Weekend at TES
01 Jul 2011 2 Comments
in BDSM scene, classes, Events, TES Fest
This is going to be a wild weekend. I’ll be playing with Rad, I’ll be playing with my Dom, I’ll be topping a few people and who knows?–I may bottom to someone new and interesting as well. I’m giving a demo, signing and selling books, and participating in a celebrity auction. I’m also volunteering at the registration desk on Saturday and Sunday mornings.
In between and after my commitments, I’ll be attending classes, socializing, and playing.
This will be an adventure of sorts as it’s the first time Rad has been to a BDSM event (I haven’t been to that many, myself, but I did go to TES Fest 30–ten years ago.) On top of that, it’s the first weekend event I’ve attended with both Rad and my Dom. There’s going to have to be some scheduling and coordination. I want to make them both happy (as well as make myself happy), so I’m crossing my fingers that it all will work out smoothly. My Dom and I have a standing agreement that our play does not interfere with my marriage. Meanwhile, Rad is open to the situation and will give us some space to play — I just need to also play with my husband as well.
Monday afternoon I’ll be teaching a class on spanking, with the specific theme being “Payback doesn’t have to be a bitch: Topping for Bottoms.” More information is available on the class descriptions at TESFest.org. I’m hoping to open up more people to the idea that even if you identify more as a bottom, you can still be a very good top.
I’m about packed, will be heading into the city shortly to pick up Rad from work, and then we’ll be on the way. Crossing fingers that Holland Tunnel traffic isn’t horrendous.
The Big Man is gone
18 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
Bruce, Clarence and the rest of the E-Street Band were part of my life for almost 30 years. Danny left us in 2008. Now Clarence is gone. How many times have I gone to a show, heard the beginning of “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out,” and screamed along with the crowd as Clarence came wailing in at the words “the Big Man joined the band”? I don’t think I ever got to hear Jungleland enough. Well, I might share more memories later. Anyone who’s ever been to a show or seen footage will know what I’m talking about. The E-Street Band won’t be the E-Street Band without him. Rest in Peace, Big Man.
I’m sad.
Photo Credit: Reuters/Lucas Jackson
Birthdays and bad boys
12 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
It’s my birthday today, but last night I was invited to a small party to celebrate the 50th birthday of another NY spanko friend. As these evenings go, there were about two hours of talking and eating before any action took place. But eventually people started pairing off and heading down to the basement “dungeon,” where there was a whole array of toys and several pieces of equipment to use.
At one point the birthday girl was “ordered” to assume the position on a spanking bench and everyone (no pressure or anything, lol) took turns giving her 50 spanks. I happen to think the idea of the birthday spanking is kind of goofy but, as I recently posted on FetLife, I like the spankings and I certainly like the attention, so I’m not stopping anyone.
By the time midnight rolled around and the clock ticked over to MY birthday the party was winding down — therefore, I managed to escape a “round two” of birthday spankings. Rad did the honors this morning, spanking me 48 times plus one-to-grow-on, right in front of the living room window while our cat Pip stared at us in either disgust or disbelief. Or maybe he was just thinking about sushi.
Back to last night — I invited my musician friend C. to attend the party, as I was hoping to introduce him to some of my other friends. He’s a switch, but as I’ve reported here before, he’s also an insatiable pain slut. He’s a great guy and I love “punishing” him. And he can REALLY take it. My friend M., another switch, agreed to help me double-team him. I’d never seen her top before and I was quite impressed. C. was also impressed, and we worked him over for probably close to an hour. Lots and lots of cane strokes, a bath brushing, a strapping and a little touch of bastinado — the cane and a light paddle to the bottom of his feet (quite enjoyable, as we finally got an “ow” out of our stoic friend).
The night before, I was called upon to wield the cane on another friend. He said he’d felt the cane before, but hadn’t had a “serious” caning. Like C., I knew this man could take it because I’ve topped him before.
So I picked out four canes with different diameters, started with the thinnest and worked my way up. At one point I shifted gears, pulled out a very thin, whippy cane and gave him 12 fast strokes with that before continuing with the thicker cane. I heard his “oohs” and was happy to see I was making an impression. He received 60 strokes altogether; 12 with each cane.
