In the Pink

I see him today.

The time between meetings seems to drag and fly by alternately -- depending on my mood, the quantity of work I have to do, and how the world immediately around me is spinning at any particular moment.

I try to update here with the sparkles of joy that emanate from me after we meet, but I am sometimes somewhat tardy. Know, however, that I leave his embrace only to walk on air. Sub-space has nothing on how I feel. There are not enough words of a sufficient calibre to describe it -- and I speak as one to whom words are bread and meat, blood and air, sustenance and breath.

The excitement of the build-up begins to increase exponentially around noon. Four hours until... three hours until... Idly i flip through the pages on the site looking for something to catch my attention and refocus myself. I work listlessly, or on occasion frantically -- determined to leave the rest of my life nehind me so that my whole being is focused on him, on he and I... on us.

From the moment the door closes, and it is just us in the room, I'm in a different place altogether. Despite my external, bouncy and excited demeanour, I am solemn and focused on the inside. It's time for that thing, that ritual ceremony to happen.

I take this ritual very seriously. It heralds the start of every session, and for me, it's like passing through a mental gateway. I remove my clothing, and then kneel before him, naked and shyly smiling. He fastens my collar around my neck, and holds me close to him, breathing in my smell as I breathe in his. When we are apart, he misses me too, a lot. I am constantly gratified and touched by how he never fails to demonstrate this to me, physically, vocally and mentally. He enquires how I am, and I know that he means now, this second, with my every sense engulfed in the very essence of him, knowing how different it is from the day-to-day, and delighting in my enjoyment of my submission.

And this is how the it starts, and how this piece ends.

I quote the late great Jim Morrison:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the ceremony is about to begin."

The idea had been tossed out over a seemingly innocent lunch date between two gal pals. The meat was charred but innocent, the salad was green and inocent, and the conversation was... decidedly blue.

(Heh. This is what girls do. It's not just about boys and make-up... it's about spanking and flogging and anal sex. Even first thing in the morning. Well, that and shoes. )

So out it floated, from nowhere, although when it hit, it felt like the most natural idea in the world. I should join them in a session, her and her sub.

Cool.

I am the first to admit that I embrace my switchiness with ardour. I love submitting -- to the right Dom, of course -- but I know there's more in me. The urge to take the reins -- that go so nicely with the crop, heh -- exists and is becoming stronger by the moment.

Call me strange -- it wouldn't be the first time -- but my Domme experiences until now had no included excessive infliction of pain -- to the extent that I'd not spanked before, and this was the first time I'd ever held a crop in my hands, let alone used it.

The inherent feeling of power is arousing, to say the least. I was overwhelmed by a double-whammy of power-rush and responsibility that took me up, and then dropped me back down almost instantaneously.

Slightly nervous at first, I leaned over the prostrate figure on the bed. My pal -- D -- stroked his forehead, and kissed him, but said nothing, so I felt it incumbent upon me to announce that I was here. Fearing that I might spoil the mood by speaking, I stroked his leg, behind his knee and up his thigh -- but elicited no reaction. Since my knowledge of his likes and dislikes was perfunctory, especially compared to D, I felt it best to let him know where I stood on the Domme thing before getting stuck in, as it were, so i jiggled his little toe to get his attention.

"Hi, it's me... just wanted to check you're OK, yes? And please, just for me, since I'm not as familiar with you as D, feel free to let me know if you're experiencing any discomfort, or something gets to be too much for you."

Hastily I exchanged a glance with D, who with an expertly raised eyebrow acknowledged that I was OK for saying this. It's odd, being part of a session with two other people familair with each other. Of all the threesomes I've experienced, and there have been a few, BDSM and vanilla, I've never been the "outsider" before. It was quite refreshing, but a bit nerve-wracking.

I think D sensed this, because she took the lead, and started to demonstrate what made the doggie tick. That's his name, "the doggie". Cute, huh?

"Look," she said, holding his balls up and away from the base of his cock, and slapping them lightly. "He loves this."

Each slap was followed by an affectionate stroke. She and I took turns, and then she left me to continue, with a little improvised CBT exercises while she busied herself by removing from a seemingly bottomless handbag what the Big Bad Cat is wont to call "weapons of mass destruction". You might be more familiar with calling them "hair clips" . She then proceeded to kiss, lick and bite at his nipples, also attaching some/all of the aforementioned WMD, resulting in cries of intial ecstasy, and then plaintive moans of "too much! too much!"

