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 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?
I have always been more of a “lurker” than a “talker” on the internets. The social media sites are interesting. I follow people, occasionally will talk to some, but mostly I just read. I have been very scarce on the internets lately. Just haven’t been lingering on the computer online. I think it is a cycle. I will spend time, try to get a little more verbal, then retreat into barely online. I do, however like to look at pictures. I have always wanted to take pictures, good pictures, never had the patience to learn the camera settings and functions. So I look at others photos. I will still take some and try it, but mostly will reblog and post others work I find interesting. I save them from social sharing sites. Mainly Piccsy, and Tumblr. And others that I stumble upon. I save them and try to save the original info, but it doesn’t always show without clicking and saving the photo. So, by posting some of the pictures that have caught my attention, I hope I don’t offend or come across as trying to say that I am the photographer. My pictures will have my name on it. The rest, I like very much!
Yes, angry birds…. and gas masks.
Some pictures I like are just interesting. Some I like the subject. Others are the unsaid, what the picture invokes to me. The BDSM ones, of course are always the subject, the situation and the realism. The look on the face is what does it for me. Terror, true pain, true ecstasy, The trueness of the facial expressions. A BDSM pic of a smiling person in bondage with painful situations, ties or events just screams staged. That might not be, but it won’t catch my eye.
Who can’t do with a little religion….
It started out as fire play. Trying out the new Blaise stick Tutivillus was given at Thunder by Simon Blaise. It is a very pretty stick. It fits Tutivillus. It is stainless steel, gothic looking and heavy. And claws. Sharp claws. Fire play is warm, it is nice. The flames lick at your skin, dancing lightly and are brushed away quickly before any damage to the skin is done. A sensuous activity that still requires trust. It is more sensuous than painful. I like pain, I like sensuous. I like this stick. He would put the flame to my skin, the flames spread where the alcohol had been smeared, wipe it away gently and at times use the spiked claws to scrape along my skin, putting sharp edges into crevices and open areas. Mainly my ass. He thinks it is funny to tell me not to move and poke my ass with sharp things. Of course I jump. Might be a little funny. I would think so if I were standing there poking someone else! My skin is becoming red from the flames so he decides to use his new sword, not big enough in width to be a machete but sharp. I feel the blade up and down my spine, occasionally slapping my back. I like the slapping, it is thuddy. The blade caressing my skin is sensual yet painful, a scraping type sensation that feels like a knife carving into my skin. I like this sensation. I like the cutting feelings and sensations but limit this activity as I am a little vain. I do not want scars all over my body. I limit them. But the sensations of it, yes, I like that! I feel the thuddy sensations and am really starting to relax even more. I am starting to see the room become a little darker and more cramped. There is a few people standing around. A woman is in a smock dress. 1950′s type with the apron and flowers. Blue flowers, white background and green leaves. It is old, worn and tired looking. There is a frilly pinafore on the chair, pink, with white lace. Little blue flowers, small flowers, not the big ones like the ladys dress, this one is a childs size. Hanging neatly over the chair with small shiny black patent leather shoes, they look like new, sitting beneath the chair. White tights are slung across the seat, almost like they had once been alongside the dress and had slipped down into the seat. No one had straightened them. There is a large cylindrical tube that I am feeling around me. I can’t move my arms very much, my hands can only wiggle a few inches to either side and up and down. I am laying on my back with my head poking out of the top of the cylinder. My lower legs are poking out of the bottom. I can feel each breath pounding, each one pounding harder. The more it pounds, the more I want to move and cry. I am told to hold still. The stern voice of the one running the machine, sounds like they are trying to be unemotional in their commands. But I can hear the choking back of sadness in their voice. It occasionally cracks as they speak. They are feeling conflicted. Does the pain really help or is it just delaying the inevitable? Disassociating from the little girl of about 8 laying in the big tube, her small frame made even more small appearing with the large metal tube covering most of her. I realize where I am, I am in an iron lung. I did not realize how painful this would be. Each breath feels like it is taking the wind out of me. Pounding my back like it would throw me across the room if I wasn’t held in place with the giant tube. I am crying, and kicking. I can’t kick very well, but I am doing my best. I try kicking and screaming. I want to kick out of this thing.
