Perverted Imp's Blog

March 31, 2011

Learning To Be The Little d

I describe my current relationship with him and toy as a Dds relationship. I’m the little d in the middle, submissive to him and yet dominant to toy. I’ve posted a couple times about ways I’ve had trouble with being in that role. Difficulty in taking control, in following instructions. Last week, I went to a class on how to be dominant. How to get yourself into that mindset and how to get the other person into a submissive mindset, and how to stay there through the scene.

We talked about language. Using terms and phrases to establish the dynamic and maintain it. We call toy Toy during our play. She has decided to call me Miss. I like this better than Mistress or Madam or Lady. I feel like those are big D terms, and that’s not me. Miss works. In the vanilla world, I often hear people say, I’m not old enough to be Ma’am, call me Miss. That’s kind of where I am at. I’m not Dom enough to be Ma’am, but Miss feels right from her. And it helps remind me that she’s given me that title, that control in her life.

We talked about clothing. This doesn’t really work well for me, I don’t know what a little d would wear. I dress with an s intent because of my relationship with him and the requests he has made. But it has sparked some interesting thoughts on a couple upcoming events. I have a bratty shirt I haven’t worn in quite a while, but at an event where I’ll be topping all afternoon, I’ve decided that it would be appropriate.

We also talked about music to set your mood while getting ready. A lot of women said they listen to angry girl music. For me, I went home and finished up my club mix cd – songs that I hear and enjoy when I’m working at the club, because most of the time I’m there, I’m service topping. These songs put me in the mindset of topping someone because he tells me to. It’s slightly different than the Dds dynamic, but close enough. I also added a few of my own personal favorite high energy songs to get my blood flowing. So, I listen to that now, when I’m heading to see them.

I mentioned earlier that hearing Miss helps remind me that she is giving me the control. That’s another thing that is helping me be the little d. She is giving me control when she asks for things. When she asked to call me Miss, we talked about it, to see what she was really offering. I don’t take control well in a kink setting, I’m a giver. But I am more comfortable accepting what is openly offered.

So, I am learning, and it is fascinating and fun. I feel very lucky to have toy in my life, teaching me even as she learns herself.

March 24, 2011

Bondage, Electricity & Trust

It started with a cage. A dog kennel set in the middle of the room. All lonely by itself until he ordered me into it. I crawled in, shut and latched the door behind me. The locks were there, but not needed. A small crowd began to gather, sitting on the couches, as I settled in. He was setting up Godzilla, the lovely, long-corded violet wand, casting about for just the right straight rod, which ended up being a ball-chain set. And begin.

He dragged the chains across the cage, setting of sparks to make me cower and the crowd grin. The cage does not carry the current very far, but I whimper anyway, and keep my head down. He dangles the chains through the bars and I curl up into a ball. The chains dance across my back and I squeal, trying to condense more, but there isn’t room. He giggles above me, and then pulls them back. Legs! He goes for the sides of the cage, spinning the chains in to zap my calves and thighs. I squeal and move to the far end, squirming and writhing to the audience’s delight. Feet! He aims for my toes, but I hide them quickly. He gets lower, snaking the chains on the floor of the cage, zapping my ass as I squirm away. I have too much room, something must be done. Cattle prod?

Someone says they have one, and returns with a stun gun looking thing, that makes no noise. Odd, but I don’t want to touch it to find out, so I stay at the door end of the cage. He opens the door and flails me with the chains. I scream and yip, but stay still. The unknown of the other toy keeping me at bay.

Time for a break. He lets up and I relax. She comes and sits in front of me, plopping down like a little kid to see how I am. He sees us talking and thinks she might be taunting me or something, and orders her to join me. She only puts up a little resist, and climbs on in. We settle together, comfortable for the moment, and he returns with Godzilla.

Less room now, squirming and squealing and yipping, and shoving and squeezing and pushing. We collide with each other and he dances the chains down through the top. We compress as much as we can as he attacks one end or the other. The crowd laughs and cheers him on. He grabs hold and spins us around, show us to everyone in the room. Another attempt at a cattle prod, this one a modified flyswatter. He takes hold and pokes us. Thighs and backs, he goes for the toes but we hide them. He opens the door and herds us to the far end. Squished against the bars, I can get no smaller.

