Category Archives: Play

The Doctor

 

In 2010 I sat on a panel speaking about BDSM 101 on Stockholm Pride.  It was an interesting experience, as it always is, because at that point, I had only recently started talking about kink in a public setting. Explaining what you do and why to people who perhaps have never heard of practices such as BDSM is a great thing to do, because it makes you understand it more for yourself as well as challenges you to pronounce things more clearly.
A year later at Pride 2011 there was a lot of focus on rope-bondage, mainly because I have managed to put all of my fingers in the pie. Esinem travelled from the UK to present and talk in different classes, and all were very well attended. During one of these classes I got to meet someone who I will call the Doctor.

He approached me during Esinem’s class on ‘Tying People Not Parcels’ to ask if we could work together. I have been walking around assisting Bruce for the most part of the evening but did not hesitate to jump in as he asked so nicely. In short: there was no tuition on how to actually tie something like a leg or a arm in this class it was all about the interaction.The Doctor said that he did not how to tie, and I just showed him how he could use a larks’ head around my chest, a couple of pointers on safety, and then just wrap the rope while remembering what Esinem had been speaking about. Now, there was something that really shook me when he was doing this, simply because he was god damn good at it, better than many experienced riggers. In the beginning I asked him if he wanted me to be quiet or give him feedback while he was doing this. He said specifically that he was interested in feedback, so I responded, both verbally but also physically while he was tying, letting him know what the effect of certain movements and things that he did made me feel like. Afterwards, he asked if I could tie him, and we sat down again. It was intense to tie him then and there, simply because it felt like he got it, the kind of rope-gospel I like to preach to people. When I caught one of his fingers with the rope and started to manipulate his body, there was such a big smile in his face I was almost floored. Except for the fact I was already sitting on the floor.
We met up again later that week, and ended up talking a whole afternoon and evening, with a lot of wine and sushi involved. Thirsty was there to.  It became clear that the Doctor had heard me speak in 2010 and had started to piece together what his interests were and then  had decided to come to the bondage workshop this year. We spoke about everything and anything, but mostly kink, and especially DS. Later Thirsty confessed that he had felt like armcandy and liked it. That night, we ended up sitting at cliffs overlooking the whole of Stockholm, as it was lit by night. The sea looked like black oil, we made out, abused Thristy, a group of 16 year old’s asked if we were having a threesome and we could not really answer anything else but yes. After having failed on finding ourselves a hotel room; first checking up hotels online and then calling them in the middle of the night was probably not a good way of trying… we said our goodbyes. Another night was already on the cards as all of us had the same town as base. So when I headed down for a quick visit to south of Sweden, me and the Doctor planned in another  night just the two of us. It started with Thai food, we picked up rope and toys and then headed to his place. There he corked up the champagne, and true to his specific brand of hedonism, strawberries. Talking, laughing and flirting was very soon followed by making out. The rope came out of the bag and the second time he ever tied someone,  he did it again so well that he spaced me out.  This is rather special, as it is very few people who have the ability to do this at all and most of the time, they are fairly experienced with rope. This is not so much about their technical capabilities, but rather about the joint notion of their desire, their way of tying and their confidence. In this case, with The Doctor, it was about the way he moved and his closeness and intensity that made us connect on a whole different level.

 

Another thing which was very interesting was to experience his exploration of dominance. As a bottom, he shines very strong, basking in the stimuli, and reacts to it very strongly, holding nothing back, a twitchy plaything that enjoys every second of what he is getting. But as a but as a dom, he is almost like a scientist: a special tone of voice, a distant, almost frightening presence. When he found my evil hitty schtick he did not use for pain, but to point and prod, to control my body, to place it in positions he deemed beautiful. As he studies the body his knowledge of it is very precise, and as one of those who get off on expertise, it has been rather remarkable to hear this man talking about the vulnerability of the skin. This has happened on several occasions, using Thirsty as an anatomical doll for example, writing with a sharpie, pointing and prodding, speaking about every little detail, those details that makes it so much more scary when pressing against the vulnerable skin. The man is certainly learning at the speed of light. And I’m looking forward to much more fun to be had. Especially since he is a bi switch, who loves rope and thinks every day should come with champagne.

 


Performance

I’m behind on all posts. Again. It has been an intense summer, and I’m still finding myself having a very extensive hangover from the last month or so. This post will be about performing in front of a crowd and how it felt to do my first public show ever.

