Archive for the ‘adventure’ Category

I find that I am never able to entirely lose myself in a moment. To the extent of about 90-95% percent, my mind is floating in the air, moored down only by a firm and reassuring arm. But that rogue 5-10% of my brain is racing, creating a potential future piece of writing in my head.

[One could assume that any erotic experience I had was merely fodder for my writing portfolio. Well, you know what they say about assuming. This is not the case, although a lawyer could likely argue the fuck out of such a presumption.]

My erotic experiences, once a veritable festival of carnal experimentation, are now carefully selected. For me, it’s about the meeting of minds. A chemistry rare, delicate and intricate, that, once established, promises to strew the path ahead with surprises and perspicacity. But there is no predictive map or legend for this path. It’s all pretty much a crapshoot.


I stood, facing the window, head pulled back by my hair, and a comforting, warm arm secured around my upper torso, as if anchoring me to the ground. Tiny, almost imperceptible butterfly kisses were planted all over me, and suddenly, unexpectedly, I felt myself all but take flight.

Understand something very significant. A gentle touch is not what usually turns my knees to butter. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that the feeling of tiny butterfly kisses is something I don’t even usually notice. And yet there I was, headed for the ceiling head first, as if I were filled with helium. (Ethereally speaking, of course.)

In my head, while 95% of the little man in my head was committed to the mental floatage, 5% of him was fiercely writing notes on “I never fully understood the meaning of the word “sensuous” before”. It’s true. Today I learned the real meaning of the word.

The invited touch of another’s hand on your skin is usually a good feeling. I speak of something that far transcends this. The sensuous feeling of his lips on my skin transported me to some far-off plain — and the only way I can explain it is that it was chemistry: the who (him) far more than the what (tiny, gentle butterfly kisses, cloaking me in gossamer as I flew).

His hand on my shoulder made me shiver. His arm around me suffused me with a delight I’d not felt in a while. And through all this — the kissing continued. And higher and further I flew, the feeling continuing to soar within me, the slightest touch sending ripples of ecstasy through my nervous system.

Was this how, or why, he managed to elicit ejaculatory orgasms from me almost non-stop? My still-wobbly knees are testimony to how thoroughly I irrigated the surface beneath me time and time again.

Was this why, as I sat enfolded into a tetrahedral bear hug, his body still entwined around mine, panting for breath and coming back down to earth, that I felt so comfortable and safe?  Was it why I could have stayed there until now?

Was this how he felt too?  Was my touch — be it from my hand or from my lips — sensuous to him in an equable manner? I so delighted in hearing his moans of pleasure; it enhanced my own pleasure tenfold, so I did my best to elicit as many as I could.

Was this why, each time I looked into his eyes, he was always looking into mine? Whenever I looked away, I felt him watching me, waiting patiently until I met his gaze once more– and each time I looked back, he smiled softly and I instantly understood what his smile was saying.

It would certainly seem that way.

There is sensuality, and there is that which is sensuous. I’ve now had the difference between the two proven to me without a doubt.

Everyone should be so lucky.

Read Full Post »

Suzanne Portnoy recently acquired a Kindle and rather fell in love with the format. She’s asked a few of her favorite sex bloggers to contribute to a new erotic magazine she edits, available on only by subscription on Kindle. I’m among the contributors, who include some really fine smutmongers. Here are the details:

SexBlogyssey is a Kindle-only compilation of the best erotic blogging, bringing together smart, smutty writing from both sides of the Atlantic. Our contributors write about real experiences and their real lives, with a little fantasy/fiction thrown into the mix. We regularly publish new material, drawing on both new writing and the archives of our contributing bloggers.

SexBlogyssey was created by Suzanne Portnoy, author of a popular but now-retired blog describing her double life as a middle-aged single mother and entertainment publicist with a lively swinging lifestyle on the side. Other contributors include Jefferson, Bad Influence Girl, Joanne Cake, Todger Talk, Kitty Stryker, Mon Mouth, Elegant Slut, among others.

You can purchase a subscription here.

Read Full Post »

I see him today.

