Ceremony

According to your wish, I write for you, and no one else. These words are inspired by you, and dedicated to you.

“Welcome,” you say, although you always pronounce it “well-cum”.

You lean back and look at me, taking in what you see. Five foot seven inches in heels, blue jeans, snug black low-necked t-shirt, pink-streaked blonde, curvy.

“You’re wearing far too much clothing.”

I remove my heels, then my t-shirt, then my jeans.

You take my hand and draw me towards you. Encircle my waist and hold me close to you. Your warm breath softly caresses my ear.

“You’re still overdressed.”

“I’m overdressed? Me?” (In other words, I stand here before you in bra and panties, and you’re fully clothed!)

A sharp, stinging slap on my ass elicits a gasp of shocked pleasure.

“Yes. Fix it.”

I step out of my lacy black panties, and slower than i need to, i unhook and slide off my matching bra.

Your hands reach for me, holding each of my breasts in turn, before you grab my nipple and pull me closer toward you. I’m already wet, and desperate for you to feel it, but I know the way you think:

There’s no rush. Langsam. All in good time.

You hold out your wrist to me. I unbutton your cuffs, one by one.

I slide your shirt off you, and drape it carefully across the chair.

I kneel down to unlace and remove your shoes, and then your socks.

I unbuckle your belt.

I unhook and unzip your smart businesslike trousers. They fall to the floor with a jingle and a thump (how you move with all the gadgets and tzatzkes attached to them is a mystery to me).

I slide down to remove your underwear, until I’m resting on my knees, close enough to breathe on your skin, but taking no specific action until — unless — requested. (That would be topping from the — ahem — bottom.)

One of your hands on my face, the other on my shoulder. Your arms about me, stroking my back and my front. Our bodies pressed close together. You stroke my hair.

“My cunning linguist Pink Tabby. How are you?”

I feel like I belong to you, in this moment. I am no longer a cat who walks by herself. Symbolic gestures or pieces of leather are unnecessary, and hold no significant meaning for either of us. That which flows between us — that special way in which we commune, the almost telepathic mental connection, the constantly growing list of cannot-possibly-be-only-coincidences, the myriad likes and dislikes we share.

In this moment, it’s only you and I. No one else exists.

As if to seal the deal, you kiss me. I love the sweet way you always moisten your lips before moving in for the kill. I adore the soft touch of your mouth on mine. Being with you is like coming home.

You astounded me, when first we met, by assuring me that BDSM was not all about the fast, the hard, the rough, the extreme touch. That tenderness was a realistic expectation as much as a much-anticipated brutal flogging — that being aroused by either or both, in their specific circumstance, was not contradictory. In this kiss, you bring tenderness, and so much more.

And then you wind your fingers into my hair, and pull — intensifying my sensations to the point where my senses collide and I can feel the subspace, as though it were a chasm over which I were suspended.

The ceremony is over, but our time together is only just beginning.

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One from the Vaults

Something I wrote a long time ago, and thought I’d take out and dust off for your entertainment. Enjoy!

I came for you

I suddenly found that i would be alone at home… Had you been available, i would have called you and given you the on-the-spot report, and panted and moaned and wailed your name into your ear.

As it was, i was unable to, since you were — for reasons best known to yourself — unavailable.

You were in my head, though. Just as sure as your hand was in my cunt earlier, so your face, your image was in my head. I kept replaying what you said this afternoon, about how you didn’t want to live your life without seeing me, without kissing me, touching me, fucking me. That this fact, despite being concerned that you weren’t the kind of person who could do “that” again, was obliterated at the thought of not being with me again.

That you said that endeared you to me more than ever.

As i replayed it, i pictured the look that i saw in your eye today, when you finally caught sight of me. That glorious combination of lust and desire, and the almost-certain realization that your hopes of satisfying one or both would be granted in the very near future.

As i touched myself, i remembered the feel of your hands on me. The whispered sound of your voice as you described myriad series of wild fantasies running through your head. The way you looked into my eyes as i softly, slowly and deliberately stroked your upper thigh, bringing your thought processes to a crashing halt. You caught my gaze so intensely because you were incapable of anything else — and you were right to surmise that i liked that. I did, I really did.

As i slid my ever-faithful Rabbit into my cunt, still so slick and moist from your touch hours earlier, i remembered how it felt to be held close to you, to feel your hands run through my hair, and your breath caress my neck. To feel those butterfly kisses across the top of my cleavage and a cool hand slide between to stroke and fondle my breast. I recalled the warmth of your hug, and how wonderful the breadth of your shoulders felt as i lay my cheek on them, and kissed you softly up the side of your neck. Then later, when your wandering hands had distracted me to the point where i had lost the focus to do anything at all, how i sighed and moaned into the soft skin in the corner between your neck and your collar bone.

