Hair today, gone tomorrow

Now I've said it before on many occasions here on this blog, I've got a soft spot in my kinky heart for a woman's pubic hair. While not a deal breaker or must have by any stretch of the imagination, rather I just get a secret (or not so secret) smile when I discover a woman who chooses not to follow the fashion of the day. As an aside, I would pin the blame for this particular kink of mine on this woman, but that is a tale for another day.

No, today's story is all about the possession of body hair... and the removal of it at the edge of a straight razor.

"The black one", she says with a sigh, "the one you use every day"
She points to the row of razors, laid in single file before her, their blades gleaming with the promise of danger. Each blade has a story, a history to me. She listens wide eyed as I pick each one up, caress it like a lover, and share the blade's story.

"this one, this one I named Klaus", rolling the handle so that the dull gray of the blade explodes in the light before her, "hand made in Berlin before the war. Found it in a roadside antique store. This", picking up a simple black handled blade," this was given to me by a 70's porn goddess. She used it in a film that once scandalized the audiences of grind house theaters across the country. Took me months to return the blade to perfection. And this", pointing to a pearl and mahogany handle of another, " was a gift and may only be used on the skin of the woman who gave it to me..."

She is naked and the room is *just* cool enough to see the landscape of her skin explode in goose flesh. Maybe it is the temperature, or perhaps not, either way I can't help but smile at the way the hairs along her inner calf bristle and rise in anticipation of what comes next.

Tonight, tonight that hair will be mine. All of it.

Yes, unlike previous times when I have been so honored to have a woman offer me the hair between her legs, tonight I am being given a truly special and rare gift.

She is one of those funky neo hipster types. The kinda girl who only shops at second hand stores or street fairs and sports a look that is both chic and self assured. Lithe and tone, her dancer's body is before me. Tufts of thick, curly dark hair peek out from under her harms. The a gift on Christmas morning, a tiny red bow is tied into the thick curls of her pubic mound.

Next comes the strop, I run the blade along the long strip of leather in slow, even strokes. This is not so much to sharpen the blade, as that has been done with painstaking detail already, no this is more to prepare the blade and align the microscopic particles of metal along the razor's sharp edge so that there is nothing but pure, single minded, sharpened steel. All fixed upon one tasks.

As she lays back on the bondage table, trying to relax, she asks if I am going to restrain her... open.
"Oh no..." I say with a wicked laugh, "I assure you, you will be very motivated to stay very, very still for me"


Dammit, I've rambled too long and there are rope orders that must go out today. I'll pick this tale up again tomorrow.

Lay the smack down!
How many times have we seen this in porn? The dude is fucking her from behind and in between strokes he sorta halfheartedly swats her ass, usually in the exact same spot and much to the obvious annoyance of his co-star he continues to do so till it is time for his money shot. What, you don’t watch porn? What the hell is wrong with you?! I mean damn, what else is the internet for besides porn and Nigerian bank scams?

Well for those of you who don’t seem to enjoy the digital smut, let me fill you in on a little trend that is happening in “mainstream” pornography. More and more elements of sm play are leaking into straight porn, you see more and more spankings, face slapping and the occasional choke hold. Now I am not going into the last 2 items here as they will take much more blog space than I have time today, but suffice to say these things normally seen only in kink porn are now being seen by consumers of “vanilla” porn and frankly they are getting a terrible education if they think swatting a gal’s ass repeatedly in the same damn spot while fucking her is normal, or even welcome.

Over the course of my personal and professional career as a pervert, it has been my pleasure to deliver a number of spankings and I’ve grown to become an aficionado of the art. So here, let me share 3 important rules for giving a fun, sexy and hot spanking.