The time between meetings seems to drag and fly by alternately — depending on my mood, the quantity of work I have to do, and how the world immediately around me is spinning at any particular moment.

I try to update here with the sparkles of joy that emanate from me after we meet, but I am sometimes somewhat tardy. Know, however, that I leave his embrace only to walk on air. Sub-space has nothing on how I feel. There are not enough words of a sufficient calibre to describe it — and I speak as one to whom words are bread and meat, blood and air, sustenance and breath.

The excitement of the build-up begins to increase exponentially around noon. Four hours until… three hours until… Idly i flip through the pages on the site looking for something to catch my attention and refocus myself. I work listlessly, or on occasion frantically — determined to leave the rest of my life nehind me so that my whole being is focused on him, on he and I… on us.

From the moment the door closes, and it is just us in the room, I’m in a different place altogether. Despite my external, bouncy and excited demeanour, I am solemn and focused on the inside. It’s time for that thing, that ritual ceremony to happen.

I take this ritual very seriously. It heralds the start of every session, and for me, it’s like passing through a mental gateway. I remove my clothing, and then kneel before him, naked and shyly smiling. He fastens my collar around my neck, and holds me close to him, breathing in my smell as I breathe in his. When we are apart, he misses me too, a lot. I am constantly gratified and touched by how he never fails to demonstrate this to me, physically, vocally and mentally. He enquires how I am, and I know that he means now, this second, with my every sense engulfed in the very essence of him, knowing how different it is from the day-to-day, and delighting in my enjoyment of my submission.

And this is how it starts, and how this piece ends.

I quote the late great Jim Morrison:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the ceremony is about to begin.”

Read Full Post »

Update! Fleshbotted by the lovely Always Aroused Girl, who, I daresay, was kept aroused by tales of my squirtage and so forth. Heh. Thanks babe!

Much of my time spent in the company of the Big Bad Feline is intense and wonderful. Well, all of the time spent with him is wonderful, but it’s the intensity upon which I wish to focus today.

He brings me release and relief. Not just when re-energising the Elegant Slut within, but also as a matter of course.

Here’s a great example:

The other day was a reunion, and consequent celebration, since i’d been away with the small people for a couple of weeks, sans feline.  It had been very tough to lock the elegantly slutty part of me away for a whole three weeks and concentrate on being “Mommy”, but I managed to do so, little realising quite how much it affected me. Until, when I came for the first time on that day, I burst into tears. The release, the very felineness of him, the love, affection, lust and passion that he showered upon me, and just being with him caused me to bawl like a baby, while simultaneously shuddering to a magnificent climax.

He has made a great impact upon me, what can I tell you? And I wouldn’t have it any other way.


I call him a couple of hours ahead of schedule, on a day when we had planned to meet anyway, and  inform him that I feel the need to push a limit.

“I feel the need for intensity. I need a release of some sort, and I’m pretty damn amazed that I can even recognise and articulate that, never mind that I have a legitimate and flexible outlet in which to do so. Will you help me? Does that fit with your evil, mean and rotten feline plans for the day?”

There is a thoughtful pause on the other end of the phone, and then a question.

“Intensity, hmm? I’m surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre I can think of something that will help you. Would you be willing to improvise with me according to whatever roleplay i come up with?”

I nod, and then, realizing that a nod is not audible, affirm this verbally.

“So, it’s OK with you?”

No answer, save an evil feline snigger, and a low, ominous purr. (I love when he gets ominous.)

Fast forward to later that day. As always, I have stripped to his command, and then lovingly and carefully removed his clothing, and we are naked and facing each other. After the usual preliminaries, and an extra hug or two, just because he wants them, he grabs me by the hair, and twists my face to look at him.

“You have been abducted by the Big Bad Cat from the Great Ship Feline. You are my captive.”

Our eyes met, and I smile widely.

“I’m your captive? OK. So you’re my captor.”

“That is correct.”