I love that spot on a man, and i especially love it on you.

The buzzing of my trusty vibrator stimulated me until i moaned aloud — surprising myself. My apartment has very thin walls, and usually my long and feverishly abandoned self-love sessions are guardedly quiet. Today however, it simply wasn’t an option. The pent-up arousal and desire and frustrated, held-in orgasm erupted forth from me as though a dam had burst.

And as i shuddered and came, and felt the juices leak out of me like molten gold, i called your name. I saw your face. And pictured everything I’d do to you as soon as the opportunity arose.

The opportunity, yes… and you.

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Sugasm 163

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #164? Of course you do. Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Another Night With My Beer Buddy
“She nodded, her eyes closing with pleasure, his arm working.”

Blowjob in Red
“My voice descended into lust.”

Her dirty talk got me off. twice.
“Why does that turn me on so goddamn much?”

Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Honesty: The Correct Answer

Editor’s Choice
Stockinged Feet

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Is Sex Positivity Bad for Feminism?
The Mark

NSFW Pics, Videos and Audio
Deviantly Different -HNT
Katrina Darrell Bikini Pictures from American Idol

Sex and Politics
It’s All Over Now Baby Blue…

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Ah, those heels
The Classless in Stripperville
Domination Fantasy
Fucking Ratios, Part 1
Fun With Rose
Kiss Me
Lisa’s torments 2 & 3
Naughty Photoshoot!
A Perfect Welcome
The Reunion
Shivers
Wet. Confession #258
Wet Spot #1 (Crescent Moons)
Wild Dream

Sex Advice
Nookie Tip
Solo Lady Love – Women and Masturbation
Steps Towards Enjoying Sex

BDSM & Fetish
Carnal Conversations
Cop Performs Subdrop Aftercare
Dream Whore
Explaining Cell Popping
A Pain-Drenched Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss
Poetic license

Sex News, Reviews, and Interviews
The Hitachi Magic Wand – How it saved (or literally started up) my sex life
Pasties: Tassel Twirling 101
Race Play Interview, Part I
Radio Interview Tonight!

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Drive me crazy

“Next week is a problem. What with the Easter holiday, and family constraints and everything… we probably won’t be able to get together.”

So quoth Purrrrvert last time we were naked, as he lay holding me close, and stroking my skin. Somehow the setting took the sting out of the disappointment for me. i understand how time is constrained for him, as he well knows, because it is even more so for me.

I’ve written before of the joy of pampering ourselves with some extra, previously unplanned for time, and it happened again yesterday. His day freed up, for a couple of hours, so we made plans to meet “even for just a coffee”. As I’ve said to him on numerous occasions, while i love being with him and doing the naked D/s thing, and serving him as a good submissive girl should serve her Big Bad Feline Dom, I’m happy to just be in his company.

Beginning with a civilized and elegant lunch, in a quiet and romantic corner of a nearby restaurant. We sit, smiling happily into each other’s eyes. There’s a feeling of having foiled the plans of the outside world when we manage to meet in the middle of a working day. It’s not that we’re cheating anyone or sneaking away especially, but it *feels* illicit — and that gives the meeting an extra edge, a further thrill.

The list (you remember the list, the one on which needles were a no-no, never-never) comes up as a topic of conversation. We start going through the ratings that have changed of late.

“You know how you asked me whether i could come without being touched?”

“Yes… and?”

“Well, I can’t, although if arousal counts for anything, I’ve soaked a couple of chairs through in my time.”

A snicker from the Big Bad Feline. I continue.

“What really interests me is arousing you, from afar… without my touching you. I’d like to try that — if you’re amenable..?”

He nods his assent, and then effects a quick subject-change.

“Can we go for a drive? Or do you have to rush back?” he asks me, as we vainly try to attract the attention of the waiter, who seems to have a problem with his peripheral vision, hearing and short-term memory.

“No, I’m OK for time… where would you like to go?”

Blue sparkling eyes twinkle at me over the pile of plates and culinary debris that once was lunch. “Just…. you know. For a drive. You never know what you might find on the way.”

My spine tingles, and i nod my ascent. We abandon all hope of getting our bill brought to us, and head for the cash register, where we are fortunate enough to be able to pay without too much hassle. This time it was my treat — and my pleasure.

