Friday, December 21, 2012

Happy Holidays

Well, another Holiday Season has arrived. And with that comes shopping, errands, tasks, family, company parties and more. Around the Black & Blue Estate we do things just a little more kinkily (is that a word?). we prepare for the holidays just think about the following:

You could be stuck at the office working late, out on business trips (like me) or simply piling up emails on your Blackberry while you're stuck in snowy traffic. Here in Los Angeles, Lizzie is busy at the Black & Blue Worldwide Blog Enterprises offices answering correspondance, responding to fan email, dealing with the Christian Coalition for Inappropriate Blog Use and more.

You could be baking in the kitchen taking care of any of a dozen cooking and baking holiday-related tasks, whether it's stuffing the bird (not a euphemism) or filling pastries with cream (okay, that one is!). At the Black & Blue Test Kitchens, Lizzie keeps things interesting making her own hot treats...

Or you could be simply surfing the internet for spanking blogs. Well, Lizzie isn't going to get very far this way, but you know what? I'm certainly looking forward to unwrapping that.

From both Lizzie and I we wish all of our newfound readers, viewers and far-flung kink friends a very Happy Holiday!

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Feature: Picture Fiction

In this feature Craig and Lizzie write separate stories based on one or more photos from their "library" of pictures (as opposed to photos shot specifically for a fictional story--an upcoming feature). For this edition, Craig selected the pictures and wrote his story. Lizzie wrote her story, using the same pictures and matching his story length.

10:00 Tease
Jean was shocked when the text came in:

He wasn’t supposed to even land until 10 pm! Jean was shocked that he would be at her quiet little cottage by 10 pm. He must’ve taken an earlier flight. Still, as Jean looked up at the clock on the wall of the pilates studio to see it was 8:24 and she had over 35 minutes to go, she would have to rush as soon as class was over. A feeling tingled in her belly. She felt her pussy tingle, too. What did he have in mind? What was this all about?

As soon as her pilates class let out she hurried to the car, drove home, sweat dripping from her brow, and let herself into the house, dropping the car keys on the placemat on the breakfast bar and headed into the bathroom. She started the bath, peeled her tight gym clothes off and ran back into the bathroom. As she prepared for her bath she did an inventory in her mind of the last few days. Had she does something wrong? Did he text her any indication that she was in trouble?

She nearly stumbled into the bath in her combination of excitement and trepidation. There, she luxuriated in the hot water, basking in how it felt on her muscles. She dried off a hand, reached up onto the bathroom sink, grabbed her smartphone and decided to shoot a few pictures for him. She’d text the pics to him so that when his plane landed they would be waiting for him. Perhaps that was appease him. Or make him more excited. Either way was good with Jean.
She dashed across the house, releasing a theatrical sigh of relief when she saw that the tub was completely full but not yet overflowing. She quickly turned the water off, eyeing the drain cover with a bit of speculation. She loved the deep baths it provided, but the frequent tub overflows it allowed were a problem.

She left the bathroom to finish folding her laundry. Then she noticed an unsorted pile of mail. An hour later, she ran across the house again - this time checking that her bath was still warm enough to consider getting into. The steaming water had cooled just enough that it was the perfect temperature. She stripped her clothes off, leaving an untidy bundle on the floor, and stepped into the tub.

She sank into the water with a delighted moan. Always a sensualist, or as Jay would say “a cat”, she luxuriated in the sensation of the hot water engulfing her skin as she sunk deeper. Her always cold hands provided a contrast as she ran them down her body, drinking in the heat and sensation.

Her hands warm and her week forgotten, she pushed herself up. She dried her hands and picked up her iPhone. After taking a set of pictures, she sank back into the water still holding her phone. She kept the phone above the water as she picked through the pictures to create a collage. A few more taps and the picture was on its way to Jay. She set her phone safely back on the counter and focused on her preparations.
Drying off, she looked at the clock. 9:52 pm. Good lord! She didn’t have much time! She pulled the plug in the tub, dried off, unclipped her hair to fall across her shoulders and practically ran into the bedroom to jump on it. She felt silly being so excited, but at the same time, she was glad she did because as she landed on the soft linens she heard the key in the front door jiggle the knob to the front door open. Jean’s pussy was tingling. Infuriatingly, he took his time to get to her.

Jean glanced at the clock. It was 9:55.

She grabbed her phone again and, stretched across the bed, took a few more photos of her naked body and, a sly grin on her face, texted them to him. She nearly giggled when she heard his phone go off in the living room. She could hear that he had sat down, waiting for it to be 10 pm.
She dried off and wrapped the towel around her. She scooped up the bundle of clothing and picked up her phone. She clicked on her phone as she walked to the bedroom, seeing the text message from Jay that she hadn’t heard during her bath:

I am in a MEETING!

Just that suggestion that someone could have seen the picture set her body aflame. Heat pooled between her legs as she entered the bedroom. She tossed her clothes toward the hamper and dropped the towel in a perfect circle on the floor.

He didn't actually say not to send any more pictures, she thought as she slid into bed. She took another set of pictures, playing with the angles. She selected her favorites, created another collage, and sent the picture as her response. Then she waited impatiently for his reply.
She heard him chuckle from the other room and listened as his footsteps came down the short hallway to her bedroom door. “You are always so impatient,” he said, a smile on his own face. Jean looked back at him, a mixture of lust and fear crossing her features.

He pulled a black wood hairbrush from his back pocket, a find from a trip to Borneo. They had found the exotic handmade brush in a night market one sweltering night on vacation. “Turn over.” Jean did as she was told, the tingling and anticipation intensifying.

