The two-hour drive home on Monday was fairly intense, and not only because every time I shifted in my seat, I was reminded of the bruises that covered my ass. My mind was churning with the myriad possibilities that could go along with this new change in our relationship dynamic.
I was beside myself with excitement. I felt like a whole new world had opened up for us. While I am truly naturally dominant, a part of me has always yearned to be submissive. I like to care for and spoil my loves, do whatever I can to make them happy. Until such point as it is expected. Then it becomes a problem for me. It is said that true submission is a gift and that’s how I feel about it. I will give it freely (when deserved and inspired), but once it is demanded I have none to give.
Very few people in my life have ever inspired me to want to submit to them. I’m not very good at relinquishing that sort of control. I need someone who wants to take control and can handle it once he/she has it. I need to feel loved and appreciated in my service. And I don’t ever want to be thought of as inferior or beneath someone. It has to be someone who loves and respects me as an equal even though I choose to submit myself. That may seem like a tall order, but I know that it exists. I’ve seen it in action and I’ve been party to it.
Before the events of the prior week and including the time just after he met our Diva, Roland had not expressed any interest in BDSM. He knew of my history, my avid interest in getting involved in the lifestyle again, and supported me in it, but he professed to not have any desire for it himself. In fact, he was quite adamant about his disinterest.
But one day he had an epiphany that his attitude toward it were due to feelings tied to a previous relationship where they had briefly dabbled in the lifestyle (at his ex’s request). Having that realization wrought a change in his feelings about it and he opened himself up to the possibilities.
All of that combined to form the perfect storm on the night of our first visit to the Woodshed. Everything fell into place.
So on the drive home, we did a lot of talking. He expressed a lot of uncertainty about how far he wanted to go. I explained that I was fully willing to go as far as he wanted to, up to and including 24/7 total power exchange (TPE). In my mind I was rapidly going through all the different ways in which I could give up control to him. I kept throwing out ideas for the rules and restrictions he could place on me, things to give me structure and discipline. The littlest details made me giddy, like the thought of sitting at his feet with the other subs at the munches. I think I actually squealed with delight thinking about it.
Looking back, I think I might have completely blown his mind and overwhelmed him. Here I was, someone who’d already had experience in this area despite having been dormant for so long, feeling like I had awoken from a deep sleep, ready to jump back into life again. And there he was, having essentially just opened a door to a practically new, unknown plane of existence. He just wasn’t ready for everything I was so eager to do.
What we, or rather what I, decided to do was to just try to behave as if our relationship was TPE. I would give myself rules and restrictions, things that I felt would please him. I felt that this would give him an idea of what it would be like, without him actually having to take control and figure out what he wanted me to do. I thought it might be the easiest way to show him what it would be like.
One of the things I started doing in the first week after our trip was going to bed when he did at night, instead of staying up online for an hour or three after he’d gone to bed. I would undress him from head to toe, starting with his shoes and finishing with his underwear. Once he was naked I would kneel before him to suck his cock. Then he would fuck me on the bed in whatever position he chose, and go to sleep afterwards.
I tried to wait on him hand and foot, pouting whenever he got something for himself. I let him make all the decisions about any plans. I didn’t talk back to him or verbally spar with him as I am wont to do. I called him Sir. Whenever I got home before he did, I greeted him at the door in prostrate position.
All of that lasted for less than two weeks. He just was not comfortable with it. He said that he was used to doing things for himself. He also said he didn’t want to get used to any of it, because he felt like at any moment I would decide that I didn’t want to do it anymore. He didn’t want to try to assume control in anything, because he expected that at some point I would rebel. He couldn’t get invested because he knew I am not truly submissive.
And as much as I would like for it to be otherwise, he’s right. To me, it’s a nice idea, but I just can’t do it all the time. I am a very willful creature. And moody. I can never be any one thing all the time. I can play at submission for a time, but it just doesn’t stick. It doesn’t come natural to me at all. Despite how much I love him and want to make him happy. How much I think I would enjoy his will being my own.
