Thursday, January 31, 2013

Our Scenes

Most of our scene write-ups to date have focused on our scenes at the Lair, or on our individual blogs, party scenes. But that’s only a tiny sliver of our dynamic.

The Intimacy of OTK Reconnecting
There was a scene—a very particular scene—in which Lizzie and I made our first real connection as play partners. We had played before. This was a simple OTK at a play party that really shouldn’t have been “a moment,” but it was. Over my lap, Lizzie rested beneath me (maybe “resting” isn’t the best term) as I hand spanked her. At some point, she reached beneath her to put her hand on my leg.

I realize when I said we “made our first real connection” I wasn’t meaning physically, her hand touching me. But it wasn’t the physical connection. I felt her reach out to me so we could be connected. Evidently, it’s hard to explain.

In researching this post, Lizzie found this snippet from an email I sent her after that party:

> When I have you OTK and you reach back and put your hand on my leg, that connection is very nice. First of all, it communicates to me where you are in terms of what I'm doing. Secondly, that physical connection is very meaningful to me.

She’s never wavered from that connection since.
I’m a spanko, first; so a simple spanking has a special place in my heart. For Craig and I, an over-the-lap spanking has a very special significance. At one of our first parties, I went over Craig’s lap, slipping my arm just under my chest to rest flat against Craig’s leg. I tucked my fingers under his leg, lightly grasping his thigh.

In one of those early “checking in” emails, Craig mentioned how much it meant to him, how much he enjoyed that connection. I went searching for that email when I was writing this post, Craig has the snippet. Reading it out of context, it may not seem terribly profound. But it was a huge thing for both of us. And it’s something I’ve done ever since, anytime I go over his lap, I seek out that connection.

When we were in a long-distance relationship, our first spanking was always OTK, always with my hand on his leg. We called it “shaking off the dust” of the distance, the disconnect that sometimes happened. It serves a similar purpose when we start a big scene, solidifying our connection before we start something heavy. But even when we get a chance to play lightly or at home, that connection is comforting, important, and special.
Our Time Vacation
Lizzie and I needed time to ourselves to discover one another and to confirm what we felt: that we were compatible, long term. We had weekends in Napa Valley and Orlando (amongst others) where we talked, dined, drank and played, all in an effort to discover ourselves.

We each experienced similar situations prior to getting together. Our former relationships had similar lasting effects. These trips we took to discover one another allowed us to shake off our pasts and to experience new things together.

Lizzie’s attention was heady. The things she loved and loved to enjoy were similar to things I cherished.

In between all that talking and mushy stuff we explored our relationship through our kink and our play and the more we explored the more we discovered about each other and ourselves—what we liked, what we wanted and what we wanted to do.
Long before our red bottom weekend, Craig and I had wonderful vacation weekends. Even living together, we’ve managed to take a few weekends away and we plan to take several more.

But our weekends away hold a different place in my heart. It’s our time to connect, not through a favorite scene or a highly anticipated scene or any single action. Those trips are just for us.

We sometimes say that our past relationships are mirror-images. But these trips are our chance to replace all that with new memories and glorious experiences. We delight in simple things - holding hands, kissing, talking, touching (innocently and less innocently), dinners out together, and discovering new places.

And, of course, we have our play, as frequently as our other plans allow. As our relationship has grown, we’ve explored far more sexual play as well as new fantasies.
D/s Service
The way our dynamic has evolved over time into our own unique brand/style of D/s has been very interesting and eye-opening, for us both. Lizzie was dead set against the notion at a time when I was trying to feel my way into something that seemed quite natural to me.

But things changed over time. Lizzie grew more comfortable with it, discovered things about herself I don’t think she really realized about what she wanted and who she was.

In many ways, she had amazing D/s role models. I’ve watched intently at her parents’ interactions with each other. Lizzie’s mother dotes over her father and in turn he expects her to wait on him. It’s a very old fashioned style of relationship in that sense. Very pre-”women’s lib”. But it’s not just an expectation, it’s who they are. It’s how they work. It’s what Lizzie’s mother wants.

Those service aspects fall neatly into areas of D/s. Lizzie dreams of “A Weekend of Service” where I don’t lift a finger. (We can’t do it now because I have kids living at home.) Believe it or not, it makes me uncomfortable to the point of squirming just thinking about it because that fights everything I’ve been taught and everything I did for 27 years as a husband in my prior relationship. We’ll see, as time progresses, how our dynamic evolves further.