My love of wordplay gets the better of me. Captive? Captor? An abductee of an evil, mean and rotten feline? Surely it would better read a “Cat-piv” taken by a “Cat-por”, or, to stretch the rules of spelling completely, “Catpaw”. I mention as much to the man holding me by my hair, looking deep into his crystal-blue eyes, and am rewarded by the twinkling smile that makes my senses tingle.

“OK, then Catpiv — get on the bed. On all fours.”

Fastening leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles, he secures me to the bed with canvas tapes.

“We alien Felines need to probe you for information,” he purrs, sliding his fingers into me. I gasp — usually he’ll start with two or three and work his way up through four to a whole fist. Today, there are four fingers curling into me and i can feel his thumb exerting exquisite pressure on the nubbin of skin covering my clit, moving it gently up and down but not actually indulging me by stroking the clit itself in any way.

The pleasure factor is immense, and it’s so early on in the game! I asked for intense, and intense is what I’m getting.

Once he has worked my cunt into a bubbling frenzy, loosening and relaxing the muscles enough, he slides his fist into me, and begins to pound my G-spot. I gasp, and cry out, and it only increases his efforts. Leaning over me, he reaches underneath and pinches a nipple until the pain crackles through me from stem to… well, clit, and then I feel him nibble on my ear. I gush, hearing the splatter onto the quilt, amazing myself at the quantity — I sound like I’ve let loose the fucking Hoover dam!

I struggle to maintain my all-fours position, as his weight is entirely on me. He senses this and removes himself, only to untie two of the four restraints and flip me over, so he can access my soft, white, under-side with greater ease.

And then he really goes to town.

I lose myself. Initially, I lose my first two or three layers of reality, and slip into a subspacial haze of happy bliss. He flogs me, not so much harder than before, but more. Just more. Then the subspace engulfs me and I float away, aware of all that is occurring, and yet detached in the best kind of way.

He beats my lily-white (though fast reddening) ass with a bendy cane, real cane, not bamboo, and then applies lavender oil and caressing strokes to ease the effects. He holds me tight, and kisses me, and generally plays an appasionata furioso, using me as though my body were a Stradivarius violin, and he were Yehudi Menuhin.

Lovingly he leads me over to the bed, and gently rubs the tender spots. Then, with no time to even think he snaps me out of my subspace, and orders me to bend over.

“Like this?” I ask, feet on the floor, hands down on the bed.

“Almost. Spread those legs further. Yes. Wider… yes.”

I feel the ice-cold glass slide into me before i register what it is. My glass friend, the handmade glass dildo… and he’s frozen it, god bless his evil cattish heart. I never stand much of a chance around my glass friend. Three or four thrusts into me and I’m moaning, a further couple (pound, pound) and I wail as though I’m a banshee, and the girl-juice (“cunt-juice” as he likes to call it) hits the floor with an immensely splashy clatter.

A pause for effect, as the thrusting slows, then stops, and he hugs me from behind.

“I’ve wet the floor,” I murmur.

He smiles, and the blue eyes twinkle at me

“Yes, but at least that means that there will be a dry spot for us to lie on, on the bed.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes. Time to indulge in the Cat-por’s favourite ritual. The post-coital cuddle.”

Intensity doesn’t get any better than this.

Read Full Post »

Update! Top-picked for Sugasm 166… thanks y’all…

“I’m going with the flow, as you suggested.”

“I can see that.”

“How am I doing, so far? I do feel like less of a newbie, I have to say.”

“Well, you’re bending over a desk, with your gorgeous juicy ass exposed, and I’m poised with my cane. I’d say you were doing pretty darn good.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“That’s enough talking. Spread those thighs!”


I inch my feet apart ever more until i can feel the breeze from the swish of his cape on my engorged labia. I feel him draw closer, until his breath is warm on my ear, and i feel his hand rest lightly on my thigh.

“That’s nice, girl. Now, you do remember which part of your body the thighs are?”

“Yes, Sir. ”

“Now you will name each part of your anatomy that my finger touches. Any mistakes will result in punishment.

“Yes, Sir.”

His finger glides up the inner side of my left thigh.

“Inner thigh, upper leg, Sir.”