1) A good spanking can be a scene unto itself. While the guys in porn seem to think that the only time you should swat her on her ass is while you are jackhamering her from behind like a muppet on meth, sometimes it is the spanking that should be the focus of the scene. Like how you ask? I’ve aided wayward students when they have lost their motivation to finish a thesis paper. Visited very high powered executives in their penthouse offices and delivered a sound debriefing from behind closed board room doors and right now I’m rather looking forward to spending an evening playing out a “Mad Men” inspired dinner date where the host gets put over my knee for dessert.
2) Location, location, location. Now logic would dictate that one should want to strike the largest, meatiest part of the ass. Hence most folks tend to aim for what I like to call the “high and outside” area and usually end up hitting closer to where the hip joint is. This tends to mostly just sting and annoy. Instead aim low, right between the cheeks and just above the ass hole. This is the “sweet spot” where you can get a nice, meaty thump when you strike and the shock wave is felt in the person’s tingly bits. Now don’t suffer from SDS or “Same DAMNED Spot”, syndrome either. Target your strikes with varied speed and intensity around the sweet spot, even edging a bit into the high and outside territory, but focus on the good spot.
3) Connect. Maybe it is just me and how I tend to interact to my world through touch and texture, but bringing my hand down on a bare bottom. Feeling it connect and the warmth as skin flushes red, hearing that resonating smack and responding yelp is… is just wonderful. While I have an insane arsenal of floggers, canes and other such impact toys, nothing is quite as satisfying and connecting as my hand on the exposed flesh of another. Holding them close as they wriggle and squirm in both anticipation and in hopes of escaping the next blow… just makes me happy. Don’t stand back, a spanking is an up close and personal act.

Of course, once their ass has been soundly made into a bright red bundle of hand prints… feel free to jackhammer it like a muppet on meth …

Panda Kabobs

So here I am, sitting in my loft office pondering what to write. Perhaps I should tell the tale of just how my office came to be in such a disastrous state, as tweeted yesterday, or maybe show off this new German stock that I am thinking about offering up as a one time thing… Then the txt message comes into my phone “Can Mickey come out and play? The moustketeers want to splash in your (golden) shower”

Oh now there is a mental image. Monk and a couple of mouse eared cuties splashing about in his piss while he makes lewd commentary in that high pitched mouse voice.

Yeah, that is so brimming over with wrongablity that you just have to smile at it. Funny thing is, I never in a million years thought I would be asked to do watersports play as much as I do or enjoy it as much as I do. Few things make me cackle with such evil glee.

But why? You ask. Good question, one that I still can’t fully form in my own head. On the one hand there is the sheer taboo of it. The outrageous and naughty pleasure of doing something “dirty” and reveling in it. What can I say, I’m big on the whole “revel in your filth” kinda guy. And then there is the more symbolic and primal aspect. The marking of another, leaving your scent as it were. The beast in me understands this …primitive desire.

And then, then there is the whole dishevelment and destruction aspect. On rare occasions I meet a person and they just make my fangs come out. Something about how they move or smell or react to my topping energy just makes me want to do very, very bad things to them. I joke that it feels as if I want to kill a panda, eat it’s still beating heart raw, burn down a national monument, piss on the still smoldering embers and then go have ice cream.

It is one thing to want to play with someone, a whole other to want to simply destroy them…

Monk’s Second Law of Good Topping, “If after a scene, the top is not as physically and mentally exhausted as their bottom… you are doing it wrong”

My shoulders ache this morning, rivers of ground glass flow down the length of my neck and back. Sore from both my overly intense work out yesterday as well as my night with one, very tough and dynamic gal. OK, I am pretty sure I am not feeling quite as, um how was it put once? “Feeling like I got run over by a UPS truck, then it backed up, did a three point turn on top of me, unloaded some deliveries and ran over me again…” But still, oh how I so use a long, deep tissue massage or maybe a trip to the spa and then a massage.

But Monk, you ask, you are supposed to be this big, bad ass top. Why are YOU in pain? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around?

Sure, as the top I am the one delivering most of the, how shall I say this politely, “intense sensations” to my partner as they greedily soak it up and ask for more (or beg, I like it when they beg… a lot) but I am not one of those folks that sees himself as a life-support system for a flogger. Rather, SM play is all about getting down, inside your body and experiencing this amazing machine we live in. All the things we do when we play are designed to push that machine, both mentally and physically, good play drowns out the chatter in our heads and that vague, disconnected feeling we get when we are too caught up in the world. When we play, we become greedy hedonists, hungry for the sensations and the endorphin rush that comes with it.

And who says a top has to just sit by and observe this? Not me, when I play I want to use my body too. I work too hard in the gym to not want to flex and push myself as well. Why just wrap rope around a limb, when you can press your body in, pull them close and then tie? It is one thing to swing a flogger a safe distance from a rack, it is a whole other experience to slowly circle your prey, and shoulders hunched forward, fists clenched in menacing anticipation of your next strike.

