The Bite

My hard limits include needles and piercings. I am minorly afraid of needles having had multiple IV's and blood drawing encounters go horribly awry. I generally don't like any type of play that breaks through the barrier of my skin.

You can imagine my own surprise when I asked a favorite playmate to poke me with a  needle. I am sure she was more than a bit surprised, as at the last piercing party I attended I had to walk away, I simply became to scared.

The day of our play date arrived and I was slightly anxious, but also determined.

She looked at me from across the room and asked if I still wanted to go through with it. My jitters stopped cold and I froze.

"Yes."

"Would you like to see it?"

"Yes."

"Where would you like to have it?"

"Where would you suggest?"

"Do you want mildly sensitive or highly sensitive?"

"Can we go for mid-range."

Her response is a nod and a smile. She remains seated for a moment longer before rising and collecting gloves a needle and alcohol wipes. She pulls a chair up beside me.

"Put your arm in my lap."

I obey and she turns it so it is palm up. Tender white skin and pale blue veins in my wrist exposed. My hand is relaxed and open. I am breathing very shallowly.

Fear is fluttering at me with delicate wings.

She rubs the skin of my forearm with alcohol wipes. The spot chosen is midway between my elbow and wrist. My smooth skin is grasped gently between her thumb and forefinger.

The needle is poised to pierce.

"Take a deep breath in... breathe out slowly."

I obey, long slow breathing, she tells me again and yet again. On the third intake of air my body relaxes slightly, I release the air and she slides the needle through the skin of my arm.

Swirl.

I am cast into subspace immediately. I am looking at my arm resting in her lap. Slowly clenching and unclenching my fingers. I touch the pierced skin with my fingertips. The sensation in my arm is only a slight burn, not painful just very strange.

I look at the foreign object in my skin and my mind is completely blown away by it. She discusses with me how the needle is resting under my skin. Grabbing the ends she lifts away from my body and I can see the skin trapped by the hypodermic.

Tilt.

She twists the needle around as if it is the hand of a clock, moving the needle under my skin, stretching it and causing my entire arm to burn. She holds it at a turn of slightly more than halfway. I am gasping. She lets the needle go and it springs back. My skin is resilient and the hypodermic snaps back to it's original position.

I notice my arousal at this point, my nipples are hard and aching. My panties are very damp. I admit to myself how highly erotic this is.

There is a small droplet of blood on the pointy end of the needle, so brilliant and stunningly beautiful. My beautiful playmate leans in and kisses my lips, I am eager and return her kiss passionately. She is turning the needle again, this time she goes about seventy percent around.

My entire being reduces to that needle in my arm. I am the burn that radiates out and fills my body with the sweet ecstasy that only a rush of pure endorphins can produce.

The hypodermic is released and I gasp out that I am finished. The needle is swiftly removed.

I sit there panting as if I have just run for miles.

A moist alcohol wipe is placed gently over the two needle holes in my arm, the alcohol slowly resolving into a gentle burn as it cleans the tiny wounds.

I comment how it looks like I have been bitten. My friend laughs and says it is her bite mark. This makes me smile and glow with an inner warmth. I adore being marked and while it is a tiny nick it may be the most intimate imprint I have ever received.

The room slowly comes back into focus and I realize that our audience of two has been there silently observing the entire time. I had forgotten they were there.

We discuss other places for needle play and which places are highly sensitive and which places are to be avoided. Different types of gauges and different styles and methods are also discussed.

I am languishing now in the burn of the alcohol as she tenderly attends to the small wounds.

I know next time I will have her 'bite' in more stimulating spots.

This is a true testament to how much I  trust this person. Needles remain a hard limit with everyone except her.

Misrepresentation

I am having a very rough week, my core values and beliefs are being subjected to scrutiny and situations and circumstances are causing me to ask questions of myself.

I am reevaluating my life and where I need to be heading and what I should be doing to get there. I am discovering aspects of my life that are out of balance and need recovering. In doing this I am looking back over the last few years as a whole and reviewing interactions and outcomes. I am finding a distressing trend that I need to address.

I can not stand liars.

People who knowingly deceive for the purpose of manipulating situations to serve their own sick ends annoy the hell out of me.

It removes the ability to consent from the situation. It removes my ability to make a choice. If you tell me the situation I will have a choice, will you always get what you want? Maybe not, but both of us can walk away in the end unscathed by the encounter. Unlike when you lie or twist the truth, or omit things. I would rather hear bitter, brutal truth, than a stupid fluffy lie.

This does more than annoy me.