After a big event such as Shibaricon, or the Stockholm Pride there is a lot of things to write about. I usually brain-storm afterwards, trying to sort through the memories, the feelings, the important bits and to also consider that which is perhaps not important at all, as it can be exactly the opposite. Our minds are brilliant at hiding small details that then emerge with full force. One such detail is from the Tuesday party night, at Wish ( a womens’ only playparty), when D and I was preparing for the show. We had rehearsed the day before, she was still bearing the ropemarks. That very evening, before the door opened, I had set up the suspensionpoint, got help setting up the light, organised the playlist together with the brilliant DJ, then quitely sitting and preparing the coils of rope exactly to how I wanted them. The first rope of the TK in a slightly larger coil than the first, the tenugui folded properly, candles and lighter, the vicious antique Japanese scissors, a short hitty stick. But the other preparation took place minutes before we went on. She got dressed, we checked the kit, then sat down in the staff room in a quiet corner, leaning us against and feeling each other. Those precious moments, sitting quietly without speaking, while breathing, stroking each others hair, massaging her shoulders, helping her to warm up.

I have never ever done a ‘proper show’. I do play in public, but the set up is different in this case. D and I have played with rope before and know each other fairly well, the rehersal had gone well, and if we knew that if we just would focus on each other, we could probably get out on the other side without having looked like fools. Performances are interesting for many reasons. There are the purely theatrical, which can be good but also seem to be somewhat of a mime instead of showing something interesting (no, I don’t like mime, deal with it!). Then there are the ones with stories, the theatre which comes to life and make you live through that which is in front of you. And then there are those which you perhaps can’t judge if it is just something that is happening as a scheduled performance or intimate, private play. I am aware that a performance as such often has to give something extra, be faster and display the action, the model and the movement more clearly. Thus, in the back of my mind was also the way in which I as a rigger needed to position myself in order to not block the view too much, as well as how to best show how amazing D looks in rope. I was also seeking to actively attempt to show the audience a rope-session which would be about communication and interaction.

She was dressed in a very simple kimono, with rope as a belt  that would get undone if pulled. As she stood in the spotlight and the music started, I got closer to her with every beat of the music, pulling the kimono over her shoulders, stroking her skin, grabbing the rope-belt that started to get undone. I moved to the front, trying to be as invisible as possible, hunching on the floor as the rope came undone, falling off and with that, the kimono fell to the floor. She became exposed and as I uncoiled the first rope close to her skin, the music had already set the pace. Pushing shoulders back, making her arch her back (trick learned from a dirty old man) and my fingertips felt her shiver, my cheek close to her neck, feeling her pulse beating. The ropes came alive, and then all of a sudden the performance was over in no time. But before that I several things: what ever you think that you might do, it will be slightly different or very different; even if you checked that everything is working, you have forgotten something; the light is in all likelihood be even darker than you expected; when you think you are too fast, you are going slower and vice versa; the person you are tying are going to shine so bloody bright just because they are wonderful; it is essential that you keep on doing those things that make it ‘right’ from the beginning rather than trying to alter your style and finally: wearing latex is going to make you sweat like…eh. insert appropriate description here.

D was more than magnificent, she was shining so incredibly bright in the ropes and played together with me and the ropes in a way that can only be described as surreal to see. There is some kind of adrenaline so special to this kind of performance/public play, and yes, it was over far too soon.

Afterwards, someone who I deeply respect and admire came up and told us that she now understand Shibari as more than just pretty knots.  Then D smiled, sitting on the floor, drinking a glass of water. It was the only thing I needed to see.


The City

It is windy. Very windy. At my left I can see the harbor and the lights from the The City. At my right, the open waters. Right in front of me, I see the Golden Gate Bridge. It is the last evening of a whirlwhind 48 hour short visit to San Francisco, where I travelled after Shibaricon. It feels like I could stand at this spot for the rest of my life. The air, the wind, the sea, the breathing that is possible to do, how every breath fills the lungs with such intense life. It is strangely grounding, a moment in time where everything else stops, except for time itself, as it keeps on getting darker and darker and colder and colder. My trip in the US is coming to an end, and it is here that I’m reminded of the experiences I’ve been lucky enough to have, they move through my mind like flashing images, or a brief reminder of a sensory experience; skin twitching or a muscle aching slightly, remembering the sound of a creaking rope or leather gloves, slowly closing over my mouth.  Not even 2 weeks in the US and it feels like I know who I am again. Like the skin is fits around the body and the mind can distribute itself over the thoughts in an even fashion.