The pounding again. Thud thud thud. I am aware of the pounding on my back, I am in the dungeon. Tutivillus is hitting me with the sword, I think. I can’t tell if it is now a stick as it is thuddy. I like the thud. I try to tell him I like that. I am not sure if I say anything as something catches my attention. I see me. I am doing CPR in a hospital room. I recognize the room, I recognize the people who are doing the code with me. A boy of early twenties. Was drinking a few drinks with friends in the canyon, the ski resorts are closed, it is spring. The runoff is moderately high. The water is cold. Freezing. He is trying to be responsible, drinking in a campsite with friends, not driving, planning on camping over and driving home in the morning. He thinks he hears something, a dog or cat? Unsure he gets closer to the rapid stream of the bulging river. The ground is wet, he is a little tipsy. Not used to the tipsiness maybe, maybe just a wrong step? No one will ever know for sure as he slipped and fell into the river. Friends run, can’t get to him as he is pulled down stream. Emergency help is called. It is 45 minutes from the time he fell into the river before he is able to be pulled out. CPR is started immediately. He is able to get his heart started again, he is brought into the unit I am working. I am charging. Overseeing all the staff on the floor. The trauma unit is busy tonight. We do CPR multiple times. He is cold, the heart is very irritable when it is cold. The brain doesn’t like being warmed very quickly, brain tissue is preserved with the cold. Warming him slowly but not too warm is the goal. He is banged up everywhere. The river is an equal opportunity menace. The freezing temperatures, the many rocks, stumps, trees and branches as well as swift water tearing at all flailing limbs doing multiple traumatic damage to the entire body. His face is barely recognizable. We bring parents in, the staff is doing everything thinkable to try and save this boys life. It is unsuccessful. Three and a half hours of “coding” him, getting a heart rhythm back, trying to oxygenate his fluid filled lungs, losing his blood pressure and heart beat multiple times it is finally called and he is pronounced dead. The family has stood in the corner of the room watching this. I go to talk with them. Try to pull myself together as tears are trying to fall. I won’t allow them, not in front of family. They need professionalism, they need comfort that everything possible was done. Ironic as the family began to comfort the staff. Thanking them for not only doing all they could but for caring and feeling for him also. I am now looking at another patient in a bed. A different room a different circumstance. There will be no codes in here. This man “Michael” was in a parking lot. Drug by a car as they drove away. Were they trying to get away? The car ran over his head. Story remains unclear whether it was a drug deal gone bad or a drunken “darwin” moment on his part. No heroics, the CT scan shows too much damage to save any resemblance of life. The mother and girlfriend are here. Waiting for another friend to arrive. The one who hasn’t been allowed in. He was the driver of the car. He has been in custody while they have tried to piece together the story. The mother was the one who decided his fate. “He was a good friend, they drank a lot together, I believe it was an accident.” The police dropped all charges, he is on his way to come say good by to his friend. The ventilator will then be removed, he will be allowed to die. Many staff are curt and blunt to the family. This is my third shift with him. I was here when he was brought in, I will be here when he dies. The family is very hard to talk with. Very un-trusting of staff and their motives. They have seen the wrong end of the law many times in their lives. Healthcare personnel are usually put into a “side with the law” category. Utah is also known to have a very low tolerance for people who do not conform to the common mormon religion. Our unit has a very high non-mormon ratio for this community. But the judgments of some stand out as it is expected in this state. I take care of this patient the way I do most of them, I give them my standard of care and also try to give them some respect as a person. Many forget that although they are not really there, they are still a person. I am also one who believes the person and the body are not one and the same. I did feel him standing next to me at one time while I was giving him some medications. When he died, no one cried. The family had said their good-byes and did not want to be there when we removed all of the equipment. People deal with death and dying differently. Choosing to be with a person as they die is personal. The only comfort I could give to the family was that it was ok to leave. They did not need to stay if they did not want to watch him die. Being at the bedside for a persons death does not tell anyone how much you loved them, the way you treated them in life is what matters.
The thud thud thud began again. I am thrashing as much as the big metal tube will allow. Damn, it is starting to get stingy… The feel of the pounding becoming increasingly stingy due to the repeated hitting of the skin in the same area. Extremely stingy. And painful.
