Antici……………….. pation (25 words)

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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Playing safe

Sometimes, as a result of ridiculously hectic schedules, the weather, the time of month, the price of fish in Taiwan and the colour of the tea leaves in downtown Tokyo, Purrrvert and I find ourselves meeting on a more vanilla basis.

I do not complain. Seriously, I really don’t.

I enjoy spending time with him, talking to him, just being with him. And he me, i venture to dare to suggest… since he has called me since quite a few times, just to say how lovely was the time we spent together.

Which goes to prove that it’s not all about the hot, sweaty, passionate moments. Not that I knock the heat, perspiration or passion. No, no. Heaven forefend. But it underlines the reality, that what we share goes way beyond all the physical fun stuff.

Of course, the physical fun stuff is still there, hanging above us like the Seinfeldian perennial matzo ball. It’s part of our discussion over a meal:

“You’ve dropped some raita on you,” he says, and he reaches over to wipe it off the soft skin just above my cleavage.

I look him directly in the eye.

“Did I really? Or did you just use it as an excuse to cop a feel?”

It’s also part of any number of everyday discussions, regardless of where we are, or what we’re doing.  (Excluding, for this instance only, fucking gloriously or being in any way naked.)

In the supermarket, for example. He follows my gaze to a can of tuna, as his long-ago remark that I’d never look at anything in a supermarket in the same way, once he’d corrupted my thought process with a “pervertible filter”,  glides across my brain. He reaches for my hand and squeezes it warmly. No words are spoken, no groping is deployed, nothing tubular — or, indeed, of any other shape — is inserted into any bodily crevice. But the passion and the love are manifested just as much. More so, even.

In the hardware store, that’s when the situation peaks in terms of nothing existing but the moment. We stand gazing at the pet accessories, and i gently reach out and tug a leash.

“It’s a pretty colour. ”

“There’s a collar that matches.”

“I saw.”

Eyes meet, glances are exchanged, thoughts of restraint meet in the middle and quietly dissipate, like so many bubbles.

“I’d rather buy leather.”

“I’d rather wear leather. But soft leather.”

A stroke of my arm, and my hair.

“Of course. Soft leather. The natural preference of the pink tabby.”

There are few things that make me as knee-meltingly wet as the discussion of pervertible sex toys in ostensibly innocuous surroundings.

Particularly with him. Each glance holds a million words and thoughts and evil smirks, and not a word is said.

Life is good.

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Sex-kitten, restrained and purring.

“You will write to me, won’t you?” he says, as he turns to me just before we part company.
 
“Er, like.. duh. ” I reply, somewhat inelegantly, belying my self-imposed titular comportment.
 
“No, what I mean is, i want you to write something specific.”
 
I raise a curious eyebrow, and gesture that he should elaborate.
 
“I want to know what made you think “Oooh, yes, more of this, more, more!” and what made you think “No, no, stop, no, don’t do that again.”
 
Again with the single curious eyebrow. “Was it not obvious?”
 
“Mostly, but i want you to be specific. There was a wealth of toys and playthings involved — which were better for you and which less so?”
 
Toys and playthings. I’ll say. I was the biggest of the playthings, even he would be the first to admit this. But it would be less an admission — implying confessional or sinful revelation; more a proud declamation. He is a self-confessed feline, and as such likes to have things to play with.
 
Playthings. Yes. That would be me.
 
*************************
 
It’s the sports bag i notice first. It is, frankly, huge, and is also a surprising colour.
 
“You said it was your big black bag of tricks! That’s not black, that’s khaki!”
 
“That’s one way to know if someone has met me — ask them what the colour of my big black bag is…!”
 
Out of said bag come a number of hiking pouches, each filled with a wide variety of implements of torture and pleasure, depending on your viewpoint from where you sit on the kink-o-meter. To say I was speechless is understating it to a huge effect. My eyes were like saucers, and my jaw hung open. Not so much at the level of evility and kink arrayed before me, but at the quantity. The best i could manage was a feeble “Fu-u-uck.”
 
He then took out a large halloween party carrier, shaped like a cat, naturellement — rawrrrr…. and told me to select what i wanted to play with today, and to put the items in there.
 
The items began to be shown to me, in order of how they’d fallen out of the sports bag. There were beaters, floggers, scrapers, strokers, pinchers, restraints and a remarkably wide variety of pervertibles. I recognised a large fish slice, and a silicon oven-glove in the shape of a dog from a bag containing kitchen-inspired instruments of kink — and then i saw something that looked mighty familiar.
 
