In less than 48 hours, if all goes according to plan, I'll be wearing two new rings through me. And yes, I can barely contain the slightly nervous excitement.
This has been a long time coming, more than a decade, in fact.
Until now every 'modification' I've done to my body has been in relation to me, myself. I have a previous piercing, done over the Stonewall 25 celebration in New York at the National Leather Conference, by Gauntlet New York. And that is a story unto itself. I had both done very specifically for me, and purely about me.
For a number of years, even as Sir and I were first getting together, I wore a Red Tiger's Eye bead in my pierce, and that stone was in relation to Herself. But on Sir and my first trip to San Francisco, all those years ago, the stone was given to the Pacific near the Golden Gate Bridge (in part because I had no way to return it to her at the time.)
But I'm a little ahead of myself. In San Francisco, we went to Gauntlet (SF), and had the old ring and stone taken out and replaced by a new ring with a Fire Opal captive bead- (an 'engagement ring' of sorts, though I didn't realize it at the time,) from my Sir, which I wear to this day. Then we drove up above the Golden Gate, released the tiger's eye to the Pacific, and it was then that he proposed to me. Now, going on 11 years later, we are not married, we're both deeply conflicted about the institution as such, but for us, the commitment to one another, and desire to be together was what mattered far more than whether or not a ritual was forthcoming.
So the Fire Opal ring, in my clit hood piercing holds a lot of meaning to me. That hood piercing has held symbols or tokens from two of what are arguably three of the most important people in my life. But the hole itself was about me, and was done at a particular moment in my own life.
I've never had holes put through me in relation to another person, and now that's about to change.
These two new holes and rings, will be specifically about Sir. Symbolizing his ownership and control as we move into our second decade together. For the first time in my life I chose to wear these in relation to my partner. For both of us, this is a very large step.
We've been talking about piercings and rings for more than a decade. I even have a previous set of jewelry from ten years ago, that's been sitting. I don't know if those particular rings will ever be worn or not, but our intent has been there for a long time.
I suppose you could say we had a lot of work to do before we could finally get to this point.
If all goes according to plan, these two will be the first of ten through my outer labia. Getting to all ten will take some years. We may space the piercings out even further as each pair of piercings is going to mean some 'down time' an immediate period without that form of sex, and a longer time meaning no baths! (Argh!) Healing each is going to take many months, and then of course, we're going to want some time to enjoy before we start the next pair.
So Monday marks the beginning of a long process.
On one hand I can't wait, on the other, I'm nervous, and needle phobic and no fan of pain without some real warm up first, but this is what it's going to take, and I want Sir's rings. So I'll do what I must.
After my 'Stonewall piercing' my dear friend took me out, along with a hoard of other Leatherfolk to South Street Seaport to find and share some 'flights' of excellent ports. After a rowdy and dreamy evening, we were swept along home in a taxi, across the Brooklyn Bridge under a beautiful moon, off to a brownstone in Park Slope. Getting up three flights of stairs have never felt so amazing in my life.
I know Monday I will be 'flying' too. Sir will care for me, and let me soar all the way home as we leave on our road trip not long after the appointment. All I need to do is sit quietly in the front seat, and let Sir take me home. His.
Showing posts with label training. Show all posts
Showing posts with label training. Show all posts
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
My Raincheck
So, by way of 'making up for' not getting the whips out over the course of a recent event, Sir had more or less given me a 'raincheck'. Which is what we finally got around to the other morning.
Sir was up early in the morning, and after I came down he eventually headed upstairs to shower saying maybe we could get around to something thereafter. I waited downstairs and went about my morning, not sure whether to expect anything or not. Eventually he called down and told me I was to come up to him.
I came to the big bedroom (which is also sort of our 'Work' room) to find him standing inside dressed all in black with a wicked grin on his face. (Eventually, I may get to a post about the room we primarily use, but for now, it will suffice to say it's "His" room, our bedroom, and clearly his domain. I have rooms of my own as well, although they are such at his pleasure.)
I stood outside the door and undressed (as it's the room I don't wear clothing in without explicit permission, one of our few rules) then by his permission, entered.
At the foot of the bed, there's a soft black bench with low arms at each end and lots of pillows; soft golden chenille and others with a shadowed black ornate floral orchid pattern. On days such as this, it is pulled out from the end of the bed, the pillows set aside, and the bench is then covered with a soft black sheet. It's just long enough for me to lie across comfortably, my head resting on one of the arms. Four black leather straps encircled each of the bench's legs, then come up towards the left and right raised ends. Across each end, Sir had attached two of the highly polished chrome spreader bars, each the width of the bench. On the bed laid several of my favourite whips, and the four black padded leather cuffs. Without saying a word, I knew what laid in store.
