A Careful look

Look carefully. Closer. Come on don’t you see it? The window to the bottom left. Yes there. See her face? Doesn’t she look like she is trying to get your attention? Oh My god Sam, how can you be so daft?

The words rang in my head as I walked down the hall. It was a simple assignment for the photography class. Now one of the pictures I took, who knows where, shows what appears to be a woman in distress. I feel a twinge of guilt and a since of foreboding, a need to find and help her if I can. Walking along the path I took before I feel different, no longer struck by the architecture or beauty. I am trying to pinpoint the place of potential darkness, a house of horror, a den of iniquity.

Cutting around the corner of 7th street I start to take it all in, that carefree morning with me whipping my camera around. The coffee shop, that decadent aroma of the pastries wafting out the doorway. The chirping of birds and cooing of pigeons, lifting the camera I try to remember where I aimlessly wandered next. There down that alleyway, the one with the twisted stop sign. The smell of urine and trash, the almost tangible feel of human desperation. A crash and I lower my camera, the stray scurries off in a hurry hissing and spitting for me disturbing its hiding place. Suddenly I feel aware of everything around.

There, that is the next turn, behind that fence, down that row between the crumbling houses. Yes, the couple flowers that once stood proud in defiance of the concrete, now they are trampled from foot traffic. The store on the corner with fruit stand sitting empty out front, the closed sign and a chain on the door. That feeling of wishing I could get inside and explore the urban ruin. See what there was to discover. Out of habit I peer in through the first window. I wonder what stories and secrets this building could tell. Turning left I continue, orange barrels on the road, caution tape dangles in the breeze around the piles of rubble. The old homes knocked down in the name of progress, gentrification is creeping in like slithering tendrils, the face of the neighborhood being carved into something different.

The ditch I crossed walking on the makeshift bridge of pipes and plywood. The small fish playing in the pool below, trapped in their own world, maybe for the best. They would be quickly devoured in the city park lake with all the bigger fish that wait for a morsel to snap up. There, yes that way, the brick stands out. A mix and match of bricks put together like some art deco attempt for the building’s esthetics, I am here. My heart is racing as I look at the building, looking for the window. I do not see it. Looking back at the picture I check again. Looking and studying I draw closer to where it should be. Still I do not see the opening where the desperate face appeared. I almost missed it; fresh mortar sun dried but still not tainted by the filth of the area is barely noticeable. The brick perfectly cut to hide the once window.

My mind racing as I walk around looking for an entrance. I feel a shudder of apprehension as the old door screeches like an old woman wailing. The flicker of light from a few open doors along the hall provides the only illumination. Bulbs long burned out dangle from the walls and ceiling like claws reaching out. A sound at the end of the hall, glowing eyes peering back. My flashlight not strong enough to reach through the darkness as I strain to make out what is focused on me. With camera in hand I decide this is the only way to know. A bright flash of light turns the darkness into daylight for a moment. My eyes try to recover as I look at the screen of my camera. A head on a table, the hair flowing over the side. A blank stare from the open eyes, the makeup is perfect. The skin pale as moonlight cast through a window. The table covered in cans and wrappers, bottles and trash litter the hall. I feel the need to run growing as the desire to explore pulls me further in.

dark hall

Shhhh, the sound causes me to freeze. My ears ache listening for a sound, my eyes straining to see everything they can. Reaching the table my mind spinning from thoughts and ideas, scenarios play over in my head. Now I wonder if I will be found. Shhhh again. The door in front of me cracked open. My best guess is that it would be the place that housed the woman in the picture. My hand shaking as I push it open.

An explosion of dust and movement, heads, arms and other body parts cascade from the ceiling. Rational thinking has left the building as well as my mind. I trip over an arm, face first crashing on the floor. My head now swimming as the room spins and seems to fade. My thoughts drift between horror and desperation flowing into inky nothing.

 

I can’t move as fear has frozen every part of my being. A shuffling sound behind me, the sudden pain of a stun stick. The shadowy figure now looming over me, reaching down the smell of dirt and filth as it pulls me down the hall. Being tossed out of a side dock door I fall crashing to the ground. The figure looming overhead. I can see it now, a man. The old green jacket, tattered but still recognizable, the face haggard by time, one of the lost and forgotten.