In the meantime, I am quite happy with where our dominant and submissive aspects of our relationship are heading and continue to marvel at the connections, dynamic and experiences we share.
When Craig and I first talked about D/s, I was rather violently against the very idea. As I explored the broader BDSM scene, both with Craig and on my own, I watched slaves with a similar reaction. Interesting perhaps, but not for me.

But I am happy kneeling at Craig’s side. Our relationship has brought out a side of me that I didn’t know was there. It is something I grew up with, but it was so normal I didn’t really notice it. My parents have a very traditional relationship (by that I mean they remain in their unique version of the 1940s). The formality of a BDSM-style slave contract doesn’t appeal to me. But I am his.

With our current living situation, we don’t get to indulge in this sort of scene as often as we would like. So it’s the little things - I open his favorite wine and keep his glass full; I try to anticipate the things he would like and get them for him before he can ask; no matter what we are doing, my attention is split to serve him.

I know he isn’t entirely comfortable with this. He doesn’t want to be perceived as lazy (there’s a word that would never be used to describe Craig). But serving him is part of how I show my appreciation for all the things he does for me.

Last weekend, Craig was recovering from an outpatient surgery. He was uncomfortable letting me replace his ice pack and cater to his every need. But I reminded him of one of our fantasy scenes - a weekend of service - and it worked. He allowed me to take care of him, at least a little bit.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

A Transportive Scene

Once again, we had a chance to our local dungeon, Lair de Sade over the weekend. Lizzie was tired, so rather than doing too much socializing first we went straight to the Main Room, hoping to begin our scene. It was at least 10 minutes after opening, but the work lights were still on, a nude man in partial drag (stockings, heels, and...a cock-ring) was vacuuming the floor and making derogatory comments about his own performance. When someone was unwise enough to make eye contact with him, he would say things like, “Funny to see a man doing woman’s work like this, isn’t it?” We can only speculate that this was his 'special' version of self-humiliation. (Erica would find this scene of no surprise.) We set up in the middle of the room at a padded table and patiently waiting for him to finish cleaning. Finally done, the lights went out and it was time to get down to business...

(Off topic complaint from Lizzie: Craig and I both wear Nike Fuelbands. He “earned” over 1,000 fuelpoints whacking me. I got 80 points each time I cleaned the table, with a grand total of 200 points during the entire session. Nike clearly has no idea how much effort it takes to be the bottom.)

Pushing Lizzie Escaping
Lizzie had been somewhat scattered over the previous week or two. She had discussed needing to feel my hand on her, delivering pain. There's a lot going on at home right now and I knew she needed centering. I carefully selected my implements to focus on her bottom. Lizzie had pulled a muscle that affected both her neck and arms/shoulders and I didn't want to restrain her standing or with her arms up for this scene. Putting her on a padded table, laying her down and devoting my devilish attention to her buttocks seemed in order. Straps, paddles, canes, a hairbrush—in leather, metal and wood—all found their way to my bag.

I told Lizzie to take off her skinny leg black jeans and black and sexy lace-up Victoria's Secret blouse as I sat on the table and grabbed her wrist, taking her over my lap to warm her up. Knowing we hadn't played in a bit I decided to ease into it, but right off the bat—not three smacks of the hand in—she turned to me and bratted, "You can start anytime." Well, that certainly got things rolling.

I smacked her hard at that point, certainly harder than she had expected, and Lizzie responded with a loud, "Ouch!" "That'll teach you to get mouthy, young lady." There was to be no warm up. From this point on, it was all hands on deck, so to speak. After a few minutes OTK I told Lizzie to lie on the table. So began an hour of paddles (leather, wood), hairbrushes, canes (bamboo, rattan, hard wood) on her bottom and thighs, hips, legs, back and more. Often I'd give her a break with a fur mitt to soothe her senses.
As Craig says, life at home has been rather hectic of late. In the previous week, I managed to both aggravate an old shoulder injury on my right side and obtain a new, whiplash-type injury on my left side. I did not know it was possible to self-inflict whiplash, but...I did it. When Craig mentioned we had an opportunity to have a scene last weekend, my only concern was that I wouldn’t be able to have my hands restrained overhead.

