Why I hate the word slut

I have been away for a while. Some changes in my personal situation and work situation put a halt to a large part of our kinky life and hence this blog. But life goes on and all sorts of kinky things are happening again so I figured it is time to return to this blog as well. The Wicked Wednesday prompt for this week (monogamy) is perfect for that since I have been struggling with something related.

The other day, MrReg told me again to behave like a slut and have sex with other people (men) both online and in real life. Whenever MrReg tells me that, I feel anxious, frustrated, obstinate, sad and angry. Which is strange because I do like to have sex with other people, as I described in a previous post.

So after venting some of my frustration on twitter, I thought about why it bothers me so much during one of my runs. These were some of the things I came up with:

• I am a pleaser. Even though some people call themselves 'slut' proudly, in general it is a curse word that shows a great deal of disapproval. I feel hurt when people call me names, except sometimes in play.
• I need my friends approval. MrReg is quiet on the topic, he usually does not tell our friends that he wants me to fuck around. Good friends, some of whom I see every other week, don't understand why I need more people in my life, since I already have a master. I can feel their disapproval when I tell them I am going away for the weekend to play or have sex with someone else without MrReg.
• I am in love. I am very focused on MrReg. Having sex with other people distracts me and especially in times when our relationship is less close. Of course, this is a catch 22; MrReg's interest in me spikes when I have sex with other people and becomes less when I don't.
• I am submissive. I like being used. The word sluts implies the need to seek out men or women to have sex with because of the sex. Whereas my kink is to have sex with dominant men or women that want to use me. I need there be some type of control/dominance associated with it. It does not mean I always need pain or bondage as part of the equation, but it needs to be more or something else than just sex.
• I am careful. I don't like the risks associated with having multiple partners, especially online. There are two types of risks here: physical, because having multiple partners puts me at risk for STDs and psychological because playing online puts me at risk of being exposed.  
• I am afraid to be rejected. I feel insecure about my body, my age and my face and feel like I make a fool of myself when I try to find partners. Again a catch 22: if I don't engage with other people I run the risk of being rejected by MrReg, if I do I run the risk of being rejected by them.
• I am proud. I like to feel special and I don't want to engage in sex with just any man 'out there'. Being told to be a slut demotes me to the lowest rank, anybody is good enough to touch me.

I am a sexual and physical person. When I like someone, I enjoy having sex with that person. Or to cuddle. In general, I like sex in a BDSM setting or with very good friends. In the last couple of years I have done both. It is fun, I love those friends dearly and it has improved our sex life. It made me less self conscious and I learned a lot about different types of sex (with women, threesomes with 2 men, threesome with 2 women, men that are circumsized, etc etc). In fact, this month alone I have had one date, agreed to have another one next week and made plans for two more for the end of the year.

However, all this does not make me a slut. I will never claim to be monogamous. I like to have sex with different people. People that I like, admire and that somehow appeal to me. But I am not a slut. Even though I am supposed to be one.

It all started with a crop

The first implement that Mr Reg bought to hit me with was a crop. I distinctly remember my excitement when he used it on me. It signified a rite of passage: we moved from an experiment with rough sex to the next stage; he was buying things to hurt me as part of our sexual relationship.

That first time he took me to the attic and tied me to the beams using handcuffs. We had never played there before. I was horny from anticipation, worried about what would happen and feeling very submissive. The pain of the crop landing on my skin startled me. I was very tense, making it hurt more. He hit my pussy with it, and my ass. I think I screamed a little and after a while Mr Reg stopped. I felt relieved and a bit disappointed that it was over at the same time. He did not hit me very hard; I don't remember any marks or soreness the next day. I do remember feeling extremely submissive and a bit confused the days after the session.

It was in the stage of our relationship where we did not discuss any of it yet. I had no idea that Mr Reg bought it. Or when. Or in what store. It is amazing how far we've come. As I was writing this, I realized I don't know these things and asked him about it. He bought the first one in a erotic shop, where they sell toys. Later he ordered some online at a riding apparel store. It may sound trivial, but talking about these things is very important. It leads to conversations about our feelings. About our relationship. I no longer feel blocked when it comes to talking about sex, my body or my masochistic and submissive personality.

Later Mr Reg bought a number of different spanking tools: whips, riding crops and canes. I learned that the pain of the crop was one of the milder ones. And that I like pain. A lot. The crop won't send me into subspace. But it hurts enough to feel focused. The sound is scary; the impact painful and a relief at the same time.

We started to play with other people. Sometimes Mr Reg joins me, sometimes he sends me off by myself. When I meet other people by myself, I am often the one who is supposed to bring the toys. The crop is always one of them. The crop hurts enough if necessary, but it can also be handled by someone with less experience or who is less sadistic. My backpack has a special part where you can put a hockey stick. It is perfect for crops ;)

As I wrote in my last blog, I am shared between Mr Reg and Master. As it happens, the crop is also one of the first things Master hit me with. Every time we meet, I bring it with me. Along with a black rod. The black rod is made of fiber glass (or so I am told by Mr Reg). It hurts very much. It feels like punishment. The crop is the reward. Painful but good. Hot. An instrument to control me.

