Shifting Sands

This time, it's not play.
It's need.
Sheer, unadulterated need for service.

I'm bound, clipped, and on my knees before you can say "may I, sir?"
Clamped between his thighs, my hands strapped behind him, his hands in my hair.
I am not going anywhere, except deep inside my head.

There's nothing but sensation.
The heat, the hardness, the fine skin over muscle.
The smell of him, subtle and seductive and unmistakably "Sir."
The faint throbbing of the blood pounding through his veins.

And the pain, of course. Anything he can reach is fair game.
But something is different.
Him? Me?
I bury my face deep and listen - with ears and heart and soul.

He said all he wanted was every last bit I could give.
But he's feeding that.
He's opening up, letting go.
He's hurting me, yet I'm smiling softly. 

At the height of this frenzy,
as he's spanking and mangling like a man possessed,
he leans over and bites me - hard.
And it feels like the sweetest of kisses.

(I am in SO much trouble!!)

Vanity, Thy Name...

Armed with camera and tape measure, I have been sent forth on a mission, in search of suitable rafters from which to hang things. Namely, me.

I'll be honest, my first thought on seeing the words "suspension fuck" was "oooooh!" Things got quite squirmy and I swear the temperature rose in the room. I floated to bed in a dreamy reverie of future fun.
Then sat bolt upright as a few harsh realities cut through my dreams.

Were they about pain? No.
Were they about danger? No.
Were they about the likelihood of supreme personal embarrassment? Yes.

I love that it doesn't cross his mind that it could be a challenge to hoist the lush tangle of curves that is my body up into the air. And he's very mathematically and quantitatively inclined, so I have no doubt that he has already accurately assesed a lot of statistics about me that I would prefer to keep shoved under the rug. So, the numeric revelation isn't even the primary discomfort.

It's the sheer ungainliness of it all.

I love to go watch Cirque du Soleil. I sit in the dark and pretend that the lithe, sylphlike figure spinning and twisting gracefully through the air is ME.
Reality is about as far from that fantasy as you can possibly get.
I am a klutz and a dweeb. I simply cannot imagine myself achieving this with even a modicum of grace.

Rather, I visualize the scene looking more along the lines of a Dead Horse Ceremony. A whole lot of inelegant and uncontrolled bobbling.
Except without the chanteys.

It's simply not the image I want to sear into the retinas of my lover.
BUT - it will be what it will be.
I'll just have to grit my teeth and channel my inner aerial artist, I guess.

Or change my name to Bobble Girl ...

(Did I mention these always end with the "horse" being cut from the line, to plummet to a watery grave?)
               *gulp*

Can You Spell "Trepidation"?

See, here's the thing:
I'm really pretty much of an organic material kind of slut.
Ropes, fabrics, leather, wood, these predominate among our devices of torture pleasure ... and they're all very squirmy-making.

Metal? Not so much so. Kinda leaves me cold.
Metal with dangerously sharp edges?
Cold sweat and palpitations may ensue...

BG oh-so-casually asked me if I'd ever had a rape fantasy. Well, yeah. I have a vivid imagination, after all. 

So he started planning a scene-

"naked BG fucking naked jz after ripping off her t-shirt and cutting off her panties. yum."

That rape scene part? A big "Amen!" to the "yum."
The t-shirt ripping? Yeeeha!
The rough sex? Send me in, coach!
Even the potential violence doesn't deter me. I truly have absolute trust in this man.

But the sharp-edged-metal-thing part? Aaaaaagh!!!
(Have I mentioned that I've been known to pass out just from innoculations?)
Even knowing BG does NOT get off on blood (thank you, Jesus!) it still spooks me.

I do get the point of why he wants to do it - this would be the granddaddy of all power exchanges. And please don't mistake that statement for me condoning the violence of actual rape. Real life rape is nothing but power extortion and it's a horrible, horrible thing. But to scene one with someone you absolutely trust gives you each the permission and assistance to let go and totally push the edges of your boundaries. Just shoot the tube and FLY!

I'm imagining ... hot.
I'm imagining ... loud.
I'm imagining ...
The Damned Knife Again!

It will definitely be an exercise in submission, that's for sure. Because it's not him I'm afraid of - it's me and my reactions. (Like, oh, say, the ill-timed thrash of panic ...) But that's really kind of the point, isn't it?

