Service, Sadists, Slut-Shaming, Subs, and Sasquatch (Okay, I’m Lying About That Last Part)

I’ve noticed a huge discrepancy when it comes to service and gender, at least among hetero couples.  (And once again, there is a divide between online and real life, which I’ll touch on later.)  Online, it’s common to see women looking for men to do their housework.  When they don’t find what they’re seeking, they rail against submissive men as being a bunch of wankers, not really submissive, etc.  Then when you look at the dominant men, they take the approach of, “I got this, I’ll take care of my stuff and you take care of yours.  Now suck my dick.”  And you don’t see many subs of any gender clamoring to do housework.  They exist, but they are far more rare.

One obvious part of the equation is that women in our society aren’t allowed to own their sexuality.  If you like sex, you’re a whore.  If you make the first move, you’re a skank.  Men on the other hand are encouraged to own their desire for sex, and being the aggressor is pretty much a requirement in dating.  All this gender-based baggage clearly carries over into how much a particular dominant person is pushing for sex to be part of it.

It’s important to break things down further.  There is a difference between sex, play, and service.  Sometimes the lines between them can get fuzzy, but most of the time they’re pretty clear-cut.  Some people enjoy casual play; others don’t.  Same goes for sex and service.  Out of those three categories, I know lots of people into casual play and sex, but not service.  Those types seem to be in far shorter supply.  We all have to get something out of what we do, whatever that “something” may be.  Those who get something out of doing someone’s housework aren’t exactly the most common people out there.   Dominant men seem to understand this; yet many dominant women will bash male subs who don’t fall into this category because they’re “selfish” and “thinking with their dicks.”

In that light, when a submissive woman offers casual play or casual sex, the dominant men don’t make fun of her and say she’s not a Real True sub™.  Yet this is the treatment submissive men get frequently.  Is it any wonder so many men have trouble coming to terms with their submission?  Not only do they have to overcome all the crap society shoves down their throats about being a “real man”, but then they get into this community and are told their desires are not valid, that sadists don’t exist, and that if they want anything kinky, they’ll have to pay for it either in housework or in cash.  And forget sex; real dominant women never have sex with submissive men.

All the behavior I mentioned so far in this post occurs almost exclusively online.  In the real world, service hardly ever enters into our community’s vocabulary.  You see it sometimes, but it’s a fringe interest.  Many people, like me, just aren’t wired as service-oriented.  (I’m prone to feeling taken advantage of and developing resentment if we’re not both pulling our weight.)  In our community, casual play and casual sex are all over the place.  Service, not so much.  Especially casual service.  Yet all the things that submissive men online are told don’t exist (casual play, casual sex) abound.

How do we correct this misrepresentation so common online?  Lots of people (including me when I was new) are discouraged from getting involved in the BDSM community because of the way it’s portrayed online.  Getting in arguments with random internet strangers is rarely productive.  From my experience, correcting misconceptions is more similar to erosion than demolition.  Live your life, lead by example, and slowly wear away at fallacies.  It’s not a quick or easy path, but it’s one of the most effective processes we have.

Putting Kink in Reverse

For years, face slapping was always rather hot to me.  Not so much the pain itself, but more the social connotations of it and the helplessness aspect.  Doing this to someone is essentially saying, “I’m doing something to you that’s very insulting, and you can’t do a thing about it!”  The appeal is similar to that of face-spitting, though the latter is far more powerful to me as a tool of humiliation.

But slowly, face slapping had been becoming more of a negative experience with me.  I noticed this just starting to happen 4 or 5 years ago in my last relationship.  It was a very slow fade.  I remember having a really hot face slapping scene with my last partner that went really well.  Yet over time, something started to change and I’m not sure why.  So I mentioned this to T a while back, and we agreed to try to reclaim face slapping.  We started a scene that was nothing but face slapping.  I ended up safewording after a couple minutes.  It put me in a reeeeeeally bad headspace.  I got pissed.  I wasn’t pissed at her since I knew her intentions were good, so there was no real direction for my rage.  It took me a few minutes to calm down.  I couldn’t even stay still and ended up pacing around until I got my head back together.

So I’ve added slapping to my limits list for casual play partners.  T is the only one who has that option.  It’s just not something I’m willing to do for anyone but her at this point.

