Intermittent missings

The NEMRF is a huge catalyst in my day-to-day humdrum existence.

Yes, I have a day-to-day humdrum existence, doesn’t everyone?

Every so often, someone plugs me in and I light up like a Christmas tree. I sparkle — sometimes, I even go as far as to expound a shiny little rain shower. Usually it’s the Big Bad Cat. It’s hard to spend even a minute with him without my glowing from the inside like a Jack O’Lantern.

But other than that, I’m just me.

I do not complain, please do not misunderstand me. Once, years ago, there was no enlightenment. I floated from day to day, week, to week, month to month, year to year. I was not myself, I had lost the essence of me. I was buried and smothered under a sea of mundanity.

And then I rediscovered life.

I found myself through a process of awakening that began over five years ago, that was catalyzed by my falling in love. I have been in love several times since then, and am still in love in certain of these cases. The true love of my life, prior to meeting the Evil Rotten Cat, who is a deeper and no less true love and Cat-of-my Heart, was and remains my love.

This is what they call polyamory, folks. Living and breathing. Loving more than one person.

I speak now of the love I mentioned, the one who came before the Cat. We are barely in touch for a number of reasons, mostly involving his own personal hell, which has effectively straitjacketed him to the extent that we communicate rarely and sporadically. On paper, that is, or rather on screen. We still have a degree of telepathy that is frighteningly effective. He will think of me, and I of him, and then we will find out letters crossing in mid-stream. He traveled to this region last year, not actually to this country, but over the border.

He wrote to me:

“When I stood on the eastern shore of the lake and gazed toward your country last year, I called your name.  Didn’t you hear me?”

I checked my diary. I’d written of him on the day he mentions. He’d been in my head the way he usually is in my heart.

He is older than I, by 17 years. He has experienced life to the full, in both the positive and, unfortunately, most negative sense. He owned my heart as he was the first to fully expose it, to tease it, to provoke it to love harder, deeper, fuller than ever before. He encouraged me and my creativity, he dragged me with him on eternal flights of fancy, he opened my eyes to real erotica and all that lay beyond.

He wrote to me:

“I miss you more than you can possibly comprehend.”

Really? He’d be surprised at how much I can.

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Release and Relief

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.

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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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