The finger continues its path, sliding up to my left ass cheek, and pausing. I shiver involuntarily with delight and receive a lazy if stinging slap across the right side of my ass, from his other hand.

“Buttock, posterior, gluteus maximus, ass. Sir.”

“Which side of the buttock, girl?”

“The left, Sir.”


His fingers move up my spine — it’s not a probe, but i do feel as if they are scanning the flesh they touch, for quivers, tantalizing the nerve endings that are almost on fire with anticipation.

“Er, ass,  left hip… back, Sir.”

“Hip? Ass? Is your ass in the middle of your lower back, girl?”

“Well, no Sir, but you said to say the areas you touched, so I was speaking progressively, Sir…”

Crack! The cane hits the desk with a whistle, and I feel the vibrations on my skin.

“Write down one point, girl. And make sure you keep the score right.”

“Yes, Sir.”

His fingers touch my spine, stroking the skin above L3 and L4.

“So – what part of your anatomy is this, girl?!”

“My back, Sir.”

“And which part of your back is that, girl?”

“The middle, Sir.”

“I am disappointed, girl. That is your spinal cord. This is L4.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m so sorry, Sir.”

He presses down gently but firmly on L4, and I yelp “Bad pain! Bad Pain! Red!”, so he stops.

He always has my safety as his highest priority, even when deeply entrenched in roleplay. It’s why I love him. One of the reasons, anyway. He kisses my head and checks I’m alright, and we snap back into the scene.

His roaming finger now glides between my ass cheeks, over, between, stroking incessantly, eliciting sighs of ecstasy from my lips, and almost causing me to forget where I am, and what we’re doing.

“I’m waiting. Name the part of the anatomy I’m touching!”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. I just got carried away, Sir.”

“ETA on the anatomical naming, girl? You’re making me angry — do you want me to punish you?”

I struggle with every fiber in every nerve end to not scream “Yes! Yes! Cane me! Flog me! Beat me until I weep for mercy! Send me flying into subspace! Fuck me until I scream the names of every Jazz musician from here to Cuba!”

Resistance is not easy.

“Ahem, er… I’m sorry, Sir, i don’t know what that’s called other than ass crack. (Is it bad that it feels so good? Am I bad?)”

“Are these questions related to anatomy?”

“No Sir. I’m sorry Sir.”

I hear him suppress a giggle, as his hand dips in between my thighs, and pinches a handful of my flesh. I say nothing. I love when he touches me that way.

“We shall continue.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Are you wriggling onto the corner of that desk, girl?”

“Um… well, yes, Sir, a little bit. I cannot lie to you, Sir.”

He is loving the effect that this is having on me. He knows how desperately and deeply aroused I am. It’s a huge part of the appeal, bringing me to the point of no return, controlling me in this way. And I cannot lie — it’s entirely mutual.

“Stand still. Stay, girl!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I cannot believe my eyes! Are you actually still wriggling and jiggling after I said stay?!!”

“No, Sir. Well, not much, Sir.”

“So, do you have any explanation for the flushed cheeks, or perspiring brow?”

“Yes sir, but it is nothing to do with anatomy.”

He leans over me, his face so close that i can think —  dream — hope of him (finally!) kissing me. His voice murmurs quietly yet insistently, with his lips so soft and close to my cheek that they kiss it as they move, although it isn’t what I think of as kissing.

“Let’s hear it, girl. What is it, exactly, that has you trembling and jiggling, unable to remain still, despite my instructions — a flagrant infraction for which you know you will be punished. Tell me, little miss… tell me what it is.”

“Ahem. Well, Sir, it’s… um… well, it’s you, Sir. You’re making me feel so… hmmmmm… and…”


“And the corner of the desk is the absolutely level with my clitoris, Sir, and it’s pressing on it, and it’s not helping, and…”

“Be clear. Is it me or the corner of this wooden table?”

Despite myself, I blush.

“The table started it but you increased it tenfold, sir… and i was only pushed into the table because that’s how you told me to stand… Sir.”

“And then?”

“I was a bad girl, and i wriggled, Sir.”