After giving it a few months and thinking about it, I realized a couple things that may have been part of the problem.  One is that there was no real recovery time between each slap.  Maybe five seconds at most.  For a lot of play involving pain, I need a bit more than that in order to process the pain; otherwise it becomes too much.  (As an aside, more recovery time also adds to the casual confidence and the “toying with the sub” vibe.)  The other part of it is that on many other occasions when face slapping has happened during a scene, it was very sudden and unexpected.  It took me off guard and pulled me somewhat out of the scene mentally almost every time.  So those two things may be part of the key to making this work.  It’s something I’m willing to experiment with more (not right away as I’m recovering from an unrelated concussion) but I’m not super eager to.  I would like to reclaim the eroticism of slapping, but I also worry about a repeat of last time.  If we want that to happen, we’ll just have to push past that concern and give it a go.

I’m a Doormat! Wait, Maybe I’m a Rug…

This past weekend, T and I were at an event we really enjoy in a neighboring city.  I’ve been going to this event for roughly six years, and it’s definitely one of my favorites.  Each year, our caravan from Pittsburgh to this event seems to grow larger.

When we got there, T said she thought the room looked familiar.  She was right: We’d stayed in this same room before.  I realized that when I saw this-

cope wall

There were about a dozen of these little paw prints in the wall, and I remember talking with her about them when we last stayed in that room.  I really wanted to call the front desk and tell them we had an infestation of gravity-defying raccoons.

I ended up playing three times over the weekend.  Once with T, once with a friend from Pittsburgh, and once with someone I’d never met prior.  The latter posted before the event that she was looking to do some trampling.  I messaged her and we tentatively set it up.  My experience with trampling had been minimal, with just a little here and there thrown in as part of other scenes.  But this would be my first full-on trampling scene.  It wasn’t a huge, burning curiosity of mine, but more of a back-burner type curiosity.

After meeting face-to-face and negotiating the scene, we agreed to play on the second night of the event.

We met up on the second night and headed into the dungeon.  Her requirements for a play area were outrageous- She wanted a flat surface and something to hang on to.  Such extravagant rarities.  I stripped, and she had me lay on my back next to a sturdy bondage table.  After slipping off her shoes, she put one foot on top of my abdomen and slowly started adding weight.  Then came the other foot.  Her weight on top of me was restricting when it came to breathing, but it definitely wasn’t too much.  Monitoring me the whole time, she slowly kneaded my flesh with her feet and stepped across all parts of my body. The point of view was terrific.  She towered over top of me, looking about fifteen feet tall.  Being a foot fetishist also added some appeal for me.  She’s occasionally flash a big smile, and that helped my headspace a lot as well.  It gets me further into the scene when I know the top is really getting into whatever we’re doing.

After what was probably about five minutes, she put one foot on my throat and started to press down.  Right when my body hit that “ok, that’s enough” point, she went just a little further and held it there for a few seconds.  She was able to read my reactions very accurately considering we’d never played before.  Breath play and choking are very hot to me, and this was just one more way of doing that.  (T had choked me like that a couple times before as well; it’s always a sexiful time.)  Her weight remained constant on my body throughout.  Mentally, it had a bondage-ish feeling to it.  I couldn’t just sit up to lift her off of me.

Then she stepped off of me.  After putting on a pair of heels, she eased back on to my chest.  That was much more intense.  Her weight was concentrated over a smaller surface area with the shoes on.  The heels dug into my flesh as she continued to step all over me.  She left me with some great souvenirs:

trampling1 trampling2

Afterward, she checked in on me and we stayed there talking for a few minutes.  At that point I realized I had gotten a bit floaty, which I wasn’t expecting.  It’s a happy surprise.  She asked me which I preferred- barefoot or with heels.  I answered barefoot.  It just seemed more connected somehow, and the warmth of her feet added to that feeling.  She mentioned that she also felt more tactile feedback from me barefoot.

I enjoy moving things from my “curious about” list to my “into” list.  This was no exception.  I’d like to experience this again.  It’s not moving to the top of my interests anytime soon, but it’s one more thing for the arsenal.  Having a large variety of types of play to draw from keeps things fresh.  It also helps to prevent “dungeon monotony”- walking through a playspace and seeing people doing mostly the same type of play everywhere you look.  Trampling is one more arrow in the quiver of pervitude.

My Inaugural Post as a Norse Deity

The other night was a night of expanding boundaries.  And then stomping on those boundaries.  And setting them on fire.  We ended up popping a few play cherries as well in addition to doing some play that was formerly a hard limit for me.  T implied that she had something special planned for that night, but I had no idea what.  I am coming up on a birthday, which is also the same day she collared me two years ago.  It’s a birthdayversary.  So there are celebration-worthy occasions about.