Obviously, if Mr Reg or Master feel like it, they can turn this wonderful instrument into a nasty painful thing by hitting me so hard I scream beg them to stop. Especially when they hit my pussy with it.

The crop and I have a long history. I look at it with fondness. It was there from the beginning. And hopefully it stays with me for a long time to come.




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Hard limits - 30 days of kink

Day 10: What are your hard limits?

Limits are a difficult topic for me. I have difficulty saying no. I have issues using my safe word. Being forced to do things, being used turns me on. Being forced to do things I don't want to do or don't like are a big part of the thrill of power exchange to me.

 

I have no limits

I identify as a slave (as opposed to a submissive) because I have given up the right to have hard limits with Mr Reg. That was relatively straightforward, as I described in day-1 of this series. Last summer, Mr Reg decided to share me with another master, DiceMan UK. This was very different from becoming Mr Reg's slave. Different because of the distance and the fact I was already owned. But also in terms of limits. When DiceMan first approached me, one of his first questions was about my limits. He asked me what other limits I had, besides the usual ones concerning children, illegal activities and scat. I answered that I did not really have any other limits, except that Mr Reg determines what I do and what I don't do. This lead to a number of increasingly different tasks and sessions. He pushed me further every time. He mocked me by asking me whether I wanted to flee to Mr Reg, to avoid having to do what he asked. I never did. I just obeyed. Even against my better judgement. After only a few weeks of online conversations on twitter, kik and Google, DiceMan asked me my real name. I replied I don't usually tell people my name because both my first name and my last name are relatively rare.  I was on my bike going to work. When I returned home that night, he messaged me again. Asking for my name. And I answered him. When I asked him politely for his name, he refused. I felt horny, confused, scared, intrigued and excited.

 

Or do I?

During all this, DiceMan asked me regurlarly about my limits. I had become more serious about answering his questions. I explained to him that I would never do anything that would harm Mr Reg, or my children. That it was important to me I did not bother other people (innocent bystanders) and that I needed to be able to do my job. We also discussed that it is difficult to talk about limits;  there are things I would never think of, but someone else could. And things that are off limits for me with one person can be totally OK with another person. 

We continued talking, and after a while the topic of my service came up. Mr Reg decided to share me with DiceMan. I would be both Mr Reg's and DiceMan's slave. DiceMan told me to write down how I would serve him and describe what my hard limits were. To me, being someones slave means I have to do what I am told.  If I don't like what I am supposed to do, or don't agree, I can obviously talk about it. But I can't say no anymore. The only option I have left is leave the relationship. So the limits were important. Especially since we did not have a long history together. I wrote an email, describing how I would serve him and within what limits. It did not include a lot of specific activities. It was about values. About not wanting to hurt other people. About the law and my family. And since DiceMan and me share a lot of the same values, they were a good fit with his limits.

 

Safety

This all happened last year. I serve both Mr Reg and Master D. ever since. To me it feels I have no hard limits, except the ones they set for me. Which is a relief. Limits are a difficult topic for me. I have difficulty saying no. I have issues using my safe word. Being forced to do things, being used turns me on. Being forced to do things I don't want to do or don't like are a big part of the thrill of power exchange to me. Being slave to Mr Reg and Master D keeps me safe. They challenge me, they use me and make me grow. They push me over my inhibitions and help me deal with my fears. And they make sure I say no to things in my life that are harmful. They keep me out of trouble. Because everyone should have hard limits. To protect themselves and others.

Perks of an hotel room

Some hotels have really nice features, like this one: a divider between the bath and the bed ...

Rigger and photographer: Mr Reg

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Toy mark

We were away for the weekend and MrReg brought some of his toys. This one he considers more a tease than really an implement to administer pain.

I think I respectfully disagree...

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Pondering hoods - Kink Of The Week

I distinctly remember the first time I saw someone wearing a hood. It was a beautiful slave, at a party. Her master had her on a leash and she was wearing very high heels. The hood was made of leather and covered her head completely. She could not see anything. She completely depended on him for guidance. She was very calm and he was very nonchalant, walking around with her casually. Tying her to a post sometimes, showing her off. All I could think was: "I want a hood like that".

The next time I saw hoods was when I was in California. A good friend took me and his slave to some stores. One of them had the biggest collection of hoods I had ever seen. We were shopping for a kinky dress and I was too shy to tell them I wanted to try one of the hoods. So I admired them secretly. They looked great. Leather hoods, latex hoods, gas masks, hoods with openings, hoods without openings. Just looking at them made my knees weak.