He told me to come around to the bed. Then lovingly, he buckled each cuff onto my limbs, first my wrists then my ankles. He crossed the room to the toolbox compartment organizers and pulled out four of the small nickel plated padlocks, then returned to me and proceeded to lock the cuffs onto me. This little 'ritual' of sorts in and of itself is enough to get me into a mindset.
(Soft black leather and shiny polished steel is very much our aesthetic. Metal and leather. Although somewhat ironically, I have no interest in many of the metal cuffs or collars we so often see. I suppose you could say we're both rather selective about our tools.)
He kisses me, and leads me across the bench, face down. Limb by limb, he clips the cuffs onto the spreader bars leaving me unable to escape, and a ready target. He ensures I'm comfortable, then disappears over towards the rack where we keep our whips hung. I'm not blindfolded, but I'm not sure I want to know, just yet, either. So I turn my head and close my eyes, giving over to him, and what he wants.
Anyone who has ever been sensually whipped can readily identify the two primary different sensations, 'thud' and 'sting'. For me, when I'm under Sir's whips, these two have two completely different effects. 'Thuddy' makes me sink, deep into a place where I've very inarticulate, but very pliant, and welcoming suggestion. 'Stingy' on the other hand, tries to lift me off of whatever I'm securely attached to, and leaves me fighting myself, begging for it to stop, and sometimes crying. (This does NOT however mean I actually want it to stop.) Each of these are their own head (and body) trip. It takes someone with a particular sense of timing and ability to 'read' me to combine them both over the course of a brief period. Neither of these are things I entrust to people I don't know well, as both leave me very emotionally raw.
Sir is one of the few people I know who can make me change gears as it were, between the two, and still leave me in a state where I actually enjoy it. Unfortunately, it's not something I find I can do often, and it takes both of us being in a particular state of mind and comfort to actually pull it off.
In any case, without telling me that was what he was about to do, that was the state he worked me into. Working from whips that can, when used a particular way feel more akin to a good massage, on to whips that once I'm warmed up, yes I can take, even though it's a most peculiar kind of enjoyment.
Back at the Floating World, we had found a flogger made of the satin cord it seems every kinky person has worked with or made something out of at some point. Just ordinary fabric store cord carefully woven into a nicely formed handle that felt good in my hand with a bazillion purple satiny tresses. The reason it came home, though, was that each of the tips had been carefully dipped repeatedly in 'tool dip', the rubber coating for tool handles. The balance was nice, and I knew instantly that those tails would sting horribly.
Well, I was right. And THAT will teach me to pick up a tool, having it in mind for use with perhaps a pretty girl somewhere in my future. I should know better. And I should know that just as I was always taught, before you use a tool on someone else, you should have it used upon yourself, so you know, down in your bones what it's capable of. While ultimately, of course I'm fine with all of that, it being the way things are done, and it is simply to be expected, I did not however expect this particular tool this particular morning.
Which led to many cries of "I hate that whip!... Don't stop."
By the time my morning's ordeal was 'over', I was very 'floaty'. Sir released me from my bonds at the bench and let me lay across the bed. We spoke briefly, and then he very matter of factly went over to the small table in the corner and returned with several sets of adjustable clamps with which he heightened my neediness beyond excruciating.
Then he removed them, and left me unfulfilled. He allowed me the cuffs for the rest of the day (actually, I slept in them that night only taking them off the next morning.)
The lovely anguish that is being left afterwards is not something I would normally enjoy. But with him, after this in particular, it was wonderful, feeling that ache combined with the soreness from the whips earlier, it left me constantly aware of HIM as I drifted through the next day or so. It's that awareness, that feeling of being owned, posessed, taken somewhere I rarely go with anyone with trust at the core of it that I treasure above all else.
Sir was up early in the morning, and after I came down he eventually headed upstairs to shower saying maybe we could get around to something thereafter. I waited downstairs and went about my morning, not sure whether to expect anything or not. Eventually he called down and told me I was to come up to him.
I came to the big bedroom (which is also sort of our 'Work' room) to find him standing inside dressed all in black with a wicked grin on his face. (Eventually, I may get to a post about the room we primarily use, but for now, it will suffice to say it's "His" room, our bedroom, and clearly his domain. I have rooms of my own as well, although they are such at his pleasure.)