“Get away from my home.” His voice aged but stern “Leave me and my girls alone you pervert. The are mine you hear? Next time I catch you snooping around here I won’t be so nice, now get!”

I staggered to my feet. Still trying to grasp what had happened. The old building’s sign gave me a clue to at least part of the question as it boasted home of the manikin factory. As for the old man, the woman in the window, this whole excursion seemed to bring me more questions than answers.

BDSM and limits

The topic this week is how sexual is BDSM to you. For me this brings up so many different ideas and scenarios, thinking back over a couple decades of various kinds of scenes and categories of play. Different partners, locations and styles I have engaged in or with. At the end of the day it really is all about how far you are willing to take things. What are the things one wants to explore, are there limits that are soft and where is that do not cross line? The mind of my partner is just as sexy as their body. I enjoy sharing ideas or possible scenes and letting thoughts sink in as the anticipation grows till it is almost tangible, it is a type of foreplay for me. Negotiating a scene/relationship is something that may seem tedious but in the end it is necessary for any healthy engagement.

Several times I have been asked what are my personal limits, is there I line I will not cross. If you have been reading my blogs for a while you would know I tend to push the boundaries and can make many people uncomfortable. I will admit I get a sadistic thrill of reading how a scene sent a cold chill running down someone’s spine. I am not without personal limits though and I will share a few here.

I respectfully refuse to engage with someone that say they have no limits; everyone has something that is out of bounds for them. To hear someone say they have no limits means possibly they do not have a  understanding of the BDSM world, potentially they lack a sence of self-respect or preservation. It only takes a couple of questions to figure out which it is. With the former a little education and suddenly it turns from a kinky conversation to an explanation of things in the kink world and possibly a scene later. For the latter I suggest they find help. Some just like the idea of danger, but a few are seriously looking for harm from another. I could write a whole blog about those I have encountered that are looking for someone else to do them harm but that is not what this post is about.

Another absolute rule and definite hard limit for me is the use of alcohol or drugs before a scene. A drink or two depending of what is being consumed I might consider but when it becomes a point of impairment then I will simply walk away. If someone needs to alter their mind or lower their inhibitions to allow a scene to happen then in my humble opinion it is most likely past the comfort zone of that individual. I did not come to this personal limit arbitrarily, in fact there was a time when it did not matter either way to me. With age comes wisdom I guess, plus a couple mornings of regretting the previous nights actions. I get it, not everyone agrees on this, but it is my limit.

Consent is my last hard limit here; some would say that is an oxymoron given my proclivity toward CNC (consensual non-consensual) and RACK (Risk Assessed Consensual Kink) but there is a huge difference between consensual play seeming like it is from a non-consensual direction and actual non-consent. A CNC scene takes a lot of time, trust and effort, limits have to be discussed in detail, wants and desires need to be clear and concise. There is always, always, always a safe word that can be the fallback if things get too sideways for either party. Yes, I did just say either party, because as a responsible dominant, top, whatever you call the lead aggressor in a scene, he or she needs to be aware that the object of their attentions is still another human beings with normal physical limitations. This goes for RACK scenes as well. Even though risky and exciting situations can be fun the top must always be mentally aware of the potential danger they are putting the other person in, even though they have full consent. Why do I put it all on the Top? Because simply put when a submissive allows them to be put in a situation like that they literally are trusting you with their life, health and mental wellbeing. For those that understand this goes without saying but when a bottom gets into what we call subspace their thinking is altered. The lines between pain and pleasure blur, danger becomes some abject thing that does not really exist, previously discussed limits become flexible. In other words, they are extremely vulnerable and could be easily manipulated. If those boundaries are broken, the limit pushed past, lines of consent ignored they may seem to enjoy it at the time but once it is all said and done there will be damage to deal with. After any scene they will crash and need to be comforted, then they will begin to process what they experienced, if all went well and according to the preset negotiation then they will be happy and content. If not, they will feel guilty, angry, betrayed and lash out in some manner, from angry words to legal action against the person who they allowed to be in control of them.

