Bare-Assed Cheek (1)

“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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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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