“You are a naughty little slut,” he said, setting his phone down on her nightstand where she could see. The photo from the bath was on the screen. “Sending dirty photos to me is very sweet, but one number off and you could expose yourself to a random stranger. You need to be taught a lesson.”

He stroked her bottom for a moment with his free hand, feeling the soft curve of her cheeks. Then, looking at the clock next to bed, he brought the back of the hairbrush down on her ass, striking hard enough to send the whack sound it made resonating throughout her small bedroom.

The red LED read: 10:00
Do you know what happens to naughty little girls who tease their lovers?

She considered the text for a moment, drinking in the threat before responding:
They get spanked?

And fucked. Spanked and fucked, pet.

She grinned at his response. That text promised the sort of night she had in mind.

I’ll be home in an hour, love. Don’t wear anything you want to wear again.

Her smile got even bigger. It took a bit of digging through several drawers of panties to find a pair that was suitably worn but still cute. The paper-thin cammi was easier, as she had a pile of clothes she had been intending to donate to charity. She slipped into the "disposable" clothing, wondering exactly what he had in mind.

Set out my implements for me. Everything. Don't edit.

She shivered a little at that. Surely he couldn't mean to use everything that had...she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on her remaining preparations. Setting out all their implements was a delicious reminder that sometimes, it was worth the gamble to tease him.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Red Bottom Weekend

After the Thanksgiving holiday, we had our first weekend alone at home. Craig decided to try one of Lizzie’s favorite fantasies - a red bottom weekend. A series of spankings, resulting in a red-hot bottom, wrapped around all our other activities.

Craig Lizzie
The day after Thanksgiving my kids headed off to spend the weekend with their mother, the first major holiday in which we did the divorced family thing. They were cool with it. But this meant, that for the first time in two months, Lizzie and I had the house to ourselves from Friday to Sunday. I was going to be certain to make it worthwhile. I sat on the ottoman and ordered Lizzie across my lap, giving her a great warm-up and a thorough OTK. By the end she was out of breath, red and grinning ear to ear.

More spankings ensued later that evening, but it was Saturday that I was looking forward to.

After a few spankings and a good, solid strapping during the day, we went to a wine bar and dinner, then returned home. Walking in the door I ordered Lizzie to take off her clothes and wait for me in the bedroom. She did as she was told. I told her to go to our stash of implements (dozens upon dozens) and select three that were her favorite and three that were her most despised. I told her if I suspected her of "going soft" on the three she hated that I would select three new ones instead. After much rummaging in the cedar trunk she produced six implements. I told her then we were going to have a "Hundreds Scene." The Hundreds Scene was something I had come up with some time ago. Simple in execution, really. Each implement is used 100 times.
For me, our weekend alone started when we dropped off my visiting nieces at the airport (Craig’s kids had left for their mom’s earlier). We walked up to the gate with the girls, who are 14 and 16. Craig told the gate attendant he had “two unaccompanied minors” flying. The woman looked at the the girls and I and said, “Which two?” I may look young, but seriously?

When we got home, we had our first opportunity to enjoy the empty house. And by enjoy, I mean I went over Craig’s lap on the ottoman, where he spanked me breathless. Our OTK scenes are a simple, intimate favorite of mine.

We took advantage of the empty house during the day - a lovely strapping and scattered spankings throughout the day. Craig had made plans for a date night. We went window shopping, to a wine bar, and out to dinner.

When we got home, Craig sent me to the bedroom. He instructed me to strip and pick out three implements I liked and three implements I didn’t like for a hundreds scene. Now a hundreds scene is something I “love to hate.” With some implements, Craig loves to strike the exact same place fifty times before moving to the other check and hitting one place fifty times. With others, Craig will use different techniques for each set of one hundred strokes.
I started off with the hand—something she hadn't expected—slapping her bare bottom 100 times. I then moved onto something she liked, my long natural leather stop. 100 strokes. From there it was time for something she didn't like, my little "black hornet" leather paddle. Stingy! After 100 smacks with that I moved back to something she liked, her thick leather custom-made paddle. Her bottom well warmed up, I really gave it my all. She was slipping into subspace, moaning and dropping her head, her hair flopping down across her face. I'd have to stop and pull her hair back to look at her face and check in. Occasional sips of water helped her along.

What Lizzie hadn't known was I had planned in advance to combine two of her favorite scenes into one. She loves our Hundreds Scenes. She also loves paradox play. So having her get the implements was a bit of a paradox in itself. Part was into the Hundreds Scene I also asked her, randomly, what number we were on. To her credit, she had been counting, but her count was off. I told her for each wrong answer she'd get a point. Each point had a value that went toward a "bonus punishment." She moaned at this news, hanging her head further in consternation. I kept asking her for counts at random times as the scene played out further.

This went on with a big wood hairbrush-style paddle and then my "travel cane," a short OTK length bamboo cane. I had her stand upright for this (also giving her a chance to stretch from her hands-on-the-bedframe position) and spread her legs. I took the cane and rapidly wagged it back and forth against her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to her pussy. This drives her crazy, I know. It's very painful to her. The faster I go and the harder I go the more on the edge it makes her. But 100 strokes at that pace went quickly and we moved on to the next implement, my new London Tanner strap (so new it still had the tag on it, as seen in this photo). Lizzie loves the strap, so that was 100 strokes she enjoyed, though she was quickly getting played out. She was deep in subspace.