I look in another room, a young girl. Seventeen. She is very pretty, from the hallway walking in she looks like my 16 year old daughter. Blonde hair falling over her face, she thrashes about. Confused, talking nonsense and her whole body hitting rhythmically into the rails of the bed. She arrived a few minutes earlier, here on a trip for a beauty pageant. She was a contestant. Started running a fever and a headache. Laid down to rest, her neck then started hurting. Her mother was called, she brought her into the ER. Within a 45 minute period she went from telling the story of her headache starting and her neck starting to hurt shortly after, and her feeling just very hot, to flailing, confused, unable to speak or acknowledge anything. She arrived to the ICU room tied down to prevent her from hurting herself or falling off the gurney. Upon moving her to the hospital bed I put the rails up, took the restraints tying all four of her limbs down off and padded the rails of her bed with blankets and pillows. I put a large sheet across her at the waist and tied it to the bed. She could thrash and turn and move, but could not flip out of bed. Her mother was at the bedside. She started crying. We talked. She was very appreciative of her being untied. That was very difficult for her to witness. There was not anything to do except antibiotics and fluid and hope they were effective before her brain, in essence, dried up. She had bacterial meningitis. It was later found to be going around at her high school. She just happened to be one that it hit hard and fast. She was the only death from that outbreak that I heard about. Her mother and I talked a lot. She was my only patient as I had been called in to admit her. I was having a lot of difficulty with my daughter at the time. She was acting out, running away and pushing boundaries. At the moment she was a runaway. I did not know where she was. Her daughter was a good kid. Straight A’s, graduating from high school in a few months, planning on attending college, already had done her ACT and had been accepted. Was doing the beauty pageant to try and get a scholarship for college. The pageant she was participating in had a nice scholarship and she was hoping to place high enough to get most of her tuition paid. The father was dead. This woman had raised the three children alone, while two of them had blamed her for all of the bad things in their life. These two siblings were not around. When I asked her if she wanted me to try and call them, she told me about them. One was in prison. He had killed someone over a bad drug debt. He had stated he hated his family and refused any contact with them. He became angry and started using drugs after his father died. Her other daughter was in and out of drug rehab centers. Spent many months at a time in jail for drugs and prostitution. She was angry and wouldn’t speak to any family. Their anger was at the mother. The father had abused the children. When she found out she left him. Took the children. He committed suicide, afraid the truth about his abuse would come out now that she left. They never forgave her for leaving and “causing” him to kill himself. I remember watching this strong woman fighting internally to let this child die after it became apparent that she had lost the battle. She was basically alone and now childless. Losing parents is very sad, you lose your past. Who made you, who loved and influenced you, who made you strong. Losing a child, you lose the future.
Bam, thud, crack, now I am seeing anger, I want this to stop. I can see many many more rooms. All hospital rooms, all codes, death and sadness. Pain and loss. All of them I had witnessed and been a part of their last moments alive. I start crying out, the thud is now stinging. It feels like an open sore that is having acid thrown in to cause more pain. I hear the don’t move. I hear are you done? I hear “you remember your safeword don’t you”? I am crying, I am yelling, kicking and trying to form what I want, I am not sure of the safeword- am I? Am I not sure of it or do I not want to stop? I want the sensation to change, yes. But stop? I am not sure, I try to talk and am unable to. I sit up, not sure how I sat. Was I helped? Did I say anything? The images I have seen are flashing through my mind. I open my eyes, Tutivillus is handing me tissue. I remember asking for it, I think. I look up, I am starting to piece together where I am now. Back in the dungeon. Sitting next to Tutivillus. I want him to hold me, he touches me. He looks angry. He tells me he is not happy with me, I cannot do that to him. I have to remember my safeword. I remember my safeword. It is also a safe thing for me that I am there with him. I trust him to not go too far that I have permanent damage. We talk.
I am not sure why I couldn’t remember my safeword. Was I not done? Was I too deep? Was it something to do with the spontaneity of this type of scene that I didn’t prepare to stay in touch? I am not sure, but this journey was the same as others in the death and dying aspect, yet very different as to many of the scenes I saw were real life scenes I have participated in. Each of these were very short snippets of reminders. I lived them already, they didn’t need to be repeated. There were many more I could have seen. A cameo peek, like a fly on the wall watching me in each scenario. Maybe a while to think about these, maybe nothing more than the emotional losses in the past week of many patients dying. I will have to reflect and think about it.
