In Which I Could Not Attend a Party

Last Saturday, I was invited to one of Miss Pearl‘s glamourous and sexy parties. I had every intention of attending it, but the universe thought otherwise and completely nixed my plans.

My body just hates me.

I have been ill with lightheadedness and dizzy spells for nigh on a week now, and there has been no improvement. I do not know if it is due to tiredness, or something else – but as I am also losing my voice at the moment, I certainly think I am cooking up something. In any case, I feel betrayed by my body that has decided that sending my brain on a vertigo-inducing merry-go-round is a good idea. [Fun fact: after getting diagnosed on Monday, it turns out I have Labyrintitis.]

My husband, on the other hand, is full of life, fit and able. He was also invited to the party. And there was no way I was going to let my body’s issues poop on his parade too. I encouraged him to go without me.

And then the envy kicked in.

Now, I have mentioned previously that subby-hubby and myself have been working on a semi-poly/open relationship type of arrangement (I realize that sounds convoluted, but I honestly don’t know what else to call it). By that, I meant that we play with different people, but always with permission and open communication between the two of us in case the situation changes. We also believe that, as long as we want to come home to each other, we are still in a healthy relationship.

In that case, why was the green-eyed monster writhing in my gut? Well, I suppose it had more to do with the fact that I was left out. I usually am at least an attendee at Miss Pearl’s parties, so hearing everything second hand just doesn’t compare. It’s like eating a frozen microwaveable-meal: full of expectation, but ultimately drab and disappointing.

But it is not the party that is the let down – oh no! It is my stupid fucking health. I wish I had the stamina to go through a normal work week without feeling as though I had been put through the wringer. Seriously – I couldn’t feel more dead if I’d been hung on the gallows this weekend.

So I sat on the couch at home, drifting in and out of consciousness, binge watching crime-dramas on Netflix (I ran out of the other stuff). My husband called, at my request, to relay some of the goings-on at the party, but that didn’t help me feel much better. He was clearly having a blast and I was missing out.

I sat at home, horny and eager to punish some naughty folks, but only wishfully thinking it. The worst thing is that Miss Pearl only lives four blocks or so from us. I could have sauntered over there in a heartbeat if my health had allowed me to. But I didn’t want to be the kind of party guest that sits sullenly in a corner and complains about feeling unwell.

Around 1:30 A.M. subby-hubby came home.

I sat him down and paused whatever Netflix was flashing at my retinas. I sat up like a lovesick puppy who just got his owner’s attention – not very Femdom-y, I know; but I am cutesy like that. I was happy he was home and I was no longer alone with my aches and fictional crime.

After we exchanged a kiss, I asked him how the party was. His response was typical: “Good.” Well, no shit Sherlock! He didn’t even want to leave the party until I texted him that I wanted to see him before I left for work at 2:00 A.M.

Mais encore?” I asked him with a raised eyebrow.

“I got the spankies I wanted.”

“Okaaaaay…” I know I said that we communicate a lot and that this keeps our relationship amazing, but his communication with me takes a little encouragement. This was going to be a hard nut to crack.

I asked him to tell me more. He didn’t know what to say. “Who spanked you? Who else was there? Did the hosts do any fun scenes?”

“Yeah, they did. Mr. Wildcard played with Cheeky Pants in the kitchen. They did some wax play. Cheeky Pants giggled the whole time.” Okay, we were starting to get somewhere.

“And Miss Pearl? Was she the one that spanked you?”

“No. She volunteered to rope bunny for Pirate King who needed some practice with his knots.”

“And who spanked you?”

I can unfortunately not give a nickname to the spanker of my spankee husband, as I’ve not met the person and can therefore not label them with an appropriate moniker yet. But I intend to meet them before long.

The point of me writing down our conversation is that I had to literally pry the information on the party out of him. I wish I could tell you more about Miss Pearl’s party, dear readers, but as I was not there (and as my husband wasn’t exactly volunteering the information) I can hardly describe the setting, or the people. All I know is that it was starlight themed and that my husband returned covered in glitter – so clearly, there were fairy herpes floating in the air around Miss Pearl’s party.

