Creeping Chastity

No idea why, but I've been taken again with the idea of chastity.  As usual, it manifests as a tool to deepen a power exchange relationship, and since I'm not in a long-term relationship at the moment, it has an odd feeling to it.  Sexually wanting to be restricted from sexual wants is hyperbole and irony in one, oddness extreme.

I've been spending some time on the keysafe.org web site wondering if I want to build one of their elaborate key safes.  It depends, I think, on whether I can develop a relationship with a woman worthy of that kind of deprivation.  It has to MEAN something to both of us.

I never know where things are going to lead, but this is something that's burning in my brain at the moment.  Fun to research, anyway, and as fun to contemplate emotionally.  Difficulty is in sorting out the real people from the flakes.  Oh, the fun of on line.

More to come, I suspect....

*yawn* *stretch*

I should probably be flogged for the amount of time that has passed since my last post. Okay, so that was obviously bait for Dommes, and I should probably be flogged for tossing out bait like that.  Yes, it has been quite a while since last I posted, but having a lovely Domme in one's life and getting opportunities to play is fantastic, pushing things like blogs slightly away from the foreground of attention.

I'm not spending so much time with my wonderful lady friend as I was.  Her tastes are evolving, growing in scope and scale, and my needs are kind of heading off in a different direction.  We got together a couple of weeks ago over breakfast, and I was struck once again at how lucky we are to have found each other.  We'll be friends for a long, long time even if the frequency of play has decreased from an unsustainable -- but oh-so-exciting -- crescendo through a good portion of this year.  It has not been a flash-in-the-pan relationship, more a year of getting to know each other, pushing boundaries, doing things as friends, and playing... sometimes quite hard.

Now I'm in a place where work is front-and-center again.  The apple cart that is the illusion of steady employment went all Thelma-and-Louise on me a few months back, and I'm in the midst of building a bigger and better cart filled with more and varied apples... on a different road entirely.  This takes time, attention, effort, and energy, so I'm keeping my kinky mind engaged as I can.  Going to BDSM events is kind of out of the question at the moment, but there are other ways to explore.

Chastity is back in my brain, though I have yet to work out how that can work for someone who cycles several times a week and runs five miles or more most days... while wearing spandex shorts.  I mean:  ow.  But I have learned that having a wonderful woman rooting around in the brain is bliss, and nothing wedges into the synapses quite like control and denial of sexual relief.  Desperation changes the game, shifts power, and overcomes fear with need.  No idea where this will lead since a vast majority of dommes on line are fee-for-service, and many of those are actually men.  I'm not a cynic, I'm just not stupid.

For now, though, I'm kicking back in skirt and heels very occasionally, reading and trying to keep up with the world through the window of my monitor, and working hard to become a bazillionaire so I can fund fantasies... or at least pay my mortgage.

Maybe I'll even keep this blog up again.

Dinner

What's the big deal about dinner, anyway? People eat. Stuff needs to be put on the table. It's normal and every-day mundane.

Or is it?

When kinky people are involved, the ordinary can take on facets and become wonderfully twisted in a fun-house version of reality. Emphasis on "fun." So, dinner...

As I've described in my posts over the past couple of months, I've met a lovely Domme who has spent the time to get to know me. Out of this has come trust, and a willingness by both of us to try new things. She has pushed my sub buttons, pushed my endurance and pain threshholds, and decided that it was time to push one of my fantasies out of my head and into the light of day. This is no small feat, as some of my thoughts -- even among kinky people -- stay buried and guarded.

She sent an e-mail asking if I was available on a specific night. Matter-of-factly, she mentioned that I would be serving dinner to her and another Domme friend. I've never been exposed to multiple people like that before. But it got better. The friend would be bringing a friend... a friend of the male persuasion... and I'd be serving all of them dressed as a maid.

I have no idea why I didn't hyperventilate and keel over. I don't DO public, even semi-public, and dressing is decidedly difficult territory for me. My femme wardrobe had been sitting almost forgotten in drawers and on hangars, forlorn for many months and years. But she wasn't asking if I would. She was stating it and verifying that I didn't have unbreakable plans that night.

I accepted the date.

The lead-up to the evening caused me to think carefully. There was no way I was going to let her down, and I stated early on that I wanted a clear path to "success." I couldn't figure out how I was going to measure "success," though, while dressed in a satin maid's uniform and serving food to a group that I mostly didn't know. So we talked about it. And we talked some more. I asked questions via e-mail. "Do I serve you first as the Mistress, or your guests because they are guests?" Finally, I put on my chastity device, packed my kinky things, and headed over to her house.

I put on my working uniform and cleaned the house for the visitors, vacuuming, dusting, preparing the kitchen and dining room. Then I changed into the formal serving uniform: classic black satin English maid's uniform complete with white petticoats that I bought from Versatile Fashions years ago. Then I realized that I forgot my good shoes. The low-heel ones would have to do. Why was I so upset at not having my higher heels? What was getting into me?

Mistress wanted me to wear a service collar that night, so she wrapped a thick and heavy leather-and-metal contraption around my neck and buckled it in place around the high neck of the dress.

I answered the door when the guests arrived -- and yes, I hid a bit from street view behind the kitchen door -- and was introduced. I took drink orders and went to fetch those while they began a tour of the house. My hand was shaking as I tried to scoop ice out of the freezer, so I concentrated on my task. I eventually pulled the orders together and delivered them and returned to heat the meal.

Fortunately, I didn't have to cook. Mistress -- in a move I can only describe as self defense -- had ordered takeout that had arrived about the time I did, so I was mostly heating things up. More drinks, everyone seated in the dining room, and my nerves finally started to settle down a little. Being busy really, really helped and I felt relieved as the second and third round of (mildly stiff) drinks were consumed. The guests acted as if nothing strange was going on at all, very likely expert coaching ahead of time. As kinky people, they adapted quickly. In fact, Mistress's friend made some very helpful suggestions that helped both of us through the thicket of protocol.

As I served dinner, I realized that I had mostly been invisible in the kitchen, but while dishing food and filling drinks I was very much on display. Nerves creeped back, and I focused on keeping it simple and doing what needed to be done. Once the main dish was served, I was able to retreat to the corner to stand attentively with my eyes lowered.

This was the first time all night that I didn't have something to do, so my mind -- and I know this will be a shocker to my frequent readers -- began to pull apart the situation and what I was feeling. The immediate sensation was a feeling of being "left out." This was part of what I wanted, to inhabit the world of the unnoticed servant for a while. They chatted on about kinksters, events, who was doing what to whom. Wild laughter broke out several times, and I had to control my emotions and NOT be part of the conversation. At first this felt lonely, but after a few minutes an odd sense of relief came over me. Too often I feel like I'm trying hard to fit into a conversation, to say and do what is expected. But now I didn't have that burden. I could scan the table occasionally and fetch a drink or just stand there. It felt oddly like relief. I relaxed and my brain finally spun down a bit.

I was in this meditative state with much of the earlier jitters and fears behind me when it was time to go outside. Yes, I said outside. In my satin maid's uniform. Smoking is a big fetish of Mistress's guests, but she doesn't allow smoking in her house. We had discussed this ahead of time, so I knew it was coming. We adjourned to the carport where I was taught to present and light cigarettes. They smoked and talked for some time and I stood ready to do whatever needed to be done. I'll admit that I was pretty much just resigned to whatever might happen. Mistress had parked her SUV where it blocked view from the road, and the carport lights were out, so I was "safe." They smoked a couple of cigarettes before it was time for play. The three of them adjourned to the bedroom, and I began the process of cleaning up.

Changed into the working uniform again -- and annoyed at the heavy and now-loose collar -- I began to clean up the dining room and kitchen... and the bath room... and started laundry. Yes, Mistress gave me a list of chores to do.

It was odd to be cleaning her house while they were having a sexual free-for-all in the back room. I had told her that I wasn't into watching, so she had me working throughout the rest of the house. I had purchased a small bell that they could use to call me to service. In the middle of washing a batch of dishes, I heard the "ring!" They needed towels. In the middle of mopping: "ring!" Hot water. Wiping the table: "ring!" Fresh drinks. Oddly, I enjoyed being called and given instructions. I'm not sure, but I think that's part of a submissive's "pay." I rather enjoyed the feeling of being called by a bell, of being interrupted from duties by more duties. Mistress and her guests seemed to enjoy it no end, too. It was the second time in the evening when I felt at home as a servant.

I could hear them frolicking in the back room, and it felt odd to be there-but-not-there. I enjoyed it, but felt oddly like I was supposed to not enjoy it. It was that old definition of what a "man" is getting in the way. I let the feeling pass and focused on what I enjoyed and let myself feel good about the experience.

By the time I finished cleaning up, I was exhausted. My eyes were drooping, my shoulders sagged, and my whole body said it was time to go home. Part of this was recent physical activity catching up with me, but I realized later that it was also probably sub drop. Years of repressed fantasies had been let out along with all of the complex feelings that came along with them. I felt elated, relieved, tired, and ready to call it a night.

I finished the last of the chores, presented as instructed to Mistress, and she took me into the play room. She took off the collar, unlocked the chastity device, and asked me how I was doing. We talked a little bit about the evening. I had felt odd standing exposed in front of the kitchen window at night, unable to see out but being visible to anyone outside. I felt like things had gone pretty well overall and hoped she was pleased. She was. And she told me how much she appreciated my service, but also my stretching as much as I had.

I finished changing and left them to their play. I have no idea what will happen next, but I do feel like the fear that I had all wrapped up in that particular fantasy has had a lot of the pressure let out of it. Nothing horrible happened, and a lot of nice things did. The guests were delightful and respectful and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. If anything, the experience makes it much easier to see myself in that fantasized role in reality. Only next time I'll remember to bring the high heels.

Up until now, I've refused to dress at any public venue. It just doesn't feel right to share that with people who see it as nothing more than a cheap thrill. Many in "the community" don't accept that it's a valid form of sexual expression, the supposedly open minded closing their minds. But among trusted friends, it didn't feel weird. It felt understood and okay, even if it wasn't their favorite cup of tea. (Excuse the hyperbole.)

I'm grateful to Mistress and her guests for the opportunity to do that. I hope they had a good time, and I'm sure we'll see each other another time. In the mean time, I continue to explore and play with Mistress and we continue to learn and enjoy each other.

What an amazing thing trust is. And how lucky I am to have it.

QL

Mr. In-Control

Saturday was another play date with the sadistic bi... woman I met recently. We're getting a lot more comfortable with each other as people and as play partners. We started out with some simple service around the house, then grabbed a bite to eat before cleaning up and diving into play.

This time the play had a slightly more serious feel to it. She was a little more severe, telling me what to do instead of suggesting. She even gave me a stern look when I started to try to help when she just wanted me to stay put. That felt like it amped up the power dynamic a bit and made me think a little more carefully about my role.

We tried some new positions this time. I was posed more vertically, which gave her an easier striking angle with some instruments. She's found some new things to hit me with, her mind seemingly geared to turn anything in her environment into an implement of pain. It's simply amazing how full the world is of swingy, smacky things. A motivated and creative intelligence can pervert these oh-so-easily.

Damn.

The "seriousness" of the session extended to the pace, repetition, and strength of her strikes. And she blindfolded me this time, narrowing my world. A few times the pain layered on in one place so badly that I actually cried out in genuine anguish. Feeling her press against me and comment on how much she was enjoying it all converted "I want to get away from this" to "I want to take it for her amusement." Yes, it's bread-and-butter BDSM, but the power of it feels like marinading my desires in acid tears mixed with sugar. Love-hate. Hate-Love. Need, need, need. "Please let me feel this connection even if I have to pay for it in winces and groans."

A good talk, afterward, as is our pattern; aftercare for the body as well as the mind. I felt a little more childlike this time, a little more stripped of my pride and the self-control that my pride so often demands. There was initial embarrassment at the moments when I cried out. Those moments were genuine, though, and the cries belong only to her ears. The need to take what I can and admit through yelps when I'm bending to her is a good lesson this time around.

A day later and my backside is almost solid bruise from hip to hip, slashes of deeper purple pointing away and sprays of red spidering here and there. Some of that black will be around for a while.

A day later and it's dawning on me that some day I may even cry for her. From her. Me. Mr. In-Control. Mr. Keep-The-Unwanted-Away. Mixed feelings about that and the road from here to there. The trust is certainly building, and there is no Pain Goal out there anywhere. But Mr. In-Control has been challenged and pushed a little bit. Odd what happens when someone works her way through the outer shell; tender caresses and whispers more powerful than any instrument of pain.

QL

*ouch* *smile*

More play. Yay!!!

This time it had a slightly different character to it. She seemed less constrained and cautious, a bit more sure of what I could take and what I liked. That in itself felt good, that she was feeling out boundaries and enjoying herself in the clear space between.

Some of it, quite frankly, hurt a bit. At one point I started to sweat a little, a single musky rivulet running down the inside of my arm. The *swish* noises were louder and followed by heftier *thud*s, and she kept going where previously she would have paused and checked in. She experimented freely with new implements, asked for descriptions of sensations, feeling again for those crucial edges while checking depth at various points. We tried a couple of new things, found success with pushing some things we'd tried before. Minor hiccups along the way, of course -- I developed an internal cramp after some time and couldn't tell how serious it was at first -- but honesty and communication make up for much.

If I had to sum up the experience, I'd say that I felt played with and enjoyed, and I LOVED that sensation. I could almost feel the barriers coming down, and I started to dive into sub space again for the first time in ages. I find myself wanting that, needing it, reveling in the idea of dwelling there for a time.

Comfortable in my discomfort is a good place to be. Doing that while being a pleasure to someone else is a wonderful way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

It's good to be sexually alive again.

QL

New Opportunities

I was introduced to someone recently, a "quick" coffee that ended up taking well over an hour. Losing time at a first meeting is a good sign. We met up again for some more substantial time together, then again for dinner. She's a warm and interesting person, and I get along with her very well.

And she's kinkier in her way than I am.

We had several solid conversations about kink, about likes/dislikes/needs/fears. There's nothing like sitting in a room and having an actual conversation about these things -- openly and directly -- with someone to build calm and trust. Even I was getting a little impatient to play. That, too, is a good sign.

So last weekend I spent several hours in her home. As is my practice, I will not provide a play-by-play of what we did. But there was much mutual button-pushing, exquisite touch and a little pain, laughter during and talking after. It's a good base to build on, safety and trust as the best of all starting points.

We're independent people, not driving to a pre-determined relationship goal. But the outlines are starting to form around what could be a beautifully sexual D/s relationship. The openness and directness make it easy to be here, drama kept skulking in the shadows by the light of communication. I had been told that this was "out there" somewhere. For the first time in a long time, I'm starting to believe it.

No idea where from here, but the nice thing is that I'm happy to take the ride and see where it takes me.

QL