I have done a few energy pulls. The first was with some needles and string in a classroom setting. Learning how to pierce the needle to perform a pull. The mechanics of doing one. I had only known Juju for a few weeks, just had talked a few times. We did an energy pull for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure what one was at the time. It was fun, not epiphany stuff, just a fun thing to try. Juju and I became friends after that. We became known in the community as the J’s squared shortly thereafter. I did another one at a play party. It was an unplanned thing. I was walking from one room to another. Nothing much going on. I was thinking of leaving. I was having a few personal issues, not really bdsm community related, more home stuff and trying to balance things. Making many decisions. My mindspace wasn’t on much of anything, I just wasn’t in the play mood. A friend came up and said “hey, want to try some hooks?” I didn’t really want to. I had done the needle pull, it was a very small needle. I like putting needles in other people, I am not opposed to them being done on me, it is just not my first choice in play. I like hard impact. Thuddy. Needles are more stingy type sensation. I will do them and like them, it just isn’t something I crave. It is more of an energy exchange for me. Hooks? They are a lot larger in size. I have seen the pictures of rituals with Native American hook pulls. It looked like way too much for me to take. I had to think about it for a while. I finally decided to try it and see if I could. It was amazing. I had four hooks put in, two in the front on my chest and two on my upper back. One person in the front pulling and one on the back pulling. A tug of war type pull. I think I was in sub space for days after. When we signed up for Thunder the option for a hook pull was open. The first 50 to sign up could do an energy pull with Cleo Dubois and Fakir Musafar. Of course we jumped at that! The pull was the last session of classes of the event. This Thunder was a very different one for me. The atmosphere was a little different. Things were a little stressful with us at home too, with the recent surgery, changes in normal life and cost of this trip at a time their were other issues needing money. The usual life stuff. This week end was a get away, but not as enjoyable as we had anticipated. This event was the final Thunder sponsored plan for us. Juju was not able to be one of the 50, but each participant could have one person in to watch the event. She was on the list to be inside to watch us. As she wanted to participate we were planning for and hoping someone wouldn’t show and she could sign up in their place. I am not sure if someone was a no show or not, but when she asked if she could participate instead of just watch, Cleo said “of course” and she was able to participate. The scheduled time for the event was a three hour block of time. The first 20 minutes was an introduction, explanation and the event and how it would happen. The feel of the room was the same as any other room full of strangers. People sitting in their seats, talking amongst their friends, not negative, but not a noteworthy energy feel. The piercers had stations set up, 7-8 stations with a table of two more putting the rope on the hooks after they were in place. The group opened a circle by getting into a large circle, holding hands making the circle complete. I had a hard time understanding Cleo when she spoke, she has a very strong accent and speaks very quickly. I can understand when a person has an accent or speaks quickly, but not when they do both. In reality, the words really didn’t matter as the energy was the goal. The feel of the room changed to a more, the only way I can explain would be a “oneness” and “equality”. Acceptance and love of all of the people in the room, with no feelings of one being better, more important, more knowledgeable more desirable, who you know, or who you don’t. Just people. Standing around in a large circle of about 75 people holding hands, the event was started. A ritual was performed of cleansing with sage and words, then the hands were released and we gathered our floggers. We flogged each other by making a train of Tutivillus, me and then Juju. Tutivillus flogged my back while I flogged Juju. After several minutes we turned and switched to have Juju flog me while I flogged Tutivillus. We were a ways to the front of the room where the booths were, but I decided I was done flogging and wanted to go see who the piercers were. We walked over there and a few were starting to go to their booths. People started lining up to become pierced as we got to the booths. Tutivillus and I were the first couple of people to be pierced. Juju decided that although she was in line first, she wanted to make sure their were enough hooks for everyone before she got hers. I went to an older man who was very ritualistic with his piercing. He performed it in steps and I didn’t feel it very much. A quick sharp sting. The next table had several people tying ropes and carabiners to the hooks. The carabiners were for connecting the rope to other peoples ropes and to objects for grounding. The room had a large open area and other areas of scaffolding with rope and carabiners. I went over to the scaffolding where Tutivillus was hooked onto a rail. He was pulling already. Grounding and getting used to the