“And are you continuing to wriggle, girl?”

“Only if you tell me to, Sir.”

“And do you want to, girl?”

But as he says this he stops his constant stroking of my skin, and swoops his hand between my legs, holding me in place while two fingers pinch my clit.

I am so aroused i can barely speak.

“Y-yes, S-sir. I ca-cannot lie to y-you.”

“Why are you stammering, girl?”

“Er… i-it’s y-you, S-sir… how you’re t-t-touching me.”

He intensifies his efforts, bent over me, pinning my chest to the desk, although somehow his other hand has managed to locate my mushed nipple and is pinching it. I see the cane lying next to my face, and I understand how his dexterity has been afforded.

With a final tweak of my nipple that sends electric shockwaves to my pinched clit, a mini-orgasm bursts out of me, before I can stop myself. He drops my clit as though it were red-hot, and draws himself up to his fullest height beside me.

“Do my ears and eyes deceive me? Did you just commit the ultimate sin of coming without my permission?”

Once again, I’m close to tears. I’m still incredibly aroused, but fearful of what he may use to punish me.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I couldn’t help it.” I mumble into the desk.

With relief I hear a catch in his tone, that indicates that he will forgive this one-time transgression.

“Such bawdy, randy, slutty behavior requires a fitting punishment.”

He lifts my skirt and begins to spank me with one hand, and cane me with the other, simultaneously, and on alternating butt cheeks. I can feel my ass redden, and I spiral toward another orgasm.

“What are you?”

“I’m a bawdy, randy, filthy slut, Sir. And I’m very close to coming.”

He suddenly stops the alternating caning/spanking, and crouches down beside me.

“You’re a very good girl. You’re a slut, but you’re my slut. Give me your cunt.”

I turn toward him, and lift the front of my skirt. Once again, his hand swoops between my legs, but only to bring my pelvic region close to his face. With a sudden smack-grab of my ass, he brings my cunt to his face, and sniffs appreciatively, before flicking his tongue between my labia, then biting and sucking my clit. My knees are wobbly, and i grab the corner of the desk for support, not realizing how slick it has become in the time i was grinding onto it in frantic arousal. I maintain my upright pose — just.

He stands, bends me over the desk again, and spreads my thighs. I feel his cock nudge at my labia from behind, and then slide smoothly into me. I gasp.

“You’re close to coming?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Not without permission though!”

“No, Sir. Never without permission, Sir.”

Pump. Thrust. A tug of my hair, followed by another. Spanking me — a more intense administering than ever before, and I love it. Into my ear he whispers all the names he has for me, what a dirty girl I am, what a good naughty little schoolgirl, how he loves me, how he loves fucking me, how my cunt feels so good surrounding him, how horny I make him, how I should be punished even more for that (thwack! smack! thwack!).

“Oh god, Sir… please…!”

“Please what, girl?”

“P-please Sir, may I come, Sir?”

“You may.”

I let forth a scream of release as my insides clench and unclench to that unmistakable juddering rhythm. I feel a steady trickle of wet down the inside of my thigh, and a faint splash as it hits the floor. Without missing a beat, he continues to fuck me, hard, fast and expertly.

“Did you piss yourself, girl?”

“No, Sir.” (Pant, pant) “I came, Sir. You made me gush, Sir.”

“Good girl. Naughty little slut. Well done.”

His fucking becomes more urgent, and the streams of words come in a lower, thicker tone until he hums his final “ohhhhh” in my ear, and holds onto me hard. For a moment, there is no roleplay, no professor or schoolgirl, just Purrrrvert and I, breathless and spent, clutching onto each other for dear life because there is simply nothing else for us to do. Naturally, he is the first of us to recover.

“I believe you need to do some cleanup here, girl!”

“Yes, Sir. Should i get on my knees, sir?”

“That would be very proper, girl.”

As I sink to my knees, and take his still hard cock in my mouth, I catch his eye. It is once again Purrrrvert who looks back at me, with his disarmingly beautiful blue sparkle, and I know that I have pleased him in real life as well as the scene. It’s mutual — my need to submit and please my Dom is inherent in my own enjoyment, and arousal.