Yes, I know I got a little off topic it seems but for me the ultimate sexual satisfaction for me is what I would call a perfect scene. One where every party enjoyed, we connected mentally as well as physically, even if what is typically perceived as sexual actions never occurred. Clothing does not have to come off, though yes, I do enjoy that as well. It is the satisfaction of a scene well done. That is how sexual satisfaction in BDSM works for me.

come see who else is being wicked this week

”Wicked
 

One to one

“The odds are, there is a good chance, one in five, twenty percent, these figures keep spinning like tiny whirlwinds threatening from afar. We hear these statistics, try to process and gasp when they are high enough to pose a threat. Shrink back when something is appalling to our sensibilities, lash out when it pertains to social injustice. Truth be told to most of us, they are just numbers though. Often researched, the figures are tossed out to give a tangibility to some event or condition around us. It does not become real till we are the one in five, or part of the twenty percent.”

Normally by this point my brain would have switched to autopilot in my psych class but the Greg was striking. Grey eyes that seemed wise beyond his years and a voice that dripped with primal seduction. A confidence without being cocky radiated as he taught the lesson. Occasionally, he would push those couple stray hairs out of his eyes and give a look around the room. Each time I could feel his eyes land on me as I was listening intently. I was glad I had signed up for the night class even though I had to rush from my day job to make it on time.

“Okay everyone I can see a few glazed eyes let’s take a fifteen-minute break and stretch.”

There was a mutter in the room, those who smoked raced outside to get their puffs in, some headed for the bathroom and others for the vending machines. I sat there looking over my haphazard notes while Greg sat at the small desk overlooking the room. He cleared his throat and picked up a stack of papers tapping them on the desk into neat pile. I was looking off blankly at nothing, when I realized I had been staring at him, as I focused my vision, I could feel his eyes on me. I felt my face suddenly flush and I swore I caught a slight smile or smirk on his face.

The rest of class was a wash while my mind was still stuck in that moment He could have been talking about the lunar landing or something fascinating, but I just could not get my mind to focus. As he spoke, I took note of his lips and thought how much I wanted to feel them. As his hands gestured while he talked, I could only think how good they would feel caressing my skin.  When he pushed his hair aside, I wanted to be the one pushing it out of his eyes as we were locked in a long passionate kiss.

Class ended, he made his customary assignment announcement followed by his being available for questions for a while after class. Majority of the class shuffled off to their cars and left to whatever lives they had with a handful staying behind. I stood back taking in the questions and how he interacted with the other students. I had questions too, ones that burned deep in my mind, but they had little to do with the class. As I waited the rest of the students shuffled off and it was just the two of us.

“I don’t mean to be rude but I am starving, would you mind us taking your question to the restaurant across the street as we speak?”

neon-flickr_0_0

“Su..sure” I stammered.

I swear he smirked again as I followed once I gathered my book. The small restaurant was a twenty-four-hour dinner. Decent food and coffee for those night owls or zombies of the second and third shifts, it was a haven in the otherwise closed for the night town. Once we ordered he sat three gazing across the table as me, his now captive one on one audience. I felt my words failing and sweat forming. I excused myself to the bathroom and all but bolted to the small bathroom. Splashing water on my face this was unlike me, I was confidant and often called brazen, but here I felt like a schoolboy unsure of how to proceed.

I did not hear the door open as I was wiping my face dry. I froze as I felt hot breath on the back of my neck.

“Unless I am wrong you had more than just class you wanted to ask about.”

I simply replied with an affirming head nod as his lips touched the back of my neck. His hands wasted no time in running under my shirt and caressing my skin. I turned to face him as we kissed. I could forgive the wintergreen flavor from his gum as his tongue slowly caressed and parted my lips. He never closed his eyes as we kissed, I could not close mine because I wanted to take in every moment. When we broke from the kiss I dropped to my knees, half dizzy half out of raging desire that would not be denied. Deftly unzipping his pants with my teeth as my hands groped his ass and legs, I felt the rush seeing him restrained by only a thin piece of fabric. The moisture of his precum already soaking through the white cloth. Working the head with my teeth through the fabric he moaned softly.