His private after-party

Continue reading

Thirty Days of Kink – Final Post – Days 28-30

 

Thirty Days of Kink – Days 25 through 27 –

Today’s post is short and sweet, partially because of the nature of the questions asked, and partially because I am gosh darned exhausted by my work at the moment. Still – I didn’t want to let my kinky bunnies down.

– Day Twenty-Five –

How open are you about your kinks?

Uhm… I think the answer is obvious: very. I am an oversharer by nature. I am very enthusiastic and love to share things I love and enjoy. Sometimes people can get uncomfortable around me because of it – my filter isn’t always on.

Thirty Days of Kink – Days 19 through 21

I have a lot of catching up to do!! *scrambles hurriedly*

So without further ado – the continuation of my Thirty Days of Kink series!

Thirty Days of Kink

– Day Nineteen –

Any unexpected ways kink has improved your life?

Yes, actually. I have been struggling with Anxiety, Major Depressive Disorder, PTSD and some Bipolar Disorder for some years now. Medication and therapy do what they can, but kink plays a very important part in making me feel better.

When I am submissive and get a spanking, it seems to clear my head of all anxieties and only the delicious pain remains. I can stay elated for quite a while after that. I am aware that the adrenaline and endorphin high is probably the cause of it, but it is beneficial nonetheless.

When I am Dominant, I get drunk on the power and control I have over men. It makes me able to move past my negative thoughts and PTSD. Depression usually goes away simply because I feel evil and mischievous. The fact that I feel strong and sexy doesn’t hurt either.

Back to the Bawdy Blogging (and some writer’s block to boot!)

Hello, my Kinky Bunnies!

The Prodigal Dom has returned. (Ego trips this early in the morning clearly get out of hand.)

I do apologize for the prolonged hiatus. It’s not that the Internet is still lacking, it is that I am so exhausted by my current work + move + work + unpack + work + clean the apartment + work overtime + unpack routine that my brain feels as though its been wrung out like a worn-out loofah. The result is a bad case of writer’s block.

This is due, in no small part, to a current lack of inspiration. Subby-hubby is just as tired as I am. Our sex-life at the moment is completely non-existent. That is not to say that I am not horny. I am just too tired to act on my kinky impulses; mostly because they require me to stand up and move and that is just far too much effort after the sort of days I have been having.

However, I am getting back into the fray!

I am planning a nice spanking session for the hubby tomorrow (I have my first day off in 3 weeks on Wednesday, so I can stay awake all night on Tuesday if I must *wink* ), which will be our first foray into kink in the new apartment. We did uh… “christen” it before the furniture came in (having sweaty, tired sex on the bare wooden floor of the empty front room – it’s not worth a blog post, as we sort of fell asleep halfway through).

But this will be our First True Kink (TM) experiment in the new apartment. I also bought an O-ring (hard point) to fix to the living room ceiling for some suspension play, so you know this new apartment will be turned into a den of debauchery before long. It’s just a question of having the bloody TIME. Time has become a commodity we take for granted, but I need to realize that – no matter how hard I try – I can’t work more than 24 hours in one day.

Sorry, I seem to be going off on a philosophical tangent there. I will shut up before I do some serious damage.

But do know that I am back. Blocked, but back. And for those who have written to me, I have finished pondering your very interesting questions and I should be responding within the week.

Cheerio, dah-lings!

 

Tuesday Teasing for Mr. Wildcard

Ah, Punish Tuesday!

It is a lovely day that was set up by none other than the delightful Miss Pearl, Dominant Lady Extraordinaire (in this town she’s Kink Royalty). It is a day she has set up with her Gentleman Nemesis to satisfy her kinky urges, and because scheduling in regular kink sessions seems to help with anxiety and whatnot. It is an inspired idea, and one that I have admittedly taken up with my subby-hubby as well.