A hood shows form. It is round and smooth. To me it shows perfection. I love looking at people wearing hoods. I can't keep my eyes off them. You know there is a person inside. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is the perfect form and the complete surrender of that person to his or her Master. Giving up their personality, being anonymous. I want to touch the leather. Or the latex. Or whatever fabric it is made from.

I love hoods. As I wrote earlier in the post that lists my kinks, I love wearing hoods, even more than I like watching people wear them. It makes me surrender completely. I don't have to watch out for what comes next. I can hear everything much clearer, but more distant at the same time. When I wear a hood, I know all my imperfections are hidden. All I have become is a body. It calms me. Lately I have come to a realization though. I tend to withdraw when I surrender. When I am wearing a hood, I can concentrate on the other person for a while. But soon it becomes harder and harder. I register sensations, but nothing else. I can't interact anymore. I can't talk coherently. I can't think. I just am. It feels great. I am in subspace. It feels like I am in heaven. But it is really difficult to serve someone well when I am in that state. I can't focus on him. I can hear, but not really understand. I can obey, but not concentrate. He can use my body, but not count on my mind. Which makes me wonder. Why do dominants like their subs and slaves in a hood?

Kink related song - 30 days of kink

Day 9. Post a kink related song or music video you enjoy.

I enjoy different type of songs. Sometimes I hear something kinky in the lyrics. Sometimes the music brings me to a submissive place. Sometimes a voice can take me to a dark place. Sometimes the combination brings back memories. 

One day at bondage night, our host played a song for us by Rammstein. It is a German band. The lyrics are posted here, with their English translation. It really is the only kink related song that is perceived as such by everyone.



What I like about this song is its directness and the rawness. I like lots of different types of music, from David Bowie to Eminem. From Roxy Music to Korn.  What I like depends on my mood, the venue, the company I am in, the occasion. Most songs I associate with kink because I heard it at a play party. Or because I am kinky and I interpret the text that way. With the exception of this song. Sometimes I enjoy it. Sometimes it annoys me. Sometimes I laugh at it. But it is always a kink related song, no matter how I look at it or how I feel. And other people think so too, as the text on youtube states:

" Ich tu dir Weh" (I hurt you) is the second single from the 2009 album Liebe ist für alle da by the German band Rammstein. Mainly because of the sado-masochistic content of this song, the album was placed on the "index" maintained by the German Bundesprüfstelle für jugendgefährdende Medien. In May 2010, the original uncensored album and the single were unindexed and consequently released in Germany."

I am happy I got this day out of the way and can return to more interesting parts of the series....

 

Kinky image - 30 days of kink

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I need a different mindset

I need a different mindset. A lot of what I write here is about me. That has several reasons:  I can't presume to know what the people I interact with think, feel or want. And I don't want to invade their privacy by describing here what they do and what they think, say or feel. But it is also because I am very busy thinking about myself.
When I displease one of my Masters (My state changed recently, MrReg has decided to share me with someone, but that is the topic of another blog. Maybe), I am upset because he is upset with me. Or angry with me. Or annoyed with me. Or displeased with me. Not because I displeased him. Or upset him. Or made him angry with me. Or because I annoyed him.

 

 Realization

Today I was running. When I run I think a lot. About work. About my relationships. What is said to me. What it means. The other day I was told I was being selfish. I realized that after not talking to him all day, I was thinking about him. Not about how I felt about him, but how he might be feeling and I was genuinely upset because I disappointed him in a time like this. Not because I disappointed him, but because he was disappointed and displeased. The fact that I was the person who did that makes it worse, because I am supposed to be dedicated to him. To serve him. And to want to please him. Not please him because it makes me feel good. But please him because it makes him feel good.

I need a different mindset. And I am working on it.

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I love canes

Kink of the week: Canes

The first time Mr Reg took me to play somewhere outside our home, I was spanked thoroughly. His friend put me over his knee and worked my ass for a long time. My buttocks were glowing and warm. I was excited. I had submitted completely. Next, he tied me to a vault. My arms and feet against the legs. I could not move and was blind folded.

My first caning

The pain from the first blow startled me. I felt a rush of adrenaline flow through my veins. Then the sting followed, right after impact. That was pure pleasure. I don't remember how many hits I received. They were aimed at my ass and my legs. After a while I was told I would receive three more. I felt relieved and disappointed at the same time.

 

 Where it hits me

I love the feeling of the cane on my ass and legs. However, I really don't like feeling it on my outer thighs. For some reason it doesn't sting there, it feels damaging. The feeling I get the second after the cane hits my flesh is one of destruction, not pleasure. It hurts in a bad way. Obviously my inner thighs are even more sensitive, but being hit there has an erotic aspect to it. The worst thing is being hit on my feet. I run as a way to workout and to clear my mind. Being hit on my feet feels crippling. Even if done lightly.

