Both sides, now!

Side A: "Hurt"
A week or so ago, I had a session with RHF, who I am renaming Hephaestus. After he caned me for my first time, a while back, I realized that there was a Place I wasn't quite getting to, a Place of catharsis and tears. A Place of release and cleansing. I was teetering on the edge of this Place when he caned me. When we talked about plans for last week's session, I decided that I wanted to fall over that edge. We agreed on a rough session, an "endurance" session, not so much about pleasure as about me allowing my limits on pain to be pushed, me taking what he gave.
I was already emotionally shaky, that day. There was a lot going on, and Apollo and I had been Talking quite a bit. I wondered if this was something I should be doing when I was already in an iffy place emotionally...but decided that the catharsis might be just what I needed. Hephaestus got me up on the cross, and he began. I can't remember the order. I can't remember everything he used on me. Nipple clamps were first, I remember. I was not crying yet. I remember the fierce little rubber flogger, so ticklish on my breasts and so unendurable on my back. He had me beg him to use something else. I begged him for the black thuddy flogger, begged him for that satisfying impact, that sure trip out to Liminal Space, out to Zen Pain Space, out of this blinding pain. My nose was running, and my eyes dripping. I was weeping as he continued to use that demonic little instrument on me. He eventually granted my request, and brought the black, thuddy flogger back out. For a moment, it was better. For a moment, it was ok. But, oh, my back was already so worn, so laced with pain, that even that became agony. There was the paddle. There were other, harsher floggers. There were more tears.
Then there was the moment when he told me to come, and I had to choke out, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I can." And I cried harder, for the realization. Me, not be able to come? It was unthinkable. But it was true. There was too much pain, too much turmoil, too much wild grief for my body to consider giving itself pleasure. I remember that I expected to be punished, though I didn't find it very fair, but he only went back to hitting me, with whatever he was using at the time. The last thing I remember was his braided flogger (I think it's a cat...I'm not certain) striking me...and suddenly, it really was too much. Too much crying, too much pain, too much emotion at once. I flashed my hands at him, our agreed-upon signal for STOP. He asked me, "I was going to end with three strokes of the cane. Can you do that?" What the hell, I thought, three with the cane. Can't make it any worse than it is already. Three biting strokes on my back, wrapping to leave raised lines on my arms, and it was over. I wanted to cry more, but it was over, so I didn't. I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and laid on his bed, recovering. I was numb, but dangerously close to both laughter and tears. I left, eventually, and went home.
That night, Apollo wanted to have sex. I had been listening to my body, waiting for myself to click back into Normal Functioning Modes, wherein I am very present in my body, very desiring, and quite willing...but I wasn't there. The idea of sex was almost repugnant. Pleasure? In this body? This same space where all of That Pain happened? No, I did not want to be present in my body. It was a Bad Place, a place of endurance, a place of pain and tears, a place that had stopped functioning as I expected it to function. I couldn't. There are some Moods that can be pushed aside in deference to a partner's desire - headaches, tiredness, and the like. This was not one of those. I simply couldn't find it in myself to be touched. I had to tell him no. And tell him why. And that was hard, because it has been my goal to see to it that what I do with others doesn't affect our sex life (negatively, that is), and here it was, doing just that.
Now, a week and a substantial amount of processing later, I'm pretty ok with the fact that I'm not ready for that. That sort of play is more than I can handle right now -and that's alright. That's proper for me right now. But I do feel a little weak. A little failed. It was just pain, right? I should be able to take pain, right? It's not like it was humiliation or degradation play. It was just pain. But it was too much pain. And I Do Not Like how it made me feel afterwards, how I related to my body afterwards.

Side B: "Everything's Alright"

