Sadistic Pleasure and Drop

Some time ago I found a new playmate. Or he found me. We had talked at a munch and afterward he made contact through Fetlife. Because I already had a good impression of him, I answered, even if he was a man who asked if I would like to play. In most circumstances like that I have stopped answering, but in most circumstances like that I have never met the guy and don’t know anything about him. This was different, so I answered, we talked a lot, and it ended up with playtime. Once, then again, and again. Both enjoyed it. Why stop a good thing?

Last week we had session number four. I had really begun to trust him. Trust that he could communicate well enough, trust that he would tell me the moment something was wrong and that he himself would recognize it if that happened. Trust that he wouldn’t suddenly turn on me. I had, in other words, begun to let go a bit more. To stop overthink my every move and enjoy more. Feel more.

It’s a long time since I have played like that. I had forgotten what it felt like. How it could make me feel. How high I could soar on the pleasure from others pain.

I had also forgotten that the higher you fly, the harder you fall.

How to put into words the feelings that I’m not entirely sure have names? And if they do have names, do I want to know them?

We didn’t do anything new. It was more of the same, maybe harder and more intense, but not new, or big, or dangerous. Just … intense. For me, the closer I’m to my victim physically, the better it feels. I can hear every little sound, every whimper, every gasp and cry. I can feel every shudder, every startled movement and every tug at the bonds that hold them. I can stroke and soothe and whisper and kiss, all the while I scratch and pinch. The skin on skin contact feeds my sadism in a way nothing else does. It’s that closeness, that intimacy, that really brings out the sadist in me and make me soar. It’s everything I want out off a session. It’s what makes me sure that the word sadist is a label that fit me perfectly.

I want to bring pain, to hurt them, the ones who let me. Not harm them, never that, and yet … Last week, when we were good and well into it and he was whimpering while I hurt him and held him at the same time … I wanted to bite and tear instead of kiss, rend instead of just scratch. I wanted everything that he had in him and I wanted to take it; to tear him apart. That was how intense my response to his reactions was. Like I wanted to burrow under his skin, like it never could be enough, like he never could give me enough. Like feeding a ravenous beast that hadn’t been fed in forever.

That was how it felt. I’m not really comfortable with comparing myself to a beast, but in this case, the case of my sadistic side on a rampage, it’s apt.

Come the hour, I leashed the beast. Maybe with more difficulty that I would like, certainly with more difficulty then back when I felt like that on a semi-regular basis, playing with my then girlfriend. But I leashed the beast and we went back to the real world, both of us whole and hale. Though, not without marks.


The day after I paid the price for my pleasure. I paid it almost from the moment my head hit the pillow that evening. I tossed and turned in bed and thought far too much. I knew, even before we left the playroom that I would get a drop. I had flown too high for it not to happen. I was so filled with endorphins and adrenaline that it felt like my bones buzzed slightly. It had been intense, and it had been delicious, and I had dared to let go. That last part is what bothered me the most. Call it sadist anxiety, a form of drop; what we can get after a session, instead of the headache and worry you can get after drinking heavily and doing weird stuff the night before.

I worried because I let go. Because I was afraid that that led to inattention. What if I did something wrong? What if I did something that really bothered him, and he tried to make it clear and I didn’t notice? And even if it went well this time, would I have noticed if it hadn’t? Will I notice in the future? Was I attentive enough, and will I be attentive enough, in that state, to note if something goes wrong? Another day, I would have said yes. I was probably more attentive, then and there, more attuned to him, than ever before. I might have said or done something slightly weird after, I felt untethered and a bit woozy, but I would have noticed if he stiffened or reacted differently. I’m as sure as I can be. It’s not guaranteed, nothing really is, but I do believe that I would.

That didn’t help then and there. Anxiety isn’t rational.

(And yes, I did text him when I thought he had the time to answer. He was fine and had had a good time. No worries and could he help me in any way?)


I will try to remember that I might drop after a session like that, and safeguard against a hard fall in any way I can, but I can’t stop flying; I can’t stop wishing to fly.

To fly, to slip the leash for an hour or two, is worth all the rubbish messages on Fetlife, all time talking that’s needed to learn if this is someone I want to play with or not and how that play might look like, all the preparations and all the nervousness.