*takes deep breath and stiffens her spine*

******************************************
Jz: so, what did you rip my bodice with in this fantasy of yours?
SP: a switch blade
Jz: dang!
Jz: i didn't realize that I had choices beyond hands or teethe!
SP: and you said How sharp is that???
Jz: (please ignore the Elizabethan "e" above)
SP: so I shaved off three pubic hairs perfectly - and one e too
SP: that's how sharp
Jz: I think I'm flushed...
******************************************

Decidedly- A Turn for the Better

OK, there are a couple of disclaimers before I embark on my tale of wonder and delight...

First, my decision itself did not miraculously change our situation overnight.
In fact, I spent Valentine's Day self-medicating with an excess of stroopwafels and mentally rehearsing the manner in which I would drop-kick him into next week.
The resulting spat, however, cleared the air. We expressed our frustrations from the last several months and gave ourselves a clean slate for moving on.

Second, my mindset was not the only factor that changed. Around the same time, BG resolved a couple of outside issues, which took a huge weight off of his shoulders. The timing was pure coincidence but I am not one to disparage serendipity.

However we got here, the fact remains that he's calmer and I'm calmer and we've both made some adjustments to how we handle our relationship.

He:
   -makes more effort to be in touch.
   -makes time for us more often.
   -stays in the moment with me rather than going into multi-processing mode.

I:
   -am actively avoiding borrowing trouble.
   -am learning to listen to what he says, not what I hear.
   -have stopped repressing my inner slut.
(Who has a voracious appetite for excessively well-ventilated clothing and knows how to use a credit card, may I just add.)

Now, I fully realize that we're still in flux and changes will continue.
Hell, I may have to muzzle the slut again for purely budgetary reasons.
But I am chuffed as anything at the fact that we've somehow finessed an improvement to what I thought was very much a static situation.
Despite thinking my choices were to get off the rollercoaster or remain patient, in the end, I've managed both.

Well, I say I've managed but it's really we've managed. That's the nicest part about the outcome - we each contributed. The changes aren't all mine or all his. With a little effort from both, we've made a significant difference to the tone of the relationship. It's calmer, more open, more playful.

Where will it lead?
No idea.
Am I enjoying the ride?
See Jz smile...

Decisions, Decisions...

Which picks up with me pondering the question of whether I should get off the rollercoaster or remain patient with BG...

It really did take quite a bit of thinking.

I thought about what I had known about his availability right from the start. I reminded myself that the HUGE 24-month project that consumes his time was more than two-thirds complete. (Cleverly, I met BG within a few short weeks of it's beginning. ) I repeated to myself, "The end IS in sight..."

I reflected on the reasons I'd entered into this relationship.

I thought about how very much I like him and how nothing of what he's actually doing is bad. He's not out cattin' around or home on his couch. He's putting in 12-18 hour days, spending time with his kids, and trying to keep up with life maintenance, two houses, and multiple cars on the weekends. While still trying to find his post-separation feet amid the chaos.

I also thought back to hellacious times in my life when I've been over-extended and recalled how even the bare minimum of effort often seemed impossible.

The end result was Decision Part One: We warranted a grace period.
One in which I would continue to roll with the situation until a couple of months after the Big Project is over. (We'll allow for a little recovery time, too...) Barring major changes by either party, we're a lock 'til then. At which point we'll revisit and regroup.
Fine.

But a funny thing happened while I was working out my mad at him.
As I picked apart the underpinnings of the relationship, I gradually became aware of how inconsistent my own behavior was, as well. I was telling him I would go with the flow but I wasn't letting go of my expectations, either. I know he has no more room on his plate right now and WISIWIG. I know it, I said it, I believed it. But I wasn't acting on it. I realized that I was just as responsible as he was for the rollercoaster. I could say "grace period" 'til I was blue in the face, but if I didn't change my mindset, the ride would remain the same.
Time to either shut up or start walking the walk.

Basically, it was the slut issue that was hanging me up. It can be really hard to drop your defenses and let the slut shine through when you want to be more than that.
I like being "My girlfriend, the slut."
I do NOT want to be, "This slut I'm fucking every fourth Wednesday." 
Reconciling that distinction in a relationship where he only has time for you every fourth Wednesday is tricky, however. I was so doggedly determined to maintain a balance between girlfriend and fucktoy that I ended up rigging my own scales.

Realistically, he's never been anything other than highly appreciative of me as a person. I'm not just the fucktoy ... but he expresses that in his own terms, not mine. I need to learn how to hear what he's saying, not wait for him to use my magic words.