I hate thick canes

Mr Reg bought a cane soon after my first caning. And then he started buying more. Thicker canes, fiber glass canes, rubber canes etc. I don't really like thick canes. The feeling when I get hit is more thuddy, not stingy. It feels like I might break. One day we had another date with our friend. When we came to his hotel room, he showed us the thick cane he brought with him. It really scared me. He hit me with it, and it was really difficult to handle the blows. Only after hitting me with something else putting me in a light form of sub space, I was able to handle the hits. Thinking about that one makes my heart beat faster and I become excited just thinking about how afraid I was of it. I love being scared like that...

The really thick one left some marks

Why I love canes

I love canes. I love the stingy feeling right after impact. I love being close to the person that handles the cane. Unlike whips and other implements, canes require the other person to be close. And because of the shape and form the person using the cane can really control how it will hit me: how fast it hits me, how hard it hits me, where it hits me. I love the swooshing sound it makes and the sound of the impact. It is a symbol of punishment. That excites me. Even though I have never been punished with it. I think I like the feeling too much for that ;) And last but not least I love the marks that it leaves. The two red stripes with white in the middle make me smile for weeks after being beaten with it. I love canes :)

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My ambivalence towards marks

Kink of the week: Marks

The first time I was caned I was appalled by the bruising it caused. After a while they faded (but not before turning yellow and purple and all the other ugly colors) and what remained were the cane marks. I loved those! They looked very different compared to the bruises: neatly aligned in a row, on my ass and legs. All the same color: two red stripes with a little white line in the middle.

This basically has not changed. I don't like bruising but love marks from a cane or sharp things. They remind me of the event, the person who caused them, the feeling it gave me and it somehow serves as a measure of the pain I endured.

Marks just after the fact

Hiding at home

One problem with marks is the kids. We are pretty open in our house. The bathroom door is almost never locked. When I shower, the kids walk in all the time. To brush their teeth, ask a question etc. When I am bruised, I need to make sure they don't see it. I walk around in a bath robe, need to get up early to make sure I shower before they wake up, and make sure my clothes cover my bruises.

Dating and going out

I date other people apart from MrReg, as I described here. Obviously all people are different, so some people I date are not into pain and don't like marks. A couple of months ago I planned a play date. Usually I end up with plenty of marks. Mostly on my ass and my legs. The timing was bad though; a couple of days later I was supposed to go on a date with a friend who does not like marks. There would be no way I could hide them so I asked MrReg to go easy on me and not to mark me. Thankfully he agreed and I could go on my date unmarked. A similar situation ended differently: right after a play date that would leave me marked we would go to the sauna. I expressed my doubts to MrReg but he did not think it was a big deal. This time I would have to go out with the marks. In the sauna I wore a towel around my waste most of the time, to hide my bruises. According to a friend, it looked like I had been in an accident. I was very self conscious, because my legs were so bruised. Not neatly marked, but black and blue. Under normal circumstances I like being in the sauna; looking at people, being looked at by people. This time I enjoyed the company, but not so much the sauna experience of being naked.

Showing off

I don't like bruises. I don't like looking at bruises. But, if I see a sub or slave with marks and bruises, I envy them. I wonder about what caused it. What the occasion was. How they interacted together. And I like to show off my own marks. To other subs and slaves. As a trophy. To sadists. As a token of my masochism.

Body

As I said, my feelings about marks are ambivalent. I was not going to write for this weeks kink of the week, because marks are not a kink for me. However, the other day a friend made a remark that got me thinking. He said he would like to see me marked. As an aberration. Which made me realize something: it is not about what caused the marks, it is about what is marked. It is about my body being altered. Temporarily of course. But still. Maybe that is really why I have conflicting thoughts about marks. It has something to do with the ambivalence I feel towards myself and my body.


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What I remember

Memories have always fascinated me.  
 

Missing memories

When I was little girl I suffered from a concussion. I was on my way to school in winter, and was sliding on little hills and playing around. At a certain point I fell and hit my head on the frozen ground. My sister walked me to school and the janitor brought me home in his car. My mom called the doctor. I don't have any recollection of this at all. But I have vivid images in my head when I write this down. Like memories. Even though I know they aren't. They feel like real memories.

Same event, different memories

When I was an adolescent, my parents divorced. My mom, my dad, my sisters, my brother, me, everyone has different memories of it, even about the order of events.  Similarly, After Mr Reg and me visit friends or a new place, he will talk about things he saw there. I remember conversations I had, things people have said to each other and the presence of certain people. We know we were at the same place at the same time, but we remember different things and remember the same things differently.

Reappearing memories

I wrote about my first kinky sexual experiences in a previous post. The thing that doesn't seize to amaze me is that the memories of my kinky sex life disappeared completely. Mr Reg and me started in a vanilla relation, and I slowly forgot the kinky things my former boyfriend used to do. Not deliberately, but somehow it happened anyway. When Mr Reg and me started to be kinky in the bed room, it did not come back to me. Only after meeting someone else, who asked me about my fantasies and previous experiences, these memories came back to me. Not all at once, but slowly. And I realized I had more experience than I knew. It felt like I reinvented myself, but a healthier happier version than before.

