Archive for July, 2013

Spice is Nice

Posted in Polyamory with tags , , , on July 25, 2013 by michella74

It’s true; having Spice is so very nice.

For those of you that don’t know, I’m not talking about flavoring. In this particular context I’m using “spice” as the plural for spouse. Until recently, I had no idea of the second meaning, but it’s apparently become quite common for us polyamorous folks to use it this way.

So, why did I find this out?

Well you see, on July 8th The Biker and I exchanged rings in front of about twenty of our close friends. There was no pomp or ceremony. There was no officiant. We stood in front of our little chosen family and declared our love for each other as well as wish to remain in each other’s lives for a long time to come. It was beautiful. As you all know, we’re both legally married to other people so we’ve been through the “traditional” wedding experience. This time we were able to do whatever we wanted. We chose rings that had a special significance, we chose a setting that was beautiful, the people present were people we wanted there, the words said were meaningful and true. It was magical.

Many of the people we’ve told since then have asked us the same question: “What does that mean?” Each of them has the same look of concern and confusion cross their face, and if Panzer is present, their eyes inevitably glance at him. I can’t help but laugh when that happens. Being the smart-ass that I am, it’s difficult for me to not mess with them a little bit and announce that we’re leaving our respective spouses to live together on an island in the middle of the Pacific. So far, I’ve been able to contain myself and my standard answer has become that we married each other in our hearts since we can’t do so legally. The result of that question being asked of me so often for the past few weeks is that I’ve really spent some time thinking about what our ring exchange means for me. Obviously I’m not writing for The Biker, but I have NO doubt that he’ll share his opinion in the comments once this post is published.  *wink*

When we met nineteen months ago I had no idea what he would become to me. He was simply a sexy man wearing a kilt that happened to be at my favorite bar and happened to be a friend of one of my friends. Panzer and I were newly poly. I didn’t think this fun, flirty guy would become so important to me, but he did. He’s been there for me through ups and downs; he’s provided emotional support during some rough times; he’s made me feel loved and protected as well as caused me to feel protective towards him. I think of him when I wake in the morning and before I sleep each night. These are the EXACT same things and feelings that Panzer evokes in me. EXACTLY THE SAME. Therefore, it felt natural for me to want to make a commitment to him. No, we aren’t combining a household or making plans to retire in Mexico, but he holds a special place in my heart just as Panzer does.

For me, making a commitment to The Biker is more on an emotional level than anything else. In just the same way that I make sure to leave time in my schedule for Panzer, I now do the same thing with The Biker. I won’t cancel a date with either of them in order to spend time with someone else. I plan my week around the time I will spend with each of them. I take both their opinions into account when I’m thinking of doing something new (like the tattoo idea I’m currently tossing around). When either of them is upset or stressed about something, I’m there completely in whatever way they need me, and I can expect the same thing from either of them.

I have noticed a couple things since I married The Biker though. First, I actually feel like a newlywed. It seems strange since we’ve been together for so long already, but I know I’m letting him see more of my inner self and it feels like he’s doing the same thing. It’s like falling in love with him all over again and we’re both acting obnoxiously adorable. Second, I have had no desire to go out on any dates with anyone new. I’ve had the opportunity, but it just hasn’t appealed to me. My theory is that because we have finally reached a level of emotional intimacy that matches our physical one, I’m no longer seeking that connection with anyone – at least not right now. Who knows? Perhaps in the future one, or the both of us, will meet someone interesting, but right now, I’m completely content with my husbands.

The other thing that I’ve noticed is that Panzer seems to be reaching out to him more. I’m not sure if I just never noticed it before, or if it is a new occurrence, but it makes me smile. The Biker was so concerned about Panzer’s feelings when we began talking about the ring exchange. I think he was frightened that Panzer would feel slighted. I’ll admit that I wasn’t sure how the news would be accepted, but in true Panzer fashion, he was supportive and loving. He knows me better than anyone else and I think he saw that my love is sincere and not fleeting. He said to me recently (in somewhat different words) that he genuinely likes The Biker and is happy for my happiness. Yay for compersion!

I am somewhat sad about one thing though. (Yes, my poly life isn’t all sunshine and roses.) I still haven’t met The Biker’s wife. We’ve talked about it many times, and I understand the logistical reasons, but it still sometimes makes me uneasy. She knows how we feel about each other; she knows that he sleeps at my house at least once a week and we see each other at least three times a week; she knows that we exchanged rings, but I’ve never spoken to her. It’s strange for me. I’ve never been in a relationship like this. I know everyone Panzer has ever dated and have called quite a few of them friends. I’m sure I’ll meet her someday, but right now it still feels strange to me to NOT know her.