See, the first thing that got me interested in BDSM was the Sleeping Beauty trilogy by Anne Rice, closely followed by Exit to Eden (the book, not the atrocious movie adaptation). The idea of forced submission that I would eventually abandon myself to was my supreme fantasy. I longed for a Castle or Village or Eden island resort where I would have no choice but to submit to the will of someone else. Essentially a world that does not and cannot exist at this time.
Where are we now, you might ask? Well, I submit myself to him on the infrequent occasions when he tells me he wants it, in whatever fashion he chooses. It may be that he explicitly tells me. Or he grabs me by the hair at the nape of my neck to direct me. Sometimes he just gives me a look or changes the tone of his voice. And then I do my best to give him the gift of my submission. I don’t fight it, I allow him to take it in his own way. For now, that’s how it works for us.
By the time we finished eating, the tub was full of steaming-hot water. Roland and I excused ourselves to the bedroom and closed the door. The weekend was originally intended to be one filled with group debauchery. However, partially as a result of the unsexy news I got on the Friday before the trip and mostly because of how close I was feeling to Roland right at that moment, we spent the rest of our time that night alone.
|I truly felt like a queen in this room.|
He and I didn’t have much need for words at the time. We each undressed and slowly slipped into the inviting water of the tub. Of course, I could only sit very gingerly on the bottom. The hot water reignited the fire in my cheeks and made it difficult to sit in the tub at all. However, the encompassing warmth was worth any suffering.
While I washed the makeup from my face, Roland massaged my shoulders. After my face was clean, I let myself fall back against him and his arms wrapped around me. We sat like that but for a few moments before drowsiness threatened to overtake us. The hot water was just so very relaxing.
Roland broke the spell first, reaching over me to get my shower poof, loading it with peppermint soap, and then scrubbing my back and shoulders with it. He washed each of my arms in turn. Next he methodically worked the poof over my chest and breasts while still sitting behind me. When he finished, he gently nudged me forward so that he could stand, taking my hand to signal that I should stand as well. He washed the rest of my body in a thorough manner, paying careful attention to my sore behind. He put his hand on my shoulder, applied light pressure to let me know I should sit, and then he washed himself.
Once we were both clean and rinsed, Roland again took my hand and stood, pulling me up with him. Still holding my hand, he stepped out of the tub and helped me out as well. He grabbed a nearby towel and used to it to dry me off before drying himself. He stepped forward and kissed me while leading me a few steps to the bed.
I broke our kiss and spoke for the first time. I asked if he would make love to me. That sounds cheesy, I know. But generally, our sex tends to be very rigorous and sometimes rough. What I wanted that night was for him to be slow and sweet and I told him so. He agreed and lowered me to the bed.
He took his time kissing me all over my body and trailing his fingertips over every square inch of my skin. I sighed, gasped, moaned, and whimpered. My whole body was awake and tingling. Finally after an unknown length of time, he moved between my legs and slid his cock into my pussy. We moved against each other, matching rhythm, with my legs wrapped around his waist and our lips locked together.
I had been playing with clit and was getting close to orgasm. He had pulled away from our kiss, standing up on his knees and I could see by his expression that he was close as well. Looking into his eyes, I made another request, “When we cum, will you tell me that I belong to you? That you love me? And say my name?” He looked a little confused and asked me if I did not already know. I replied that I just wanted to hear him say it.
Less than a minute later, the moment had arrived. As he thrust harder and faster, he looked into my eyes and said to me, “Did you not know… that even before tonight… even before the ‘Shed… you have always belonged to me. You are mine. I love you, Tonya.” As soon as the words were said, I burst into tears and we both exploded. There is no question that it was the biggest, best, and longest orgasm I have ever had in my life. My whole body quaked and shaked and the trembling afterward seemed to last forever. He collapse into my arms and for one of the few times in our history, we fell asleep almost immediately, entangled in each other’s arms.