I laid her on the bed to finish. By the time we were done I had delivered 700 strokes with hand and six other implements. Throughout she had correctly counted a few times (reducing the "bonus" punishments) and had added others. By the end, she had a count of five.

"Now, as part of our paradox play, you have to guess: does 'five' mean you get five bonus punishment strokes or ten strokes per five, meaning 50?" She moaned in frustration in her haze. But she thought about it. Hard. "Five?" she asked timidly. "You are correct." I could see her visibly relax on the soft comforter. "But you know, I'm pretty sure you didn't select one of your most despised implements when you picked your six." She moaned again—caught! "Did you think I didn't notice?" She really didn't have an answer for that. She was without words, dreamy and spent.

I went back to the chest and pulled the dreaded foam V-crop. I wagged it under her nose. "See? Now you get five final strokes of this!" And with that I rapped her bottom firmly five times with the thick heavy foam crop.

And with that, the scene was done.

I poured Lizzie a hot bath, added some epsom salts, and then poured her into the tub, staying in the bathroom to keep an eye on her. She was dizzy, a limp noodle.

The next day her bottom was a splotchy, solid bruise.
I stripped quickly and knelt down in front of the cedar chest in our walk-in closet. One of my big projects since moving has been transforming my cedar chest (a family heirloom) into a storage solution for our overabundance of implements. I’m actually really excited about the system I finally came up with, but it wasn’t completed at this time. So picking the implements took a great deal of rummaging around.

Choosing the implements also presented a huge paradox. I knew that Craig would not be pleased if I picked six implements I loved and tried to pass three off as implements I hated. But there are a few things I simply couldn’t face having used in a hundreds scene: primarily that awful rubber crop. I actually had it out with five other implements, but decided I couldn’t do it. As I was putting the crop back in the cedar chest and pulling out Craig’s travel cane as a replacement, Craig walked into the closet.

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” he growled at me as he walked past, making it obvious he had seen my substitution.

I hesitated, opening the cedar chest again and trying to find the courage to pull out the rubber crop. But Craig scooped the six implements up and said, “Too late, you’ve made your choice.”

With that ominous statement, he spread the implements on the bed and had me bend over at the end of the bed. He started with his hand and moved through the implements. I’m sure his description of the scene itself is better than anything I could come up with; I tend to lose myself in our heavy scenes.

It hurt...duh...but I floated away. Annoyingly, Craig kept asking me what number we were on. I cannot keep count during a scene like this. And he didn’t helpfullly stop on “typical” numbers - no 25 or 50; he would stop on 32 or some such nonsense.

He kept track of my mistaken counts. The few times I got the number right, he would remove one of the points. Thank goodness he didn’t want me to keep track of that too - I might have lost my mind.

I do clearly remember when he used the travel cane between my legs. That hurts so, so much. When he stopped and asked how many that was, even with how painful it was, I guessed 50. He’d given me the entire set of 100 without pause. I got another point, but at least he was finished with that awful cane!

We ended the hundreds scene with five “bonus” points, despite my best efforts at counting properly. Craig moved me onto the bed; I was pretty much incapable of independent movement by that point. I sprawled out on the bed, uncertain what those five mistakes would bring.

Craig got out the horrible rubber crop and showed it to me. He traced my body with the hard edge of the crop, along my arms and across my back.

“Does ‘five’ mean you get five strokes with this? Or fifty?”

I squirmed on the bed, unwilling to answer. He repeated the question, teasing my body with the horrible promise of the crop.

“Five?” I asked, finally deciding that was the safer answer - if he was giving me fifty, any penalty for being wrong would hardly register; but I didn’t want him to think I wanted fifty!

I sunk into the bed when he agreed. I was so relieved that the burning strikes barely registered in my mind, though I’m sure my body responded.
Even though she was sore, I subjected Lizzie to a few more light spankings during the day. Sunday evening, as Lizzie and were preparing dinner and awaiting the return of my kids, I gave her yet another spanking, this one a bit harder, and used some pervertables from the kitchen. As a goof, I pulled out the large wood pizza peel from the cupboard over the oven. A solid (and loud!) strike and Lizzie nearly jumped to the ceiling. Another strike! And another! On the last, the entire board split in two, right down the middle! Now, I've broken a couple implements on Erica's atomic bottom and I've broken at least one cane on Lizzie's hearty hide, but nothing as robust (or as large!) as that pizza peel!

For the next two days, whenever we sat down together or got into the car, Lizzie would groan and fidget. "How's the bottom?" I asked. Her eyes aglow, she would turn to me and say, "Just fine!"

Lizzie had written me a story called "Red Bottom Weekend" ages ago. In it, a couple living together had a weekend of on-again, off-again spankings to the point the poor bottom never recovered. It was one of her biggest fantasies. I think we got close Thanksgiving weekend to our first ever Red Bottom Weekend.
Craig finished the scene with another of my fantasies - he ran a bath, added epsom salts, and helped me into the bath. He brought me a glass of water and stayed with me while I luxuriated in the hot water. He helped me out of the tub and dried me off. It’s a silly, almost vanilla desire, being taken care of that way - but I love it.

Throughout the weekend, Craig gave me several more spankings. I love being surprised by little spankings, especially when my bottom is tender enough that a few swats can really make an impact. I moaned theatrically every time I sat down and sometimes pouted at Craig, but he took that all in stride. He knows I love it, and I know he loves knowing I can still feel his efforts.

