The Gluten-Intolerant Have No Place in the Motherland.

The other night, I engaged in what was probably the strangest scene I’ve ever participated in.  I beat a man using nothing but pasta.  While wearing a Soviet military uniform.

It stemmed from a conversation years ago.  A friend of mine was completely snockered and said to me, “I would let you top me using nothing but pasta.” He said this knowing that I don’t switch at all. But the idea intrigued me, and I saw it as an opportunity to spread the strange. It fermented in my head.

Eventually I realized a problem: His play style is typically very resistance-oriented. Spaghetti bondage won’t hold anybody. It wouldn’t work, and I told him as much. He gnawed on that for a while. His solution: “I won’t resist as long as you’re wearing a Soviet military uniform.”

I looked online, and all I saw were two categories of uniforms: authentic ones there were over a grand total, and cheap flimsy costumes that looked like crap. So this whole scene went on the back burner, and I nearly forgot about it. At one point I started looking again, and I finally found a uniform I could groove with. At a military surplus store in the Ukraine. But it was the real thing, and the price was far more reasonable. Shipping was $40. Thankfully it fit well the first time. Foreign sizes are, um, foreign.

At that point, it was time to walk down the pasta aisle and laugh maniacally at the possibilities. Got a few looks there.

Unfortunately, some things didn’t pan out. The linguine flogger, spaghetti bondage, and pasta collar were all too flimsy, regardless of type of pasta and cooking time used. Grrr. Cheap capitalist pasta. The quality is nowhere near what we had in the Old Country.

I emailed him a picture with the subject line “Soon.” just to taunt him a bit: soon

This scene was to happen at a public party.  When we were about to start, I got in uniform and headed over to the play area.  Plenty of friends knew something worth watching was going to happen, but they had no idea what.

In my fake Russian accent, I had him strip to his underwear and get on a spanking bench.  Walking around in front of him, I rubbed a cooked lasagna noodle on his arm just so he would see what I was about to use.  I walked around behind him and hit his ass with it a few times.  It gave a surprisingly loud whack and actually had some sting to it.  The noodle held up for about half a dozen hits.  Thankfully, I brought reinforcements.  I yelled, “FEEL THE WRATH OF MY SOVIET GLUTEN!”

At this point, people were making a mass entrance to the play area to see what the yelling was about.  Plenty of peoples’ brains got fried.  Knowing I don’t switch, they saw me topping someone.  Using pasta.  In a Soviet uniform.  “Wait, is that… Is he… What???”

After some more lasagna impact, I took another lasagna noodle and stood beside him, facing the same direction he was.  Bringing it down in front of his face with both hands, I went lower to his neck, pulled back, and started choking him with it.  (I barely cooked the lasagna until it was just flexible in order to maintain some level of strength.)  To my surprise, it held up, even when I was using a solid amount of pressure.

After the lasagna strangling, I took a handful of gnocchi and stood in front of him, holding my hand out so he could see what I had.  After a couple seconds, I hollered, “GNOCCHI!” and immediately threw them in his face.  Getting behind him, I started pelting his ass with them individually.  They were rather stingy, which made me happy; I was initially worried he wouldn’t feel much.  One of the gnocchi went squarely down his crack and into his underwear, and everyone cheered.  At that point, I realized the entire party (over 100 people) was there watching.  A barrage of gnocchi ensued.

I once again stood in front of him with another cooked lasagna noodle.  I said, “You are seeing this noodle?  Is not very sturdy.  Does not hold up well.  MUCH LIKE YOUR AMERICAN CAPITALISM!”  Then I backhand-slapped him in the face with the noodle.

Now it was time for some marks.  Going back around in front of him, I took a dry lasagna noodle and broke it into four pieces as he watched.  Making a fist, I put one piece between each finger, effectively making a lasagna claw.  “Freddy Kreuger was sexy bitch.” I said.  I then ran my makeshift knives all over his back.  He reacted pretty intensely at first, so I eased up and kept going.  After just a few minutes of this, he had all sorts of dark lines crossing his back.