Of course, Craig had already taken my recent injuries into account in planning the scene. We started in the main room on a padded table.

I wiggled out of my skin-tight black jeans, slipped off my shirt, and took off my bra. Before we started, Craig asked if I had gotten water for us both. I hadn’t, so I ran outside in my panties and socks to grab a couple bottles of water. Even in southern California, it’s cold at night!

Craig pulled me over his lap and started, well, I can only really say he was playing pattycake back there. But when I said something about it, things got intense rather quickly. I'm pretty sure he picked up the short leather strap and used it instead of his hand.

He did eventually go back to using his hand, but my bottom was well past “warmed up” by that point. Craig stood up and had me stretch out over the bench. We settled into a long, hard scene. Craig used all sorts of implements. Occasionally I would notice him walking around me to put away a toy after using it, but for the most part, I was oblivious to my surroundings.
She had gotten into a lovely subspace, crying and mewing, as I pushed her limits with layer after layer of punishing swats. Marks were starting to rise on her bottom from the thick leather strap and rattan caning. Her breathing became deeper. I decided it was time for the big guns, my newest acquisition: a thick padded rubber bat easily two inches in diameter with a raised "tread" in a diamond plate pattern. Heavy and extremely thuddy, I thought this would send LIzzie even deeper.

Instead, she jerked her head back and looked at me, suddenly utterly and completely taken out of the scene. I leaned down and whispered (as I often do to check in during a scene), "What's up?" "Whatever you're doing and whatever that is it's making me feel like I'm about to poop." Well, there's a scene killer for you! I immediately stopped and we both had a good laugh—right there in the middle of the Main Room. "Damn," I said. "You seemed like you were in subspace. I didn't mean to take you out." We chuckled again and got back to it and in a few short minutes she was back down again.
I had two moments during the scene that pulled me abruptly out of subspace. The first was a cane stroke across my lower thighs. Just as a similar strike had done months ago, this one made me feel as if I were about to vomit. I’m not sure what it is about that particular spot. I shot up, gagging. Craig immediately stopped and asked what was the matter. I barely managed a single word to explain when he tried rubbing the welt. But any touch on that spot caused the same sensation, so he quickly moved on to something else.

Sometime later, I felt Craig’s rubber bat against my bottom. I’ve “enjoyed” this implement in the past, but this time it was accompanied by an unpleasant sensation. When Craig leaned down to talk to me, I was almost too embarrassed to say. But when I managed to whisper my explanation, we both burst into giggles. I’ve “broken” a few scenes in the past with giggles, but that wasn’t the case this time. We were able to move smoothly back into our scene.
The time flew by and over an hour had passed. I decided, as my used implements went back into my bag and my customary white towel on the floor had only a few tools of torture remaining, that it was time to finish her off. I punishing her bottom severely, really laying into it and pushing her over the edge. She wept. And as I used my thick leather paddle, our customary scene-ender, she quieted down.

Setting the paddle aside, I knelt beside her and held her, kissing her and telling her what a good girl she was. "Did it transport you?" I inquired. In a hush voice she responded that it had. Those words are the greatest compliment I can get. To transport the person I'm playing with, taking them outside of their head for a short time, is the best gift I can give. I find it so rewarding.

Lizzie quickly dressed and we cleaned up, heading out somewhat early by Lair standards, back toward home where I could pour Lizzie into bed after a few glasses of wine and some Downton Abbey. Transportive.
Craig put away the implement, always keeping a hand on me, and I settled back onto the bench. I was so quickly back into subspace that I have no idea what he used next. Most of the scene is like that - a blur of ouchy implements, Craig’s hand trailing along my body when he moved out of sight, a few delightful moments with Craig’s fur mitt.

I have a feeling that I was rather more vocal during this scene that I am typically. I’m not sure of the reason. There were several differences, but I wouldn’t say any of those things caused it.

But the scene was the sort that took me out of my head, out of my body, out of the room. The scene was everything I wanted and everything I needed. Life isn’t going to settle down for us anytime soon; I needed that escape.