All is worth it to fly, safely. To be me, just as I am. To be a sadist, revel in my kind of pleasure and be free.

When the Sadist Awakes

It happened while we where talking, him and I.

I could literally feel it happen. It was quite … intense.


It was the guy from the other post, and it was the third time we met. We had talked about kink, domination and the like before, enough to figure out that we were compatible enough to meet again. This time we were talking about something I wanted to try, and if he was willing to try it or not. He was willing, he did not hesitate, not about that. But at a point in the conversation he looked away and was very much not eager to look at me. He paused, and did not continue. Just stared at the ground. It took him several tries to get the words out.


That was when it happened.

The sadist in me awoke for the first time in months.

Ever since I put her to sleep when my relationship ended last autumn.


I find being a sadist slightly scary. I have to trust the other person, the person I hurt, so much. I have to trust them with my peace of mind, my sanity, my very life. If they do not communicate properly, if they do not say stop when they need me to stop, if I make a mistake (which do unfortunately happen), if they change their mind and decides that what I did was a violation after the fact … I am well and truly screwed, on so many levels. Of course, I do everything in my power to keep the bottom safe. I have always done so, and I always will. But the trust it takes to give someone pain … it is not easy to come by. So I was grateful when the sadist went to sleep without a fight.


It was not so with the dominant in me. Far from it. That part never went to sleep, never retreated. It just … waited. Patiently. In the darkest corner of my mind. (Cue malicious laughter.) I think my dominant traits are easier to live with, so to speak. So while the dominant part of me thought living without a submissive was uncommonly hard, it did not make my life very difficult.


Because the dominant part never retreated, it was that itch I was out to scratch when I started looking for someone to play with. I wanted someone to order around. Someone who liked taking orders as much as I liked giving them. Someone who did not think BDSM = sex. Someone who would be happy with a simple D/s relationship. And because I was just looking for a D/s relationship, gender was not an issue.


Which again led to the conversation with the guy that looked away from me, clearly embarrassed.


The sadist roused and sniffed the air like a freaking hound. She could smell the embarrassment, and feel it in the air, as well as see it. While I, seconds before, had been ready to feel sympathy towards him and his humiliation, I now had none. I just stared at him while my old, sadistic smile almost split my face in half. I watched him like a hawk for more signs of humiliation, drank up his body cues and watched the hands that could not find a good place to lie still.


It felt so good.

I reveled in it.


The conversation started up haltingly, but my smile did not disappear right away. It came to the point where I had to ask whether or not I had informed him about that fact that I am a sadist. (I had.) I must have looked somewhat ridiculous with that grin.


Some minutes later, the grin disappeared.

The memory of the incident and the feelings it aroused, did not.

Now the sadist is wide-awake and she does not want to shut up, much less go back to sleep.


I do not yet have the level of trust with this guy, that I both need and want. But the sadist does not give a damn. She invents one scenario after an other, full of both pain and humiliation. And she makes me imagine how good it will feel to do and say those things, to make him do those things, and watch him blush, and whimper, and stammer, and groan, and look away, and … and … yesss …

It has become quite bothersome.


I have things to do. Things that now is a lot harder to do because my imagination is on fire and my sadist is starved and so, so hungry. There is no holding her back, at least she does not think so.


To top it of, her chosen victim is not exactly ready for the taking. Even if he should be willing to do it; I am not.


I think that is the hardest part of it. That it is likely that I am the biggest obstacle for my own satisfaction. But I do not know him well enough, and do not trust him enough, to really believe that he is able to give me the communication and honesty that is necessary to make it safe to release the sadist, even a little.


Maybe in a while. When we have talked a bit more. When we have played a bit with D/s. Then maybe we could start small and see where it takes us. If he wants to. If I dare.


In the meanwhile … does anyone know how to gag a pain-hungry sadist? I have work to do.

