It started with Tupperware. (But then, all of my scenes start with Tupperware.)

I was helping clean up after a large and tasty dinner created by RP. Another guest was having trouble fitting a warped lid on a container. I was asked to perform my manly duty and force it into the proper position. I managed to prevail after some struggle. All the while, RP made some good-natured dom-ly comments to egg me on during my exertion. “Why haven’t you gotten it yet? Do you know what’s going to happen to you if you can’t.” That sort of thing.

I fitted it, and got it ready for storage. Then she told me: “ask my submissive for her keys, and put it in her car.”

There was no mistaking the tone in her voice. It was an order. And I bristled. I hate being given orders.

I knew RP, but not terribly well. And she didn’t know me, except for my typical get-things-done demeanour earlier in the day. It’d be easy to mistake me for submissive. Or, perhaps she was just seeing how much she could get away with.

Either way, I wasn’t going to play by those rules. But I wasn’t angry; it was a fun spark struck in my mind. I paused, and gave her a look.

She picked up on my disobedience immediately. I think she was hoping for that reaction.

“Ask my submissive for her keys, and put it in her car.” Same tone, more definition. No anger or frustration — just command.

Oh, but I heard you the first time. Stand up straighter. “Now you know I can’t do it when you ask like that.” Big grin.

She came in closer, dark eyes flashing, just below mine. “You are going to do as I say, because I tell you to. Ask my submissive for her keys, and put it in her car.”

“No.”

“Do you think that I can’t make you do what I want?”

She ran her hands to my biceps, grabbed two fingers full of flesh, and squeezed — hard. It hurt, but it was tolerable. Not backing down was worth the pain. I set the container down.

“I’m not going to do it when you talk like that. Ask nicely.”

She moved under my shirt and did the same to my nipple. Still more pain; still I took it. I made no attempt to stop her. Deep breaths.

“I don’t ask nicely.”

Then when she pincered my raw nipple between the tips of her fingernails. I had to pull away; It was too much. Fuuuuck. Stand up straight again, recompose.

“Ask my submissive for her keys, and put it in her car.”

“No.” Heart and mind racing.

She came at me, grabbed my upper arms with her hands, and began to force me around.

Here’s where the practical part of my mind reared its head. We were in very tight quarters with the things around us: tables, chairs, food, people; no place for a scuffle. But not far away there was an space against the door, out of the way of anything breakable. I locked arms with her and shuffled us off in that direction; she figured out what I was doing and followed along. Once in the right spot we slipped back into the scene.

She held my wrists against the door, above my head. I was in a submissive position to be sure. I had enough strength that I knew I could break out — but why would I want to do that?

She came in close, voice husky and menacing. “I used to bottom for [DW]. I can take any pain, and I know how to give it too. You’re not going to win.” Our noses brushed against each other briefly.

“Maybe not. But I’m not going to do it.”

Then she slapped me across the face.

For a lot of people, face-slapping is taboo, or at the very least edge-y play. It can be very humiliating and emotionally intense. It’s one of those things that you tread lightly around, negotiate, communicate, forewarn. None of that happened here. It came out of the blue.

But it didn’t phase me. Not at all. I recovered immediately, sensing pressure but no pain. Realizing that I could shrug it off made me feel even more empowered. So I let her do it again. I may have even mentally dared her. And she did, several times. Each one brought me an extra bit of pride as it deflected off my ego.

But she had upped the stakes. Now it was time to call.

The next slap I blocked; her arm bounced off mine. I grabbed her arms, forcing mine inside of hers. I squeezed; she didn’t stop. She tried to reverse my hold on her, but each time I pulled out of it. I grabbed her by the shoulders to try and force her back to me — a more submissive position, from which she couldn’t easily fight back. From there, I maneuvered my arm around her neck in the beginnings of a choke-hold (taking care not to actually put pressure on her windpipe; that’s a very dangerous move). I had it, but only briefly; she pulled out of it and renewed her attack.

RP is a buxom, powerful woman. For me, she’s the perfect partner for this sort of rough play. She’s not male, which is important for me; while I’ve improved my attitudes towards men when it comes to sex and BDSM, I’m still not completely at ease with the idea. Had a man tried this scene with me, I think I would have had a very different (and negative) reaction.