The most memorable of those little spankings, of course, is when Craig broke the pizza shovel on my butt. He was spanking me with it in the kitchen when the wood broke in half. He set aside one half and used the other to continue his spanking. We took a fun picture with the broken “implement”. Remarkably, none of the kids noticed that the missing item from the kitchen and none of them have mentioned the metal replacement.

I had a wonderful Red Bottom Weekend. I look forward to doing it again (and again and again).

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Our Journey: Genuine Punishments

In Our Journey series, we explore an aspect of our kink - how we discovered it and how we got to the place we are now. Here, we discuss our exploration of genuine punishments as it relates to our D/s. This was something that took a great deal of discussion to find something that worked for us.

A Genuine Punishment No! No! No!
Lizzie and I had a fun, casual play relationship—mostly at parties and occasionally via email and IM. There were some “issues” that I had seen arise as patterns in her life and I suggested that perhaps what she really needed was a punishment as a means to help curb these particular traits. Her response was immediate and vehement. “Absolutely not. I have no interest in D/s.”

When we started talking about it again a few weeks/months later (it needed time to sit) I learned something that seemed rather much a duh when she said it. The notion of punishment didn’t work with her because, well, she’s quite the pain slut. She can pretty much take about as much as can be given, so the notion of getting a spanking is more of a “Yes, thank you!” than an, “Oh shit! No! Don’t do that!”

So that got me thinking.

If threatening with a punishment resulted in a “Yes please!” I needed to come up with something that would instill a cold and icy chill up the spine when I said it. And even worse, if it came to be, wouldn’t be fun at all. So as our conversations progressed on the subject I introduced the idea to her of what we “affectionately” refer to as a “G.P.” A Genuine Punishment.
When Craig first mentioned punishment and accountability in our relationship, my response was: “Not no, but hell no! Never, ever, ever. I am NOT interested.” [To anyone who wants to say “never say never,” this is your chance. I knew better then and I certainly know better now. Thanks.] My response was so vehement that it was some time before we discussed this issue again.

For context, my interest in spanking began as a child, when spanking meant punishment (albeit one my parents never used). In the natural progression of things, my earliest spanking fantasies revolved around punishment scenarios. When I began to explore these fantasies, I pursued disciplinarian-style relationships with little success.

The primary problem is that I, well, LOVE to be spanked. It’s a bit like being told: “Because you didn’t eat your dinner, you’re going to have to eat a piece of your favorite dessert.” And because I am a pain slut, you can’t even get to “you’ll have to eat the entire cake until you’re sick” point with me, without going to a physically damaging point that is outside my limits. And unfortunately, I’ve had too many people suggest the latter.
The True Nature of the Pain Slut Well, maybe...
Once it dawned on me (again, duh!) that the pain slut wouldn’t find a threat of a punishment as being anything but a reward, my mind went to work. I did a little research on FL, asked some Dommy friends, and found that most people weren’t in the same mindset as where I was heading with this. Corner time was the typical response. That seemed easy and frustrating, but what I wanted to do was instil fear in the hearts of my girl when I threatened the dreaded G.P.

My biggest problem was that she was in a faraway state and I was in L.A., so when she needed some correction it would have to be done long distance. The idea of long distance D/s works for some, but for me it’s hard to imagine and even harder for me to see inflicting. After all, “Spank yourself” just seems laughable to me (though I’ll admit I know it works for some). So...not standing in the corner, not a “funishment” and something that could be done long distance. This was getting harder.

Finally, after talking to Lizzie on the phone one day, I discovered she had done something rather egregious—one of her “issues” had arisen again. Our relationship had taken on more gravitas in the ensuing months since our initial conversation on the topic and it seemed time to exact her first G.P.
We discussed the concept on and off for some time. I described some of the problems I’d encountered - “punishment” spankings that ended up being sensual spankings, idiots who promised they could beat me enough to be punishment (I never tried this, I don’t have any interest in being beaten senseless), ridiculous attempts at being told to stand in the corner which were either goofy roleplays or even sillier “funishments.”

But as Craig and I talked in detail about these various experiences, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, it was worth trying. When I described a situation, Craig questioned the dynamics and the reasons, helping me learn more about what had gone wrong. as the emails flew back and forth, I decided I was willing to try it out with him.

I wrote about the first physical punishment scene we had HERE, but I haven’t written about an earlier occasion that cemented for me the decision to try. I’d had a trying evening at a spanking party. Craig tucked me in, but I was whiney and obstinate, fighting the need to go to bed early. He threatened to treat me “like one of his kids” and take away my phone. I pulled the covers up to my chin and fell asleep.
The Rice Torture Ugh
“Go to your kitchen and get some uncooked rice. Now.” Lizzie, on the other end of the phone, was baffled. She did as she was told, undressed and scattered the rice on her hardwood floor. I told her to kneel on the rice, keeping her toes off the floor. I told her to put her iPhone nearby, on speaker. I set a timer and put my phone on mute so she would experience an inexorable silence. At the end of this (short) time—five minutes—I came back on the line and told her to get up. I heard her the entire time, sniffling and sighing and moaning in pain.

“Did it hurt?” I asked. “YES!” “Was it a ‘good hurt’?” I inquired. “NO!”

She cried and sniffled and I told her she was a good girl, she had received her first Genuine Punishment. She agreed that punishment wasn’t something she would ever want, let alone wish on anyone else! After she settled down I told her to go to the kitchen and fetch a small glass jar. Then I made her pick up each and every grain, place them in the jar and put the jar someplace where she would see it every day as a visual reminder to do as she was told. A visual deterrent.