He gives us a break, going after a third victim, and she takes off her high heels to give us more room. I’d forgotten my laces at home, so I’m already barefoot. The third victim doesn’t want to play so he returns to tormenting us. Her hair gets pulled through the bars and attached to the cage by helpful members of the crowd. She can’t move her head now, but she squirms just as much. Godzilla dances around the cage and through the bars. Squeaking and squealing, we writhe and contort for his pleasure.

Another break and he wanders about. We keep eyes on him, every time he goes by, but hands are empty. She likes the cage so we stay. Relaxing together. He moves on to other scenes. Her friends decide to have a bit of fun, and now I’m part of the audience, though inside, as I watch them play with her, untouched.

Then we snuggle together, spent and happy. Finished with other scenes, he comes and lets us out. He directs me to take a break and wait for our table. He has tighter plans for me.

A little while later and a massage table has replaced the cage in the center of the room. He snaps, and my dress comes off. A sheet on the table and another snap, and I’m lying naked on my back. The leopard print sheet is wrapped around me and tucked in nice and tight. Ah quarters. He pulls out three quarters and the duct tape. The sheet is reopened and the quarters are placed over tender bits, one for each nipple and one above the crotch. Rewrapped and away we go.

He has red duct tape and starts at the feet, wrapping tightly and quickly. The room is dark and the energy is high. Tonight is not about clean and comfortable, but quick and dirty. I shift my feet, offsetting ankle bones, and he wraps quickly up to my calves. Flexing my thighs to keep my knees from being crushed too tightly together as he lifts my legs. She is helping with the wrapping and lifting. My ass is difficult, lift higher, bend up, more tape. Can I sit up yet? No, not quite, lift again, pass the tape. There we go.

Propped up on the end of the table to do the torso. Someone is bracing it, but not well enough. I’m sliding, panicking. My ass is sliding too far down, I tell him, I’m tipping. He braces and laughs and keeps wrapping, then tosses me back up on the table to sit. Chest is covered, now for the throat. He wraps more carefully, but still quickly. I have no brace, so he avoids direct wraps. Breath is still quickening, and then he is to my face.

Top of the head first, difficult, but tight, over the eyes and nose, and down to the mouth. Panic! Can’t breathe! Well, I can, but barely. Please. Please can I breathe? Please? He cuts a hole for my mouth and I gasp my thanks. Finishes up and tosses me flat on the table. The head end is tilted up a little and I relax into the position, joints settling into the tightness. Spacing now that the frantic energy of wrapping is complete.

Now, where were those quarters? Left one first. Tap, pinch, poke. Ah, there it is, he slices out the coin and yanks the nipple through. Right one next. Pull it out. Pinch, poke squeeze, slap. She wants the whole breast, but it’s a small hole. He pulls and yanks, pulling them all the way out. I scream and writhe and gasp. But they are free and she is happy.

Electricity returns, the modified flyswatter. Zapping, I yip and squeal and struggle. Ow. Hurting my nose. He cuts the mouth hole a little bigger, freeing my nose. Much better, thank you. Zapping and squealing and rolling. They stand on either side to keep me from falling off. Oh Toes!

He scurries down to my feet and cuts another hole, carefully, pulling away the cloth to find my feet. Ohhh, this little piggy goes to market! Zap! I scream and curl up my legs and slowly put them back, whimpering and squirming in my bonds. Where does this one go? The porn store? The strip club? This little piggy goes to the strip club. Zap! My whole leg spasms and I struggle. What the fuck was that? Hey, what was that? What did you hit me with? What the fuck was that? She checks in, but doesn’t answer. Yes, I’m okay, but what the fuck was that? He zaps once more, but I barely notice.

There’s another quarter, we should get that one. He comes back up to my side and pokes around for the crotch quarter. Finds and cuts it out. Zap, squeal, zap, yip. Three holes to poke and play with now. Where’s the sparkly cock? My hands are completely numb now, just so ya know. He cuts them free and I can’t feel my thumbs, but feeling returns quickly. Might as well, he keeps cutting and my chest is now free, breasts to crotch. My head hurts, it’s tight on my temples, but not enough to complain about. Keep your hands down. I grab the cocoon by my thighs. Pinching and smacking and zapping. Squealing, yipping, screaming, writhing, squirming, gasping.

Someone offers new electricity and shows her how it works. Gel and probes, zapping around the breasts. Full contact feels good, Spark gap is zappy. I writhe and moan and squeal. I can feel him chatting away at my feet. The hips are interesting and nerves run spasms down my thighs.