That night, I had a movie date with the Magician, the Cloaked Norseman, and CN's wife to watch Hellboy, in anticip......ation of the second one coming out. I went, expecting that we'd watch the movie, and for once, the Magician and I would essentially keep our hands off of each other, as I was so out of my body, so unwilling and unable to feel sensual pleasure. I was off. I knew it. I rubbed the Magician's back, played with his hair - usual movie-watching activities. But I felt closed-off. Cut off. As the movie progressed, this faded a bit. I faded, my issues and aches faded, into Story, into the images and characters. Still cut off, but time and Story were doing their work, helping me away from the pain.
The movie ended and CN and his wife left. The Magician led me back to his room, as was rather usual, as I tried to form the words to tell him that No, I can't connect like this tonight. In his embrace, I managed to whisper that I was feeling Off. Not Right. He asked why, and I shared that I'd had a bad session. That it was more than I could process properly. That the place right in the center of my solar plexus was in knots, and I wasn't connected to my body, and could he please just hold me and not expect more. This last part came as a shock. I realized that I felt safe. I was far enough away, in time and in mindset, from the experience that touch was healing, rather than oppressive.
He was so patient with me. His hands on my body, tracing my curves, avoiding overtly sexual touch. Brushing away the pain, the need to hold tight, the need to endure. Whispering in my ear that I am safe. Comfortable. Loved. It felt like a sacrament. It felt like a benediction. Slowly, wonderfully, he helped me settle back into my body, helped me feel it as safe, as sexual, as sacred again. I felt myself shine again.
The next day, he told me in an email that he'd thought of lyrics for me, which he should have sung last night, but were better late than never:
"Try not to get worried,
Try not to turn onto
Problems that upset you,
Oh, don't you know
Everything's alright,
Yes, everything's fine.
And [I] want you to sleep well tonight." - "Everything's Alright," Jesus Christ Superstar
Oh, perfect. A song of healing and anointing, of soothing the wounded spirit. Myrrh to my soul.

Bonus Track: "Love Me Two Times"

The Magician and I have progressed to having intercourse. This is a bit of a big deal. Right now, intercourse carries more weight than some other sexual acts. It carries more risks, and thus requires more caution and care. It is, for Apollo, a slightly more thorny issue as his emotions go. For these reasons, I will not ask about having intercourse with a partner unless I want it so badly that I cannot see straight. Otherwise, I'm perfectly content with less risky, less emotionally loaded acts. I'm easily pleased, I love skin, and I come easily. It's not difficult for me to be quite satisfied with something waay short of full-on penis-in-vagina fucking. But, sometimes, I want it. I do. And when I want it, I Really Want it. I want it because I'm comfortable. Because I'm safe. Because I find the other person incredibly hot and/or compelling. Once I want it this much, I'll talk to Apollo about it. It's not worth bringing up otherwise. Really, why push his comfort zone if it's not something I Really Want? That just doesn't make good sense.
So I asked. And we talked about it, and Apollo agreed. And, friends and readers, sex is a good, good thing. Sex is so unique. Sex is inescapably different with every different partner. Different angles and positions suddenly come into their own with the Magician, while some that I adore with Apollo take a back seat. Different internal spots emerge, trumpeting their own glory. Different sounds, different glances, different words whispered. I am astounded by the brilliance of the differences.

Where to begin?

Indeed. It has been a full month...full of lessons and orgasms and ponderings and pleasure. Loooots of pleasure. Since last I wrote, I have had several more glorious times with the Magician, spent hours in scintillating conversation with a long distance...friend? Lover? Mentor? Clergy? ...uh, yes, and had long, involved talks with Apollo about time and schedules and why this (poly-non-monogamy thing) is so important to me.

A few of the lessons I have learned:
- Kink is better sober. And not just because of safety issues. I genuinely process pain a lot better when I'm sober. Of course, I don't think the state I'm in after engaging in sexual or kinky activities counts as sober per se...but alcohol is best left out of it. :)
- When I get uncomfortable with a situation, it's often hard for me to sort out what it is about that situation which isn't working. Fortunately, I have someone in my life who's very wonderful about presenting ways for me to get at the heart of situations. :D
- D/s activities will stay within the context of a scene. As much as I'm fascinated by this dynamic and want to explore it, Thou Shalt Not Tell Joy To Come in Public. No one has that privilege with me, to exert their power when it's not clearly defined that I'm giving it to them. What made this instance worse was that I was coming down from a brief scene, so I was already in subspace, in compliance-space. So when the order came, I complied automatically, even as my brain was screaming that "All of these people don't have the privilege of seeing you at this level of vulnerability...no, no, no!"
- One interesting thing about multiple relationships is the conception (in my head) that they should all be moving at the same rate. If I'm comfy giving oral sex to X, I should be comfortable giving it to Y too because I've been involved with them for the same length of time. This really isn't so. But it's been an interesting thought patten to come up against. It also adds to the feeling of wonder and uniqueness to realize that each relationship is distinct. Each has its own rules and boundaries, and just because something works in one relationship does not mean that it will work in all of them. They are separate entities.
- When I deal with and confront the things that are making me uncomfortable in a relationship, my attraction to the person goes way up. Surprise, surprise.
- This exploration of poly/non-monogamy is not just my hedonism, my selfishness. This is part of Me. This is part of who I am and part of what fulfills me as a person. And it is part of my calling to make sure that I explore and fulfill that.