New memories

I have a very active mind. However, I am very bad at remembering names, or even faces. I am not a visually oriented person. If you take me to a city, I won't remember 90% of the places we visit. Not that I don't enjoy it, I just don't remember. But I do remember parts of the conversation we have during that trip. And the feeling it gave me being with you. If we have sex, I might forget what your body looks like exactly. But I will remember what you whispered in my ear. And how it felt to be with you. What we talked about. When I think of you, I think of your presence, your energy. I think of the things you have said to me. I think of what you feel like. And then, but only then... I might think of what you look like.

Obviously, I like to look at gorgeous bodies just as much as the next girl. But what I remember, that is a completely different story and very personal..... memories have always fascinated me.



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Am I promiscuous? You tell me!

Promiscuous

1. having many transient sexual relationships
2. demonstrating an unselective approach; indiscriminate or casual

Am I promiscuous? Let's see...

No I am not

I used to be, before I met Mr Reg. I wrote about that in a previous post. I am not promiscuous anymore: I don't have many transient sexual relationships. I do have more than one sexual partner, but in general they are not transient, they last over a period of time. And I don't have many, just a couple. And I most certainly don't demonstrate an unselective approach.  I don't want to have sex with just anybody. There needs to be something that attracts me. There are things I like, and things I don't like. These things can be physical, mental, psychological or behavioral. And I prefer situations where there is a click and we meet more often than just once.

Yes I am

If you look at it from another perspective, I am very promiscuous. Compared to most married women, I have many sexual relationships. Because the norm in our society is one. And these relationships can be considered transient if you compare it to a 15+ years marriage. You might say they are casual: I don't expect anything in return: I am not looking for something specific, or a commitment. I don't have an intense relationship with my other sexual partners, compared to the relationship I have with my husband. And in some situations I am indiscriminate: if Mr Reg wants me to have sex with someone, I have sex with that person. No questions asked. And in my (one time) experience with a gangbang, I demonstrated extremely unselective and casual behavior: I was not very interested in the people that were participating (fucking me). I simply enjoyed the experience and the feeling of being used.

You tell me

I have been married for 17 years now.  Our marriage has evolved from a vanilla relationship to a M/s relationship. I don't think I could be more dedicated to anyone than I am to Mr Reg. I love meeting new people. I do have other sexual partners. They are not committed to the relationship, and neither am I. I do value them, as I described before. I hope they last for as long as it works out for all people involved. They all enrich my life in their own way and I appreciate that. I enjoy every aspect of it. It makes me happy. Thinking about it makes me smile.

So........ you tell me: am I promiscuous?




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The play area of the cabin was located where the dining area used to be. It was small, but very well equipped: a sling, a spanking bench and plenty of hooks to tie me up. After exploring the cabin, I was told to undress. A couple of hours later, our friend arrived.

They threw me over the spanking bench. My hands were tied to the legs of the bench, then my feet got the same treatment. I could not move and my ass was exposed to them. They took turns beating me. Sometimes with their bare hands, sometimes with a whip or cane. It was hard to submit to it, because the two men used different rhythms and force. I tried to relax my muscles and concentrated on their voices. They were talking to each other sometimes and to me at other times; after a particularly harsh blow or something that startled me. Sometimes they would caress me, instead of beating me. The feeling of their big hands on my hot buttocks felt great. They checked every now and again to see how aroused I was by sliding a finger in my pussy. It was hard to tell whose finger it was, only if they commented I knew who was touching me.

They put me in the sling and blindfolded me. Taking the beating on my breasts and pussy proved to be very difficult. I tried to avoid the blows and became very restless. Being exposed like this made me feel extremely vulnerable. They told me to lie still and stop moaning. I tried but failed. They untied me and Mr Reg went looking for some needles. He handed them over to our friend. The thought of the needles sent a surge of panic through my body. I was standing close to him and whimpered "No, please, No". I stepped away, with my blindfold still on. He answered threateningly "What are you saying? Are you saying no to me?!?" I immediately stepped back into his reach "No Sir I am sorry". He grabbed my hair and told me to hold still while he stuck the needle in my breast. I submitted, I was no longer fighting it. I was completely relaxed and floated away.

It turns me on. Whenever I think about his reaction to my plea. Immediately, like a button being pushed. Writing about it, has the same effect ...

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Face slapping

Kink of the week: face slapping

As I wrote on my list of kinks, I like being dominated and I like pain. Face slapping mainly falls in the first category: to me it is part of being dominated. It makes me feel submissive, vulnerable and horny. This has two reasons: First of all, it is very up close and personal; especially if you compare it to be being spanked from behind on the back or the ass. When Mr Reg slaps me in my face, he is close physically and looking me in the eye. Using his hand. Second, being slapped in the face scares me. If he slaps me too hard, he leaves a mark. If he slaps me too hard, he might hurt my brain. If he slaps me while something is in my mouth (like his cock), he might hurt my jaw or teeth.  Face slapping is dangerous; as Frugal Domme puts it in this post: you can't do it safely you can do it safer.