Even if you are not a “rough and tumble” sort of player, this rule still applies. Again, why stand back, arm distance while putting that chest harness on? Hold her tight to you, smell her hair as you nuzzle that perfect spot on the nape of her neck and let your fingers guide the rope around her body.

Play, good play, is all about making a connection. Both psychologically as well as kinetically

Podcast!
Listen to me rant about the joys of starting a kink business!

I'm off to the Abbey today to dip the next color of the month, thanks for the great suggestions BTW.
Greedily enjoying soaking up a few yummy days with Matisse this weekend,we nothing planned save enjoying the afterglow and maybe some decadent french fries. Tomorrow, tomorrow I have evil plans afoot for a sweet girl by the name of Jezebel, how evil you ask? Lets just say I'm calling in a special guest star, "Headmistress Maggie". I figure that if between Maggie and Jezebel that if I can still walk on Sunday it's going to be a day of Dim Sum and a right proper boot polishing. Stay tuned, it should be an eventful couple a days...

But first, gotta go make some rope!

PS, Happy birthday to a a very awesome friend today too. I've said it once and I'll say it again, you my good sir are aces in my book.

Gender F#cked
“Tension drives the narrative”, I use this line often when I’m geeking out about film with folks. This was about the only really useful learned during my time in film school, well that and “congratulations you just spent a fortune on your degree enjoy your career at Micky Dees.” You see, Tension is what propels out hero to overcome the odds. Tension, that unspoken electricity between two people is what pulls them inexplicably together and ignites passion. It is the tension, that war of your desire to indulge your lusts and your fear of what will happen next when you say “yes” to that desire, that tension is something you can taste. Powerful, sweet and oh so intoxicating.

Lately I’ve been teasing folks via my twitter feed about donning high heels and doing some gender bending play, last Friday I even posted a quick snapshot of me in trying out said heels and garters. So why would a guy who thinks that a tank top and tight jeans make good fetish wear go prancing about in 6 inch platform heels and stockings, let alone post photos? It is that tension thing again. While I do enjoy the occasional pampering and indulgences of things like manicures, salt scrubs and the like I’m sure nobody is going to confuse me as being feminine. Not when I have hands the size of small dogs and more than a dusting of body hair.

Put me in high fem drag and makeup and you are going to not have a very pretty girl on your hands (my hat is off to those transgender folks who do this well). Rather, the sexual tension comes about when you play to your masculine features. Lets face it, I worked damned hard to be able to bench press my body weight so I’m going to show off my shoulders and chest. One only needs to look at images of Eddy Izzard, Gary Newman, David Bowie and of course Tim Curry to see what I mean. The sexual tension comes not from them appearing as a “sissy” in female clothes, but rather in the confidence and swagger that comes from this collision of masculine power, draped in feminine garb.

So the moral of the story? Gender is malleable and can be very sexy when tweaked, but never loose sight of your strengths and play to them. While I’m probably not going to add a pair of heels to my normal attire, I may don them from time to time on special occasion. Oh and one other thing, not sure why but I am one seriously mean and especially sadistic top when in stockings.

A post script, the opposite is also very true as well. I have a powerful attraction to women who blur the lines of gender, embracing the masculine while not denying their femininity.

Random Acts of Beauty

I twittered about this, but it seems the fleeting nature of a twitter just did not do it justice. So allow me to tell you the tale...

Today, as I marched along the parade route with Alex and the rest of the “leather contingent” as we were called. Really a fantastic cross-section of gay, straight, kinky, gender queer and leather folk who help make Seattle such a fantastic place to be “alternative”, but I digress. There we were, me in my tall boots and leather pants, Alex bounding along side me a spontaneous explosion of joyful puppy energy…about mid parade I’d say, the sidewalks swelling with cheering faces, waving flags and again all manner of young and old people all out to show their pride and support she emerged from out of nowhere.

Brandishing a bouquet of flowers, fresh from the farmer’s market she stepped out of the crowd and into the street. Running up along side Alex and I as we came abreast I only got a quick look at her, young and pretty. Flushed and full of life as she pressed the brown paper wrapped bundle of flowers into my hand.
“I love you” she said with a smile and dashed back into the crowd before I could thank her, before I could even ask her name. Once I fully realized what was happening, she had vanished, back into the seething sea of faces along the parade route. I carried that bundle of random color for pretty much the rest of the parade, till the limitations of keeping myself and my leather hooded companion hydrated became more than my two full hands could manage.