Continue reading

Playing the Numbers on Fetlife

On Fetlife there is a term «playing the numbers». For the most part, it describes someone (usually a male) who sends a lot of identical PMs to a lot of other people (mostly female). It’s often possible to identify a so-called copy-paste on a glance. They are mostly about the sender himself, often with some kind of fantasy described (and if you are really lucky, it will be described in minute detail) and they tell you loud and clear why they contacted you; for sex and play. The way I understand it is that these males send out a lot of PMs in the hope that if they just send them to enough females, someone will give them the time of the day. They are playing the numbers.


The problem for these males are; they are not the only ones playing the numbers. The recipient, the female, are also playing the numbers. I know I am. I do not get the ton of PMs other dominant (and submissive) women get, and I’m guessing it’s because some of the men who want to send me a message reads that sentence where I state that I am a lesbian, and moves on. Some of the messages I get is still copy-paste where the sender hasn’t read my profile at all (except the fact that I’m a female dominant) and send me some elaborate fantasy, or a “Hi, how are you doing?”. The latter is nice enough, but what am I supposed to do with it? I do not want to talk unless given a reason, and the “hi” messages feels a lot like poking.

“Hi.” *poke* “Hi, notice me.” *poke, poke* “See me, notice me, talk to me!” *poke, poke, poke*

The other thing about the “hi” messages is that if I should answer it with a “hi” in return, the odds are that they will answer me with a proposition for sex and play. No other conversation needed. I have done that enough times to have learned my lesson. I do not answer the “hi” messages.


So, out of every ten messages I receive, maybe one is interesting enough to answer. And if I answer, one out of five want to have an actual conversation. The only reason that I answer as much as one in ten – because even that one message is not necessarily something really great and engaging – is that I have learned that it is the second message that counts. It may be a proposition for sex and play or it may be the start of a conversation. I won’t know before I try, but I won’t try for just any message.


Even those I have a conversation with often turns out to want … yes, indeed, sex and play. I’m not surprised any more. I expect it. Truth to be told; it’s okay. It’s Fetlife. Even if it’s not supposed to be a hook up site, a lot of people use it that way. You just can’t get around it. After months of being single I use it that way myself.


I miss playing. I miss being able to give orders and to have them followed. I miss the intimacy in a scene. I have decided to give a male servant a go, or male slave or maid or a what-have-you. Then I can at least give someone orders, someone who enjoy taking orders as much as I like giving them. So … I play the numbers on Fetlife.


The numbers, so far, are not good. Of the five I have had longer conversations with and agreed to meet, I have met exactly one. One in five. One in five that wanted to meet me, to the point where we made arrangement for a first meeting in public. Fortunately, that one man wants to meet me again, and I liked him and want to meet him again too, so that’s a start.


But playing numbers are not much fun.

Not Dead Yet …

I haven’t written anything here in ages, but I’m popping in now and then, so that means … I hope … that this blog isn’t dead, yet.

Quite often I think about things I want to write and just as often other things happens, or the mood doesn’t strike me or I just can’t find the time. In other words, life. Life happens, and I’m, mostly, happy about it.

While I still am, without a doubt, both a dominant and a sadist, I do begin to realize that I really enjoy being a rope model. I have tried being in ropes a couple of more times since the first one, the one described in My First Experience as a Rope Bunny. It’s still an amazing experience and I hope to write about it in the near future.

But for now … Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


Two Sadist and one Masochist Went Into a Play Space …

Co-topping. I never really thought all that hard about it before it happened to … happen. I have heard that it can be a fantasy for bottoms – two or more tops playing more or less simultaneously with the same bottom. I didn’t think much about it, one way or another, but I read about tops that found it irritating or frustrating that their bottoms wanted more than one. Not necessarily because the tops didn’t want to share at all, but because there is only so much space on one body to play with; it can be hard to have fun when another top is hugging the place!

I can’t say that I share this view. I really don’t.

From time to time I have loaned Kitty to others, but there are rules. (Aren’t there always?) The most important one is; I will be there the whole time. Unless it so happens that I don’t want to, and Kitty feels comfortable with that. The common reason for this is my own body’s sometimes lack of willingness to cooperate. As a consequence, I can’t give Kitty the beatings she wants, and that I want her to have.