The next morning (which was only a few hours later, actually, as the sun was just rising when we went to sleep) we were still wrapped around each other and I’ve never felt so close to him. We could hear the others moving about and packing up to go. Roland and I were going to be staying for another day, but everyone else had to return home that afternoon.
We went for a late breakfast/early lunch with everyone. All during the meal, I was in a state to which I am completely unaccustomed: I was giggly and blushy and bashful. I was practically Velcroed to Roland’s side. I felt like a young girl in love for the first time. Jane and Lucy had both known me for about a decade and neither had ever seen me behave anything remotely close to that. Everyone teased me incessantly, even our waittress, but all I could do was giggle and bury my face in Roland’s shoulder.
After we parted ways with the rest of the group, we went grocery shopping to get stuff for dinner because we planned to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening curled up watching movies in the room. It was just a quiet, relaxing time spent luxuriating in the newfound closeness in our relationship. As we didn’t get a lot of sleep the night before, we went to bed around 10pm, but not before making love once more.
It was the best ending for the best, most epic weekend of my life.
[Please, follow along as I tell you about what life is like for us 6 months after that weekend.]
I’ll be out of town this weekend, so I am actually being proactive with making this post. It’s just after midnight on Thursday as I write. This weekend we are making our sophomore journey to the Woodshed in Orlando. As such, I thought I’d share a photo from the day after our last trip, showing off all of my lovely bruises.
If you are unfamiliar, the circular bruises on my back were from my first and only experience with fire cupping, which I didn’t like at all. In fact, I disliked it so much that I had him stop after only a couple of minutes of having the cups attached. I was incredibly disappointed that I didn’t like it, especially after watching two people ahead of me enjoy it immensely. Many people find it to be very relaxing. However, I found it to be terribly painful. I’m really not much for actual pain, so I got out of it as soon as I could. I did enjoy the fire play beforehand, though!
The bruises on my ass are courtesy of Roland. Yummmm. Hopefully I’ll have more to show off next week!
|twisted suede tails|
Sometimes when you don’t know where to begin, you should just dive on in and let the narrative build around you. I’ve been wanting to write about this weekend ever since it happened over a month ago. It was beyond a doubt the best, most epic weekend of my life. Perhaps I’ve struggled with it because to finally put it all down in words would somehow diminish the greatness. So much occurred in the short span of a few days that it’s hard to capture it all. Some basic details… A night of karaoke and drunken debauchery, followed the next day by a posh 2-bedroom villa at a resort in Orlando, friends from near and far, the love of my life, my first limo ride, and a trip to a public dungeon…
Our weekend began Friday afternoon when Lucy picked up Alan from the train station and Tammy from the airport shortly thereafter. I met up with them at Cracker Barrel so we could all eat, and then went on a 3-hour long shopping spree. The part of sugar mama was played by Lucy for the weekend. Once we were all shopped out, we came back to my place to rest for a bit before getting ready for Fred’s karaoke birthday extravaganza. Our later dinner of Chinese take-out made us all fatted up and lazy, so we were slow getting ready. And by us/we, I of course mean me.
So we were late to the party but we hadn’t really missed much. The party didn’t start in earnest until we arrived. Many drinks were consumed and some amazing song renditions occurred. Standouts included Alan’s cover of “Dancing in the Dark” by The Boss, Fred totally rocking AC/DC’s “Big Balls”, and me vamping it up with “Sweet Transvestite” (accompanied by a sexy striptease from the birthday boy). The highlight for me was when my love gave the best performance of all… “Boyz in tha Hood” by Dynamite Hack. I literally fell to my knees before him. It was one of the greatest moments of my life up until that point. And illustrates perfectly one of the many reasons why I am so madly in love with him. He’s just so completely swoony!
