topthemonkey: (Default)
I like to have a good, powerful orgasm before making any major decision. Let me explain why.

Long before the monkey and I got together, I had a problem, one that plagued me.
I was a kinky person. Except when I orgasmed.
I enjoyed feelings of both being dominant and submissive. Except post orgasm.
And the ironic thing is, the more powerful the orgasm, the more powerful the post-orgasm-kink-aversion.

I've previously called this "the vanilla flip." What would be hot and intense one moment, as soon as I orgasm, would immediately feel wrong or even disgusting. Pain tolerance would drop, things that were appealing even a few seconds ago would halt, and I'd have a desire to be cleaned up, warm, and normal; wanting to do nothing more than eat and relax, not feeling sadistic but instead feeling gentle and nurturing. And, of course, wanting to go to sleep.

In my submissive senses, I would often tell dominant types that the best way to humiliate me would be to put me in a compromising position (restrained, uncomfortable, about to be marked), then to get me off while doing it, but force me to go through with whatever it was. For this reason, making me "clean up after myself" (that is, swallow what I had just secreted) was an exceptionally strong fantasy of mine, a measure by which I held dominants; after all, they had to have enough of a mental draw to me that even in my most vanilla mindset, I could still do what I was told.

The couple of times in the past I've gotten body modifications for dominant types (for those who care, my nipples have been pierced twice), both times I was ordered not to get myself off until it was done. If allowed to do so beforehand, the idea of enduring that pain for another person wouldn't have appealed to me.

Part of my interest in chastity play, at least when I represented the submissive side of relationships, was because it allowed a partner to keep me in a single frame of mind, and as long as I stayed in that frame of mind it appealed to me, like a magnetic switch that kept itself turned on.

Since becoming involved with the monkey, our life has more or less become a fairly regular dynamic, with me fairly regularly on top. (Uh, like, always? Like that defines our relationship?) I don't go through these changes (what changes are you referring to?) most of the time. I usually don't let her do anything that causes me to feel too submissive, and I've managed to transform my major erogenous zones to be triggering of the mindset of general kink instead of being spots that would lead me to feeling submissive if stimulated.

However, there are still odd elements to our relationship. I wake up feeling both kinky, and aroused. The monkey....does not. When the monkey wakes up, she's usually in a pretty "just want to eat and pee" headspace. Whereas I just want to roll her over and use her. Which, y'know, is your right.

But often, before making a major decision involving the relationship, before bringing in another person or making some change to status or to some major purpose, I like to compare my thoughts on a matter both at my most kinky, and at my least, both when I'm tired, and when I'm awake.
Sometimes if I'm angry, I like to push myself through the various phases and see if I'm still angry throughout all of them.

When I woke up this morning, I poked the monkey to take her meds, and she revealed to me that she had taken them in the early morning; she had stayed up all night. This has been a regular problem recently, and while I haven't been ORDERING her to come to bed, I've been making it clear, I think, that I'm not happy with this behavior (especially considering she wasn't ever happy going to bed without me). Yes, it's been clear, but I've been struggling with some things that have been directly affecting my sleep schedule. I haven't talked to the Top about it because I don't feel I have it adequately sorted out in my head to adequately communicate it. There might be an entry coming from me about this.
I thought for a few minutes, and visualized that I'd wake her up, and sit her down, and give her a piece of paper.


I, the monkey, understand that I have upset my Master by:
  • Staying up all night, repeatedly, to the point where I'm at risk of messing up our schedules.
  • Orgasming without permission while doing the above.
  • Not properly sorting my meds.
  • Not putting out clothes when they need to be.
I understand that as a result of this, my hair is to be cut in a way that pleases my master, and suits my position, and is to be cut down to this length every Sunday, until I gain the privilege back by:
  • Doing at least a half hour of exercise every week day (walking, playing DDR, crunches).
  • Additionally, playing DDR at least once a week in the above. -moan of despair-
  • Working on the studies my Master wants me to learn, at least a half hour a day.
  • Staying on top of Towels, Garbage, Dishes, and Laundry.
  • Getting my library fines sorted out. I can't do this until I get paid.
  • Getting my timesheets at work sorted out. I can't do this until I hear back from the HR person at work.
  • Filling in my daily reports, every day.
  • Sitting and taking my haircuts like a good girl for the next four weeks (today plus three more) I guess this one isn't happening.
Signed:
Date:


And once she signed it, she'd get cuffed, stripped, and buzzed down. I have a pretty good idea of how much I would have done. She'd still have her ponytail, but more along the back and possibly sides would be buzzed to nothing. The style I'm thinking of is called an undercut now that I do a little Google searching. (The pic of the second girl is...in a perfect world, kinda the exact hairstyle the monkey would have, all the time: enough to grab easily, but nothing for gags, blindfolds, or masks to get snagged in). This holds NO appeal for me.

As the thought of such a scene got me rather horny, I proceeded, still half awake, to get myself off and the decision that came as the endorphins soaked my brain was that this was indeed too harsh. (For some reason, a thought that sneaked in there was that a more appropriate response would be to give her a hot, soapy enema instead, but I'm not sure where that came from or if I decided somewhere in there that doing so was also too rough).

At the moment, however, I'm not thinking either treatment is. If I go home and find her asleep, well...time will tell.
He gave me the enema, no hair cut.
topthemonkey: (Default)
To those readers who were hoping to read another documentary of one of our twisted little romps, I apologize in advance for the slightly different tone of this article.

Communication.

Communication is important. More important, I believe, than trust. More important than love. More important than sex.

Without communication, it all breaks down.

This is especially true when your monkey is mildly insane flavored.

Since I started playing with the monkey, I have been trying, rather hard, to push the monkey in certain directions. I've been trying to push him to express his needs, to try and tell me what he's feeling, and maybe even try to expound on *why* he is feeling what he's feeling (although I recognize that the irrational nature of feelings, even in most "normal" people, will cause that one will not always know WHY one has a feeling, just as one cannot stop feeling a given feeling at will). I have tried to encourage the monkey to call yellow when he has had enough of a given treatment, and I have tried to cause the word "yellow" to be sacred.

I suppose some background is necessary on how I treat the rather standard words "yellow" and "red", because I believe they're different from the standard stoplight system most kinksters play.

For most, I believe, yellow means "don't go any harder than you're going", for example, if a submissive is being whipped, this indicates that they are at, or close to, the point at which they cannot take anything harder.

For myself and the monkey, "yellow" is more of a "detour" -- it means "something is getting dangerous to triggering some unpleasant reaction, and might do so even if the degree of stimulus is lessened." Thus, if I am using my favorite lucite rod on the monkey, leaving a lovely series of bruises, and the monkey calls yellow, the rod goes *away*. Out of my hands, out of sight. It doesn't come out again, usually in the same evening. I tell the monkey so -- that it's away and that it cannot hurt her anymore. I want her to believe this, and I believe this behavior is at the core of some of the trust I am trying to build. Even if the monkey is tied and blindfolded, I feel it's important to communicate that she's free of the potentially bad stimulus.

Similarly, "Red" means "EVERYTHING STOPS." Full abort. Gear comes off, goes away. Dominant tones cease (although a steady, reassuring, "okay, I'm taking this off you, okay, everything is okay" is warranted), but otherwise, lines of communications are implied to go full open. Speech restrictions are fully removed, and like the CS geek I am, at this point, one can choose to launch the debugger, look back through the stack trace, and figure out what caused the panic.

I digress.

There have been times, recently, where the monkey has felt afraid to express her own emotional needs -- where she wants to be held, to be loved, to be dominated, to be hurt...and because she's afraid of feeling "needy", she does not tell me her feelings and desires.

I continue to tell the monkey many things. I am her dominant. I am the top. I am in charge of her. But I am *not* psychic.

A day or two ago (depending on one's definition of days, as it's well after midnight as I write this), the monkey was upset with me. I had been working outside, doing things other than playing with her, and she was out of sorts. (I welcome the monkey to comment on this). She wanted to make me angry at her, and the words "Fuck You" escaped her mouth, in what I felt was a hurtful tone. I admit to not being able to replay the rest of the conversation up to that point, because of the intensity of what *has* stuck with me, and I apologize, both to reader, and monkey.