Source: http://au-oui.tumblr.com/post/144540708220

“Wanna Come Over for Tuesday?”

Subby-hubby was tired on Tuesday. I was left with no one to punish. Dejected, I took a nap after work.

When I woke up, there was a message in my inbox. It was from Mr. Wildcard, and, as he is in all his interactions, very direct and to the point. “Wanna come over for Tuesday?” I could hardly believe what I was reading. Was I, switch and newbie Dom, really being invited by the Royal Couple to join them in a scene? Remember, this wasn’t in a play party context. I was delighted at the invitation, but also trepidatious. I had never played one-on-one like that before.

But subby-hubby was late coming home from work anyway and he kept complaining about tiredness, so I happily obliged. I asked when I should join them. The response was as succinct as ever: “8:30.”

I hastily dressed, but had a dilemma: should I dress for subbing, or Domination? Nothing had been determined in the messages. I chose to wear some nice lingerie (the only one not yet packed up for my upcoming move) and over that I wore a blue shirt and mini circle skirt. Versatile.

Eight thirty crept up on me quickly and I left. Continue reading

Brief Hiatus – A Sexy Party By Miss Pearl

Hiatus:

Dear readers,

I promise my absence these last few days was entirely a question of circumstances (life can be a bitch sometimes). More experimenting, personal stories and smut will be coming your way soon. But, as I have had a few requests to put in a post, I’ve decided to share Miss Pearl’s latest adventure.

Miss Pearl hosted an amazing indoor Beach Party, full of kinky hotness. I got a great deal of attention that evening, as the following will indicate. I am posting this to satiate your collective lusts. Take a guess at which of her guests I might be!

Be sure to visit Miss Pearl’s site as well.

I will also post my own view of the events once I’ve finished writing it.

Cheers!

P.S. I know I’ve missed a few days of kink. I will make it up to you once I’ve gotten it into my head that double shifts aren’t healthy for me.

Inside the Indoor Beach Party

What did I do over the long weekend?

It’s blazing hot, with the temperature dancing around the high end of 20 C or even over 30 C and nasty humidity. The pools are full of screaming children and all my friends were mewling on their social media feeds that they were too hot to fuck. Never-mind,  a little AC and the right theme, and I was all set for a great play party.

I hold these parties once every couple of months, inviting an exclusive group of my trusted friends to romp and explore and be our kinky, sexy selves.  This isn’t your mother’s play party, with all the fetish protocol and no sex attitude that entails. You won’t find some person in a motrocycle cap doing Florentine flogging to show they are a Serious Master. Everything is fun, casual and rests on an absolutely no creeps policy.

Picture an elegant 1930s apartment, done up in paper lanterns and blue crepe bunting in undulating waves…

The guests are dressed in trunks, swim suits and loose, airy cotton dresses. Some go pinup vintage, some go chic and modern. There are soft bodies; hard bodies; hairless, smooth bodies; and sensually furred bodies. Men, women and people who dance in the middle, all are welcome. They know it’s a safe place to explore what they love. The atmosphere is perky and joyful, vintage beach tunes and silly movies (Lilo and Stitch) setting the tone before we take things in a much more adult direction. I don’t think there was a bit of black leather in sight, unless, of course, you count the mountain of toys I’d put out to share.

I told the guests an 8:00 PM start time, and on the dot, the first handful of people start trickling in. Early birds ask if they can help out, and I hand off a beach ball and balloons to blow. I have three rooms open- the kitchen with its vague Arabian nights feeling; the long, pillared living room decked out to hold the majority of folks, and my bedroom made more intimate by a black light. There’s snacks and drinks: a whole watermelon in wedges; brightly coloured popsicles; jubejube fish; chips and salsa; beachy drinks. Nothing to excess, everything just right to indulge and to remind you that we’re here to play.

But how do you go from friends to frolic?

