Finding myself again

Posted in Kink with tags , , , , , on March 8, 2017 by michella74

For the past few months, I’ve felt that a huge part of my life has been missing and I’ve been attempting to discover both what’s missing, and how to get it back. So I began to write this post. As with all my writing, I do it to work through thoughts in my head, but if it helps anyone else, I’m pleased.

 

The “what” is easy – it’s kink. Every relationship I’ve ever had has been located somewhere on the kinky scale. Granted some have been higher on that scale than others, but without some level of physical pain or fear I quickly tire of the relationship. My relationships with both Panzer and The Biker have always been kinky, but for a few years now, the level of kink has dropped to no more than a few face slaps or a hand around my throat during sex. Compared to several years ago, when I was getting beaten or tied up at least twice a week, the kink has disappeared.

 

Why has it disappeared? Well, my world went sideways after a terrible breakup a few years ago and I retreated from kink as much as I could. Scenes became a reminder of how I was manipulated and used, how physically and mentally unhealthy I had become, how I had almost lost myself as well as my other relationships. I had to stop playing. I think that a part of me felt that I didn’t deserve the happiness that a good beating gave me. After all, I had let myself be manipulated; I had allowed it to happen; I was supposed to be stronger than that. But recently (a week ago, in fact), The Biker helped me realize that I was the victim. In order to move forward, I needed to stop blaming myself. Sadly, I also realized that by locking up the kinky part of my personality, by denying kink scenes to them, I had deprived both Panzer and The Biker of something they both loved and needed as well. Years later, I was still allowing that person to manipulate my actions and it needed to stop.

 

So what was it that I love about scenes. Why do I NEED them?

 

Obviously, part of it is that I’m just wired that way; I’m a masochist. I have been since before I’d ever heard that word. I once cut my finger open with a razor knife just to experience the sensation. I enjoyed playing rough games with the boys next door because I knew I’d get hurt. My sexual fantasies have always involved scenes of kidnapping, injury, bondage…all the “standards”.  A good way to torture me is to make love to me gently and touch my body softly. (I have to tell you though – the person I’m with should be prepared to get punched and cursed at if they try that.) Obviously, receiving pain plays heavily on whether or not I enjoy myself. But the need for the pain isn’t the only thing I miss.

 

When my partners and I are playing regularly, I feel extremely connected to them. A huge amount of trust is required. I have to trust myself to know when I’ve had enough, I have to trust my partner to know how to hit me safely, and my partner has to trust themselves enough to hurt me without harming me. All of that trust cannot be present without a great amount of love and intimacy. Over the past few years, without that, I’ve felt further from them emotionally.

 

For me, a scene is a journey. It starts with planning; each player searching for the path to be taken, discovering what demons to poke and what dark shadows in the psyche to explore. There is often laughter and smiles and always underlying love, but what we do is inherently dark in that we are looking to cause or receive physical or mental pain. A kink educator I know likes to say that when we do what we do, we are exploring the “dark pudding”. It’s been one of my favorite phrases since I heard it. When one of my partners beats me hard enough to bruise me or even draw blood, we are most assuredly exploring our dark pudding and emotional connections cannot help but be built.

 

Also, and this is pure vanity, I miss my badass days. When I was playing often, my pain tolerance was extremely high. I was constantly bruised, I could get caned for an hour and still want more. I rarely said no to any toy that Panzer or The Biker wanted to use. I felt like a badass. Now? Not so much. I can barely handle one good slap on the ass without wincing. I hit myself lightly with a small cane a few days ago and the sensation was both wonderful and frightening. Wonderful because I immediately recalled scenes in which I was caned until the skin was broken and welted for days, and frightening because I knew that I had barely swung the rod. It upsets me to admit that I can’t take the amount of pain that I used to. I want immediate gratification. I want to beg Panzer and The Biker to restrain me and have their way with me, but I can’t yet. And honestly, the idea of having to build up my pain tolerance again is daunting, to say the least.