I picked T up from work and we went to my place.  She told me to strip and kiss her feet.  She then made me clean the soles of her sandals with my tongue.  This has a pretty intense cognitive dissonance with me.  All I could think as I was doing it was of her earlier comment that day about how dirty the floor at work is.  My brain wanted it to stop, but certain other parts of me disagreed vehemently.

Afterward she had me crawl into my cage in the living room.  Before closing it, she put earplugs in my ears and a hood over my head.  She had only done this once before, so I started to guess at what was coming: some sort of group scene.

She kept me in the cage for what felt like about an hour.  Eventually letting me out, she led me upstairs, still hooded.  Upon removing the hood, there stood two of our friends, a male-female couple.  I’ve played with the female half of this couple a few times before, and it was always gobs of fun.  She and T wasted no time in getting me into position.  They had me kneel at the foot of my bed (facing the bed), stretched my arms wide, cuffed them to the footboard, and popped a set of nipple clamps on me.  One thing was present that I wasn’t used to seeing during a scene: cake.  They brought a small cake with them, and it was sitting on my dresser.  After some initial biting, scratching, and ass-smacking, they began saying how nice it was that my male friend was going to help decorate my cake.  His partner mentioned that it was even nicer of T to help him with this decoration.  As she said this, T got up on the bed, on all fours, face-to-face with me.  He then proceeded to fuck T from behind while his partner probed my ass and bit me.  In this position, I was unable to turn away, my face a foot or two away from T’s as she moaned and writhed.  She’d occasionally look me in the eye or smile at me, letting me know how much she was enjoying rubbing this in my face.  Her face was saying, “I’m loving this and you can’t do a thing about it!”  Her cheeks became flush after a while, and this time I wasn’t the one causing it.  I’d yank on the cuffs, but they didn’t give at all.  At one point T realized this whole situation had made my dick stand at attention; she just looked at my hard cock and laughed in my face while enjoying someone else’s hard cock.  That absolutely drove me up a wall!

I also had the realization that this was actually happening.  Something that had always been a hard limit for me was now going on.  For real.  Not in my head.  Not on some fet group or in a story, but in my bedroom.  Flesh and blood.  This was reality.

After a while he stopped fucking T and asked for the cake.  To both women’s cheers, he came all over it, and they set it aside.  Afterward, his partner had me suck her dildo, which resulted in an orgasm for her and was ten pounds of sexy.  The three of us played some more while my male friend watched.  Eventually he had enough for round two, and masturbated onto the cake again.

Still kneeling and cuffed in place, T brought the plate of cake over and cut off a bite-size piece.  She dragged it through the cum on the plate and brought it up to my mouth.  “Please, no…” I said, which was met with , “Open wide!”

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She kept feeding me forkful after forkful, making me shudder.  I couldn’t taste the cum at all, but I could tell it was there from the texture.  Not as bad as eating cum straight, but still difficult.  Then T said, “Now I’m going to make it even better” and walked away.  She came back shortly after with a cup of her piss. . . which she promptly poured all over the cake.  They uncuffed me and led me downstairs to the kitchen.  The plate was placed on the floor, and T made me start eating.  It was mushy and warm.  I can’t say I’d ever had mushy and warm cake until that point.  The three of them cut a slice for themselves from a separate cake, one devoid of piss, cum, and other such lavish garnishments.  They stood there eating theirs, remarking on how good it was, while I gagged and swallowed piss cake.  (As I write this, I’m eating a leftover piece of the cake not covered in bodily fluids; they were right, it is really tasty!)

This wasn’t the end though.  T wiped my face off with a paper towel and led me back upstairs.  She showed me a picture online and the trail of comments that followed.  It was a picture she’d posted after our anniversary scene in December.  She’d carved “happy anniversary hardcore legend” into my back that night.  (For an explanation of that nickname, click here.)  The guy who dubbed me with that nickname commented on the photo right after it had been posted, saying he should’ve given me a longer nickname.  I jokingly suggested “Sir Thor LionHammerThunder, Great Defender of the North.”  This exchange occurred soon after the picture was posted in December, and I’d forgotten all about it.

That smartassery came back to bite me.