Most recently, I have begun learning that I can take pain. Lots (for me) of it. Before my most recent playdate with RHF, we had discussed and reevaluated boundaries. He wanted more sexual contact. I was not, and am not ready for that with him - largely because I was not comfortable (see above lessons). We talked about the things that were making me uncomfortable, and he was very gracious about resolving them in a manner which indicated that he genuinely respected my boundaries and cared for my welfare. As sexual contact (of some sorts) was still a bit touchy with us, I mentioned that I'd like to start pushing my limits with regard to pain...see how much I really could take.
Aaaaand, now my ass is an interesting shade of purple. :P He began by spanking me. Now, spanking in and of itself does not really crank my engine. I mean, I much prefer the set of connotations that go with flogging to those that go with bare-handed spanking. But, it wasn't bad. It was a surprisingly powerful sensation - surprisingly strong pain. When he switched to a wooden paddle, I had my first thought that afternoon of "Should I safeword? This really fuckin' stings..." But I held on. Rode it. And it was like riding a wave, cresting and coasting. Eventually he stopped, and put me up on the cross to begin flogging me. Mmm. He pushed it into the area where it was hurting, where I was not constantly in my Serene-Yoga-Breathing place. But...I could step back, I found. I could turn my attention to my breath and just be in it. Or I could suffer the pain and squeal. Both were interesting experiences. I really, really want to be pushed far, far with flogging. I like it so much more than most other impact play that I've tried thus far - though of course other instruments and methods have their place. Anywho.
After he flogged me, he had me come, several times, with manual stimulation. Then, as I was still riding the edges of my last authorized orgasm, he placed the Hitachi between my legs. I screamed, and my fading orgasm reasserted itself, crashing back over me. "You'd better not be coming," he said. But...my brain said...but I wasn't done, when you turned that thing on! I...aw, damn. "Sorry, sir," I whispered. Immediately, the Hitachi stopped. I felt a tapping against my ass, something thin and cruel. He did not hit me, it felt, with much force, but oh gods, it was painful. My first caning. I felt myself nearing catharsis, nearing tears, nearing a letting go of something... but then he stopped. And I was grateful. I wasn't sure that I could have taken what would have been required to push me over that line. I had thought, several times, about calling out, about making it stop. But then, there was always that part of me, reminding me that I could step back. That I didn't have to be suffering so intensely (which is not the same as not feeling it...I still felt, but it wasn't bad, it just was). That I could do more, take more, even a just a little more. Looking back, I probably could have taken the pain needed to push me over the edge into Whatever Was Waiting, but I'm rather glad it didn't happen then.
I went home feeling....tired. So wrung out. In a good way, but wrung out. Apollo was a bit incredulous when he saw my ass...a little stunned, little shocked. I was too, frankly. But it's all good. It doesn't hurt at all, really, just looks like it should.

And now, to prepare for Apollo's homecoming (poor boy has to work weekends now, gorramit.) and the activities planned for tonight. *grins*

"Beg"