The 48 hours in The City were made possible by two people whom I am honored to have met and eternally grateful for their hospitality; Bus Driver and Pink.  They happened to be two of the first people I met at Shibaricon on the first day, and Bus Driver also helped at one point to spot during a demanding suspension. They, together with other awesome and wonderful people, made the con even better.
In the end of  Shibaricon I was looking for somewhere to go as I would have a couple of extra days before the flight back to Europe, and had thus put up a note on a notice board saying something like Busty Swedish Blonde seeking Bedspace. With a limited budget, crashing at someones’ couch seemed like the best option. Not before long, I was suddenly invited to stay at Bus and Pink, an offer which was impossible to refuse. Said and done, ticket bought and bag packed, leaving O’Hare landing in San Francisco. Slightly dazed and rather confused due to tiredness from Shibaricon but  in the same time on a strange adrenaline high  I made my way through the airport and was met (after getting lost…) by my hosts, and their adorable Peanut.

When visiting people who generously open up their home to a Busty Swedish Blonde they have only met a couple of days earlier, I was hoping intensely for not being one of those annoying guests and pointed out I could be fairly self-sufficient so they would not have to interrupt their day to day life due to the Busty Swedish Blonde. Lets just say that I had no idea they would have none of it, as the following two days I was so well taken care, showed all the sites, taken to the kink-shops, parties, et cetera et cetera. After meeting the housemates, having a good night sleep and taking it slow in the morning, Pink showed all the kink-shops, including  MR S and a visit to Good Vibrations, which was fairly awesome to say at least. During lunch time, we spoke about the kink scene and leather and her and her partners involvement in the community. It is organised on such a different level that would make London look pretty much like a bunch of party obsessed perverts. Which we kind of are, but that is beside the point :). Pink  also showed me the SF Citadel, a great permanent BDSM space which was really huge and well equipped.
I the end I visited Wicked Grounds  more than 3(?) times in less two days, had one great lunch, a huge milkshake and just hanging out. After a quick change of clothes, I was dropped off at Wicked Grounds one more time, waiting for Bus who took me to Bondage a Go-Go (BaGG). Now, if there is something that is awesome, it is to experience different kinds of scenes different parties. I become like a horny sociologist, trying to take in as much as possible. BaGG had a great feeling to it, although I must admit that we spent most of the time in the play area so did not see much of the rest of the club. What I did gather though, was that BaGG managed to fuse a couple of things together which another club in London has tried but not succeeded  in doing: fusing the industrial/goth scene with kink. This was mainly done through the awesome music (as an industrial chick, it was heaven to get to play to so many great tracks). In either case, it was a really great place, with a small albeit very well managed play area.

As I had expressed an interest in Bus’ flogging skills (with Pink  politely pointed out that he is a sadist..) I felt slightly nervous, but also strangely centered as we entered the play area. Was strapped to the cross, and not before long the falls of the floggers started to rain over my back. This was one of those floggings which takes you so far away you are in lala-land. A warm up which was exactly that, not just a short interlude before the ‘real’ thing, but  carefully tempered and ministered. And it was the tempo and the sensations that got me;  florentine flogging at its best, moving with the music, but also creating music on its own; syncopations, emphasised beats, the sounds coming out from my mouth all of a sudden. It is like letting bodies do the talking, instead of the vocal chords it is the warm skin, the muscles, the un-planned guttural sounds, goose-bumps, the breathing, the pulse, skin involuntarily twitching, the back arching, moving away from but still drawn towards the pain. You simply don’t want it to end, but it always does. Something which was very special during many of the experiences in the US was that it felt ok taking time. Taking time sitting down and talk properly for a starter, but also, when in that state of bliss after play, it could take the time it took. Not always, but sometimes, it feels like I has to get myself together in a orderly fashion not too long after the play has finished, especially at parties (not on the private parties, but regular ones). But here I was, in lala land but also sitting at the floor, with Bus assuring me there was all the time in the world. Everything was like it was wrapped up in cotton, even the music was muted. And sitting there, at the floor, was like the most natural place to be in. It became a reminder to the self; to stay present in the moment. Around us, there were others playing, and the passion and skill people showed made my warm body feel even warmer.