Now, the parade long over and no longer dressed in my all too warm leather pants I can’t help but wonder. Who was she? Had someone set aside today, taken the initiative to attend this event, visit the market, so they might me a gift and say those things? Did they wait patently as float after float passed by till they could make this fleeting connection with me? Or was this a random event. Someone performing a random act of love and generosity? Putting some good into the universe and I was simply in the right place at the right time?

If, as my ego would like to think, it was intentional then surely the girl in question is reading this right now and will hear me when I say thank you, I am quite touched. However if I am simply the recipient of some cool cosmic circumstance, then hot damn what a great idea.

The universe needs more flushed, beautiful girls sharing random bouquets of flowers.

Bondage with one in the oven…
From the inbox:

Hi Monk, firstly thank you for your fantastic site and especially your videos. We are yet to purchase any rope from you, because just as I was going to...we fell pregnant. Which is GREAT but I'm getting sick of abstaining from my favorite, rope play.

Any chance you know which bits are safe etc?

Thanks for any help you can give us...

First off, congratulations, the whole “kid thing” scares the bejesus out of me, so you are a far braver soul than I am for undertaking such a daunting task. Now onto your question; I’ve had the opportunity once, a long time ago to do bondage on a pregnant woman. This was pretty early in my (and this blog’s) career so the ties were more decorative. You can see a shot here. I must admit that I find pregnant woman insanely beautiful, recently a friend showed up at a party proudly displaying her swollen, third trimester tummy and I was all but transfixed by it. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I sheepishly asked to touch her tummy like a shy schoolboy getting his first kiss.

But I digress.

Not having enough direct experience to answer your question I polled the various kinky moms I know as well as a photographer friend, Jim Duvall, who in addition to being a very respected bondage instructor and community mentor has also done a lot of work with pregnant women and rope. So here is the skinny, as it were, as reported to me.

Pregnant women start producing a chemical called Relaxin. This allows the pelvis to expand to let the baby out. It also lets their other joints get really flexy. You can often do things with a pregnant woman’s knees hips shoulders and elbows you could never do before. That said, flexibility in the torso is restricted (for obvious reasons) and pressure against the abdomen should be avoided.

Also, later in pregnancy, any ropes around the breasts need to be looser than usual, because the glands around the area are swollen and she might be sore (in a not nice way) afterwards. As on put it, “Beware of milk. Boobs are huge and sore. And they squirt milk.”

Oh and, Bondage or SM that takes a person into stressed condition such as fight or flight should be avoided as it can influence the pregnancy SM is not a good way to induce labor.

So there ya go, I would say stick to limb ties. Keep pressure away from the abdomen, watch the tightness on the chest harness and watch out for squirting milk (or watch for it if that is your thing). Oh and as for suspension, I’d say no. My friends gave me a mixed result. Some did it (clear up to the end of the second trimester) and said that it was hard but ok. Others said “no way in hell”.

8-Ball In The Corner Pocket

So lets talk about that giant ass hook I have been seen brandishing as of late. You know this one, the one with the amazing 2 inch wide ball on the end? The one that most folks look at and sorta wince? Well it would seem that a fine young lady of my acquaintance, upon experiencing said hook up close and in the flesh (as it were) expressed her disappointment with said ball. In fact she went as far as to say to me, “Ya know, I sorta thought it would be bigger”

Let me tell you, no man likes to hear those words, ever.

So while I made a mental note to request a 4 inch version, I had to do something to save face. Hence the threat, a quick laughing off the cuff sort of thing really, of stuffing multiple pool balls into her ass next time I got the chance. This, this dear reader was the wrong thing to say. See, the sexy woman in question is rather proud of her backside and it’s, how shall I delicately put it, capacity.

Her response was to laugh and tell me that if I can figure out how to do it with out the scene ending in an emergency room, I was more than welcome to have at it.

Can pause and I just say how much I love my life?

Anyways, I had not put much thought into that exchange until last week when a box arrived for me at the Abbey. Inside, a brand new set of regulation pool balls with a little note that read, “The ball(s) in your court”. Yes, dear readers, the gauntlet had been thrown and my ego (and libido) were now firmly committed to the idea of taking her up on her most generous offer, of course the responsible top that I am still had yet to first answer some very important safety questions. I needed to consult an expert, namely a gay friend of mine who “flagged red”, if anyone knew the ins and outs of extreme anal play it would be him.