Now it was time for the finale.  I told him to get off the spanking bench and kneel.  I then took a dry manicotti and stuck it out of the fly of my pants.  I got in front of him and bellowed, “SUCK MY MANICOTTI!” He looked like he was about to bust out laughing, but he did it.  I then yelled, “AM BRINGING SEXY BACK!  DA!”  Again, the crowd cheered.

Retrieving something from my bag, I had him stand.  No longer yelling, I said, “Glorious comrade, have survive many tribulation.  Motherland is very proud.  Presenting you now with great honor- membership in noble order.  Peoples’ Order Of Pasta (P.O.O.P.)”  With that, I put this around his neck:

Pasta Medal 3

Afterward, my newly re-indoctrinated comrade and I posed for a picture:


And yes, that is a banana in my holster.  That way, I have instant aftercare at my hip.

I’m happy with how this all panned out.  While some of the things I had planned didn’t work out, there was still a lot I was able to do.  We had fun and got a ton of compliments afterward.  It was years in the making, but it was very worth it.  Well done, comrade.

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!”

BDV (4)

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.

BDV (32)

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!

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.

TwoYearAnn (120)

(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.


A Weekend Full of Happy

This weekend was my birthday.  Well, technically my birthday was just one day, but I claimed the whole weekend.

And T claimed me.  One of her gifts to me was to collar me.  My reaction was a combination of stunned immobilization and the little kid in me jumping up and down screaming, “WOOOOOO-HOOOOOOO!!!”

It’s still sinking in.  Such a beautiful feeling.  She is now my Mistress.  We’d been wanting to take the d/s further, and now we are.  I am now her slave.

She told me shortly afterward that we’re also going to have a few protocols from now on.  Nothing major or irritating; it’s not protocol for the sake of protocol.  And they’re things we did pretty frequently already anyway.  I just need to remember to do them every time now.

This just feels right.

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Fresh Sliced Sub, $4.99/lb.

Last night, T and I went to a demo which was followed by a private party.  There were quite a few people I hadn’t seen in a while, so that felt wonderful.  And there was cake.  Fantastic, creamy, strawberry-and-chocolate cake.

T took me to the dungeon area and had me strip.  She was admittedly feeling more sadistic than normal, and it showed.  Lots of ball-kicking, face slapping, ball-kicking, biting, ball-kicking, scratching, and ball-kicking.  Ow.  It was a bit warm in the dungeon though, and I can’t take as much pain in the heat for some reason.  It’s always been that way.  Still, she made me hurt.  And she carved me up quite nicely using knives and her fingernails:

Afterward, she brought me over to a spanking bench and caned me, followed by paddling.  She reddened my ass rather thoroughly. This morning, I noticed a semi-faint yellowish bruise over my left eye.  I could tell people I got in a barfight if anyone asks, though I really doubt anyone will notice.  Or simply say it was friendly fire.

We got quite a few compliments on the scene, and some people were irritated that they missed it.  That’s always a wonderful compliment.


T gave me a gift recently, a flogger custom-made by someone local.



This thing looks wicked.  I’m really happy with the workmanship; it’s high-quality, not some toy flogger.  It is a little long, so it may have a bit of a learning curve to it.  T got her inspiration for this at a local bdsm store we went to a while back.  There was a flogger there with studs on each tail, but they were glued on, and the quality was lacking overall.  It seemed like a wicked thing to have in the arsenal, so she had a better one made.  With this flogger, the studs are double-ended and screwed through each tail.  It’s intimidating.  She had a huge, predatory smile on her face and a sparkle in her voice when she said she intends to beat me bloody with it.  I love how she shows so much delight in torturing me.  I’m screwed.

Happy Scripted Romance Day!

I normally don’t celebrate VD, but I thought I’d make an exception here.  Nothing says “romance” quite like a bunch of flowers jammed into some guy’s urethra.


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