 

But, I will persevere. I’ve already asked both of them to help me (not that it took much convincing). They’re both sadistic enough to enjoy the process of rebuilding my alligator skin. Panzer has already come up with a game in which I get to choose two out of three things: Toy, Location, Intensity. He gets to choose the 3rd. I think he’s delighting in knowing that I’m somewhat terrified every time I have to choose. The Biker hasn’t invented a game; he’s taking a more direct approach by man-handling me more and using his knowledge of human anatomy. He giggles when he manipulates my pressure points and nearly drops me to my knees. I usually end up giggling as well, after I curse him. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like we’ve discovered the correct path. Yes, it’s dark and it will require tears at some point, but the end of the journey will be worth it.

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Did we break them? Shit, I think we broke them…

Posted in Polyamory with tags , , on March 2, 2017 by michella74

We met The Gentleman and The Belle two years ago at a convention. I remember how attractive I found them both and how attracted The Biker was to The Belle. We talked about them often that weekend, QUITE OFTEN. *wink* Sadly, they seemed to be pretty damn monogamous, so we decided not to push. I’m terrible at flirting anyway and can never tell when someone is just being nice vs. trying to get into my knickers. The Biker was his standard type of flirty which involves a little bit of pushing, until he realizes his intended target isn’t going for it. But I digress. They were both fun and we enjoyed talking to them, so being nothing more than friends was perfectly fine with the two of us. And so, for the past two years, we’ve gotten to know them a little better online (since they live 9 hours from us) and were looking forward to seeing them and several other friends again at the convention this year.

The weekend started out a bit rough due to some miscommunication between The Biker and I. I will admit that part of the problem was that I felt ignored. (See, there are problems sometimes in poly relationships.) The Biker was just as happy to see The Belle as I was, and he was doing his best to show her. The Gentleman was – well – being a Gentleman and as I said, I’m terrible at flirting. I was feeling like a bit of an afterthought on The Biker’s part and that never ends well, so we spent most of Saturday working through that. However, by that afternoon, all was right in our world and we geared up for an evening of revelry.

It began with the offer of a bourbon I’ve been wanting to try for some time. The Gentleman has a love for Spirits and had picked up on my shared affection. He happened to mention that he had a bottle of bourbon in his room that I’d been wanting to try, and when my eyes lit up, he offered to go retrieve a drink for me. I was curious when he asked The Biker to accompany him on this drink run, but assumed an extra pair of hands was needed. They were gone much longer than they needed to be, which left The Belle and I together making small-talk with a few other friends. When The Biker returned, I could tell by the smirk on his face that he had information to share with me. He sat down, leaned close, and whispered that The Gentleman had been kicking himself for not acting upon his desires the night before. Then he added that I should expect that mistake to be rectified in the next few hours. *swoon*
Even though I’m terrible at it, I love the flirting stage. That initial rush of nervous energy is intoxicating.  You’re trying to decipher how the other person feels and you realize that they feel the same way. Those first nervous touches, holding eye contact just a little too long and wiling the other person to pick up on the wanton thoughts in your head. The mischievous grins, the winks, the playful teasing; all leading to that first shy kiss. And those delicate pecks then lead to necking like high schoolers in a dark corner of the room; the kind of kissing where your face ends up red and raw and you can barely breathe. The kind of kissing where your knees start to go weak and you find yourself wanting to devour the other person. Primal kissing – animalistic. That’s where the four of us ended up within a few hours after some bourbon, some wine, and some rum.

We invited them to join us in our room. Neither The Biker nor I had any expectations of what might happen between us. We didn’t want them to feel pressured. By asking them to join us in our room, we knew that if they got uncomfortable, they would simply have to say goodnight and and return to the many other parties that were happening. They acted like this was nothing new for them; neither one of them seemed nervous, there were no last-minute quiet discussions between the two of them. They accepted our invitation and the four of us left the party. We spent a little while sitting on one of the two small hotel beds, chatting, sipping our drinks, laughing together. And at some point the mood shifted; talking slowed down and desires were conveyed through touch alone.

The Gentleman did some very ungenteel things to me that night, and The Belle’s brazen advances would have made Southern women faint. There were many times when I completely lost myself in the sensations washing over me, but I never allowed complete surrender because I love watching The Biker with other women, especially women that I find beautiful. I have always found The Belle quite attractive, and being able to watch them together was titillating. He is an attentive lover and I adore being able to watch other women discover that. Observing how other men use me for their own purposes drives him wild and I know it. He loves when I prove that deep down I’m a whore. Knowing that he’s watching makes it even more exciting for me, which in turn, helps me release the wanton slut inside me. Part of me was expecting The Gentleman and The Belle to stop things before we went too much further, but that never happened. We exhausted ourselves and slept until the morning sun forced us out of bed.