I’ve used this G.P. with other girls long distance and it’s highly effective. I’ve also used corner standing in a pinch, but with other additions to show my very real sincerity in them understanding how serious I took the punishment. I’m pretty creative, so these G.P.s aren’t hard for me to figure out.

Lizzie rarely earns a G.P. She’s a good girl. Our dynamic, our relationship and our D/s has grown over time. The absolutes are that she is a true pain slut and that our Genuine Punishments are anything but funishments.
Looking back, I think we started playing with this dynamic long before either of us would have classified it as such. It works not because of the specific (frequently creative) punishments Craig dreams up, but because of our relationship - the respect and the power exchange we share.

Craig doesn’t punish me for trivial things or use punishments that encourage me to repeat the behavior to “earn” the fun. He can terrify me with two simple words: Genuine Punishment.

More often, though, we don’t get that far. He can settle me with a few whispered words. He can pull me back from a melt down with one hand, wrapped tightly around my wrist. That simple action takes my breath away and pulls everything back into focus.

The long-distance punishments Craig describes worked, but I’m happy to have the distance removed from our relationship. I was thrilled to throw away that glass jar of rice when Craig was helping me pack up so that he could take me home. But there was a bit of melancholy with that as well - a bit of sadness in throwing away the visual reminder of our first experiments.

It’s an adventure - this thing we do. A quest of learning what works and what doesn’t, always being open to the idea that opinions and needs may change. Something that makes me recoil today might interest me when displayed in a different light.

I still don’t like a Genuine Punishment (it wouldn’t be much of a punishment if I did!), but I know that I need them sometimes. And I’m lucky to have found someone who understands me so well.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


On this Thanksgiving Day we wanted to take say thank you for joining us on our joint blog, Black & Blue. We are thankful for you, our generous readers and, in particular, to Chross for our very first Chrossing last week. What a surprise! Took our traffic through the roof!

As all of you are sitting down to your organic, free-range, GMO-free, heritage turkeys and pancetta garlic brussel sprouts (oh wait--that's OUR Thanksgiving dinner!) we hope you and yours (whether poly, open, vanilla—whatever) have a wonderful, delicious holiday.

What am I most thankful for? Well, you’d think it would be a great job, a wonderful home and some pretty great kids. You’d think it was my lover and play partner, Lizzie. You’d think it was my good health. Well, while all good, you’d be wrong. What am I most thankful for? That. That right there. Right over there. To the right. That butt. That beautiful ass. That wonderful, smackable, delightful derrier.

And what am I most thankful for? There’s certainly a list of things I’m thankful for - my lover, Craig, first among them. There are so many wonderful things in my life. But I’m beyond thankful for Craig’s hand. It’s my favorite implement. His hand can drive me to great heights of agony and pull me back to the ground through any crisis. I’m thankful for his hand.

Of course, I’m also rather thankful for those. Both of ‘em. Not just the one, that’d be weird. Both. They’re a pair. They go together like pancetta and brussel sprouts. And, not to be a jackass. they’re mine. And for that, I’m thankful.

But, of course, I like some variety. And as a pain slut, sometimes Craig likes to use a few different things. This picture is just a small selection of our collection - but I’m thankful for it.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Back at the Lair...

We had another scene at the Lair de Sade this past weekend. Like before, here are our side-by-side perspectives on the experience.

From the Top From the Table
Lizzie and I were ready to head back to our local dungeon, the Lair de Sade, for a new scene. The two times we had been there before had been similar scenes, both in terms of where we played, the equipment we used and the type of implements that were involved. You can read about those scenes HERE and HERE, if you’d like.

As I am wont to do, I asked Lizzie what kind of scene she was looking for (some would call this “negotiation,” we call it “talking”—you can read my thoughts on that subject HERE). She said she wanted something more intimate, something that wasn’t so BDSM-y. Something that didn’t focus on her being restrained up on a St. Andrew’s Cross. As I thought about what would be different, I said, “We could go in the room off the kitchen and use the padded table. It could be a much more intimate scene.” I realized when I said it that it would be more like the scenes I used to have with Erica and I said that to Lizzie. “Yeah,” she said. “I think I’d like that.”
Craig and I don’t do formal negotiation for scenes anymore - we did so much of that through stories over the years as our friendship developed. But before we have a big scene, Craig always asks if there is anything I want. I very rarely make specific requests. Craig also asks if there is anything I need from the scene. Occasionally, I have such a request, as I did this time.

We have had the opportunity to play with some frequency at home, as Craig blogged about HERE. That’s been wonderful - reaffirming and reassuring. But because of the way our last scene at the Lair ended, I was feeling a little gun-shy.

I made one of my occasional requests - I wanted an intimate scene with plenty of over-the-knee (OTK). When I first started to describe this to Craig, he thought that all I wanted was OTK, which would be a huge limit on our scene. He said as much and I was able to further describe what I was hoping to get from the scene.
So last Friday we ended up at the Lair, hanging out with friends and chatting and laughing, then, as the night wore on, we headed to the room off the kitchen, a quiet and smaller room where only a couple people could play (or watch) at a time.

Lizzie set up the implements and cleaned the padded table. We made our necessary preparations and before long, I had her by the wrist and was pulling her across my lap.

For the next two hours, things get to be kind of a blur. I did manage to hit my own topspace, which is a bonus because it doesn’t always happen (and doesn’t need to).
We’ve started so many parties and visits with a long OTK session. There is something special about that connection. I love the feeling of his legs beneath me and his arm around my waist. I like to slip one arm underneath me and set it against his leg, my hand squeezing his thigh. There’s something about it that “shakes the dust off our connection” - it brushes away the stress of our travels or the uncertainty of the day. It reaffirms our connection and our intimacy.

