Damnation's Cellar

... the love you take...

2006-07-16T08:13:00.000-07:00

I've read that the average life span for a blog is two months, so I guess I'm average. Yay me! It's certainly better than "less than average."

I started this blog because I felt I needed an outlet to process stuff. My relationships are a little outside the norm, and they aren't suitable to discuss with friends. As a person who talks through things (or writes through them in this case), I thought this would be a good outlet to simply talk about the things rumbling around up there in my head. And it's served its purpose to some extent. It's also served to cause some hurt feelings in my relationships and that's no good.

So I'm ending this blog. I have relationships with two really great men. And I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that.

I want to thank you for reading, commenting and emailing. I have enjoyed getting to know some like-minded folks in the blogging world and your advice and words of kindness mean more than you know.

Take good care...
DC

...is equal to the love you make.

It went zip when it moved and pop when it stopped

2006-07-12T13:00:00.000-07:00

I got a new toy! It's like Christmas all over again. I can't wait! Thanks, Bonnie, for the inspiration. The couple of swats I've tried on the palm of my hand have proven to be more substantial than one would gather from a first look.

I'm in need of some restraint

2006-07-06T03:27:00.000-07:00

Any afternoon that starts with me spending copious amounts of time licking and sucking B’s toes is a good afternoon. The look of contentment on his face while I’m doing this is priceless.

After what had felt like and eternity, B and I got to spend some quality time together. He tried out the tawse he got for his birthday. I was really hoping to have some bruising or at least some markings on my ass with that cool shape. "It’d look like you’d been licked by Satan’s tongue." Wouldn’t it, though? This is a mean and unforgiving implement. The picture doesn’t really convey that too well. I can’t wait to feel it again! I did end up with some bruising in some very interesting places, though.

I found myself bound between two posts. He’d pulled my hair back and attached something to it. That something was attached to the posts. I couldn’t tell what "that something" was, but I could tell it hurt like hell to move my head. Even flipping through my mental Rolodex of items in the vicinity that could possibly be used, I came up with nothing. My hands were not bound at all, which presented a different sort of challenge.

He moved my legs apart which pulled my hair even harder. A clothespin was attached to each of my labia. The clothespins were attached to the posts, causing me to be spread open. But there was some give in the bindings and it was unlike anything I remember experiencing before. Next came the spanking, paddling, beating. And every whack seemed to be forceful enough to make me jump. Every jump was like a fist pulling my hair and two hands yanking on the clothespins. Pain was everywhere at once. It was very intense.

After it was over and I saw what the mysterious bindings were, it made perfect sense: bungee cords. He’d used a bungee cord as a ponytail holder! The man is creative.

Ahh… good times.

This entry is apparently plagued by some demon. Maybe it’s Satan getting me back for talking about his tongue, but as I finished fine tuning it last night, the power went out and I lost it. Yes, I save early and often, but I guess this one ended up in the abyss. So I’m going to run with this abbreviated version and move on.

Time is the final currency

2006-06-29T20:24:00.000-07:00

You know, I don’t know why I find it so powerfully erotic. Logically, it’s a sentence… one of those phrases that starts with "I want you to…" Does what comes afterward really matter? It’s neat and simple and leaves no room for ambiguity. "I want you to…" I don’t have to interpret it or spin it. I only have to do it. And I did. At 9:08PM. And it was good. Thank you, B.

And don’t tell me that women don’t buy shoes just to keep other women from having them. Remember that ebay-spree I mentioned? Well, today the last item on my watch list was closing. Shoes, perhaps? Why, yes. One of the pitfalls to sniping is you sometimes get busy doing things like… oh… earning a living… and you forget to bid. So I emailed to ask the seller if she was planning to relist them. "No. I’ve decided to keep them." Dammit.

I dont want to be your downtime.

2006-06-28T05:05:00.000-07:00

So I sorted appropriately and discussed with R what it is that’s Amiss. After 3 completely draining hours of banging heads about it, he sought the path of least resistance and presented a simple solution… pretty much the same simple solution we’d talked about before. Yet here we were, having the same discussion again. I walked away somewhat disappointed and in shock wondering how my intelligent husband couldn’t understand my point.

Well, he finally got it… yesterday at work. I guess he just needed some time to mull it over. Yay us! He got it. We had a good debrief about it last night over bourbon salmon** and spinach salad.

Another result of the post-head-banging debrief is that I’m not going to be vague about my thoughts here any longer. I started blogging with the understanding that at some point (far off in the future), the two men in my life would be reading it. I didn’t intend for it to be this point in the not-so-far-off future, but I let it slip to B. (There’s a whole nother entry about Freudian slips and manipulation that is somewhat intertwined with this, but that’s for another day.) So here we are.

From the News of Good News Department, my black bra has resurfaced. I’m really excited about this. It wasn’t cheap. Turns out it had jumped into one of the toy boxes in the basement. R found it last night frolicking with a riding crop and some leather ankle cuffs. Yes, I truly believe my toys are no different than the Toy Story toys. I hear them rattling around in the basement from time to time. It's hard for chains to move about quietly.

Speaking of toys, R gave me a good beating last night. (Yay me!) I have the weirdest bruise pattern I’ve ever seen on my ass. Well, there was that one bruise that was the size and shape of Australia, but this is different. It’s almost like stippling. I keep looking in the mirror to try and figure out what it’s shaped like. Nothing yet.

Another week has passed without B and I being able to get together. I am missing him ~~pretty~~ awfully badly but am trying not to whine about it. We all get to hear enough whining in our lives, don’t we?

**This is an excellent marinade for salmon. It's not my recipe, but an exhaustive 60-second search of the net yielded no results for the source.

Salmon Marinade

7 Tbs Bourbon (cheap stuff is good)
1-1/2 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp salt (or to taste)
1/4 tsp pepper (or to taste)
11 tsps cooking oil
2 Tbs dark brown sugar
6-1/4 tsp soy sauce

Mix all ingredients well. Pour over salmon fillets in casserole dish. Cover and let marinate for 4 hours or overnight.

To cook:
Grill on medium heat. Place Salmon skin side down. Cook until 3/4 done. Remove skin after turning over. Brush with marinade and cook for 1 minute.

I can see right through you...

2006-06-26T05:32:00.000-07:00

As you can see in number 54 of my list, I hate to shop. Detest it. I went to K-Mart (Yes, K-Mart sucks, but it’s near by) one day last week and was amused and irritated to experience every single one of The Reasons I Hate to Shop. I wrote a whole several paragraphs about it and decided not to share because it’s just bitching and moaning. And we all get to hear enough bitching and moaning in our lives, don’t we?

So the K-Mart trip evolved into subsequent trips to the office supply store, another discount store, and yesterday, the bookstore. Oh, and last night I shopped on ebay. I am a big fan of ebay and have an on-again, off-again relationship with it. I’ve been off-again for a good long while now. But I actually placed several items on my Watch List, so I may be going back. My ebay shopping (and yes, for those of you who are wondering, I DID buy shoes) led me to a web site from Holland, where, yet again, I made a purchase. And out of all that shopping, not one thing was for the toybag, which is a shame.