A while later, when having landed, there was this little itch; I needed to tie someone. Was introduced to a lovely lass and we spoke a bit. She felt like playing, and I was borrowed a suspension ring. We set up, first rope is out of the bag, heart pounding already. People are busy chatting, standing next to the playspace with drinks, dancing. The suddenly, there is a stronger light and a voice announcing that a guest from abroad is here to demonstrate some of her rigging skills; and obviously people turn immediately around. For a brief moment I think something like: “SHITFUCKITYOHDEARGODSAVEME”, while pretending like I’m tying something really important behind the lovely girls’ back in order to hide what is probably written all over my face. Then one of those VNV Nation tracks comes on; a steady beat and a baseline,  a deep breath and then go. The adrenaline hits, the light makes it harder to see who is watching, and her body become the only thing that matters. With the adrenaline and the pace of the tying, it is almost like trying to scratch into her, dig deeply, removing layer after layer. It is not really pretty the rope, off centre and unbalanced, but god damn, it is so fun. Encasing her in a cocoon of rope and then just physical rope and bodies in motion; toying with her mind, moving in like an attack, forcing her off balance; a fistful of hair, her neck exposed. As the wham bam adrenaline wears off, I want to continue with the rope but with a less barrage of the senses, so the untying takes place on the floor, while sitting down, the rope is warm and so is her body, resting my cheek against her shoulder, controlling every movement, pushing her with my chest, adding tension rather than removing it even if the ropes are coming off. The last wrap around her wrists comes off; we have both forgot everything about the crowd. The evening continues, with more awesomeness, and when we walk back to the car, it feels like being wrapped up in cotton.

On the second day, I get showed around a very special and interesting place; my jaw dropping for each and every door that was opened. Suffice to say, I did not think about anything else than what horrible acts could be committed or was being committed. Those really abject, filthy, degrading, sadistic…..see, it is even hard to type anything about it!
Pink then fetched me and showed the touristy things, including Lombard street. We also found some sushi, and dear me, that sushi was basically perfect. Also walked on the Castro, which felt strangely touching. All this queer history and activism, the significance really struck, especially when visiting a LGBT-history museum. I am so grateful for those who paved the way, who fought back and stood their ground.

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That evening then finished with a visit to view the scenery described in the beginning of this post but also biting someone very cute in a dark parking lot.

I would like to thank Pink and Bus Driver who made the visit so unforgettable with your generosity and kindness. There is probably not words enough to express this gratitude, so I’ll just stop waffling.

 


The sunbeams across the floor

We have known each other for years, mainly through the spoken word scene and mutual aqaintances. I must have been 16 the first time we ran in to each other, and two summers ago he made delicious cocktails in the bar around the corner from where I lived a short summer. He is tall, with a distinct look, somewhat rockabilly style, shy smile and a very nice voice. I never really thought there was any interest from his part, which was why I was so surprised when he emailed and asked about next time I would be in Sweden and if I wanted to meet up. It was a busy but very sunny week, and drinks felt like a perfect break from DIY and random annoying stuffs that needed taking care of.  We headed down towards the beach with cider and swimwear, ending up walking along the coast-line talking, before finding a a spot in the hot sand. It felt good, no, it felt better than good. It was relaxing, like a rekindling of a friendship, even though we never been very close. The first dip in the sea this year was refreshing, and I started to feel almost like a teenager again, in that very silly way. The sky was clear blue, a light breeze easing the burning rays of the sun. We spoke about our tattoos, what they meant to us, continued talking about poly and how respectivley finding our poly-identities had changed our lives. There was something… different about him, something more open, settled, and grounded. I think he kissed my hand first, then I kissed him. A slight taste of cigarettes, his gold-tooth feeling smooth, a hint of cider, the skin smelling of sun. My head rested on his chest, and I could hear his heartbeats.

There is something in the way he kissed, and how we spent the rest of the evening together.  We have a drink, talk. And time after time again, it feels so simple. We speak of kink, just by accident, finding common grounds. When returning to his, we make out on the couch for hours, my lips are become sore after all the kissing and it is a bit like being a teenager again. Then there is something rather special when I play with his nipples. It is like playing with an instrument  of flesh. Low moans, deep breaths, half-open mouth, closed eyes, whimpering. In the morning, the sun trickles through the window, beams dancing over the floor.