Being slapped in the face makes me feel submissive, vulnerable and horny. Mr Reg slaps me in the face for different reasons: sometimes to grab my attention, sometimes to punish me during play. Some people find it insulting, but it never has that effect on me. It feels more like a reprimand or a claim. As soon as I feel the slap, I can feel my body relax and my mind submit to him. I like the burning feeling on my cheek, but I dislike the feeling of my brain hitting my skull or my teeth against his hand.

Being slapped in the face makes me feel submissive, vulnerable and horny. Because of the danger, it excites me. Because it is so personal, it makes me very aware of Mr Reg and the mood he is in. I am completely focused on him. Waiting for his next move. Wanting to comply or accept whatever comes next.

Communities

The prompt for Wicked Wednesday this week was "Take a comment that was left on one of your blog posts and turn it into a new post"

One comment came to mind immediately, the one left by Molly on my post from last week. She wrote "Sounds like you have a really great group of people to learn and explore with. I think having a supportive community is such a great thing"

Before you read on I have to warn you: this is not a piece about sex, or erotica, or any of the topics that are supposed to be part of Wicked Wednesday.  It is about communities and why I think we should stop talking about them.

Fitting in

Ever since I can remember, I didn't fit in. In elementary school I did not fit in. I was not a very girly girl. I liked to hang out with boys. Then there was a group of girls that did not belong either that I spent time with. I did not really like them, and I don't think they particularly liked me. We had very little in common. The same was true with the field hockey team I was part of. They liked me in the team because I was fast. But I did not fit in with most of them. In high school the same thing applied. I did not really fit in with a specific group. In fact, a couple of years back at a reunion, one of my classmates told me "You were always different, you were part of our group and at the same time you weren't". I think he hit the nail on the head with that remark. Mind you, I had friends. And I was not unhappy or being bullied. I got invited to parties, had my first sexual encounter, threw parties and went on vacation with my friends. I was just a little different. Being part of a group was not really an issue in college: there were a lot of students. There was a group for everyone, so to speak. Or if you look at it from a distance: no distinct groups. I hung out with people I liked. People from my old high school class and some new people I met during class, at parties, at the paper or through other friends.

Communities

When we moved to the US I became part of the expat community. Not because I wanted to be part of that community, but because I was an expat and I needed people to talk to who would understand my position. After a while we also got American friends or acquaintances. I went back to school, Mr Reg worked, and we were part of both the local community and the expat community. As I wrote before, we started with BDSM a couple of years ago. We started to meet with other people that share our interest in BDSM. We created a profile on Fetlife and met some wonderful friends that we practice bondage with every other week. We sometimes go to a party or a munch. Apart from people that practice BDSM, Mr Reg and I like to meet other people. For sex, love, friendship, dinner, talk or whatever is appropriate. One could say we have become part of the BDSM community.

Distancing 

Since we started this journey, I have met several people who have distanced themselves from 'the BDSM community'. When they tell me that, I always wonder what that means. Are they distancing themselves from me? From my friends? From the groups that hold munches and parties? From munches and parties? From a set of specific people? From 'bad people'? People they don't agree with?

The other day I read a post by Franklin Veaux on Poly identity and the poly community. His post is a reaction to another post that was venting critique on the poly community in the UK. They are both talking about the poly community like it is something that you can identify or point to. And complain about the people in it. Franklin states that he has distanced himself from the BDSM community but still practices BDSM. He has not distanced himself from 'the poly community'. At the same time he makes a distinction between being polyamorous and being part of the poly community. It confuses me.

Online communities complicate matters even further. Distancing yourself from the online BDSM community... what does that mean? You delete an account? You don't play online? You don't talk to people online? What if you know them in real life? Or...or... well.. you get my point.

People

Now back to the original comment by Molly. The group of people we see every other week have become very good friends. We have met a number of wonderful people since we became 'kinky'. We have met people at parties, at our bondage night, at munches, and there are people that I have met online. Some of the people I have met online are now friends 'in real life'.  I have started this blog and twitter about our kinky life. Now does that make me part of the BDSM community? Or of the sex blogger community? Or of the poly community? And which one? The Dutch one? The online one? I guess communities are convenient because they give us a way to meet like minded people. And to make you feel like you fit in. But as my experiences in school, college and the US have taught me, there is no group of people with whom you ever have a perfect fit. There is no such thing. We are all different, even if we have something in common. And sharing one character trait or interest, does not mean we share political views, ethical values or even have to like each other. That is why we should stop talking about communities. We are wasting our energy talking about groups of people, generalizing about their beliefs and behavior (good or bad). All that counts is the people. The people that have become our friends. The people with whom we share an interest. That laugh with us when we have something joyful to share and that cry with us when sad things happen. People who have wonderful stories and bodies and minds to share themselves. With whom we laugh when something good happens to them and with whom we cry if they hit a rough spot in life. I don't care what their designated community is. I don't care if they consider themselves part of that community or not. To me they are just great people. And I am very happy they are in my life.