She is not dainty either. She’s strong, and knows it. She boasted about her pain tolerance. She threw the first (figurative) punch. That helped remove my trepidation about breaking a woman. She could take it — and so I could let myself go.

We sparred for a while. I grabbed her by the hair (one thing she couldn’t effectively do to me) and pulled her down and away. This didn’t phase her, and she escaped it too. At one point she dug her fingers into my neck, right where it meets my collarbone. This was… interesting. It wasn’t as painful as the attacks she inflicted to my arms and chest. It felt… bright. (It might have been some sort of synesthesia.) And it was somehow pleasant, in a novel way. I’m guessing she hit some sort of nerve bundle. When she did it a second time, I could feel myself letting it happen — and wanting it to happen. But only for the briefest of instants.

When we found ourselves matching evenly on physical jabs, she switched to mental ones.

“Do you think you have what it takes to beat me? I was a bottom for a long time. I can take more pain than you know.”

It was true too, as best as I could tell. She wasn’t flinching from anything I threw at her. I tried to hit one of her pressure points (I had been in a workshop for pressure point play not a week before). This failed miserably, and I earned a laugh from her for my attempt. (Mental note: study this more for next time.) Still, I wasn’t intimidated by this, so she changed tactics.

“My sub is over there, watching and enjoying this. What is yours doing? Are you going to let her watch this?”

This is what got to me. B had seen us start to play, and had given me a quick “Are you OK with this?” when it had begun turning into the scene that it did. I wasn’t at all sure how she was feeling about this scene, and I couldn’t see where she was at the time. I wanted to check in with her — that meant giving up. It caused a conflict in me, and I could manage it — but it was tougher than anything else I’d taken so far. It was the right button to push — albeit a bit of a dirty one. But all is fair in love and war — and here we were, playing at both.

We kept this up for a while, and it was fun, but it ended up in a bit of a stalemate. I wasn’t giving it all that I could, and I’m pretty certain she wasn’t either. (I kept expecting a knee to the groin that ultimately never came. Thanks for that, BTW.) There simply wasn’t room to go full out. And it was starting to get repetitive.

So, eventually, I acquiesced. I stood up, said “you win”, and gave her a hug to show her and everyone else that it was All Good. Then I went over to her submissive, and asked for her keys. End of scene.

She may have “won.” But I sure didn’t feel like I had “lost.” That’s one of the beauties of BDSM; it’s not a competition, but an infinite game where everyone can win.

It was an amazing scene from out of the blue. I was up for hours that night, replaying it in my head — and deciding how I’d write this post.

So, I may not be a masochist, but I’m definitely going to continue calling myself a switch. For a while I was beginning to wonder.

The past couple of weeks have been difficult ones for me. I felt very distressed and out of control of life. I was in need of some sort of release from my tension — something to break the emotional logjam that I found myself in.

Fortunately, B was more than willing to help me find what I was looking for. Not only is she an experienced bottom, but she also has a good deal of switch to her as well.

We negotiated a few days in advance. She asked for lots of feedback from me: harder, softer, different spot, new toy. I can completely understand that, but at the time I wanted one thing most of all: to be done to, without having to think about it (as much as could be done while still playing safe). I wanted to let go of everything — but B rightfully needed to know how I was handling things. We agreed to compromise as best as we could.

Playtime came. I was definitely in a different mental space than usual. I didn’t want to take any actions. I asked her to undress me first; this is a departure where usually she’s naked, either by my hand or my direction. She thought that this was a bit Dom-like at first, but really it was me just wanting to get into the submissive headspace. She stripped me down, turned me over, and tied my arms and legs to the bed.

It’s amazing how a bit of rope can mean so much. Wearing the rope cuffs feels secure; having them then tied down feels pleasantly restricting. I can describe the reinforcement of the submissive state that it brings me, but there’s something else I feel that’s more nebulous. I really want to explore that further, both as a top and a bottom.