We continue to meet each other during the following week and we talk, cuddle, kiss, eat ice cream, dance, talk more. There is a security with him, in that he knows what he wants from poly and feel very secure about it. The last evening, we meet for some ice-cream and then decide that we should really go for an evening swim after he has finished his work shift. Said and done. The beach is almost empty around nine in the evening, but we have blankets and swim suits and sit down eating strawberries. It becomes almost a bit kitsch, watching the sunset; the rays of the sun turning dark pink. I run into the water, thinking it should be very cold but it is not. The evening air is now colder than the water. We walk further out, the waters are still shallow, and then I just have to attack him. As he loose the balance we end up sitting in the water, he gasp as I straddle him, pressing my legs tightly against him. Dunking him into the water, seeing how his eyes are so still under the water turns somewhat other worldly, he is so very still, pushed under the surface.

When we dry up, he pretend like he does not need the large, warm cardigan he bought and give it to me. I quickly realise he is just pretending, as his tall body is shaking after the swim and we swap. It means that I can move better now as well, and there is both an element of care there, but also practicality. How am I supposed to tie someone up if their muscles are so cold they cannot move? He is a sweet romantic guy, but I want him, his body and his mind completely focussed on us, on me, on the sensations, not to be shaking due to being cold. Stawberry eating, heart to heart, kissing, watching the sun disappearing into the sea. After literally lying on top of him to make sure he is not shaking anymore we swap sweaters so I can tie more easily. The blindfold goes on, again to make him focus on the feeling of the experience, to focus on us, on me.

It is getting darker and darker outside and the mosquitoes are out in full force, and I have never really tied while being under attack from mosquitoes. Got the thin ropes with me, and decide quickly to only do a short scene, in order for us to come out alive and with a drip of blood left in our bodies. Bloodplay took a whole different dimension that evening. It is his first experience of rope, and even if the tie is a standard one, his expressions of the experience become nothing like a standard one. Prepare for gross generalisation: Usually, I find men having a harder time letting go into the experience, they try to pre-empt the next move, or can’t stop anxiously twitching, requiring a high level of intense and often physical stimuli to settle into what is happening  and to remain present in the moment. Sometimes this can be really interesting and intense, but sometimes, like when sitting on a beach, the mood is different. His body dances beneath my fingers, but not twitching or moving anxiously, it his pulse and heart, slightly shivering skin, that lush mouth open, breathing deeply in and out, only a tiny, barely noticeable gasp. When the shape of the tie is done, I start moving the ropes again, leaning him back into my arms, closing my hand around his nose and mouth, stealing his breath, pulling a wrap of the rope tighter with the other hand. Kissing his forehead, it becomes clear that the bugs are biting through his sweater, and the untying clearly has to start. Sometimes, tying up the ropes is just as good, if not better, than the build up towards the finished tie. But here, it is just as good as everything else. He is first quiet, when we cuddle. Then saying something, and after expressing a wish to go back to his in order to remove my clothes I simply lift my dress and sit on his face. His tongue is working away, the beach is completely dark, can hear the waves, and the geese which are the only ones present except for us. I ride his face, pin his head and upper body down, pinching his nose shut, his licking gets more frantic, the lack of oxygen give him a sense of urgency. I sit there, grinding my wet cunt against his face until I come.

Back home at his, we end up in the sofa again.  Unbuckling the belt while his eyes meeting mine, then tightening it around his neck, pulling the noose tighter and tighter. Holding him down by the knees then releasing the pressure. The evening is now pretty warm, and we go out for some fresh air on the small balcony. It is passed 2 in the morning, and the city is completely dead, a Sunday night, only one or two people out walking. And he looks so incredibly dapper in his smoke robe, it is gold and the decadence it gives to the whole situation only gets better as he kneels down, yet again. This time I just kick back, relax, he knows exactly what to do, and the only thing I need to do is not to get loud, as the people standing underneath the balcony having an evening cigarette would appreciate a bit too much.

Before we both pass out I hurt him some more, he definitely had earned such pleasures, the metal sticks are scratching his back, pressing against his balls, making him whimper and shake. The skin of his back is warm when we fall asleep in each others arms. I wake up in the morning, looking at him sleeping, following the patterns created once more by the sun beams.

Now I’m back in London now and I miss him already.