It tends to destroy my faith that human beings on the whole are good and honest. That honor exists and people have a moral compass that stops them from doing immoral things.

Here is the sad thing. I internalize all of this. I hold onto it. I think it is my fault and that I have some huge flaw that attracts dishonest people to me. I take these people into my life and show them compassion and caring and allow them entrance to my heart. I buy the stories they tell me or justify what I know is a lie because I want it to be true.

I want to believe.

I am naive.

On top of this I have become a deep dark well of desires and wishes and hopes, of secrets and dreams that others have told me in confidence. I honor that and guard their secrets, thinking that their right to confidentiality, their right to have a silent friend who will say nothing, supersedes my right to honesty.

I will keep your secrets. They don't hurt me in the end. In the end they only damage you.

Your fear of admitting who you really are, or admitting your true desires, serves to smother you and hold you down in bondage tighter than any rigger could tie.

Your misrepresentation of your fact, destroys my trust in you, and causes irreparable damage to any future relationships I may have.

Yes I am a pain slut. Emotional pain even has caused an erotic response in me. But this, is NOT pain I want. NOT pain I crave or need or desire in anyway. This cuts at my heart, and bleeds for a very long time. This is a scar that never really fades away.

What do I learn... love as freely as I like, but trust is something I will reserve for myself. A select few who have spent a long time earning my trust are permitted into this inner circle. A few may gravitate close to it but essentially if I don't know you, I don't trust you. If you try to push, I will walk away.

Enough.

Names

I have a thing for anonymity. I like to be invisible in my everyday life. I am very ordinary looking and can wander through crowds easily without anyone even noticing me. I once had a man I knew who worked as a guard tell me I should be a spy or something, because no one would ever see me. And no one would suspect who I am when the sun goes down.

I use my real name (or a version of it) in my kink circle. It isn't a lack of creativity, more a defiance thing, not allowing my vanilla world to dominate my kink world. Perhaps it is foolish, I have only been public for two years so I suppose only time will tell. It is my choice to use my name and I have no intention of changing my name, no I am proud to be kinky, and proud of the life I lead.

I am also not invisible when I am at events. I am loud and active and giggly and I wear clothing that is as far from the norm of black and red as I can get! I am the party girl and I am going to have a blast.

I do not name names when I write here. I think that would be horrible if I did that and removing consent from any scene I play in. People have a right to choose what they need in their lives. By posting a real name on this blog, I could change someones world forever. I am a firm believer that anything I put on the internet, or into any form of print, becomes public knowledge and I loose control of ever word that is typed at the moment I hit publish.

For the safety of my playmates, I would ask that if you know who they are you do not share the knowledge. This is merely a courtesy. To my playmates, if you would like to say HEY! the goddess wrote about me in her blog! Please feel free to share. It is your privacy after all.

I adore playing and I adore writing and being able to write about my play and share it with others who want to read it brings me buckets full of joy. It also happens to arouse me to no end to know I turn people on. Comments are always welcome and it tickles me to have someone comment on my blog. It's icing on my kinky cake. It feeds the greedy hungry exhibitionist in me to know I am watched.

So names in this blog are fictitious every time (including my own) and I appreciate every person who plays with me and consents in that play to me sharing the experience here.

Thank you.

Bits and Bites

I keep the shredded clothing from this scene in my closet as a reminder.

I am bound only by my wrists. I can move and squirm, twist and sway. I am fully clothed. There is a table filled with knives only one meter away.

I barely breathe, terrified of moving.

His eyes are sparkling as he picks up the first blade and holds it next to my face. He has my undivided attention. His voice is low and rough as he asks if I should move and I say in a quiet trembling voice, no. He asks why and I glance furtively at the blade, "it's sharp", is my breathless reply.

He responds with a nod, and runs the sharp tip down my jawline. I struggle to hold still. My skin in goosebumps as he runs the knife down my throat.

His gaze is so intent and I am whirling in my head, spun anxiously out between excitement and terror.

He begins cutting my clothes off. Blade poking through and scratching my skin as he cuts a bit off. He cuts more and more clothing free, the bits falling to the floor around us like leaves scattering off a tree.

I am drifting an ocean of emotions crashing through me. It all so surreal, his blades drag across my skin and I shudder at the sting of my skin being scratched and red lines start appearing. The blades are incredibly sharp.

The black blade he picks up, strikes fear inside me and I feel as if my core being is encased in ice. I tremble as he states threats in a clear calm voice. Unnerving me more is that voice that is so calm paired with those glittering eyes.