Hey, everyone wanna see something fun? Who wants to count with me? He calls to the crowd, ready for the finale. One, Two, Three. I orgasm and writhe on the table. One, Two, Three whispered in my ear. You’re orgasming in front of all these people. One, Two, and another girl whispers in my ear Three, three, three, three three. I arch and moan and orgasm to his delight and her voice. And done.

He cuts away the tape, quick and easy with the rescue hook. And I am free again, but not moving. I grab his hand and get a hug. Thank you. Thank her, too. Breathing, someone gets water. He tosses my dress over my body. I am still, coming down, looking up at him. Happy, satiated, satisfied, loved.

March 17, 2011

The Writing on My Thighs

What’s really there is that I have an awesome boyfriend who loves me, who trusts me, and who wants to continue our journey together, in life and in kink.

What’s really there is several new paths we are taking, one including an awesome woman who has decided to be our toy.

What’s really there is stressful work and health situations that are not who we are, but simply things we are doing and dealing with.

What’s really there is drama in our worlds and families that we need to deal with and solve together, supporting each other.

What’s really there is amazing opportunities for love and companionship and play and fun together, that I never would have thought possible five years ago.

These sentences are currently written on my thighs. I wrote them in a chat yesterday, and we decided I ought to write them on myself for a little while. “Until the message sinks in,” you might say. I need practice focusing on the positive. I need to not let the negative build up and build up, because “it’s just a little thing,” until it becomes a whirlwind of fear, doubt and crazy. I’m a writer, a good thing, but also bad. I write stories in my head, make assumptions, fill in the blanks. I live inside my head a little too much. I need to remember there are other people out there, often right beside me, who have the real answers, the actual truth of the matter, and sometimes, a far better grip on reality than the tangled mess I sometimes get myself into. Speculative fiction is awesome to write and sell and share, but reality is strange enough without me getting creative on it.

So, lesson of the week: Communicate!

How many times have I written about communication? And yet…

Things are far easier to deal with and discount and conquer when they are small. And nothing is too small to mention. A grain of sand creates a pearl, but a fleck of metal can blind you and a single spark can burn down a forest. He is good at noticing when something is wrong or off, but I am not always so good at realizing he is right. So, communication. Don’t dismiss it when he questions, really look and try to shake loose the thought that is keeping me off balance by hiding in the corner. Life is always crazy and busy and stressful, but letting things bottle and build up is only going to make things worse. Explosions are far more damaging than a firecracker. Just don’t hang on too tight, toss it up in the air and see what it looks like in the light.

I am loved. I am wanted. I am needed. I am worthy.

March 11, 2011

The Little Things

I’ve been trying to figure out how to turn the last week into a post. All sorts of silly cliches in my head. Patience is a virtue. It’s the little things that count. Or having silly imagery in my head. I told my best friend the other day that he and I are still groping around in the dark, but he’s starting to hand me more candles. Toy has been a light in the darkness, too. I bright, shiny light that we both flutter around. I don’t know how to write about it, they were all very specific things, simple things, personal things.

On Saturday, he brought her the collar and cuffs and me the shackles. It feels good to wear those regularly again. Sold, metal, shiny and clinky. Toy likes the tinkling noise her collar makes. I love the sound of the chain between the shackles.

Later than night, he grabbed his jute and called me over. He put me in a simple box tie, and let me stay in it for most the rest of the night. I was in space as soon as the first rope went around my body. He pulled me over to show some of the audience what he was doing. They asked me if it hurt, and I only came up a little to grin and tell her no. Just two ropes, but tight and scratchy, wonderful.

It was a great and busy night, full of old friends and new. I was supervising a scene at one point and he came over. Put one hand on the right side of my face and slapped my left cheek. It has been a long time since he did that. Instant expression of the power exchange – I gave him the power and he took it. We both grinned at each other, foreheads together, happy and excited with the energy of the night.

I was wearing my latex hotpants under my skirt. Shiny and happy, just for him. He found me towards the end of the night, and spanked my rubbery ass. Fun, happy sounds, as I leaned forward over the table. Warms me up on a cold night. Inside and out.

Monday was a good evening with the toy and then we snuggled. Just quiet, relaxing contact. Tuesday, I had a really bad day, and he called me twice, just to see if I was alright.

