Kinky Intimacy

This year I’ve been trying to play more, to try to reconnect to what originally brought me to the lifestyle. Almost three years ago now I had picked up a new play partner and got to experience our scene through his eyes, my Little Prince, and was rejuvenated for a short while in that relationship. I got to experiment with impact play again, one of my truest loves in life, until we reached a point where I felt like he was asking me to take him to a place I felt he was mentally ill prepared for and so I had to cease the play until he could find an emotional outlet to go with the physical space he craved. Since then, I’ve had a hard time finding what I was looking for.

More often than not, I find a primary relationship which works well as a primary relationship as long as play is not involved. If we play, I feel there is too much that gets complicated and sometimes the play complications can effect the primary relationship and complicate things unnecessarily. I prefer peace over play and so that is usually missing. I have been working to alleviate that going forward and find myself half successful. I have gotten to do puppy play and bondage with one partner within the confines of a play partnership and a friendship; I have one impact play partner who I am also intimate with but not sexual with, yet; and I have one play partner who allows me to delve deep into psychological play within the confines of a play partnership. My nesting partner and I have microdoses of play – where he might be leaning over and I’ll start spanking him or if we’re in bed together for a while it might be time to wrestle and anytime we’re touching it could lead to sex and I prefer to always call him pup so that his pup side is always welcome out to play. What I don’t usually engage in any longer is random play partners.

However, there is a person that I’ve been acquaintances with for years who has offered service, to bottom, and to guide me as I learn rope and I took her up on that for a while. Especially coming out of a pandemic; especially as most of the bottoms I want to play with have some inkling for rope. She has another play partner of her own that she introduced me to because he also likes the idea of rope but hasn’t learned yet. He also likes impact but hadn’t learned, so he invited me along to co-top her in a nice hotel room. Our first play session was focused entirely on her. I was there to voyeur and to throw a flogger. It was the first time I’d done impact play with her at all. It was the first time that I had thrown a flogger in years.

We put her on a massage table and he played with her body. He positioned himself right between her legs and enjoyed himself almost as much as she enjoyed herself. I flogged. I flogged and flogged and flogged, taking careful aim, making sure each landed well. I warned him that I might be rusty but he trusted me and at some point he stopped his indulgence to tell me I was really good at what I did. He quantified it by explaining that he could feel the breeze of the falls against the top of his bald head but not once did a fall touch him. Some quick math told me I’d been flogging for half of my life now, so that makes sense. I was glad I wasn’t too rusty.

I pulled out paddles and showed him how to hold them, who the creator of them was, where to strike. I delighted as the little boy in him jumped into his eyes and they twinkled with mischief. The two of us topped her together, alternating swats with different paddles, and she still couldn’t get enough. When the two of us, the playful bois, grew tired of what we were doing, we strapped her to the table with a Hitachi and swapped actions for stories – boy is he a good storyteller. At the end of this session, they both thanked me and I admitted I had a good time. There was plenty to voyeur and it was exciting for me to be welcomed in that space, to be allowed to watch and not facilitate.

This time around it felt a little bit different. I already knew what I was getting myself into, so the novelty had already worn off. But they are both kind, warm people and I really like his stories. We were going to start with rope and once I got there, everything was already set up, with hanks of rope laid out for us to use. I’m still not great with rope and hate starting with something I feel inadequate with. Before we could get started though, we delved deeply into our mutual love of watersports and our mutual hatred for kinkshaming. Moments after that conversation wrapped up, it was time to play – and time to pee. I followed them to the bathroom as they got undressed and into the shower. Two things happened here for me that day: I got to see someone unapologetically wallow in a fetish of his and I got to experience how nice kink can be when it’s not laced with shame.

They decided to get clean before we started the rest of our play and that looked very intimate to me, more than just the kink I was there to watch and participate in, and so I excused myself to the next room. I had just finished negotiating with the male partner about the type of cucking I do and whether or not he would be interested in helping/participating in MY scene and he agreed enthusiastically and so I went to tease my sweet cuck about what I was doing for him, so that we could have our own scene together later, the next time we got together. I was flooded with all kinds of sexual lust at the moment and wanted to direct it at the right people. No more than a couple of moments later though, I heard her sing-songy voice trying to tease him about how she ‘accidentally’ touched him and got him all riled up and did I want to come and watch? I sure did. So I headed back into the bathroom.

