Taunting is Tasty.

It took me a while to realize how much I adore taunting.  Or rather, being taunted.

My initial hint of it came at a party over a year ago when T was wrestling around with a couple we know.  Two women versus one man.  Eventually they got him pinned down, and he was yelling, “I’ll kill you bitches!”   But T calmly said, “Suuuure you will” with a smile on her face as she sat on top of him.  I found that really hot.  Maybe it was her confidence, or maybe it was just the fact that she was rubbing something in his face knowing he was powerless to stop her.  Probably both.

A little while back, she had me write a story incorporating a form of play we’d never done before.  When I asked her what she thought of it, one of the things she said was, “I liked the taunting.”

Last time we played privately, she was kicking me in the balls over and over.  She remarked that she found it amusing that she took me out of the cock cage just to kick me in the balls.

The other night on our way to a demo, she told me how she wanted to force me to watch her get fucked by multiple men, then make me clean her up orally afterward.  She said it calmly and with a sense of self-assurance, knowing that she has the power to do this.  Her voice wasn’t shaky or unsure; she knew that she could force me into this even though it would push me really hard.

Another time she mentioned wanting to make me eat someone else’s cum from her ass.  That made me whimper and cringe a little.  Seeing this, she said, “Isn’t it a shame that you don’t have a choice in the matter?”  I love when she flaunts her power like that.  It’s such an odd conundrum- her making me (or talking about making me) do something I probably won’t enjoy in the moment, relishing the power she has to do so with a smile on her face.  She knows she has the ability to do these things, and that’s part of what makes it so hot.

Taunting can share some territory with fear play, and like fear play, empty threats don’t go far.  It’s important for the top/dom/etc. to show that they’re willing to do the things they’re threatening.  Otherwise, it’s just crying wolf, and their partner will stop believing their threats are credible.  I’ve dealt with that before, and it can be irritating.  So it’s important to strike a solid balance between threatening/talking about a certain activity and actually doing that activity.  This way, the threats retain their power.  They’re believable.

I get much less verbal while playing, both in amount and volume.  As a result, I may not always react too strongly to taunting in the moment; it may elicit a whimper or moan from me, and I may not be able to verbalize how it drove me up a wall until much later.  This frustrates me at times since I like to communicate when something really flips a switch for me.  This is just something I’ll have to keep chipping away at in order to make progress.

I Gave Blood. Now Where’s My Cookie?

At an event last month, a friend brought some goodies from his yard.  He has roses growing behind his garage, and he cut some of those branches and brought them to the event.  They were originally intended for someone else, but that person backed out after seeing them.  The friend who brought the branches cut them about six feet long, and they’re about an inch or 1-1/2″ in diameter.  On the morning we were leaving the event, the friend who wussed out showed up at our door and asked if we wanted them.  Since we really like blood play we took them without hesitation.

Once home, I cut them in half to roughly three-foot lengths.  Then I took pliers and removed the thorns from the first 1/3 of them to make handles.  I had these things sitting in my house, staring at me, for a while.  I knew T would use them on me; I just didn’t know when.

We finally made the plans and she came over.  She started this scene with half an hour of ball-kicking.  That was rough.  And all kinds of hot.  I just wanted her to stop, but she kept going, that sadistic smile lighting the room.  Ball-kicking is one of my very favorite and most erotic forms of pain.  It’s a mind-blowing experience when she can take something I’m into and push it to a level where she makes me think, “Please stop, just make it end…”  After that experience, I can say that half an hour is probably right around my limit.  I really don’t think I’d be able to take any more than that.

Then she moved on to the impact.  Canes, open hand, and various other implements.  Then she broke out the vampire gloves.  (These are gloves with dozens of small spikes or tacks sticking out of the palm.)  She started to spank me with them.  This was followed by the Flogger of Doom.  The blood was starting to seep out by this point.  Next was the thorn branch.  When she started hitting my ass with it, I thought, “This isn’t as bad as I was expecting.”  But sometimes it would get worse depending on how she held it and used it.  After 5-10 minutes, I kept sensing what felt like a light mist or very faint drizzle of rain across my calves every time she hit me.  When I looked, I didn’t see anything there.  After we were done playing though, I turned on the overhead light (we just had a lamp on during the scene) and saw I wasn’t imagining it- there were small splatters of blood across the back of my legs.  And for my ass-

Let’s just say showering afterward kind of sucked.

I’d never had my ass beaten that bloody before.  It was very much a sexy experience.

I still have four of these branches left, and our friend still has roses growing out back.  I don’t think we’ll be having a shortage of these particular toys anytime soon.

The marks took about a week to fade after this scene.  For me, that’s a pretty long time since I apparently have a magical ass that regenerates quickly.  I should donate my ass to science so they can study it.  It might involve lots of probing.

Crotchety Old-Guy Diatribe

The local community has become infested.  Infested with meaningless, empty titles.

Among other things, there’s a proliferation of women calling themselves sisters.  For years, that was a title only bestowed upon the closest of the close, the ones who were there through the difficult crap, the ones with whom a deep bond was shared, the ones who went above and beyond.  I can understand that.  But when people start calling each other sisters within a few days or weeks of meeting each other, that severely dilutes any meaning it may have once had.  It seems half the women locally are now listed as sisters of someone else.  They see their friends doing it and just have to jump on board themselves.  Many of the people involved haven’t even known each other more than six months.  That’s not nearly enough time to establish a solid, long-term relationship of that caliber in most cases.

Another one I see much more frequently is “under protection of” or “protecting”.  I can see this being necessary when someone brings a friend into the community and that friend doesn’t yet know their way around.  But when it’s just random friends listing “protecting” for all their other friends, it becomes so watered down that it loses any real significance.  You’re friends.  You do the things friends do for each other.  That doesn’t make you sisters, protectors, or anything other than friends.

While it hasn’t yet reached popular critical mass yet, “in a house” or “in a family” is on its way there as well.  This is popping up almost everywhere that there’s a poly relationship.  It strikes me as pretentious and self-aggrandizing.  If you have a genuine established family arrangement involving lots of people which has stood the test of time, that’s an accurate descriptor.  But if you’re a couple who recently found a hot younger woman to have threesomes with, you’re not a “house”.  Likewise if you’ve found a couple shlubs to clean your apartment while wearing French maid outfits while you berate them:  Again, that doesn’t make a house.  Even if you’re poly, you’re still just another poly couple who has a few other relationships;  being poly does not make you a house or any other kind of structure.

Get off my lawn, you damn kids.