It was that feeling, rather than a particular connection, that I wanted and needed from this scene. We concluded that we would do an "Erica style” scene - using the location in the Lair that she preferred.
The OTK went on for a while. I started slowly, getting her bottom nice and red, but then began to build up in intensity until I was spanking her almost full force. After my hand, I had Lizzie hand me implements, ranging from a London Tanners nanny paddle to some of my other favorite leather and wood paddle implements. Her beautifully shaped rear was getting redder and redder.

Sensing it was time to change position, I stood her up and had her lay her torso across the padded bench so she was standing on the floor with her ass presented to me. I used a crop on her legs, feet, thighs, hips, back and shoulders. Then I concentrated on her ass, hauling off and smacking it hard. I followed the same pattern with a small cane, then went back and focused on her ass with a thicker red acrylic cane the left welting red marks across her cheeks.

I brought out my fur mitt, letting Lizzie luxuriate in the sensation before using the bear claws on the end of the mitt to dig into her flesh and drag tracers down her skin. Putting on my vampire gloves, I slowly worked my way across her flesh, releasing squeals and moans from Lizzie along the way. I had her flip over and covered her front side with the cane, then carefully moved the vampire gloves across her legs, between her legs, over her flat belly and then focused on torturing her breasts.

Deep in her subspace now I turned Lizzie back over and went in for the kill. I brutalized her bottom with all manner of implements—wood paddles; straps of varying lengths, widths and thicknesses; flappy leather things, a tawse and more. Lizzie cried, then sobbed, then pleaded. When she uses my name I know she’s nearing her edge of what she can withstand. It’s the closest we get to a safeword. (I don’t believe in safewords. You can read my “manifesto” on that HERE .)
We started with the requested OTK. Craig sat on the padded table in the room off the kitchen and pulled me over his lap. Early on, I was having so much trouble with my stockings (they kept rolling down and the resulting roll was too tight on my thighs) that Craig said I could take them off. I ended up taking off my shoes and rolling my stockings down to just below my knees. For whatever reason, I didn’t slip my shoes back on.

He spanked me with his hand for a long time, using various techniques including several stinging ones that I hate! He then had me get up and fetch the nanny paddle, which was worse. He had me squirming all over his lap before he decided to have me get up on the table.

Once I was on the table, things get a little fuzzy for me. I wasn’t restrained in any way and I had my favorite silky blanket under my head and chest, propping me up a bit (and providing something to clench my hands around at various points). Craig used a variety of implements on me before shifting to sensation play.

Craig has several different dastardly things for sensation play. This time, he had his fur mitt with hidden claws, his vampire gloves, and these huge metal claws that he fastens to several of his fingers. Those claws had me shrieking and fighting to stay on the table, several times!

Craig flogged my back (lovely) and he had me spread my legs so he could flog my pussy (delicious). But all too soon he was back to ouchy things, straps and paddles and such. Suddenly, he leaned down to me and said, “This last part is going to be really hard for you to take, but you’re going to do this for me.”
Her bottom really was almost raw, beyond red, and already starting to bruise. Her back had runners of red—almost like I had taken a felt tip pen and drawn lines up and down her skin—from the sharp metal finger claws I had used on her flesh earlier. There were light welts between her thighs from caning.

I leaned down and whispered, “Now comes the hard part.” Lizzie moaned in anticipation. I brought out “The Scene Ender,” a terrible invention of a crop with a thick rubber “V” at the end. With every swing of the diabolical implement it left a perfect V-shaped welt. I continued using it until Lizzie begged to have it stop, then I used it to a count of ten, just for good measure. By “eight” she was nearly levitating off the padded table, so I knew the scene was coming to a close.

I finished the count, dropped the implement, kneeled down next to her head and cradled her in my arms, holding onto her as she sobbed, her tears dripping onto the fake leather of the bench. “Shhhh,” I said. “Shhhh. It’s over. It’s done. You’re safe.” And she was.
I remember thinking that was an odd thing to say, especially as I was in such a good place that anything would be easy. Until his awful rubber crop landed on the back of my thigh! I rose up off the table, barely able to breath. His free hand slid from my waist to my raised shoulder and he said, “Down.”

I managed one full breath and sank back onto the table. He struck my other thigh, then alternated between them several times until I was sobbing and shaking. He sat down on the table beside me, laying partially on top of me and started whispering lovely things to me. I love that contact, that reassurance, that aftercare. Soon he was sitting up on the table and I was curled around him, the way I like to be. All too soon, it was time to clean up and head home. We had an early and full day ahead.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Love Our Lurkers!

We've got a relatively new blog here with Black & Blue, so we doubt we have too many lurkers here (yet). Nonetheless, today is Love our Lurkers Day (a day set aside each year by fellow kinkser and megablogger Bonnie ). To those of you who have found our new blog recently: thank for reading! Though you may not post comments we sincerely appreciate you joining us. As this is so new we have lots of great content, photos and more coming soon, so please stick with us, okay?

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Dungeon Calling...

Both of us are writing from memory. We had time for the scene nearly three weeks ago, but we haven’t, either of us, had an opportunity to write it up.

If you’re interested in how we’re doing this (a process that is still in an experimental phase): Lizzie wrote her side, replaced all the text with jibberish (to maintain similar length) and sent it to Craig, who wrote his side.