After checking in with me, B started my spanking session. She started off with a slow warmup, knowing that I don’t have the pain tolerance that she does. She asked if I wanted to know what she was using, and I refused, but I recognized the riding crop, wooden spoon, lexan cane, and wooden shoe horn, as well as her bare hands. Each felt different against my skin, but ultimately they came down to one thing: pain.

I generally try to avoid pain. The first time I bottomed with B, I had the option of saying “stop” at any time. I used this as soon as I felt the burning. In my mind, at the time once it started to feel “unpleasant”, there was no point in continuing, so I would ask to stop.

This time was different. I wanted the intense experience. I went in with the intention of not stopping things until it was truly unbearable. I still didn’t know exactly where that was, or how I would react, but I was determined to last longer than before.

I still called out “stop”, but this time B knew to not listen. In addition to “red” as a safeword, we have a number system from one to ten. One means “I barely feel that”; ten means “stop now, scene over.” Nine means “time to stop… but maybe just one more.” (B actually called out a 0.5 after one of my flubbed hits; that immediately earned her a level-eight on the next attempt.)

When she beat me, I would call out “no” and “stop,” expecting and wanting it to continue. It felt good to do so, and I’m not really sure why. I knew full well that I was asking for the pain, and could really stop it at any time — but screaming unheeded negatives still satisfied some sort of inner calling I had.

She took me up the intensity levels one by one. Call out your numbers. When we get to six, then we’ll stop. Are you doing OK? Good, now let’s go to seven. Are you ready to try eight? Time for a break. Now, we’re going to nine. I answered “no” to most of her questions and commands, but we both knew what that meant. Five was pleasant, six was painful, seven hurt a lot, eight was excruciating, and at nine I couldn’t think about anything else.

Sometime around seven was when I started crying.

B talks about how receiving pain lets her be honest. Nobody judges someone who is being beaten that severely, so she can be free to do whatever she needs to in that moment; cry, laugh, scream, swear, beg. Who will criticize you when you’re going through that?

I know what that means now. In the middle of a scene like that you can let go of (almost) all the pretense, expectation, and facade that you carry. And that was something I needed to do.

It’s not an easy thing admitting it. Even past the masculine stereotypes, I don’t like crying or saying that I do. I debated writing about it here. But I want this to be an exploration, and that means peaking into certain places precisely because they are troubling. Once I decide to write, I’m forced to find out what and how, and that can lead me to new things. Like this paragraph, for instance.

When it was over, B asked whether I had enjoyed it, whether I had fun. The best answer I had was “It was what I wanted.” I didn’t like crying; the pain didn’t turn me on. It was not pleasant or happy or anything else normally positive. But I felt much better after than I did before it began. I was relieved. It did what I wanted it to do. And I was very happy for that.

A asks:

I was wondering, if you choose to share, how you had adjusted to L leaving for an overnight trip with Someone Else. If you found a way through that fear – or if you didn’t – and whether it changed things for you, or her, or your marriage. What are you scared of? And, knowing fears are born of dark imaginings and not always evidence, how do you counter it?

A is referring to my post on L’s overnight trip, “On Her Way.”.

First, I do have be a bit of a tease. There are some things related to that event that I won’t discuss, but are very significant. Maybe someday. Not now.

Unfortunately the rest of my explanation is somewhat dependent on the above secret. So you won’t be able to get the full story. But I’ll try to make do.

I wouldn’t quite describe my emotions when I wrote that post as fear, though that was part of the mix. It was more like loss. I felt partly empty as she left. She is what fills me up inside, and when she left to go with Someone Else, I could feel the gap.

The way through it was simply to soldier on. I wrote that post minutes after she left, and it helped a bit. I received some supportive comment from friends, and that helped too. Then I pushed myself into the workday. Distraction might not be a long-term solution, but I don’t know of anything better when I need an immediate effect. I had a great lunch with another friend that day too, and then a chat in the evening with B.

By the end of the day I was feeling bolstered enough that I could get through the toughest parts without too much trepidation: coming home to an empty house, talking to her on the phone while she’s away, and then going to bed alone.