That resistance to slut-hood hampered me in another way, as well. Even though I adore being his fucktoy, I was holding back. Not during scenes but at all other times. I wouldn't let S-girl come out and play. She couldn't instigate naughty cyber-playfulness, or indulge in the mischief of planning fashion surprises for him. She had to sit tight, lest she be taken advantage of...
Really, I let my fear of disparity effect the amount of enjoyment I was getting out of the relationship.

Once I saw that, the silliness of it slapped me right upside the head.
Circumstances are forcing us to half-ass in a good portion of the relationship right now and I have no choice but to accept that. However, I am damn well not going to half-ass the rest of it, too! I'm here to learn and experience and experiment and enjoy. Get a move on, woman!

So, Decision Part II was that I will ride the coattails of that grace period, myself. I'll stop trying to channel the direction of the relationship. I won't fret about being taken for granted. I'll just take the pressure off of both of us by sitting back, relaxing, and seeing where we end up come fall.

I'm still anxious that this won't turn into what I'm hoping for once he gets time, of course, and leery that things will come crashing down around my ears at a later date. But this is my chance and I intend to take full advantage of it. I'm going to suck all the fun I can out the relationship, while I can.
Even if we don't ride off into the sunset, I will know I've lived.

Which is really kinda the biggest thing worth knowing.

Next time on As The Decision Evolves, find out how this is working out for me!  Stay tuned...  :-)

Prelude to a Decision

The Voice

We all have voices inside our head. Generally, they're pretty much just the different extremes of our personality, wanting to be heard. There's the petulant brat, the peacemaker, the snark, the insecure weenie, the arrogant snob, etc. ...

I've got another voice, however. One that almost never speaks but says things that startle me when it does. Unexpected things that turn out to be, well, right. It's just another form of intuition but it still takes me by surprise.

Like when I met a girl whose name I almost didn't catch because I was so distracted by the fact that something in my head had just said, "Oh, THERE you are!"
She turned out to be one of those dear friends that you seem to have known forever. Weird, but OK...

Or when I was blindsided by SP telling me that he had to leave me. Now, most people in this situation lurch straight into anger or denial.
Me? I hear The Voice: "He's right. This part's done."

Then there was the time I was chatting with a dear young friend, who spoke of the kids he'd have someday. The Voice quickly rebutted, "Well, that's not gonna happen..."  What the...?
I chalked up the negativity to an subconscious protest against a teen rushing to grow up too quickly. But one year later, that boy got sick. Two years later, he was dead.

I don't always enjoy hearing The Voice but I've learned to listen to it.

Fast forward to this January. Thoroughly fed up with the emotional rollercoaster of BG's relentless schedule and chronic inability to even keep in touch, much less make time for us, I composed a "this is not working" email. I finessed my words, purging rancor and hurtfulness, just calmly stating my reasons. It was a fine letter, if I do say so myself.
I went to hit Send.

"Don't."

Shit!
Shit, shit, shit! No! Don't do this to me!
Again, I moved the cursor to Send.

"Don't. It's not over."

I stare at the screen, snorting in frustration.
Fine. You've got until the weekend.
(Is it bad when you talk back to The Voice, do you think?)

BG emailed the next day.
 "I don't even have time to explain right now but I will. Please stay patient?"

*sigh*

(to be continued...)

Journal Musings 15 - The Primer

I found a primer on breast torture the other night. I was going to send the link to BG but decided I'd better take a closer look at it first.
Whoa, dawggies! DO NOT Hit Send!!

Well-written, humorous, and sensible but still, I don't think I really want to plant some of these ideas. He's probably had them all already but let's not make it seem like I'm suggesting knives or jumper cables here. Yikes! (Altho' BG has already said he stops short of drawing blood, so that takes care of several of the more cringe-inducing scenarios for me.)

Some of the ideas were quite attractive, tho', she muses...
Perhaps I could edit the page in Photoshop and send that as a pdf..?

The Hasbro Hour

With the ridiculous schedule that BG keeps, one thing I do to keep the magic alive is to send him intriguing pictures on a fairly regular basis. Basically anything I find compelling, anything I'd like to try with him, anything I want to see his reaction to, it all finds it's way to his Inbox. He likes this, to the point that he finally asked where the heck I find these pictures, anyhow.
So I turned him on to tumblr.

I think I created a monster...

Now, I play fair. I send him the pictures and let him appreciate the whole mise en scène, soak in the atmosphere, generally enjoy contemplating the whole visual, mull over the possibilities...