Moments later he was free, and my mouth had engulfed the head, my tongue dancing and caressing the sensitive head. The salty taste was intoxicating as my hand now worked to free him and cup his soft balls. My low growl as he moaned was all he could take. Without warning he grabbed the back of my head and pushed to the back of my throat. I opened and accommodated as best I could while his release now flooded my mouth. I looked at his eyes and knew he was more than pleased. We got him cleaned up and ate the food that had just arrived quickly. Next stop was his place as we forgot the facts and figures from class and focused on the simple one to one equation.

Come see what other wickedness is being shared

”Wicked
 

Greg

Greg was rather proud of himself for his ingenious idea on how he pulled it off.
“It was all fantasy” Sandy said, her voice trembling as his wicked smile grew even bigger “Just a game to help get us both off with.”

Trigger warning as is common with most of my blogs, This post is a continuation of last weeks wicked Wednesday. Hope you enjoy.

Greg sneered as he walked over to the bench. As his thick hands fiddled with the bench, he turned and looked back at Sandy, he could see her sweating in nervous anticipation. It had slowly been planned from the first personality he had presented to her, a plan he gradually let play out till he got enough information to make it happen. He always got excited hearing her fantasies and how many wicked things she wanted to happen to her. Each session she would end by saying, of course this is just fantasy because it could never happen, right? Everything was possible but not all were practical. The hardest part was her desire to be kidnapped by a total stranger.

warehouse
Lights illuminate the arched windows of an abandoned building next to puddles in the mud.

Greg was rather proud of himself for his ingenious idea on how he pulled it off. He was worried the kidnapping part would fail and he would have to skedaddle or worse, get in caught and arrested. Setting up his den of sin, as he called it when describing the empty building to her, was easy by compare. Five years of preparation went into his plan, saved emails and conversations. Greg’s favorite part were the pictures she would send. Some were of her trying to make herself look like a damsel in distress, others were pictures she sent him, everything she sent was saved. Greg smiled as he turned on the projector and the pictures began to beam onto the white wall near the arranged devices of torment.

Sandy gasped as the opening was a picture taken long ago, it was a naughty girl’s only party where she had been handcuffed, gagged and made to look helpless and at the mercy of anyone there. Her eyes scanned the small tables he was preparing, assorted paddles and impact devices were on display at one supposed station. Another table held electric devices, a violet wand, electric stimulation unit, even what looked like a Hitachi wand with some built in shocking head aptly named the Zeus. The krewe de gras in the center was a device of Greg’s own making, a harness type table Sandy could be secured to and manipulated in any position he wished. Built in total secrecy, it was a one of a kind made just for Sandy.

He walked over to where she was tied, Sandy struggled against her bonds as his hand slid along the outside of her arm.

“Now, now my dear, I am sure you know what all I have planned for you. After all we have spoken in great depth about all the things you have wanted to try but were too scared to tell anyone, well anyone you knew in real life.”

“It was all fantasy” Sandy said, her voice trembling as his wicked smile grew even bigger “Just a game to help get us both off with.”

“That was all just foreplay my dear, now this is the main event. Time to pay the piper I would say. Or do you prefer put up or shut up?” Greg’s voice suddenly dark and ominous “Of course I will allow you a safe word if things get over your head. It is one you told me was your favorite a while back, just say it and that part of your evening will end and we will move on.”

Sandy’s mind raced as she tried to think of what safe word he was talking about. Before her mind could fix on any one word his rough hands grabbed her and he stood her up. His hot breath in her face as he manhandled her to the bench and forcefully strapped her down. A pair of scissors made quick work of her clothing as he cut away, leaving her nude and exposed to him. As her mind tried to comprehend what was happening, she could see the impact items laid out as he fingered each one lovingly. His hand rested on a small leather paddle. It had a kind of fur on one side and the other was raised knobs like the back of decorative furniture tacks. It looked like a toy in his big hands as he picked it up. A push of the button and music started to play. Some of the featured tracks he had come to enjoy listening to as they chatted online about her desires. The first few hit were so light it almost made Sandy think he was losing his nerve. The fur really felt nice and tickled a little on her skin. Gradually they became firmer and with the tempo of the music. The heavy base thumped as the paddle landed over and over, the intensity and warm feeling in her exposed ass grew. Before long, her head felt like she was in a different world, she had all but forgotten her dire situation as Greg had made her tender bum hot and red. He ran his hand along her well warmed ass a few times. Caressing and cupping her beautiful flesh.