Everyone arrives around the start time, first Peppermint Kitten and her man (they’re early birds, and like to help set up) and then guests in ones and twos. Every party starts like this, with people bunching up on the couch, a little shy where it’s just a handful. Everyone is at least passingly familiar with everyone else, but there’s a note of care in everyone’s posture. Nobody wants to be rejected, and nobody wants to overstep and make anyone else uncomfortable. We might be inveterate perverts, but how to make sure we honour enthusiastic consent? The guests are almost all here, but we’re all having social time.

My friend, Peppermint goes on a little walk about the apartment, looking at all the decorations. I’m admiring my own handiwork in the bedroom, looking at the glow sticks hanging from the fan and the bright stars on the wall.

I get the play party truly started when I grab and lift my friend onto the bed. Continue reading

ATTENTION NEW FEMDOMS: How To Give A Bare Handed Spanking

So, my good friend, Miss Pearl O’Leslie, just posted this brilliant article about spanking. As I was asked by some interested parties about barehanded spanking just the other day, I thought I might share it here for their benefit as well. Spanking can spice things up and make things wonderfully kinky without requiring all the expensive accessories and tools. It can make Femdom easy and fun! So what are you waiting for? Go do it!

(P.S. This is not for Femdoms only. Male Dominants can learn from this article too!)

One of the biggest barriers for new femdoms (and women who are giving this a try) is that the topping side of dominating people can seem hellaciously intimidating. What if you get it wrong, will the bottom be seriously hurt? Will he laugh at you and take away his submission? I blame existing dominants, who often base their authority on how well they hit and tie. In some cases, of course, kink skill takes time and practice. Bullwhips and needle play require more prep and know how, as well as specialized equipment. But spanking is something anyone can do and carry very little risk, particularly a bare handed spanking with an open palm.

spanking
Why spanking and how does it work?

A human butt is one of the more resilient, padded parts of the body. Cushioned and bouncy, it offers a wide surface area for striking while keeping all the important biological bits tucked deep out of the way. As well as a safe target, many people associate spanking with being in a demeaned, vulnerable of juvenile position. Although people in the 18 to 35 generation may never have personally experienced a beating in the hands of a parent, the idea of being bent over and smacked is deeply embedded in popular culture, as a minor form of violence expressing the authority of the spanker. Besides, we sexualize butts, and spanking is touching butts.

For kink purposes, there’s two kinds of spankings, a fun spanking that works with the “victim’s” natural tolerances and a mean spanking that seeks to exceed them (in a safe fashion of course!). In this case, don’t confuse tolerances for limits. Limits are how the bottom protects you from being arrested, while tolerance is how the spanking effects them in relation to how they experience pain. So how do you make sure everything’s hunky dory? Continue reading

When In Doubt, Improvise!

If my stage combat teacher knew I encourage improvisation, I think she would kill me. Her advice was always: in a situation where someone might get hurt, never, ever, improvise! There is just one problem: I do not own a flogger.

I need one in my arsenal. I WANT one in my arsenal. But I am far too broke to afford one any time soon. So, what’s a girl to do?

After a long and pleasant walk with Miss Pearl, my House-husband greeted me at the door, naked. He was clearly begging for a scene. Having neglected to cum the previous night, he was in for a beating. I thought that I wanted to use a different hitting implement than my usual ones. This thought stayed with me the entire time I was dishing out his warm up (bare hands, to the beat of the songs that are stuck in my head at the time… unluckily for him, it was ‘Zorba the Greek‘).

As I spanked his buttocks to a healthy pink glow, I thought more than anything about that flogger that I wanted. And then it hit me (pun intended): I had some random stuff in my craft room I could use instead!

Source: http://www.cb2.com/artificial-grass-bunch/s580671
Source: http://www.cb2.com/artificial-grass-bunch/s580671

Indeed, a few weeks prior, I had purchased a bunch of Dollar Store plants – you know, those artificial, clearly plastic abominations? – for an art project. They did not end up getting used in the end. Among them, there was a bushel of long grass, or reeds, or whatever they are meant to be. In other words, I had a lot of long plastic strands in a bunch (even with a handy handle) that could sting like the devil if used properly. Continue reading