I like when people ask me to introduce them to the cane. It can be a very intimidating toy, and does have a scary history (Singapore comes to mind). But the canes typically used in S&M play can be easier to take than a bath brush, or even some hair brushes, in my opinion.
(cross-posted from www.mscassandrapark.com)
Early adventures in submission
10 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
I’ve spent a lot of time in the spanking community but I’ve always felt part of the larger BDSM world — at least in the nature of what I was doing. It was sexual, and I liked to try a lot of things. Oh, there was a lot I didn’t know, before I came out in the scene, but I knew what turned me on, and I knew I was submissive — at least sexually. I experimented a lot with various boyfriends. Some I converted into spankos. Others whom I also “converted” were probably dominant to begin with and it came naturally to them. But I never considered any of them “my Dom.”
This was pre-internet — for me, at least (I didn’t have a cell phone, either, they were still pretty rare back then) — and when I started to look for play partners I looked in a certain section of the classified ads in the local alternative newspaper.
Does anyone recall this system of meeting people? Someone signed up for the service and created a voice mail message. If you were hoping to meet someone, you would call up and listen to his/her message. Then you would decide whether you were interested, and would leave a response. There was a charge for listening to the messages, so my phone bill would add up quickly. I remember holding a sheet of paper in my hand with the code numbers of all the guys whose ads sounded interesting … interesting until I’d hear their voices or what they said in their messages and I’d quickly move on. Mostly it was that they didn’t sound confident, or dominant, and some simply sounded way too sleezy. The big sheet of numbers was quickly reduced to three or four, and I’d listen to those three or four messages several times before finally getting the nerve up to call.
I met a few tops this way. Safe calls? I knew nothing about safe calls back then, and besides, who was I going to tell about what I was doing and where I was going? There was no way I’d tell any of my girlfriends. And munches? If they existed back then, I wouldn’t have done that, either. Too much of a chance of seeing someone I knew … and too much of a chance of meeting a bunch of freaks.
No, it was going to be private, and one on one. I trusted my own judgment. I had long phone conversations with the guys before I met them and then I took the plunge and met them. Even if I wasn’t having sex, I was meeting people for sexual play and I was a little slut. I often felt guilty, but my need for “it” overrode my guilt.
Two of the guys I met turned out to be fairly good matches as play partners, but both were involved in relationships so things never got beyond play. One was into discipline role play and I played the bad daughter for him a number of times. He spanked harder than anyone had spanked me up to that point.
The other was more of a Dominant, and we explored all kinds of play. Pain was a huge part of what we did, but he also did humiliation play and bondage and different types of “training” (such as putting me in really high heels and making me walk around his condo). I saw him every few weeks, and my submission to him lasted a finite period of time — beginning with his putting a collar on me at the start of the scene to the beginning of our “cool-down” period, when he’d take the collar off.
I still remember the butterflies in my stomach as I’d drive up I95 toward his house. In rush hour traffic after work, I would always be nervous about being late, even though I’d done everything in my power to get there on time. He would leave the door of his condo unlocked when he knew I was coming. I wouldn’t see him when I first entered (it was part of his “game”), and I would quickly get naked, freshen up in the bathroom, then kneel on his bedroom floor with my head down on my folded arms. Sometimes there would be some item left on the bed for me to put on, such as a blindfold.
When he finally entered the room, he would buckle the collar around my neck and then I was his to do whatever he wanted with. God, it was always a whirlwind. I remember him yanking me up and over the edge of the bed and then whipping me with a riding crop — with the shaft as well as the slapper. He used a nasty quirt. He used paddles.
We’d experiment with bondage. He had a winding staircase in his living room that led up to a loft area. He tied me under this a lot, my hands over my head, and he would beat me or whip me there. I was frequently in extreme pain and he scared me, but I trusted him. Once I hadn’t eaten dinner. I was bound under the stairs and I suddenly got really hot and lightheaded. I’m not a fainter, but this was the closest I’ve ever come to thinking I was going to pass out. He cut me loose immediately, made me sit down and drink something; gave me a snack.
The humiliation — he had this thing about making me lick his feet, which disgusted me. I absolutely abhorred it, but I did it because I loved everything else he did to me. Then there was the time he made me kneel up and bark like a dog. I had the hardest time with that. But I was not a dog, and it was just a game. I loved the game.