Everyone but myself and 2 others were pretty thoroughly trashed by that point. Luckily I’d had had the foresight to stop drinking way earlier because someone had to drive. As it was, there was still one person from whom we practically had to steal her keys to get her not to drive. Then we had to figure out arrangements because we were technically short a car. The result was that Alan drove my drunken friend home and I ended up with a drunken orgy between Fred, Tammy, and Lucy in the backseat of my Jetta. Which was an incredible experience by itself. Just imagine live porn happening and you can listen but not watch. It was like a live episode of Sonic Erotica‘s Aural Voyeurism. Somehow I managed to get us safely back to my house.
Disappointing though it may seem, I was largely uninvolved in most of the debauchery that evening. While my love and I attempted to have some fun of our own with one of my lovely girlfriends, Jane, it was not meant to be that night. It had been a long, exhausting evening, so he and I were too tired to even attempt anything with each other instead. He quietly passed out while I took our girl home. By the time I made it back to my house, there was barely an hour left until sunrise. Fred & Lucy, upstairs in the loft, and Alan & Tammy, downstairs in the living room/office on an air mattress, had finally fucked themselves to sleep. I got undressed, crawled into bed, and was quickly asleep.
Being that I was up until almost sunrise, I slept until around noon. Lucy had taken Fred back to his truck at some point in the morning before I arose. As I mentioned, there had been a large amount of alcohol consumed by all but myself and Alan the night before and as such, everyone but the two of us was hungover. My poor Roland was in bed until almost 3 in the afternoon. Although we had a 2.5-hour road trip ahead of us that day, no one was really in much of a hurry to get going. We were all struggling to recover from the night before.
Sometime in the afternoon before Roland got out of bed, Tammy and Alan started feeling frisky again. Tammy took his hand and started to lead him up the stairs to the loft. I was sitting at my desk downstairs, mucking around the internet, trying desperately to secure my tickets to Bonnaroo. Due to heavy traffic, the ticket ordering page kept timing out before I could complete the transaction. Before she reached the foot of the stairs, I stopped her. “Why are you going upstairs? Are you shy all of a sudden? I don’t mind watching.” I motioned to the air mattress, mostly deflated, still lying in the middle of the floor. They looked at each other, stripped, and quickly got to it while I watched and Lucy sat nearby, doing her homework on her laptop.
I had been chatting with Jane online and mentioned what I was watching now. She was a little bit surprised when, after securing permission from the couple fucking on my floor, I asked if she and her husband, Clayton, wanted to watch on my webcam. Of course they readily agreed, although they both got too shy and embarrassed (or maybe it was hot and bothered) to watch for long. A few minutes later, Alan decided to get up to go grab his camera. Completely forgetting that I was working on a timed transaction, I took this opportunity to get on the floor and give Tammy’s pussy a good licking. She was just starting to moan and get into it when I remembered what I was supposed to be doing and had to jump back to my seat at the computer, apologizing profusely as I did. It mattered not because Alan had returned and slipped his big cock right back into the place where my tongue had just been, passing his camera to Lucy.
It was about that time that Roland finally emerged from the bedroom. I don’t know if it was the commotion that roused him or if he was finally feeling better. His only response to walking in on the decidedly hot live porn action happening in our living room was, “Well… okay then.” He carefully stepped around them and a seat as his computer desk, which was adjacent to mine. I think that might have been one distraction too many for them, or maybe they were still fucked out from the early morning hours, because they gave up and put their clothes on.
Eventually we did start to get the show on the road. Check-in for our villa was supposed to be at 3pm and there would be a limo arriving at 8pm to take us to the dungeon. Lucy, Tammy and Fred kind of collected and threw their stuff together into the car and left, opting to shower and refresh themselves once they arrived. Roland and I took our time showering and doing last-minute packing before we got on the road. We left about an hour and a half after everyone else did. After stopping to get dinner and some supplies for the weekend, we finally arrived at the villa just before 9pm. The last part of our group, Clayton and Jane, arrived shortly thereafter.