She had him all soaped up, playing with his ass, while he was bent over at the waist, hands on the edge of the step-in shower – a position that I sure wouldn’t be able to hold for a long period of time and was impressed he could hold it at all. I stepped into the smaller room that housed the shower and sat down on the toilet. We had never talked about touch, or playing together, but were not opposed. We had done a quick and dirty negotiation a few days prior for the possibility of pegging and so physical touch was not off the table. I asked him, ‘Do you want to be pet?’ knowing that he might decline. He was the Top, after all. He is very alpha male. He is an older man, only two years shy of my biological father’s age – all of these reasons stacked against the idea of him accepting the idea of me simply petting him as he was being fingered, but to my surprise he enthusiastically consented.

I ran my nails through his hair and gently over his bare scalp. Down across the back of his neck and across his shoulders. Down his arms and back up his triceps. I could hear his breathing changing but even he admitted he couldn’t quite discern which touch he was reacting to at any give moment. I traced the outsides of his ears and as he was finally getting penetrated from behind, slid just the tips of my nails into his ears, where he could be penetrated in a new and unusual way. That led to a gasp and I knew I was on the right track. As she kept playing with him from behind, I caressed his freshly shaven face. Followed the lines down his jaw and rested my hands against his neck to see how he would react. I needed to get comfortable at that point, so I very carefully positioned my boots between the hands he used to hold himself up, where they would be the only things he could even see. Then, I applied pressure. Soft, even, applying pressure very gradually until I felt him take a very deep breath. I breathed in with him, held my breath as his was taken, and as I naturally exhaled, I released the pressure from his neck. Then, I pet him for a few more minutes: up his face, around his ears, across his scalp, gentle nails in his hair. I rested my hands in my lap and let them finish the rest of their scene.

Back to the set up, she declared: I’d like this scene to be all about him. Now, when someone declares that to a Top, it usually means they’re willing to give themselves over in whatever way the Top wants. Today, that meant she would be learning how to peg. I’ve done it and love the idea of it, but there are a few things that stop me: I’d never been intimate with this man previous to the bathroom scenario and sometimes it gets to feeling like being a fetish dispenser because I have almost no physical feedback and everything goes so much at the pace and feel of the person being pegged. I could coach, however, and she loved the idea of being able to service him in that way, making her the more natural candidate. We talked her through how to use the right amount of lube, how to insert, how to tell when he needed a break. He was aiming to drape himself across the ottoman in order to reach the right height for her – considerate in everything – and had a chair in front of him to rest his arms on. Again, I asked, and told him it was fine for him to decline: do you want me to sit in the chair? You can rest your head in my lap then. Less hesitation this time, and there was almost none the first time. As he reached the end of what he could tolerate – pain-wise, endurance-wise, body-wise (he was crouched over an ottoman for a ridiculously long time) – he asked for the condom that I had brought.

At this point in the scene, we took a turn for mostly vanilla sex, something that I had watched last time and thoroughly enjoyed. I enjoyed getting to hear their communication and to see their enthusiasm – his for using her and hers for pleasing him – and it reassured me that I have a long sex life ahead of me. This time, he said something that was of interest to me, and that was that she didn’t need to use lube, she could just spit. I asked him if it was a form of degradation, if he enjoyed humiliation, as I pulled my chair up behind the massage table he had shifted to in order to relax, in order to get off. No, he assured me, it is a blessing from the Goddess. All bodily fluids were a blessing from the Goddess. So as I placed my hands on his shoulders and she attended to him in just the ways that he enjoyed the most, I started talking him through just that: the feel of the spit on his cock, blessing him, giving him permission to enjoy himself; piss from the Goddess earlier, that he didn’t have to entirely wash away; and if he was a really good boy, he should be so blessed as to receive the cum of the Goddess. Where would that go? On his cock? In his mouth? Let her squirt all over his body, let it seep into his every pore, let him carry Her with him wherever he goes and when he’s fortunate, the wind will pass in just the right way that he could pick up the faintest trace of it and the smell would bring him back to right here, right now. Take the nectar of the Goddess and waste not a drop. And then, that condom was full of cum. He passed it off to me and asked if it would be enough for my cuck and I assured him yet, a single drop could be good enough for him, thirsty as he is.