He just says, "Found another good one. You're in trouble!"

Which is how I ended up balanced on my kneecaps atop a cushion, hands behind me, feet bent to my butt and tied to my hands, face buried in his crotch. This is definitely a position with some challenge to it. The slightest adjustment in position or technique sends me lurching one way or another. Though fully dedicated to my assigned task, I'm entirely reliant on him for balance and placement.
And this man is one of those who go through life thinking, "Hmmmm. Wonder what will happen if I do THIS?"

So he starts playing around with his own personal Weeble:

Let's hold her by the head.
No, bad idea. Limits her movement too much.
Shoulders? Hmmm. That's pretty good...
What happens if I let go?
Oooh. She plummets forward. Aaah, nice and deep.
Wait? Is she breathing? Well, her lips are still moving...
Mmmmmmmm
OK, now she's looking a little blue. Back to the shoulders.
I'll try just balancing her, instead of holding her. See how she does...
Oh, that's good. I like that.
Very nice.
Maybe a little pressure to just one shoulder...
Whoa! Did I just puncture her cheek?!? No, we're ok...
Mmmmmm
ooooo yeah
hehe, she's slipping ag... GEH! TEETH!!
Back to the firm grip, I think.
Mmmmhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

He was teasing me the other day that I've opened Pandora's box and there's just no way to shove all the stuff back inside now.
I think he just doesn't want to put back the new toy at his disposal...
WeebleGirl.

More in the Same Vein...

So there I am, head bobbing up and down, rump alternately gentled by the hand smoothing over it and twitching under the relentless lash of the belt wielded from the other, knee burning where I'm kneeling on rope, wrist screaming from where the rope bites into bone, and glutes aching with the tension of centering my balance for over an hour.
He leans down and positively *purrs* into my ear, "You are turning into quite the little pain slut, aren't you?"

Part of my mind screams, "ARE YOU FRICKIN' KIDDING ME?!?!!"
The rest considers the aching, dripping state of my pussy and thinks, "oh, dear..."

And adding fat to the fire, we also have Mr. "Of COURSE I  Want To See Pictures of Your Bruised Backside!" SP.

"oooh, baby! You are a fiend! He's right, QUITE the pain slut ...
I think I'm gonna call you Blisterbutt ..."

*sigh*

More Words I Do Not Like But Probably Need To Accept...

Opening The Toy Box

As I hinted previously, BG got a toy box for his birthday.
Now, the whole point was for it to contain nothing but innocuous household items that could also double as instruments of torture delight. So, no floggers, no cuffs, no wartenberg wheel. It was chock-a-block full, but nothing that would look out of place in the utility closet.

The box was sitting on the coffee table when he arrived. I interrupted the headlong rush to the couch long enough to inform him that he might want to open it sooner, rather than later. "Oh, really??"

But naturally, he had to wait until I was bound and wrapped around him, suitably reddened, and on my knees with a mouth full of cock before he opened it. (A man with priorities.) He put the box on the couch next to him (I should probably be grateful he didn't just balance it on my head!) and dug through it with one hand. I didn't catch his expression for each thing he pulled out because his other hand was making sure I stayed on task. However, I was allowed enough leeway that I caught glimpses...

He chuckled over the two different length/weight brushes, raised an eyebrow over the ratchet strap, ooohed over the plethora of plastic clothespins (two dozen - what WAS I thinking?!?,) put the pattern tracer to immediate and effective use, and promptly had me pause to put out my tongue for some mint drops before nudging me back to my appointed duty. (consensus - VERY strong mint.) But he didn't say anything about the candles. So I rather shyly pointed them out. "Got a couple of these, too..."
"mmmhmm, I saw them." But that was all. Hmmm..

Now, I know this will sound ridiculous, but I really was a smidge nervous that the man who loves to bind me, clip me, spank me, strap me, and spread me might think I was a little weird for being intrigued by wax. So when he didn't say much about it, I thought, "Oh well. Guess they'll just molder in the bottom of the box."

Until he smirked and asked, "Matches?"
*gulp!*

It quickly became evident that there was only one wax virgin in the room that day (and her name was Jz.) He only did the top of one breast, just to give me the general feel. But it was enough to leave me grinning like an idiot. I wanted to take a picture of it in place but he said no. I have to wait for when he lays me out and does my whole chest and *that* will be what we take a picture of. So, we shall see. (That "we" being he and I, just for the record.)