But then, it wasn't more than three seconds after her impudent utterance before my hand slapped across her cheek, and she started crying, almost instantly. As much as it has taken some adjustment on my part to not feel this particular behavior is NOT abusive (it's been asked for, repeatedly), and it's become our sign of "this is how you know you're in trouble" -- this was unusual. It was not a particularly hard slap -- hard enough to leave her cheek red, but not enough to even turn her head. It was, however within earshot of others (I do not know if anyone heard it). From there, we retired to the monkey den, and sat down and had a long talk.

There were times when she was crying, in a mood I call "the bad place", begging me to hurt her, and in such cases, I generally do not deem it healthy to do so -- This is not the classic case of the sadist refusing to hurt the masochist, this is, instead, the case of "there's a time when it's safe to play with pain and when I feel you will respect your own limits, and this is not one of them, and I will not feed into such behavior".

But we talked, a lot. And I held my monkey, a lot. I told my monkey, over and over, how much she was loved. Made her repeat it after me. "I am loved." "I want to learn to love myself." "I am a good person." "I will learn to treat myself better." and other such affirmations. We continued to discuss it late into the night, and I told her, outright, that if we had another communications breakdown such as this, where she left me in the dark about her feelings to the degree that things came to such a head -- that it would be dealt with, in a caring, and loving manner...that I would make everything okay, and give her what she needed...and when it was all over, she would go to the basement (or something similar).

I drew for her, an alternate scenario of our basement play --

And I suppose at this point, I should explain what the basement is. Normally, the basement is a place where she is cuffed to a hook above her head, stripped naked, gagged, blindfolded, and whipped -- usually with a number of strokes she knows in advance, and usually with a look-me-in-the-eyes-and-tell-me-why-you-are-about-to-be-punished confession. It is NOT play, it's discipline, and it's quite serious. The use of safewords falls back to far more reserved meanings (as in, physical inability to take punishments, as opposed to discomfort). After all is over, when the blindfold is removed from her tear-stained eyes, she is held, told that she's forgiven, and loved, and loved, and loved.

Much like the "space monkey" analogy that formulated the title of this blog and it's starring role, there is, similar to Fight Club, a spot in our basement where the floor is stained with sweat, tears, mucous, and the spread footprints of a naked slave who knows they've done something wrong, chained in the place where I first showed her pain, where I first triggered her, before she was even mine.

But this time, I painted a different scenario -- one in which there would be no pain, merely standing, and waiting, contemplating -- considering what one has done, alone with one's thoughts...maybe for hours or more -- possibly even wearing a diaper. Instead of our usual cuffs, instead there would be suspension cuffs, and spreader bars, standing, uncomfortably, for as long as it took. "This is the consequence of non-communication. Not pain, not anguish, but just a timeout, A long timeout."

I asked the monkey, again and again, if they believed I was capable of doing this.

"Yes, Sir." was the soft reply in my ear.

I swear to whatever chaotic forces that helped create the universe, that are as close to a deity as I am capable in believing in, that I never have to do this to my monkey. And just as much, I swear that I will do it if it becomes necessary.

I love her. I feel with her as I've felt with no other. She satisfies and completes me in ways previously unimagined -- but without communication -- without her being able to tell me when something is wrong, when something is breaking, when she is feeling hurt, I don't feel I can be the dominant she needs me to be. She accuses me of reminding her too many times of how intensely emotions run in BSDM relationships -- but it's not an environment in which I feel safe taking shots in the dark.

I've told her many things in the past. I've told her I am not afraid of her crazy. I have told her she will not scare me away. I have told her that I will stand by her through the worst, as long as she will let me stand by her. And I stand by every statement I have made. I am willing and ready to commit to her for this...we've known each other a short time but I feel this so deeply.