He cleaned up and she cleaned herself up, to attend to both of us. We took a moment together to eat and then we talked about the scene. He told me that everything in the bathroom had been absolutely perfect. He hadn’t expected me to want to participate at all. My touch was just right. He’d never been choked before – his neck was too thick and his partners too small – and I got it just right the first time. He said there came a point in the scene where he felt so seen, so valued, so cared for, that it brought tears to his eyes. Did I also enjoy myself? And it was hard to explain that in the most unexpected place, with the most unexpected people, I would be reunited with the exact reason why I ever came into the scene at all.

Kissing

“Anne, tell me something. What’s so special about the way that lad kisses?”

Anne looked dreamy and then dimpled. “You should have tried it when he invited you to.”

“I’m too old to change my ways. But I’m interested in everything about the boy. Is this actually something different, too?”

Ann pondered it. “Yes.”

“How?”

“Mike gives a kiss his whole attention.”

“Oh, rats! I do myself. Or did.”

Anne shook her head. “No. Some men try to. I’ve been kissed by men who did a very good job of it indeed. But they don’t really give kissing a woman their whole attention. They can’t. No matter how hard they try, some parts of their minds are on something else. Missing the last bus, maybe–or how their chances are for making gal–or their own techniques in kissing–or maybe worry about their jobs, or money, or will husband or papa or the neighbors catch on. Or something. Now Mike doesn’t have any technique…but when Mike kisses you he isn’t doing anything else. Not anything. You’re his whole universe for that moment…and the moment is eternal because he doesn’t have any plans and he isn’t going anywhere. Just kissing you.” She shivered. “A woman notices. It’s overwhelming.”  -Stranger in a Strange Land

The Rook and I were talking about a past relationship of his, of the way that we connect to people, and I don’t know if this passage has anything to do with why he wanted me to read this book so bad, but this is something that I picked up from it today when I was reading. In short, he explained that when we’re sitting on a couch together talking, that’s all there is. Just the two of us. He’s not thinking about anything else, he’s focused entirely on our conversation, unless we’re talking about someone else, to which he’ll lend some attention to that person. I told him that I understood that and that I’d actually just read a book that talked a bit about that as well, clarifying a belief that I’ve held since I was young.

He went on to further explain that he was in a relationship where he would connect with this woman like this, only in a more intimate setting, for a couple of hours a night, a couple of nights a week. He asked me if I had any idea what that was like and I nodded. I had some idea. I told him that what I knew of it, from my experience of it, it could be done outside of sex as well. I had someone that when I was with them, the world would always disappear. It was just the two of us. Anytime we touched, it was like we were in our own private dream where anything could come true. Of course, that made the sex phenomenal.

The trouble, he went on to say, was when someone believed that that kind of attention should be spent on them all the time, whether they were face-to-face or not. No one could keep that up. I agreed with him on some level but on another level I disagreed entirely. I felt like there were ways to make that kind of connection to another person where it could be kept up regardless. No, the forefront of thought was not always on that person, but summoning them in your mind could put you in that state and hopefully they would feel it or at least know it as well. At first it might take some time and effort to establish but after that it was just maintenance. The more time you spent together, the stronger the connection could be, the less effort you had to exert to feel it or recognize it.

The only downfall to this is when things end, the amount of time and effort it takes to untangle yourself again. For weeks, anything that I knew about them would spring to mind. When one of their favorite bands was in town, I wanted to mention it to them, make sure they were going, but I couldn’t because I didn’t want to re-establish a connection. When the sun poured through the clouds into a perfect picture, I wanted to ask them if they saw it, but again, I didn’t want to re-establish a connection. Each missed opportunity helped to sever the ties and sometimes it felt good, like a relief, but sometimes it felt like a loss, an emptying of my soul once again.

But what this story described, that living in the moment, I’ve experienced it in kisses here and there. I’ve made it a mission of mine to kiss as many people as I want to. I want to always be able to kiss people. I’m not terribly interested in more than that with most people. So far the reactions and the kisses have been interesting.

With one, I can remember a tantalizing lingering of desire, but it didn’t create that moment, because one or the other or both were longing for more.

With another, it was playful, with both of us trying to keep things light, bantering back and forth between who would take the lead.

I’ve had kisses with other thoughts on the mind, other people on the mind, absentminded kisses done out of repetition and expectation.