“Such a naught little girl, I see you have become aroused.”

Sandy felt ashamed for a moment then it passed quickly as she felt a cold metal device being inserted into her dripping wetness. Some form of harness held it in place as he pushed a button and a tingle ran though her. He laughed as he set the electric pulses to the beat of the music. Picking up a flogger he began to take his time to match the tempo. Sandy’s eyes glazed over as she could not fight back the growing wave that was beginning to crest inside her. Her yelp of pleasure as the wave crashed over her echoed off the wall.

Greg stopped the flogging and turned off the device. Sandy was a drooling mess as he laughed. There was the sound of a door slamming shut and someone in a security guard uniform walked in. Sandy was saved! Greg backed up and set down the flogger. For a moment she expected him to run.

“What are you doing sir?” the young man demanded from across the room

“Good sir this is my warehouse and you are trespassing.” Greg said firmly

“What kind of freak show is going on here? Ma’am are you, all right?”

Sandy wasn’t sure, her mind wanted to scream she had been kidnapped but her body was begging for more.

“I..I… I am fine sir.” Sandy caved as her desire won over her common since.

“Well good,” the young man said, “Hope you don’t mind me staying and watching, you never know when you will need a third person for things like this.”

Greg smiled as the two embraced. “I told you she would break easily Sam.”

”Wicked
 

I am Disgusted

I am disgusted, enraged, revolted and otherwise just outright ashamed at the recent events in the kink blogging community. I will not be naming names or calling people out, I am seething, waiting for the childish hateful attacks to stop. If someone’s feeling or ego are so fragile they shatter like glass over a post that they took in a way so few have, then maybe they might want to look closer at their own self and do some soul searching. I am all for supporting friends and acquaintances but not at the cost of being divisive in our community that is already under heavy scrutiny and disdain from much of society.

These recent activities I have witnessed seem more like a pack of coyotes trying to take down prey rather than an honest mistake or blatant attack on the person or group that claims to have been wronged. To claim that someone apology was disingenuine or just for show will never allow them to ever be able to make amends. It is a militant mindset that disavow someone’s apology while constantly escalating till only their opinion is being touted loud and clear as if it is the only correct view.

It is disheartening to watch as bloggers that have supported and worked together for years now take sides. Suddenly there are lines in the sand, people that we are not supposed to talk or associate with. What happened to my kink is my kink and I can support others even if it is not my thing? Together we are a powerful force to be reckoned with, divided there will be infighting till only ashes of a once thriving community existed. As kink bloggers will we allow this to happen? I know tensions are high with all that is going on in the world, but people wake up, put aside the petty differences and allow an apology to be accepted. I consider those who will not accept an apology as the aggressor and danger to the community. The person/s trying to cause the fractures are a plague and the covid-19 of the blogging world.

For now, I will continue to blog what I feel like, write what I want to write. Participate where I enjoy participating and share what I feel like sharing. It is ok if you do not agree with me. There is a reason Baskin Robbins had 42 flavors, because we are all individuals and our likes vary. I will encourage everyone to stop and think how they would feel if suddenly they were under the same level of attack. Just be you, accept we are all different. Education is fine and disagreements will happen, but we are part of a big, fun great and often dysfunctional family. It’s time to stop bashing and start building one another up.

Sandy

His was fedora tipped down; the long trench coat kissed by the fog glistening in the early morning streetlights. As he pulled in the open door at the warehouse Sandy started to freak out.

