The mischievous one

This is a part of a massive backlog of posts from my part. I’m not going to actually apologize about not writing this time. University is on the last term, I’ve got a dissertation to write as well as a number of other assignments. Thusly, life is crazy, but after a visit from a friend I felt like writing a small bit or two.

I will call her Bird, and that is not because I feel like being a sexist, misogynist dickhead, but because she is really a fluttering,singing (or mostly giggling), shy, but still mischievous creature.After her visit I really felt the need to writing something about D/S and how it has hit some buttons lately. Bird is a girl (self-identified as such) whom I have played with before. She visited the other weekend, and the visit lifted my spirits immensly. Not only is she incredibly smart and funny, honest, open and kind, but also kinky, loving rope and a very je ne sais quio that follows her into her play.

Her love of rope (and cages) as well as the spirit which follows her approach to play is something that I don’t meet every day. I guess it is about that elusive connection that everyone seem to be talking about, including myself.
And then, it could also be that I’m just developing something of a small crush on this girl.

Anyhow, she came to visit, traveling from Sweden and landed in London. We where supposed to attend a club in the evening, but instead ended up at a friends place. Now, this friend of mine is hellbent on owning every kit there is in the world or has ever existed.
A part of this kit consist of a cage, a big, sturdy black cage and when Bird noticed it,she had such a smile on her face it was impossible to ignore, and impossible to not put her in it. But the thing is that she needs a strict tone of voice or physically force to fully obey, even if that order that she is supposed to obey is something that she wish for to happen. Said and done, when she had actually relaxed enough to not expect it, I gripped the back of her neck and pushed into the cage.
After a while the locked collar, the mitts, the locked cage caught up with her, so did the bowl which was filled with appropriate content.

When she was let out I realized what I’ve always thought, but needed to be reminded of, and that is that the play which resonates most strongly within me is that which put focus on the interpersonal action, the dialogue and reflexivity between the play-partners.
I usually don’t do very much animal role-play. I look at it and understand its dynamics, but usually finding myself playing a role rather than feeling the roles of me and the playpartners.  Which is for, me, different from the artificiality, an artificiality that can come with a lack of experience/knowledge, as well as a general disinterest. But stubborn as I am, I like to change that. But how to find scripts that are not forced down the performative throat? And what is the authentic anyway and how can it be different from the artificial?

Everyone can’t do everything. No one needs to do anything that they do not wish to, but when all of this happened on its own terms it was bloody brilliant. It seemed right at that point, right there and then to do these scenes.

A couple of days later, when we had our last evening together, we went out to have some sushi, and then onwards to one of my favorite places for various drinks and dessert. While there, we had some dessert, which turned into one of those amazing D/S situations, one of those I crave, but find myself so rarely in.

Cheekily, I said that I was going to feed Bird the dessert. She was good and did not start on the sticky toffee pudding until I said she could taste the ice-cream that came with it. She obeys, and then I tell her it is fine to try out the pudding as well, but no sauce.
After this, I take the plate away from her, place some pudding, ice-cream and sauce on the spoon and slowly feed her. The restaurant is half-empty and to an outsider it would seem like we are just a regular couple enjoying something sweet on a Monday evening. She is still looking around, as if they could read what is on her mind. I smile, and tell her that she can eat the rest, but is not allowed to make a mess. We continue eating, talking about the past event, her first experience of suspensions, the days in London and her thoughts about life and all that jazz, smiling and laughing.  My sorbet slips from  the spoon, a move that a cheeky sub named Bird picks up and commenting on my sloppy eating that is making a mess. I first smile at her, then stop, looking at her straight in the eyes, and for a second she looks back, and then looking down at her plate, with the look of shame written all over her face.  I laugh at this point, because it is clear to me that she really wants the rest of the pudding. Which I can understand, cause it was really, really delicious. and  so I stretch myself over the table, place one hand on the right cheek, and then quickly slaps the left one with my other hand.
She flinches, saying I can’t do that in the restaurant. I can and do it again, this time a bit harder, and no one has noticed.

I lean back into the chair, looks her straight in the eyes and tell her to take some of the ice-cream that is left on her plate on her finger and smudge it around her mouth. She fails at the first attempt, instead licking of the white and cold ice-cream of her finger, but after another look into her eyes, she slowly does as I say, squirming, trying to hide as much as possible, while still keeping appearances in the restaurant, avoiding to look into my eyes, asking me to be allowed to remove the ice-cream. I tell her no, and order her to continue eating her dessert in the state that she is now in. She does, and after a couple of more bites, I tell her it is now okay to wipe the vanilla ice-cream off her face.

When she does, I realize that even if it only been a couple of minutes, the whole scene had felt like a long, continuous moment of extreme focus. I did not know what was about to happen, it only did, but as we smiled towards each other, her still with a slight blush on the both of her cheeks, I told her while giggling I always had wanted to do something like that.

It rains a London rain when we leave the restaurant, the rain that finds it way inside of your clothes, but it is okay anyway. We cuddle up hugging each other. And I can’t think anything else than it was a perfect reminder of the DS elements that I seek, and that she is very, very special to me.



2 responses to “The mischievous one

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