But I’ve kissed two people who have slowed time down, who have given me their everything in their kisses time and time again and I loved kissing them. With one, I loved watching the way that he would linger when I pulled away from him, his eyes closed, his balance tipsy, as though he was drunk off of the moment and he needed time to come back to the reality that we were actually living in and not creating for ourselves.

The other, active and participatory, showed me that you can have a fine dance with another person where you know it will never lead to anything more and simply enjoy the moment. We’ve gone from fiery kisses testing one another to soft, sweet kisses, to kisses of lust after parties to, most recently, the most tender kisses I’ve known.

And the common thread between all of my most memorable kisses is that for that instant, there is nothing more in the Universe than the two of us, intertwining, sharing a beautiful experience, exchanging energy, and making the most of one precious moment we were graced with in this mystifying, complex, often times frustrating but also rewarding life.

Sadism

The term ‘Sadist’ has never gone over well in my head. For years I’ve enjoyed the idea of pain and torture, but it’s always in a setting where everyone’s consented to it. There were many years in my life where I denied being a Sadist, until I read a specific thread about it on a specific forum where people were discussing it in a way that I could wrap my head around it. I took this new information to my friend Crow and admitted to her that I thought I might be a Sadist, that I might enjoy other people’s (sexual) suffering. She laughed and thought I was kidding. I told her that I was serious and that it was a bit troublesome. I then realized that she was laughing at me because everyone else in my life knew I was a Sadist. I was the only one that hadn’t been clued into it prior to that conversation.

Though I’m finally getting acclimated to the idea that I am in fact a Sadist, I still rarely call myself that, because I don’t like the imagery that comes to mind when such a thing is talked about. I don’t want to be approached by people asking me to hit them. That’s not what it is to me. In fact, more often than not, when I’m in the mood to seduce, I try really hard not to include any form of pain in my planning and execution. In some parts of my mind, the two things (romance and pain) don’t mesh. In others, they’re absolutely necessary, I can’t have one without the other.

As I’ve written before, I have a healthy dose of gender fuckery in my life. In the head, I’m a lot like a boy, at least what I view a macho boy to be like. Naturally I sought out a boy that was a little bit more like a girl, to complement the different needs that I had. On recent dates, my j has whispered to me things like how he always feels like the girl when we’re out together, the sort of thing that I really enjoy hearing because it means whatever I’m doing, I’m doing right, because that’s exactly how I want him to feel. Last night, because he’d had a rough week, I wanted to take him out and have dinner and a movie and then take him home and help him forget whatever might be on his mind. Whenever I’m trying to distance him from something, I always think pet play first, because he’s not required to think whatsoever during it. Life had other plans for us though.

Instead, when we got home from the movie, he needed to work for a bit. I waited up for him, because it sounded like everything was getting worked out in a timely fashion. I wanted to take him to bed and seduce him, use him, and then fall asleep with him in my arms, the way we do most every night we spend together. Everything was going fantastically well except that I couldn’t seem to find whatever it was I was lacking to push me over the edge into orgasm. (Also, nature decided to take away my testosterone driven fantasies by making me bleed on the very day that I was finally going to get to act out all my macho sexist fantsies, which didn’t help in the least.) Finally, in the soft and quiet voice that he usually has when he’s rolled onto his stomach with his head pressed down into the pillows so that I can rub against his ass, he asked me if I’d hurt him.

I tried to explain (though didn’t do so well, because I was busy trying to get to an orgasm) that I was trying to seduce him, couldn’t he understand? Pain sure didn’t fit into that. Except, as he pointed out, it sure does. It might not have always fit into our lives together (and I’m thinking quite fondly of the first time I tried to spank him and also the first time I was successful in spanking him) but now it plays a big role in what we’re doing. I love leaving marks on him. I love the sounds he makes when he’s being hurt. I love the faces he makes. I love his suffering. He’s asked me what I like so much about all of it and I’ve told him this much. I wish he could see it through my eyes, how beautiful he is when he’s bound and forced to endure whatever I want to do to him.

So after I added some clothespins and then just scratched him for a bit, I certainly was able to achieve orgasm. It wasn’t anything wonderful or stupendous, because what I really wanted to be doing was nailing his tight ass with my thick silicone cock, but it got the job done and the feeling of intimacy was as strong as ever. Hopefully we’ll be getting around to a little more pain in the future, with some better marks, and some actual pictures documenting these kinds of things. Who doesn’t like pictures, after all?