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This cutting took a while.  Last time she carved words into my back, I had a really hard time not squirming all over the place.  This time, it was a little different.  T started humming softly at one point, which is an ASMR trigger for me.  She was going for a creepy vibe by quietly humming a song while cutting me, which she definitely accomplished.  But at the same time, it relaxed my head just enough to avoid crawling off the bed.  I still felt every cut though.  Also, our female friend kept rubbing my legs (and at one point I think sat on them?) which helped as well.  I was able to tolerate the cutting without any real sudden jerks this time.

Soon after, our friends left.  Laying on the bed with T, I found myself spontaneously begging her to let me cum.  Begging is still difficult for me, so the fact that I did it without her telling me to speaks to how worked up I was.  I was stunned when she said yes, but I wasn’t going to question that.  After six months without being allowed to orgasm at all, it felt amazing.  Fireworks.  It felt like my brain was short-circuited for a minute or so after.  She did have me eat all my cum afterward, but I was still so floaty and happy that I got to cum that it wasn’t as bad as usual.  Strangely, after long periods of chastity, when I finally get to orgasm again, I sometimes get into a giggle fit right after.  I had a small one after this orgasm too.  Definitely a solid way to end the night!

I’ve Been Schooled.

T occasionally puts together a schoolgirl outfit to go to a munch or other event.  It’s not a frequent thing, but she’s done it at least a few times since I’ve known her.   A while back, she posted a picture of her in a schoolgirl outfit, with a mischievous-yet-innocent look on her face.  I commented that that picture really made me wish I was bullied in school, and I mentioned something about how she could stuff me into a locker any time.

The other night, I picked her up from work and brought her back to her place so she could change before coming to mine.  Once she changed, she stepped up to me in the schoolgirl outfit and asked, “How do I look?”  After I responded, she got closer.  Her tone changed.  It became much colder and sharper.  She got in my face.  “Good.  Because from now on, I’m that bitch who bullied you in school.  And if you tell anyone that I’m spending time with you, I’ll ruin your ass.  I’ll make life miserable for you.  Now get my bags.”  Then she turned and walked out.  Even the way she moved was pointed and bitchy.  I was stunned.  I wasn’t quite sure how to react to this, and all I could do was stammer and obey.

I put my boots on and followed her out.  She scolded me for not keeping up with her.  The drive to my place is about fifteen minutes, and it was a silent, awkward fifteen minutes.   She kept her arms folded in front of her the whole time, not saying a word.  I was too nervous to say anything.

Once we arrived at my place, T went upstairs and had me strip.  She beat my ass with a ruler while chiding me for not getting her an A on her last homework assignment.  I have to wonder if my neighbor was home and heard that part; the thought of it makes me smile.   At one point she took off the tie she was wearing (which she’d borrowed from me) and choked me with it.  I now have happy memories associated with that tie.  T also kicked me in the balls about a dozen times and then made me kiss her shoes to thank her. She followed this by pissing on my face in the bathtub and then riding a dildo gag she’d strapped in my mouth.  It was twenty pounds of sexy.  Maybe even twenty-five.

I’m focusing less on the physical aspects of play here and more on the other aspects for a reason.  I find them thought-provoking.

For a while it felt nearly like we were really high school students going through this.  Her mannerisms were very much like those of  a spoiled, bitchy teenager in school.  She never broke character.  It stopped feeling like a role-play and became reality; for a while I believed it.  And even though I could throw her if I wanted to, I still felt intimidated by her.  I never knew what to expect next.  She made me feel smaller than her, which I’m sure was at least part of her intention.

Since she made me feel smaller, it also feels like this type of scene has a ton of potential for humiliation.  It felt like I was primed for or somehow predisposed to humiliation during this scene.  This style of scene would probably lend itself rather easily to incorporating the other forms of humiliation that we’ve done as well.  Things like face spitting, licking the soles of her shoes, cum eating, forced feminization, or armpit licking would very easily fit in a scene like this.  But what I find interesting is that other things that I don’t normally find very humiliating can take on a humiliating edge with this kind of scene; when she had me kneel and kiss her shoes, I felt a slight tinge of humiliation, even though I normally don’t feel that when I kiss her shoes.  I feel like sucking her strap-on during this type of role-play would be similar.  The entire time we played, I felt slightly off-balance and more prone to being humiliated.

For my part, I felt a little awkward at times since I wasn’t sure how to react.  I was never bullied, so I wasn’t sure how the person being bullied would normally react.  Plus, I normally get much quieter during scenes, so carrying my weight in a role-play can be even more difficult.  Thankfully T was strongly driving this scene, especially since in this scenario the bully is the one doing most of the talking.

