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Posts Tagged ‘slut’

(That title sounds like a punctuation challenge — something like “eats, shoots and leaves” — don’t you think, gentle reader?)

Ahem.

Yesterday I attended my first play party.

Yes, my first. Forty fucking years old and while unarguably more than adequately experienced in the delights and possibilities of the varied and more notably BDSM-oriented ways of the bedroom, I’d never done it elsewhere.

I mean, I have been to a munch or two, and have even organised a couple. I went to an informal demonstration meeting where I saw some brave girl be set on fire by a certain mean and rotten feline.* 🙂

But never a play party.

I mean, this was *officially* a birthday party. My friend N organised a surprise 40th birthday party for her master. We became friends online, N and I, and only met in person recently, and I’d not seen her with her guy. And how sweet it was to do so — the love they have for each other is mutual and almost tangible in its intensity. It was a wonderful sight to behold, and i felt honoured to share the event with them.

There was, of course, another dimension to all this.

N had asked Purrrrvert if he would help break the ice a bit. Parties have this habit of being people standing around in clumps, mournfully nursing a solitary beer while discussing something mundane with the same people with whom they always stand. Purrrrvert, being the highly scene-experienced evil mean and rotten cat that he is, offered N a demo to get the party going. On me. Breast bondage. Le swoon!

Me and my boobs go back a long way. Almost as far as I can hoist them over my shoulder, in fact — heh. I’m big — between 38-40 DD/E. (Stop swooning, breast lovers, there’s more. And no, I am not posting pictures.) But from a sexual perspective, beyond having the ability to stop a person in their tracks and leave them drooling and wild-eyed, they never did anything for me. Gentle caresses, loving kisses — meh. Until someone pinched my nipple, and I leapt four feet into the air in ecstasy.

It was my first official milestone on the long road to recognition that — yes, I am a pervert. 😎

Back to the point. I stood in front of a bunch of people — they all lounged around on sofas and easy chairs, while i stood in the spot directly beneath the air conditioner (because I am a Pink Tabby and I can), and Purrrrvert wound a gloriously blue colored rope around, over and under the girls — and I incrementally zoomed higher and higher into sub-space.

I didn’t lose consciousness, or even self-consciousness — being an attention whore (AKA former Drama student, currentsinger, drama/comedy writer and director), willingly standing up in public and being looked at by people is just one of my raisons  d’etre. My sluttishness does extend to matters beyond the carnal; intelligence and intellectuality get me wet, for example, and humour makes me swoon. But yeah, I’m an attention slut. Hell yeah.

However, the attention to my half-naked person raised some initial self-conscious feelings even with me, and I found myself staring at a fixed point on the ceiling, not quite able to look my audience members in the eye(s). But I was smiling my head off, laughing with various people watching, and talking to N, who was over in the corner with her beloved master. He  was flogging her mercilessly with a fabulous new flogger she’d had made for him as a birthday present — it was adorable to watch the dynamic of  “Ow! Shit! That fucking hurt! OK, do it to me again”, (or to put it in cinematic terms, “Thank you Sir, may I have another?”) that went on between them.

But I was definitely in space. In fact, with each twist and kink in the rope, I soared higher and higher. He wound a bikini-like pattern around me, and it felt… fantastic. I love how he binds me — and he loves doing so. It’s a match made in heaven.

And when I’m with him, I always  feel safe and secure and loved and adored. This was no exception — I was undergoing bondage, in the company of friends, and I was very, very happy. Gradually the self-consciousness faded, and I became acutely aware of how natural I felt to be standing there, with this blue karada bikini around my chestage, laughing and talking with people.

Once he was done, and i’d elicited some enthusiastic applause for the paw-work of the Purrrrvert, an older woman came up to us, and greeted Purrrrvert enthusiastically — way back when, he had taught her certain bondage skills, and she wanted to show him how she’d improved. Purrrrvert turned to me.

“Would you be OK if someone else had a go at binding you? She wants to show me a technique she perfected — but only if it’s OK with you, dear.”

I agreed happily.  Actually, I was so ecstatic at that point that I’d quite possibly have agreed to being branded with a fire-iron at that point — but that’s the joy of Purrrrvert and a big part of why I love him so deeply. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me, ever. Had someone advanced on me with a big fire-branding iron shaped like a penguin, knowing my penchant for the waddling little Antarctic dwellers, Purrrvert would have been there to stop me making an addle-brained decision.

She partially unwound me, and then did this thing where she individually wrapped each boob with a length of rope, and then yanked them hard using the rope as a pulley mechanism, causing the girls to be pulled round, taut and closer together. A bit like a rope equivalent of the Wonderbra.

But that did it for me. I took off — mentally — and as a result am only dimly aware of the memory of Purrrrvert unwinding me, turning me round and around like a chicken on a spit,  then gently helping me replace my blouse over my unfettered cleavage, and sitting me down in a warm embrace, where I stayed, snuggled into his shoulder until my senses were somewhat restored to normal.

It was amazing. The whole experience. I’ve never felt so alive… so myself.

I love you, angel. Thank you so much.

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

*Fireplay is a risk accepted consensual kink, but should never be performed recklessly or without due regard to safety, sanity and — if it needs to even be said — consent. The point of that demo was to show how fireplay should be done, and what to consider, what instruments and material to use, and how to avoid pain, scarring and — heaven forbid — 1st, 2nd or 3rd degree burns, and it was very informative. (Catch me doing that — as if!)

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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.”

“Good.”

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.”

“Good.”

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?”

“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!”

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“What am I wearing?”

“Short pleated skirt, leaving nothing to the imagination, white blouse, fetchingly undone so that I can see your delightful cleavage, with lacy bra underneath — black, to enhance your true slutty nature. And a tie. It’s not your collar, but it will do for now.”

“And you, what are you wearing?”

“Cap and gown, of course. And holding a cane.”

“I hope I don’t get this wrong. Age play is an unopened book to me.

“Langsam, darling. Go with the flow. “

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

Today, I am a schoolgirl, and he is my professor. I am a good girl, always a good girl. I want to impress my professor and make him happy. And then, if I’m lucky, he’ll punish me by throwing me over the table and doing me until my eyes spin.

It’s bad, it’s taboo and it’s wrong. Which makes it doubly hot.

I’m a good girl but I crave punishment. O sweet contradiction.

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

He raps on the table at my suggestion that this might be his next move, making me jump, and bang my thigh on the corner of the desk.

“You should leave decisions of that nature to your superiors, young miss. And stop rubbing your thigh. What’s wrong with you?”

I remain mute. He whacks his cane on the tabletop. “I asked you a question!”

My eyes downcast, my knees and lower lip trembling, I mumble, trying desperately not to rub a modicum of comfort into my throbbing thigh muscle. “On the corner of the desk, you made me jump and I banged my thigh.”

“Speak up, girl, or you will not be punished at all.”

A pause, during which I remain still, holding back a sudden rush of unexpected tears.

He puts his face very close to mine. Lifting my eyes for a fleeting moment i catch a blue sparkle, and the unreleased tears subside.

“So, young miss? Was there anything you wanted to say?”

My eyes remain downcast. “I’m… sorry I only got an A-, sir.”

“And?”

“And that i dared to suggest that you decide something one way or another.”

He seems very slightly mollified, but glares down at me, trembling like a rain-drenched kitten.

“And how do you plan to mitigate these shortcomings?”

The warmth in his voice belies the stern tone. I am heartened, and incredibly aroused.

“I will do whatever i’m told, Sir.”

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

I look down at my shoes, and shift from one foot to the other. My lips tremble — both the visible set, and the pair which are less so — despite myself. I wonder idly whether his uncanny sense of smell can pick up the scent of my arousal — or if, in fact, it already has.

“Stand near the corner of the desk, young lady. Right now!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Closer, and facing it!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s a very slutty length for a skirt, girl. Look, the corner of the desk even peeks beneath it.”

I pause. The skirt is short because that’s what he made me buy, for entirely his own pleasure. When we’re out in public, he loves to reach under the skirt and stroke me, sending us both into paroxysms of erotic frenzy while remaining poe-faced and seemingly innocent. Ordinarily I would call him on it, but for the first time, it feels inappropriate. This roleplay is all-encompassing and the flow is intense. Breaking character would be wrong, and possibly spoil the mood. I am suddenly and incredibly reminded of my time as a professional actor, and I smile to myself at the perverted and erotic similarities of roleplay to regular improv.

“It shrank in the wash, Sir. It’s not that i’m a dirty slut or anything… Sir.”

A stern glare in my direction, with the anticipatory sound of a cane thwacking the owner’s palm that sends my senses reeling into overdrive.

“Move closer to the desk, girl.”

“Sir, am I doing this right? The corner is pushing into me… right into me… it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Young lady, why are you mumbling? Speak eloquently, please… and describe in details what is that makes you blush.”

Silence.

“Now!”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. It’s the desk corner, it’s pushing into me. Into the space between my thighs, Sir, and it’s — well, it’s difficult to stand still, Sir, although I promise I’m trying, Sir, I promise. The thing is…

“Oh, spit it out, girl!”

“Well, that’s something you’ve never said to me before, Sir.”

I realise what I’m saying about a nanosecond before the words leave my lips, but I just cannot stop myself. Although I mutter them, the silence in the room is so voluminous that they are as obvious as if I’d screamed them in perfect pitch down a well-tuned microphone.

Thwack! The cane hits the back inside thigh and I yelp in pain.

“Ow!”

“Watch your lip. And don’t drift from the point, girl. You were telling me why you were embarrassed. The mood I’m in, this is no time to be cheeky. Finish what you started!”

OK, that i had heard many times, but in  an entirely different context.

“Yes, Sir. Sorry Sir. What I was trying to say was that however hard I try to stand still, the fact that the corner of the desk is placed at clit height is having quite an effect on me.”

“Be specific!” he thunders, and suddenly the penny drops, and I remember who and where I am.

He wants my graphic, erotic descriptions. He wants me to make it abundantly clear to him the effect he is having on me, because this in turn intensifies and pinpoints the effect on him.

“I’m very aroused Sir. In fact, I’m wet, Sir. Soaking.”

Slowly, he steps toward me — agonizingly slowly, he eyes not leaving mine for a second. His hand stretches out towards me.

“Give them to me. Your panties. Give them to me.”

I remove my by-now sodden panties and hand them to him, watching as he sniffs them, hums in satisfaction, and then finally pockets them, and wonder somewhere in the back of my mind whether I’ll ever see them again.

“Very well, girl. Now I will be testing your anatomy skills. As I touch you, you will name the body part — official and proper name first, followed by any more colloquial terms that you’d like to share with me.”

As he sweeps a finger suggestively along my slit, I gulp worriedly and hope to all that is unholy that my memory does not fail me in my moment of need.

To be continued…

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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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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,
Sub2

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.

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I’ve been in the alternative sex lifestyle thing for a while, and i have observed much and learned even more. I’ve also discovered a lot about myself — one salient fact of which is that I am polyamorous.

Wikipedia defines polyamory as follows:

Polyamory (from Greek πολυ [poly, meaning many or several] and Latin amor [literally “love”]) is the desire, practice, or acceptance of having more than one loving, intimate relationship at a time with the full knowledge and consent of everyone involved. The term polyamory is sometimes abbreviated to poly, and is sometimes described as consensual, ethical, or responsible non-monogamy. The word is sometimes used more broadly to refer to relationships that are not sexually exclusive, though there is disagreement on how broadly it applies.

I added the emphasis in the above paragraph to the statements which jumped out at me. The latter is what polyamory had meant to me, while i was non-exclusively involved with more than one relationship at a time — but, while making no secret of my non-exclusivity, i also refrained from informing any of my partners of who or how many others i was being non-exclusive with.

If that makes any sense.

I added the emphasis on the former phrase because that really is how polyamory *should* be.  In this elegant slut’s humble opinion, anyway. I say this not from some lofty, preachy, know-it-all height of moral high ground; rather because it is into this kind of polyamorous situation that i have tumbled and landed smiling, on a bed of roses.