Depraved kinky man, torturing poor innocent me. Nevermind that I consented to this... I giggle softly at the craziness of it all.

My clothing is hanging in tattered rags, he has not exhausted his collection of knives. I dare a glance at the table as he steps away for the next one. He has many more to go.

Disbelief sets in, I was crazy to agree to this. One slip and I could wind up dead, or missing a body part! I start panicing and freaking out. He notices immediately and he is there just as fast. Calming me, telling me to breathe. My breathing slows and I look in his eyes. I trust him. I am safe.. relatively speaking!

He picks up a new knife, and cuts the rest of my clothing off. Naked now except a pair of cuffs on my wrists that are attached to the frame with sisal rope.

He is cutting through my skin with those sharp blades. Not to the flesh, just the first few layers of skin. Just enough to bring blood to the surface. I am shaking and flying high on the endorphines rushing through me like insane drugs.

His hand is on the rope, stretching me taller. I am on tip toe.

His hand flashes down, blade swinging...

The rope parts and I cry out, stumbling as my freedom is re-gained.

Blindfolded

This is a story I wrote about a year ago and published on a social BDSM site, I resubmit it here as it is a good piece and speaks to one of my interests very well.


“Do you trust me?” He has asked me this question a few times in the last month that we have been playing. And as slow as it is for me to learn trust, he has always paid attention to my limits and needs. Dangling from his hand is a blindfold; do I trust him that much?




“Yes Sir” I smile nervously up at him and feel my tummy flipping repeatedly. I wonder briefly if others at the party are watching this exchange. I am rather helpless at the moment tied firmly to this chair. I flex and shift a bit testing the ropes, no I can’t get out, only wiggle a bit from side to side.



“Good” he laughs (oh no! I think) as he slips the blindfold over my eyes. Sightless now I strain to hear him, the music is loud I can feel the vibrations in my feet, my legs are tied open and I am naked. The vibrations are coming up from the floor into the chair. I squirm a bit nervous, excited, and wondering.



I feel his breath on my shoulder and gasp as a clip is put on my right nipple, quickly followed by a clip on the left. They are tugged, gently at first and then hard. I feel the chain between them tugging at them as I groan.



I feel his breath on my thigh oh my god! What is he doing! I hold tense as I feel his fingers on my bald lips, his fingers rubbing over my clit. “Oh no please!” I cry out as I feel the clip clenching tight to my clit. It pulls suddenly and waves of pleasure mixed with pain course through me, I struggle against my bonds and realize that the clips are all connected and when I move they all tighten.



Now I hear his evil laugh, oh I must be a sight!



Gasping and trying not to move at all, I hear a zipper opening near my ear. Oh what is that! I can feel his warmth beside me and catch a sweet scent of perfume, is someone else helping him? Then suddenly a sharp cut across my breast. “EEEEEE” I cry out and struggle the clips pulling tight. Crying out again as I feel the pressure increase on my clit and nipples “Oh please no Sir!” I can’t help but struggle and feel the ropes biting into my skin. (How delicious) oh what is he doing it feels like a razor blade cutting me. Now I feel the light cutting down my tummy towards my lips. Struggling to hold still and biting my lip hard to keep from screaming.



The softest touch on my cheek a feel like a rose petal mm what is that? Turning my head to it and feeling the cut lower, now on my labia, senses reeling so lost between the two sensations. Floating now in painful ecstasy, I feel those soft touches undoing the clips and I scream, as the blood flows back into my nipples and clit. And I feel the sharp point pricking each nipple, I gasp right on the edge. Waves of pure pleasure wash over me as the sharp tip pricks my clit. I tense and shake hard calling out “Sir please!”



I drift for a moment and come back to feel the ropes being loosened, I am still sightless and a straw is pressed to my lips I drink greedily, murmuring my thanks. My hands are free and I slide my fingertips over my tummy to feel the cuts.. I feel only smooth skin. I pull off the blindfold to see him kneeling in front of me and chuckling as he unties my legs. There are only faint red lines on my skin, not even a scratch. If he had a helper she (it smelled like a woman) has withdrawn.





“OOO you are evil” I joke with him and he just laughs and tosses the ropes to the floor to wrap me in a warm hug. My body is still shaking and he caresses me softly, I kiss him, grateful and amazed that I am not mortally wounded. “What was that?” my curiosity getting the best of me. He laughs and points to a small zipper pouch and a glittering wartenburg wheel laying half inside it. “There now girl did you think I would hurt you permanently?”



I can only smile at him and offer to help him clean up, hoping we will play more later!