I was reflecting on this today in fact. Having multiple partners of your own implies that they have multiple partners too. Logistically, that means that you run the risk of being without a partner at any given time; schedules get too complex to ensure that you’ll be with partner B when partner A is away. (No alphabetical puns intended.) So, there’s a bit of a paradox: to be successful at having multiple partners, you have to be OK with being alone. Not being bound by exclusivity means that you can expect that of others either, and eventually the stars will align such that you’re on your own.

Fortunately, that’s not a problem for me, so I can manage it — especially if I know it’s temporary. And that’s the other major part of how I worked though her absence: I knew that she was coming back the day after. Gradually, I’ll be able to work up to longer periods of too. We’ve already been separated before for multiple weeks (due to family duties). Being separated due to another person is something I’ll be able to accept — as long as its temporary. If it was permanent, it would be a different story entirely.

Our marriage has been rapidly changing as we walk down this path. This overnight trip was simply one step on it. It wasn’t a revolutionary event — and I’m very glad for that. I don’t want big shocks, as nobody knows what might shake the structure to the ground. Small ones we can handle.

I have three criteria that determine when I write:

1. Something interesting to write about.
2. Time to do so.
3. Personal energy to put into making a good post.

Since I’ve started living the Lifestyle, I’ve had no shortage of ideas. There’s lots to talk about.

That’s actually part of the problem when it comes to time: I’m doing so much (play, munches, and generally being sociable) that there’s less time to write about it. But that’s not the largest factor; I can find the time to write if I really want to.

My energy is the biggest component. It takes a lot of drive to pour my heart and mind into a post worth reading — and I don’t want to put out anything less. This has been the reason I haven’t been writing lately: I haven’t been feeling up to the task.

My worries about the near future, primarily with regards to my work, have spawned a lot of tension and anxiety within me — and that had sapped a lot of my strength. On my hierarchy of priorities, writing is fairly far down the list, and so it falls by the wayside. I just didn’t feel like writing, even though I had lots to talk about and friends eagerly awaiting my latest work.

This feeling comes in cycles. Sometimes I’ll have periods of great joy enthusiasm for everything, and sometimes I’ll be so mired in abjection that almost nothing lightens my spirits. Each phase will last for a few days to weeks. There’s probably a neurological component to it, though it’s also very situational. Fortunately it’s nothing so severe or debilitating as real bipolar syndrome, though there are similarities; for now I’m calling it “being moody.” Looking back, I’d say that I’ve been like this all my life, and I’ve pretty much accepted that I probably will be for the rest of it too.

The bad news is that there will, again, come a time when I “go dark”, don’t write, and am not very fun to be around. The good news is that, I think, I’m past another cycle, and can move forward.

Ok, I’m done with that. Now, on to some better stuff.

L just left for her first out-of-town, overnight trip with Someone Else.

Was fine with it when it was proposed. Was fine with it up until today.

Still a bit sad when she walked out the door.

But everything is OK. This will pass. Today is going to be a good day for me too. And she’ll be home tomorrow.

I love you. Be safe. Have fun. Come home soon.

Milenala asks:

At this point, after all of the work you’ve been doing preparing for this moment, do you think there’s anything that would “get to you” about her experiences? Do you have any … fears or uneasiness left?

Short answer: hell yes.

But I can’t leave it at a short answer, of course.

Firstly, I think I should write about “preparing for this moment.” I wouldn’t call it such. Really, this has been a whole series of moments; they run together so much that they’re better described as a continuous experience. This isn’t just a one-time event; we are both in this for the long haul. It’s really an entire lifestyle change.

Secondly, I don’t think I’ve really done much “preparing.” Sure, I thought about the whats and the whys and the whos before things happen. But I’m trying very hard not to analyze every play in advance. I’ve done that excessively (and obsessively) in the past, and it doesn’t help. Things never turn out that way anyway, and it brings me plenty of anxiety along the way. So with this, I’ve deliberately forced myself to take things as they come. I certainly haven’t been perfect at this, but I’ve managed to get most of the way there.