BDSM: What Bondage means to me

In my first post I described my kinky self. It has a lot to do with BDSM as you can also read in my list of kinks. Bondage is a big part of my relationship with Mr Reg. This is surprising, because I never fantasized much about bondage in the past. I liked the thought of being handcuffed, or tied to a chair.  But I never looked at pictures of bound women nor did I think about different types of ropes or different styles of bondage. To me it was about being constrained and controlled. Not about the bondage process.

This changed about two years ago when we joined a group of people who wanted to practice bondage on a regular basis.  We started to look at videos of the Two Knotty Boys and Twisted Monk. After a while we got some new people in the group with more experience. We started to practice patterns that can be used in suspension, talked about the risks, anatomy of the human body and names of knots (Munter hitch, x-knot and other jargon I can't remember). We see each other every other week and talk about our relationship, about BDSM, about life, work and of course: rope ;)


Bondage now has become very important to the both of us. It's a moment where we literally bond. Mr Reg is focused on the knots and my body, and I can feel his energy and his satisfaction when something works out the way he envisioned it. He likes talking to the other people about the technical aspects of bondage, the type of rope, the knots, the aesthetic of doing something in a certain way. I focus on him, feel his hands on my body, feel the constraints of the ropes. It feels very comforting to be tied up and at his mercy. It makes me proud to see how skilled he is. I love being in this safe environment of friends who respect and trust each other.

Suspension is a different feeling: I am afraid to be in off the ground. It is the ultimate submission to him: I am at his mercy and my physical well being is completely depending on his skill.

My favorite toy - 30 days of kink

Day 7. What's your favorite toy?

There are a lot of great toys.  Mr Reg bought most of them for different purposes: to cause pain, sexual pleasure or to restrain me. Some toys I take with me when I go on a date, others are only used by Mr Reg. I am going to cheat today and describe two favorite toys: the dildo for sexual pleasure and the pin wheel for pain and arousal.

Dildo

Mr Reg told me to buy a dildo when I was on a business trip to the US. The assignment was to get the largest one they had in the shop.  During that trip, he made me use it a couple of times while we were chatting.  It is a great feeling and one of the few toys that can actually make me come. It is easy too: no batteries needed and it makes no noise (except my moaning). It does have some downsides however:

• It is rather big. If I want or have to take it somewhere, it takes up a lot of space. 
• It is made of material that gets stained easily. I am not very good at keeping stuff neat. My laptop, ebook and all other things have sleeves, because I ruin them. The dildo has an ugly stain, probably from touching another toy that was kept in the same box.
• It looks ridiculous. I can't help it. I love cocks. But dildos look ridiculous and unsexy in my opinion. There is supposed to be a man attached to a cock. It looks silly when it 'just ends'.  Paradoxically, using it while somebody is watching is embarrassing and exciting at the same time because of the way it looks.

Pin wheel

The pin wheel is an example of a toy that I like because it makes me feel very close and connected to Mr Reg. It is not a sexual toy in that it makes me climax. It is not something I use on myself either. It is hot because Mr Reg uses it on me. He can use it in very different ways, to caress or to hurt me. To scare me or to calm me. He can apply pressure and make it hurt, or track it over my body softly, making me feel calm and relaxed. My favorite treatment: he traces my body with it, drawing closer and closer to my pussy,  where it really hurts. It scares the hell out of me, and at the same time I love the stinging feeling of the pins on my skins. Leaving a glow long after the pin wheel has touched it. Moving closer and closer to very sensitive skin. Applying pressure and releasing it again. Caressing me with his hand and then using the pin wheel again. Like the dildo, the pin wheel is very practical: it is silent, it does not need batteries and last but not least it is so small I can be taken in a purse or (very) small bag.

I guess I am a low tech girl when it comes to toys ;)

Sexual fantasy - 30 days of kink

Day 6. Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy

I am not going to share any fantasy that is weird, obviously. I don't want anybody to think I am weird ;) On a more serious note, weird or interesting is in the eye of the beholder. You can decide whether it is weird or interesting. Or boring. Or cliche.

To me it is hot.

Enslaved

I am locked in a cage. The cage is in the corner of the room. I am naked and chained by my neck. In the room are three people, two men and a woman. They ignore me. If I make too much noise or annoy them in any other way they pull at the chain or hit against the cage. I have no idea how long I have been inside the cage. I can stand up and sit or lie down in it. The temperature is nice, I am comfortable being naked.