I asked him later what he had thought about finding the candles in the box, since, as I've noted before, we've never discussed wax play.

"They were a nice surprise."
"So, shall I put the rest of the 5-pack into the box?"
"I think that is an excellent idea..."

squeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Noodles, Anyone?

last June...

I had been thinking about the fact that every sexual escapade BG & I have had so far has been some sort of an experiment in submission for me. Not a complaint, just an observation. Because, although I am only an egg, I would have guessed that even in a D/s relationship, you'd occasionally have garden-variety sex.
But then I thought, "Pad Thai."

See, I really like all kinds of Thai food. There's Green Curry, Cashew Chicken, Basil Chicken, Spicy Beef Salad... Yummy, all. But I don't get out to eat all that often. So despite the many fine things on offer, by the time I get to a Thai restaurant, all I want is my favorite dish.
Which would be -- you got it -- Pad Thai.

Now, BG and I only get to see each other for possibly a couple of hours maybe once a month. (IF his schedule cooperates.) This is dramatically less than the statistically-proclaimed 57 minutes a week of the average American sex life. Although to a woman who had such a long dry spell, once a month is still a thing of beauty. But it doesn't leave a lot of time for green curry, either.

And, I'll be honest, it's not a big deal. I like our dynamic, I adore the way we play. But I am affectionate and I sometimes miss the tactile details. Can only be but so tactile with bound hands, tho'...

Oh, well. Maybe once in a while I'll get satay for an appetizer...

Phone Calls

He always phones when he gets to my exit.
This gives me about 4 minutes.

Often the instructions are fairly easy:
"Have on a bra, panties, and a robe. Clothespins nearby.
That's enough for now."

Other times, I'm scrambling:
"Shut the curtains, we'll be downstairs to start. Have the rope on the table but move the table away from the couch. I want a candle lit in the hallway. I expect you to be wearing lingerie that I've never seen before. When I come through the door, you will be lying on the couch, masturbating. I want you dripping wet and ready to come. Have BOB and the clothespins with you. I want the plug and the lube set out upstairs."

Occasionally, I'm scratching my head:
"I want you in sexy panties only, with your nipple clips on. Point them so the beads are at the top, not hanging down like you had them in the pictures last night." 

Or there are no details, just warnings:
"I've got five minutes. Make it good."

Oddly though, the stern instructions are the easiest.

It's when I hear a chuckle and, "Are you ready to play?" that I know:
I am in big trouble...!

Journal Musings 14- Endorphins

******************************************
"He used her body, and his, relentlessly. When she complained she couldn't take any more, he showed her she could.
Always, always, he pushed her to the edge, kept her hanging, made her wait, demanding she control her body, until at last, he allowed her release.
She did everything he demanded of her. Any position, any time, any part of her body."
******************************************
a while back...

Oh. My. Word.

Remember I mentioned once earlier being itchy from dis-use? Well, welcome to the the flip side!
It had been a bad week and I was feeling pretty "m'eh." Certainly not consciously itchy. After all, I'd seen BG about a week and a half ago and done some pretty serious screaming. But he called yesterday morning. "This is your warning. Are you ready to play?"
Yes, sir.

My clothes were in a pile in the back entry, where he shucked them from me during our hello kiss. The bra stayed on for maybe another 30 seconds before it was yanked up and the torturing began. My breasts were bound and my hands tied, all while I was lavishing attention on my favorite cock. Then I was led to the door, where he used both his belt and his hands to spank me. (I may make friends with Mr. Belt, yet.) Oh, and there was a lot of biting. God, that man has a perfect mouth! He kisses like a fiend and knows just how to bite. Hard but with no untoward puncture marks.
He took the rope and led me upstairs, (*happy sigh*) tied my hands to the end of the bed, and proceeded to fuck me silly from behind. Yum. Tied up, spanked, and well-fucked. In one of my favorite positions, no less. See the girl smile.

And, holy cow but did I feel terrific for the rest of the day! Relaxed and blissed out, I had a silly grin on my face all afternoon and evening. The rope marks on my wrists didn't fade until after supper and every time I spotted them, I'd go all sort of gooey inside thinking about how they'd gotten there.
I"ve always felt good afterwards before but this was something past that. Probably just surfing the hormone wave but who cares? This rocks!