At some level, pretty much every one of her “experiences” gets to me. I can push those negative emotions aside, because:

• It means I get to have experiences too. It’s all about fair exchange. And I’m the one who asked us to try this in the first place.
• I (have begun to) believe and understand that there doesn’t have to be Just One. For anything. Getting past the idea of Only One changes everything. All of the rules are rewritten.
• I know that, no matter what happens with others, there’s still a place for me. A very important place in fact.
• I get to see her happier and more full of life. That brings me happiness too. She gets to see the same in me. Our total joy is higher, despite the angst.
• The anxiety lessens over time. This is especially true once you see Things Happen and the world doesn’t come to an end. Each time our relationship doesn’t end, we gain a bit of trust and belief that everything is OK. That helps a lot. It also brings hope; today was better than yesterday, which suggests that tomorrow will be better still.
• Philosophically, I think trying to control someone’s actions is wrong, and that extends to Who You Are Allowed to Fuck. Exclusivity, when you boil it down, is a fundamental restriction on freedom. Of course, there are practical limitations on this, but if we can eliminate “I can’t bear to let you be with someone else” as one of them, then we’re all better off.

There’s still things that bother me greatly. Could I really watch her cum with another man? Can I let her go on a multi-day trip with one of her partners? (Several have asked.) Can I let them lavish her with expensive gifts? What if she falls in love?

I can feel my gut tense as I write each one of these.

But I’m OK with that. I know that that’s the visceral reaction. I know that my gut doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with reality. So I push through it. Not only do I let go of my fears, I hold their heads underwater.

This is what I’ve done so far. It’s worked. So it’s what I’ll do next time too.

Also, for all my readers: keep in mind that I often write to work through my own anxieties. That means there will tend to be many posts that have a somber tone to them. But there’s also more upbeat times like this one. Often they won’t warrant a post — but I’ll try to change that. Eventually the balance will tip almost completely over to the good side.

She has a new friend whom she really likes. They’ve been dating for a week now and started to play a little. And its his birthday coming up. You know what that means.

She’s been talking about this for days now. I can see the excitement bubbling within her. And it doesn’t bother me any more. I’m happy for her. And she’s happy for me and my Other.

She wants their first time to be really special. She’s bought some new sexy clothes for the occasion. And now she’s trying to decide what combination to wear. I’m helping her pick. Pick the clothes that she’ll wear to fuck another man. Unbelievable. Yet not a big deal.

“How is this?”

“Nicer than the last one. Add that necklace and you’re set.”

“And how about the garter and stockings?”

“Oh, he’ll definitely like those.”

She’s looking at herself in the mirror, smiling. She’s such a different person now; much more confident in how she looks. That came about before she started chatting with other men, and also as a result of their attention. It’s the sort of thing that feeds itself.

“So what are you going to do when you get there?”

“I don’t know.”

This is her being coy. A few days prior she sent him a steamy email story about the things she said she’d do to him. I helped her write it. She has a powerful imagination of her own, and knows how to use it. Eventually I drag some details out of her.

“I’m going to do this.” She hikes her skirt up a bit so I can see the tops of her stockings… and the bare skin where her legs meet her ass.

“And then what?”

She bends over and runs her hands down her legs to her ankles. Her skirt rises to expose her ass. I know that, beneath her panties, her pussy is getting wet. I’m getting harder watching her — knowing that she’ll be repeating this display for him tomorrow.

“And are you going to let him fuck you?”

“No, I’m going to sit across the room from him and make him watch me play with myself.”

“Show me.”

She sits in the chair across from the bed I’m in. She opens her legs and pulls her panties aside to expose her pussy to me. She already has her new toy in hand; she turns it on and starts running the vibrator over her clit. She’s bright pink with arousal.Her breath becomes heavier as she starts playing.

“I want you to come for me.”

She does, of course. She comes easily, especially these days. Her head tilts back and I can see her neck muscles strain. She moans and she spasms.

And I wonder if she’s thinking of me, or thinking of him. I can’t avoid the moment of doubt. But I can push past it. Even if she is, I can accept it. I have to. And I do.

When she is done her first, I walk over to her chair, and kneel down in front of her. I push my cock into her, grab the back of the chair, and thrust into her. She comes again; this time staring into my eyes.

Then I take her and bend her over the bed. I eat her out from behind. Her juices cover my face; I love having her on me. She’s so soft and hot. I penetrate her again. As I rock my hips I think about the other couples at Realm I saw doing the same — and think about them watching me.