While I say ‘common reason’, it really hasn’t happened that often and it didn’t happen at all before our relationship had reached a place where we both where comfortable with it. It’s actually quite fun watching your girlfriend get a beating from someone we both like and trust. From time to time I have also agreed to have her being a rope bunny for V or others. Only a time or two has any of this led to discomfort of any kind, and then it was elements in play that we could not foresee. Luckily, they were easily fixed, or forgotten.

But neither of this is co-topping.

I have only really co-topped once. Having someone to plan with, even if it was just planning then and there, was great fun. Having someone to send sly looks and big grins or laugh with when Kitty howled, was great, great fun. It was V that was my co-top that evening. Naturally, I guess.

We had planned for somethings, and other things just happened. I had packed a small bag; she had packed a bigger one. The venue provides ice-cubes and we were all set. V had brought ropes and Kitty where very soon in them. It was the first time I saw her in predicament bondage. On her toes with clower clamps on her nipples. If she put down her heels the clamps bit harder. The ice made her shiver and gasp.

(Now I’m starting to regret not writing about this earlier. Details have been forgotten and what I remember best is Kitty’s howls of pain and V and me laughing until my face hurt.)

Later on V put Kitty over a high bench and tied her to it. We proceeded with various tools; hands, wooden spoons, spatulas, paddles, the very evil stick and the thing that made Kitty cry out the most; two long zippers. (In case you do not know what a zipper is: it’s a long row of clothespins on a thread. You attach all the pins to the skin, preferably a place where the skin is delicate. When you start ripping of the tread all the pins get ripped off at once. It hurts. A lot. Hence the howls.)

While V came up with good ideas and was excellent in executing them, she also deferred to me. If this was because Kitty is my girlfriend and submissive or because I most likely know her the most or some other reason, I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I didn’t really think about it until later. (Perhaps I should ask now?) But V did. And maybe that is the reason why I don’t see the problem with co-topping? Maybe other tops bicker over place and power in the scene, and I didn’t experience that. Maybe.

All of us had a really good time.

That is not to say that Kitty didn’t have objections. Or objections are too strong a word; she wished somethings a little differently, should something similar happen again. I have taken them to heart and plan to have her refresh my memory, because sooner or later, something similar will most certainly happen again.

On this V and I agree wholeheartedly.

My First Experience as a Rope Bunny.

Even before my actual first day in the kink scene, I could not understand why so many liked rope, being tied up and tying others up. More than liked – they were completely hooked on rope. Now, bondage I could understand, but rope, this intricate and time-consuming business – not my thing. Quick bondage to prevent my submissive from moving around and to let her feel that she is, in fact, not in control – that is something else entirely.

My girlfriend have liked – or more correctly loved – rope from long before we met. Because I had no interest in binding her up, I had no trouble letting others do the deed. I was not going to take something she liked away from her. With a trusted friend, V, who likes to rig rope – there never were any problems.

Except for one. I still did not get why people so loved rope. Of course, this was a minor problem – and wholly mine. Nevertheless, I am curious of nature.

After over a year and a half in the BDSM community, that curiosity finally got the best of me and I asked V, the rigger, if she could use me as a bunny, at one time or another. She thought that was a definite possibility.

I told V that I had thought a lot about being tied up, and what it was about it that gave me the willies. Because the thought really gave me the willies, most of the time. The few times it did not, it made me curious instead. Not being able to move and not being able to get away was naturally on the top of my list. I am a control freak and it is not easy to be in control if you are tied up. Or, more accurately, it is not easy to feel in control. I am sure there are some dominants out there who like being a rope bunny and order their partner to tie them up.

V got past this worry by stating that we could try a leg first. One leg is far from a full body binding. It would most likely not give me the feeling of utter helplessness that I so much feared.

After we agreed that I could be her rope bunny at one time, I began thinking about it even more and wondered if I would ever dare to bring it up again if she did not.

In my mind, I could react in three different ways to being tied up.

Either I would freak out, as I feared. It was what I thought most possible, in my heart of hearts. (In my heart of hearts, I am a pessimist.)

Alternatively, I could end up with feeling like this: “Eh, is this what they are going on about? Why should this be so special? Could you get me out of the ropes now, please, this is boring.”

Or, I could love it and finally, totally, understand why so many love rope. (This feeling and understanding is what I wanted the most, naturally. I am pessimist, but I am also a dreamer and never without hope.)