I’ve also never been big on role play, but this really worked well, and it helped improve my thoughts on role play in general.  This scenario in particular has a lot of possibilities as well; I could be not only another student as we just did, but I could also be a teacher, older brother, principal, etc.  And we could easily incorporate any form of play that we do.  There are a lot of ways to go.  It’s got a built-in freshness to it.  Role playing has often felt forced or just silly in my previous experiences with it, but this flowed really well.

Another aspect I find intriguing is that I’ve never gone for the icy bitch type.  Even in fantasy, it never really did anything for me.  Maybe I was okay with this because it was a role-play and not who she is in our daily relationship.  I really, really don’t get along with people like that in real life.  Even if it were someone I met at an event and wanted to play with, I’d pass if she were like that.  But I trusted T and went along with it, and I’m very glad I did.  It turned out to be a wild scene that expanded my horizons.

I’m still chewing on my thoughts on this a few days after it happened, which tells me that my brain got wrapped around something good.

Ball-Kicking and Neurons Make Strange Bedfellows

It’s been scientifically confirmed: My brain is strange.

Last night we went to a party at a friend’s house.  There was someone there who is relatively new to the community.  He’s a neuroscientist, and he had a machine there.  It was some form of EEG, though I don’t think it’s the standard EEG used in hospitals.  He’s involved in research, and this seemed like a more elaborate one that would be used more for that application.

Throughout the night, he put a sort of helmet with electrodes on bottoms’ heads and measured their responses while they were playing, either with him or with someone else.  It was fascinating to watch.  At one point, a friend of mine mentioned being curious how my neural functions would look while getting kicked in the balls.  So of course, I ended up trying that.  For science!

A friend who I’d only played with once before (in our anniversary scene a few weeks ago) topped me in this scene.  We started off with some ball-kicking, then moved on to impact, biting, scratching, etc.  The neuroscientist quietly gave commentary to the people watching while it was happening as he’d been doing for every scene that night.  According to him, my brain initially reacted to the ball-kicking with an “And we’re off!  Here we go!” type of reaction, followed soon after by a sense of familiarity and having done that before.  He was shocked by the lack of fear response he saw on the computer and mentioned that any man he knows would be trembling at the thought of being kicked in the balls even once.  He also reaffirmed what I knew about needing to take 10-15 seconds after a hard hit to recover, and also that I feel sort of an adrenaline rush during some forms of play rather than arousal.  After a few minutes of her kicking me in the balls, he again became surprised by what he saw:  He said that my brain entered a state that he’d only rarely seen before in people who were extremely adept at meditation.

T said on the way home that this is further proof that I’ve earned the title “hardcore legend”- I meditate by being kicked in the balls.

Happy Fucking Anniversary

Last night, T and I celebrated two years together.  But of course, we didn’t do it in the traditional way.  We did get dressed up and went out for sushi, but afterward, the normalcy stopped.

Back at my place, she had me strip, then told me to get some earplugs and meet her in the living room.  I froze a little when she told me that, just because of memories of the other time she had me put in earplugs.  I wondered if it would be something similar, and I got nervous.  In the living room, she had me put the earplugs in, then she put a hood and my collar on me before having me get in the cage.  (No, I don’t have a dog, but I have a dog cage in my living room.  Doesn’t everyone?)  After what I can only guess was about 20 minutes, I felt a rush of cold air and knew that she’d opened the front door.  A little bit later, she let me out and led me by the collar upstairs to my bedroom.  When she removed the hood, I looked up and saw her standing there along with a few of our friends.  All women, so I breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of cum-eating that would take place.

The earplugs came out, and one woman started with some rope work; she did a chest harness on me, then tied my wrists together and looped the rope over my head, forcing my hands up above my head.  T then walked in front of me and lifted my chin a little.  She smiled sweetly, then spit in my face.  She’d never done that before, and it was a shock to me.  That was fifty pounds of sexy.  This was immediately followed by a swift kick to the balls.  The women then took turns kicking me in the balls.  A ballbusting bonanza.  One after another, they rotated through, each giving me a few kicks and dropping me to the floor before another woman would take over.

After doing this for a while, they brought me to the foot of the bed and bent me over the footboard.  The ropes around my wrists were each tied to the corners of the footboard.  T put some nipple clamps on me which were then secured to the headboard by a long rope, keeping me bent over.  (The clamps eventually fell off and were replaced with a long rope securing my collar to the headboard, which also kept me bent over.)  They then proceeded to take turns working on my ass with various implements of ass destruction.  Canes, paddles, hands, floggers… I lost track of what was happening, especially since one woman would be working on my ass while another would focus on my upper body, rubbing vampire gloves over me or tormenting my nipples.  Occasionally one of them would lift my face and spit in it, then continue with what she was doing.  They kept switching positions and implements, thoroughly confusing my body.

At one point, T said, “Now it’s time for the next phase.”  I was relieved, but also wondering what “the next phase” entailed.  I felt something cool and slick on my ass, and saw one of our friends come around in front of me wearing a strap-on.  Before I knew it, there was a cock in my ass and one in my mouth.  All I could do was pull against the bondage and let out muffled sounds.  They switched positions after a while, so now T was fucking my mouth and a friend fucking my ass.  At one point, we ended up moving to the floor, where the fuckery continued.  The other friends, lacking strap-ons, used gloved hands to fuck me.  They all took turns.  It made me feel used, in a sexy kind of way.  Especially when being fucked with a strap-on in both ends at the same time.  I’d never experienced double penetration before.  It was incredible.  It tripped that yes/no response in me that I find so hot, and it made me feel conquered.

T had me lay on my back on the bed and strapped a dildo gag to my face.  It has a small, stubby dildo on the inside of the gag as well, so it feels like she’s fucking my mouth when she uses it.  As she straddled the cock protruding from my face, the other woman with the strap-on pulled my legs up and started fucking me.  T faced the other woman, so all I could see was her ass in my face, going up and down, inches away from me.  T was getting off on my face while someone else violated my ass.  That was beyond hot.  Yowza.  T collapsed, flushed and sweating, onto the bed.

Then it was on to the finale.  T had me lay on my stomach, then donned rubber gloves and cleaned off my back.  She pulled out a scalpel.

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(If you’re confused by the “hardcore legend” part, check out this post to find out how that came about.)

She wins at anniversarying.  That was an incredible night, and not something I expected at all.


This Makes Me Grrr.

Last night, T and I played at a party.  We typically get a small crowd watching us since we play hard.  When they saw us bringing our toy cases in, they enthusiastically filed right in the room and sat along the walls.

After the party, I was left with the same feelings I usually have after playing publicly.  I felt frustrated that I wasn’t able to get into the scene as much as when we play privately.  While it was still an intense, fun scene that I very much enjoyed, it never has the same vibe as when we play privately.  And I don’t think this is something either of us can fix.

It’s not a self-conscious thing.  I’m confident with my body, and for years now I’ve been comfortable baring my underbelly on this level (emotionally speaking) in front of my friends and/or random party people.  While I don’t consider myself an exhibitionist (though I do enjoy the compliments afterward) I’m not shy about public play either.

The mindset is different, as are the sensations.  I have a harder time getting into the headspace I usually attain when we play privately.  Sometimes it feels like I’m simply tolerating what she’s dishing out when we play in public.  The pain seems harsher, less erotic.  I can even get a little irritable during a public scene.  It also feels like I can’t take as much pain in public; it’s probably a 25% reduction on average.  There are physical signs as well- For example, I usually get hard during ball-kicking in private, but rarely in public.

This frustrates the fuck out of me.  And there’s a lot of fuck in me to begin with.

I can’t figure this out.  I see no reason why I shouldn’t be able to get into it just as much in public as in private, and no reason why it should physically feel different just because a few sets of eyes are on us.  With public play, I still experience the catharsis that I get from private play, and I thoroughly enjoy the way she smiles and shows her approval immediately after the scene is over.  That makes me happy, especially when it was something difficult that I just made it through.

I know these feelings aren’t sub-drop.  I’ve experienced that plenty of times before, and this isn’t it.  This frustration even happens during the scene and extends to afterward, while drop happens after the scene is over.  Also, this is not an overarching/all-encompassing feeling like drop is.  This frustration is one feeling of many that I experience throughout the night, fading in and out, interspersed with other feelings.  I’m still capable of being social and having a good time; with drop, I tend to be more antisocial and just want some time to myself.

Whatever is going on with public play, it irritates me.  I get a little angry with myself at times, even though I know I’m doing everything I can to make it work.  I’m just not sure what to do other than keep trying.