sensations. It takes a few minutes of adjusting to get the feeling from extreme pain, to the endorphin rush. I hooked onto a rope. It hurt like hell to pull back. I winced a few times, slowly easing into the pull. I was thinking a lot of things. Many emotions and thoughts. I wondered if this was a good thing for me, to pull and be this close in energy to others when I was feeling very down and out of sorts. My mind was swirling and I didn’t feel like I should be in this group. So much energy, so much acceptance and yet I was feeling very negative. I still don’t know why. I was with people I love, people I have fun with. People I want to be with. I was having a few days away from work, responsibilities and cares and yet I was not in a good mindset. I didn’t want to be an energy sapper. I tried a few times to hook in and below Tutivillus. He looked so peaceful, content. I had to unhook and move so I wouldn’t alter his energy. I finally just laid down and pulled. I wanted to purge my feelings, purge the negative thoughts. I couldn’t. I would alternate between feeling love and peace, to feeling negative and down. I went out into the open space and hooked onto one of the circles of people who were pulling together. Many different people hooked on or off the circles at times, people would pull for a while and dance. Then switch circles. Moving from group to group, pulling and dancing. Laughing and enjoying the mixed energy. Cleo walked around and would join circles, using a hitachi to vibrate the connecting ring so that everyone in the circle was receiving the vibration, Fakir joined circles, pulling sharply so the circle would be pulled abruptly across the floor. Sharp intense pain. I had to take time every so often to go back to the scaffolding to bring myself back to grounded. A centering of my thoughts and feelings. I was enjoying this pull, enjoying this sharing of energies. I still was trying to fully purge the negativity. It is hard to purge something you are unaware of the cause. I went to the scaffolding. I wanted a few minutes of just me and my feelings. I wanted to explore them. I didn’t like the negative me. I don’t know why I can’t accept all of the goodness in my life, and just enjoy it without worrying what could happen, what may transpire if x and or y were to happen. Petty stuff, not important or necessary. I began to feel the need to connect with those I care about. I went to Tutivillus and Juju. I wanted a three person pull with just us. I was able to finally just let go. The security of friends maybe. I just lost the emotions. I started crying, and I couldn’t stop. The emotions of the past were flowing. This was the meaning of life. Enjoyment and acceptance of all those you care about. I didn’t need to do any more pulling. I was done. We went over to have the hooks removed. We were able to get them removed as the three hour were approaching. The circle needed to be closed, the ritual needed to be done. Cleo and Fakir did the closing the circle ritual. We were the first few to have thee hooks removed and were able to leave as soon as the ritual was completed. We left and talked a little about our experiences. I am very glad to have been able to do this with Tutivillus and Juju. This makes me happy. This was such an awesome experience. I would jump at the chance to do this again!
The dungeon in the hotel for Thunder in the Mountains is large. Several convention rooms opening into one large room. There was scaffolding, St Andrews crosses, benches, tables, hanging bars, and crosses. Even a jungle gym type enclosure for rope suspensions. No chintzy air conditioners are used, it is very evenly temperatured. Cold. This is good if you are doing a scene and are becoming physical. Many people in one area rises the temperature also, cold temperatures are a must for comfort. Beginning a scene as the bottom, not so good! This dungeon is set up nicely. Easy to watch and meander through to observe many scenes without intruding on others. Friday night we went semi early. It opened at nine pm. We went at about ten thirty. We wanted to do a scene. I like impact; body punching, hitting and flogging. Tutivillus has recently had surgery. He is healing, but still on the mend so we haven’t played much for a month or two. This was his first really physical scene since the surgery. We picked a cross that was hanging from the ceiling. It looked really cool. Practical, I thought. It could swing and allow me to move and jump away from punches and sticks. Yes, this one will work nicely.
I slowly undress. I leave my rainbow thigh high gym socks on. The dungeon is cold, I do not do well with cold feet. I leave my underwear on. I am not sure why I am not comfortable with having them off. That has always been a hard limit for me. I might need to explore that some time. I take a look around. The dungeon is fairly active. Not crowded or uncomfortable, even a little slow for Thunder standards. It is early though. To alleviate his burn out factor from overdoing it too soon, and just because he is sadistic- Tutivillus has brought sticks. My two new sticks and his two new sticks. They are gorgeous and solid wood. Made by hand by a friend. We were able to watch him make one of them and had picture updates on the others. It is kind of like watching a behbe grow into a child. Except these children are for hurting people and causing pain. Better than labor!