Wednesday night was class and practice. Towards the end, he picked up some drum sticks and pointed me over to the table. He wanted to work out his arm. I dropped my shirt and lay down. He gave me such a lovely, massaging drumming scene. A scene between us, just us. Though toy did come pet my hair towards the end. Which was nice, too. It was relaxing and stimulating all at the same time. He ramped up the tempo a few times, driving me up and bringing me down. It had been a stressful week, and I had been wanting something for just the two of us. He gave it to me without me even needing to ask. Sometimes he just knows.

Thursday was like that, too. He asked me if there were things bothering me, and while he wasn’t right on the point, he was close. So we were able to talk and I was able to let things go. Then we tried out his new massage table and chair. I love helping to relieve his pain and get him to relax. It was a good evening of connecting with him.

All sorts of connections this past week. Lots of little things, that made me smile. Some big things, that made me feel loved and cared for. It has been a good week, and I’m grateful for even the little things.

March 10, 2011

Daily Flashes of Erotica Quarterly #2 Now Available

Filed under: Erotica,Fiction — pervertedimp @ 4:02 pm
Tags: , , , ,

From the Pill Hill Press website:

Daily Flashes of Erotica Quarterly #2 (April – June 2011)

Cover Price $9.99
Published by DFE Quarterly, an Imprint of Pill Hill Press
ISBN-13: 978-1-61706-098-4

Featuring daily doses of adult flash fiction, DAILY FLASHES OF EROTICA QUARTERLY is published four times per year. As a daily flash fiction calendar anthology, a 1500 word or less short story is featured for every day of the calendar year (April – June 2011). This is a fun and steamy anthology designed for busy adult readers.
Buy Now from Pill Hill Press for $8.99 (plus shipping).

Available soon from Amazon.com or BN.com, but not yet, as of this posting.

I am not an affiliate of any of these sites and do not earn a penny off your purchase of this book. However, Shiny is April 7th, and for those of you who know me, I’d be happy to sign a copy.

March 3, 2011

Needleplay

A year ago tomorrow, I wrote a post about needles. Last night I experience needle play for the first time. He put one needle in each breast, and he and hubby pulled them out at the same time. Here is my story.

We’re going to need you. Toy and I. Physically and mentally, we’re going to need your support tonight, to watch the demo portion of the needle class. A hard limit for us both, but we are curious and want to learn the information. I’ve been preparing for needle play for over a year. She barely wants to go.

He is prepared, has a plan, and restraints. The class gathers and he cuffs our wrists to each other, my right to Toy’s left. Then shackles me to a riser, left ankle to a handle on solid wood. There are blindfolds nearby, should watching become more than we can handle. I’m already halfway through a glass of water when the class begins.

Safety first. Always. Cleaning supplies, gloves, first aid. Listening intently, safety quiets the panic. Veins and nerves must be avoided – like rope, I tell myself. Health inspectors and the law, public versus private.

The doll gets naked as we learn about the needles. The types of needles, the parts, the shape. The bevel could be like an airplane, but maybe backwards – don’t ask, it’s origami gone horribly wrong.

We get demonstration of cleaning and preparing, the site and the sub. Remember to breathe, always remember to breathe, and remind them to breathe.

The movement of the needle described in detail, I cannot watch. I have to watch. Toy is hiding against me. Oh god, I can’t watch that. Different sizes, higher numbers are smaller – I have 25s, they’re apparently for babies. I’m okay with that.

He sits in front of us, I hold his shoulder, pet his hair, finding comfort in his solidity.

You can run line through the needles, leave it there and take the needles out. Oh god, now there’s blood. Toy and I hide against each other. He tells us to watch.

Ribbon now, connecting them all together into a pretty corset. Pretty from here, if you don’t look too close. And now he ties the center of the ribbons all together and tugs. We’re hiding again and he’s pulling our eyes back to the scene. Look at that blood. Didn’t someone tell me needle holes weren’t supposed to bleed. I swear someone said that once. Oh gods, why do they keep pulling on it?

He’s uncuffed my ankle at some point, I don’t remember when, and cuffed it to another girl who is enjoying the show, though she arrived late. Class is over on time and now it’s time for folks to try it out.

He unshackles me, collars her and leaves us sit with the needleplay box I gave him last year. We curl up and chat with folk, the only part of the room not filled with needle tossing. Calming and relaxing, I warn her, he has plans. She just says no.