“So, how was it for you?”

“What, it’s cliche time? You’re shitting me.”

“Seriously, how was it? Did you enjoy being my naughty schoolgirl.”

“I loved it. But then, I tend to love everything we do together.”

“Excellent! Onwards we progress down the list of “I said I wouldn’t but I’ll try them with you”. Next time — ice and fire play!”

Read Full Post »

I ended the previous section of this post at a point which I hoped sounded suitably dramatic and cliff-hanger-y.

Because, you know, I’m all about the evil. Well, no, actually, i ended the post in the middle, thereby forcing myself to write a part two, because i felt it was getting a little long.

Anyway, as I was saying: the wait began. Part of it was utterly unbearable. I am not the world’s most patient person at the best of times, those who know me well can attest to this. The anxious child within me refuses to be quashed, and continues to dominate my knee-jerk reactions to pretty much everything in my life, although she can be subdued most of the time.

But waiting is tough on her. And me.

What concerned me more than anything was how Sub 2 would react. More to the point, how the suggestion would make her feel. I asked Purrrrvert how he would broach the subject — since no meant an absolute and final no, I wanted to know how the odds were to be stacked against me from the outset.

“I plan to say to her: Look, this is how I feel, and what I would like to do. How do you feel about that?”

Fair enough, I thought. It’s not paving the way for her to say no, and it is presenting the situation accurately.

It still didn’t help much. I was still stressed and and now having to face the demons i’d been squashing mentally up until now.

Each time i meet someone new, I subconsciously hold back emotionally until I know the form the connection will take. Sounds fairly normal, right? I’m guessing that i’m not alone in that. I will say to myself — literally, sometimes — on the non-receipt of a phone call, or email, or sms that hadn’t been promised but had been hinted at, or alluded to: ‘It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. No promise made is none broken. No emotional investment means I won’t be hurt; I can’t be hurt. ‘ (Ha.)

However, this was now a different situation. Now I was at the mercy of not the man I was hoping to begin an as-yet unspecified and not-really-defined relationship with — unless you count BDSM as specific enough a definition — but the two other women who knowingly shared his life. And my women friend readers will bear me out on this — we all know that women, while capable of immense compassion, care and gentle sincerity are also capable of evil passive aggression, defensive behaviour and subtle dismissive yet effective annihilation of anyone encroaching on their turf. Right? (Misogynists who comment offensively on this point will be bitchslapped, consider yourself warned.)

I was accustomed to an ostensibly monogamous and vanilla lifestyle. This was my first experience of real live polyamory, as I detailed in Part One. My expectations were wildly inaccurate for the setting in which i found myself, although I believe i can be forgiven since i was completely new to said setting; moreover that the “polyamorous” relationships i’d been privy to up to this point had all been of a secretive and underhand nature, where no one involved other than the central figure had known who or what was up with (or just plain up) who.

Now I found myself overwhelmed by the hitherto suppressed emotions and the feeling that I had never wanted anything so goddamn badly in my entire life; which, coupled with utter frustration, powerlessness and helplessness did not make for a calm and rational state of mind. I was entirely at the whim of another person. Another woman, to be specific. Another woman whom I’d met and gotten to know prior to meeting her Dom and getting to know him. I was concerned she’d see the almost-if-not-quite-actualized development of a relationship between he and I as a threat, as a deception, as an attack, basically. It had not been intended in that way at all… it had been he who began, he who introduced flirting to the mix of intellectual discussion and daft humour, and it had been he who had said “Sapphire, I would really like to get to know you better”.

But I know women. They will always blame the other woman, regardless of the facts, and rationale behind the situation. Hands up those of you reading who have experienced this? Yeah, thought so.

I was judging the situation (note: i do not judge people) on how I perceived the situation, and this too worried me. It seemed to be spotlighting horrible tendencies in me — if, hypothetically, my kneejerk reaction were someone else to want my partner (and I speak here on a philosophical level, lest you forget) would be to kick her to the curb but quick, involving one hell of an ass-whuppin’  and the threat of possible banishment by means of various anti-aircraft missiles.

