Who I am

This is what I am.

A pervert, undiluted, unabashed and unashamed.

It is what it is.

I realised this yesterday, as I attemtped to refill Purrrrvert’s drinking glass.

The difficulties were that my wrists were cuffed to my ankles. He, of course, regarded the whole scene with an amused smirk on his face, and accepted the drink as his rightful due, before rolling me back on the bed and having his wicked way with me again.

(Oh, poor, poor me.)

I accept who I am, what I am.

I’ve never felt so alive, or so free. Even when restrained; perhaps especially.

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Floggerversary

It’s been a year.

A wonderful, thrilling, exciting, exhilarating, amazing year.

Last week, the Big Bad Cat and I celebrated a year since the day we met and fell in love at first sight. Or, as he called it, “the Loverversary.”

This week, it was the turn of my ass to relive the experience of being flogged red and shiny for the first time by a flogger-weilding feline.

Not forgetting my arms, which celebrated the anniversary of the first time they held him close to me, naked, content, post-orgasmic and purring.

And especially, a celebration in homage to the first time he straddled me across the bed, arms akimbo, secured to the bed posts with leather cuffs and canvas straps, and delighted in causing me to gush over and over again with sheer and ecstatic pleasure.

One whole year of my life, in which I have found myself completed in ways I did not even know I was fragmented.

I am truly blessed.

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

Removing my restraints, he settles himself into cat nap pose, and indicates that I should join him.

“Come here, my cuddle-slut.”

“Ha! Talk about the cat calling the kitten pink. Look at you — you’re as much of a cuddle-slut as I am!”

“No, no, Pinky le Tab — you are the cuddle-slut. *I* is a cuddle-aholic.”

“No fair, why can’t I be a cuddle-aholic?”

“You can, you just need to pass the ultimate test first.”

“And that test would involve…?”

“The usual. Probing.”

Ulp.

“Er, probing of where, exactly?”

He slides a finger into my ass, and holds it there, knowing how I am aroused by this.

“When all his (*significant finger-wiggle*) fingers join him. Then you can achieve the ranks of cuddle-aholic.”

Eeeep!

I’ll keep you posted.

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Ceremony

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

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

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

“You’re wearing far too much clothing.”

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

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

“You’re still overdressed.”

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

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

“Yes. Fix it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I unbuckle your belt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Protected: Being There

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10 words, at his request

The sound of your voice provides me with incomparable happiness.

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Perceived Imperfection (50 words)

The world is an imperfect place, and I am no less imperfect for living in it. It matters little to you, who loves me for being human — for being myself.  Such unconditional acceptance makes me purr for joy.

And it’s mutual — I also love you just the way you are.

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Afterglow (75 words)

“I love fucking you.”

When said as you lie, arms restrained, ankles held fast to his shoulder, as he fucks and spanks you, hard and furious, and all you can do is gasp and smile weakly, it’s one thing.

But when he whispers it into your ear in public,  causing you to blush like a neon sign, and feel the onslaught of  situation rainforest, it’s very much another.

Just FYI, I love fucking you too, darling.

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View from above (25 words)

Arms secured, wrist to ankle.  Hemp binding breasts, above, below and around. Eyes, tightly and completely covered. Lying supine, prostrate… helpless? No, not helpless. Happy.

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Different

It was different the second time.

The first time had been —  although I only really comprehended so in retrospect — nerve-wracking.

Would we be a “fit”? Would we be compatible?

Would he like my body? Would I like his?

Would it be like it was with PreviousDom, where i was restricted to the point of not daring to open my mouth except when presented with an upstanding dick to suck? (Incorrectly believing that this was “the one twue way” to submit.)

It had been none of the above, and all my fears had been proved groundless. The experience the first time had been absolutely incredible — and I intend no hyperbole here. I was calm, reassured, and in no way wracked with nerves — on the contrary; rather excited and anticipating the endless possibilities of new experience that lay ahead.

Taking care not to harm a still-swollen cheek after a painful tooth extraction a day or so ago, i kissed him hello carefully. What we have is still very new, but not so new that the shine hasn’t rubbed off a little (in the nicest possible way), and I can sense a certain warm familiarity about the way his lips meet mine — a familiarity that pleases me and gives me a big old warm and fuzzy.

That, in and of itself, was different.

We began the same way as last time, with him spreading out the truly comprehensive collection of toys, ticklers, teasers and floggers  that he owns — and Purrrrvert is a man who believes in pervertibles to an unbelievable extent. He told me that once I’d seen and experienced his collection, I’d never be able to go shopping for anything else again without looking through a BDSM filter at just about every item on the shelf.

(Except, perhaps, condoms. Heh.)

I chose what toys I fancied playing with, taking care not to err on the side of big-girly-wussiness and caution, as I had done previously, and adding to my usual choices of skin-sensation fun-and furry things, several floggers, some rubber and silk binding wires, the blindfold, and bondage (aka hiking) rope. And a vibrating smurf. (Swear to god.)

Then the session began.

He stood me in front of him, and made it clear that he was in charge by removing my clothing and handling my body, piece by piece. Once I was stood before him, naked and trembling with excitement, he bound each breast individually, and began playing with them.

Having never experienced breast-binding before, i was astounded to learn that it heightened the sensations in my boobs more than ever, and the nipple-to-clit hotline along which an electric current usually travels, had suddenly become even more sensitive – resulting in an awareness of my cunt being awash as soon as he pulled me towards him by the tippy-tip of my nipple.

It hu-u-u-rt… but it felt so good.

I brought my eyes level with his — i know how much he loves to look deep into my eyes.

“I’m wet. In fact, I’m soaking.”

His baby-blues twinkled a faux nonchalance at me.

“I’ll check in a minute” he said, almost too dismissively.

I squirmed as I stood there in front of him, his hands groping, stroking and palpating bits of me — none of it reducing the wetness; on the contrary, all of it contributing to yet more gushage.

Suddenly i wanted nothing more than to have him touch me, stroke me, make me come. And he knew, oh how he knew! I could tell, from how slowly he was taking things. He had no need to hurry. This was being done on his timescale, not mine.

Exquisite agony.

“Will you undress me, please?”

Mutely, I did as I was told. Shirt, shoes, socks, pants and underwear. I knelt before him naked, and he took me firmly by the hair.

“I like having you kneeling in front of me,” he smiled, and kissed me again.

(The wetness factor upped itself threefold. I felt like a classic Bon Jovi album.)

He leaned forward and unbound my breasts, only to pull out a long, orange hiking rope, and begin to truss me like a chicken.

“Did you bring your camera with you?” I asked him, as I turned this way and that, surveying myself critically in the mirror.

“No, not today — why?”

“This looks hot. My tits look fabulous. The girls have never been this well dressed. I want to commemorate the occasion.”

“Next time, dear. OK?”

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

Later, after he had indeed discovered how utterly awash with arousal I was, and a fisting that brought tears of joy to my eyes with the intensity of the orgasm (although strangely no gush this time… anyone got any idea why?), he bade me snuggle into him, while he held me and stroked every bit of me he could reach.

“Relax, Kitten. You’re always so busy — I want you to relax and be calm and still.”

“But … I’m not good at being passive… and I just want to make you happy… and –”

“That’s fine, but let me pamper you. You’ll have your turn later, I promise.”

So, once again, I did as I was told, although he relented and allowed me to gently stroke his chest and torso. I wasn’t surprised that he did, I believe he likes to be stroked as much as he likes to stroke.

And as I lay there, I reflected on my good fortune. I’d fallen into BDSM, as an experiment, and it had led me to meet this wonderful person who dominated me as much as i wanted or needed, and genuinely cared for me also. And indulged me, and liked talking to me, and discussing stuff with me, and understood me and all my quirky foibles, and contradictions, and all of the other things that define me as me — good and bad.

I’d not only found a wonderful lover, I’d found a friend. A really good friend. A rarity in any walk of life, but especially within the confines of BDSM to find one with whom each others pet perves click a happy fit, and you also get on like a house on fire.

I’m so lucky. I can’t wait until next time.

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A different approach to polyamory (II)

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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