Shades of grey is seldom present in my day dreaming scenarios.

In the Easter vacation, I was at a kink party and while looking at V tying up another woman, I tried to figure out what I felt about being tied. Not at some time or another, but then and there, with these friends. I decided that I was okay with it. Even if I freaked there was no one there to hold it against me or call me weird or stupid. Just friends.

Therefore, when V had let the other woman loose I asked her if I could be her rope bunny during the party. She said that we could try it at once. I got out of my skirt and over to her on the mattress. I have seen enough rope scenes to know that a tight skirt is not the right thing if you are going to be a rope bunny. I laid down on my back and V begun to tie my left leg, heel against backside.

And … I was gone.

She could not have gotten half way up my bent leg before I floated off on a cloud.

I have nothing to compare it to … I was just … gone.

I was not indifferent and I certainly did not freak out.

I loved it.

I loved the feeling of the rope. I loved the way V tied me up and the way she repositioned me so she could tie the other leg too. I loved the music in the background.

I was on a happy, little cloud, but I was still aware, if only barely. I can remember hearing people talk, but not what they talked about; only that it was too loud at one point. I can remember V and my girlfriend talking to me and to each other, and that I answered, but I cannot remember what. I think they asked how I was doing several times, which does not surprise me. I was very doubtful to the whole affair only minutes earlier.

When V had done both my legs, she asked if she should tie my hands too. I focused enough to think how I felt about it, before I said yes. Having my legs bound was so much not a problem; I could not believe it would be a problem having my hands bound too. It would probably feel even better.

It did.

For a while the only thing anyone could get out of me, was small moans. It felt so good.

Time disappeared completely. I still do not know where it went or how much of it that got away.

Even on my little, fluffy cloud I felt my limbs begin to protest against being in the same position. I think I told V that she had to let me loose. I have doubts as to how coherent I was at that point, but V did understand what I wanted and began taking the ropes off.

It took a good, long while for me to land after the rope high. Truth to be told, I think it took days to completely wear off. At first I could not talk, I could not hold a cup and I could not sit up on the mattress. I felt so weak and full off fluff and I did not mind the least. I just mumbled, moaned and laughed. My girlfriend laid down beside me, petted me and laughed with me. I was so high and so happy.

Even now, over a week later, I still do not understand what happened or exactly how it could happen. If I should try to describe the experience with other words than me on a happy, fluffy cloud, I would say that it was a bit like a deep mediation combined with a good, warm massage. At least, I imagine something like that. I was so relaxed, mentally and physically, both during and after being tied up.

I think my intense reaction to being tied up have several sources. The major one is that as a control freak I seldom, if ever, let go of the control of my life and my surroundings, not completely or for long. To let go so utterly must have felt kind of heady in and for itself. As to how I could let go like that when I expected to freak out more than anything … I think that has to do with the feeling of safety, warmth and amity in the room. There was nothing to fear, on any level or in any shape. And of course, I feel that I know V and I trust her to look after me when I am in her ropes. Having my girlfriend there did not hurt either.

Summa summarum: The fact that I felt safe made it possible for me to turn of my head in a way I am rarely capable of.

I have never had my movements so restricted and I have never felt so free and at peace.

It was glorious.

A Dominants Perspective on Feeling Safe

My impression is that a feeling of safety is a necessity to make submissives (and dominants) want to play, but when this feeling of relaxation and safety is developed, it persists through humiliation, pain, tears and even fear. If consent is not violated, of course.

To feel safe is paramount for both submissives and dominants before, during and after play, but it is also my impression that what makes a submissive feel safe is not necessarily what makes a dominant feel safe. And of course, there will always be differences between people, even if they use the same label.

Feeling safe when bound tight with ropes does not make much sense for me, but I know of several who feel safe that way.

Feeling safe with a hand or two around my throat does not make much sense either.

To give up all my power to someone else, even someone I trust, is not safety, for me.

I have other safety triggers, so to speak.

Lying in bed with my girlfriend with a leg over her legs, my face snuggled against her neck and a hand at her throat makes me feel loved and safe, because she trusts me and feels safe that way. Being the big spoon with my arms around her is also a good place to be.