I stood outside the door and undressed (as it's the room I don't wear clothing in without explicit permission, one of our few rules) then by his permission, entered.
At the foot of the bed, there's a soft black bench with low arms at each end and lots of pillows; soft golden chenille and others with a shadowed black ornate floral orchid pattern. On days such as this, it is pulled out from the end of the bed, the pillows set aside, and the bench is then covered with a soft black sheet. It's just long enough for me to lie across comfortably, my head resting on one of the arms. Four black leather straps encircled each of the bench's legs, then come up towards the left and right raised ends. Across each end, Sir had attached two of the highly polished chrome spreader bars, each the width of the bench. On the bed laid several of my favourite whips, and the four black padded leather cuffs. Without saying a word, I knew what laid in store.
He told me to come around to the bed. Then lovingly, he buckled each cuff onto my limbs, first my wrists then my ankles. He crossed the room to the toolbox compartment organizers and pulled out four of the small nickel plated padlocks, then returned to me and proceeded to lock the cuffs onto me. This little 'ritual' of sorts in and of itself is enough to get me into a mindset.
(Soft black leather and shiny polished steel is very much our aesthetic. Metal and leather. Although somewhat ironically, I have no interest in many of the metal cuffs or collars we so often see. I suppose you could say we're both rather selective about our tools.)
He kisses me, and leads me across the bench, face down. Limb by limb, he clips the cuffs onto the spreader bars leaving me unable to escape, and a ready target. He ensures I'm comfortable, then disappears over towards the rack where we keep our whips hung. I'm not blindfolded, but I'm not sure I want to know, just yet, either. So I turn my head and close my eyes, giving over to him, and what he wants.
Anyone who has ever been sensually whipped can readily identify the two primary different sensations, 'thud' and 'sting'. For me, when I'm under Sir's whips, these two have two completely different effects. 'Thuddy' makes me sink, deep into a place where I've very inarticulate, but very pliant, and welcoming suggestion. 'Stingy' on the other hand, tries to lift me off of whatever I'm securely attached to, and leaves me fighting myself, begging for it to stop, and sometimes crying. (This does NOT however mean I actually want it to stop.) Each of these are their own head (and body) trip. It takes someone with a particular sense of timing and ability to 'read' me to combine them both over the course of a brief period. Neither of these are things I entrust to people I don't know well, as both leave me very emotionally raw.
Sir is one of the few people I know who can make me change gears as it were, between the two, and still leave me in a state where I actually enjoy it. Unfortunately, it's not something I find I can do often, and it takes both of us being in a particular state of mind and comfort to actually pull it off.
In any case, without telling me that was what he was about to do, that was the state he worked me into. Working from whips that can, when used a particular way feel more akin to a good massage, on to whips that once I'm warmed up, yes I can take, even though it's a most peculiar kind of enjoyment.
Back at the Floating World, we had found a flogger made of the satin cord it seems every kinky person has worked with or made something out of at some point. Just ordinary fabric store cord carefully woven into a nicely formed handle that felt good in my hand with a bazillion purple satiny tresses. The reason it came home, though, was that each of the tips had been carefully dipped repeatedly in 'tool dip', the rubber coating for tool handles. The balance was nice, and I knew instantly that those tails would sting horribly.
Well, I was right. And THAT will teach me to pick up a tool, having it in mind for use with perhaps a pretty girl somewhere in my future. I should know better. And I should know that just as I was always taught, before you use a tool on someone else, you should have it used upon yourself, so you know, down in your bones what it's capable of. While ultimately, of course I'm fine with all of that, it being the way things are done, and it is simply to be expected, I did not however expect this particular tool this particular morning.
Which led to many cries of "I hate that whip!... Don't stop."
By the time my morning's ordeal was 'over', I was very 'floaty'. Sir released me from my bonds at the bench and let me lay across the bed. We spoke briefly, and then he very matter of factly went over to the small table in the corner and returned with several sets of adjustable clamps with which he heightened my neediness beyond excruciating.
Then he removed them, and left me unfulfilled. He allowed me the cuffs for the rest of the day (actually, I slept in them that night only taking them off the next morning.)