I woke up still wearing that sappy smile and felt my breasts, thinking, "Mmm, he got it juuuust right." I am certainly sore but we seem to have found the line just before the whole cracked and seeping nipple thing. Which is good. My breasts ached all day and my well-paddled bottom never let me forget it was there. There's photographic chronicling in my future, I think - the bruising is already quite impressive. Any time I felt a twinge, tho', I thought of BG and how they those aches came to be. And just goopy-smiled some more.

(Although after feeling so pleased about how we'd hit the right balance between pain and injury, I paid for my hubris later. About halfway through my bath, I suddenly realized that my nipples were on FIRE!  Between the soap and the heat of the water, the poor li'l things were burning like crazy. I was almost at work before things finally settled down to a dull roar. But this is NOT a complaint...)

An Unexpected Consequence

Before last Christmas, my most recent growth spurt had consisted of learning how to live with no one around as a safety net. So when I began this next stage of my journey, I knew it could prove interesting to see how I responded to giving up control. To go from learning to stand tall on my own to practicing submission promised to be a challenge.

What I found though, is that knowing I can be independent frees me from the imperative to fight for control. There's less fear that I may be weak because I have already shown myself that I'm strong. Maybe I couldn't have gone down this road before learning this, I don't know. However it happened, I'm glad that I'm able to feel fairly comfortable pursuing something that can be so difficult to accept about yourself.

Granted, my efforts are undoubtedly made easier by the fact that BG and I prefer to keep the D/s more situational. We are not 24/7. By mutual agreement, he is Sir, not Master; I am the slut, not the slave. Our power exchange is more a series of renewable leases. I hand over the keys when he comes through the door, he hands them back when he leaves. It works for us.

Which is why I was surprised when I discovered that some of the control I've given to him has decided to stay where it is. I didn't realize that was even an option! But unbeknownst to me, a defection occurred. Specifically, by my libido. Not that I ever had strong control over it, I grant you, but there was a connection, a certain boolean flow between my mind and my desire. (And, Or, NOT!) No longer, however. That particular function has totally abjured any sense of allegiance to me and gone right over to the BG camp. If he says anything (even "hey there",) it's All Systems Go. Me? I can talk until I'm blue in the face - nada. zilch. nichevo.

This hasn't happened by design. BG is not an orgasm-control freak. He may tease me to distraction while we're together but he's not into denial, nor have there been any rules set out about, er, toy-usage when he's not around. So there is no real reason why life cannot carry on the way it always has before. But it doesn't. He's become a necessary element. With him around, I am a wriggling puppy. Without him, nothing wants to come out and play.

It seems my body has become a partisan.
Strangely, I don't seem to mind...  :-) 

Journal Musings: Assignment

Jz: in these books, the women always have shaved pussies
Jz: not one of the things I've felt like running out and trying
Scholarly_Professor: No you should do it inside
Scholarly_Professor: I think
Jz: *rolls eyes*
******************************************

BG has embarked on his campaign to get me to Shave It All. I asked exactly what he had in mind. "Nothing beneath the pubic bone, creative trimming on top. Maybe just a short line, like a landing strip."

So I looked in the mirror, trying to picture it and was seized by helpless giggles. All I could think was, "Venus of Willendorf Gets A Brazilian!"

Because I'm me, this naturally led to me grabbing an image of the Venus of Willendorf and Photoshopping assorted (mostly ridiculous) designs onto her pubis. There was the landing strip, the heart, hourglass, a little asymmetric thing I like to call "the sling" - the list goes on and on.

But the silliness is as far as I've gotten.

Here's my issue with it:
I am blind as a bat and a klutz.
I have broken two fingers, one hand, one arm, and the last count on toes was 7 breaks distributed between 3 different digits.
Shards of ping-pong table have been surgically extracted from my leg.
I have exacto-knifed my thigh and drawn blood with a cucumber.

Do I really sound like a good candidate to wield a razor on delicate female flesh to you? An inglorious ending, to be the worlds first self-inflicted female circumcision.

Plus, I don't really get the whole concept. Shaved looks neither better nor worse than the natural state, to me. But, OK. It doesn't bother me enough to fuss, either.
Except- The Principle of the Thing
This appears to be where I've drawn my line in the sand.

BG and I spend almost no time together. His schedule is too erratic. I understand and accept his priorities but I don't enjoy the result. And, while I'm generally receptive to his requirements, I find myself balking at this one. I'm being asked to do something irksome, tedious, challenging, and nerve-wracking, ideally on a daily basis. But I'm to do it without any hope of regular monitoring or check-ins.