He always treated me like I was special, not lesser than him just because I liked receiving pain and being controlled. At the end of our scene we would always lie around and talk for hours. We were equals then.
When I entered the public scene it was because I was looking for a partner. He wasn’t available romantically and I was starting to meet people who were, so I saw him less and less. He was always supportive and not jealous of my new adventures. It really meant a lot to me. (Honestly, I think he was happy I was seeing other people. I wasn’t jealous of his partner — he had another sub at the time who wanted more out of the relationship and who was causing him trouble because of this. That wasn’t an issue with me.)
I have lost touch with this Dom. I did some searches over the years but I haven’t had any luck finding him. He was a big part of my life and a precursor to my future explorations in the scene. I hope I expressed to him how much he meant to me during the time that I knew him.
Itching to play … just itching …
08 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
The weekend had some kink and some vanilla events. Friday night was laid-back. No appointments, and no overwhelming desire to go out. Rad and I got out the TV trays for a change and watched a NetFlix movie that had been sitting for a while. It was Iron Man with Robert Downey Jr. (As an aside, I’ve seen a lot of Robert Downey Jr. films and I have to say, is there any role he’s not good at? Here’s one fabulous example of a guy who turned his life around, got clean and sober and then became an even better actor than before. We love him.)
Saturday night I planned to go to the “Metamorphosis” party in Long Island. Rad was going to “represent” at the OTK munch and party at Paddles. But at some point during the week, I had developed a God-awful skin condition — which became blatantly obvious on Friday evening. It itched like you wouldn’t believe. Saturday morning found me at a clinic near my house, getting examined. The doc ruled out poison ivy and said it wasn’t contagious. He said it could be our laundry detergent or some other product containing a scent. Great. We’d just done three loads of laundry in some unknown generic brand. I filled the prescriptions he gave me, bought “Dermatologist-Tested Free and Gentle Tide” plus some unscented Dove soap, and went home, where I rewashed my clothes.
My Dom wanted me to come out to the Long Island party, even if we couldn’t play. I said that I would update him on how miserable I felt. How was I going to play or do anything in my condition? The redness was all over my torso and down the back of one leg.
But we had wanted to go to this particular party for a while, and by late Saturday afternoon, with what looked like some minor improvement, I voted to go. I wore tights and a stretchy tight shirt that I could sacrifice, and my Dom said we would play if I felt like I could handle it.
I was happy he wanted to see me, because looking at myself I felt disgusted. And we did play, although I had to call mercy on an attempted strapping, as it hurt too much when it struck the area of the tights over the rash.
He took out his scary oversized scissors, pulled up the material covering my nipples and cut holes, so my nipples were exposed. Later he took a knife and sliced down through the crotch area of my tights, exposing me further. That way he was able to “torture” me in areas other than my butt, which can be scary play, but I always like the challenge. People at the party said it looked “hot,” not knowing what was really going on.
The party was a lot of fun, with good energy and sexy scenes, both sensual and painful. And the people were nice.
But the next day, Sunday, I was dying again. I had a lot of work (writing and editing) to do but was having trouble focusing on anything but the itch. I kept applying various skin creams, with varying results. In between I ran ice all over my skin for additional relief.
Monday morning I went to see my regular doctor in Manhattan, who shuttled me down the street to a dermatologist. His diagnosis: It was a reaction to a new drug I’d recently started taking. I was surprised. I have never had a drug reaction in my life. It was the only thing I could think of that was new, so I hope that we pinpointed the culprit to be avoided in the future.
The medication he prescribed started working almost immediately. Within one day — about 75% better. It’s still a little itchy today, but I don’t want to sandpaper my skin anymore. (I have to take all of the medication just to make sure we correct the problem.)
I want … I don’t want … I want …
03 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
When my Dom picks up the clover clamps I get this clammy feeling of fear, and my body doesn’t quite know how to prepare. I am afraid, but yet my mind cannot seem to recall the actual sensation of the pain on my nipples. It comes out as a vague idea like, “Yes, I remember it was a bad pain last time.”
But my inner tough girl remembers getting through the pain and even orgasming through it (or maybe because of it). So that piece of my brain says, “You can take it. You are strong. It wasn’t so bad, and remember that time it got you off? You want this.” Yes, it was bad, I argue with myself, it’s always bad. “But you can take it,” my other half replies.
