Category Archives: Fetlife

BDSM is serrrrrrrious bizzzness!

For the last week or so, I’ve watched with amused fascination at the non-stop barrage of incredibly philosophical and self-effecting posts fly by on my Fetlife feed. I don’t know if something happened to warrant such deep soul-searching posts and discussions of blame, victim shaming, and issues of consent, but something tells me I am way out of the loop in general. Actually, that’s just fine with me.

I don’t really want to be apart of those discussions even if I have something to say. I’d rather sit back with a bucket of popcorn and a finely mixed adult beverage and watch the fur fly, so to speak. You know why? Because one thing I’ve noticed among all these posts is the fact that everybody acts like BDSM and the life those in it lead are beyond the most serious thing ever. Don’t get me wrong – for a lot of the people involved in these discussions, these issues are very serious. I’m not discounting their experiences, whether good or bad, at all so don’t think I am. If something non-consensual happens to a person, whether to them or by them, I agree 100% that those events should be discussed and evaluated to determine if and where the blame may lie.

That being said, the whole thing has me totally amused. For a lot of people I know, BDSM and all things related to it is what we do for fun. We have high stress, demanding jobs and lives and often times want to get away from those issues we face 9-5. When I put on my “leather” or my slinky clothes, I don’t do it so I can sit there and have deep philosophical discussions about issues much larger and grander than myself. I consider them before hand, when I’m wearing my TOMS and leggings. I put my two cents in and then step away. I certainly don’t want to get embroiled in a debate where I could make an ass of myself, whether purposefully or inadvertently.

If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about 90% of the BDSM community is that quite a few of them take the whole thing way too seriously. As the old saying goes, “they can’t see the forest from the trees.” There is a larger picture to consider and one that I propose should include some laughs and giggles. Some of the best times I’ve ever had were laughing with people about random, crazy shit that has happened to us in the course of our play over the years. Dominants or tops do not need to be scary, mean and intense 24/7. Submissives or bottoms should not be cowering in the corner with welts on their backside and eye makeup running down their face (women or men!)

BDSM can and should include a great majority of lightness and spirit. I’m a person full of laughter and I want that to be reflected in my personal life. I don’t want to have headaches about issues much greater and larger than myself unless absolutely necessary. I come to BDSM to get away from those things. The release from my thoughts is what I seek, not delving into them deeper.

Like I said before, there’s a time and place for everything. Should serious issues be discussed, both privately and publicly? Of course. For me though, I’ll prop my feet up and dive into that popcorn until I feel the need to chip in. I have enough seriousness in my life, thank you. BDSM is my diversion from that seriousness and I suspect I’m not alone in that feeling.

The Return to Kink Play

Any of you who have been following my blog for any length of time will know that I’ve been out of the kink scene for … well, longer than I wanted to be. Sure, I’ve been active online through my own various perversions, Fetlife and porn of course, but actual in person play? Oh geeze. The last time I had any good, solid play was last April when I went to SINSations in Leather in Chicago.

The last couple of months I have been on the hunt for suitable playmates who have compatible interests with my own. I thought finding someone who enjoyed dishing out a good spanking and beating wouldn’t be so hard in the third largest city and surrounding area in the United States. Right? Wrong. Finding someone I want to play with is work on so many levels. Besides the obvious trust issues, it has to be someone I have an intellectual and physical attraction to. That alone is a daunting task. They also need to share at least some of my kinks and have a willingness to push through some of the bratiness and little girl behavior that I sometimes exhibit when playing.

Needless to say, it felt like a daunting task. I found someone I trust … then found out he liked kink but not beating. Okay next. I found someone willing to beat me, but with little time to do so when my schedule afforded me the opportunity. Next again. My biggest stumbling point was my anxiousness in actually meeting someone “new.” That could go wrong in any number of ways! (Kink PSA – if someone doesn’t have recommendations from people you even remotely know, it’s best to take things slow and meet up somewhere public.)

I found myself conversing with someone I’d met at SINSations and enjoyed the company of while there. He’s a friend of my friends, well respected and pretty public on the scene. I played my cat and mouse game, leaving hints, suggestive comments and at times outright requests. Finally he said, “Do you want to play?” Thanks to busy schedules and random things, it took some time to finally line up the day.