So my friends, what else was I wanting to tell you? Nothing really. I wanted to share my happy news with all of you. Perhaps one of you has been thinking about how to commit to a paramour. Perhaps one of you has a spouse that is going through this. Perhaps you’re just curious about my poly life. Whatever the reason you’re reading this, I hope you enjoyed it. 🙂

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Please don’t spare the rod

Posted in Kink with tags , , on July 11, 2013 by michella74

Oh, oh my….so Jade, you’ve chosen canes as this week’s KOTW. Let’s do this.

What can I say about them?

Wielded properly, they cause the kind of pain that makes my cunt wet; that makes me suck in my breath and allow the pain to flow through me; that makes me cry out and then whimper softly. It matters not at all whether the cane is large or small, or the material it’s made of. What matters is how it’s used.

Canes require so little physical effort and yet the results are almost immediate. They can be used to poke and prod. The blows can be slow, so the bottom has time to absorb the shock and pain or rapid, so the bottom can’t escape into sub-space. They can create slim welts that can then be further manipulated with pinwheels or knives or pinching fingers. They can cause deep bruises that don’t appear for several hours and last for a week. I see them as an all-around “must have” in any sadist’s toy bag.

My first real cane scene was with Panzer. He was interrogating me (another favorite of mine) and his torture device of choice was our tiny carbon-fiber cane. The diameter is no more than 1/8″ and it’s coated in some sort of soft plastic. It’s completely evil and I lust after it.

He beat me with it for an hour. He used it to put his initials on my inner thighs. He would swing it as hard as he could and let me absorb the pain. He would hit me softly in rapid succession until I begged him to stop so I could process the sensation. If you’ve never been hit over and over again with such a small cane for an extended period of time, I cannot sufficiently describe the sensation to you. Allow me to say that it was good that we were in a concrete bunker-style room with an iron door because I couldn’t hold in my screams by the end.

The Rigger has a bamboo cane that looks like the one Charlie Chaplin always carried. I once asked him to make me cry and gave him carte blanche to achieve that goal. I had no idea what weapons he’d pull out of his arsenal. Well, that cane appeared and played heavily in the scene. The strikes were much less “stingy” than our little cane, but no less vicious. He didn’t have to use much force in order to get results, and the bruises created by that cane went deep and lasted for over a week. *sigh* I miss that cane.

A few months ago Panzer had a stroke of brilliance. He came home from a trip to the drugstore with a cheap kite. I had no idea why until I saw him removing the slim fiberglass rods. The soft whistle that they make as they’re being swung at your naked flesh is absolutely delicious. Sometimes he’ll just swing them through the air near me while I’m blindfolded. That “sssswwiiisssshhhh” sound terrifies and excites me, but the sound is nothing compared to the feeling of being hit with them. The welts form almost instantaneously and the pain radiates through my body like ripples created when a pebble is thrown into water.

Recently The Biker, Panzer and I played together. The Biker picked up one of Panzer’s newer toys. It’s a two foot long piece of 1″ PVC pipe. Yeah…   Just imagine what kind of damage it can do. After hitting me with it just once, he decided that he needed to put it down. You see, The Biker has had a varied career path and wielding that pipe reminded him of the night he put a man in the hospital. Bringing that cane down across my back reminded him too much of that night. He wasn’t fond of the memories that flashed through his mind as he hit me across the back.

I still recall that hit, over a month later. Had I not been partially suspended, I would have fallen to my knees. It saddens me that The Biker had that experience with it, but I’m glad he tried it out. I’m also pleased that I was able to experience that hit. That particular cane has scared me since Panzer made it; scared and fascinated. I can now say for certain that I’ll enjoy it more when it’s used as more of a “thuddy” toy.

I don’t love canes solely as a bottom either. When I Top, canes make quite a few appearances. I can’t resist. I love the look of fear that appears on my bottom’s face when I pull my collection of canes out of my toy bag. I know exactly what kind of pain I’m about to inflict, exactly what sensations will flow through their body, exactly what the end result will be. When I watch the red welts appear on their flesh, my breath quickens, I flush, and I get so wet that I can feel the moisture run down my thighs. I crave the begging, the screaming, the tears. I’ve been known to giggle while I cane someone. I’m not even aware of it and a few of my partners have confided that the giggling is the most frightening part of the scene. Heh heh heh….that almost makes me happier than causing pain. *wink*

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Blades & Blood

Posted in Kink with tags , , , , , , on July 3, 2013 by michella74

My friend Jade chose the topic of knives as the Kink of the Week a few weeks ago. I wanted to link this post to her blog, but life intervened and I didn’t get it finished in time. After putting so much thought into it, I decided to post it anyway.