As he approaches and positions my nipple, about to put the clamp on, I am trying to do some focused breathing, I am trying not to react too strongly. I look at him, a part of me wanting him to stop, another part aching for him to do it, and not understanding why. If he looks me in the eye it is more intense. He doesn’t have to say a word, but I know he’s not going to stop. I feel this certain detached appreciation for the way he knows how much something hurts and he does it anyway.
He attaches the first clamp. A rush of searing pain shoots through me and I gasp. It’s bad. Oh, yes, it’s bad, worse than I remembered. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. Sometimes I yelp. I try to be quiet but I’m not always good at it. And I’m sure at the very least I’m making faces, wincing, scrunching up my eyes. (Sometimes he tells me to be quiet and to stop making faces. It’s so hard. I try.) He puts the other clamp on the other nipple and that’s bad, too. Bad, bad, pain. But good power exchange.
I am not “into” nipple play, I would not seek this out. I am “into” being pushed beyond my comfort zone, being made to take things I don’t want, being made to take things that scare me. So, being not into nipple play and knowing that my Dom is, and that he will make me take it, is part of the thrill. If I were more “into” it, it wouldn’t be as exciting.
But yet … I somehow think my body is into what my brain says I hate. I begin to crave it. Or I crave being made to take it.
The clamps are held together by a chain, not a particularly heavy chain but not light, either. The chain carries the potential for more pain. I’ve talked about predicament bondage in the past. This is exactly one way it can be used, by applying additional tension on the clamps (see below).
He tells me to go downstairs to get something. As I walk the chain sways, tugs against the clamp, making my nipples hurt with each step. I feel a little disappointed in myself. Why can’t I be tougher? Why do I have such a hard time accepting this type of pain? But I AM accepting it, I remind myself. I’m not saying no. I’m not safewording out.
But I don’t want this … no, I want this … I don’t want this … I want this. He scares me; he turns me on, he wants to hurt me, he knows I need to be hurt. Ha. And it scares me sometimes that he knows that. But it’s too late.
From Wikipedia: The clover clamp, also referred to as a “butterfly clamp”, is of Japanese design and can provide increasing tension if pulled. The clamp itself is flat, about 5 cm by 10 cm (2 by 4 in) in size. The clamp is applied to the nipple and the spring tension holds the clamp in place. The clamp usually provides a very high pain level, and is usually only used by more advanced users. To increase tension on the nipples, small weights such as fishing line sinkers can be attached to the ends of the clamp. As increased pulling tension is applied to the clamp, it will cause the jaws of the clamp to close tighter, depending on the amount of pull pressure. Another method is to use the clamps to keep a person in one place. If cord is tied from the clamp to a fixed place, the wearer of the clamps cannot move away because the clamps will tighten as they move. Eventually the clamps would be pulled off the nipples but not before considerable pain is felt.
Good girl can go out and play now
27 May 2011 2 Comments
I got a decent amount of work done today and so I’m going out. Tonight’s entertainment will begin with a munch, followed by the Dominant Women/Masculine~Alpha Submissives and Switches May party at Paddles. That’s combined with DomSubFriends’ PleasureDom party and slave auction. I’ll be in top mode (at least that’s my plan) all evening. Tomorrow we head to the Delco Spankos party in Philadelphia, and subbie Sandy will be out again.
In case you’re wondering what the DW/MASS group is all about, Lady Casandra Moon started it, and she describes it this way: “Here is a group that honors the Queen or Goddess within each woman and honors the Knight who offers his strength, intelligence and spirit to the Queen as her Champion.” Click on this link for more info, and join the group if you feel it’s for you: http://fetlife.com/groups/19128/about.
Tonight I’m meeting my friend C. for play, as well as J. from Long Island and possibly others. C recently came over and helped me figure out how to transfer my iTunes from my old to my new computer, something I was having the hardest time figuring out. It ended up taking something like two hours, and he also gave me some classic and more recent jazz CDs albums to listen to (I’ve been trying to learn more about who’s who in jazz).
Needless to say, I owe him, and that means he’s getting something he really needs tonight — a good thrashing. My canes and toy bag are already in the car; I just need to get my act in gear and get ready. I love playing with him because I really identify with his masochism, and he can take it.