I have told her of a previous mate, who had a hanging fetish -- and in telling her of my ways to satisfy *that* fantasy -- the machinations I would take -- of panic release snaps, of the drop-weight calculations, of the pulse oximeters and OSHA-compliant safety harnesses I was ready to buy to complete this fantasy, before that previous mate disappeared from my life -- all those things in that fantasy, being things I need to, as the responsible one, as the one in charge, to *know* that things are as okay as they possibly can be, that things are as safe as possible.

This, to me is no different. I'm the boss-man. Need the info. I cannot make her wear a 24 hour EEG, nor would one even be reliable in determining the types of moods, the types of needs felt, the types of insecurities that can be alterted-to with a simple word, gesture, or a look (once the monkey makes such looks clear to me, and tells me that this is their meaning). Without that, I am in the dark. And that is where I will leave the monkey (still firmly in my care), if comms fail.

Hello. My name is D, and I am, reiterated once again, and as always, in love with a Space Monkey.
topthemonkey: (Default)
So as the rather humorous subject line of this post goes, yesterday the Monkey got their first dose of waxplay at my hand.  There was nothing poetic about it, but it was a rather hot scene (again, no pun intended).  The monkey was on her stomach, in a hog-tie restraint (all the cuffs locked), and gagged tightly with his favorite ball gag.  I started the waxplay, with a votive candle resting on the Monkey's back.  She snapped her fingers, (which translates to yellow) and expressed (after I de-gagged him) that they were afraid of me leaving the candle in contact with their skin.  So this required a change of tack: 

I took his large butt plug, and told the monkey she was going to have to wear it (after all, why had she brought it if not).  The monkey called yellow at one point, was crying, gasping at this point, but I looked him in the eye, and told him, once and only once: "Take it.  That's an order.  You know where you'll be going if you break a direct order." (*)  There were a lot of tears, and quite a bit of Astroglide, and some slowdown to what I might expect later in the future, but the plug finally was placed in.

Once it was in, I returned to the wax.  I tried with a regular unscented taper candle, but the steady drip-drip-drip was too much (and not unlike a hot version of the Chinese Water Torture) and the monkey called the final "yellow" of the evening.  So I decided to go with the "let it melt and toss it" method, which basically involves throwing the wax from one candle while waiting for the other to melt (and also, carefully scuplting the candles as they soften for optimal speed-melting).  The more candles you get in rotation, the larger the dosage per-shot.  In this case I would say it was about a half-teaspoon per.  We went through most of two scented votive candles, mostly along the back and butt, but a few splashes along the arms, and even one carefully down the monkey's right cheek.  This went on for a while, until I would estimate I had a 75 percent coverage of her back.  Once the "Shell" was good and hard, I took the crop, and shattered most of the wax over her with five or six well-placed but relatively light strikes.  The monkey expressed some discomfort at her plug, so I removed it, and then threw some more wax just for good measure, and removed her restraints and brought her downstairs while I made dinner.

He mentioned that he had been in and out of sub-space several times during the scene (but later mentioned that they didn't feel I did enough "aftercare" (i.e. resassurance and cool-down post-scene).)

(The astute reader will note I am swapping gender-pronouns.  They refer to the same individual, but this is something we engage in in the bedroom, and since the purpose of this journal is to be nothing less than candid, the practice will hold here.)

Later that night, and after dinner, as we were cuddling and getting ready for bed, I ordered him to lick my nipple for a while.  it got me quite aroused so I had the monkey go down on me, fucking her mouth until I came.  Before I unloaded, I told her: "You're going to swallow, or it's the basement."  She got me off, and she really tried hard, but her gag reflex was too strong and she coughed it back out on me.

I felt so bad for her, there was a part of me that wants her trained in this, but at the same time, she's trying very hard, so as she lay down next to me, depressed, I rubbed the monkey head for good luck, and told her that I could ask nothing more than her best, and that she would learn, eventually, and she was not going to be punished because she had tried.

(*)I also find it amusing to note that it's been at least a few days since the monkey has needed her behavior corrected in any manner.  Clearly, this one adapts well and learns quickly.  And like any space monkey, they know that the first rule is that you do not ask questions. :)

My name is D, and I am in love with a space monkey.
topthemonkey: (Default)
Note: This is a backposted entry, so some of the details may be inaccurate.