It makes me feel safe when she tells me that something is wrong during or after play. She takes responsibility and help me take care of her, and of us. She does not want to hurt me by letting me hurt her.

To have one hand in her hair or a hand around her jaw, or even better both, makes me feel both powerful, relaxed and safe.

It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when she kneels by my feet and put her head in my lap. Or when she sits in front of my chair so I can lean forward and embrace her, and maybe give her some cuddly pain.

To have one or both hands around her throat does not only feel good to me, it feels safe. She has given herself up to me, and I find a sense of well-being in that.

Sometimes putting my collar on her makes me feels safe. In a particularly stressful situation some months back I got up, found her collar and put it on her, so I would have control over a part of my life – her. It made me feel better.

All this is not to say that I never feel safe when I am the little spoon or when I have my head in her lap – I do, no doubt about it. However, I think these examples are good illustrations as to how dominants and submissive have different ways to feel safe, as well as similarities.

This is just my perspective, of course.

The Three C’s

As a newbie in BDSM I have done quite a bit of reading and thinking and discussing. Both about doing kinky stuff and about having a D/s relationship. It did not take long before I saw some words repeat themselves, and I dubbed them the three C’s. The three C’s is probably on the top five list on how to make a D/s relationship work – or any relationship for that matter. For me, those words are the top three on that list. Better yet, they are all on the top of the list, together.

Consent. Compatibility. Communication.


Consent is vital for any relationship. From consensual non-consent or blanket consent to enthusiastic consent and everything in between – consent is what distinguish a healthy power exchange relationship from abuse. I read and hear about consent everywhere, and for a reason. It is not easy to be new and not completely get how important consent is and how many shades consent comes in. In the beginning, consensual non-consent sounded awfully like abuse to me. Now I know a bit more and the term does not sound as frightening.

Personally, I like enthusiastic consent the most. It is not necessary all the time, but often enough to hold my doubts and worry in check. A lot of the time, I get her consent by asking her to do something and she does it, and by her sounds and other reactions when I do something to her. It is not as if I find something new and just do it without talking about it or give her a warning first. Informed consent is important. Here is where the two other C’s comes in.


To find someone that you are compatible with is not easy, but if you find someone who floats on the same waves as you do, the wait is worth it. I am not only talking about kinks. For a relationship to work compatibility is necessary both in a vanilla setting and in a kinky one. It will not be easy to have a relationship when one partner only wants to party in their free time and the other only wants to go on hikes. If there is no middle ground, there is not much for a relationship to grow on. The way I see it, compatibility in a vanilla setting is as important, if not more, than having compatible kinks. (If you want to have a vanilla relationship too, that is, and not just a D/s relationship.)

As for compatible kinks, who cares what rest of the world thinks of your kinks when you have a partner that enjoys them as much as you do? To find someone that you have many kinks in common with can be a hardship for some. I have read about people who just cannot seem to find someone who is into the same things as them. And I have read about many people who have found the one that fulfill their own kinks to perfection, even if they did not think it possible at first.

I think it is important to remember that people are first and foremost not kink delivery systems, but people. Chances are you will not find someone who like all the things you like as much as you like them and nothing else. Do not write a list about all the things that a prospective partner have to be and like; you might miss out on a lot of great people if you do. Then there is the fact that some people might learn to like and love new kinks, because their partner like this kink or that kink so much. They might grow into it, given the chance and the time to get used to it. Then again, they might not. It is probably not smart to begin a relationship on the assumption that the new partner will learn to love a kink that you cannot live without. Talk about it, a lot, and be clear when you communicate. This is where the last C comes in.


I have read a lot of post and articles that has claimed another version of the three C’s. Communication, communication and communication. In a D/s relationship, communication does not fix everything any more than in a vanilla relationship, but it is a beginning. There will not be possible to clarify or fix anything if you do not communicate.

In addition, open communication is even more important when one partner have all the authority in a relationship and a green card for giving pain when one wants to. I would think it is good to have a submissive who is a secure enough communicator that she may tell the dominant that she feels like she is coming down with the flu, before the dominant decides to give the submissive an ice cold shower. Informed consent goes both ways. I would feel horrible if I inadvertently made my girlfriend sick, (I would certainly not consent to do so) or harmed her in any way when it could have been avoided by open communication.