Daintily stepping into his car, i tease him playfully. “You know, after mine yours is the messiest car I’ve ever driven in. It makes me feel right at home.” In reply, he stretches out his arm across the back of my seat entwines his fingers into my tousled mop of blonde hair — and pulls. Hard.

I squeal. With pure pleasure. He seems pleased, but not surprised.

The roads wind on and around, real country lane territory. Seizing the opportunity to further smoke the sparks of arousal that the hair-pulling caused, and extending the sensation of illicit and verboten behaviour of earlier, Purrrrvert’s hands (paws?) stray further and further into my territory. I lift my arm to grant him better access, as he slides his fingers ever-so-gently under the black lacy confines of my brassiere, and then pinches. Hard.

“We discussed grabbing the whole aureole, right?” he says, as he does exactly that and i yowl with pain-induced pleasure. I feel myself moisten alarmingly fast, and he seems to sense it too.

Them darn cats. Their sense of smell is unparalleled.

He drives faster down the lane, as i try to admire the surrounding scenery, failing dismally since all i can think of is my sopping wet cunt, and the bruised and squished state in which he has left my breasts. His hand has now dived between my thighs,  and is squeezing my inner thigh.

I’m sighing, panting, and occasionally squealing. He makes me squeal a lot, I’ve noticed. I do not complain, I merely remark.

“You’ve done what you wanted to do,” he says.

“What was that?”

“I’m hard. And you’ve not laid a finger on me.”

I smile with pure pleasure.

“Give me one,” he murmurs seductively, as he turns off the main road, and his fingers probe further. He is deliberately not touching my clit, rather only in the area close enough to make me gasp and breathe rapidly.

“I– I’ll t–try,” I say, focusing on his hand on me, and then his lips on mine — and I get there, grinding my clit onto whatever is in the vicinity, and panting, squealing and eventually screaming my achievement.

When i open my eyes, i see that look on his face that I know so well, and find that is cock is on on display, proudly erect. I lean over and take him in my mouth, and return the favour with relish. He comes, clutching onto me, winding his fingers into my hair, with a joyous half-sigh, half-shout.

Leaning back and catching our breath, i giggle as something occurs to me.

“Hmmmmm?” he asks.

“I just thought of the perfect title for the blog post describing this.”

Heee! 🙂

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Singing disco and squealing with (good) pain

Foreword:
I was all set to write my latest post — and I will, I promise — but then a stat of mine caught my eye. I had a good number day the other day (god bless you Sugasm, you keep my ego afloat) and i noticed one of the hits came from The Perverted Negress, where I often read and lurk, and have done for some time.

She wrote about a time when fucking a FWB and how he was not fazed by her menstruation, and how she’d not appreciated this attitude when she first encountered it, way back when.

And I sat there open-mouthed. Purrrrvert is exactly the same, and my post for today happened on just such an occasion. Small fucking world, huh?

At the beginning, before those devilish pink paws had even touched my lily-white skin, or pulled my pink tabby mane of hair, when Purrrrvert and I went through through an extensive BDSM checklist of things we both enjoyed, or liked the sound of, or had done and wanted to do again, or had done and would really rather not do again, thank you very much — you may recall that i mentioned this list when describing the needle-play demonstration of last week. During this elongated and comprehensive discussion, the subject of menstruation came up.

Up until now, i’ve met with various reactions to the natural function of a woman passing an unfertilized egg once a month, ranging from the “Ugh, you’re unclean and you smell funny, don’t come near me,” to the “Well, I’ll fuck you, but I won’t go down on you,” to the “Who gives a fuck if you’re bleeding… I love you and want you however you present yourself.”

This last attitude being the one held by Purrrrvert, I’m blushingly happy to say.

*********************************

The last time we met was the first time I’d been in full-on flow mode. Previously, he’d caught me a couple of times on the end or tail end of my cycle, but this was the first time I’d been with him, naked, in full force — so to speak. The only difference it made was that I was even hornier than ever — as I usually am during my period.

And is that ever a bad thing? I think not. 😀

Lying face down, after a flogging that had zoomed me at warp speed (his description) to some subspace place out there beyond the realms of conception, he took my glass dildo and began to fuck me with it expertly. Above my groans  of arousal and pleasure, to my astonishment, I heard him singing a little ditty.

“D-I-L-D-O…”

Despite myself, I giggled and then gasped, “I could… be close… to coming… soo–n.”

“Oh no, no,” he sang. “First you have to find me the words for the chorus of the song. And then you may come.”