Now by this time, bells and whistles were sounding loudly. And not just the storm whistle, though it was going off all weekend. This shopping spree is indicative of something else going on. It’s not PMS and it’s not spending anyone else’s money to get even with them in some way. It’s my money.

I feel this sense of accomplishment by just coming to the realization that Something Is Amiss as evidenced by this shoppingfest. So I’m watching and sorting and thinking, which may get me into trouble. But I’m in pursuit of the truth (but not justice and I think I’m familiar with the American Way).

I think I know what it is, but there are some things on the periphery that I want to rule on before moving forward.

Speaking of Superman, I saw a preview for the upcoming movie at the theater yesterday. It looks good.

Another vague entry with rumblings of some vague discontentment… You know, since both of the men in my life read my blog now, I'm finding it a lot more difficult to talk about things in any form other than vagueness. Maybe I need to try some more fiction.

My "100 Things About Me" list

2006-06-23T07:34:00.000-07:00

All the other kids have them, so here is my list...

I like piña coladas.
I like chi-chis better.
I don’t like to touch newspaper. It creeps me out.
As a child, I learned a lot from Schoolhouse Rock and can still sing most of the songs.
I voted as an absentee in the last presidential election.
I am an avid reader.
My favorite fruit is pineapple, with blueberries coming in a close second.
I collect random things… little boxes, silver charms, pressed pennies, concert ticket stubs.
I have been to a bullfight.
I’ll never go to another one.
I’m learning to be more patient.
I love music.
I am a golden god!
I amuse myself by quoting movie lines.
I have files on my hard drive from as early as 1993.
I prefer red wine over white.
I believe everyone should have to wait tables at least once in their life.
My favorite color is blue.
My eyes are blue.
I dig cute shoes.
I prefer to be barefoot.
I am happy with my life.
I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
I don’t have any tattoos, but would probably get one if I ever found "the one."
I think "the one" is an overused concept.
I don’t like mushrooms.
I wonder if Paris Hilton’s 15 minutes will ever be up.
I can’t sleep naked.
I love to sing in the car.
Talk radio is an oxymoron.
I love to travel.
I hate to fly.
When I have to fly, I think of the same song lyric every time we’re about to land.
I have dreams that happen in recurring locations. Different dreams, but in the same locations.
I believe in reincarnation.
I love games.
I like to win.
I wish I could take public transit to work.
I don’t like odd numbers.
I’m an ESTJ.
I have big feet.
I like to read "100 Things" lists on other blogs.
My favorite Stephen King book is The Stand.
I was a band geek in high school.
I have a gun.
My aim is true.
I don’t believe in organized religion.
I have a small scar near my right eye.
So does my husband.
I name my cars.
I like to drive fast.
I prefer crunchy peanut butter.
Most people look familiar to me.
I hate to shop and do most of it online.
I am a stickler for correct grammar and spelling.
I have been skinny dipping.
I don’t iron well.
I have been hypnotized.
In my mind, I have a song that reminds me of most people I know.
I’m a joiner.
I like hockey.
I like the muppets.
I have been to 30 of the United States.
The state I haven’t been to that I would most like to visit is Maine.
The city I haven’t been to that I would most like to visit is San Francisco.
I have visited 25 countries.
Outside the US, the place I’d most like to visit is The Seychelles. I’m not sure I could sit on a plane long enough to get there, though.
I frequently mix metaphors.
I played with that apostrophe for FAR too long.
There are very few perfumes I can tolerate being around. I never wear the stuff myself.
I love to give gifts.
I have a list of things I want to do before I die.
There was a solar eclipse on my last day of high school.
I’ve never fed anyone peeled seedless grapes. Yet.
I am a bit of a liquor snob. I only drink call or premium brands.
I am listening to the soundtrack from Garden State right now.
My favorite Star Trek is The Next Generation. Riker is hot!
I will see two concerts this summer.
I have seen the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.
I have not ridden in a spaceship (that I know of) but would like to.
I believe no one should have to work on their birthday.
I believe in symbolism and think there are no coincidences.
I can’t carry a small purse. And I carry a purse, not wear it.
I read a quote in a literature class in college about eyes. It was profound. I’ve looked for it off and on ever since then, but have never been able to find it.
I was in an accelerated program in middle school, but when I got to high school I had to choose between that and band. I guess you can’t be smart and be a musician at the same time. *sigh*
I met my husband on the internet…
And my Dom…
And two of my previous boyfriends.
I need 8 hours of sleep a night.
When it comes to the place I live, I like décor that is fun, bright and colorful.
Leftovers that go into my fridge come out months later cleverly disguised as a science project more often than not.
Over the past few years I have gone from having a lot of close friends to having few close friends and a lot of acquaintances.
I hate being interrupted when I’m speaking.
I am guilty of interrupting other people, but it’s something I’ve been working on for a while.
I think teachers are very underpaid. Professional athletes and celebrities get paid way too much.
I generally follow the rules unless they don’t make sense.
I once had a New Year’s resolution to not listen to any car dealer commercials on the radio for one year.
I succeeded, but it made me a compulsive radio button pusher and I remain one today.
Thank the gods for my mp3 player.
I love the smell of leather.

And special thanks to R who was valiant enough to point out that (the item formerly known as) 98 contradicted 55.

Fiction: Latin Class

2006-06-20T12:13:00.000-07:00

He just didn’t get it. Even a couple of beers didn’t help. He was on the cusp of college fame. Women were throwing themselves at him left and right. He didn’t care; he wasn’t interested. He’d been holding back… playing it cool and it was almost time. He’d been anticipating this since before he even was sure it was real. He still wasn’t sure it was real, but he was pretty sure. La Macchina was pursuing him. He’d been pursuing them for more than 3 years.

His research into secret societies led him here. The night he’d hidden behind the sofa when his dad came in. That he’d overheard his dad mention the name, and that he’d been sober enough to remember it the next day, those were the notable facts. He’d searched his dad’s office and he searched online. He found nothing but subtle clues and a lot more questions than he’d had in the beginning.

Despite the time he spent searching for info on La Macchina, he had time to almost major in Latin. His advisor had gone to considerable lengths to be sure he understood the benefits of a degree in Latin. She wooed him with lofty ideas of becoming something he’d never wanted to be. But the classes were not as boring as they’d seemed and the subject matter seemed to come easily to him. He was about to begin an independent study course with Dr. De Luca and remembering his appointment with her at 8am the next day was enough to convince him to call it a night.

He walked slowly back to his apartment, fighting off the thoughts that crept into his mind that told him he’d been wrong. He wasn’t ready to accept that his advisor might be right. Other things were out there and they waited patiently. He just didn’t want them.

Dr. De Luca sat at her desk, writing out something on a pad of paper. She didn’t get the world’s obsession with computers, preferring instead the weight of a finely balanced pen and the smoothness of ink flowing across paper. She looked up as he walked into her office and sat down.

Steven greeted her with the friendliness that they’d both become used to in their conversational exchanges. He looked a little hungover and she told him so. He smiled in reply and said nothing to incriminate himself. As they talked about the subject at hand, his independent study course, Steven noticed that she was watching him closely. She seemed to be gauging his responses and measuring him up in her mind. At least that’s how it seemed to him.

He realized he’d not been hearing her for what seemed like several minutes. Hearing her mention his "research" snapped him out of his daze and brought him back into the moment. He’d kept his research very quiet and the mention of it startled him.