The 4th floor villa was pretty amazing. It was really more like an apartment than a hotel room and easily the nicest hotel room in which I’d ever stayed. It had a full kitchen, dining area, and living room. The screened balcony overlooked the pool. There were 2 bedrooms with full bathrooms in each, one with 2 full-sized beds and one with a king-sized bed. The bathroom in the master bedroom, which was mine and Roland’s for the weekend, also had a large Jacuzzi tub.
We were behind schedule, but the schedule was really just a suggestion. We had the limo reserved until the dungeon closed at 4am. Although Lucy was patiently waiting for everyone else, Tammy was still getting ready, so I didn’t feel like we had really been holding anyone up. I freshened up a bit, then put on my makeup, got dressed, and was ready to go. Jane was all set a few minutes later. At last the best part of our weekend was ready to begin!
This was my first limo ride and it has been booked for just that occasion. Lucy and I had been talking about getting down to Orlando to check out the Woodshed for ages, but it just hadn’t really worked out any other time. She had recently come into a little bit of money and wanted to treat us all to a good time. The limo was fully stocked with champagne, ice and glasses. As we got underway, we toasted to all the possibilities that the night had in store.
The 20-minute ride was long enough to both relax our nerves with champagne and also build up our excited anticipation. That feeling was only able to build further once we arrived and everyone had to hang out in the lobby to complete the membership applications, along with paying dues. One of the dungeon masters, a sprightly British gent going by the name Master Penguin, gave us a thorough explanation of the rules of the house before we were able to go through the door to the dungeon itself.
As I’ve mentioned a few times recently, the weekend before last, I made my first trip ever to a public dungeon. While I have not yet had a chance to detail the experience in my own words, I give you now the words of my love about the evening in question. Please look for my perspective shortly.
The sights and sounds washed over us as we crossed the threshold of the dungeon. The sharp crack of leather on flesh and cries of ecstatic pain penetrated through the din of the crunchy guitar chords piped in via the soundsystem. Everywhere there were toys being used – of both the inanimate and the human varieties.
In the far corner an older fellow in a kilt and tall boots was flogging a nearly naked woman’s back on the St. Andrew’s Cross. Near the door another woman was laid face down on a table with her legs open while her partner tortured her thighs and nether regions with firm, bare-handed slaps. In the center of the room, the dungeon’s owner was suspending two nude ladies in a lattice-work of white ropes from a metal hook hanging down from the ceiling.
For everyone in our group, this was our first trip to the Woodshed, and it was a lot for us all to take in. The more vanilla and inexperienced among us simply had to find a safe place to stand and soak it up for a bit. Others in our group, however, felt like children stepping into the biggest candy store they had ever seen. My girl, T, was of course among this latter group.
It was a busy Saturday night, so all of the stations were currently in use. This was probably for the best as there was so much to absorb, and this gave everyone time to process everything we were seeing and hearing. Eventually, however, the kilted gentleman unbound his partner from the cross. The scene had ended and he wrapped her lovingly in a blanket and led her away to the couches.
As a group, the seven of us made our way over to the now vacant cross. Nearby was an old-fashioned shoe-shine bench used for bootblacking. I perched there for a better view of the happenings in the room and watched as my girl helped prepare her intended victim for a beating. Once her friend was in place, T turned to me and asked if she could be next on the Cross – with my hand swinging the toys. I agreed, then settled back to alternately watch the scene in front of me and to scan the room for other ongoing scenes.
I was watching a young athletic fellow flog a naked blonde on a nearby pommel horse when I heard T call my name. She had finished with her friend and was now ready to take her place. I stepped down to examine the spread of toys that she had been using. I still had limited experience with inflicting pain on her so we discussed the implements and the nuances of each. She also advised me of the order in which she might prefer to receive them.
While I continued to survey the toys, she removed her blouse and skirt, revealing a black bra and delicate black lace panties that perfectly framed her round cheeks. Black thigh-high stockings completed the look. The bra came off as well before she turned her back to me and cradled her head in her own arms against the hard wood of the Cross.