We discussed the various options for just how to secure said balls so that they could be safely retrieved and not run afoul of any of the delicate tissues and, most importantly, not send the girl into the hospital with a perforated colon. So after much conversation and weighing of the all the safety factors to be considered, he paused and asked one very probing question that I had yet factor into my planning.
“It would seem to me,” He said thoughtfully stroking his goatee,”that you have yet to answer one very important question.”
“Well… I thought I had the major ones down, but what am I missing?” I ask with concern.
“Stripes or solids?” He chuckles, “I mean are you playing 8-ball? Cut throat? What happens when you sink the cue ball?”

This gives the whole “Ball in hand” rule a whole new twist now don’t it?

My hands miss you
Please let me touch you; please let me press my hands against your skin till it turns flush. Your skin responds so well to my touch, fingers tracing lines along the curve of your hip. My hands miss you; they miss the way your skin feels underneath their calloused tips. So soft, so warm. They miss those spots where, when probed, you yelp with pain and groan with delight as they grind into muscle.
My hands miss you; miss the smell of your skin that lingers on them for days afterwards.
Let me rest my palm on the curve of your neck and feel you shiver as I wrap my fingers menacingly around you. Let me hurt you with them, striking your with savage fury and hungry abandon. My hands miss the way you let them hurt you, the way your shoulders roll open, eager to accept another blow. The way your teeth clinch and eyes blaze when I take your breast in my hand and clamp down, forearms flexed and veins popping, till you can’t take any more and drop to your knees before me.

I know I have a whole bag full of rope here, but I’d much rather pin you down and hold you close to me. Pressing tight in blind desire till I leave perfectly shaped fingertip bruises in your upper arms.

My hands miss holding you, petting you while you gasp and shake. Thumbs stroking the curve of your eyebrow and line of your mouth.

Sure, they are sore after a long day and yes sometimes I wince when I make a fist, but all this is forgotten the moment I touch you.

My hands miss you.

The way of the gun

“An interrogation, please” , She asked over her cup of mint tea one rainy Seattle afternoon.
“Interrogation scene? Complete with uniforms, stale cigarette smoke and harsh lights in your eyes?”, I respond.
“Will you be the good cop or the bad cop?
“Depends I guess.”
“will there be a gun involved as well?”
“on my person or part of the interrogation?”
“Both, please. Pretty, pretty please”

Ah the taboo allure of the gun. For some this is an insanely erotic turn on, an instant panty wetting source of fantasy. To me they are just a tool. Growing up on a farm and as a hunter I’ve used and handled guns most of my life. Even when I was working to get my sharp shooter certifications and handling one all the time they were still just tools. I fail to see the erotic charge they bring some folks.

However as an actor, I respect the value of a good prop.

Awhile back there was an SM related gun death in the news, the ethics of gun play has been debated in far better forums than this. If you want to debate that, go elsewhere. I would put to you it is not the gun itself that gives the thrill, but rather the idea of the gun. It is not that she thinks I’m going to actually pull the trigger and end her life (if and) when I lean in to menace her during her interrogation scene. Just as she knows in the back of her mind that I’m not really a German officer who has thinks she is a spy for the resistance. No, that’s just a fantasy she wants to play out. When it is all said and done, she puts her clothes on and goes home, safe and sound… save some new,colorful marks and a good story to tell.

So why not use a prop gun?

It is fairly common practice to use dulled blades in a scene, I have reduced a girl to terrified tears while brandishing a prop knife, it’s cutting edge no sharper than a butter knife. So why not a fake gun? A quick google search will net you dozens of sites that sell replicas that look, sound and even smell just like their more lethal counterparts, however permanently incapable of actually firing a shot. Again, I ask it is not the actual gun that sells the fantasy, but rather the idea of it. The cultural taboo, the element of fear that the top has to sell and the bottom has to buy into for the entire scene to work.

As I was processing this posting out in my brain I posed the question to Tambo, her response? “Sweetie, you are an actor. When you are on, you could brandish a wooden spoon and tell them it is a lightsaber and they would believe you” High praise, but I doubt there will be any Darth Vader masks in my future. However the actor in me can’t help but wonder how it would feel to heft the weight of such a prop, an item so steeped in danger and taboo. Could I believably sell my intent to do her harm as I shoved the barrel of a doppelganger colt 45 into her mouth and snarl my demands at her, menace dripping off my lips? Or would the years of gun safety education kick in and override my behavior, causing me to treat this prop with the same cautious respect I do a live weapon?