"Excuse me?"

She stopped and looked at him, amused. "Your research will have to be much more in depth for this course. You understand that, right?"

He fumbled a little, still not sure he heard correctly. "My research?"

"Steven, is something wrong?" She leaned forward, her forearms crossing on the desk.

"No. I just… I guess I may have a touch of a hangover after all." His attempt to divert attention seemed to have worked and they finished up the planning phase. They set up a regular time to meet each week, Tuesday nights after her evening class. It seemed a little late for course work, but it meant she wouldn’t have to be on campus another day of the week so it seemed justified.

The rest of the week drug by slowly. Steven went through the motions of studying and doing research. Yet he was distracted more often than not. Every face that he saw, he searched. Was this the one? Is now the time? Apparently not and he found himself back in his advisor’s office. She asked him to tell her about the work he’d done over the past week. He did so, and thoroughly. His expression fell when she commented that he’d not done the work she was expecting. This is not the kind of news an overachiever wants to hear.

She stood up and walked around her desk, taking a seat behind him on the small sofa that took up the front wall of her office. "If you think this level of work will get you through this, then I’m afraid I must not have made myself clear, Steven."

He swiveled around in his chair and looked at her. The sofa was set low and she’d actually put herself in a position where he was looking down at her now. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to spurt forth some excuse, but no words came. They were trapped somewhere inside as he watched her move her hands to the top button of her blouse. In slow motion, he watched while she unbuttoned the top button and the next button. He blinked.

He diverted his glance to the office door, wondering if he could make it before things got any weirder. "Steven." Her speaking his name caused him to shift his eyes back to her. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t about to open her blouse. She was a good 20 years older. There was no way he was going to let this happen.

"I have to go, Dr. De Luca." He bolted from his chair and was out the office door before she could reply.

She sighed and walked back to her desk. She picked up the phone, dialed a number and spoke just one word. "Nothing."

Over the next week, Steven ran the gamut of things he should do… confront her, study harder, drop the class, talk to the department head. He did none of these things. And he told no one about it. Tuesday night found him back in her office.

Like nothing had happened, she asked about his work over the past week. He had actually done some work over the week, if for no other reason than to take his mind off the situation. He talked about it and she seemed receptive. And she seemed to be leaving her clothes on, which put him somewhat at ease.

"Did you find anything interesting about the treatment of criminals in ancient Rome?"

"I didn’t really run into anything about that." His mouth spoke, but he was really wondering where this came from.

"You should do some digging around in that area, Steven."

Having no idea how it would relate to the subject, he said he would. They continued talking about the material and finished up a little early. He couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved to be out of her office. After the last week, it just seemed bizarre.

Another week brought another study of the people around him. Where were these people? Where was La Macchina? His frustration was building and he spent a good part of his evenings drinking beer.

Another Tuesday rolled around and he thought about his last talk with Dr. De Luca. He had completely forgotten her "criminal" remark and almost as an afterthought, he googled the topic before he left to meet with her.

She was running late and he waited outside her office for about 10 minutes before she came hustling in apologetically. As she dropped her things and settled in, she asked him specifically and carefully, "What did you find about criminals in ancient Rome?"

And he told her, seamlessly covering the fact that he’d just gotten the information about half an hour ago. She listened, maybe a little too carefully, as he spoke. He got that uneasy feeling again and continued to speak, willing it to go away. She finally sat back in her chair and seemed to visibly relax.

"You’ve done well this week, Steven. Your research is improving." Her eyes never left his and her hands once again moved to her blouse.

"I have to show you something. It’s important." He wasn’t moving, but he wasn’t sure it was because she was speaking these particular words or if he was paralyzed.

Her hands swiftly found every button and her blouse was soon sliding down her arms to the chair behind her. He watched in disbelief as her hands moved to the center of her chest and unfastened her bra. It, too, slipped down her arms and he continued to stare, now wide-eyed.

"I thought you were never going to get here," she spoke, almost in a whisper. "I couldn’t lead you or help you any more than I did. I had to wait for you to find the right subject matter."

As he stared at her, his mind replayed the "subject matter" he’d just covered. And the realization struck him like lightening. Tattoos.

He almost smiled then, but didn’t. He did get up and walk around her desk. He knelt beside her and swiveled her chair around so that her body was facing him. Across her left breast, there was a tattoo made up of tiny words written out in a fancy script.

"La Bibblia de la Macchina…" He read the words three times and though he understood them, it took him a beat to realize what they meant. This was the jackpot.

He looked up at her, comprehension dawned and a new crop of questions passed through his mind.

"Yes, it’s real…" she said.

This story was inspired by a phrase in a notebook: "Boobs as Books." Though in my mind, it's been changed to "Books on Boobs." Perhaps that phrase wasn't meant for the person who jotted it down after all...

You're not the only one...

2006-06-19T20:31:00.000-07:00

… adrift on this ocean

I’ve missed out on putting my thoughts down here for several days. I’ve been too busy to do much else but chase the fires. I see that Bonnie talked about a topic that is near and dear to my heart yesterday… music. I’m still on the lookout for additions to my compilation Songs To Be Beaten To. I have only 4 so far, but I got some excellent suggestions from the folks who posted with Bonnie. I’ll be checking them out.

I find myself at the end of this long day having mixed emotions. I had one of those attitude adjustment weekends… and I made a promise to myself that I would have a more positive attitude. I think B is rubbing off on me in that respect. Then I had the most frustrating day from hell. Dinner with friends added some perspective.

I think I am in the process of learning another lesson in patience. I was sick week before last. And so my play date last week with B ended up being a dinner date. Don’t get me wrong… there’s nothing wrong with dinner. It was one of the hottest dinner dates I’ve had this year. "Go to the ladies room. Come back with the nipple clamps on and the butt plug in." B makes me soar and at the same time keeps me humble by the awe he inspires. So there’re two weeks that my ass hasn’t been fucked but good and it’s looking like this will be the third.

R told me last night that he doesn’t remember exactly how it feels to slide his cock into someone on that initial thrust. I think the fact that his brain lets him forget exactly how it feels every time - other than reminding him that it feels "good" - is a bit of a blessing. It’s what keeps him coming back for more, no pun intended. This discussion happened shortly after I wouldn’t unwrap my legs from around him after he’d come. I just wanted to hold onto that feeling of being filled a little longer.

I’m restless. Again. Dammit.

And now we're back where we started...

2006-06-12T23:31:00.000-07:00

I happened to catch a show on Bravo tonight called Three of Hearts. It caught my eye because of the polyamorous relationship it documents. The premise is two men who have a relationship decide to invite a woman to become a part of it. It’s dated 2004, but I’ve not seen or heard of it before. It was interesting and somewhat sad. Because of the limited view that’s portrayed, the viewer doesn’t get much of an opportunity to hear about communication within the group - with the exception of the person who has the more extroverted personality. Nor do we get to hear about sex until we learn it’s absent. I think understanding these dynamics are important to understanding their relationship. There are so few models of polyamory that we see, that it seems like such an opportunity to be able to examine another relationship without having an emotional stake. This is a challenge. There are very few people to bounce ideas off of. I'm not saying I need another relationship around which to model mine, but it is helpful to see how other people handle similar situations.