“Frasher, rasher, hhnnnhhh! masher, rotten, evil, sodding cat.”

“Thank you, my dear!”

I knew I had to come soon, or i might explode — not something one ever wants to do, least of all when bleeding. My mind raced, but the words that usually spring to my ear with such ease and grace failed me. (Bastards.) I started singing, hoping that the muse might come upon me as i did so.

“D-I-L-D-O.. he is D-I-L-D-O.
He is D — desirable
He is I — er… incredible — OK, OK, i stole it from the song, i admit it.”

I was rewarded by hearing Purrrrvert snicker, then by feeling him thrust the glass dildo harder into me, grinding on my g-spot, and giving me cause for alarm that i might release the flood of orgasm that I felt building up inside me — before i was permitted.

I would  never wish to disobey my wonderful Dom.

I continued.

“He is L — er… er… libidinous (phew)
He is D — deep inside me
He is O — my god!”

Purrrrvert burst out laughing. “I love how you amuse me, my pink tabby cunning linguist. You may come.”

I groaned my orgasmic ascent and shuddered uncontrollably as the waves of bliss crashed over me.

Instead of relenting and allowing me to catch my post-orgasmic breath, he merely pushed into me harder, stroking my back and ass, winding his fingers into my hair and pulling, and occasionally dealing me a mild swat, just so he could hear me sigh in the way that i do at the feel of his hand on my skin.

“Do you have another one for me?”

Oh dear GOD.

“He is D — desireous
He is I — inside of me (another laugh from Purrrrvert at this point)
He is L — long and licky (I was grasping at straws, I tell you, my mind was a blank.)
He is D — Dammit, I can’t think of one!
He is O — orgasmic! yes!

“Come for me, my Pink Tabby.”

I came with an enthusiasm i find hard to eloquently express, and within seconds had gushed all over him.

This time he allowed me to catch my breath and calm down, putting his arms around me and holding me as i subsided. It’s something I love him to do, which he knows, despite it not featuring on any fetish or kink list of which I’m aware. 😉

*********************************

Post-coitally, some time later, he began idly playing with a nipple, squeezing it at the tip. Lazily, I looked up at him.

“Would you mind grabbing it from the whole aureole instead of just the very tip? Whenever you pinch or pull the tip, i worry that it’s going to come off. ”

“Like this?” he demonstrated.

“Exactly.”

He continued to pinch, squeeze and pull my nipple, apparently oblivious to the desire it aroused within me, although I knew he knew only too well the effect of the cause.

I began babbling.  “It’s funny — when i was first discovering sex, i could never get why women made such a big fuss over tits and sex. I mean, they’d stroke, and play, but it did nothing for me. Until someone bit my nipple, and sent a jolt of electric arousal directly to my cunt… and that was when I first realised I might be a pervert.”

“Might be…?” he said, extending the grab circumference of his hand to my entire breast (no mean feat, i might add). “I think you passed “might be” a while ago.

I lay there, speechless but for the occasional gasp of (good) pain, and writhing in arousal, as he squeezed and smushed my boobs. Subtly, he nudged my hand down to his cock — apparently hard again so soon after we’d fucked.

I love the feel of his skin. I swiveled my head so my eyes could meet his, holding and stroking him in just the way he likes.

“You’re so bad, darling. It really does it for you, when you cause me pain, huh?”

“It’s not about the pain or causing you pain. I’m not a sadist. It’s the effect, it’s what it does to you. That’s what I love, as much as I love fucking you — and you know I do — I love to watch you melt into a puddle of desire.”

I love it too.

Le deep et happy sigh….

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Short but incredibly sweet

After the needle demonstration of last week, and my adverse reaction to it, i found myself a little concerned about my appeal. I am the world’s biggest wuss when it comes to needles and blood, and if not the biggest, I’ll certainly give the biggest one a run for their money.

So i asked him, when we were chatting.

Elegant Slut says:
OK, so i need to ask you
tell me honestly
does the fact that needles make me feel faint and i will never come around to the idea of using them in a play session diminish my appeal for you?

Purrrrvert says:
why should it?

Elegant Slut says:
Oof, you and your answering a question with a question….
because it’s a yy3-5 for you.
it’s a nnnnnnnnnnn (which spells no way jose nevernevernever) for me.

Purrrrvert says:
There is no way ANYTHING will dimish your appeal.

I so love that I can ask him anything. But i love even more how he answers me.

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Pampering Ourselves

It was an unexpected, although extremely welcome, phonecall. His dulcet tones purred comfortingly into my ear.