There was laughter that morning while we searched through the many piles of clothes to make sure everyone had their belongings. Nothing felt strange or uncomfortable between us. It was as perfect a “morning after” as anyone could expect. (I can still remember the first time The Biker and I spent the night with another couple – the nerves, the small bit of awkwardness. I’ll have to tell that story another time.) Before breakfast The Biker told me what he had learned from The Gentleman the previous evening. He and The Belle had always been monogamous. When they’d met us two years ago, they started talking about non-monogamy. They had NEVER done anything like this before now, but had decided that we were going to be their first interaction if we’d have them. I remember saying, “Did we break them? Oh shit! We broke ’em!”

And now The Biker and I are hoping to visit The Gentleman and The Belle in the coming months. We seem to all want another night of licentious exploits.

I’m back!

Posted in Ruminations, Uncategorized on March 1, 2017 by michella74

Sometimes in our lives we need to break from our routines in order to discover what we truly need to survive. I realize that sounds a bit melodramatic, but I had to stop writing in order to decide whether it was something I *needed* or just something I enjoy doing. For me, it is apparently the former.

I don’t currently know how often I’ll be updating, because making myself stick to a schedule will just instill resentment, but I will be writing again.

So….welcome back ME!

Apparently definitions vary…

Posted in Ruminations with tags on February 24, 2014 by michella74

This post is kind of a brain purge. It’s short and I’m mostly talking to myself, but feel free to comment if you have any insights.

monogamy: noun

1. Marriage with only one person at a time.

2. The practice of having only one mate.

3. The practice of marrying only once during life.

flirt: verb

1. To behave amorously without serious intent

2. To show superficial or casual interest or liking

Those are the definitions on the Merriam-Webster website. I disagree, and recently have had cause to question whether I’m the only one that would. Three years ago, I was monogamous. I did not kiss, fondle, or fuck anyone but my husband. I flirted, but to quote a friend of mine, my flirting did not look like foreplay. Flirting was harmless joking, perhaps even a touch on the arm, but nothing more than that. In the past three years, I’ve met several people that call themselves monogamous, but apparently feel that anything other than fucking someone else, is staying true to their partner. I’m intrigued by this.

Do most monogamous couples have “agreements” about how far is too far? I know many that have an OPR (One Penis Rule) when it comes to the bisexual female in the couple, but I’m seriously curious about the other rules (and workarounds) that people come up with. And what about people that justify making out with someone other than theirpartner by claiming that their relationship is bad? Again, that just seems like the wrong way to go about fixing things.

*shrug*

If the shoe fits…

Posted in Kink with tags , , , , , on January 27, 2014 by michella74

I’ve written a bit about my masochism, but I realized that I haven’t shared much about my other fetishes. It’s time to remedy that so I’ve chosen to write about my most obvious (for anyone that knows me) fetish first.

SHOES!

$995.00 Christian Louboutin heels that I adore.

$995.00 Christian Louboutin heels that I adore.

I don’t just mean high heels either. I love flats, boots, sandals – basically anything but tennis shoes. My fetish isn’t limited to women’s shoes either. I’m just as likely to follow a pair of men’s dress shoes down the street, as I am a pair of 5″ stilletos. And yes, I’d be following the shoes, not necessarily the person wearing them. In fact, I’ve done it. I feel I need to state that my love is for the shoe, not the foot that is wearing it. People always assume that I have a foot fetish, but it just isn’t so. I don’t remember a time that I wasn’t drooling over this pair or that. I’ve never been able to walk past a shoe display without looking at each pair. The form, the artistry, the materials; it all excites me. When I see a beautiful pair of shoes I simply MUST look at them. The shoes that a person is wearing is the first thing I notice about them. If the shoes are good, I’ll continue to look. One night I stopped a woman at a bar and asked her if I could take a photo of her heels.