And this reaction in and of itself stopped me in my tracks. Since i try to live according to the maxim “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”, i then took a step back. Why should my kneejerk reaction to sharing a polyamorous partner be so possessive, jealous, violent and generally unpleasant? Why, bearing in mind that monogamy and I have not been friends for many years now, would i not be able to grant the same freedom to a partner that i would want granted me? Purrrrrvert himself had made it clear that he did not expect me to be exclusive to him, and while i currently had no plans or extant connection with any other, the empowerment itself was enough to allow me to breathe.

Breathing is everything.

Come the day of reckoning — the Thursday night that Purrrrvert usually spends with Sub2. I spent the day in a state of unconscious breathlessness, managing to remain mostly calm during the day, but in the evening locking myself in the bathroom and wildly hyperventilating into a plastic duck.

I went to check my email sometime after aforementioned plastic duck incident, and I found a message to me from Sub2, which read as follows:

Hi Sapphire,

I just wanted to tell you that Purrrrvert talked to me today about your meeting. He was surprised to know that it was not a suprise to me. i know him i think more than he thought 🙂 i knew from our first conversation that you were his type :-).

I just wanted to tell you that as far as I am concerned, it is not for me to have an opinion regarding who he plays with. so i hope you have great time together, have fun.

Take care,

I wrote back to her immediately, infused with a mixture of happiness, gratitude, relief and excitement.

Dear Sub2,

Thank you very very much for writing to me. I was really touched by your sweet message.

I don’t know if Purrrvert mentioned, but when he first broached the subject with me, my first thought was how you would feel about it, and how in no way would I ever want you to feel hurt by anything I did — and I told him so. Of course, he replied that without discussing such a thing with you and Sub1, under no circumstances would anything happen — which was a huge relief to me.

I confess; as a result of previous first- and second-hand experience, i did worry a little… however, I clearly underestimated you — big time. I apologize sincerely for comparing you with lesser people who behave with (a lot) less maturity, and grace.

I don’t need to say anything to you about your relationship with Purrrvert: for one thing, it’s neither my business nor my territory, and for another — what i could possibly tell you that you didn’t already know could be written on the head of a pin. What i can tell you is that i think you are a very lucky woman — not just because Purrrrvert is your master, but because of who you are inside: you are intelligent, very talented, mature and you have a very good heart.

I’m honoured to know you, and i hope you still consider me a friend — and will allow me to get to know you better over time.

Warm hugs,
Sapphire x

Almost immediately I finished writing, Purrvert popped up in my chat window, with his customary purr.

“I heard from Sub2,” I told him, all the while conscious of the over-tightly wound spring in my chest uncoiling, and the breath I had held for so many hours finally being allowed to escape and re-oxygenate my blood, and proceeded to tell him about her letter to me, and then I showed him what I’d written back to her.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

“Relief. I’m exhaling. And I literally cannot stop smiling.”

He sent a smiley “cool” face (with shades). “I’m so glad. Now we tackle the next hurdle. But this one we do together.”

And this, to me, said it all.

This is how polyamory works. Honesty is everything.

Read Full Post »