We finish off laying opposite from each other, watching the other masturbate. She’s still in her garter and stockings, panties around her knees, and her legs in the air; she watches me stroke my cock through the legs of her underwear. I can see the pleasure in her face when she watches me jerk off, and watching me cum on myself pushes her over the edge again.

Even though she’s going to be fucking someone else tomorrow, I still feel our connection and know that she’s aroused by me. And that simple fact means that everything else that happens is OK. She can be with anyone else, get off on anyone else. Just as long as I still have her, I’m happy.

Friday was my first visit to Realm of Fantasy at the Calgary Adult Playground Club.

I went with B, who has been there several times. I really appreciated having her with me, as she helped introduce me to the scene; she made the experience much less nerve-wracking.

CAPC is pretty much as it was described to me. It’s in a crappy location which makes for an excellent location for not being noticed. It’s address isn’t publicized, so you’d never know it was there if you’re not looking for it. If you want to go, you have to get an invite from someone in the community, but getting one isn’t difficult. It’s a small place, and not impeccably decorated, but it is very well suited for what it is. I actually like the small size, at it feels cozy — important for intimate encounters.

Friday was the last day of Stampede, so CAPC was relatively empty; I counted 15 people there at the peak. What was most important was that I saw a few familiar faces; it let me get comfortable more easily.

A few of those familiar faces had a great scene involving rope suspension and electric play. I’m going to hold off on the details, given that I was just a spectator and didn’t ask about sharing this with The Internet. But suffice to say that it was amazing. On my first night out, I was treated to two of the more hardcore activities

And the best part? That could easily have be me there playing. In fact, there’s an electrosex workshop coming up on August 13th. To get in on the action, all I or anyone else need to do is: 1) find someone who is into the activity and/or has the right equipment (and there’s quite a few out there) and 2) ask.

But that will come later. The show was a great treat, but Friday was about playing with B. This was my first time playing outside my house, but since the club was mostly empty, there wasn’t anyone watching us… so I don’t really feel like I was really in public. I’m actually a little bit disappointed by that — though it’s really a good first step. B was much more nervous and excited about it. But then, she was topless.

And speaking of B, she wrote about our playtime on her own blog, and she did a pretty damn good job of it too, so I’ll leave most of the gory details to her. She even has pictures! I will let you in on a few secrets though.

Shhh. Come closer.

Ok. Now, you won’t tell her, right?

Ok, good.

At the time, I often felt like I didn’t know what I was doing. Thankfully B’s glowing report has mostly laid that to rest. Still, I was sort of intimidated and I think that came out in my play. I’m going to attribute this to several factors:

• Brand new place, out of my element.
• I had just watched a scene that was lightyears beyond the things I was doing.
• Public, with people potentially watching at any time. Being seen naked doesn’t necessarily embarrass me, but being seen fucking up (especially in front of advanced players) is my nightmare.
• It was difficult to gauge B’s reactions. She says she was quieter than usual (probably from being in a public place), and the club music (though not obnoxiously loud) made it hard to hear her. That, and she was face-down most of the time.

All in all though I’d call it a success. I did enjoy myself, and B definitely did too (especially the nasty bruise I left on her). It wasn’t an incredible mind-blowing experience, but that’s OK, because it wasn’t at all horrible. What that means is that it will get better from here. I’m already looking forward to next weekend; there’s a predicament bondage workshop that looks like a lot of fun. In fact, I’m already scheming.

My second play date with B went as well as the first, this time with a bit of a different flavor.

Perhaps the biggest event of note was that B got to give me a spanking, implemented through wooden spoon, lexan cane, tiny flogger, and bare hands. As I has suspected earlier, during the more intense parts I tried very hard to fight it. Fortunately I insisted on being restrained; I was cuffed to the bed securely enough that I couldn’t move away or protect my tender parts. Instead, all I could do was breathe, strain, scream… and swear. Lots of that happened.

I think it’s telling that, after we were done, the most sore parts of me was not my ass, but my arm and leg muscles… a result of me pulling on the cuffs. I nearly pulled out of one of them (they’re cheap and not terribly secure). B said that she was giving it at about a 5 out of 10. That sounds about right. I do not claim any particularly high level of pain tolerance. One thing I noticed was that I called “stop” without hitting any particular sensation; it was mostly arbitrary past a certain amount of pain. I’m pretty sure I could hold off on safewording if I had a particular goal to achieve. Perhaps if I was less in control (gagged?) I might be able to take more too.

So, I have crossed “masochist” of my own personal kink list. The pain was painful, and not pleasurable. On the other hand, I liked the experience on a mental level, and I’ll definitely try it again sometime. Also, I now know the difference between “thuddy” and “stingy”, and I find the former quite pleasant; I could probably go for an extended session of that. (It’s just less of a turn on for a sadist like B. )

I’m going to cross “disciplinarian” off my list too. I gave B some punishment tasks in response to some of her purportedly-failed personal improvement goals. She ended up bursting into laughter, and I couldn’t help but join her. At first I tried to be all stern-Dom, but in the end I couldn’t take the act seriously. And when her punishment flipped her own switch from enjoyment to being pissed-off, it very much killed the gratification for me. I’d much rather concentrate on the “funishment” as B likes to call it.

But removing these activities from my menu isn’t a negative thing at all. I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing: trying, evaluating, and deciding. If you want a positive spin, I’m calling my tastes more refined and focused now.

On the other hand: clover clamps are now one of my favorite toys. They tighten the harder you pull on them, so they’re great for varying intensity of play. It doesn’t take much to go from ouch to gasping. The only problem is that they start off strong so they won’t suit just anybody. Fortunately, B has a high pain tolerance so she can (and will!) wear them. They’re also great for ensuring that a sub will follow along; really, the problem was that B followed too quickly.

Squirting! B treated me to my first female ejaculation experience. It was exactly what I had expected… a sudden gush of incredibly hot liquid (on my hand in this case) accompanied by a tremendous orgasm. It’s an incredibly sexy thing, and I really enjoy it when I can coax that reaction out of B.

Of course, no good deed goes unpunished, and B found out the hard way that I really like orgasm control denial. It’s one of my most favorite activities. I played a game with her (pretty much without her consent, though I didn’t hear her complain too much). I would rub her clit to make her come, but only while she was looking into my eyes. This is, of course, not as easy as it sounds, especially for B; she likes to close her eyes, turn her head, etc. She was so needing to come though that any interruption was immediately noticed… quite intensely. It looked like torture to her… which was exactly what I was going for.

And of course, there was much spanking, slapping, and beating. This time, it included bare-hands to her breasts. This is a bit of a scary thing for me, but B enjoyed it so much that I was able to keep up the fervor without any difficulty. B is so wonderfully responsive that it’s easy for me to stay encouraged.

We also talked a lot, and spent time just lying and cuddling. I definitely like the intimate connection; I don’t think I could really play with anyone without at least some amount of attachment. Though, as with everything, I do want to try. I might even be able to be more cruel that way, who knows.

It was another great play session, and we both enjoyed it tremendously. We’re planning on going to Realm of Fantasy (Calgary’s kink club) this Friday; neither of us can wait for the weekend to arrive. It will be my first time there and our first public event together. Expect another blog post in the very near future.

Last night, you were able to do something with him for the first time. Something that you and I have wanted to do, but never been able.

Do not get me wrong. I am happy for you. I want this for you. You’ve been wanting it for yourself for a long time. If going to someone else for this is what it takes, then that’s what I want. It looks like you’re glad it happened too.

But it still makes me a little bit sad inside.

And now you’re scared that you’re falling in love with him.

It worries me too, but probably less than it does you. I saw this coming. He’s apart from the others. You speak of him differently. He excites you. It’s easy to see how this would happen.

I don’t want you to break it off with him. He makes you happy. There’s enough polyamorous people out there that I know that two loves can be managed successfully. But it is scary. No matter how much I try to intellectualize it, I’m still afraid of losing the number one spot in your life. It’s wrong, but it’s there.

I’ll be able to manage it. I have with the other trouble spots too. That’s what this writing is all about. I’ll help you manage your fears too. Just please be careful, with yourself, with him, and with me. These are tricky times ahead.