I also love shoes because of what they do to me. When I wear any of my 5″ heels, I stand at 6’2″. A woman that height with the kind of curves I have, gets some attention. In fact, the only time that I don’t mind being a bit of an exhibitionist is when I’m wearing a new pair of heels. I love how they make me walk, how they make me stand, how my legs look in them, how most people have to look up to me, and most importantly, how they make me feel. Wearing heels, especially if the heel is 4-inches or higher, makes me feel powerful. As a Switch, the pair of shoes I’m wearing can put me in either a Top or bottom headspace. When I wear my knee-high 4″ heeled black leather boots, I’m immediately in a mood to kick a little ass. If I’m wearing my 6″ hot pink vinyl heels, I’m going to feel more vulnerable and will easily bottom to someone because I know I can’t get away from them. If I’m wearing my oxblood Dr. Marten’s, I’m feeling tough and a little butch. But once I change into my 3″ black patent Mary Jane’s I’m a delicate flower. I think if people realized what a pair of shoes can do for your frame of mind, they’d be more appreciated.

Some shoe fetishists NEED them in order to climax. I do not. However, a good pair certainly makes things more exciting. I was in a class once presented by Midori (if you’ve never heard of her, look her up). Someone asked her to define a fetish and as she has a shoe fetish as well, she explained it something like this:
“I can think of the hottest, wildest, nastiest, best sex I’ve ever had. It’s fantastic, but if I add a pair of police boots to that? Now we’re talkin’! It was already good, but picturing those police boots as well just put it over the edge.”
That’s what my fetish is like. By throwing a beautiful pair of Steve Maddens or Christian Louboutins into the mix, the “HOT” factor skyrockets. I’ve been fucked doggy-style while my hair was being pulled in such a way that I had no choice but to stare at a slideshow of photos of women wearing heels. The fucking and the hair pulling were already amazing, but watching all those gorgeous shoes as well made the experience phenomenal.

I’ve always wondered if the majority of shoe enthusiasts are masochists. The others that I know in my community are most certainly pain sluts. I mean, think about it. When I wear a pair of 5″ heels, I’m changing my center of gravity, my toes are most likely squeezed into as much of a point as I can get them, my calf muscles are being forced to work overtime, the balls of my feet are now carrying most of my weight. It’s not easy to wear such high heels for more than an hour, but I do it at least once a week and I love it. I’ve worn shoes a half-size too small for hours simply because they were too pretty to not buy. I don’t know of any other shoe fetishist that hasn’t done the same thing. I guess we’re all a little mad. *grin*

Sometimes I wonder if part of the reason The Biker has bought me 10 pairs of shoes in the last year is that he knows how uncomfortable heels can be. He’s fully aware of my special relationship with pain, as well as my love for extremely high heels. Yes, he makes me happy by gifting me new shoes, but he also gets the satisfaction of seeing me grimace occasionally when my feet start to hurt. He knows that I have a rule about not taking off my heels until the end of the night, so he gets to watch me torture myself and then reap the rewards at the end of the evening. (Have I mentioned how evil he can be?) He and Panzer also love that my tits are at eye level for them once I’m wearing most of my heels. It gives them easy access. Most women in my acquaintance that also love heels have at least one sadistic benefactor. It’s sometimes necessary. Pretty heels are expensive! The pair of Christian Louboutins that I’m currently in lust with come with a price tag of $995.00. Yes – roughly $500 a shoe and if I had the money, I’d not hesitate. At one point, I even considered becoming a video Domme and filming custom clips in exchange for shoes.

These were all gifts. The Biker has given me nine pairs in the past year.

These were all gifts. The Biker has given me nine pairs in the past year.

As a self-proclaimed shoe whore, there are several things that make me sad. When I see a woman that cannot walk in the heels that she’s wearing, I just want to pull her aside and give her lessons. When women take off a beautiful pair of heels halfway through the night and either switch to flats or walk around in bare feet, I shake my head in disbelief. When people say things like, “They’re only shoes” or “How many pairs of black heels do you really need” or “They just aren’t practical”, I don’t even bother trying to explain. They’ll never understand. They might eventually reach a point where they tolerate my fetish, but they’ll never truly get it.