“You will write to me, won’t you?” he says, as he turns to me just before we part company.
“Er, like.. duh. ” I reply, somewhat inelegantly, belying my self-imposed titular comportment.
“No, what I mean is, i want you to write something specific.”
I raise a curious eyebrow, and gesture that he should elaborate.
“I want to know what made you think “Oooh, yes, more of this, more, more!” and what made you think “No, no, stop, no, don’t do that again.”
Again with the single curious eyebrow. “Was it not obvious?”
“Mostly, but i want you to be specific. There was a wealth of toys and playthings involved — which were better for you and which less so?”
Toys and playthings. I’ll say. I was the biggest of the playthings, even he would be the first to admit this. But it would be less an admission — implying confessional or sinful revelation; more a proud declamation. He is a self-confessed feline, and as such likes to have things to play with.
Playthings. Yes. That would be me.
It’s the sports bag i notice first. It is, frankly, huge, and is also a surprising colour.
“You said it was your big black bag of tricks! That’s not black, that’s khaki!”
“That’s one way to know if someone has met me — ask them what the colour of my big black bag is…!”
Out of said bag come a number of hiking pouches, each filled with a wide variety of implements of torture and pleasure, depending on your viewpoint from where you sit on the kink-o-meter. To say I was speechless is understating it to a huge effect. My eyes were like saucers, and my jaw hung open. Not so much at the level of evility and kink arrayed before me, but at the quantity. The best i could manage was a feeble “Fu-u-uck.”
He then took out a large halloween party carrier, shaped like a cat, naturellement — rawrrrr…. and told me to select what i wanted to play with today, and to put the items in there.
The items began to be shown to me, in order of how they’d fallen out of the sports bag. There were beaters, floggers, scrapers, strokers, pinchers, restraints and a remarkably wide variety of pervertibles. I recognised a large fish slice, and a silicon oven-glove in the shape of a dog from a bag containing kitchen-inspired instruments of kink — and then i saw something that looked mighty familiar.
“Hey, I have that very spatula! Except, of course, i actually use it when i cook.”
He looked me straight in the eye, almost snorting in an effort to restrain the bubbling mirth.
“You pervert.”
I laughed as hard as he did, and gasped. “I’m *so* blogging that.”
It took a lot longer than I’d anticipated* to set things up, but eventually i found myself lying on the bed, arms akimbo and restrained, one to the side and one to my ankle, using two types of leather wrist cuffs (one fur-lined intended for suspension use; very pretty and tactile), and legs — naturally — apart.
I must just take a moment to explain something here. Such a position is one that a person would only ever find themselves in consensually. It’s very easy to feel exposed and vulnerable. I was lucky enough to feel neither — only warmth and love. It didn’t matter what he did — if it would please him, it would make me happy. Plus, as his plaything, his big interest was in experiencing my reaction — that was a big part of what turned him on. The consent was almost tangible, the feelings were intense, and we both glowed — I could almost see it.
He straddled me, looking down at my smiling face, and restrained naked body, and ran his hand along my skin, before bending to kiss me.
“Do you want me to blindfold you?”
A mute nod, and 30 seconds later, and the most effective blindfold covered my eyes. “Another hiking pervertible — it’s a head band — warm on the peaks, and the most thorough blindfold I’ve found to date. It knocks the eye-covers that you get on an airplane, into a cocked hat.”
Indeed it does.
I lay there feeling like the most pampered submissive on the planet. I couldn’t move, and i was very aware that i was to abide by the rules, if i did not wish to be punished — said rules being a. not to come without permission, and b. to inform him if i were close to coming. But i like the feeling of being restrained. I enjoy the taut pull of rope on the ring of my cuff, and the feel of his fist entwined in my hair as we kiss, holding my head where it suits him.
I have said to him, several times, “It’s this feeling I get when you pull my hair — that’s how I know I’m a pervert. Whenever i worry that i’m dabbling, or I’m really vanilla and i wonder who the fuck am I kidding, — that’s when i remember the joy of  feeling of utter submissive helplessness, and dependence on the will of another — and how it speaks directly to my soul. And I know — I’m a kinkster at heart.”
Our time that day was short to begin with, and it flew by so quickly that i half-felt as though I’d dreamed it. I could write all about the thundering g-spot and gushy orgasms, not to mention the joy of combined lovemaking-fucking that I haven’t experienced in so long… it makes such a difference when you care about your Dom. Even more so when the feeling is mutually deep and intense — as it is, or so he tells me. (Meow.)
The dreamy quality of the afternoon was enhanced by my sensory deprivation, but no less than by the warm, dominant feline-like man who took care of me so well. It is to him i purr and dedicate this piece, knowing that it is only the first of many.
One more thing — in answer to your* question, YES to everything, and more, more, more. 🙂

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
  — William Blake

 *Yeah, I see you shiver. And yeah, I know who you are. Angel. Rawrr.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »