The Exhibit

Is there a better museum for rare and priceless experiences than words on a page?

I could try to preserve all the details – how we began, how many strikes from which implements, how he moved me about the room, how taut the rope felt on my skin, and the way my thighs ached as I squirmed in the stress position in which he’d restrained me.

Those details may convey my surrender, but won’t capture my emotion.

I could record the hearing of footfalls and whispers, soft murmurs of interest or (possibly) admiration lingering in the hallway, and my vague awareness of some shadows in the door frame as the intensity of a final powerful orgasm ripped through my soul.

Those details may convey my vulnerability, but won’t capture our connection.

It’s just three words I’ll keep in this museum of intangible artifacts. The three words I whispered when, toward the end of our scene, he leaned down for a kiss, and warm tears escaped the outside corners of my eyes:

I missed this.


I got to play last night

Visits to the dungeon are rare these days.

I like them. The public aspect of playing in a dungeon pushes me to endure just a little bit more than I tend to at home. People are watching, after all…

And that’s how my exhibitionism works.

I got to play last night.

Thank goodness I didn’t find out until this morning that someone entered our room during our scene. My partner ushered him out without me being the wiser.

I got to play last night.

But at one point, while trying desperately to hold on to the edge of an orgasm, I growled “Please tell the people in the hallway to shut the fuck up.”

I got to play last night.

But I couldn’t wait to get home. Being in public certainly pushes me.

…But public play when the others in attendance aren’t well-versed in dungeon etiquette is pushing all the wrong buttons.

Conducting Scene Negotiations from the Bottom

As someone who identifies on the submissive/bottom side of the tilted fence, I really enjoy it when a partner has that take-charge and confident sort of attitude, especially when it comes to negotiation. Kind of like how it’s an indication that a restaurant serves really good food when they bring out fresh-baked still-warm bread from the oven over stale dinner rolls, the way a top conducts a scene negotiation is usually an indication of their experience and talent in leading the scene itself.

The riggers I’ve played with tend to be the best when it comes to scene negotiations. I think it’s a byproduct of them having to take classes in order to get any good at the thing they do. It’s kind of built in – understanding safety, questions to ask, etc. – and it totally inspires confidence in me to be able to let go and let them lead the scene.

And, while there are definitely classes for things like spanking, flogging, and other fun impactey things – it’s kind of a skill you can learn on your own without the benefit of learning from many others’ years of experience.

No, not all tops are created equally, and frankly – some of them are quite mediocre at scene negotiation.

So, as much as I would really dig for a new top to be a fuckin’ pro at this stuff, sometimes I’m the more experienced one in the scene and I have to lead the negotiation myself, or risk getting hurt in a bad way.

That’s not really a risk I’m prone to taking lightly. This being my body and my emotional well-being, I’m kind of the head honcho in charge of taking care of it.

So when a super cute dude asks me to play and I’m like, well….hell yeah. I want his super cute hands to be all fondling and grabby and stuff – I have to be prepared to deal with the possibility that super cute dude has been a “dom” for about six hours and needs a little guidance.

Here are some things that have helped me be more comfortable in leading the scene negotiations.

1) Remembering that I hold the highest responsibility for my safety. It is absolutely okay to ask someone how long they’ve been doing X, what their experience is in Y, and asking to inspect and approve each and every toy they want to use on me.

2) It is absolutely awesome for me to look at a toy and say “nope, not that one.”

3) If they try to convince me at that point that the toy I just noped out on is “not that bad” I can absolutely end the scene before it starts.

4) I have written out my list of limits and requirements and I have them pretty well memorized. It is okay to tell a new play partner “do not bruise me.” It is okay to tell a new play partner “Don’t hit my feet.” It is okay to tell a new play partner “I like to untangle the rope at the end of the scene as part of my decompression.” Everything from what gets used to what my needs are for aftercare are absolutely awesome to discuss up front.

5) I can control whether or not I let myself go into subspace. If I’ve found myself having to lead the scene negotiation, it is absolutely okay for me not to be the worlds greatest and most responsive bottom so that I can stay alert and keep tabs on what the top is doing. I can still have a fun time without going into orbit.

6) It is absolutely super-duper cool for me to correct a top mid-scene if they are going too hard, hitting the wrong spot, touching something they didn’t ask to touch, or doing something I’m kind of uncomfortable with. It is absolutely okay if he or she fucks up and I correct them and they say “Oh, sorry” and doesn’t do it again. Their next bottom will thank me.

7) If they don’t like it, they can go find someone else to play with.

Any other bottoms have some tips on handling scene negotiations from the bottom? Any tops out there learn from something their bottom has brought up that they didn’t think about?

I’m a big fan of the “exchange” part of the “power exchange.” Can you tell? ,k

The Cheeseboard

There were two of us.  She was the pain whore. I was the pleasure whore. She loved to be marked. I hated it.

“I’m not a sadist,” he’d say.  “She likes the pain, I don’t have to give it to her.”

“Well, I’m not a masochist,” I’d say.  “I don’t like that much pain.  I only like the fun pain.”

He and I took a weekend trip to San Francisco and stopped by a leather store to look for toys.  He got each of us a leash, and then he went to look at paddles.

He picked up this enormous, thick wooden paddle.  I shook my head.  “That’s for her, not me.”

“Turn around,” he said.

“That one isn’t for me.  She’s the pain whore,” I reminded him.

“Turn around,” he insisted.

I did.  He swatted my ass with it, not with much gusto.  Even through the jeans it hurt more than I would have liked.

“Nope.  That’s a big nope for phi, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.”

I started calling it the cheeseboard, because it looked like something you’d serve cheese on at a dinner party more than an implement for beating. He swatted me once bare-assed with it at the hotel.  I called red on it instantly and glared at him for even attempting it.

He’d taken it with him the next time he went to stay with her. She hated it.  It came back to my house.

Things eventually went south.  Very south. When he came back to Los Angeles for our final breakup, I was a wreck.  He’d hurt me so deeply, over and over again, until I’d finally had enough.

And even then I was hoping he’d change his mind and realize he was making the wrong choice.

“I know I am,” he said, “but it’s what’s best for you.”

“You said I was your trophy. You said I was your prize.”

“You are,” he responded. “She’s my consolation prize. I have to let you go.”

I begged him to beat me one last time.  To make my outside hurt match my inside hurt.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said.  He hadn’t thought it was such a bad idea to force feed my throat with his cock earlier that day. I pointed this out to him.

“Fine.  This will be the last time.  And it’s 10 swats with the cheeseboard.”

Funny how he’d told me he wasn’t a sadist.

He didn’t go easy on me.  I’ll never forget that final beating. He made me count them and thank him for each one, and I did – knowing they would be the last ten I’d ever get from him.

It’s the only time I’ve ever cried from a beating.