“Hey, I have that very spatula! Except, of course, i actually use it when i cook.”
 
He looked me straight in the eye, almost snorting in an effort to restrain the bubbling mirth.
 
“You pervert.”
 
I laughed as hard as he did, and gasped. “I’m *so* blogging that.”
 
**************************
 
It took a lot longer than I’d anticipated* to set things up, but eventually i found myself lying on the bed, arms akimbo and restrained, one to the side and one to my ankle, using two types of leather wrist cuffs (one fur-lined intended for suspension use; very pretty and tactile), and legs — naturally — apart.
 
I must just take a moment to explain something here. Such a position is one that a person would only ever find themselves in consensually. It’s very easy to feel exposed and vulnerable. I was lucky enough to feel neither — only warmth and love. It didn’t matter what he did — if it would please him, it would make me happy. Plus, as his plaything, his big interest was in experiencing my reaction — that was a big part of what turned him on. The consent was almost tangible, the feelings were intense, and we both glowed — I could almost see it.
 
He straddled me, looking down at my smiling face, and restrained naked body, and ran his hand along my skin, before bending to kiss me.
 
“Do you want me to blindfold you?”
 
A mute nod, and 30 seconds later, and the most effective blindfold covered my eyes. “Another hiking pervertible — it’s a head band — warm on the peaks, and the most thorough blindfold I’ve found to date. It knocks the eye-covers that you get on an airplane, into a cocked hat.”
 
Indeed it does.
 
I lay there feeling like the most pampered submissive on the planet. I couldn’t move, and i was very aware that i was to abide by the rules, if i did not wish to be punished — said rules being a. not to come without permission, and b. to inform him if i were close to coming. But i like the feeling of being restrained. I enjoy the taut pull of rope on the ring of my cuff, and the feel of his fist entwined in my hair as we kiss, holding my head where it suits him.
 
I have said to him, several times, “It’s this feeling I get when you pull my hair — that’s how I know I’m a pervert. Whenever i worry that i’m dabbling, or I’m really vanilla and i wonder who the fuck am I kidding, — that’s when i remember the joy of  feeling of utter submissive helplessness, and dependence on the will of another — and how it speaks directly to my soul. And I know — I’m a kinkster at heart.”
 
Our time that day was short to begin with, and it flew by so quickly that i half-felt as though I’d dreamed it. I could write all about the thundering g-spot and gushy orgasms, not to mention the joy of combined lovemaking-fucking that I haven’t experienced in so long… it makes such a difference when you care about your Dom. Even more so when the feeling is mutually deep and intense — as it is, or so he tells me. (Meow.)
 
The dreamy quality of the afternoon was enhanced by my sensory deprivation, but no less than by the warm, dominant feline-like man who took care of me so well. It is to him i purr and dedicate this piece, knowing that it is only the first of many.
 
One more thing — in answer to your* question, YES to everything, and more, more, more. 🙂

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?   — William Blake

 *Yeah, I see you shiver. And yeah, I know who you are. Angel. Rawrr.

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Being an Asset to the Collective

Z is the one of the coolest bloggers i ever met.

I mean, seriously.

She writes like a perverted angel, and now she’s gone and set up a collective sex-toy review site, called The Pleasure Ground. unaffiliated with any one product manufacturer, but written about by experts.

And by experts, i mean sexy bloggers who use ’em. She wrote about it here.

And she invited me to join! Me! Li’l ol’ me.

I already submitted one piece, an oldie but goodie that appeared elsewhere under a previous identity of mine. Check it out, it’s a doozie.

I actually plan to write a piece in the next few days especially for the site, although i will probably cross-link to satisfy my inner blogwhore, on my preference between the various wrist restraints available on the market.

🙂

Despite me not being one to write many branded sex toy reviews (for a number of reasons, which i will elaborate on if enough people write in and ask me to), i highly recommend the site. Aside from having my purty li’l avatar in the sidebar, i share the space with a bunch of the blogosphere’s best writers.

And, unlike some, i don’t mean “best pals o’ mine” when i say “best”. I mean talented, eloquent, articulate writers, with a healthy passion for exploring sexuality and experimenting with toys. (And I’m serious about learning new things. Check out the piece about Hardwood Dildos. Made me zing with anticipatory pleasure. You learn something new every day. Heh.)

Oh, and a note to all the various sex toy manufacturers out there — feel free to send me stuff to review. 🙂

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