Someone said something to me today that made me smile.
"you make it ok to be bad"
I've considered why this is.
I am attentive. I listen to what people are actually saying and the way that they say it.
I don't judge a person on creed, appearance, or morality.
I let them be comfortable in their own skin
And then I take indecent advantage of they're trust and vulnerability by encouraging their exploration of their suppressed desires and unspoken needs, always for my own ends.
i write in isolation
counting each razor-thin line
(bloody things that they are)
laid out in neat red scars
a ladder carved in bas-relief
along the inside of my arm
This weekend I attended Dark Odyssey's Winterfire, a weekend-long alternate lifestyles convention held at a local hotel in DC.
Attending the convention without a play partner (although I did have a comrade-in-crime, my good friend Tarkin), and not having any pre-arranged scenes, I was more voyeur than active participant.
I made it to several classes, picking up a few tips on rope bondage, flogging, and knife play. In particular, the bondage class was memorable, as the teacher (Shibari Warrior) had a very nice rapport with the victim he was tying up; he had her responding very nicely, illustrating to us just how enjoyable a knot in the right place can be.
I was able to meet up with Tess, although I didn't get nearly enough time with her; she bought a very nice black and red corset, and though I only caught her in it from across the room (she was occupied at the time), she looked…delectable.
And then there was the burlesque show, put on by Melody Sweet and the Rouge Coquette, which Tarkin and I attended with the ever lovely Mistress Dolphy, and her friends (Angelina, Lucy, and Shazz). French maid outfits, the can-can, and Melody Sweet dressed (and then undressed…) as an angel while singing a hauntingly beautiful song about falling. What more could a decadent sadist want?
But as much as I enjoyed the classes and burlesque show, what stands out most in my mind are the various scenes I saw taking place in the dungeon play areas.
My favorite may be a knife scene, found in a side room (a room where a man and a woman were being pierced with small colorful pins that turned their skin into art, and another girl's back was made into a living corset).
The knife scene: the girl was bound and laid out on the floor, leaving her vulnerable to the variety of knives being run along the more sensitive stretches of skin. Her top's use of edge and knife tip kept her writhing, her cries a mix of surprise, fear, and pleasure. A blade drawn across her throat, slowly; the piercing sharp tip of hand-daggers pressing into the palms of her hands; her feet untied, twisting and moving as cool steel traced lines up the inside of her thighs.
Oh, and did I forget to mention the bachelor party we attended? The one with the hot pole-dancing nurse, the one where a very pretty blonde was on his knees, arms bound in red ribbon, and giving head to the bride-to-be while she clung to the pole and the groom got spanked?
No? I'll have to save that story for another time.
to the innocent child
safely snug in comfort green
your laughter
crowds my heart
to the unrepentant teacher
driven, but never divided
your passion
is a lesson itself
to the patient submissive
whose quiet never quite reaches her eyes
your deserving need
serves my own
and to the fair-skinned woman
who believed when I said time would be enough
your love
is a fulcrum in my life
It has been a while since I shared one of these conversations.
I met Keysha at a weekend-long convention I attended; between events at the convention, I spent my time in my hotel room, door open, reading a book and listening to the world outside.
A few weeks after the convention, I corresponded with Keysha. We both had plans to attend the convention again the next year, but it never happened.
—
Keysha wishes muchly that you'd simply dragged me into your room at Con. I'd wanted to pester you, but every time I saw you alone, you were reading.
D'jaevle smiles. I was keeping myself entertained; several people did come by to pester me. But you were mostly otherwise occupied. Besides, how much trouble do you think you'd have let yourself get into?
Keysha pages: Actually, a lot of the time I was bouncing around, looking for things to do.. and I tend to not interrupt people who are reading, I value my time with books. But… *whimpers* Enough trouble to get both of us hungry for more? At the right touch, I'd have done anything…"
D’jaevle touches your cheek, but his fingers are not gentle, "Anything? Because I can tell you that if you had responded right…so easy to slip your shirt over your head, to give a naked canvas to play with. For fingers to linger on your shoulders, slipping around the front from behind."
Keysha whimpers from more shivers. "Being touched can be the greatest seduction, when it's done right. And if someone takes that time, I'm very seducible. Anything."
D’jaevle brushes your lips with fingertips, "You know well enough now, my patience. Unfolding, the slow heat. Finding each sensitive part. I thought of it – of what you would look like under my fingers. Of how your whimpers would sound."
Keysha curses missed opportunity, and tugs your jeans lower, caressing the revealed skin with her lips and fingers. "This gives us… who knows how much added time, to tease one another before we meet, then?