Naked. 🙂

I met someone — if you’re read my last couple of posts, you’ll have figured this out all by yourselves. (Because, gentle reader, I love you not merely for the fact that you validate my very existence by reading my li’l ol’ blog, but also because you are independently intelligent and can figure stuff out.)

I met Purrrrvert, as he refers to himself as in the last few comments, through a social networking site where kinksters meet, greet and get down-and-dirty. He describes himself as dominant and polyamorous in his profile, and i knew of at least one person to whom he was (is) romantically attached — although i know of this because i knew of her before I “met” him.

Fast-forward to a couple of months later. After talking for a while, and then flirting  a bit the question of moving beyond this point arose. A meeting was discussed — an ordinary, all-above-board, innocent cup of coffee meeting. Which duly happened. Because how would we know if we wanted things to progress yet further if we hadn’t had the opportunity to look deeply into each other’s eyes and catch a glimpse of the other’s soul? Hmm?

So from cup of coffee, innocent-or-no, we then progressed to the next stage. And this is what prompted the latter bolding in the paragraph above. He then made it clear that beyond a hug, nothing further would happen between us until he had spoken to his wife (Sub 1) and his other submissive partner (Sub 2, the woman I already knew), and find out how they felt about it.

When he told me this, I stared at him incredulously, my jaw slightly open. I may have even  dribbled a little. I was shocked. Actually, to be more accurate, I was gobsmacked.

My experience to date was of two kinds of situations — one experienced first-hand and one experienced in a more voyeuristic manner.

The first: when i was with my former Dom, he was very open about the fact that he was polyamorous, but made it patently clear that this was the maximum information to which I was to be privy. Not who. Not when. Just the fact that I was one of many. Being inexperienced and green as I was, I thought that this was “par for the course” , and “the right way to be a submissive”.

I was wrong.

The second: there are many “polyamorous” relationships online about which i read. Several of the most notable of which were situations where, again, the male in the equation made no secret of the fact that he was not monogamous, but did not discuss or get approval from any of his partners regarding the others. It caused ill-feeling and jealousy and inspired mean-spirited bordering-upon-insane behaviour between some of the “polyamours”.

I do not judge nor do I cast apersions — I merely note. It is not the sort of situation in which i would want to be — not from either side.

I preferred this situation, the one I was in, theoretically at least. I just had no practical experience thereof, first or second-hand. In short, I was a little unsure of how to proceed — especially given that it would be open and known about by all concerned. To be fair to Purrrrvert, the numbering system is merely for dentifying purposes — as he says, so correctly “the only indivisible element is time — and when problems arise they are usually associated with that. But communication is the key.”

My first concern was that in no way did i wish to hurt or offend Sub 2, who, as I already said, I had known before I knew Purrrrvert, by making her feel as though I were encroaching on her territory or anything like that. Which was, I believe, a valid worry.

My second concern was that I was nobody’s tertiary anything — which was one of the first issues I raised with him.

“Do you… um… expect me to be… um… exclusive?” I asked, knowing full-well that were the forthcoming answer to be yes, my next sentence would end the aforementioned innocent cup of coffee, and that friendship was all that was our future destiny.

No chameleon, I.

Note: It wasn’t that I necessarily wanted to be with anyone else. I just wanted to be sure that my options were open, and i wouldn’t find myself swept away and feeling trapped.

But I digress.

He smiled — a smile that I have since learned can turn from sweet to evil in a heartbeat, not to mention desirous and lusty.

“No, not at all, Hey — I don’t even expect Sub 2 to be exclusive. I would have absolutely no right to do such a thing.”

Hurdle number one overcome. Next!

Afterwards, we sat in his car, still talking. It was difficult to stop. We just got on so well.

“So you’ll speak to them… when?”

“Well, I have initially spoken to Sub 1.”

“And?”

Blue eyes twinkled at me over his glasses.

“She said to have fun, and tell her all about it.”

“What about Sub 2?”

He looked me in the eye.

“I really don’t know what she’ll say. I suppose we’ll know sooner rather than later. I’ll see her the day after tomorrow, and we’ll talk then.”

“And if she says no?”

“Then it’s no.”

And so began the wait.

To be continued….

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