This is it boys, girls, and non-binaries!
We are finished with the Thirty Days of Kink (that I have somehow successfully stretched into, what, 50 days?). This is the last of the questions and answers. If there are any questions that remain, I welcome any and all mail with inquiries or personal accounts to discuss personally or on the blog. (Dare I say “fanmail?” No, no. I should not be so full of myself at this stage! Although… *grins*)
Anyway, here is the final installment of this uhm… series, I suppose. (I am almost getting tearful about being done… Almost.)
Thirty Days of Kink
– Day Twenty-Eight –
How do you dress for kink/BDSM play? What significance does your attire have to you?
Uhm… No… Yes… I mean… er…
Well, truth be told, I don’t have a pre-selected, pre-determined attire for my activities in the kink department. I wear a uniform every day to go to work, I would rather avoid the uniforms in my sex life (although I do have a military uniform fetish… but more on that in a future post). I don’t mean that I will not don a uniform if I find it sexy, I mean that I will not wear a certain item of clothing every single time. I do have certain things that appeal to me, but I really don’t need them to get my kink on.
I do wear different things in different situations in a way however, and I find it all depends on the image I wish to project overall.
In Public (Sexy Parties, Kinky Events and the like)
In events and parties, I like to dress to impress. I like to be lazy and slob around when I am at home and no one is around. However, I always want to prove that I clean up very well. This is due in part to the fact that I have enormous self-confidence issues and that I feel the need to prove myself.
I always try to outdress people, to be the most gorgeous, or to gather the most attention at an event. It is super selfish and arrogant on my part, but it is a strange coping mechanism I have developed over years of bullying and difficult times in high school. I am not proud of it. I keep feeling this urge to demonstrate to myself and others that I can be worth something, that I can be pleasing to look at.
As a result, if you meet me at a party, you will find me wearing anything from corsets, dainty lace, evening gowns, leather, jewellery, etc. Essentially, someone tells me casual, I go cocktail dress. Semi-formal? I try formal on for size. Formal? I will wow everyone with a vintage ballgown from Europe because I can. Seriously, I have a wardrobe fit to meet the Queen of England just sitting in my closet, waiting to be called upon. I also possess an arsenal of black/gothic clothing, pin-up dresses, corsets, dainty laces and lingerie, furs (real mink and fox, sorry guys – they were inherited), and period clothing. I am well equipped to flabbergast an audience.
I think it is my theatrical side. I’ve loved dressing up since I was a child and I adore being the most dramatic person in the room, even though I kind of hate myself for it.
Shit. This is more complicated than I thought…
In Private (at home, in the bedroom, where only persons privy to my personal life can see me)
I wear whatever happens to be close by. I am very lazy at the best of times, which is why I am grateful I have a uniform at work (I don’t have to pick and choose what to wear – dressing up for a party takes me hours!).
This means that, yes, sometimes I sex it up in my work uniform (think air hostess). I find the neck-scarf particularly practical in its alternate usage as a blindfold. *wink*
Otherwise, you will find me in anything from my birthday suit, to my comfy underwear, to my sports clothes, to my pyjamas. Whatever I feel like in that particular moment is what goes. Though I admit having a distinct faible for cfnm (that is “clothed female, naked male” for those who are new to the scene). This means that I get to wear whatever I feel like, and my subby darling gets to sport nothing but his collar and a massive erection.
I think that about sums it up, really. I refuse to walk you through the entirety of my wardrobe, or we’ll be here all week.
– Day Twenty-Nine –
Do you have a BDSM title? What is your opinion of the use of titles in general?
My sub started by calling me “Mistress.” I hated that. It sounded too theatrical (an odd statement coming from me, I know). But, being someone who is involved in a lot of theatre, I want nothing but truth from my sub – keep the acting for the stage!
We instead opted for the shorter, sweeter “Miss.” Nobody calls me that anymore – it’s always “Mrs.” or “Ma’am” in public and that pisses me off! It makes me sound so old. So I thoroughly enjoy being languorously called “Miss” when someone is begging me to come or to allow them to touch themselves… Not to mention that “Miss” would translate to “Fräulein” in my native German, instead of “Frau” which, to me, means my grandmother (she has always been “Frau S——” in my hometown).
Also, being called “Ma’am” just makes me feel like a bordello owner. While I do love musicals, I have Madame Thenardier that springs to mind under that appellation. A great role, but I would shudder to be compared to her under normal circumstances.
I find that titles in general bring a certain formality to things, if properly used. It reminds me of times long past when you did not address people simply by their first name without permission. It’s somewhat similar to what the Japanese still do today, by using the surname and the suffix “-san” for people they are not overly familiar with or people they are trying to be formal with. The English language has that too; beautiful forms of address that are quickly getting lost for reasons unclear (though some people will say “discrimination,” I disagree).
If I had my way, “Miss” would still be very much in use today. The same goes for “Sir,” “Master,” “My Lady,” “Milord,” “Your Grace,” etc. My mind is as poncy as the clothes mentioned in the question above.
I clearly spent far too much time engrossed in Shakespeare.
– Final Day –
– Day Thirty –
Whatever BDSM/kink related thing you want to write about.
What? Is that really a question? Kind of unfair, don’t you think? It reminds me of “Riddles in the Dark” from The Hobbit. An unfair question that ends a game.
But fine, I will let you have your Lembas bread and eat it, filthy hobbitses! *wink*
How about a quick little story about last night?
You see, both my husband and I have been so busy of late that we can’t even describe our situation as cohabiting anymore. It’s more akin to passing by an acquaintance from work in the super market and saying a quick “hallo.” The exhaustion that ensues from all our busy-bodying has caused us to come home, hint at sex and essentially all but pass out before we could even make a move.
But, last night, we finally had time on our hands. Our delightful roommate (I really do adore her) was out, so subby-hubby could moan as loud as he wanted and it wouldn’t matter.
So I told him to put on his collar and get himself erect, and I prepared my weapons for his punishment.
Truthfully, he had been a very good boy all week, so I wasn’t going to punish him too harshly. He was, in fact, very, very lucky to have so considerate a Miss that she would take his tiredness into account as well. I punished him just enough to leave him wanting for more.
I pinched and bit at his buttocks and thighs. I can’t begin to explain how much I love the flesh of his behind: white and soft, and rounded like a perfect peach. Just so… delicious! I gave him a quick warm-up with my bare hands, as I felt that we were both a little out of practice after a nearly two-month long dry spell.
I got his skin to a healthy rosy glow before pulling out the paddle. Nothing fancy or expensive. A dollar-store beach ball racket (whatever beach ball may be), made out of layers of glued together wood: very similar to a ping-pong paddle, but much larger. As he had worked over 70 hours in a row in the past week, I gave him that exact amount of whacks, having him count it down. On the 1-10 pain scale, I hit a couple of solid sevens, but mostly stayed around the four-five area. Then I moved on to a stingy little belt, just to add a few decorative welts to the shiny redness of his cheeks.
I then ordered him to lie on his back and pulled out some average, benign-looking clothes pins.
I placed them in strategic areas of his body, always making sure to pinch enough skin to make him wince. Then I played musical clothes pegs by popping them off one by one with my trusty riding crop.
As this post is erring on the long side, and I am writing it on my break at work, I will cut it short by saying I finished him off with a completely ruined orgasm. And I am leaving it at that. I fear your imagination will have to serve in order for you to surmise how I got him to that point. I was a happy Femdom, he was… left wanting.
Just like you (hopefully) are now, dear readers…