I know I'm not supposed to use the word "fair" but there's a disequilibrium there. I don't think it's right to just ask your sub to do something if you're not able to provide follow-through or feedback. If you're going to make the puppet dance,  then at least stick around for the show.

Should BG and I be able to add either frequency or consistency to our meetings, I will happily risk life and limb on a daily basis. For the moment, I consider it a bit  unf____.
I think he must feel the same because I asked if there was wiggle room on this and was told, "for now, yes."
But I'm supposed to start thinking about it...
Here's my start -  :-)

Well, This Made Me Laugh...

"Male Dominants, without question, usually require their submissives to give them oral service on occasion. "

On occasion?
On OCCASION???

Yes, I outright snorted.

******************************************
i like my body when it is with your
body.  It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss,  i like kissing this and that of you, ...
                        -e.e. cummings

particularly that
            -me
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Journal Musings 12

"When I say Pain it is with reason that it is capitalized.  There is pain which is hit-my-shin-on-the-coffeetable, there is pain which is my-lover-left-me and so on. Here we are talking about Pain and that means Pleasure." -SP (just before telling me to report to my dom for punishment so that I could better live and understand this.)
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Comparative Pleasures

I was asked which turns me on more, the pain or the submission?

Despite my newly-discovered love of clothespins, I think I have to go with submission. Pain is a mixed bag for me. Some is incredibly erotic. I love the slap of his hand against my rump. The anticipation, the sharp but diffuse pain as his palm lands, the whimpers that burst from my throat. All make me sopping wet. Even the whoosh of his belt being pulled free makes me shivery, although sometimes the belt gets too intense, too soon. But even the blows that are uncomfortably painful give pleasure because I know it pleases him.

When he bites me, my breath goes ragged and gasping. He had warned me that he's rough with breasts and nipples and he did not exaggerate. But I don't mind. I used to think my breasts were defective because I didn't feel much from them. I have since learned better - It was the men that were the problem. Gentle doesn't do it for me. Rough resonates right down to my aching loins. (I ache a lot around BG... )

So, the pain is good. Clothespins, belt, pinches, bites - all just instruments of arousal.
But it's submission that puts me over the edge.

Being on my knees in front of him, feeling the touch of his hands as he smooths back my hair for a better view, I melt. His calm voice, telling me to, "stop fidgeting and concentrate", centers me. And being tied up is far, far beyond anything I expected. I miscalculated where the focus would be when bound. I anticipated that it would be more a physical thing than it is. But it's the mindfuck of it that weakens my knees. He teased me one time that, "you're all tied up. And you can't move, can you? And there's nothing you can do about it, is there?"
See the girl turn into a puddle on the bed! That helplessness is incredibly arousing. To know that this man holds it all in his hand, to do with as he will. And to know that he will - and that I'll love it. *ooof*

And have I mentioned what being led by my bound hands does to me?? Oh my.
Must go fan self now...

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"We don't have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds." - Anais Nin

Journal Musings 11

The entry's a bit out of sequence but it doesn't really matter.  And since this seems to be Orgasm Week, I figured it made sense to switch things around a little.

Man, I've Missed This!

"In the Tantric model, the sexual experience is seen as a dance with no beginning or end. There is no goal, only the present moment."
And we know I love to dance...

Throwing no stones but it's been sixteen years and three guys since I've had this kind of fun with sex. Not to downplay pure physical grappling but I've always preferred the fuck to the cum. Or, more precisely, the mental aspect of sex as opposed to the strictly physical. I like to play. Games don't need to have a point, just be fun. Which sex finally is again. Must be -  I'm back to having non-physical orgasms. (w00t!! )

Tantric philosophy distinguishes between an orgasm and an ejaculation for men. I'm not quite sure how to translate that into a female context but the theory holds. I'm perfectly capable of cresting the wave mentally, without an actual physical release. Doing both together is even more amazing. But cumming without the mind fuck is something that I find soul-numbing. (Been there, done that, threw away the T-shirt.)

Fast-forward to yesterday's playtime. I was, as instructed, dripping wet and masturbating when BG arrived. Pants dropped, the cock went in my mouth, the clothespins went on my nipples, and my trip to paradise began. 