Uniform

He splurts when the water hits his face, a look of surprise, a look of anger and confusion. His white shirt is ripped open, showing off a ripped chest and strong muscles, but also; exposed skin, vulnerable. We all consist of flesh, skin, nerves, muscles. So does J, a man who I consider a friend, a brilliant brain and right now, my punching bag, entertainment, toy and bottom.

For this occasion, he is dressed in a full Eastern German uniform, and he wears it so well. Like a Tom of Finland archetype, but with the added extra touch of…well, the uniform. We are also in a very interesting space, decorated like an interrogation room in Eastern Germany. All the concrete, the weird furnitures, the hard wooden chair and the desk, with a sharp lamp, a separate small room for solitary confinement. Even a nice flag and a framed print of a communist leader and comrade. It is, simply put: perfect.I am, on the other hand, dressed in a sequined see-through dress. Earlier, when seeing us entering the club, it was easy to assume him as the top and me as a bottom. I had assumed that I would be a bottom myself, not bringing any toys what so ever. It quickly changed though, an urge to turn the tables, step out of an assumed role into one what perhaps would suit better for this mood. Feeling that urge to hurt something, to bring someone to that place where bodies clash. Me and J spoke a bit, I pointed out the scene I had in mind was not really pretty at all and that I had to trust him to be able to not lash back at me, if this was something that he wanted to do as well. It is only recently I’ve started playing with people much stronger than myself. A strange rush, as it is possible for them to at any point turn the tables. I’m curvy and have strong legs, but also short and would be no match for J. But as we start to play, it is that tension which makes it interesting, that potential threat, but also about the scene being one in which we are challenging each other and other peoples’ notion of what they see or think they see each and every day. I found a couple of pieces of kit, not much really, but a chain (always good), a water bottle, a piece of rope and that was about it.

Take off your coat”. I sit in front of him, he stands next to the wooden chair and looks a bit amused, but also slightly perturbed. I am comfortable now. Look straight at him as the coat unveils that chest, a rather proud and composed chest and his chisled jawline, proud but now under more objectification than anything else.My softer chair denotes a dominant position, and I tell him to sit down on his wooden one. I stand up and push my body against him, he is so warm, a mix of body heat and the soft feeling of the white shirt. The black tie is like a flag around the neck. Too much fabric in the way, to many layers. His white shirt tears open easily, the buttons fly all over. He seems surprised at first, but then settles again. A rope around his wrists, raising them over his head, tying them so that magnificent chest is completely exposed.I sit down again, look at him, his skin, and when our eyes meet while I press my brown brogue against his crotch he probably understands what I meant that it is not going to be pretty. Arms spread above his head,held up by the rope and expose that vulnerability and strength. He grunts, shoulders shaking,a low moan rising to a barytone that carries over the sound of the party. He can see me still, meet my eyes, breathing. The brown leather belt in his trousers is removed, it is perfect to act as a blind-fold. The tie, a marker of masculinity turns into a noose, he struggles as I am pulling it. I start to slap his face,punch his stomach,feeling the tensed muscles under my fist as it lands in his side. I straddle him as he sits on the wooden chair. And it feels like it is not possible to get closer to someone, it is not possible to get closer to another human being than we are now. He is not naked, nor am I, but this closeness is about vulnerability and allowing oneself to bask in the sensations. I have to brace myself to not slap his face with the back of my hand, but to use the palm instead. The slaps rains over his face, first slower, calculated, then faster and faster. He shouts, first grunts, then a “Come on! Bring it!”, like he wants to know how much he is willing to take. I step up to the challenge, he tenses more against the restraints now. The slaps now pours over his face, and the rope is pushed, he shouts, yells and feed off me in the same way as I feed off him. Every now and again I throw that water into his face, to force him to stay composed, to force him to remain in this moment.

We all wear uniforms, every day. But they only define us if we want them to, and allow them to.


Crickets:Tying with Naiia- Shibaricon 2011

We have been tying for quite some time by now. The class with Midori is about speed and flow drills, and she is indeed drilling us. We are told to pick a tie we know, but not too well, something which we can challenge ourselves with. 7 minutes for each exercise, which include tying with the dominant hand tied behind your back and vice versa. This is something which forces the rope-tops to think about how to move, how to use their body and mind , and I’m not the only one who has heureka moments, as it is possible to hear a ‘aha!’ or ‘ ohhh, I get it!’ during the class. When the 7 minutes are up, Midori’s phone lets out the sounds of crickets and you are asked to start to untie. Hence, this sound now become known as ‘the crickets of undo’.