Of course there is the really big question, at what point to you inform her said gun was in fact a very well made fake? Or at all?

The fascinating thing about BDSM for us is that there is no right answer and what is the “proper” thing to do will shift and change with each circumstance. What is a hard limit, a line never to be crossed for one is common place for others. Acts to some seem so extreme and dangerous that they must never even be discussed are blasé to others. There is no right answer, rather the start of a conversation.

Location, location, location


A change of location can dramatically change the tone of a scene. While my loft office in the Abbey has been home to so many great memories, sometimes familiarity is not what you want. Tucked away in a dark corner of the building that I share space in, deep in the recesses where tenants are forbidden to go, I have a secret spot. A down a blind passage and behind a fake wall lays a forgotten room. My boot prints are the only thing to mark the layer of dust that covers the bare wood floors. The place would seem untouched it if were not for the shiny re-enforced hard points sunk into the two-foot thick beams that span the ceiling.

This is where I like to go when I want to shake things up. While the “what” I plan to do to her will be the same, my rope and hands crisscrossing her body. The mood will shift dramatically. What was met last time with giggles and squeals will be result in gasps and moans. My body language shifts from warm familiarity to a more aggressive stance as I pace around her naked, suspended form. The smell of her fear and sex will fill the enclosed space and when it is all said and done we will both emerge from the space, caked with dust and smiling.

No worse for wear at the end, save some lovely rope marks on her body, returning to the real world once again.

An indecent proposal?

Dear Monk, Sir.

my name is *deleted*, W/we met on *deleted*. i had the pleasure of watching You play several times and can’t get over how hot it is to watch You. The way You move is as if you were dancing! Every time i see you show up at a party i know i’m in for a treat. (OMG, what You did last Saturday was so hot!) Watching You play i have noticed two things. You always wear one of those tight, white tank top style shirts and when You are done You always strip out of the sweat soaked shirt. (OMG that is nice to watch too). I don’t want to sound like a creepy fan girl (Too late huh?) I was wondering what would a girl have to do to get her hands one of those sweat soaked shirts? i'd be willing to pay for the pleasure of owning one!

OK… so this is a first. Now if it were not for the fact that I remember meeting this person this would be a very, very strange e-mail. Odd capitalizations aside, she seemed like a nice enough gal. The shirt in question would be this. I’ve taken to wearing these pretty much all the time when I play. I’ve always run a few degrees warmer than most and when your play motto is “If the top is not just as exhausted as the bottom then you are doing it wrong” I tend to get rather damp by the end of the scene. I started packing a change of clothes after Tambo refused to leave the warmth of the party with me for fear that I may catch hypothermia going out into the cold. So the question is, how do I feel about selling my used clothing? I mean sure, it is very common for female sex workers to sell their used panties. (Heck, when my buddy Galahad went to Japan I begged him to locate a vending machine and buy me a pair of school girl panties, just so I could say that I had a pair of authentic Asian schoolgirl panties bought from a subway vending machine)

Why should my sweat soaked shirt be any different? I mean heck, if she wants to spend her money like this so she can indulge her fantasies who am I say no.

What say you?

Itch

You have one new message: “When can I see you, soon?”

I don’t hear from her often, maybe once every couple of months but the message is always the same. A single line sent from her blackberry or other such thing. Her job as a VP at a large and well known software company keeps her busy, probably a little too. When the stress of being the queen bitch, in charge of keeping the product on time and on budget gets too much, that is when she contacts me. No longer in charge of millions of dollars and millions of lines of code she seeks me out so she can let go, have her power ripped from her and made to grovel. We have a simple agreement. She contacts me when it gets too much, when she needs her fix as it were. With me she is free to wallow in her lust and unspoken desires, to be degraded and defiled at my hand.

“Hey, this is way more therapeutic than going to a spa!” was her rational at first. Now, now I think she is addicted, addicted to the release. Letting go of the deadlines and expectations and being nothing more than meat for another’s perverse pleasure.