The click of a switchblade opening.
Cold steel warming against your skin.
A honed edge pressing against your throat.
The sting as your flesh is sliced open.
For some these words do nothing but cause panic; for me, they arouse. I’m a knife player. I love the fear. I love the blood. I love the scars.

To understand it, you have to know a little bit more of my history. At the age of eight I purposefully pressed a razor blade to my index finger and cut it open. I wanted to see what it felt like. The lack of pain was surprising, as was the effect the sight of the blood had on me. It was exciting; my heart raced, my breath quickened. Somehow I knew that I probably shouldn’t tell that detail to anyone. When I was sixteen I worked the switchboard at a museum on the weekend nights. It was a boring job, and gave me plenty of time and solitude to do what I liked. I would cut small geometric designs into my thighs with an X-acto knife. I loved being the only person that knew they were there. Between the ages of eighteen and nineteen, after a surprise pregnancy and subsequent abortion as well as a failed attempt at going away to college, I cut myself quite often out of misery. I’m not proud of that brief period of my life, but it’s a part of me. Eventually I realized that cutting wasn’t a healthy outlet for what I was feeling, but my fascination with blood and blades stayed with me even after I gave it up.

Almost three years ago Panzer and I went to a weekend-long kink event and I dragged him to a Bloodplay class. He was less than thrilled, but I couldn’t get enough. It was so exciting to know that there were many other people with the same fascination as myself. We watched a woman have an IV placed in her arm and then orgasm as her own blood was drizzled onto her naked body. It was one of the most erotic things I’ve ever witnessed. I couldn’t wait to try a bloodplay scene. Much to my dismay, Panzer wasn’t as aroused by the idea. He’s a little bit more squeamish than I am, and the thought of cutting me open did nothing for him. I was distraught. I thought I’d never get my scene.

Less than a year later, I got it. I found out that a friend of ours enjoyed playing with knives, blood, and fear, but didn’t have the opportunity very often. I worked up the courage and asked him if he’d like to scene with me at some point. He agreed, and a week later I was naked in a dungeon watching this man clean up a pool of my blood. He scared me, he hurt me, he gave me exactly what I wanted. For several hours I wasn’t 100% certain that I’d leave that room with all the skin I’d arrived in. I was completely terrified; so much so, that Panzer was worried for me as he listened to my screams. I still carry scars from that scene almost two years later and I consider them prized possessions.

Since then, I’ve made my love of knives and blood known to everyone I play with. Panzer is still a bit reticent to pull a knife on me, but he’s getting better. The Cop blindfolded me once and ran a straight razor all over my body. The Rigger once jumped out of a dark bathroom as I walked by, held a knife to my throat, and pulled me back into the room with him in order to molest me for a little while. The Biker carries a knife at all times and is quite fond of pulling it out at the bar and running the tip across my skin. He knows what happens go me when I hear the sound of a switchblade opening. He even has a special blade that he’s saving for our first knife scene together and I honestly cannot wait.

I’ve wondered many times what it is about honed steel that gets me wet. After much deliberation, I think it might be somewhat related to why I enjoy face slapping; having my caged submissive dragged out of me. When the edge of a knife is held to my throat, a wrong move could be fatal and at that point, I have no choice but to follow every instruction given to me by my Top. I’m forced to submit to their whims, lest I get seriously hurt. But there is still that eight year old girl inside of me that cut herself just to feel it, just to see the blood. She gets off on the thought that perhaps the blade will press a little too deeply and the blood will slowly flow. The sensation of it pooling in the wound, running down my skin, dripping to the ground; just thinking of it right now gives me goosebumps. Where this love of blood came from, I do not know. I’m sure that I never will. But I’m okay with that. I don’t always need to know the “why”. What matters is that I found a (somewhat) safer and healthier way to fulfill my desire for blood. What matters is that I know I can find people I trust that will hurt me, but not harm me.

The man that gave me my first knife and blood scene knows of my love for vintage lingerie. He cut seams into my legs from my ass to my ankles and two years later, I still have scars.

The man that gave me my first knife and blood scene knows of my love for vintage lingerie. He cut seams into my legs from my ass to my ankles and two years later, I still have scars.