My perennial angst about “not feeling toppy” seems non-existent these days. I think it has something to do with who I’m playing with, and the connection I feel. Obviously that connection is not there with everyone. With some, you feel it some days and not on other days. And I know I feel it more with bottoms who are not necessarily submissive, or who are switches. They seem — I don’t know, feistier to me. They’re fun. Yet, I do think I prefer men who lean more toward the bottom than the top (when I’m topping, that is).
If anyone’s going to Paddles tonight, come say hi or introduce yourself if I don’t already know you.
Hooked
23 May 2011 2 Comments
Saturday and Sunday, for a change, were completely vanilla. We went down to South Jersey on Saturday morning, the Jersey Shore in this case, and met my brother to go fishing on his boat. He took us out on the Great Egg Harbor Bay, near Somers Point (just a little south of Atlantic City, scene of the infamous Boardwalk Badness Weekend).
It was gorgeous out, sunny and warm. I popped two Dramamine an hour before boarding just to avoid any “issues.” I know myself and how my stomach reacts to boats. We got sandwiches and sodas from the local WaWa, then headed to the marina to board the boat and find a place to start fishing.
It was a hassle-free endeavor, at least for us. My brother fishes a lot, so he had rigged the three poles already with sinkers and bait. I had a piece of squid on mine; Rad had a minnow. All we had to do was toss our lines into the water and wait.
No more than half an hour after we set out, hooks baited and lines in the water, Rad says, “I think I have one!” I looked over to see his fishing pole bending with the weight of a struggling fish. He’d never caught a fish before, so I was very excited for him. He reeled it in, and my brother grabbed a net and got the flounder into the boat. It had to be at least 18 inches to keep it, and the ruler on the side of the boat said it was 20! Woo hoo! A good sign for the rest of the day. 
Rad soon caught another, and then my brother caught one — both of their fish were too small and had to be released back into the water. I had no luck for the first part of the day, but I was enjoying the outdoors and the company. My brother is good friends with a family who own a house right on the Bay, and we motored over there after lunch to clean Rad’s fish and to say hi. (Apparently my bro has a standing invitation to visit and use their fish-cleaning station — sweet). This was a beautiful home, with a huge deck, a boat slip, an upstairs deck, nicely furnished. Someone has money! But they were extremely down to earth — theater people — and we had a nice conversation while my brother did all the dirty work. Back in the day, I used to clean my own fish when I went fishing, and I probably could still remember how to do it, but he took over and just did it, and I was perfectly happy to let him.
In the afternoon we tossed our lines in a few more times. I finally caught one fish — too small, alas, and it was sent back.
We called it a day, and left with Rad’s fish on ice.
We stayed overnight at my parents house in South Jersey, and for dinner I fried up the fish in a breadcrumb batter. Rad declared, “This is the first time I’ve ever eaten anything that I’ve murdered!” It was quite good, in my humble opinion.
Sunday we attended a birthday party for my niece, which was very nice, but we left very soon after she blew out the 30 candles. Then it was back on the road, north to New York and home.
There were a ton of BDSM parties going on this weekend in the city, and I turned down two I probably would have gone to had I been in town. But the vanilla activities were fun, too, and I was happy to see my family.
Inversion therapy
23 May 2011 1 Comment
Last week was bondage week, apparantly. LIRR on Tuesday, ”Asymmetrical Bondage” class with Lee Harrington on Thursday, and at another rope workshop run by MarcusLikesIt in Brooklyn on Friday. I don’t think I’ve ever gone to this many rope events in one week — it was unusual. (I had to do family stuff over the weekend but my Dom went to two MORE rope events AND another party without me — I was jealous!)
On Friday the topic was harnesses and suspension. Marcus and his partner, Vanessa, do beautiful rope work together. Vanessa is very flexible and he can move her around into all sorts of fun positions. Marcus himself is a very appealing, creative top — they are just exciting to watch together. When I arrived (I was late because I’d had an appointment earlier) Marcus was just about to suspend Vanessa, so I got to watch a fun, sexy scene while my Dom started tying me up.