I can honestly say that I have never been in a relationship where I have communicated this much. I am not a great communicator. I like to talk to my girlfriend, my friends and my family, but I am not good at talking about heavier stuff. It gets stuck in my head, sometimes in my throat, and I cannot get the words out. If the other part is as bad as I am at communication, little communication will find place. I do not like the fact, but it is a fact.

Fortunately, my girlfriend is much better at communication than I am and makes it possible for me to communicate without having too much trouble. It does not make all conversations easy, but it makes it possible even when it is hard.

A Year and Then Some

It has been one year and some weeks and I still have not managed to completely kill of this blog. Granted, I have starved it quite a bit. One post a month was not what I had planned, but I do believe it is better than nothing. This is the third blog that I have made, and the only one who kind of survived a year. That must count for something.

One year and some weeks ago, I started this blog. Almost at the same time, I went to my first three kinky gatherings. Three gatherings in the span of two weeks. I am still a little proud of myself because I did that – I was terrified the first times -, a little proud and very pleased.

Getting into the scene has been one of my best decisions for years. I have met some amazing people, learned a lot about myself, gotten new friends, gotten a bit into board games – which is great fun by the way – and found a wonderful woman I have a very good and fulfilling relationship with.

Life is good.

Wonderful Vulnerability

Before yesterday, I didn’t understand why having someone that was vulnerable towards me could be a good thing. Why should someone be vulnerable? What did I get out of it and what could she possibly get out of it? We could do everything we wanted without her being vulnerable – and wasn’t it better that way?

We really can do whatever we want, and whatever I want, without her being especially vulnerable, but yesterday’s session was … a bit magical.

The beginning wasn’t promising at all. I had a headache that was on its way from bad to worse and that kind of pain makes me unhappy and slow. On the other hand, I knew that it would be a while before I would have her with me again and I wanted some private time with her. Private time is not the same as playtime; we could just have cuddled and talked. It was my decision to do otherwise. I had one thing I wanted to use on her and another thing I wanted to try for the first time. Because of this, it was playtime.

In lack of a better description – the energy exchange began almost immediately. It was like turning on a switch. I was her dominant and she was mine to do as I pleased. I don’t think it has been like that for me, ever before. We could both feel it – a closeness, an intimacy, which has been with us in the past, but maybe not like this. No, not quite like this.

Between my orders and my giving her pain, there was hugging, petting, stroking and kissing. We were in our own little bubble, our own space, where only we existed. It was like floating. Floating on her expressions, her whimpers and moans, her softness and her kisses. We have had similar experiences, or I have at least felt almost like this before, but not quite this strongly. As I said, it was a bit magical. (I wonder if it was domspace I was in?)

At one point she said in a low voice that she liked being vulnerable to me. That she felt so safe with me that her vulnerability was something she wanted to give me. If I ever have gotten a bigger compliment from anyone, I can’t remember it. My breath caught in my throat, I could feel tears threatening and I leaned forward and hugged her. Hugged her hard while we both struggled to get our emotions under control.

I believe her vulnerability was a big part of making that session so special, so intimate. It wasn’t anything I thought about then and there, at least not before her quiet words. I simply noticed, on some level, her openness, her susceptibility, and I took what she offered me, and used it. Both of us where very satisfied with the outcome.

When I think back on yesterday’s session and on the playtime’s before I can see that I more than once have put her in slightly vulnerable situations and liked it. I just haven’t really thought through what I have liked about it and why.

Now I know; I like it when she is vulnerable towards me and I like it a lot. Vulnerability in my partner is wonderful.

Later that evening when we both had gotten home, I called her and we talked a bit more. One of the things that she mentioned was that during that session I was more in control than before, I was more confident in myself and what I wanted and what I wanted her to do, and not do.

Therefore, the question is this; did her vulnerability make me take more charge of the session, or did the fact that I was more confident with myself and with being in charge make her more vulnerable?

I really don’t know. I only know that it takes two to tango and that I truly like this dance of power exchange.