His Side Her Side
This was quite a night for me. It was a return to the Lair de Sade, a bit of a bell weather event for me because I’d been away for a while (see my blog post about this here). Bringing Lizzie represented it’s own special event as well. This was the first of many scenes we’ll share at our favorite house of pain. Of course, Lizzie had been there before (and you can read about that scene here).

After making conversation, we settled into the main room and Lizzie took care of laying out my implements, carefully placing them on a clean, white towel and cleaning off the St. Andrew’s cross I would restrain her to shortly.

We hadn’t had a proper BDSM scene in some time. One of the things I had looked forward to doing was introducing Lizzie to some new implements. I have quite a few (well, okay...a lot) and I don’t travel with most of them. I have set aside a “travel kit” of implements and I think Lizzie has gotten to know those well from party after party. It was time to show her some new toys.
After a cross-country move and multiple birthday celebrations (Craig and I have birthdays only a week apart), we finally got a chance to go to the Lair for a scene. I was meeting Craig at work, so I needed a properly vanilla outfit. I knew what I wanted to wear later that night, so I came up with this outfit to start with. (Jada approved this outfit as properly “stodgy” for a work appearance.)

I got an iPhone 5 for my birthday, so I had a new phone to play with while I navigated L.A. traffic for the first time. For some reason, Siri was able to provide perfect directions when I said “take me to Craig’s work,” but when I tried to send a text to him, Siri told me I didn’t have a contact named Frankie or Sally or any other name she thought I was saying.

Siri’s idiosyncrasies aside, I parked in Craig’s spot at work because he was ready to leave. He drove (stopping abruptly to fill up because the fuel price was “under $5”; where am I, anyway?). We stopped for dinner, then went on to the Lair.
Once Lizzie got everything set up I gathered her in my arms, brought her over to me as I sat down on a leather armchair and took her across my lap for a brief OTK warm-up spanking. Something to take the edge off. That initial connection is so important to a good scene and I know she really appreciates the over-the-knee start to a scene.

I moved her quickly to the cross, restraining her wrists and ankles to the thing and pulling out the first of many implements. I started off by continuing her spanking, now standing, combining hand and various paddles of leather and wood. I moved on to straps and strappy implements, really laying into the flesh of her bottom, raising red welts in perfect bands across her bottom.

Taking breaks, rubbing it out, I went on to the cane, giving the entire backside of her body a light whack, whack, whack to awaken the skin and nerve endingings, focusing on her hips and thighs because I know she’s sensitive in those places and it’s hard for her to take. Running from the tops of her feet, up her legs, focusing on her bottom, moving up her sides and the soft parts of her back, across her shoulders and arms...

Then I turned her around, attaching her back to the big wood X and doing the same on her front side, focusing again between her legs, caning her pussy, then moving up to her belly and finally on her breasts. I caned them lightly, then decided I wanted to mark them both and, taking careful aim, left my signature “10, 12 and 2” pattern, leaving raised red welts in a pattern on her luscious tits.

I used my dragon tongue on her bottom, snapping and cracking it on her ass. The noise filled the large room and, as I glanced around, I’d discovered we had gathered a small audience of onlookers eager to see Lizzie’s sexy body and curious as to what was going to happen next.

I gently rubbed her skin with a fur mitt, then “deployed” the bear claws embedded within and dragged their pointy tips across the flesh of her front side, then turned her around and did the same across her back and bottom.

At this point, Lizzie’s arms and legs were getting tired from being restrained, so I took her off and set her onto a padded saw horse, clipping her wrist and ankle restraints to the hardware to keep her in place. I took out my heavy moose flogger--one that packs a wallop! Bottoms have told me that it can knock the wind out of them. I flogged Lizzie’s back and heard her moans and grunts. I took to flogging her bottom, really swinging the heavy falls to smash against her raw, red flesh.

But then something happened. I could tell Lizzie was in distress. I stopped what I was doing and leaned down to whisper in her ear to see if she was okay. She wasn’t. I quickly unrestrained her from the saw horse, grabbed the soft blanket and took her to a seat to sit on my lap and let me cradle her in my arms.

What was wrong? What had happened?

Lizzie didn’t want to talk about it at first, afraid to ruin the scene, ruin this special and significant night for us. But eventually she confided that she hated being flogged in the bottom, that I knew this, but it happened anyway. It had been so long, over a year since I had tried flogging her bottom in a similar scene at the Lair! I was mortified and felt horrible! How could I forget!

Lizzie hugged and kissed me, telling me it was okay and I hugged and kissed her back, telling her how sorry I was. It wasn’t a good ending to our scene, but that’s how it went down. 95% of the scene had been spectacular. It just ended on a bad note. I hate it when stuff like this happens, but occasionally it does. The key is to not have that moment ruin everything else, a hard task for me because I take the error so internally. Lizzie was great. We packed up, said our goodnights to others there and headed out.

Our first scene back at the Lair wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. And a start of many, many more to come.
Craig had a meeting at the dungeon, so I got a chance to meet some of the other girls. It was nice to spend some time talking to fellow kinksters. It’s the first opportunity I’ve had since moving.

I related my experience earlier that day, when someone told me I would find it easy to adjust to this small town (of about 35,000 people). I responded that I had moved from a farm between two small towns - one with 2,000 people and the other with 1,000 people. The poor girl simply stared at me, as if she could not even imagine such a small town. As it happens, I overestimated the populations: 900 and 700 would have been more accurate.