The lovely anguish that is being left afterwards is not something I would normally enjoy. But with him, after this in particular, it was wonderful, feeling that ache combined with the soreness from the whips earlier, it left me constantly aware of HIM as I drifted through the next day or so. It's that awareness, that feeling of being owned, posessed, taken somewhere I rarely go with anyone with trust at the core of it that I treasure above all else.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Some of that "relationship maintainence" which seems as second nature to us
So last night, much as I intended to make the Black Rose history panel, it wasn't to be. I was disappointed, but there was just no way it was going to happen. Apparently there may be a BR history workshop over the course of BRXX, so I'll keep my fingers crossed and hope to see something there. In the end, it was just as well we didn't go, as last night was something I would not have missed.
We spent the evening 'in', and this led to a rather intense discussion about some of where we're going with all this, some of what this 're-entry' into corners of 'the scene' is meaning for us, and a great deal of discussion about what we both want, and how to make it all work with our real day to day life. (By "intense" I do not mean 'heated', I mean very 'raw', very 'close to the bone', very 'real'.)
These are very real issues for us, for while we are both long term people in (and out of) 'the scene', (15 and 20 years, actually), we come at it from very different places with what are at times somewhat different expectations.
It's been very odd to come to groups ten years later, and see the occasional familiar face, only to realize that in ten years, they haven't changed a bit (and that's not necessarily a good thing). We, on the other hand, have changed a great deal. So it can be very jarring at times.
Most importantly, though, I think we've both pretty clear on the fact that while we may wander through 'the scene' in certain times and ways, the heart of who we are and what we do is very much something we live out here at home/with each other. Unlike so many people, who are only able to do these things, or wear these things, or be who they feel they are when they step out of their private spaces and daily lives and into 'scene' spaces, Sir and I actually live out our 'leather lifestyle' in the day to day. It's a luxury, and we understand how rare that is compared to many other people.
Nor do we compartmentalize our 'leather lives' away into something done in 'scene spaces' or events. There is no 'stepping out of role' for us, because our 'roles' are not 'roles' they are who we are. This is part of why terms like 'scening' have never worked for me, it's not something I relegate to Fridays between 7pm and 1am, or 'at clubs', or anything like that. No doubt some would then turn to us and say, oh no biggie, you 24/7. Which, while I suppose can be one way of putting it, is not how we see it. We simply are who we are. I may not use the word "Sir"except by accident when some friends or family is present, but that's out of respect for them and their comfort, not out of hiding anything. Most of my close friends know this simple fact of our relationship anyways, so hearing the occasional "Sir" to them is merely an acknowledgement of the realities of our lives.
In any case, so we sat and spoke at length last night, if only to be sure we are both on the same page coming off some of the experiences we're having and in relation to the direction(s) we both want to head.
Some people set aside one night a week to have these kinds of 'relationship' talks, for us though, it is nothing so formal. We just sometimes have an evening when we both have time and want to touch base with one another, and so we spend a few hours talking about the framework we're building together, and how we're relating to some of the shared experiences we're having.
Not surprisingly, afterwards, I went upstairs, got several tools together and Sir followed me up not long thereafter. No, this did not lead to a long hard night of whipping, nor of rough sex. Instead, it lead to being held tightly, and forced to cum repeatedly in his arms, slowly loosing control to whispered threats and promises of training/what will be done to me, soon enough.
I am exactly where I want to be.
We spent the evening 'in', and this led to a rather intense discussion about some of where we're going with all this, some of what this 're-entry' into corners of 'the scene' is meaning for us, and a great deal of discussion about what we both want, and how to make it all work with our real day to day life. (By "intense" I do not mean 'heated', I mean very 'raw', very 'close to the bone', very 'real'.)
These are very real issues for us, for while we are both long term people in (and out of) 'the scene', (15 and 20 years, actually), we come at it from very different places with what are at times somewhat different expectations.
It's been very odd to come to groups ten years later, and see the occasional familiar face, only to realize that in ten years, they haven't changed a bit (and that's not necessarily a good thing). We, on the other hand, have changed a great deal. So it can be very jarring at times.
Most importantly, though, I think we've both pretty clear on the fact that while we may wander through 'the scene' in certain times and ways, the heart of who we are and what we do is very much something we live out here at home/with each other. Unlike so many people, who are only able to do these things, or wear these things, or be who they feel they are when they step out of their private spaces and daily lives and into 'scene' spaces, Sir and I actually live out our 'leather lifestyle' in the day to day. It's a luxury, and we understand how rare that is compared to many other people.