As a starter I grabbed the smallest flogger, which was appropriately black and blue leather. I stepped back and began striking her about the shoulders for a warm up. The flogger was light and speedy, but didn’t give me a very satisfying feeling when it impacted her bare flesh. I tried different angles, different speeds, and switching my target area to her smooth ass cheeks. I needed something bigger. Heavier.
I picked up the next flogger in line, which had soft purple and black buckskin tails twice as long as the previous one, and gave it a few test swings on my open palm. Then I returned my attention to her backside. More rhythmic slapping of soft leather on softer skin. Her shoulders were becoming slightly rosy, as were the cheeks hanging out of the black lace panties. But it still wasn’t enough.
The next flogger I chose was one that I had used on her just a few days prior – Valentine’s Day to be exact. This is one that I liked best and was most comfortable with. It was heavier and thicker than the other two, made from black leather suede with tails a couple of inches shorter than the last. I continued the beating. After a few minutes, I paused and pulled one of her pigtails back so that I could kiss her on the lips. Then I rubbed her down and continued the flogging. I changed pace and technique. Up to this point I had been using forward and backhand swings. Now I gathered the tails of the flogger in to my free hand instead and snapped it on her ass – much like popping someone with a rolled up towel.
She jumped, and the dungeon faded into the background.
I lost track of time as I continued to make her dance and writhe on the cross. Angry red blotches began to appear on her ass as I continued to pop it with the flogger. I don’t know where I was – I found a place inside my head that I had never visited before. It was scary and dark, but also warm and relaxing.
From the flogger I moved to the leather paddle. It made a gratifying slapping sound each time it impacted her rosy cheeks and the backs of her thighs. Her dance had begun to be more frantic as each impact caused her to reflexively shift away from me, but I held her firmly to the wood.
I gave up the paddle in favor of the riding crop now, precision-stinging tender spots – the angry red blotches on her ass, the inside of the thigh. She raised her foot as I struck the back of her knee. I struck the back of the other knee, and again the foot came up off the floor as a new step was added to her dance. I grabbed her outstretched ankle and popped the bottom of her foot with the crop. She pulled away – almost completely away from the Cross.
I placed my hand on the back of her neck. I leaned in close and uttered a single word just loud enough for her to hear.
Something between a sigh and a moan escaped her lips as she lowered her head into her arms and visibly melted into the wood of the St. Andrew’s Cross.
The beating continued with the riding crop – much the same as it had before, but this time, her flinching dance had ceased completely. After a few more minutes I sensed that she had enough and I gently caressed her pink shoulders, rubbed the bruised cheeks, and turned her towards me to kiss her gently and hold her.
She gazed up into my eyes for a long moment.
“What’s that look for?” I asked.
“Don’t you know this face?” she asked in return.
“No. Tell me.”
“This is my ‘worshipping you’ face,” she stated.
“Prove it,” I demanded, as I stepped back and pointed to the floor between us.
Slowly, she got down on her knees, then looked up at me expectantly.
“Kiss them,” I commanded, pointing at my shoes.
Without a word or a second of hesitation, the brassiest, most independent woman I’ve ever known, prostrated herself before me.
Even now, reading this for the countless time, it still makes me giggle and glow. And want to curl up at his feet where I belong.
Follow along to my perspective of those events.
Last night I went to the Happiest Place on Earth. No, fuck that giant rodent that rules central Florida. I’m talking about a wondrous place in Orlando called the Woodshed. Although only two hours to the south, somehow I’d never been before. It will not be long before they know me on a first name basis by my ass, if I have my way about it. 😉 More to come about that soon. Until then, let me share with you the happiness of our glowing cheeks.
|mmmm… I love to be in the middle|
Posted in participation with Sinful Sunday, hosted by Molly’s Daily Kiss.
Click below to see who else is being cheeky this Sunday…