That's what he said. It was a week ago, my second formal playdate with RHF. We went out for sushi (a first for me!), and back to his place for BDSM. We'd agreed: Below the waist is fine, but manual stimulation only. No oral, no intercourse. Honorifics would be used.
"Do you want something?" he asked, after he'd flogged me well, and left a sizable bruise on my ass with his palm. He'd finally taken my panties off, and was slowly creeping up my inner thighs.
"Mm-hmm," I moaned.
"What do you want, then?" he inquired. Oh gods. I was already so high, so high...I could have just stayed there, as long as he kept touching me. I didn't care, didn't know what I wanted, just that I wanted.
"I don't know...just...I don't know, Sir." His fingers made contact with my labia, and I shuddered. They split my lips, teasing me, just brushing my clit. "How much do you like to be teased?" he had asked, while we were discussing limits for today. So much, I told him. So much. In this space, teasing...isn't. It is its own fulfillment.
"Have you found words again?" he asked, "Can you tell me what you want now?" I had the feeling that he was looking for something along the lines of "I want to come," but that wasn't in me. I didn't specifically want an orgasm...I was happy where I was.
"I...I...want something in my cunt, please, Sir." Penetration, though, yes. That, I craved.
"Beg." Quiet. Struggling within myself for words. Struggling to ask for what had always been freely given.
"Please...Please Sir. Please."
"Please what?"
"Please Sir, please put your fingers in my cunt." And two fingers, immediately, inside me. My knees bent reflexively, bearing down, aching with sudden need. My arousal rose to that plateau of orgasmic bliss, and I cried out.
"Remember, you have to ask before you can come." Shit. I had forgotten, because he hadn't specifically reminded me beforehand, that he likes to practice orgasm control. Shit. Part of me wanted to confess my sin, but I was still on Orgasm Plateau, that place where I'm flying in orgasmic bliss, with random Peaks of even more intense pleasure. I couldn't figure out if I should, how I should, or how to explain myself if I were to confess. So I asked.
"Please sir, please may I orgasm?"
"Beg." But I am begging, I thought. What more does he want? I tried to let go even more, let my most uninhibited self speak, but all she could say was "please".
"Please, please Sir, Please let me orgasm. Please. Please!"
"Come." I tightened my Kegels, and got a Peak, crying out. He withdrew slowly, and helped me sit on the ledge at the bottom of his cross. I lay my head on my arms, panting and weak. There was a tearing sound, like a condom wrapper.
"You might want to look and see where this condom is going," he said, but I didn't need to. I knew. When he found out that I'd never used a vibrator before, he decided that this session would introduce me to the Hitachi Magic Wand. He had it on the "low" setting, and placed it between my legs. Ahh. Pleasant...though if I shifted, just a bit, it landed on my clit - and suddenly, I began to understand. He kicked it up into high gear, and I only barely remembered to choke out "Please, please Sir, may I orgasm? Please, I need to." Silence.
"Please Sir! Please, oh please. Let me orgasm sir, please!" Finally, after a few repetitions, I heard:
"Come." I screamed.
"Come." A cry.
"Keep coming." Guttural moans, all the while pressing myself against the Hitachi, feeling an exquisite-ness to the orgasm that normally doesn't happen with clitoral orgasms, normally reserved for the Almighty G-Spot.
Finally he turned it off. Finally he helped me to the bed, disrobed himself, and snuggled with me. After I had my brain back, I 'fessed up to my Unauthorized Orgasm. "I know. You get one free day. Don't do it again."
And I lay there wondering, and I'm still wondering, how on Earth I'm going to manage it. The Orgasm Plateau, for me, is a place that I come to suddenly, without warning, when one little thing goes very right...no telling what that'll be. And on that plateau, it's several minutes of deeply orgasmic bliss with small peaks, but even the baseline is ecstatic and orgasmic. What do I do, for orgasm control? Ask before I hit a peak? Ask before I hit the Plateau, period? I don't understand. I really doubt that I can hold back either the peaks or the Plateau. It almost makes me want to forgo the whole orgasm thing in general in the context of kink. I mean, not that it wasn't nice, but I feel well-fucked from a good flogging, with no actual orgasm involved. And there's no stress about holding off, or defining what is or is not an orgasm.
On an unrelated note, none of the sex bloggers I read/have read ever mention the fact that pressing oneself enthusiastically against the Hitachi can result in one's labia feeling bruised. For days. That was interesting.
I'm still processing the begging thing. It didn't feel wrong...but, again, like I didn't know what he wanted. I don't mind asking for something...it was kind of sexy to plead. But, at the same time, it's difficult. Difficult to form words, difficult to form ideas.

In still other news, Happy Beltane! Wendy encourages everyone to take advantage of warmer temperatures and take the fucking outside. For this Beltane, I will be attending a Voltaire concert, priestessing a ritual, and having snuggle time with the Magician tomorrow. And then Pentacost is next week...all my red clothes are getting a workout!

There is no smoking in the fucking theater...

- and no fucking in the smoking theater!