D’jaevle takes another deep breath as you move. "Enough." He takes a slow breath, "Anything. Anything, hands finding your bare breasts. Anything, fingers parting to capture nipples. Anything, walking that edge, seeing how far you'll let the line take you, there in a room."
Keysha wraps both of her legs around one of yours and whimpers, pressing her face against your stomach to muffle it. "Such cruel thoughts you fill my mind with.. and yes.. anything. I would happily be led down that line, as far as it would take me."
D’jaevle pages: Cruelty is a double-edged knife, and soon I must sleep.
Keysha would far rather have you at night than sleep.
D’jaevle smiles. Are you offering yourself in the place of sleep?
Keysha blushes. "If you'd want me"
D’jaevle chuckles, "Oh, I do. But to replace sleep…you'd have to offer yourself. Your skin. Your heat. What do you fear?"
Keysha pages: to me, there are two types of fear,.. but one is better expressed as dread. I don't /dread/, talking to you on the phone,.. I fear it.. which is a much more delicious sensation, one I can savor and enjoy, and succumb to if I were to go through with it. It would be the delight of being drawn into talking, and of teasing, since I'm the most nervous on the phone, out of any form of interaction. It's the knot in the pit of my stomach, that feeling of danger, without it being present, and then, giving in and letting go…. that's what I mean. It's enough to make my whole body ache with wanting,.. enough to make me stifle whimpers just from reading and thinking of what you suggest doing to me.. it's fearing that I would give in to all of it, if I could, and wanting to. It's wanting to be helpless under your control.
D’jaevle pages: Tell me what you want.
Keysha pages: I want to feel the heat of your kisses, and your hands, roughly parting my legs as I lie beneath you. I want the sensation of your teeth against my nipple, biting hard enough to make me gasp as you enter me, after driving each other nearly to the brink of madness with desire. And I want to feel us give each other shuddering pleasure until we collapse, spent and exhausted, finally able to rest, too tired to move apart. I want to feel my heart racing just at the thought of you, feel my breath quicken at the sight of you, my legs tremble at the sound of your voice.
D’jaevle smiles. Yes. And now – now, what is it you want me to make you do?
Keysha pages: other than beg for release?
D’jaevle pages: Yes.
Keysha doesn't know what her options are, which makes it hard.
D’jaevle smiles. Take off your shorts.
Keysha does so… but only after closing the blinds.
D’jaevle pages: 'Panties.'
Keysha blushes… and does.
D’jaevle pages: “Part your thighs. Press your palm down along the inside, against the heat. Drag your fingers up against yourself. Then again. Again. Until you are wet.'
Keysha shivers and whimpers, doing as you ask, eyes closed for a minute.
D’jaevle pages: 'It won't take much. You're already right there. Fingers moving, think of my eyes on you.’
Keysha is…very wet, with an aching pain between her legs, needing to be filled, joined.
D’jaevle pages: ‘I want to hear you whimper. When I tell you how I am going to nudge against you, just barely inside, just at the edge, back and forth.'
Keysha buries her face against the bed, hiding. "Oh god, that's cruelty. It's like holding water before a person dying of thirst, and keeping it just out of reach."
D’jaevle pages: ‘I told you cruelty was double-edged.’
I'm not afraid of dentists.
I get my teeth cleaned every six months without a shred of trepidation.
And I certainly don't expect a dentist to be gentle; their tools of cleaning are a small mirror and a sharp stainless steel spike. On the other hand, I also don't expect them to treat my gums like a pin cushion.
I'm not being entirely fair – it's not a dentist who actually cleans my teeth. He only comes in afterwards to check for cavities, monitor the state of my teeth, and chat about the local weather. I like my dentist.
The actual teeth cleaning is done by a dental hygienist; there is almost always a new one there each time I visit – I've never had the same one more then twice.
In my head, I imagine them as roving gypsies, nomads, moving from place to place, never lingering too long in one town. In truth, I have no idea. I'm sure many dentists have a stable group of hygienists.
Just not mine.
Most of them are good people. But the one I had yesterday was pure evil – and not the deliciously kinky kind. I should have known something was up when she began the procedure sitting down (unlike every single other hygienist I'd ever had before). Working from this position, she couldn't access various parts of my mouth without extensive facial contortions that left me wondering whether nose cartilage is meant to be that malleable.
And that was simply the beginning.
She attacked my gums with a vengeance, spending more time scraping my gums than my teeth. It got to the point that each time she would clean up the excess blood with a gauze or the suction tool, the only thought I had was, 'She's hiding the evidence.'
The worst part is that she can't be considered a sadist. She wasn't intentionally inflicting pain.
She was simply being careless.