After Craig’s meeting, he came outside and we spent a few minutes talking. At some point, I got sassy with Craig and he turned me over his knee. I always love our OTK sessions, no matter how brief, because we have such an intense, intimate connection.

Craig picked out a spot in the main room for our scene and left me to set out his implements. I spread out Craig’s “signature” white towel and set out a variety of canes, floggers, and paddles. There’s a certain thrill to setting everything out, knowing that he might use any of those things, or all of those things, on me.

He started by taking off my clothes and buckling restraints on my wrists and ankles. He soon had me clipped onto the cross. I think he started with a cane. I remember that we broke an implement - or rather, the handle came unglued from a bundle of canes. Craig used a single cane from that bunch for awhile, which stung horribly.

Craig was checking in frequently, so I was able to tell him when something odd happened: When he struck the back of my thigh (rather hard, I might add), something about my position squished the front of my thigh between the cane and the cross. Not at all a good pain. But due to that unusual injury, he left the fronts of my thighs largely untouched when he turned me around.

He had me turn around and lean back against the cross. I had my hands behind me, holding me away from the wood. I don’t think he restrained me. Instead, it was purely the dynamic of our power exchange that held me still while he caned my breasts. That exchange brought everything around us into a sudden focus and I noticed that our scene had drawn quite a crowd.

The Lair has mirrors on the wall behind the cross. I had noticed the revolving observers earlier, but the breast caning drew and kept a larger group watching.

I think Craig turned me around again, caning and paddling me before we moved to the spanking bench. He restrained me there and started with a series of floggers. I remembered setting out a number of floggers, but I couldn’t tell which he started with. After flogging my back (which I love) for awhile, he moved on to flog my bottom.

As a spanko, you might expect I would love that. But here’s the odd thing: when I started playing with floggers in the spanking scene, I decided I hated floggers. Turns out, I simply hate being flogged on the bottom. I hate it so much that it’s become something of a trigger. Particularly because it’s something I tell everyone I play with. Having that ignored or forgotten can put me in a bad place, even when I know later that it isn’t intentional. In that moment, I lose touch with reality and go to a very negative place.

Craig was amazing. Noticing that I was in distress and stopping the scene, even when I didn’t want to. That may the most important characteristic in my play partners - knowing when to stop and, occasionally, forcing the issue. I am (unfortunately more often than not) my own worst enemy.

We had a wonderful, intimate scene. I know we attracted plenty of attention, with our dynamic, our energy, our connection. It’s unfortunate it ended on such a note. All the same, I feel like we had an incredible scene that night.

Friday, October 26, 2012

It Started With...

Welcome to our new side-by-side format blog. Here you’ll always find two perspectives to everything we write about: our scenes & play, our fantasies, our philosophies, our fiction. Hopefully you’ll like this unique dual blog. We hope to hear what you think.

...An Email ...A Story
My ex and I were going to go to our first spanking party, Shadow Lane’s St. Paddle’s Day party, the last one they were going to do. I got my free membership to SL and read how to meet people. Their recommendation: post a message to their board. So I did. The one and only response I got was from Lizzie. She told me about her and her husband (now her ex). We met up at SL and tried to play, but it didn’t happen. The last night of the party we did. And there was just something about it that seemed special.

Later, at Boardwalk Badness Weekend, we went to play in one of those seedy little spanking booths they have in the next room off the ballroom. Lizzie went OTK in our little space and the spanking began. For the first time of many she reached back, placed her hand against my leg so that she was in connection with me, and our scene turned into something almost transformative. By the end we both looked each other in the eyes. We knew our play was something special.

I remember when Lizzie went to Thunder in the Mountains. She didn’t have the best of weekends, feeling out of sorts and out of place at that hardcore BDSM event. I ended up talking to her on the phone, talking her off the ledge, figuratively speaking. Being her play partner, her friend, I was happy to be there for her. And with that, we knew we could trust each other and that we were always available to help one another.

After that, I wrote her a story. And that was the start of a lot more.

I had known Craig for some time, playing at parties and exchanging frequent emails. We had great chemistry when we played and we were close friends, discussing everything about the scene, our kink, our lives. We had discussed open relationships and certainly considered ourselves to be in some kind of poly-relationship, however vaguely defined at the time.

I’ve always written stories. Lots and lots of stories, truth be told. I enjoy creating characters and telling tales. I use stories to explore ideas, relationships, kinks, everything in my life. And I devour books and stories of all sorts. I’ve collaborated on stories and had stories written for me. But nothing like this.

I had gone to Thunder in the Mountains, a huge leather event in Colorado, with a girlfriend and her (now ex-)Top. We were celebrating my girlfriend’s 50th Birthday, so I stepped out of my comfort, spanking-party, zone to attend the event with her. Thunder was a mind-blowing, eye-opening event, but an even bigger change was happening in my relationship with Craig.

He wrote me a story, describing a scene we would soon play out at Shadowlane. He had taken all my preferences, all my favorite things, and combined them with desires I wasn’t even aware of until I read the story. Reading his first chapter, I dissolved into tears. The title of his email for the second chapter was “Don’t Cry.” The thought still makes me giggle.

Even as strong as my response was to that story, I had no idea where this adventure would lead me. I found my soulmate. A man’s whose journey into and through the scene eerily tracks my own journey. Someone who support me, encourages me, and won’t let me get in my own way.

I hope that we can share some of that adventure with our readers here – the thrill of building our live together, the frank discussion of the difficulties we face, the occasional backward-looking reminisce of our lives, the incredible scenes we engage in, and, of course, the stories.