Nor do we compartmentalize our 'leather lives' away into something done in 'scene spaces' or events. There is no 'stepping out of role' for us, because our 'roles' are not 'roles' they are who we are. This is part of why terms like 'scening' have never worked for me, it's not something I relegate to Fridays between 7pm and 1am, or 'at clubs', or anything like that. No doubt some would then turn to us and say, oh no biggie, you 24/7. Which, while I suppose can be one way of putting it, is not how we see it. We simply are who we are. I may not use the word "Sir"except by accident when some friends or family is present, but that's out of respect for them and their comfort, not out of hiding anything. Most of my close friends know this simple fact of our relationship anyways, so hearing the occasional "Sir" to them is merely an acknowledgement of the realities of our lives.
In any case, so we sat and spoke at length last night, if only to be sure we are both on the same page coming off some of the experiences we're having and in relation to the direction(s) we both want to head.
Some people set aside one night a week to have these kinds of 'relationship' talks, for us though, it is nothing so formal. We just sometimes have an evening when we both have time and want to touch base with one another, and so we spend a few hours talking about the framework we're building together, and how we're relating to some of the shared experiences we're having.
Not surprisingly, afterwards, I went upstairs, got several tools together and Sir followed me up not long thereafter. No, this did not lead to a long hard night of whipping, nor of rough sex. Instead, it lead to being held tightly, and forced to cum repeatedly in his arms, slowly loosing control to whispered threats and promises of training/what will be done to me, soon enough.
I am exactly where I want to be.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Life goes on
Well, despite the fact that I haven't found time this week to really write about all the Floating World experiences, life has been going on, and other things have been happening. So I'll eventually come back and do a FW recap, but for now I'm just going to fill in a few other bits.
Sir and I have been nesting here in the aftermath. The first few days home my shoulders and behind were sore, and he was taking a fair amount of pleasure merely in giving me a back rub or the occasional swat. It's a good event when the 'afterglow' lasts well into the week. There are also slightly less pleasant 'aftermaths' such as trying to get white face powder off the nice black leather blindfold. Good thing I got a nice big tub of saddle soap.
Monday evening, we got out the corset from Passional (yes, I am ahead of myself, I will go back and tell the story later), and I got to run about for part of the evening with it on, but not tightened down, not the first few times anyway, it needs time to adjust to my body and the wearing. But it was wonderful.
The room is finally back together, all the whips are rehung, tools cleaned and neatly put away. Other than the neatly folded basket of Sir's laundry that needs to be put away, everything is back in order there.
So we spent part of the week getting back together, and part of the week yearning for some alone time. I was spacey and flighty for much of the early part of the week, and clearly the event carried over for Sir as well.
Two new 'rules' were also made this week- one about when he's out of the house, the other being he finally gave me a place to put my hands while I await his attention- if he's programming, or reading, or such. They may seem small things, perhaps long overdue, but I think he's beginning to realize some of these particular small things matter.
Finally, Saturday night we went upstairs and made some time for training. We got out some of the leathers and let me lie quietly with my own thoughts, or not. Across the room, Sir read for a bit, then came over and tormented me. It was both a rather quiet evening, and full of intensity. I'm very content.
The last 24 hours I've felt very calm and happy.
Sir and I have been nesting here in the aftermath. The first few days home my shoulders and behind were sore, and he was taking a fair amount of pleasure merely in giving me a back rub or the occasional swat. It's a good event when the 'afterglow' lasts well into the week. There are also slightly less pleasant 'aftermaths' such as trying to get white face powder off the nice black leather blindfold. Good thing I got a nice big tub of saddle soap.
Monday evening, we got out the corset from Passional (yes, I am ahead of myself, I will go back and tell the story later), and I got to run about for part of the evening with it on, but not tightened down, not the first few times anyway, it needs time to adjust to my body and the wearing. But it was wonderful.
The room is finally back together, all the whips are rehung, tools cleaned and neatly put away. Other than the neatly folded basket of Sir's laundry that needs to be put away, everything is back in order there.
So we spent part of the week getting back together, and part of the week yearning for some alone time. I was spacey and flighty for much of the early part of the week, and clearly the event carried over for Sir as well.
Two new 'rules' were also made this week- one about when he's out of the house, the other being he finally gave me a place to put my hands while I await his attention- if he's programming, or reading, or such. They may seem small things, perhaps long overdue, but I think he's beginning to realize some of these particular small things matter.
Finally, Saturday night we went upstairs and made some time for training. We got out some of the leathers and let me lie quietly with my own thoughts, or not. Across the room, Sir read for a bit, then came over and tormented me. It was both a rather quiet evening, and full of intensity. I'm very content.
The last 24 hours I've felt very calm and happy.
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