I soon found myself sitting outside of a “seedy” hotel by O’Hare International Airport. The idea was a rendezvous at what you’d normally consider a seedy hotel and make it feel all gritty and “wrong.” One of my kinks is a bit of degradation play and I loved this idea. We’d talked about some things that were possibilities for play, but quite honestly I just wanted someone else to decide these things. There are a few things that are no-gos for me, hard limits they’re called. No hair pulling. No ball gags (in general.) No extensive bruising in areas I couldn’t cover. I’m sure I’m forgetting some here.

He was lovely through dinner, as expected. When we got back to the room though, I was ready. I’d prepped myself mentally and physically to get beat and my bum was so ready to feel the warm sting of pain. I’ve always found that transitioning from conversation to full out play to be an awkward thing, but thankfully simply bending over to look in my purse for lipbalm turned into getting my ass felt up and fingernails raked across my back. I still have delicious marks three days later from all the scratches.

Side note – You’ll forgive me here if I’m a little sketchy on the details. I was a bit preoccupied to really digest what was going on, but I will give you the highlights. 

Since he’s a rope guy and I’m interested in playing with rope more often than once a year, my wrists were bound so I couldn’t wiggle too much. As he’d told me ahead of time, I got thrown on the bed and my bum got inspected. The glorious return to hands and fists pounding on me. How I missed thee. My body has changed a lot since the last time I played and he found new areas that I didn’t know would be tender and sweet. I guess losing 15 pounds in a year will do that to a person. When I flinched or squirmed after he hit a particular area, that was the cue to focus.

Bound and immobilized into the fetal position, my ass soon became the target for a roll of fun toys. I know someone of them thanks to familiar sensations but I couldn’t tell you exactly given that I was face down in the bed. Floggers, paddles, fists and hands – oh my! Cold lube was spread on my asshole and something cold and hard was pressed in. To my great delight it was a delicious anal hook. Yes, I after admiring them for years, my anal hook cherry was finally popped. It was roped to my wrist and ankle restraints such that when I squirmed too much it would effectively make the hook pull tighter. More blows ensued and I felt the hot glow of familiarity. My apple bottom was soon becoming a red delicious apple, borrowing a phrase from my tormenter.

Here’s where I make another PSA. Anal play in real life isn’t like porn, people. Weird things happen. Embarrassing things happen. One of the most mortifying moments of my life happened. Will I tell you? Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that. The sign of a good top is taking that embarrassment I was feeling and turning into mood for the scene. Seamlessly putting me in that shy, little girl mode that made me blush bright red and apologize what felt like a thousand times. It was a credit to my playmate that he was able to do that and do that well. Am I still embarrassed? Hell yes. Honestly I think I’ll be embarrassed about it for years.

He stood me up and proceeded to pay attention to my forgotten front side. Punches, scratches, slaps and all kinds of other blows landed on my supple breasts and flesh. The upper sides of my breasts and armpit area are still sore. One thing that was lovely about this particular “seedy” hotel room was that there were several mirrors in there, probably more than you’d think for a low budget hotel. There’s nothing like watching someone pound away on your flesh than watching it in a mirror. It’s a fun combination of objectification, degradation and submission.

It seemed we were winding down and we both agreed it was probably better to stop. His theory? Have a few slower, introductory scenes before having longer phenomenal scenes. My pounding, burning ass wasn’t disagreeing and neither was my mind. We cuddled and chatted, exchanging stories of weird things that had happened to us in our regular lives and kink lives. Inevitably parting ways with a hug and an agreement that it was fun, I was on my merry little way back to life in white bread America. My ass felt every bump in the road during my drive, by the way.

Days later I’m left with lovely purple bruises and a wonderful ache in my ass. I’m also left with a desire to do it again and do it more in depth. We didn’t play with a lot of the d/s themes I’m looking for still, but that takes time. Building that connection and that chemistry doesn’t happen overnight and certainly doesn’t happen the first time you play with someone. It’s a slow give and take. For me, it’s a process of learning and trusting to give up power. It’s about finding myself in the mindset to want to do so.

Would I play with this person again? Yes, very much so. My bruises tell me he definitely has the ability and skill I’m looking for and glimpses of the dominance I crave. But much like life, it’s an evolution. Nobody knows where things may take us or when schedules may line up again.

My return to kink and impact play was enjoyable and only left me wanting more. That adrenaline rush is addictive. I’ve long admitted I am addicted to the pound of a fist, the woosh of a flogger, the impact of a paddle and the throw of a glance. The only question is when I’ll get my next hit of my addiction.

Calling All Doms!