The blindfold is put on. I request the blindfold for scenes. That is one thing that I do get to choose in a scene. I am able to lose myself and just experience. The blindfold is my minds switch to let go and just be. My wrists are bound with rope. Tied to the cross, above my head. Not too tight that it affects my circulation, but tight enough that I can’t get loose. My chains are also hooked to the cross, so I can hold onto them. The cold, smooth feeling of the chains comfort me during a scene. I like having them close. Another thing I get to specify in most scenes, my chains, my friends. I felt his hands on my back, then the coolness of the hard smooth stick rolling along my back and neck. Felt like a massage, a nice deep massage. Rhythmic hitting and slapping on my back started slowly, building up. The rhythmic beatings are peaceful. Moves me into a space in my head where I can let go of all the thoughts and to dos and doubts in my head. The only time my mind is clear and nothing is important except the sensations. I could do this for hours. The rhythmic crescendo of force. Thumping wood against soft skin and muscles. Wooden sticks do not leave many marks. They are deep muscle impact. The impact vibrates through the muscles. Not much bruising to the eyes, but deep pain for days to the slightest touch. Rhythmic beating. Alternating hands with sap gloves, sticks of various sizes and thickness. They are wonderful feeling, I love these sticks. I think I mention this out loud. It might be just a thought. I am never sure if my thoughts and words are in my head or if I say them out loud. I curse myself whenever I say something to the affirmative when I am being beat by a sadist. The rhythm changes abruptly, the implements are used a little differently. They are changed about and the sensations are magnified. Not only is my body jolted, my mind will do a snap to reality for a second while it adapts to the new sensations. I sometimes float away into places where I see and feel images, places, feelings and energy. I watch and feel and see events and people. I don’t interact, it is more a feeling that comes over me as to the event I am witnessing and attending. I am always in the event, a character in the situation, but they are mere flashes of the event, no interactions with the others. Almost like a still shot but the facial features change, clothes ripple in the wind, people will move in response to the feeling. Most of these have been sad events. Recalling the most memorable places I have gone, I don’t recall any that have been happy events. Yet I am still intrigued and want to stay in these places. Changing the tempo, intensity and energy of the beating will pull me out of the event. Back to reality for a moment, then off to another once the rhythm change is adapted to in my mind.I went many places in this beating. I have been very frustrated that I can’t remember much about them. Little fragments only. Just one was different. I remember a little more of this one than the others as it was very different. I interacted. And I was me. I saw a man, he was nondescript. I don’t remember how he looked, other than the feeling of him being wise. I wanted to go through the door. He said no, it wasn’t time. I began to argue. Wham, I am standing in the dungeon cursing to no end, kicking and trying to inflict harm. I was also worried about actually kicking and making contact and doing harm. Worrying about hurting the one who was hurting me was very interesting. Maybe that is the start of the syndrome with people who are kidnapped and start sympathizing with the kidnappers.
I am now angry. I am kicking and cursing and wanting this to stop and yet not wanting it to stop. I want to go somewhere else, I want to break loose. The floating cross is now not a good idea. I have no sight, the blindfold is still in place, I have lost the perception of where I am. Am I standing, or am I floating, am I facing north, south, east or west? The quietness of my mind is now against me. I feel off kilter in my ability to distinguish where anything is, where is the beating coming from. The closest thing I can think of is how it would feel to be in the ocean. No boat, just floating. After hours in the sun and miles and miles of water, the reflections are making a mirage of uncertainty. Then the stability. Tutivillus puts his arms around me, I think I say something, he asks if I am done. I say no. Just a break. I am not sure if I say we are done after a few minutes or not, I remember saying not yet when he asks if I am ready to go again. I remember being taken off the cross and the blindfold coming off. I pull the blanket over my eyes. The bright lights of the dimly lit dungeon are too much at first. I just lay in Tutivilluses arms for a while. I like that place. Laying with him, holding him close, feeling his touch.
Touch. Gentle, rough or somewhere in between. A barely there soft wisp or a well planned deep massage. I love to feel you touch me, I love to touch you. Fingertips sliding from the slight curve of your neck. Sloping gently to the rounded shoulder, slipping to your chest. Silky soft hair, tickles my fingers lightly. A few curl lazily around my fingers. Simply indescribable, but yet, just right.
Calming substances, hot tea, soft music, yoga and meditation. You are calming to me, like an herbal tea or a warm fuzzy blanket on a cool evening.
Recently a picture I have on fetlife has sparked a conversation on the website. It has been entertaining to say the least! Tutivillus mentioned it in his sadists podcast as the picture brought up frequently the inability of some to have bruises. Or so they say. This picture was after one night I casually mentioned my lack of bruising. Now I never said I didn’t bruise, just that I was not a heavy bruiser, only light bruises with more deep tissue “hurt” without the visible aspect. I was shortly shown the errors of my thinking! Yes, that was a really nice time! Tutivillus definitely can cause a nice bruise or two! An error in my thinking of my bruising non skill was in part to a previous scene at Thunder in the Mountains last year. I was kicked. Boots, kicking my ass with a foot, leg and whole body attached. Kicked until the bench I was leaning over was moved a foot or so with each kick. The bruises show a little. In my foggy subby mind, the kicking was more brutal, yet in pictures, no comparison.
Maybe that means, yes, I think…. more testing is in order! But for now….. I will try to put some fabulous bruises on a poor little furry…..