It is indeed a drill like class, and tying with the lovely Naiia is getting my heart pumping, concentrating and focussing how to move, not only me but her, thinking about effiency of movement, something Zamil teaches but that I’ve so far sadly has missed, but also about the effect of said effieciency on Naiia. She seems to settle into the physicality, and it is indeed wonderful to to tie with this kind of bunny, that responds and gives feedback, both verbal and also physical. This is actually the third time we played with each other at Shibaricon. First time had been in a corset-lacing scene one of the earlier days. Lacing a corset can be done in many different ways; she was tied with her hands above her head, un-laced roughly and then relaced even rougher, again and again, pressing different parts of the corset together, undoing it again, pushing and pressing her ribs against that wonderful garment that is a corset. Gasps and giggles are following, and it is so great to relax into a scene like this, with a focus on one simple act that can be done in so many different ways. It is not an elaborate or complicated scene, but one in which we can just relax into it; I’ve laced corsets before tying any ropes what so ever and she is experiencing for the first time. The second time we play is in Graydancer’s RACK role-play class, where I play the dominant who is pestered both by an over-zealous dungeon monitor as well as having a very bratty sub, played by Naiia. Although this is role-play and she played a role which she usually would not, it was interesting to interact with her in that role. And now, while being drilled by Midori, we say that we definetly need to find some time to play properly, preferably before the weekend is over. It is Monday already, and it seems like we don’t have much time. But then Midori annouces the final drill; to tie the tie with both your rope-bottom and yourself blindfolded. My heart beats a bit extra, because I was asked to do the same once in another class, to close my eyes and to focus on the movement and feeling the tie instead of watching what I was doing.  It produced really good results, and I start to think that perhaps this might be our moment.

We are sitting down already, my hand is stroking her neck and her shoulders falls lower. A exercise like this can be anything from a drill to a very intense scene or all of that in the same time. Ropes are being prepared, coiled in the tight coils that are recognizable, laid out in the right direction. Midori starts some kind of music from her I-pod. The sheet that we are sitting is evened out, moving disruptive stuff out of the way, including any stress or thoughts reminiscent from a completely exhausting and incredible weekend.But what ever there has been earlier, I let it slip away, as  one blindfold first is draped across her eyes, then looking one final time at the back of her neck as I blind myself. We are both blind now, her eyes as unseeing as mine. Left hand on her shoulder, right reaching for rope. Her shoulder; fitting perfectly in my hand, my hand; fitting perfectly around the coil of rope. A slight shudder from her part as the coils unravels, the distinct sound of rope falling to the floor, and no hands need to search from now on, the hands knows where to go and why. The first wrap of the TK feels like a starting point, a take off, in the second wrap, we start to melt into each other. Securing those two wraps become a paced dance, a slight interlude,hand on her shoulder to even out the pressure, then the cinches, locking it, she is breathing, moving, the ropes just fall into place. The two following ones are caressing, but not slow, they move in a pace of their own, and suddenly I breath out loudly, a stain of sweat in my forehead. It is like she is everywhere, in every strand and fibre of the rope, like the ropes has made us become so entangled with each other that there is no telling of who is who and what is what.  Uncoil the second rope with my teeth, even more fluff in the mouth. There is a deliberate pace in all of this, not perfect, probably syncopations rather than a steady beat. The locking of the second wrap a full stop, a semi-colon when evening out the wraps, pushing her into a break, pushing her into feeling the tightness of the rope around her. Hearing her breathing, a small gasp, warm skin, stroking the back of her neck again, tracing a strand over rope over her cheek, not knowing how it looks like, but feeling the effect.

We continue tying until we hear the crickets of undone. Then we continue. Then, at one point, we are asked to start finishing, to untie. For some reason, I think it is because the stress of the voice of those who need to prep the space for the closing ceremonies, I take off my blindfold. But I am still within that feeling, that entanglement that we have, a rush and buzzing in my knees. Naiia is quite far away as well, but know she needs to get back to her duties as a volunteer at some point. It is strange when the real world catches up with you. I start to untie, first slightly mechanically, but it is not possible to stay like that. The ropes continue to live, even as they are coming off. And now I can see it as well as feel it, her face, as the rope strokes the side of her cheek, how her mouth opens and closes as she gasps when one of the chestwraps is first taken off very slowly, then reapplied with more pressure. I have shifted my position now, sit straddled over her, and when leaning over to reach better over the back, the pulse in hear neck is hitting the side of my neck, steadily but quite hard.