“My meeting finished early, and I’m about an hour away from you. Can you get out for a short while?”

Could I? Hell, yeah.

It had been the day from hell at work, and I was glad of any break, but one which involved being in close proximity of Purrrrvert was more welcome than any other. It was one of those days when, through cosmic intervention, we had wanted to meet but couldn’t — originally… but now it seemed that Fate and the Parking Karma gods were on our side.

I did the patented Elegant Slut happy dance at my desk, and then turned my attention to the voice on the end of the phone line.

“Fabulous, darling. Call me when you’re downstairs, and i’ll come running.”

Now when i say “run”, I am perhaps somewhat overstating things — after all, when i run i give myself and anyone around me black eyes, but I certainly moved with great vigour and enthusiasm. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in his car and we’re speeding off to a little out-of-the-way place in the middle of the countryside, about five minutes from my office.

This place, let me tell you gentle reader, looked gorgeous but the stuff they served…. holy fuck-me-slowly. They can serve me any and all of it in heaven. Or hell. Wherever I end up, I don’t care if the food is iced or flambe. It’s simply fucking delicious.

We sat, and he took my hand, as we breathed in the surroundings, and the flora (and fauna?) that waved appealingly at us through the windows. Perusing the menu, we discussed this and that (Shibaricon, jazz music, the annoying habits of middle management over perceived peons, new tricks to try next time we were both naked in a room together — that sort of thing). All the time we were both comfortingly aware that this was pamper-us time — unexpected and therefore more precious than any other. Time to be savoured, if not exactly savoury (from a culinary perspective, anyway).

Having decided upon decadent dessert indulgence, he chose an item involving Belgian chocolate and truffles moulded on top of a cinnamon stick, and i ordered a pear tart tatin.

“How is that served?” I asked the very pretty young waiter, as he hovered attentively.

“With a scoop of ice-cream, on the side. Vanilla.”

“Of course. Ice cream — everything that vanilla should be.”

The waiter nodded, and bustled off to fill our orders. Purrrrvert’s eyes met mine, his face a study in restraint.

“I take it you’re going to blog that…?

 “Naturally.”

😀

(Happy birthday Purrrrvert. May there be many fun vanilla and non-vanilla times in our future!)

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Purrrrrrrrrrrrthday blessing

My darling Purrrrrrrvert,

In honour of your birthday, I wrote you a poem (see below).

While my skill at creating poetry does not compare with Pablo Neruda, or Carol Ann Duffy, or Robert Frost or (ha, I wish) the wonderful Thomas Stearns Eliot, or any of the others we have discussed and love so much, it was, at least, written from the heart.

More than this, I cannot do.

Feliz cumpleaños. Ti amore querido,

Su gato de tabby rosado x

Time is an illusion
Lunchtime doubly so
Birthdays come but once a year
And very quickly go
It’s really not so easy
To put into a rhyme
How very much you mean to me
And do it all in time
To show you on your birthday
That very special day
That from within the cosmos
Your soul came here to stay
Such perceived insignificance
Or so some may have said
Brought thundering and mighty fruit
To bear upon my head
I don’t think I can find the words
To say how much I care
To adequately describe here
Your brilliance and your flair
Your wide and varied knowledge bank
Your sparkling blue eyes
Your evil mean and rotten ways
That take me by surprise
And make me grin so broadly
And make you purr with joy
How you can turn me in a snap
From tabby to fucktoy
Your warm and comforting embrace
Your softly dappled skin
That look that comes into your eyes
When I make your head spin
The expert way you tie me and
Restrain me to the bed
The joyous and exultant groan
Whene’er I give you head
How I love to submit to you
Be at your call and beck
How much I love my collar
When fastened round my neck
The feel of leather on my skin
Or whisk or spoon or smurf
I sing a song of love to you
On this day of your birth

(With apologies to Douglas Adams for shamelessly stealing his words as my opening lines. 🙂 )

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Dog complex

Yesterday i attended my very first more-than-three-people-in-a-room gathering-of-perverts.

To say I was nervous beforehand would be an understatement of epic proportions. Not only was I poised to meet a room full of bona fide kinksters, but i was also due to meet for the first time Purrrrrvert’s wife — known to you, gentle reader, as Sub1.

Terrified much? Me? Ha.

In addition, Purrrrrrvert was due to demo the very dangerous and skilled art of fire play. I knew this, although most attendees didn’t prior to the evening, because I’d helped him prepare for the demo by editing and formatting the one-page fact sheet he wanted to hand out.

