Archive for the ‘Prying eyes’ Category

When warm embrace
Becomes tight caress
Imprinted, skin on skin
Essential proximity
My face buried in you
As if you were oxygen
The need to clasp
To hold on tight
That abject hunger
Insatiable need
To inhale you
My fill

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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.”

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I twist myself from snuggle pose, (lying curled up into the crook of his arm, his fingers in my hair), to resting my head on his chest.

“I’m trying to say I love you with my eyes.”

“Oh, say it out loud instead.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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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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“I cannot think of a poem to recite. Please, please, please may I come?”

He thrust his fist into me further, as my plaintive mew unfurled weakly into the dusky half-light of the evening.


“Rotten, mean, evil sodding cat!”

“Why, thank you!”

This was on the verge of the eighth orgasm of the session.

Number eight followed hard on the heels of the three previous caterwaul-inducing, knee-tremblers — all of which were great, although the one immediately prior to those three was the one which caused a tsunami-like effect on what Purrrrrvert had originally referred to as “your rainforest of a cunt”.

He had a point. After all, it was hot and very wet.

And every single fucking one of those orgasms was earned. Seriously. He started light: ten words for cat. We progressed through the alphabet backwards and other mindfuckable evil missions, until he came up with the brilliantly cruel idea of reciting a poem backwards.

I flailed — physically and mentally.

“What happens if i don’t do it? I cannot think of a poem to recite.”

His eyes gleamed with an evil glint I’d not actually thought possible from such adorably blue and loving eyes.

“Then, my darling bratty pink tabby cunning linguist, you…. get…. punished.”


“Er…” (very tentatively) “What kind of punishment…?”

A turn of his head, and a small cough. (Incidental? Unclear.)

“You do not wish to know. I can assure you. Bratty is as bratty does, but bratty also pays a price.”

I gulped. And then it hit me. Bratty! Of course! Who else, but Lewis Carroll?

“Because he knows it teases
He only does it to annoy
And beat him when he sneezes
Speak roughly to your little boy”


Through my blindfold I could hear the pleasure in his voice as he benevolently gave me permission to come. I could also feel the enthusiasm in his fist as he sent me over the edge into another quilt-soaking paroxysm of ecstasy.

A few moments of warm relaxation, enfolded in his adoring embrace, jointly catching our breath, and admiring my bound, round breasts, protruding from their brisket perma-tie surrounds. And then the whole thing started again.

As you know, he has made requests of me to write for him in the past, and further drilled-down those requests by specifying the number of words in each piece. Apparently, we’d moved beyond the realm of request-by-remote.

“You want to come, kitty-cat?”

A mute moan, and a whimper as I focused my mind on random traffic junctions in order to take my mind off the fact that I was perilously close to climax, but was not yet permitted to let it rip through my body.

Purrrrrvert has but two rules for me — that I notify him when close to orgasm, and that I do not come without permission. Naturally, I obey them both, although sometimes it really is by the skin of my teeth.

“What must I do this time?” I asked as civilly as I could through gritted teeth.

“Write me a piece of… oo, let me see — twenty-five words.”



Which brought me to this.

“It’s twenty-eight words,” I confessed humbly.

He smiled — again benevolent.

“This time, I’ll let it slide. Call it poetic license.”

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You fasten a leather collar around my neck

And attach to it a leash

Yet I have never felt more owned

Than when your fist is inside me.

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Tomorrow I see him. I’m already wet with anticipation.

He bought a new toy for me.

My first ever personal collar.

I could just purr.

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