So communication and sex... these are topics that are near and dear to me in my relationships and I continue to strive to understand them.

The weekend was pretty much a waste. I believed there were some interesting learning opportunities that, while they were hard to experience, presented opportunities for understanding and growth. Lots of little daggers were thrown about and looking back on the weekend from my Monday perspective, I don’t see any learning that’s taken place after all, which is a big disappointment. Especially since I went to bed last night feeling positive about the outcome.

I'm a little perplexed about my seemingly newfound ability to be in the middle of a "situation" (R would call this "banging heads"), and see it somewhat analytically. This is so not me. I do question why that's happening or even if my perception that it's happening is valid. I wonder if I'm the only one here learning anything, or sometimes, if I even AM learning. And to me, that's what it's all about. (And here you thought the hokey pokey is what it's all about...)

Fiction: A Birthday Party

2006-06-07T01:18:00.000-07:00

This one's for you, B. I hope your day is special.

She loved birthdays and thought that everyone should be treated "special" on their special day. She’d thought about it for quite a while. She asked subtle questions. She poked and prodded, looking for a hint. What would be the perfect gift for him? She loved giving gifts, but she was stumped. Nothing seemed quite right.

As the days on her calendar filled with red Xs, she became more and more worked up about it. The tribute she felt would be right hadn’t presented itself and she found herself staring at the clock on her desk. 11:59 p.m. The night before. Sighing heavily, she went to bed.

Her phone rang early for a Saturday. In her state of half-sleep she mumbled into it. His voice was clear, "Good morning." Switching into auto-awake mode, she replied with a cheery "Happy Birthday!"

"Thank you. I’ll see you at noon. Be ready for me."

And just like that he was gone. She got out of bed and began her day, starting with a strong pot of coffee. She took her time getting herself ready. It was a special day and she wanted to look pretty for him. She ran across town to a bakery that was known for their cakes and she picked a single cupcake. It had a big dollop of white icing on the top and they even included three candles in the little box.

He arrived promptly at noon. She met him at the door and smiled up at him as she leaned into him for a hug. Her hand brushed up against something hard and she pulled away from him, looking at the box he held in his hand. Yahtzee. He’d brought a game. "How very odd," she thought. Their time together was usually spent in other pursuits.

He came in and sat down, placing the game on the table in front of him. He didn’t look like he was feeling too special and she began to explain the Birthday Situation. He let her babble on about the things she’d thought of getting him or doing for him or to him until she’d gotten it out of her system. When she realized she’d gone on and on, she stopped and glanced at the table.

"Are we playing a game today?"

"Not exactly."

He removed the top from the box and took out the plastic cup and five dice. He put the lid back on the box, then moved it to the floor.

She felt some nervous anticipation, as she wasn’t sure where this was going.

"Over the past month, you’ve talked a great deal about this day. As a matter of fact, you mentioned The B Word at least 66 times in the last 30 days. For a day I’ve tried hard to forget, you have dredged it to the front of my mind time and time again."

As the words sunk in, her eyes widened and started to tear up. She blinked hard willing the wetness away. He’d counted the number of times she said it? Shit!

"You disregarded my attempts to let the day pass without fanfare and ignored any references I made about it. I am disappointed at this lack of understanding on your part and so today you will be punished."

She bit her lower lip and the silence hung heavily in the air between them.

He nodded toward the cupcake that sat on the dining room table. "I see you’ve planned a celebration. No party is complete without games, so today your punishment will be determined by chance."

He picked up the plastic cup and shook it gently, making the dice rattle.

She watched, fearful of what was to come. He’d used The D Word and she was shocked.

Tilting the cup, he let a die roll out into the palm of his hand. He held it out to her and with an unsteady hand, she took it.

"Roll."

She rolled it onto the coffee table.

"Four." He picked up the die and stuck it in his pocket. He handed her the cup with the remaining four dice.

"Roll."

She rolled. Two ones, a four and a two. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad and she glanced nervously from the dice to his eyes.

"Eight. Lady luck is with you today. Bring me the round wooden paddle."

She jolted out of her state of shock and quickly moved to do his bidding. When she returned with it, she knelt before him and presented it. It didn’t seem to help his mood much.

"Undress."

Again, she moved quickly, dropping each item of clothing neatly into a pile. While she disrobed, he continued, "This is a punishment. There will be no warm up. This is not for your pleasure, nor does it please me to have to do this."

She was naked now and she stood before him, her eyes cast downward. She was relieved she hadn’t rolled a 24.

"So you will get 8 hard swats with this… times my age today."

She actually gasped aloud as she did the math. She couldn’t take that. She just knew it.

He saw the fear in her eyes. "You will take it."

He moved her to the end of the sofa and pushed her down over the arm of it.

"Count out loud. Any one that you miss will be repeated."

And the paddling began. By the time she’d counted to 30, tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto the seat of the sofa. At 50 he stopped for a break. At 150, he stopped again.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

She caught her breath and tried to calm down before speaking. "Only that I am sorry."

"When this is over, it will be over. You will not dwell on it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir."

And at some point that day, it was over. She kissed his hand and thanked him for correcting her. He held his hand over her ass, feeling the heat coming off it.

"Bring the cupcake and some matches."

Despite being extremely sore, she was back in a flash with them. As he lit the candles, he told her to resume her position on the arm of the sofa. Tilting the cupcake sideways, he listened to her cries as the wax dripped onto her ass.

You just might find... you get what you need

2006-06-05T04:54:00.000-07:00

I knew it was going to be good when he locked my collar around my neck. I was a little confused when he led me back upstairs though. I'd just arranged everything downstairs as he'd asked. The candles were lit. The lights were dimmed. The music was on. But up the stairs we went. Seeing him take out the collar was a relief.

But then he pushed me onto the bed and proceded to fuck me, but good. The thought did creep into my mind that maybe he was asserting his dominance by not giving me what he knew I needed (see previous entry). That wasn't the case, though, because after finishing, he took me right back downstairs. At that point I was thinking how good that was. Not good as in good, but good as in a clever mindfuck.

I eventually ended up in wrist and ankle cuffs attached to either end of the spanking bench with two straps tightly securing my torso to the bench. Completely immobile; ass exposed.

And I did get that spanking I needed.

Thank you, R.

Now I'm here... now I'm there.

2006-06-02T23:32:00.000-07:00

Don't you just hate it when real life gets in the way? I do. I found myself on a bus today, having daydreams about the bus driver bending me over the seat and paddling me with his clipboard for not wearing a seatbelt.

I need some normalcy. I really need a spanking.

Sugasm #35

2006-05-29T08:58:00.000-07:00

This week’s best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Want in Sugasm #36? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist by the end of next Monday night and you’re all set.

Fun Stuff and Announcements

I Wish That I Had Some Tits (tgp.com)
May Contest (sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night)
Mainstream Clothing Company Makes Pornographic Online Ads (pornster.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex

Food (edinerotica.blogspot.com)
T and A (gentlebutfirm.blogspot.com)
Reader Question - How do YOU Masturbate? (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)
I Love Camel Toes (post in German) (kriminell.blogspot.com)
Busted! (wanklog.blogspot.com)
Why We Masturbate & The Endless Ways to Do It (taratainton.com)
Featured Article - So You Want to Be an Amateur Porn Star (part 1) (seskuality.com)
Ready for Anything (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)
Spelunking the Southern Cave (greatshakes.eponym.com/blog)

BDSM and Fetish

Bondage for Beginners: Part Two, Basic Guidelines (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)
A Naughty Girl’s Toy Story (spankmedaddy.blogspot.com)
Floggers And Ropes And Gags - Oh My! (masterenigma.blogspot.com)
Even Money Leaves No Hope When You Have A Tiny Dicklet (phonesexsub.com)
A Different Sort Of Fetish : Long Nails (ladyevilsdungeon.com)
What An Ugly Ass Looking Tiny White Dick! (spoiledebonyprincess.com)
Discipline Spanking (darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
Missing Him (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com)
3 Choices (pleasure-pain.com)
Newspaper Delivery Girl (spankingwriters.com/blog)
Doggy Boy (radicalvixen.com)
Just a Little Kiss (everythingoze.blogspot.com)

NSFW Pics

Lanny Barbie (babelog.sestaluna.com)
Pinup Model Nora Marlo Again (eroticandy.blogspot.com)
HNT #18: Folding Fan (spiritsex.blogspot.com)
Boobs and Glasses Pic (seska4lovers.com)
DaisyBeach - Cute California Babes (sensualarousalblog.com)
A Gallery of Ashley on I Love Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)
Teen Lesbians Picnic (simply-sapphicerotica.com)

Erotic Writing and Experiences

Punk Rock Goddess (internetisforporn.com)
Spin, Steam, Sex… (sexblogthis.blogspot.com)
An Office Fantasy (lustdemon.blogspot.com)
First Times - Video Blog Entry (seska4lovers.com)
The Food Would Be Good Too (gentlygently.blogspot.com)
Pillows Don’t Hug You Back (v-boat.blogspot.com)
An Open Letter to Penthouse (fourstate.blogspot.com)
Fiction: Taken for a Drink (damnationscellar.blogspot.com)
9:32 pm That Evening (totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
Imperial white. Tiger Skin. Kashmir gold… (happywaitress.blogspot.com)
Driving to Distraction (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)
In Answer to Your Question (onaniajournal.blogspot.com)
Euston Road (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
Vibrator Virginity Lost (pleasinglydebauched.blogspot.com)
Gee, I Kinda Miss My Bed (avahsascent.blogspot.com)

Are we everything we wanted?

2006-05-28T18:45:00.000-07:00

I had really bad dreams last night. Then I woke up to find blood on the sheets at the foot of my bed. What that..? The thought crept into my mind that the two have to be related. They happened in the same place. My body’s just acting out a metaphor.

Some clarity crept in shortly afterwards. A simple realization, which I will relate in metaphor and questions. The theme seems to fit. How do you know when the weeds have won? Do you keep pulling them one by one ad nauseum? Do you ever catch up? Is the grass ever just green enough to enjoy… stick your toes in and wiggle them around comfortably? I have some answers. Okay, I have half an answer. I need to look at my weeds differently.

I do sometimes look at something growing in my yard and wonder if it’s a weed or if it’s “supposed to be there.” If it has a flower and looks pretty, is it a bad thing?

I hate waiting. Did I mention that? I know a good hard spanking would add some perspective to the situation. But still I’m waiting.

I want you to remember everything you said

2006-05-23T13:22:00.000-07:00

Sitting in a crowd of people waiting. And waiting. This song came on and seemed to stroke some part of my brain into a trance. As it ended, I realized I had completely gone away to some memory or thought of being flogged. It was one hell of a daydream. This one goes onto the Songs to be Beaten To list.

The Chemicals Between Us by Bush

Don't believe in anything that you can't break

2006-05-20T17:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just get too far out there. To quote the great philosopher Henley, "He was too much in this world." That's kind of how I've been feeling the past couple of days. Once I realize it, I have to ruminate on it, analyze it, poke and prod it. You know the drill.

Today I was driving around and a song came on the radio. One of those songs that kind of speaks to what's going on. Now I had just posted a comment last night on Andi's blog regarding this very phenomenon. So when I heard the song, I couldn't help but think what a coincidence it was. I comment. It happens.

Later on in the day, I went in to a salon to get a pedicure. They have televisions all over the place and they play movies, undoubtedly so you won't realize you've been waiting 45 minutes for a chair. Anyway, I'm there with my feet moving strategically around the water jets when the same song came on in the movie!

Apparently I was supposed to hear this message today. I'm still pondering on if it's addressing the things that caused me to get too far out there or if it's more about the fact that I'm overanalyzing it. And it's not only the title that's delivering the message. They lyrics have some very applicable comments on the situation as well... Stupid Girl by Garbage.

Fiction: Taken for a Drink

2006-05-19T19:37:00.000-07:00

As I said earlier, I'm not a writer. I'm a big fan of erotica and the topics in what I read become discussion fodder with both R & B. B asked me to write something for him and this is it. Thanks to those of you who have taken a look and provided feedback.

Warning! Danger! This work of fiction contains non-consensual activity. Did I mention it's fictional?

B's instructions: Write about a woman who takes a business trip to South America. When she and a male co-worker are in a small village, a band of local guerillas takes over....

Being jolted awake by something hitting her seat, hard, she glared across the aisle toward Brett. What she saw instead was the beverage cart and a too-perky flight attendant offering her something to drink. Damiana shook her head and adjusted in her seat to turn away from the cart, the man, the world. She couldn’t get the memory out of her head of when her boss told her conditions in the area she’d be returning to had worsened to the point that women could no longer travel alone. Brett seemed to beam when their boss told her Brett would be accompanying her. It was common knowledge that he was on a fast track to fill his uncle’s footsteps in senior management. It was also common knowledge that he was called the Brat behind his back by the rank-and-file who would most likely work for him one day. Her attempts to avoid having to babysit the Brat were quickly halted. "New company policy."

She tried to focus on her goals for the trip. She’d made bottling plant inspections before and she found it to be an interesting part of the traveling she did. The captain’s announcement that they were preparing to land woke her and she started to make sure her things were in order. Looking across the aisle, she saw Brett looking rested and a bit anxious. She couldn’t help but grin when she thought how difficult it would be for him to get along. Damned if she was playing interpreter for him.

They gathered their baggage and after clearing customs, found their driver and made their way slowly into the city. Cali was beautiful… lush and green, and Damiana always felt the pace of life slow down when she was here. She chatted in Spanish with Marcos, the driver who she knew from her previous trips to the city. The "clang-clang" of a salsa beat was faint but ever present on the radio. Arriving at the hotel, she double checked her inspection schedule with Marcos and agreed to see him in the morning. She was counting the minutes until she could be soaking in a tub of hot water with a glass of wine.

"What do you say let’s drop off the bags and talk about these plant inspections over dinner?" Her mind screeched to a halt. This was not how she wanted to start off with him.

"Brett, I’m really wiped out from the flight. Why don’t we just get up to speed on the drive over in the morning? We’ll have an hour’s drive at least…" She finished the sentence in her mind. "And I can educate you on your job then." His expression darkened a little and he started to pull his suitcase toward the elevator.

"Well, okay. I was just hoping to get some insight from you, but I guess it’ll keep till morning. What time are we leaving?" Damiana dragged her bag along behind him and, seeing a touch of resentment in his expression, told him 9am. To her dismay, they had connecting rooms. As she double checked to make sure her side of the connecting door was locked, she silently cursed her boss and this new company policy.

***

Damiana was amazed that someone could prove himself to be such an ass in such a short time. She spent the next couple of days prepping Brett for each visit, letting him know what to expect, what to look for, when to question what wasn’t being said and even how to conduct business in their culture. The etiquette of a meeting was quite different than in the States. Brett managed to insult someone or let them know what a tool he was at every inspection they made. By the end of the second day, Damiana didn’t know whether to be embarrassed for him or whether to just try to keep from laughing in his face. Oh and wait until her boss heard all this. The knowing glances Marcos exchanged with her in the rear view mirror were becoming more and more frequent.

Today’s visit was to be at one of the smaller bottling plants in Fredonia. The plant had been experiencing problems with theft and ramping up local security practices had not helped. The drive was a long one and the day was particularly warm. It was days like this that made Damiana wish the acceptable business attire for women in this country had kept up with other parts of the world. She slipped her foot out of her shoe and wiggled her stocking-covered toes. "The pace of life is not the only slow thing here," she thought to herself. She’d removed her suit jacket before getting into the car so it wouldn’t be completely wrinkled by the time they arrived. Taking her phone out to check the time, she was irritated to see she had no signal. Rubbing her temples in an attempt to ward off a headache she felt settling in, she asked Marcos to turn the radio down a little and dug around in her bag for some aspirin.

She found none. Faced with a serious dilemma now, she debated. "Ask him for aspirin and be in his debt, or spend the rest of the day being miserable." She glanced at Brett, who was dozing off with his head pressed to the window, leaving a big wet smear when it moved with the motion of the car. She rifled through her bag again, checking to see if maybe one had been dropped out of the bottle by accident and was floating in the void that exists in the bottom of a woman’s purse. Like the knight in shining armor that he was, Marcos produced a bottle of aspirin from the glove box and passed it back over the seat to her with a smile. She could kiss this man! And probably already would have had it not been for his devotion to his wife Ana, and their children. She opened the cap and shook out two of the pills. She swallowed them with a sigh of relief and met Marcos’ eyes in the mirror. "Mil gracias, Marcos."

"No hay de que," he smiled back.

***

Her first thought was of doves. From a distance she could hear the folk song that had become familiar to her… Maracaibo…. Dos palomitas volando… La Guaira. Confusion crowded her thoughts and she opened her eyes. In front of them she saw the bottom of what couldn’t possibly be, but looked a lot like a chandelier. As her mind fought its way out of the fog, she realized something was terribly wrong. At once her body sprang into motion as the adrenaline pumped through her. She quickly learned it was to no avail; she was quite immobile and was unable to even turn her head. The scream that emerged when she found her breath was muffled and sounded far away, even to her. She breathed hard through her nose and continued to struggle, trying to move different parts of her body individually, taking stock of the situation.

Her head seemed to be held in place by some sort of strap that was connected to the surface below her. She could feel that it ran from the base of her head straight up the back and down her forehead where it split into two straps that ran along the outside of each eye. The straps held some kind of gag firmly in her mouth. Her attempts at dislodging the gag were unsuccessful. She could feel more tight straps holding her shoulders down. Her arms were at her side and they, too, were held in place with straps. She felt them cutting into her upper arms and her wrists.

A glimmer of hope surfaced when Damiana realized she could move her fingers. Shortlived hope, as her fingers found something cold and hard not far away: a padlock. The rings it secured to one another were cold and hard as well. One of the rings was attached to a strap that held her hips in place. As she moved the padlocks back and forth, another scream tried to find its voice.

***

He sat in an office that looked more like mission control than a home office in a small Colombian village. He glanced at each of the monitors in front of him, but his eyes mainly focussed on the dining room monitor. She’d just awakened and he watched her struggle on the dining room table. In the end, taking her had been much easier than he’d anticipated. After hearing her bitch and moan all week, the time had finally come to take control and he was more than ready. Picking up a telephone, he pressed a button, spoke two words, and hung up.

***

She had flipped the padlocks back and forth with her fingers, working them loudly in their fittings, until her fingers ached. She sensed someone nearby and struggled to see the person… any person; someone who could help her. A dark looking man with dark eyes came into view. Dressed in a dark green T-shirt and camo pants, he scowled down at her with contempt. He leaned toward her and twisted his head so that he could see her face and she could see his. The look in his eyes caused her to cease; her moaning, writhing, struggling, breathing… all ceased and fear consumed her.

He moved toward her feet and she struggled to move her head to be able to see him. She couldn’t quite get it there but continued to try. She heard scissors and felt movement in her skirt that told her it was being cut off her. She whimpered as the scissors cut over her skin and when the material was ripped from beneath her, she cried out again. Fingers reached inside the waistband of her pantyhose and she heard the scissors make two "snip" sounds before they, too, were ripped off her body. Her blouse and bra quickly found their place in the pile of clothes and despite the heat, she shivered. The dark face leaned close to hers and sniffed the air above her. "Touch the padlocks again, and I will cut your fingers off, too."

***

He watched her until well past dark, late into the night. Naked and bound, still struggling. He admired her perseverance and knew that would be a trait that he could use to his benefit.

***

Pain radiating from her left nipple woke her up abruptly. Another man dressed in camo stood beside her, his fingers clamped hard on her nipple. He let go and quickly slapped her breast; two hard slaps and she was fully awake and in a panic. He moved to the head of the table and placed something over her eyes. The blindfold attached to the straps on her head and she was thrust back into darkness. She heard the man retreat and took some deep breaths to try and calm herself. Every muscle in her body ached. Her jaws throbbed and she really had to pee, despite the fact that she’d had nothing to drink since she was in the car. She wondered how long ago that had been, but couldn’t keep it straight… daytime and nighttime. She jumped in her bonds when a hand touched her thigh.

"I imagine that by now you’re pretty thirsty.

"She acknowledged with a weak "Mmmhmm."

"I’m going to remove your gag and let you have something to drink. You are not going to make a sound."

She felt hands on her face and her mouth was emptied. She gasped at the suddenness of it and closed her jaw. As she was drawing a breath to scream, she felt the cool tip of sharp steel pressing into her neck. Wet warmth spread below her and made a puddle around her hips. She heard the man chuckle and she spread her lips when she felt the straw against them, almost as a matter of reflex. She sucked greedily, anxious to alleviate the discomfort she felt in her mouth. She’d swallowed three times before she realized she was drinking piss. The mist that sprayed out of her mouth splattered back down onto her face and chest. The man chuckled again.

"Please!" She stammered. A hard slap across her face jolted her head but the harness held it in place.

The straw poked at her lips again, but she kept them clamped tightly shut. Her nipple felt like it was being ripped from her body and she opened her mouth to cry out. Something round and hard filled it before she realized it was even happening. But this was different; it left her mouth open. She breathed hard through her mouth trying to force the intrusion out. It was attached to the straps on her face and she knew it was there to stay.