After some time, the woman walks up to the cage and orders me to stand up. I comply as quickly as I can because I know she has little patience. I am afraid of her, she likes to hurt me whenever I give her a reason. Or without any provocation from my side. She opens the cage and takes me to the shower. She turns on the tap and orders me to clean myself. The water is rather cold and I start washing. She watches me while I shave and wash my body head to toe. She tells me to caress my breasts, while looking her in the eyes. To touch my clit. It is very difficult to hold her gaze. I look away and she turns of the shower immediately and grabs me by my hair. Mocking me for not being able to hold her gaze. She takes me to a room with a bed and tells me to lie on my back with my legs open wide. I am shivering uncontrollably and ask her permission to dry myself. It is denied. She inspects my pussy to see if I have shaved properly. She finds some hairs and gets a razor. She shaves the hairs, threatening to hurt me with it if I don't start paying attention when I shave. The razor gets really close to my clit, I feel her hands and the cold touch of the razor on my mound. She puts away the razor and pushes three fingers in my pussy. Hard and deep. I moan. She tells me not to make a sound and gets a little whip. Made from rubber strings. She starts hitting me with it on my pussy. I struggle to keep quiet and not to move. The pain is too much and I try to avoid the whip. "Every time you move you get one more", she tells me calmly. "Start counting". Every time I say a number, she hits me hard on my pussy with the rubber. I am crying, trying to focus on the counting. Not moving an inch. When I reach 9 she tells me "one more" and lashes out. She tells me to turn around and she puts a butt plug in my ass. I am told to get up and she takes me to the other room where the two men are sitting in a chair.

I am told to pour all three of them a drink and to wait in the corner for instructions. One of the men notices that I am still wet and tells me to get a towel and dry myself in front of them. I get a towel and start rubbing myself. I start at the top, drying my hair and neck. Moving down to my breasts and tummy. They tell me to massage my breasts and one of them walks up to me and takes the towel. He moves the towel down to my pussy and rubs it. I flinch and try to stand up straight. I am not allowed to look him at him, so I look at the floor. One time I look up and he slaps me in my face. He has big warm hands that touch me all over my body. Hurting me and caressing me at the same time. I am completely focused on his body. He pushes me down to my knees and starts to fuck me in my mouth hard. I can hardly breath. I focus on relaxing my body and try not to choke. Once he pauses the other man joins in. He takes out the butt plug and starts fucking me in my ass. After they are both satisfied, they throw me a blanket and tell me to go back to my cage again. I walk back to it. The woman takes my leash and tells me to lie down and masturbate. She watches while I rub my clit. She tells me to cum and I obey. She laughs and locks the cage. I am left shivering, on the floor. I take the blanket and fall asleep.

Thirty days of kink - day 5

Day 5. What was your first kinky sexual experience?

I honestly don't know... I do know that my first kinky sexual experience was with my boyfriend in college. We were in a very intense relationship for about two years. He was not my first boyfriend. But it was the first time I really liked sex. I couldn't get enough.

Biting, tying my wrists to the bed, hitting me with his belt, threatening to cut me with a knife (mindfuck?), telling me to bend over and fuck me. Opening his zipper and telling me to suck his cock. Taking me to a bar (in a short skirt) to hit on other men. Telling me to undress and wait in the bed on my back with my legs open wide until he would come in and fuck me, fully dressed himself. Fucking me with a candle. Not being allowed to touch him sexually, unless he told me so. Telling me to shave my pussy, to wear sexy cloths. Denying me sex. Fucking me three, four times a day whenever he felt like it.

The first experience with him was either the biting or the belt. When we met the first time both of us were drunk. In fact, we were drunk most of the time when we had kinky sex. It was definitely not safe what we were doing. He was unhappy and insecure, I was unhappy and insecure. We did like each other a lot. I had never felt so close to anybody. Because of the sex and the way he was using me. Because we both felt different from other people. Because we understood each other. At the same time our relationship was very unhealthy. It became more violent and destructive over time. He cheated on me, I cheated on him. And told him all about it. He hit me in a bar once and he almost got beaten by some bystanders who were very angry with him for hitting me. I humiliated myself by calling him when he was with another girl. Or I would look for him in bars and if I found him confront him. And then leave with somebody I did not know. Just to get back at him. I missed days at my job. Lost my purse being drunk. Lost my contact lenses in the beds of strangers. We acted out in public. We were out of control. He would leave and the moment I decided I had enough, he would be back. And I caved and we would continue where we left of.

After some time I found the strength to end it. Really end it. Thinking back is a bit difficult. A lot of what happened and that I am writing here I had put away forever. I forgot about it. The same with kinky sex. In my mind kinky sex was tied to a very unhealthy relationship. So when I ended the relationship with my boyfriend, I buried my kinky self with it. For over 12 years as I wrote in my first post. Five years ago I exhumed it. This time in a healthy relationship. Where I am safe both physically and psychologically. Where we communicate. Where there is no alcohol to escalate things. And the kinky sex is even better than the first time. Something I did not believe was possible exists after all: a safe and exciting kinky relationship. I hope he found the same. Because he will always be very special to me despite or maybe because of all the misery we went through.