Well, they don't call them weapons of mass destruction for nothing.

Then the crop made its first appearance. Holy mother of pearl, this was a beautiful instrument. Le slurp. It was my first time handling something of such length, and beauty -- that hadn't come originally from IKEA. (Sorry, BBC xxx -- I jest.) Tentatively I swiped at him at first, and the doggie -- god bless him -- allowed me to practice on him with nary a complaint. There followed some spanking -- with D and I comparing techniques of alternate thuddiness and sting.

The doggie just lay there, whimpering occasionally, moaning and once in a while crying out in ecstasy. He was clearly enjoying himself, a fact I verified with him once the session was over and we were all sitting around the kitchen table, enjoying a cup of coffee and a cookie.

It was a learning curve -- for sure. But a fun one -- and I can't wait until next time. The best part of all of it was how lovely it was being with them both, and watching them interact.

Love and BDSM -- קשור באהבה if you like. 😄

So tonight I will be venturing out into the colder-than-last-night air on a mission.

Not from god, heh. A new thing, another virginity.

I don't want to write about anything in case something goes wrong (I love the word mishtabesh, even if i abhore the effect of the meaning) so I will just leave you with this little taster.

It's new (to me), it will be fun (for me and X and X) and with a spot of luck, y'all will get to live vicariously through me when I write about it afterwards.

Guesses in the comments box, people. Yalla...!

"But they're cute and they're cuddly and they're ready to please...."

The Chinese are subs?

I sobbed like a baby, and he stroked my hair. I didn't know where the tears had come from, but my eyes were mirroring my cunt as far as the quantity of liquid seeping from them was concerned.

Mid-session, (post cuddle-time, first nagla) having moved from lying enfolded in his arms to a more supine position that he wanted me to be in so that I was both lying on the large and spreading wet spot, plus he had the best access to the parts of me he loves to feel.

The burst of tears came from nowhere -- I have no idea where and more to the point, no idea why. But come they did, much as I had a few minutes earlier -- spontaneously, copiously and gushingly.

In response to the quizzical blue twinkle directed my way, over the sexiest pair of glasses I know, i sobbed and shook, eventually managing to blurt out "I don't know, I just don't know!"

He stroked my hair calmingly. "Easy, tigress... Easy. "

He seemed less surprised than I was at my spontaneous outpouring of emotion.

"The intensity invoked by the kind of thundering orgasms you've been experiencing is huge -- not that this is or should be news to you, nor does it necessarily result in a bout of weeping. But combine that with the stress of organising tonight's event -- which would be stressful even if it were not a voluntary endeavour -- plus the other stresses that you're currently going through -- and crying is the very least that can be expected."

I paused, and considered as I sniffled.

"You may have a point, Big Bad Cat. "

He smiled and twinkled at me again. "Thank you, dear."

He continued. "Just.... take it easy, Tabby. Relax."

He moved on top of me once again and folded his limbs around mine, rendering me restrained and unable to move. Not that I in any way cared or would have even thought of complaining. I'm happy enough to be restrained by cuffs and ropes, but when they're replaced by the arms, legs and lest I forget, tongue of the evillest cat in the yard, then I'm in seventh heaven.

I lay there, blanketed by warm, loving cat. My gasps and hiccups gradually subsided back to normal breathing, as I felt his breath on my skin, and his soft lips kissing their way up my neck.

Sinead O'Connor's voice floated through my head... "tears from the moon, fall down like rain." Outside my window, no rain was in evidence, and there were no more tears.

I breathed.

It occurs to me that the luxury of being emotionally available and open with a partner is not to be underestimated. The joy I experience at his hand almost belies description -- although not quite, which is good, else there'd be no blog posts for you, gentle reader. And this is not to mention the joy I experience from his tongue, and body, and flogger, and mind, and .

But the joy of being completely myself with him, with no pretences, no fear of exposure, no bullshit... is truly beyond elaboration of any nature.

Counting my blessings is becoming a daily exercise here at Von Schtupp Central. 😄