Like always she arrives at my door by cab, usually dressed in a long coat that probably cost more than most of my crew will make in a day. Rain or shine, always the same coat. Why? She is naked underneath. She likes it when I make her show up like so. Naked save her boots and stockings. Now can I just pause here for a moment and tell you what a glorious sight it is, stockings (complete with garters, tucked into tall boots) If you don’t believe me, check out the new resident evil movie and tell me that is not the hottest look ever. But I digress. I causally lean against the door posts and watch as she exits the cab. After a few minutes of catch up I ask her to tell me why she came to see me today.

“I need to be used and abused. Hang me from that pipe in your office and put something steel inside me. Make me feel like a piece of meat”

With that I usher her into my loft and she assumes her place. Kneeling palms down, face on the floor and ass raised high. Vulgar names menacingly drip off my tongue as I circle her form. I make obscene threats as to what I intend to do with her willing flesh and inform her just how much I am going to enjoy doing it. She giggles with nervous glee. When I threaten to invite over a batch of longshoremen from next door to all take turns on her, an idle threat we both know, but one that makes her body clinch and shiver with excitement. I’m fairly certain that someday she may ask me to make that one come true. Alas not just yet, no for now her body is mine and I’m going to make good use of it.

Pausing as I circle to admire the curve of her upturned ass, I kneel down beside her. Boot resting between her legs, I whisper in her ear just what I intend to do with said pink parts. These, these are not idle threats. Before she is untied, her body will not only accept my massive hands inside her, but also the extra large steel ass hook she commissioned. How an ass so pert and perfect can greedily accept such things and ask for more is beyond me. Some things are best left not known and enjoyed I guess.

When we are done she will be filthy. Grinning madly as she is covered in a mix of her own sweat, hemp dust and abbey filth from her adventure.. We sip whiskey; she has excellent taste in the stuff and always makes a point to bring me a fresh bottle, as she tells me about her travels and such. Eventually she will stop shaking enough to hail a cab and return to her world. I kiss her on the forehead and swat her bruised ass as she gaily skips to the cab, a wicked smile on her face and a renewed shine in her eyes.

Tomorrow I will get another text message, this time more than just one line.
“In a meeting with (name of well known multi millionaire software giant) product is late and I should be screaming at someone, but could care less. Ciao”

She always says “ciao”, never “goodbye”.

A tale of two Ks

I was having a conversation the other day, talking about play and how folks define their boundaries. Seems my companion just could not wrap their head around the idea that you can do SM with out having sex or that “sex” could be defined as something other than what we generally think of it to be (His tab a, inserted into her slots a, b, or if c) Hard pressed to give a good answer, instead I told him about two lovely women that I used to play with at the same time (not together) Both were very similar in age, education and both in similar long term relationships.

The first K, or K1 I guess, wanted what her partner was not yet ready to deliver. The urge to explore SM is hard for some partners to grasp and hers was not yet ready to take the plunge. However he was ok with her exploring it, with in limits of course. Genital intercourse was to be off the menu; however anything else I was inclined to violate her with was open for discussion. Having a particular fetish for my growing collection devious steel objects, she was more than interested in seeing just what response they would procure from her bound form. While her pink bits were all but a veritable playground for my devious brain, kissing was flat out. To her, kissing was just too intimate. Something she reserved for only her husband, a hard limit not to be crossed.

Contrast this with my other playmate K2. Recently married, she and her partner were still working out the ins and outs of their poly and how it would work involving play with other men. However she was not about to turn down a chance to get bound and generally abused by yours truly. So like any good poly couple they came to some agreements and trusted each other. Again, sex was a no go. Not to worry, I was quite happy for the chance to play with said cutie and wanted above all else to respect her commitments, the fact that her new husband trusted me to honor said limits was a thing I did not wish to take lightly. Aside from the passing of rope between her supple thighs, that region was pretty much off limits. Again, not to worry, I’m a creative top and know many a way to deliver a memorable experience that do not require my interacting directly with her genitals. Now In contrast to K1, she all but demanded to be kissed when we played. For her, kissing creates focus, bringing her into the moment and allowing her to process more intense sensations than she might normally be able to.

Both women turned out to be fantastic play partners and we have many fond memories of our scenes together. I guess the point I was trying to make to my companion with the tale was that boundaries can vary from person to person and there really isn’t a wrong answer. They are yours and whatever you define them to be is just fine. The goal is to clearly define what yours are before you engage in play with someone. Conversely, as a top you are required to ask, get specific, about said boundaries and not to see them as limits, but rather as the framework that you will use to build your scene.

Weekend.... um, what she said. Yeah.