I leaned against the railing, breathing and allowing the Frankenfurter's voice to become background noise. Waiting.
"This is a loud venue, so hand signals will be important," he reminded me.
"Ok. One for yellow, two for red, yes?"
"Yes. Ready?"
"Yes."
Waiting. Then the thud begins. I can tell, even after just these couple of times, that he's hitting harder, faster. Not giving me as much warm-up time. And that's ok. I am pulling back, into the flogger's path, into the rhythm, encouraging a deeper hit. I feel myself floating away, easing out of normal space. He pauses to check in. I am still very good. He resumes. Suddenly, there are hands pulling at my hair while the flogger strikes my shoulders, ass and thighs. I gasp deeper, but don't look up. There are teeth in my neck, teeth on my shoulder. A hand, under my chin, raising my eyes. Oh, beautiful Cloaked Norseman, more serious than I'd previously seen, eyes half-lidded. He briefly confirms with RHF, that yes, it's is alright and even appreciated that he add his efforts to this scene. Then the hands in my hair, and the teeth on my neck, and the flogger on my ass. And suddenly, the flogger licks between my legs, my fishnet-and-underwear covered legs. I tremble. The sensations continue, building, until at some point, there are three sets of hands on me, for RHF's girlfriend has joined, and I'm shaking from the stimulation. Shaking.
"Are you good for now?"
"Yes. Oh yes."
"If I sit you down somewhere, will you stay there for a while?"
"....Yes. Yes."

I am seeing why one doesn't necessarily go to Rocky for the movie...you go for the kink and the company. Time to flirt, time to play, time to drop the seriousness of GradStudentTA self, and be Shining, Touch-Loving Joy.

Send whips of opinion down my back, Give me more!