Okay, so you’re a dominant person. You see my profile on Fetlife, you follow me on Twitter, or you otherwise have found me through the kinky online community. You notice that I’m single and submissive. This prompts several signals in your head, the best of which I will paraphrase:

  • “OMG, ATTACK!” 
  • “I’ll make her kneel and suck my cock, easy peasy.” 
  • “Gotta get to her before all the other doms do!”
  • “She’s such a whore and I love it! She’ll want to fuck me no questions asked.”
  • “I won’t have to work at this one.” 
  • “All subs are the same. Just demand they call me Sir and they’re in subspace.” 

Ugh, do I really need to go through why all of these are wrong? Unfortunately it seems I do. I’ll spare you having me go line by line, but there are some overarching themes I do feel I need to examine and debunk.

1. Just because I am A submissive doesn’t mean I’m YOUR submissive. Until we have some kind of relationship established, I will not bow to you, kneel before you, or call you Sir, Master or any other variation on such a title. Do not treat me as your property when I am clearly not. There is quite the difference in me being of a submissive nature than me being your submissive. When we have some kind of dialogue established where I feel it is appropriate to do these things for you, you’ll know. Otherwise treat me as you would any other woman hopefully – your equal. I don’t appreciate you automatically treating me as lower than you.

2. Titles are earned, not handed out like Halloween candy. Along these same lines, I feel a title is earned. Don’t message me on Fetlife and automatically put your “title” in it. It’s just bad taste I think. People who are good at what they do don’t feel the need to brag about it. Word spreads without their own doing. Titles are something that I don’t apply to people willy nilly. I don’t like when within five minutes of starting to talk to someone they insist on being called “Master [insert name here]” or “Sir [fucktarded name there].” I will call you your name until you have earned your title. Don’t be offended when I do this because I do this with everybody. It is not me disrespecting you; it is simply a recognition that I don’t know you well enough to confirm the status you have so graciously applied to yourself.

3. If you want to get in my pants, try getting in it through my head. I’ve talked to a lot of people about sex in my time. I was talking dirty long before I ever was actually having sex. I’ve found the best and easiest way to approach me if you’re truly interested in knowing me on a sexual level is to know me on an intellectual level first. Don’t automatically come out and want to have phone sex on our first conversation. If it evolves into that, then bonus, but don’t expect it. I go at my own pace and pressuring me into talking sex 24/7 will only cause me to be irritated with you. Do a little research about the things I’m interested in. It’s not that hard. I make it pretty obvious if you just listen and pay attention. If you can talk to me about more than how hard I make your cock, you’re more likely to be able to get that cock somewhere near me.

4. For the love of all that is holy, know how to properly write and punctuate your writing. It just shows lack of respect for me when I get a message saying “I think ur hawt cum fuk and suck my cock”. Really? Really? You really think I’m going to find that attractive? Um, no. I’m not. In case you were wondering. Sit down, put a little thought into what you decide to send me off the bat and maybe reread it. Do a little editing. Spend more than half a second on me and I’ll spend more than that on you. Sure, you still may get the old delete button for any of the other reasons I’ve mentioned here, but at least this way you’ll be demonstrating you respect me as an intelligent woman enough to converse with me on an adult level. I’m getting a juris doctorate, people. I know how to write. Please show me you know how to as well.

5. If I lose interest in you, don’t pout and be a little bitch about it. Okay, folks. It’s time for me to own up. At any given time, I’m probably juggling three to five different conversations with different people. I’m all at different points in my relationship with those people. Some are in the introductory phase while some are at a deeper level. I am not a monogamous person so don’t expect it of me. I play the field. That doesn’t mean I like you any less. In the same vein though, if I lose interest in you for any reason (most likely I’m either super busy or you have somehow ruined it for yourself) don’t pout and try to get back in with me. If I want to talk to you, I will pursue it. Otherwise go away and try your tricks on some other little sniveling sub who may actually like it. Don’t be a whiner and constantly message me asking what you’ve done wrong. If you don’t know, I won’t tell you.

Don’t want to play by these rules? Fine, then don’t expect me to be interested in you. I am a busy girl and have lots of options presented to me. There are a many paths I can take. The one you present me is merely one of them. Relationships are not built overnight and trust takes even longer. When I’ve let you in to my inner circle, you should know it. I’ve shared things with you I don’t normally post online. That’s usually a good clue that you’ve been allowed were very few ever venture.

Just remember this – doms are a dime a dozen. A spunky sub like me? Priceless. Follow the rules and you’ll be rewarded tenfold.