"You can make this as painful as you want it to be, but one way or the other, you’re going to drink this. Any that you spit out, you will soak in.

"A cry escaped from her throat and she was slapped again. She felt a stream begin to fill her mouth. And as quickly, it stopped.

"Swallow."

She swallowed and her mouth was refilled. This pattern of small pours and a pause for her to swallow and breathe continued for what seemed like hours. Her stomach slowly filled with piss. Her brain had gone into self-preservation mode and she withdrew from the reality of her situation.

***

As he watched her spit his piss, he made a mental note that she should drink of the nectar every day.

***

Time ceased to exist as the minutes ticked loudly from the clock on the mantle. Occasionally, someone would approach her and pour piss into her mouth. The voices were not always the same and some of them overfilled her mouth so that her hair and chest were soaked. They woke her with streams of hot pee splashing as they aimed at different parts of her body. Several of them splashed onto her at the same time, leaving her in a puddle that never dried. She’d wet herself quite a few times now, too. The darkness never left her and neither did the urine that seemed to flow unceasingly.

***

On the third day, he went to her himself. The stench that filled the air around her made him smile. He took in the sight and considered how he’d gotten here. It made him proud that he’d succeeded. The ring gag slid out of her mouth with a quiet moan. He unlocked the padlocks and began removing the straps that held her in place. Tentatively, she moved and flexed her muscles, gasping and moaning as they came back to life. He pushed her wrists together in front of her and she felt them click together. He swung her legs around and helped her sit up. She whimpered softly, but he could tell she had no fight left in her. Three days of darkness and piss had seen to that.

He led her away from the table. The fresh air made her shiver. Sounds became echoey as he walked her into the shower. He turned on the cold water and she gasped and jumped. Slowly and methodically, he washed her, rubbing the muscles he knew were sore and bringing her back from the recesses of her mind. He washed her backside carefully, checking to see there were no ill effects from her being wet for so long. He washed her hair as best he could, working around the harness. Still in the dark.

He toweled her dry and admired his new acquisition in the mirror before leading her out of the bathroom and down a flight of stairs. He had a feeling she would be worth the wait.

***

From far away, she could see herself, but it was so much easier to keep that distance. Weak and disoriented, she was easily led and eagerly followed. Her senses went into overload when a smell came racing into her being. Her stomach growled and churned while her mouth watered furiously. She was ravenously hungry and didn’t notice she’d been pushed to her knees until well after she was already there. Her moans were answered by a single finger touching her lips lightly. "Shh…"

***

He tore a small piece of bread from the roll and held it to her lips. She took it greedily and almost swallowed it whole. He took his time and admired her movements up close. The shape of her neck as it met her shoulder… the locks of hair that hung damp around her face. He remembered the high-powered executive bitch look she’d had not long ago and a smug grin covered his face. She seemed to gather some strength as she ate more and he watched her former self try to emerge. Having given the respite needed, he pulled her quickly to her feet and she gasped at the suddenness of it.

***

As she struggled to maintain her balance, her arms were thrust above her and attached to something overhead. She moved her wrists tentatively from side to side, testing. A little sideways movement was possible, but she couldn’t lower her arms. And now they were being pulled higher, tighter, forcing her onto her toes. She moaned loudly and once again, found a single finger over her lips. The seemingly tender touch fought with the force of her arms being pulled so harshly. In the moment that it took for her brain to register the touch and switch its cry from loud to silent wonder, she heard a whirring sound and felt pain cut through her ass. She screamed. Behind the blindfold, she saw flashing rings of white light. Her body moved with the force of the whip and her arms pulled her body back rudely. The pain ripped through her again and again until her screams became one, the light in her eyes was continual and her arms ached with the pain of trying to keep her body balanced and still.

***

He placed the stripes on her body with precision, starting with her ass, then alternately moving up her back and down her thighs. He fed off of each scream. Her struggles to endure excited and energized him. He moved to the front of her body and covered it with stripes as well. She practically hung from her wrists now. Her screams had become little more than hoarse cries and he knew she was pliable now. Ready to be made his.

He unfastened her wrists and lowered her body. When her knees were underneath her, he supported her there. He placed the back of his hand against her parched lips and held it there. "She has much to learn," he thought to himself as he moved the hand from her lips to slap her face hard. His hand returned to her lips. To her credit, she learned quickly and kissed the hand that had just beaten her. After she slid the rest of the way to the floor, he handed her a glass and spoke his first word to her:

***

"Drink."

The thought permeated her through every cut on her body as it sounded all encompassing, yet far away. She sucked greedily at the straw between her lips and swallowed his nectar before everything went black.

***

The muffled sound of knocking dragged her up and up. Her body tensed and the searing pain of the cuts on her body caused her to see white again. The knocking persisted and she moaned loudly as her mind and body came back to life. She swallowed a couple of times and rubbed her sore jaw. She was disoriented. The nerve of Brett waking her so early, she thought. Pushing the covers off, she looked around and tried to get her bearings; hotel room, sunlight filtering through the sheer drapes that shimmered in a light breeze. She opened the door without looking to see him and instead found a room service tray. Her mouth automatically watered at the thought of a cup of coffee. She signed the check hastily and closed the door. She was more groggy today than she had been in a while and she needed to shake the feeling. Splashing some cool water on her face would help, she knew. Weird dreams crept back into her mind and she needed some clarity.

As she moved toward the bathroom, her phone rang. She picked it up and continued to the bathroom as she answered it. He spoke that single word for the second time. It jolted her out of her grogginess at the same moment she looked up and stared into the mirror. The body that stared back at her was covered with stripes… lines of red and purple. She was too stunned to speak. She flew across the room to the room service tray and with nerves calmly betraying her panic, picked up the carafe and poured. A sound like a whimper, yet like a moan, escaped her. The sight and smell brought back the dreams she now realized were reality. Images flashed through her mind like a slideshow.

"Open the door to the adjoining room and come to me." The phone disconnected.

The emotions that overcame her were fierce; pain, humiliation, rage. But still she was drawn to the door. She knew she had a choice and the realization was like a slap to the face. She knew she could easily dial the phone and make this all go away. She could make the bastard pay for what he’d done to her.

The choice was easy for her in a surreal and detached kind of way. He’d made it easy for her. Turning back to the tray, she picked up the cup and walked to the door that adjoined her room to Brett’s. She opened it with a simple determination and walked through it.

He sat in a chair with his back to the window. Sunlight silhouetted him and made her squint. Damiana could only see his outline and walked toward him, needing to see more. As she neared him, she searched expectantly for his eyes. She dropped to her knees and for the first time since the long car ride, she looked up and into his eyes and gasped softly. Marcos looked down at her and smiled. He nodded toward the cup in her hand and watched her eyes.

"Drink."

So come on baby, get in.

2006-05-18T19:52:00.000-07:00

Standing in the parking lot of the restaurant where we'd just had dinner. We were beside one another shoulder to shoulder when he lightly swatted my ass. My car door was open and I held onto it. He moved his hand around lightly. Then he moved it up to the waist of my pants and slipped it inside, back down to where it'd been a moment earlier, just without the layers. Wondering aloud how many of the people milling about the restaurant across the street could see what we were up to. Seriously considering asking him nicely to get in the car so I could bid him a proper farewell.