As the last ropes are disappearing, the people working really wants us to start moving. We are not saying anything for some time, and we can’t move, we just sit. I find a glass of water for Naiia, do it on very shaky legs, then try to gather ourstuff, but it becomes almost impossible as my knees are so buzzing. In the end, we just shove everything into the sheet and carry it along, walking slowly down the corridor. We giggle, say a couple of words, drinking some more water,  just breathing, still just feeling.


The leather boots

A audio-memory resurfacing: a loud bang as two boots are hitting the surface of a stage. And the effect: a trembling traveling through my body, eyes zooming in on the black leather, they boots that become so much bigger in the mind.

A couple of weeks later, on another continent and another venue, with other perverts. Boots again, leatherboots on a man whom I know can be a mean bastard. I trust him to be absolutely nasty when he an. We are sitting on the floor and Zahara is being instructed on how to polish his boots. Bootblacking itself is perhaps not a thing of mine, but more the thought of loosing oneself in a task to produce a meticulous result, and doing it for someone. the eyes are drawn to the more and more shiny surface of the boots, their potential and stability. Boots are grounding, leather boots evenmore so, allowing the foot to rest against the ground, to move smooth and steady, to stomp, to kick, to walk. It is the action the boots enable, and the person who is wearing them become a possibility to act.
For all high-heel fetishizes out there: I’m sorry bu it is really not my thing. As an element of bondage and aesthetic, sure, but if I bottom/submit to someone and wearing heels, unless they say otherwise, I take them off. They are a liability in play, unless, again, that is the point. Same with when I dom. If I play physically, I don’t trust myself enough or my balance when wearing them. I want feet either bare or firmly placed, a stance that is capable or willing to move in what ever way is necessary. That freedom my friend, for me, does not come in heels. And yes, I’m pretty fucking good at wearing and walking in heels. But who ever came up with the thought that high heels are empowering/dominant must have never had to wear a couple for more than 12 hours. Although these ones are quite wonderful.

 

Boots on the other hand. Any kind of. Docs, Undergrounds, riding boots such as Königs, Cavallo, Pikeur or even better; properly used old school ones. Then there is the ones which makes you salivate just thinking about them,Corcoran, Wesco, et cetera. Laced up tightly, clean lines. Or the stealth ones, boots which almost disappears onto the person, so discrete but still so potent. Hugging the feet perfectly.

Picture found at Stompers Boots.

Trousers tucked in, or resting on top. A dress or a skirt, with a hint of lace from the petticoat contrasting the raw leather. A kilt, flowing movements of the fabric and then the stillness, the firm cut of a wellfitted boot.

It is in the end of the evening and my energylevels are completely down to zero. have eaten two cupcakes for dinner, drunk silly amounts of water, three awesome playsessions and steered off an idiot or two. A friend is getting off in one corner, his shoulders and hips tense, undulating with that frenetic movement of someone in such a state of pleasure that any other movement that does not seek to enhance that pleasure is impossible. I’m rather happy, contended, like a relaxed animal, a bit vulnerable in the tiredness and relaxation. If approached, I would expose my neck freely, surrender. Does that state of mind show? Perhaps it does because suddenly he has gripped me and thrown my body to the floor,the mind follows a second after. A faint smile and that kind of glint in the eyes. This is not going to be pretty. Earlier he had shouted at me to keep my fucking head down when he was flogging, now he does not say a single word. Just the glint in the eyes, the focus and then a stomp of his foot, right next to my head. It is a shining entity of it own when it is upclose like this. A threat and a promise. I’m pulled, pushed, pressed against the ground, he is moving my body where ever he wants it, and I can only try to follow, the best as I can. When he drags me over the floor, I keep up enough to not get a carpet-burn. Light kicks, the sole of his boot pressing down my arm, as he pulls my hand upwards. A knee compressing my chest. Stomps, fast and fluid movements. Some kind of tempo that is building up. In the end, I’m lying face down, with my arms underneath, almost bracing myself, I don’t want it to end, never do. Slowly opening my eyes, there they are, the black leather boots, shining, tucked into the cammo trousers and further up; that glint in his eyes. And a boot against the chest or the face, somewhere, somehow; that is just perfect.

 


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