He tied chest and leg harnesses on me. Marcus had just demonstrated a new way of doing a hip harness, so my Dom tried that on me. It featured several different points where you could attach the suspension ropes, meaning the weight would be distributed more evenly across my body and there would be less pressure on one area. One other couple (a female top who was tying up a lithe young woman with pretty red and green rope) used the suspension ring next. I was more than happy to witness the young woman’s first experience at “flying.”
Then it was our turn. The suspension ropes were attached to my chest harness first, and I leaned back while he attached other ropes to my hip harness. Soon I was off the ground. I felt pressure (pain) from the ropes around my upper legs at first, which was soon relieved when he added more rope to another point. This switched the pressure to the chest harness, as the ropes dug into my back, but I was enjoying the feeling of being off the ground and certainly didn’t want to be released. My Dom again adjusted the ropes and lowered my torso to relieve some of the pain I was feeling. But then he kept going and soon I found myself hanging upside down. Cool!
I was giddy. The blood rushed to my head, but other than that I was very comfortable. It was my first time being “inverted” and I loved it. It was a beautiful head rush. Does that qualify as “sub space”?
He left me up there a while, spinning me a little and touching me. Attention slut again, I was happy that people were watching. At one point he snapped open a spring-loaded knife, which usually makes me nervous, but I was merely giggly and jumpy as he ran it lightly over my exposed skin. He didn’t keep it up for too long, and soon, it was my time to be released.
Afterward I snuggled on the couch with him, watching the other suspensions that were being done after us. I was spacey for quite a while. Nice to be spacey with him.
Fun, with a side of pain
22 May 2011 2 Comments
The other day my Dom pushed me in ways that I didn’t expect. My butt, nipples and other spots were sore — in a good way, of course. (Not so good while he was “torturing” me!)
We played in the late afternoon, and then went to the Long Island Rope Revival meeting. We didn’t start the rope stuff right away. My Dom grabbed a toy and smacked me with it. Another top kept handing my Dom other toys to use on me. One was a wicked wooden paddle. He made me grab my ankles for that one. Another was a nasty braided leather belt, which he whipped my outer thighs with. I was already in pain! It was all in fun, but it really hurt. I yelped a lot and didn’t exactly stand still.
Soon people were practicing Sommerville Bowlines and other ties on each other. The atmosphere was very casual, there was banter back and forth about the scene, play, preferred types of knots and other such nonsense.
My Dom beckoned me and told me to strip down to my panties. He tied a chest harness on me, bound my folded arms behind me, then ordered me to lie on the floor. Not so easy without the use of my arms; I had to sort of flop down sideways (very dignified) and then adjust myself. He moved me closer to a support pole, then bound my ankles, looped the free end of the rope through an eyebolt and raised my legs so that they were reaching up the pole. The pressure on my arms, under me on the floor, increased. My right ankle also hurt from where the rope was digging into it.
But he was doing what he wanted, I was helpless, and it all gave me a rush. I also loved being naked in the center of the little group. Attention whore.
Then the other Dom (the toy pusher) offered a set of nipple clamps, connected by a thin chain, to my Dom. I was already beginning to float a bit, but heard him say something about them having a “bite.” My Dom accepted, then reached down and put them on my nipples.
Nasty! Dammit, they hurt! I did my best to keep quiet, but I don’t think I was very successful.
Someone — the toy pusher, my Dom or someone else in the group — suggested a predicament bondage: Attaching a thin rope to the nipple clamp chain, threading it through the eye bolt and connecting it to my ankle bondage. Ie, if I lowered my legs I would pull on the clamps. Yikes! With everyone watching I was not going to use a safe word. I do have my pride. (Yes, lying naked on a basement carpet with my legs up in the air — I have my pride.)
He attached the rope to the nipple clamps and pulled it through the eye bolt. As soon as he attached it to my legs, though, the damn clamps yanked my nipples. I hadn’t expected it so soon! It was excruciating. I yelled.
No safe word — just a stream of unintelligible sounds and a few choice swear words coming out of my mouth. (I didn’t just call my Dom a M_F_, did I?)
He disconnected the rope (Thank you, Sir!) but left the clamps on for a little while longer. I knew they would hurt coming off, and when he finally gave me that “relief,” the quick rush of blood back to my nipples made me yell again.
It was all in good fun and I was a happy floaty subby girl for a while afterward.
