kink is back in my life! In talking about what we should do in one scene, what someone wanted someone else to do to them in another scene, I realized something. I have not been a bottom in over six months. I have been a top in a few here and there, but I haven’t been a bottom. Time to decide what I want to have done to me. Pondering. I have a few ideas…. now onto deciding what one is the winner! Wonder which one will win! I have an idea which will be first choice……
I have a deal with Jujubees. She writes a chapter in her story and I write a blog note about a masturbation scene. I have tried and tried to write this. I am not getting anywhere. It still sucks. I do not write erotica, I am not an erotica writer and cannot post something short of a put this here and do that piece of drivel. I just will have to admit I can’t write that type of stuff and will, instead write about nothing or maybe something. So, you will have to just look at some blogs that can write wonderful erotica stories. A few I like to read are; http://remittancegirl.com/ , http://www.darkgracie.com/ and for some kinky tales, http://piecesofjade.wordpress.com/. There are many more, but those are a few that I like. So, now for some other drivel. Or not. Maybe a picture or two?
So, now after a little visual entertainment, back to the regularly scheduled porn search….. Go, search the internets for the porn! Google is always open!
So,Jujubees and I were skyping. Discussing all the things going on in our lives, our many thoughts and what plans we have for the next few months and years. Blogs were in that list. Hers, mine and many we like to read. We both haven’t been blogging much. For different reasons. I have been not sure what to write about as I have only felt like writing things that are very personal. Personal in that I could be recognized at work and in my community and I am not sure how that would affect my employment and such. I am not willing to risk my livelihood. The last few months have not had a lot of kink related events as there have been a lot of things called life preventing that. And the discussion came up of what kind of kink is necessary for an equal balance. I am odd in a lot of ways. Tutivillus is odd in a lot of ways. We know this and accept this. Living together, doing mundane life stuffs, we are able and free to just be our own odd self without the other saying, “wow, you are strange” as I have had to fear in other relationships. We have had nights and afternoons where we do kinky things. Just not many public events. A few here and there only. The next few months are hopefully going to include more. I miss them in some ways, in other ways it has been nice to just relax and let each of us heal. Tutivillus had two surgeries in rapid succession and I have had a neck, shoulder and wrist injury from a previous car accident and compounded over the years from my physical job. I thought at one point it would need surgery so I put it off for a long time- as in years. Now, with physical therapy, a lot of muscle relaxants and time. I do not need surgery at this point. Just more time. In this respect, I have not been able to indulge my masochistic tendencies as I have had non consensual pain, it is difficult to want the good gooey kind. That has included my fetishes. My friends. I have been pushing that away, as it has felt a halfway. Kind of like listening to old melancholy songs and rereading old love letters. Not good for the psyche. I am feeling the need to integrate the kink back in, Tutivillus is healing, he is able to start doing some things. I am doing better, my movement is much improved and the pain is back to a tolerable level. Juju on the other hand has had a hard time wanting to write her stories. The stories of her wants and needs years ago. Now, they are like leaving out part of yourself. The BDSM of other varieties. I understand her first love of spanking is never going away, just the desire to add more. The solution, we came up with? She will write a story. The storyline- will be one that is written just for Alias. She has been a very large part of the prodding for Juju to continue writing. We discussed and started the basic topic, it will include more aspects of BDSM, including spanking, but adding other activities. The story, all Jujubees from the opening scenario on. Me, well, I have accepted the challenge of encouraging her. But no, that is not enough for her. I have never been one who masturbates. I am not sure why, I don’t have a dislike or a hangup about it, just never really think about it. I prefer the company of another I suppose. The challenge we agreed on would be, for every chapter Juju writes, I will then masturbate and write about the experience. A win-win situation I think! Maybe! So, I guess the ball is in Juju’s court now! Me, I am off for a week-end in the red rocks of southern Utah!
We went for a walk and took pictures. I am trying out learning the settings and the ways the different settings can change a lot. I really miss the walks. We had started walking a few months before Tutivillus’s first surgery. After he had recovered, it was just too hot! The evenings never cooled down enough to get outside to walk until way too late in the evening. I am not looking forward to the coming winter season, but the fall. It is already looking good to me! I am very amateur at the pictures. They are fun to do though. Today, the canyon. We tried the graveyard last evening. The gates close at dusk. Trespassing after they close. We got there, the gates closed. I guess another time. Last night we did some predicament pictures. I wanted to do these. I like the predicament pictures on the Tumblr website. I was tied with rope, had my arm with a parachute cord wrapped around my wrist, looped through a collar around my neck that had a loose tie and was looped over a pulley that had a machete hanging from it. Moving my hand would cause the tie to come undone and the machete to drop onto me. I have an aversion to being fileted. I am unsure as to why I would have this aversion, but it is present. I also have an uncanny sense of itch. If I am put in a restraint, I itch. Somewhere, always and badly. I absent mindedly scratch. Of course Tutivillus knows this. I could move my wrist and hand about half an inch before pulling the tie loose. Not a good predicament for me. I was tied by my ankles and legs spread with rope. I like chains, they are metal and cool and feel good on my skin. Rope is a big fetish for a lot of people in the kink community. I like the pictures, the scenes and the look of those that do rope bondage. I don’t get all floaty and in subspace with rope. I am easily irritated with how long it takes to get it all tied. This predicament was interesting to me. No floaty bondage feel, no exchange of good sensation for a painful one. Just an uncomfortable situation. A fearful predicament. My imagination and what if this fails or that is bumped and “would you quit bumping the table” followed by his evil laugh and bumping it harder. My feet started going to sleep, they were painful. When the pictures were done, being untied and my feet released were terribly painful. I felt like I had been sitting on my feet and not noticed they had gone to sleep and then jumped up at a full force run. I cannot imagine what the pain from one who is bound so that the feet are purple before they are released. I am assuming it is the exchange of sensations, the floaty feelings take over and the endorphins flood you. I did not have those with this scene. Just anxiety and fear. The next predicament, I was immediately handcuffed. My wrists instantly felt the cool metal, it slid down into a comfortable groove on my arm. The place that is made for metal handcuffs. My arms have missed them. It has been a few months since I have worn them. The chains around my ankles, pulling them down off the table, chained to the leg of the tripod. I am laying open legged, naked, with my hands above my head handcuffed behind the tripod leg. I am immediately calm, I am in a safe place in my mind. Subspace. The clover clamps are put on. They are more painful than the ropes had been on my feet earlier. The hitachi is now replacing the machete, it is lowered to touch me, maneuvered to stay in place, clamps applied to help it stay in place. These too are painful. The buzzing is not heard, only felt, as the good sensations are mixed in my brain with the painful clamps. The chain of the clover clamps is put in my mouth. Not only can I feel the smooth surface of the chains on my feet, the handcuffs on my wrist, the clover clamps on my nipples, but now I can taste the metal. Steel has a distinctive taste. Cool, metallic. Very similar to blood. I think it is the iron in the blood that gives it the similar tastes, but it is an erotic taste. I like the taste of blood, but I do prefer the metal taste over the blood. Although similar, they are also very different. All of the sensations are swirling in my head, surrounding my body and making every pore feel. I feel the good sensations, I feel the painful sensations. My body interprets them as just that. Strong sensations. Different sensations. The first set of pictures seemed like a long time. I am not sure which set took longer, but the second set was definitely a totally different feel and reaction. Both were erotic in their different way, but the second definitely was more painful, yet highly sensuous. I understand the rope feeling. I don’t react that way to rope, but I am sure if a rope fetishist were to be chained, they would have the same reaction I do to rope. Not a bad reaction, just a meh, now for the fun stuff?