…sometimes almost magic…

I got over the desire to maim eventually, and the boy did come over. With ice cream and iced tea, no less. And a dog bowl.

It was a delightful Friday night, after all.

I really am getting much better at this stuff. It only felt awkward for about a minute in the beginning, when I was trying to figure out how to begin, and a minute in the middle when I was trying to make the transition from service to play.

To start off, I had him strip and I took his clothes in exchange for a collar, which I locked onto his neck. It’s just a play collar, no special symbolism or anything, but it was the first time I’ve ever used a lock with it. Seeing that little padlock on the back of his neck and knowing the key was in my pocket, it gave me a little thrill that I hadn’t really expected. It almost felt like he was mine in a very real way, though I’m not exactly sure how I feel about that.

We played that he was my slave last night. My property, my personal servant. I had him sweep the floors and fetch things for me, bring me a drink and wash the dishes, among other things.

Reading that back, it sounds very silly, but it was great. I have long had fantasies of having a houseboy to clean for me, mostly because I hate doing housework. But sitting on the couch, sipping my drink and reading a novel while a devoted boy did menial chores in the background.. it was delicious, and not just for the free cleaning. I almost want to say that it made me feel powerful, but that’s not the right word and a little strong. Perhaps it would be better to say that it emphasized the power dynamic in a very obvious way. I felt on top, I felt in charge, I felt like a queen on her throne. Well, maybe not quite all that, but you get the idea.

It’s the fact that he was doing something he doesn’t like, but he was happy to do it because it was for me, because he wants to serve me, because he really is submissive to me.

The typical bdsm activities, the flogging, bondage, cbt etc, can feel like I’m performing a service. Don’t get me wrong, I very much enjoy those things, and I’m very happy that he gets off on the bondage and all ’cause otherwise he wouldn’t keep coming back would he? ..but there’s still that overtone, even if it’s just in my mind, that he’s only there to get his rocks off, and I’m just there to do it for him. As Bitchy might say, where is my orgasm in that?

Of course, there’s no orgasm in it for me to have him doing menial chores, but it’s a thing where it’s mostly just about me getting what *I* want, without having to actively pander to anyone else’s desires. Which feels good.

What’s the fucking point of writing in here? Everyone else says what I want to say, only they all do it so much better.

Yeah, I’m ridiculously bitter and other unflattering adjectives. So sue me.

I want to rip someone’s face off tonight. Or maybe just eat a lot of chocolate and escape in a novel.

Kitten is gone for the weekend and the boy is supposed to come over tonight. I’m not in the mood. But I’ve canceled on him a number of times already, doing it again would make me feel like such an asshole.

Last week or the week before, there were a bunch of headlines talking about a recently-discovered “lean gene.” A multitude of news articles in a multitude of publications, raving about how this new gene is going to “zap fat & diabetes” and how it’s “a high-level master switch that tells the body whether to accumulate or burn fat.” Newspapers were touting it as a way to stop weight gain and combat the “obesity epidemic!”

The fact that this gene only affects about a pound a year of fat was usually stuck in as a one sentence afterthought, or ignored entirely.

Sensationalism reigns.

Since Kitten started her part-time job, Sunday has become play day. It is nice to have the house to myself one day of the week. And to be able to have boys come over and get naked for me.

Today was definitely the best interlude I’ve had with Derek. Even he said it seems like I’m getting more confident. It was also the first time he’s really needed aftercare. “Please hold me, I feel so vulnerable.” He curled up in my arms like a little child.

In several online conversations this week Derek had expressed interest in being hogtied and having his feet beaten, so that was what I started out with today. My knot-tying abilities aren’t top-notch by any means, but I thought the hogtie turned out pretty well. Just the right tightness too.

Hogties make me happy. There’s something so pleasing about the way it looks, and it’s such a quick and easy way to make someone almost completely immobile and helpless. And I love it when they’re really helpless.

I used the rubber stick on his feet, then decided that using it on other places would be a good idea. It left some beautiful marks. And today’s scene was all about leaving marks. My goal was for him to be able to look in the mirror at least two days from now and still have traces of me on his body.

This picture to the right is fast becoming my favorite. Something about the obvious helplessness of the bondage, the beautiful deep marks on that creamy expanse of skin… And I’m not generally a girly-pink kind of person, but I really like the look of the pink rope – it echoes the color of the welts rather nicely. There’s something lovely about that.

The rubber stick is always fun and it left some great welts, but they didn’t last very long… Not to mention it’s a little hard to get good hits in on someone who’s hogtied. So after a while, I moved him to a chair. Much better access….

I’m interested to see what his thighs will look like tomorrow. I beat them with several different implements with little visible effect aside from the usual pinkness, but when I started slapping him with my fingers, the blood came to the surface all in a rush. I have a feeling that’s going to turn all sorts of colors tomorrow.

Near the end, we did a little scene with the sjambok. He had to count, say thank you, and ask me for the next hit. Cliche can be be very fun sometimes.

I hit him hard with the sjambok. Very intense, for both of us. It is so amazing to really hit someone hard. Exhilarating. And to know that he’s taking that much pain for me..

This picture sadly does not do justice to the marks left by the sjambok. Some of those welts were beautifully raised, with blood blooming under the surface of one or two. The one where the tip caught his arm was particularly nasty. I’d like to leave marks like that one all over him… just a hair away from breaking the skin.

I intended to end the play session with the sjambok, but somehow standing behind him comforting him turned into my hands around his neck, which somehow led to my big scary knife pressed against his throat…

“It just was so hot with you behind me touching me knife running along my body choking me…”

Words that warm my heart. ^_^

Many, if not all of you reading, may have heard of a recent “scientific” study that spawned headlines like “Are Your Friends Making You Fat?” The biggest implication seems to be that size acceptance is causing the “obesity epidemic.”

Here is a response to the “scientific” study: http://www.healthateverysize.info/2007/07/is-fat-hatred-c.html. She makes some excellent points that all of the mainstream media seem to have either missed or ignored in favor of inflammatory headlines and subtle (or not-so-subtle) hatemongering.