My space monkey had a rough day today.

He returned today, after school and after spending the weekend with his Master.  When I inducted him into my care on Friday, I had given him a single "homework" instruction: I wanted her sex clean-shaven.

There were also a few other constant-care things that, between her master and myself, should seem to be common sense to the monkey.  In this case, there is one particular text message I got that annoyed me:

"Always forget it's a 20 block walk from Master's house to train station...Missed train by 3min.  Next at 1.39.  Haven't eaten.  Drank less than half a glass of water."

This had been because the Monkey had overslept.  The monkey is also supposed to ALWAYS carry food with her, just in case (which is always a good idea in general when using public trans).  By the time the train got her to school, the classroom (where she was due to hand in a midterm) was empty.  She knew she had messed up.  I told her, outright, that I was going to defer the right to punish her to her master (who she was due to see while at school).  As it turns out, however, he did nothing, promised nothing, as a result of her actions.

I texted her, and told her I would meet her at a train station at around 530.  Thus began a long day.

We stopped at one home depot, and picked up a bunch of eye-bolts.  I wanted to pick up snap-linkages as well, but that particular home depot was out of them.

We wound up at a second home depot, and finally *got* the damned linkages.  I also made her stand, with her legs spread, on the pavement in front of the store, and measured the gap: 42 inches.  I bought a 1" diameter dowel, and sawed it down to that length in the store.

After that, we stopped at Petco, where we bought a thin-style collar, leash, and a stainless steel bowl, all for kitty-boy play.  The space monkey looked at me with the cutest look. 

"Sir, could we please just *look* at the cages?"

Hi, my name is D, and I am in love with a Space Monkey.

I led her, by the wrist, to the back of the store, where I did some quick math on prices and dimensions, and tried to figure out if she would be able to fit comfortably.  Finally, I opened up one of the display cages, and told her.  "Get in, pet."

She fit in quite easily, smiling contendedly as I closed the door, latching it shut.  He looked so content in the cage, it was almost a shame to open it up and bring him out.

This is definitely going to be a purchase in the near-future.

Following that, we stopped off at one more place: the local drugstore, where I picked up extra cartridges for my Venus razor.

We went home with our spoils, and I set out upon a few tasks:  First, I assembled the spreader bar, driving an eyebolt into either end.  I then proceeded into the panic room, sinking a few eyebolts into the floor.

Then it began.  The monkey was ordered to strip.  Blindfolded.  Ball-gagged (and he looks so cute in it).  His hands were attached, over his head, to the eyebolts at just beyond shoulder-width.  Ankles were locked into a spreader bar.

And then, she was lathered, and her crotch shaved bare.  I did 90 percent of it, and left the other ten percent to her, in the shower, later.

The rest of the day is a little fuzzy, honestly.  We did a lot.

That night, however, she had a punishment coming due.  She knew it, and unlike regular scening and bedroom play, this one was to be severe.  She was stripped naked , and her wrists cuffed to a ceiling bolt (the same bolt from the famous 6/16 incident).  The spreader bad went on her ankles.  I stood in front of her, looked her down in the eyes, and asked if she knew what she had done wrong.  She was well aware.  I asked if she was ready to accept the consequences of her actions, and once again, she answered in the affirmative.

I put on her blindfold and buckled her gag as tightly as it would go.  Then it began: nine strokes with the crop.  She didn't cry, although she flinched noticably.  Once it was over, I held her and told her she was, once again, a good slavegirl.


As I was leading her upstairs, we talked about what harder object she could be hit with...when it occured to me, that I was carrying a 1" diameter by 42" long wooden rod.

I had her brace herself across one of the basement support beams, and gave it one or two cautious whacks, before I dragged her to another support beam where I had full room to swing the thing, stickball-bat style.  I took one shot at him, and his back arched like mad, gasping.

The bruises still haven't faded, as of 7/2, but he's quite proud of them.

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October 2012

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