I’d discussed my discomfort and feelings of unease with him extensively. He had countered my worries about not being approved of, or feeling inadequate, or whatever by kindly and firmly reassuring me that (i) nothing could happen in any way to me, or to him and me as an item without discussion involving at least the two of us, and (ii) wasn’t i forgetting that tiny yet undeniably salient fact that he wanted to be with me and didn’t want to to stop seeing me?

Er… well, yes, I had been. Good point, Purrrrrrvert.

As a result of this discussion, my feelings regarding the meet had been much tempered, and i was less nervous than i had been — only the regular anxiety about walking into a room of people whom not only had i not met before but some of whom i’d had a few heated topic exchanges with on the local BDSM forum, and all of whom belonged to the area of my brain that had been established when i was young with a large glowing neon sign of it that read “Things I Do Not Do” that had only dissipated a couple of years ago.

And I’m 40, people. That was one well-established clump.

Of course, I needn’t have worried. I met a lot of people and talked in depth — and laughed and joked and enjoyed myself with — a large number of them. I felt accepted and not like a freak, which is odd, because deep down i think most of the assembled congregation would happily admit to being freaks.

In the nicest possible way.

I also found that the flow of sub–textual feeling between Sub1, Sub2 and myself was nothing like how I had imagined it would be. It was so cool. It was how I described it in a previous post — that what he and i have together exists between us, in a Beeblebrox-brained sort of way; in no way — somehow — does this intrude upon anything that he has with anyone else. It did not make me feel insecure or threatened or jealous to see him talk intimately with either of the others, because we all exist in synergy and harmony. I know it sounds a bit Salt Lake City’s version of the Hallmark channel to be true, but I ain’t shittin ya, gentle reader. This is, as I have said before, polyamory as it should be.

Purrrrrvert was not the only person to give a demo. Another man demonstrated, very ably, and safely i might add, needle play.

I am not a fan of needle play. In fact, it is listed in my-and-Purrrrvert’s Checklist O’ Kink for me as NN — (never done it, never will). But I’m up for watching someone else demonstrate their skill — I have so much to learn, after all — so i stayed and watched. For a while at least.

Now I know many of you have no idea what i look like, so I will preface my next comment with some contextual description. I’m blonde (naturally, yes they do match, thank you for asking) and very fair. VERY. So fair, in fact, that leg-waxing makes my legs look red and blotchy for days (and hurts like fuck). I’m a tad anaemic also, which means that my face is usually quite pale. Not sickly pale, but certainly not ruddy and “healthy-looking”. Call me an English rose, if you will. It is with this in mind, that i tell you that about two minutes into the needle-play demo i was green as lettuce and my knees were knocking so loudly i was concerned that they might drown out the murmur of the crowd. I tried to get a hold of myself and after a minute of composing my thoughts, rose unsteadily to my feet and walked uncertainly to the drinks table to get a cup of something not artificially sweetened.

Purrrrvert and Sub2 immediately noticed that something was wrong, and made it their business to divert my attention from the demo. The couple demonstrating were helpfully blocking the exit with their demo, and while i could have fled as though the hounds of hell were on my scent, it would have appeared mighty rude. I didn’t know any of these people before tonight, and while public exhibitionism ranks on my Checklist O’ Kink as an NY5 (Never done it but would be more than happy to, given half a chance), public displays of chicken-heart and rudeness are not included in that title. Sub1 told me that her first time seeing needle play, she had had to leave the room, helping me feel much better by doing so.

Other than this, it was an amazing evening. I really enjoyed meeting the new people, and conversing with them and the people I had known before I arrived.

One thing I did notice about the three demos (there was another given by the owner of the place, demonstrating the equipment he builds, and showing how safety is the number one priority not only in the manufacture, but also the use of same) was the way in which they were given. Purrrvert managed to sound authoritative but not patronising, and I say that truthfully if not objectively. However, I noticed a tone in the voice of the other two that was somewhat holier-than-thou, and high-handed. It’s an attitude I’ve noticed quite often with various Dominant types  — both in person, and on sites such as Fetlife. Add to this the fact that every one of these people made a significant point of saying that the most important part of any kinky play session was knowing with whom you were dealing, or to put it another way: knowing before whom you stood.

I found this very interesting, and not a little amusing. Being a Jew, a Jew who was brought up to be a nice Jewish girl (which, as you can tell, worked brilliantly ;)), the one thing i know about a synagogue is that over the Holy Ark are written the words:

Know Before Whom You Stand

God complex much?

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