I was deep in blow job mode and attempting to not be distracted from my task by the fact that BG was torturing my nipples when the next thing I knew, I'd shot off into the stratosphere.
Now, I've had mental orgasms from being fucked and I've had physical orgasms from nothing but verbal stimulation and we know I get really horny from having my boobs abused. But I've never had breast-play induce a mind-gasm before. 
Just like the first time we tried anal, I was totally out of it. Making all sorts of noise, with BG (quite rightly) trying to get me to tell him if this is a good scream or a bad scream. The problem was, I was flying so high, I could hear him but it took me several moments to claw my way back inside my brain enough to answer. (None too coherently, I might add, but it served.) Then I went right back to where I'd been, thank you very much.
Bliss.

(Did I mention I've missed this?)

Journal Musings 10

Jitters

Back in April-
Saw BG on Wednesday for the first time in several weeks. He had, shall we say, a rather optimistic agenda. I dutifully did all my assignments but even with preparation, I was the most skittish I've ever been about seeing him. Even more than the first time I knew I'd be restrained.  I wasn't reluctant but good heavens did I have butterflies!

What up dat?, I wondered. Nervous because we'd be trying new stuff? Maybe, but that's never stopped me before. Scared it was going to hurt? Some, yes, but I was also really excited to try. Afraid I'd disappoint him if it didn't work out? Certainly, but he's very patient and there's always tomorrow.

So why the nerves?

I think it had something to do with my coming to the edge of my known world. BG's been really good about guiding me carefully along this path. But I knew that day would be intense and it was. He had me pretty much every way it's possible to take me. We turned a corner and now I'm that much more his slut, his fucktoy, his sweet bitch.
Those aren't just words anymore.

Up to this point, it's been finding out if I like these things.  But now it feels more like this is something I am becoming. I'm one step closer to somewhere I may not know how to get back from. And no one likes feeling lost, even when they've chosen to travel the unknown road.

It reminds me of my first trip abroad - nervous as hell but absolutely determined to move forward because I knew it was what I wanted, nerves be damned.
A little dramamine and I'll be fine...

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Scholarly_Professor: We could play some hot submission games on you with two guys
 Jz: how do doms work that, btw? If what gets you off is the domination, how do you manage sharing it?
 Scholarly_Professor: by polite interaction and showing favorite moves to each other
 Jz: ah
Scholarly_Professor: and doing a lot of talking over the head of the sub
 Jz: lol
 Jz: who'll have her mouth too busy to go, "Hey guys! Right here in the room!"?
Scholarly_Professor: in a way as chefs discussing what to do with a prime piece of meat -- exchanging recipes
 Jz: nice!
Scholarly_Professor: Indeed, mouth busy or not, you will not speak unless asked a question and you will not address us as "guys"
 Jz: ja, schat
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Journal Musings 9

A Moment's Pause

Tonight I started looking at dom blogs.
I was doing OK until I hit one that kinda unnerved me. There were a bunch of pictures posted and I have to admit, a couple of them were pretty uncomfortable to look at. They probably weren't even all that hard core, comparatively speaking, but they bothered me.

Enough that I had to think about it for a bit. Am I just weenie-girl, playing at submission, only to get scared off when the going gets tough?
It took some mulling and a little time but I finally arrived at my conclusions.

First off, I'm not just playing at this. It's a real interest, tho' one I'm still learning. I thought long and hard before deciding to give submission a shot. I did my research, asked my questions and, I think, shed some of the more unrealistic expectations before I ever stuck a toe in the water.

Plus, (a very important point) BG has never scared me. I'm on my toes, never sure what he's up to, but I'm not scared. I'm getting creeped out by these pictures but those are strangers (in icky basements) - I'm in this with a guy I trust.
I may not know how far I can take it, because I don't know all of what lies ahead. What I do know is that if I hit a limit, I can say stop, and he will. (At least for a while. *grin*) So, I'm not even going to try to figure it out ahead of time. I'll just go with the flow and cross each bridge when we get there. Not before.

Granted, the thought of disappointing him does bother me. But I'm not going to anticipate a failure that may not happen. A D/s relationship is no different than any other in that they all have their own dynamics. We'll work ours out by ourselves.

later-
I was glad I'd had a chance to think this through already. BG just sent me a link to a site that gave me the same reaction. Then he asked what I thought. Thankfully, I was now prepared to say something other than just sputtering and stuttering, "Euw! Tongue?! What? Unpleasant man! Nasty cinder-block!"

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Scholarly_Professor: It is funny to note that this being a sub and allowing yourself to be "abused" is actually clearly boosting your confidence
Jz: I just pulled my turtleneck over my face in embarrassment
Scholarly_Professor: how high did you pull the turtleneck?
Jz: up over my glasses
Scholarly_Professor: crazy woman
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