We cleaned up quickly and made an early escape. I needed protein - a scene that intense takes everything I’ve got. On Monday, Craig followed up with a lovely “checking in” email. You can read about it on his blog, here.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Story Negotiation

Many people negotiate scenes typically by sitting down and discussing what works and what doesn't, what's taboo and what's a "scene killer." We began our scene negotiations very indirectly, writing short stories for each other...


Describing Fantasies Exploring Ourselves
For me, I wasn't so much planning on "negotiation through fiction" as I was merely describing my deepest, darkest fantasies. I wanted to share my most craven desires to someone I felt would not only want to read them but would be a "safe harbor" in terms of being someone who wouldn't freak out or be put off when she read them.

Still, it took a lot of courage to hit SEND for some of those stories I wrote. There were, IMHO, some sick, fucked up shit going on in them, some really depraved sex and rather aggressive BDSM.
I’ve always written stories. I’ve scribbled spanking stories on a legal pad sitting in the back of a courtroom and described subspace on the back of handouts at a continuing legal education seminar. (It’s probably a good thing that I have tiny, nearly illegible handwriting.)

But sharing those stories carries a certain risk. I’ve had too many people offer to play out a scenario with me. And the last thing I want is to play a scene by a script. I spent too much of my life with a “somewhat accommodating vanilla” - I need my play to be genuine and mutually enjoyed.
Once I hit SEND I would squirm in my seat like a kid who just passed a note to his secret love in junior high class. Would she freak out? Would she think I'm weird? Or worse, a sicko? It brought back all my old fears that I was truly a mental case and likely a criminal miscreant for liking and wanting what I liked/wanted.

We began a process of writing comments in different colors within the body of the text, adding questions and answering them, broadening the item to become discussions. I think unbeknownst to either of us we were using these fictional stories as scene negotiations. Some of these "threads" would go back and forth a dozen times, blowing through the entire gmail font color palette in the process.
But stories were a safe way to explore our interests. You’d never do that? Of course, it’s just a “story”!

With Craig, though, the experience was different. He would respond to my story with “that’s hot,” “I want to try that,” and “I’m hard” scattered in red text throughout the story.

But importantly, he didn’t want to play through a story as written. He didn’t want a script for our next scene. He simply wanted to know what I liked, what excited me, and what interested me. Each time we played together, he would experiment with a new element of something we had written about. We used the stories as a starting point.
Fortunately, Lizzie didn't freak out. Not once. In fact, she seemed to relish these revelations, eating up my fucked-up words as we discovered we both had not only similar fantasies but similar freak-outs as we hung on to hear with the other had to say with regard to these twisted desires.

Each story would reveal more twistedness, more kinky secrets. And each time, as we walked on eggshells or waited on the edge of our seats for the other to respond in the first of a technicolor chain of discussion/responses, we learned that we were more and more compatible, more and more likely to like what the other had in mind and want to try it.
Perhaps even more important for me, he asked questions about what I wrote about. Why did I like something? Was it a physical sensation I craved? Or a particular headspace I sought? I learned so much about myself from these conversations. His questions forced me to think more deeply about my kink. Our exchanges opened new possibilities and broadened our interests.

Of course, it helps that I’ve found my soulmate. I learned that Craig wanted what I am - emotional, submissive, and horny. And he is what I wanted - dominant, decisive, and incredibly thoughtful. We weren’t finding a compromise, we were discovering new opportunities.
In many ways, those stories drew us closer together as we relished the next discovery, learned something new about the other and found our desire grew in experiencing these things in the flesh.
For me, it started with a story. And those stories led to incredible discoveries. Those technicolor exchanges, and the experiments and scenes they inspired, hold a special place in my heart.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Happy New Year

Happy New Year to all our new friends here at Black & Blue. We're delighted with our readership and we certainly appreciate you all for joining us. To thank you for your readership thusfar we provide you with a few, brief short stories for your New Year pleasure and amusement.

A Series of Short, Short Stories

Mysterious Interruption Bookends
Heading off to a family retreat yesterday at a tiny, ramshackle bed & breakfast outside of Topeka, Lizzie and I were standing in our room packing up to leave after a wonderful overnight holiday visit. Fully clothed and almost ready to go I grabbed Lizzie from behind, reached around and began to get her off through her jeans. Given she was wearing jeans it required some rather vigorous arm movement.