So. I may or may not finish out the Spring Break postings. Things are too exciting for me right now to want to go back and recap older events.
So. After last Saturday's first foray into the world of kink, I kept up with the guy who'd flogged me - RHF. Ceres gave him my IM name so he could serve as a contact between myself and the Magician...though I was happy to have an avenue of contact with him, as he was pretty fascinating in his own right. So, we talked via IM. And it became clear that he was interested in playing more. And I was interested in playing more. And he wanted...oh, he was interested in setting up a power dynamic. And immediately, I got a bit scared. What if I didn't like it? What if I *really* liked it, and the intensity got out of hand? What if his style of dominance doesn't match my (theoretical) style of submission? What if it's too soon? Isn't power exchange kinda the Point Of No Return, and once you make that part of a relationship, it's marked as that forever'n'always? But we continued discussing it, and he assured me that if a dynamic doesn't work for me, we could reconsider that, especially at this early point in the game. I felt better about it, talked to Apollo about it and received enthusiastic approval, and before I knew it, I'd scheduled a play date for Friday - yesterday.
We agreed that this scene would be 1. Primarily sensory exploration for me, with light focus on establishing a dynamic. 2. Focused on striking with different instruments. and 3. The explicitly sexual contact would stay above the waist.
Even after we set these boundaries, I found myself constantly worrying. My Inner 2nd Wave Feminist was shouting at me about allowing a Man To Tell Me What To Do, telling me that I Don't Need A Man To Define Me or Give Me Worth. I had to remind her that I can remain intact, as a strong, independent woman, and still submit, as I choose, when I choose, and to whom I choose. I had to remind her that I had already made it clear that humiliation/degradation play is a Hard Limit for me - I *am* worthy, dammit, whether I'm submitting or not. And being made to feel worthless is not my idea of a healthy or sexy time (I do understand that for some folks, this sort of play is cathartic and/or a way to deal with Stuff...but that's not what I Need). One of the funny parts is that I don't think she would have kicked up such a fuss if I were going to be submitting to a Domme...but because it was a man, the situation was much more loaded.
Once I was there, though, in the room, clothes in a pile, the cross cool against my back, it was ok. The fear and anxiety dissipated. I was breathing, slow and deep, staying calm, staying grounded. Then he put on the nipple clamps. They didn't hurt going on...but I will admit that although I know he was doing something else to me during that time, I don't for the life of me remember exactly what it was, except that there was some other sensation competing with the ever-increasing ache of the clamps for my attention. He checked in, and I admitted that the clamps were really pushing my tolerance. "Do you know how I like to take clamps off?" he asked. I shook my head, but inwardly I was accessing my SM101 info on the application and removal of clamps...and was fairly certain that I had a clear idea of what he planned to do. So I inhaled deeply, and held it. "Ready? 1...2..." And I exhaled as he slapped/jerked/otherwise abruptly removed the clamp. Oh gods. This, now this was Pain. And I wasn't sure that I liked it. The process repeated on the other breast, followed by a brief tweak of the nipple, which sent me cringing.
Fortunately, he then had me turn around, and put my hands and feet in cuffs - the cuffs for my hands were rather fancy - they had a bar for me to grip, which turned out to be most useful. From here, the experience blurs into a melange of flogging (ohgodsohgods, I was floating), knife play (I'd told him that I enjoy this...no actual cutting, but knives are sexxy), scratching, hair pulling, and kisses. Damn. Potent, potent combination. By the time he turned me around again to finish up, I was trembling and decidedly not quite with my body...having a beautiful time of it. His final choice was a long, narrow piece of wood, and he informed me that these strokes would be across my breasts. He also informed me that I would be counting these strokes. As the first blow fell on my right nipple, I realized that this, like the clamps, would be an experience of less-than-overtly-enjoyable pain. Once we reached four (I was very proud that my voice hadn't faltered), he paused to check in. "How are you doing now?" I was about to answer, when his mouth closed over my left nipple. I gasped, speechless. "I asked you a question," his mouth still hovering above my breast. I searched my brain, and came up with something to the effect of "Ok, but I can't take much more." "How many more can you take, then?" I thought, and decided on two. I could handle one more on each breast. He doled out these two strokes, then tweaked my nipples. At this, I came the closest to actually safewording, but he stopped there, kissing me and helping me down to the bed. He covered me with a furry blanket, and offered to leave me alone to process, or to stay with me. I asked him to stay, and he curled up behind me, spooning.
We stayed that way for over an hour - me alternately silent, laughing, pondering, and being amazed at just how high I was from that. He assured me that I'd done well. That he'd enjoyed it. That he loved my responsiveness, and was looking forward to playing more. Though, he did modify the last comment with the observation that if we were to play very frequently, at this level of sexual contact, things could get rather...frustrating. I thought this very understandable, and assured him that I did not see our play remaining at this level of overt sexual activity for an indeterminate time. Finally, I felt competent to drive, and he needed to go to work. So we parted ways, me still giddy. So giddy in fact that I went home and jumped on Apollo. Which just made me even more giddy. Not, of course, that I'm complaining about this.
Later on that evening, I decided to go out to Rocky in the hopes of seeing and flirting with the Magician. So I went. I did not dress up like I normally do for RHPS...I was going alone, and didn't want to be walking around downtown in my corset, fishnets, and undies...even a skirt over them would have been too risque for me without at least one other person with me. But I went. And boy, am I ever glad that I did. I didn't see the Magician right away, so I stood in the back of the theater, enjoying the pre-show madness. Not long after, I felt a hand brush my ass, and saw a beautiful, built boy scampering away with a guilty look - I smiled, and he said "Now, I had absolutely nothing to do with that!" But he was playful, and fabulously gay (and thus very safe to be physical with), so we poked at each other, hugging and exchanging pleasantries. He had very warm hands, and a charming smile, and he assured me that we'd share his prop bag. I told him that I generally prefer to simply shout obscenities...but that I'd be happy to partake in props. He ran off to help with pre-show banter, and the Magician showed up. For the rest of the night, with only brief breaks, I was surrounded by flirting and back rubs and hair pulling and much, much happy, friendly, sexually charged fun. There was Hyacinth, the beautiful gayboy, who periodically came to visit me in the lobby, where the Magician and I had migrated for easier talking, and sit on my lap. There was the Magician, whose back rubs were thorough and just slightly less amazing than the skritches from his *incredible* fingernails. Finally, there was the Cloaked Norseman (CN) who had long, soft hair and made appreciative noises when it was played with. He also gave exquisite, vampiric bites to the arm, neck, and shoulder regions. I was elated, lusciously in contact, feeling very free and very spoiled. Feeling, on the one hand, like a bit of a Huge Fucking Tease, but on the other hand knowing that it was all out in the open - that there were no expectations from any of the boys I flirted with, no pressure. They were willing to flirt and play without needing it to be more. Yay. Beautiful boys!