My entire shoe family as of January 2014.

My entire shoe family as of January 2014.

Am I broken?

Posted in Kink, Ruminations with tags , , , on January 20, 2014 by michella74

So this is odd.

I haven’t had a good, hard scene since July. I’ve had fingers wrapped tightly around my throat while I was being fucked. Panzer has tied me up once or twice before he had his way with me. The Biker has forced orgasm after orgasm out of me until I begged him to stop. None of this is what anyone in The Community would call a scene though – we just call it normal sex. *grin* I hadn’t really thought about it until recently, but now that it’s popped into my head, I find that I’m dwelling on it.

A year ago, I was getting a scene at least once a week. Either rope, humiliation, breath play, fear play, electrical play or canes, but now…nothing. The last scene I recall is the night Panzer and The Biker co-Topped me, made me weep, and actually use my safeword. That scene haunts me. I’ve used my safeword once, perhaps twice in all the years I’ve been playing. I’m not the heaviest masochist that I know, but I’m stubborn and I can take quite a bit of pain. That night was…different. I had asked them to make me cry, to hit me so much and so hard that I wept. They did.

But recently I can’t help but wonder if that scene broke me.

Up until this past summer, I used heavy scenes as a type of stress relief. If I was upset about something and needed to work through it, being abused was the means to an end. It was cathartic. After the scene was over, I could rebuild myself mentally as well as physically. The Biker has mentioned several times in the past couple months that he’s been craving a hard scene with me. Each time he mentions it, I’ve told him that I’m not in need of the catharsis that it provides. What I’ve realized lately however, is that I’m not being completely honest.

There is a part of me that wants it, but there is also a part of me that is, well…frightened. What if I can’t take that much pain anymore? What if I panic and safeword just a few minutes into the scene? And then, the worst fear of all…what if I don’t enjoy it anymore? Maybe I should just force myself to scene with either Panzer or The Biker (or perhaps both). I’m just not sure. What I do know is that I feel like part of me is missing. I haven’t even really felt like Topping anyone lately. Again, a year ago, I was Topping in a scene every couple weeks. It was something that I needed in order to feel sane.

In fact, that just might be the reason why I’ve felt so “off” for months. Wow…I hadn’t thought about that until just now. I’ve been having a rough time lately, feeling lost, like I’m alone. Could the lack of kink play in my life be part of the cause? This is going to require more thought. Stay tuned…

#polyproblems

Posted in Polyamory with tags , , , on January 19, 2014 by michella74

An amusing thing happened yesterday.

Panzer and I met The Biker for lunch at a fast food chain. We arrived just a few minutes before The Biker, and were ordering our food when he walked in. He came up to me, gave me a kiss and got in line just one person behind us. I didn’t even think about it. While waiting for our orders, we sat in a booth and talked. It was The Biker’s birthday, but I had arrived with Panzer, so I put Panzer on my left, inside the booth and The Biker across from me. This way, I could hold Panzer’s hand while touching the leg of The Biker with my own leg. I’m not ashamed that I love both of these men and consider them both my husbands, but I realize that for most people, our arrangement is odd, if not evil. So keeping that in mind, I make concessions when I’m out with both of them. I try to choose who I’m “with” in order to keep the stares at a minimum.

Apparently yesterday, I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.

Our order number was called and I walked up to retrieve it just moments before The Biker’s was called. When he reached the counter, the very confused young lady told him that I had just picked up our order. She had seen him kiss me. It was so cute. Part of me just wanted to whisper to her that I was, indeed, with both of them. I thought better of it and just chuckled to myself.

It did make me wonder though how many other people were attempting to figure out the relationship between us. I wasn’t making out with either of them, but I was touching them both and flirting with both of them. (Yes, I still flirt with them. We’re married, not dead.) The three of us were sharing French fries and socializing together. When we left, the guys hugged and Panzer went to my car so I could walk The Biker to his and give him a birthday hug and kiss. After driving off with Panzer, I couldn’t help but looking back to see if the people in the restaurant were staring out the window looking confused. They weren’t…not that I could see anyway.

I love having these sorts of “problems”. Two wonderful men are in love with me, and I’m in love with both of them. How awful. *grin*