As she neared orgasm we began to hear what sounded like insistent but somewhat quiet knocking at our door. Perturbed and thinking it was Lizzie's young and precocious niece coming to check in on us I reluctantly stopped. The knocking stopped. I went at Lizzie's crotch again with my hand and the "knocking" began again. I stopped fondling and the knocking stopped. "What the...?" We looked at each other with puzzled expressions. We were standing 20 feet away in the middle of the room.

I finished getting Lizzie off and she flopped onto the bed, dizzy with pleasure. Testing a theory I had I made the ridiculous move of pantomiming I was getting her off—in midair. The door "knocked" again. I stopped. It stopped. Something about my movement was resonating through the floorboards to the door (I assume). The mysterious interruptor of Lizzie's orgasm was discovered.
I was washing dishes at the kitchen sink, standing in front of a window that overlooks the family farm, when Craig pressed up against me, his hand slipping under my pajamas. With my hands still occupied with a soapy frying pan and sponge, he took advantage of the opportunity to quickly bring me to an orgasm.

Before I could do more than drop everything in the sink, he jerked my pants down and started spanking me. I’m terribly sensitive post-orgasm, so he quickly had me squirming and begging him to stop. Of course, he didn’t stop just because I was whining about how hard he was spanking me. Instead, he continued to spank me breathless.

Without any warning, he grabbed my hips and pulled my hot, throbbing bottom against him. The sensitized skin against his rough jeans was delicious. But before I could do more than sigh at that, his hands were at my pussy again. Unimpeded now, his clever fingers brought me quickly to orgasm again.

“Bookends, love,” he whispered in my ear as I melted into him.

“I’m so sensitive, after I come,” I managed to whisper back.

“Good to know,” he said with a smile, “but now you’d better finish that so we can go.”
A Short Spanking A Good Start
The two were alone in the cabin. Outside, snow fell softly, accumulating on the windowsill, a near-full moon casting a blue glow on the white scene. Inside, a fire crackled. The only interruption to the Currier & Ives tableaux was the flat screen on the wall blaring Ryan Seacrest's New Year's Eve countdown.

She was in a sexy, silky nightgown and was bent over the edge of the bed, gown gathered up around the waist, her bare bottom presented appropriately to him. As the counting began, he swung a leather paddle and it connected solidly and with a loud smack on her ass cheek. He dropped the implement unceremoniously to the wood floor and grabbed the next implement carefully arranged next to her on the bed. This was a sold wood hairbrush. Smack! With each number chanted on the television he hit her butt with a new implement, quickly exhausting his supply. Each second featured a new whack with a different feel for her. She could see through the corner of her eye that the last one was a terrible metal thing, cold and painful. 3... Whack! 2... Smack! 1... CRACK!

On TV the revelers shouted, "Happy New Year!" In the warm cabin he gathered her up in his arms and she buried her face into his shoulder. He reached around and rubbed her velvety red bottom.

"Happy New Year, young lady," he said, kissing her forehead. "Now, about those New Year's resolutions..."
They had decided on a quiet New Year’s celebration this year, declining party invitations and the crush of public festivities. They had spent the evening eating one of her favorite meals - a series of appetizers and fingerfoods spread over hours, served his favorite way - she hadn’t had a stitch of clothing on since early afternoon.

He had given her countless spankings that evening, playful if not always light. He used his hand when she got distracted from making the next course. He had interrupted that cooking several times to use a wooden spoon left on the counter for just that purpose. He gave her a long, hard strapping to express his appreciation for his favorite snack, and a longer paddling when she opened a favored wine.

But as the new year approached, all the dishes were finished and the house tidy (no thanks to his frequent interruptions with various implements, of course). A thick, fluffy blanket was spread in front of a fire burned down to glowing embers, where she was positioned comfortably on her knees and elbows, her bottom presented beautifully.

He kept an eye on the clock, even as he stroked her swollen bottom, enjoying her reactions even to his light touch. As the time grew near, he knelt down behind her. His fingers slick with lube, he pushed them between her cheeks. A few moments later, his hard cock took the place of his fingers. As the ball dropped on the television, he gave her permission to come. He did the same as her tight hole spasmed around his cock.

“Happy New Year,” they said simultaneously. “An excellent start to the new year, pet.” He added.