{{{Before you enter this realm I should advise you that anything I write will trigger someone. So with that out of the way you may now proceed and read at your own risk}}}

His was fedora tipped down; the long trench coat kissed by the fog glistening in the early morning streetlights. Just for a moment taking it all in, the earie quiet of the predawn streets that was Greg’s world. He was going to follow through with the idea knowing he was going to get his hands dirty, just how dirty was up to him. The clicking of the stilettos on the sidewalk as another working girl rounded the corner. Her blonde hair still mostly in place as she spied the shadowy figure watching her. Her brazen attitude as she approached made Greg sweat and his hands tremble.

“Hey baby, I’m about to get off but I can get you off before I call it a night.” Her high pitch Brooklyn accent was like nails on a chalkboard.

His deep gravelly voice answered her “No thanks”

She turned in a huff and walked into the old hotel. Her red sequin dress and short black skirt flashing in the few dim lights. The scream of a cat and a trash can falls over caught Greg’s attention. He walked the four blocks toward the dinner. Huge plate glass windows beaming light into the world around them like a display for all to see. A couple dock workers sitting there eating as they were either getting ready for the day or finishing up a night. It always made Greg chuckle how it was like watching a play about humanity. He took a seat on the bench watching the show.

The obnoxiously bright pink uniform came into sight. The shirt unbuttoned too low, the skirt too high as she talked and flirted with the men there. He didn’t have to hear; he knew the basics of the conversation all too well. She was flirting and working hoping for a good tip, they were hoping she would finally say yes and let them “enjoy their company”. Soon they would get up and leave, she would pick up their dishes and the couple crumpled bills from the table.

The horizon was starting to glow as the hues of morning began to paint the sky. The rumble of the old bus as it came down the dingy road belching smoke was on time as always. Greg watched as the brunette got off and walked into the diner. Greg got up and followed her in. She sat down in her usual spot as he approached.

“Excuse me, are you Sandy?”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she shot back with a sternly

Greg reached in his coat and pulled out the papers he had been carrying. Half dropping them on the table for effect she looked at the top sheet with her name on it. The following pages were copies of her correspondence with various people. She fumbled through them, hot lurid conversations that ended suddenly every time.

“Where, how did you get these?” her face now in shock as her voice cracked.

“I think you need to come with me and answer some questions at the station. Every name in those conversations has disappeared suddenly except for you. There are a few questions about their sudden disappearance and your involvement with them that need to be answered. Now you can come peacefully or…” Greg added to his intimidation by pulling out handcuffs from behind his back.

Sandy agreed to cooperate and walked out the door with Greg. He led her around to the dimly lit parking lot then opened the door for her to get in the back. Before she could get in, he forced her to against the car and cuffed her hands behind her back. Pushing her into the back seat she tried to fight him off, but it was no use. She was now trapped. He started the engine and as it roared to life the radio came on, it was playing one of Sandy’s favorite songs.

She was shaken as he looked at her in the mirror. He smiled, so far everything had gone as planned. As he pulled out into the empty street and headed toward the warehouse he had set up. Now was the time for all his work to finally pay off.

“So Sandy, all those men; twelve in all, were talking to you about some really racy things. I am shocked a woman like you would be so bold as to tell them the things you said.”

“We were having fun; it was a game.” She replied her voice shaking

“Baseball is a game, monopoly is a game, hell even football is a game. This, what you were talking about is something very different.”

Had Sandy not been so scared she would have caught on this was a game too. Greg was listing off games she had said she liked. The song playing was the one she said was her favorite. He had set it all up for her perfect fantasy that she had talked about with all those “men”. As he pulled in the open door at the warehouse Sandy started to freak out.

“No, wait. No, this can’t be happening. Who are you?”

warehouse

Greg pushed the button and the door behind them closed with a light coming on in the building. There were several areas with torture looking tables and devices to use. It was obvious Greg’s silence was adding to her unsettled feelings.

“Please, what are you planning to do to me?”

Greg put on the hood she should recognize and turned back toward her “Everything you talked about and more. See little bird those men aren’t missing; it was me all along and I am here for you as your wicked date begins”

Sandy felt a mix of nausea, fear and a strange rush of excitement as he got out and started setting up. Letting the anticipation grow as Sandy watched. She realized how much energy he had put in, now she was trapped at his mercy as he was about to push her to her breaking point through all the twists and turns she had shared with the various versions of Greg.

”Wicked