I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth.

Teasing me at dinner with his cold hands. Confessing to thinking the same nasty thoughts. Rubbing my knee against his inner thigh under the table and talking about birthdays. I told an untruth tonight. I do know what I want for my birthday, but it's not something I'll ever ask him for. Laughing a lot.

You’re beside me on the seat. Got your hand between my knees...

Standing in the parking lot of the restaurant where we were about to have dinner. I greeted him in the way he expects. A physical act in public that says I am his... to someone who knows what they're seeing.

And you control how fast we go

Standing in my bedroom looking at the panties I just removed. I'm amazed to find a big slippery wet spot there.

like flicking on a switch

Adding the second entry to my "Songs to be Beaten To" compilation CD.

Don't confuse my words with what I say

2006-05-16T18:47:00.000-07:00

I feel like someone's punched me in the stomach really hard. That kind of curl-up-in-a-ball feeling. Preferably in a dark and quiet room. So Rounds 1 and 2 with R ended badly. Round 3 took place tonight after he'd done a complete 180 in his demeanor around the Friday night situation. There was a resolution we both found workable, so that's really what I should focus on. But I'm having problems getting past The Way Men Fight.

Don't try to have a logical conversation about a disagreement with a man while he's driving. This is What I Learned Yesterday in Round 2.

Maybe things will seem more clear in the morning, but I remain baffled tonight. Ugh.

B is the eternal optimist and I thank the gods for him. He rubs hard enough that some of that stuff has rubbed off on me today. Optimism is a mighty powerful thing. And that is What I Learned Today.

Always hurt the one you love.

2006-05-15T08:41:00.000-07:00

What an odd weekend filled with contradictions and irony. Drama and blood. Tears and a really good and thorough ass fucking. It was a whirlwind and it's still all swirling around in my mind.

R and I have had some issues with finding our way around the dungeon lately. Since he's started seeing N, he's begun to identify as a Dom rather than a Top. He's enjoying himself and I think that's great. I also think this new role and how it comes into play with me is something that we need to spend a lot more time talking about. After a great start and a really bad ending Friday night, we both were feeling confused, hurt, and angry. The debrief was harsh and really showed the emotion that was going on.

Saturday I got to spend some time with B. And despite my state of mind from Friday night, things went very well. I'm still grinning that cheshire cat grin and admiring the marks in the mirror like little trophies covering my body. I was hurt Saturday, too, but in a much different way. And I was deliciously sore yesterday.

I know I need some time to digest all of this and try to make some sense out of things... mostly where to go next with R. And he says relationships aren't work!

You'll never work in dis bidness again

2006-05-11T10:48:00.000-07:00

Last night, while running errands, R and I were listening to an earlier podcast of Kinky Sex Radio. One of the co-hosts was talking about his experience with polyamory and empahsized how much work it involved. Now, I'm on my side of the vehicle driving and pretending to be paying attention to driving. I was really thinking to myself, "Damn right!" R looks at me with that kind of exasperated, eye-roll look and says, "If a relationship is work, you really need to consider if it's the right relationship for you." It was all I could do to keep the vehicle on the road.

After picking my jaw up off my chest, we talked about it. We shared some examples. We told tales. I used lots of phrases like, "What about the time when you...?" and "Remember when N did s0-&-so and you felt....?" And then the proverbial lightbulb appeared above my head. (Thank goodness for the spacious headroom in my vehicle!) I realized that his definition of "work" as it relates to a relationship is completely different than mine. He thinks work detracts from a relationship. I consider it to be a part of a relationship, especially one that is polyamorous.

It's a basic paradigm we each have and no amount of convincing is going to sway the other. And that's just fine. I find the insight very valuable, though. I just wish I'd "found" it 5 years ago.

I think about it over and over again.

2006-05-09T09:32:00.000-07:00

"My hand is inside you."

Five little words. I'm on my back with my trusty magic wand between my legs. Alone. As I feel that feeling, I raise my head and look down between my spread legs. Those eyes look back at me. They are infinitely blue and they absolutely shimmer. And I hear it again; this time with more emphasis. "My hand is inside you." And that's the last thing I see or hear before.

Then after, it starts all over again. "My hand is inside you."

When it becomes too much, I look at the clock and see that hours have passed.

I just want to talk.

2006-05-08T06:09:00.000-07:00

So spaketh Danny to CJ last night on The West Wing. After all these years, one of my favorite TV couples is finally actually getting together. Yeah, I know it's TV, but it was just sweet last night. Another reason I know it's just TV is that men don't normally say those things. An overgeneralization... sure.

I'm involved in a polyamorous relationship. I'm married to a great guy. Let's call him R. I also see someone who is a Dominant. We'll call him B. Yes, the initials have been changed to protect the innocent. Talking has taken on a new level of importance in my world of relationships. The word "communication" sometimes makes me cringe. R and I have been together for about 10 years. We have the comfort level of knowing so much about each other's past that when I hear him tell someone an anecdote from his collection of stories, I usually could finish the story for him. I find this very comfortable. When we decided to become poly, the level of communication spiked sharply - and rightly so. It takes a LOT of the C word to do this.

I was the first to have another partner and there was another spike in the amount of talking that had to happen at that point. It took a while before R found someone he was interested in. And not surprisingly, communication has increased exponentially yet again. It's not something that R has been good at. He's put a lot of effort into being more open and willingly starting conversations that need to happen. Sometimes it gets to the point where I just don't even want to talk about it any more.

B is an introvert and that's an understatement. He doesn't like to talk about himself, which baffles the hell out of me. What he does say definitely falls under the quality, not quantity, category. Because of this, I either have to pull hard to get things out of him or repeat a question and point out that I'm repeating it. There are rare occasions, though, when he volunteers some tidbit of information. Those times are the best. It's like receiving a gift you weren't expecting and it turning out to be exactly what you wanted. I recognize that it takes a lot of emotional effort for him to do that. That makes me respect him even more.

I've tried to take a step back and analyze the whole communication patterns that are going on in my life. It's really a dichotomy. I sometimes feel I'm craving meaningful conversation from one of them and I'm saturated with meaningful conversation from the other. Learning balance in this area... that's what I am trying to do. It continues to be an educational experience... and one that fascinates me.

Keep holding on

2006-05-05T18:30:00.000-07:00

Being in the dungeon without music is a unique kind of torture to me. I won't say that out loud, I don't want it to come back to haunt me. But I can share it with you. The topic of dungeon music is interesting. I view it much the same way that John Cusack's character, Rob, in High Fidelity does.

The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don't wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules.

Dungeon music is just a bigger type of compilation tape. No, it can't be one CD even if it's a soundtrack. Definitely not All Judas Priest, All The Time. If I were compiling a list now, Coming Undone by Korn would be at the top of it. This is a song to be beaten to. It's measured and concise and flowing all at the same time. Patient and hard. Just like I like it.

I'm still working on the rest of the list...

Everyday I write the book...

2006-05-04T18:42:00.000-07:00

I'm not a writer. Never have been. Sure, I can write a paper for school. 5 paragraphs: introduction, 3 points each with their own paragraph and a conclusion. There are rules there and they work nicely for me. Without the rules there is just wide open space.