He gets an experienced bottom, tosses two in a pain button and calls us over. We watch him put in the next two. Double dipping pain button, and then she offers him a 14. Oh dear gods, look at that thing, it’s HUGE. I can hardly look at it, let alone watch it go in her, under the other two. Dear gods it’s huge. There is a screaming contest and then a quiet contest. Then he cleans her up.

Our turn. Toy shakes her head. But just one? If you do one, Toy, she’ll have to do two. Are you okay with that? I’ve already agreed to a couple, sure. Okay. One for Toy, two for me. We hop up on the table, hands still cuffed, fingers intertwining.

Where, Toy? Thigh, below the writing, above the knee. Help her breathe. I am terrified, we look at each other and I control the breath. Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… and on and on. He puts hers in, double dipping through her thigh. She does well, cringing but not screaming. Feels like a fucking needle in her thigh. But she is fine and breathing.

Now me. Where? I don’t know. Scared, confused, not very fleshy. Hubby says breasts, so I take off my shirt and bra, one handed. He taps my chest. Here? No, lower, please. Aww… He offers hubby first kiss. I kiss hubby, near tears. He kisses me, too, then turns my head to Toy. Breathe in… Breathe out… she intones. I am freaking out more than she did. Choking breaths. Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… Breathe out… One needle in, I barely felt it. Breathe in… Breathe out… The second one he does less deep and I squeal. Breathe in… Breathe out… and squeal again… Breathe in… Breathe out… Two needles in. One in each breast. I snap my head back to him, he is grinning and happy and bouncy as he has been since the first needle that night. I’m breathing too hard. Slow down. My hands are numb. That’s okay, don’t breathe so hard. Breathe in… Breathe out… Kisses again. You know that if you went deeper on that second one, it wouldn’t have hurt her so much, hubby notes. Yes, he says, I wanted it to hurt.

So, your hubby gets two as well? No. Speak up? Two more? No more. I heard One more, speak up. No more. Please, no more right now. So, I can leave those in for a while? Light headed. Breathe, don’t hyperventilate. My arms are numb from the elbow down. Okay so should I take them out one at a time? Or hubby and I both take one at the same time. Yes, that, both. On three. One, two, three. I squeal again. Another kiss. Thank you. Toy’s comes out, too, after we convince her that out hurts less.

We hold each other for a bit on the table, she starts to drop and we move to the bed. Snuggles, all three of us curled up together. Warm, happy, crazy. We did needles tonight. First time ever. OMG, we did needles. He strokes and pinches and pets. Comfort, love and quiet.

Head hurts, ears are leaking, but oh so incredibly happy. We made his week. He made mine. Hubby even helped. Will I offer it again? As punishment? Yes, I can see offering it again. It made him so happy and bouncy. I like playing with fear, and offering limits as atonement.

Dear gods, I had needles in my breasts last night. Wow. Still buzzing.

March 2, 2011

Meditation in Tears

Filed under: Ramble — pervertedimp @ 12:50 pm
Tags: , , , , , , ,

“Did I tell you how I kneel? Heels under ass, knees…” peeks down “about a foot apart. Gotta have enough room for his boot between your legs.” Not that I want to kneel on a freshly greased boot these days, and it’s almost always freshly greased. But we had such fun with that. MarCon, Thursday night, they all had to know. Me in the middle of that group. Such a show of power. I can’t remember if I got up to get a drink. And we weren’t even using object space. No Sir-ing at MarCon. Just submission.

“Do you want to stop having D/s? Yes.” No! I just wanted to stop object. But in that moment, D/s equated to object. Now, I burst into tears. I’ve never cried while meditating before. I needed help, but I couldn’t verbalize that. I didn’t know what was wrong. My face is covered in tears and my nose is running.

I wiped off my face. I didn’t have permission. I didn’t ask permission. He put me over his knee. I was kneeling on the floor. “Do you want me to stop caring about you? No, Sir.” But you’re already treating me like an object, Sir. I didn’t say it. I should have just curled up on the floor in tears. I’m crying again. Eyes and nose running. I’ve never cried while meditating before.

Our D/s broke. And now I find subspace, kneeling in the middle of the living room of my townhouse apartment, alone. My face is a mess, my wrist aches, thirteen minutes to go. I return to stillness.

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