topthemonkey: (Default)
This past weekend we visited a friend of the Top's and bought 2 new toys. One is a heavy nylon cane and the other is a heavy-ish rubber flogger. Both are a step up from almost all of our other impact toys, pain-potential-wise. The Top was trying them out on me at the friend's apartment, with the friend's roommate in the room. Both women were aware of the nature of our relationship, involved to varying degrees themselves, and had no issues, as far as I know, with our acting as Master/slave in front of them.

My pain tolerance is dependent on a number of things. The relevant ones in this case are
  • Frequency of pain. Have I been receiving moderate to hard pain recently? If I have, it will be much easier to take that kind of pain.
  • How comfortable am I in the environment we are playing in? If the answer is short of "very" I will have a difficult time accepting the pain.
  • Who are we playing in front of or with, if anybody? I'm far less comfortable playing in front of others, particularly if a) I don't know them, b) we are the only ones playing, and c) we're not in a bdsm-designated space.
I had not had even moderate pain recently, so though the Top started off slow, the toys are fierce and there was not enough of a warm-up for me to slid into it easily, though I tried. I had just met the two women in the room the day before and though I liked them very much from the little we had interacted, I wasn't entirely comfortable being vulnerable in that way in front of them. So it started to get to be a bit much for me and normally I would start to cry, whimper, squirm more, ask the Top to move around, call yellow.

But (and I know this was totally ridiculous of me) I didn't want to show what I felt could be perceived as weakness or inadequacy so instead I just shook my head at the Top and said "no," trying to stop the tears from coming and crawling to the other side of the pull-out bed I had been laying on.

The Top was, naturally, displeased. He softly ordered me to come to him and by the third time he said it I had stopped shaking my head at him and reluctantly I crawled back. He wanted to talk. I didn't. The friend overheard something indicating this and said we could use another room if we needed to talk. I don't remember which one of us said that was unnecessary. The Top's laptop was at his feet and I picked it up, opened a new text document, and tried to explain what I was feeling and what my thought process had been, crying while I typed. I emphasized my discomfort playing in front of virtual strangers. He was comforting, told me it was OK.

Then he started using the two new toys on me again. My first thought was, did he actually read what I wrote? I felt, betrayed isn't the right word. Ignored isn't either. I don't know. This time he was gentler and  praised me more, which helped. It was over pretty quickly. Later we talked about what had happened and he said that he started up again because he thought everything was fine, since I had expressed my issues and stopped crying. He also said that he expected me to be in constant communication, "be a good slave," "set an example." I felt kind of guilty about having not done so, and for not thinking of these things at all.

While he was using the toys on me it took a lot for me not to flip out when I was trying so hard not to call "yellow." That almost always starts this whole inner conflict, destructive thought cycle that leads to some sort of violence on my part, verbal or physical. He knew that without my saying anything and noted it and that was some comfort to me. Because it was a very small victory, but one I felt proud of.

Then he started using the new toys on his friend, while I sat on the bed and alternated between watching them and reading. He was very reassuring with her, emphasizing that she could and should constantly communicate how she was feeling, and say, softer, lower, higher, harder, not there, yellow, red, etc. Though this was their first time playing and the Top and I have been playing for nearly two years, I felt a bit put out that he didn't say any of these things to me. I know I'm supposed to know them already, that they should go without saying. And I feel needy for feeling otherwise, wishing he had said those things to me. I guess I still need to hear them because part of me thinks a good slave shouldn't offer any direction during this sort of play, should just take it; though I know that's not how the Top feels.

I want to use the toys again soon, but now I am more than usually apprehensive.

topthemonkey: (Default)
Last night was really nice. The Top tied me up with rope in a sort of hog-tie, scratched me with his nails, fucked me, and let me masturbate while he fucked me with a dildo. It was the first time my panties were used as a gag. It was nice to taste and smell myself throughout the play.

Yesterday and today he seemed a lot more willing to spank me. Not that he's usually unwilling per se . . . It's just that he's always stressed over one thing or another, super busy at work, tired when he gets in, and now that we're in a hotel noise is somewhat of a concern. I like good hard play at least twice a week, with (near) daily pain and orgasms. I am craving force and brutality so hard lately. I feel like I have to pester him constantly for days on end to get one night of what I need.* And while I'd like to reassure myself that he doesn't do anything with me unless he wants to, sometimes I'm afraid I'm pressuring him. I want to let it just happen naturally but when I do that it happens once every few weeks.

He was talking about getting my nipples and clit hood pierced to make me "feel more like a slave," since I said I hadn't really as of late. But that's not going to solve anything really. Regular enforcement of rules would make me feel like a slave.

I am feeling tempted to break rules and act out just to get punished and I hate it. I'm really not a brat and I don't want to be one. The other night he playfully slapped me on the ass when we were in bed and I was immediately on the verge of tears because that is just a fraction of what I have been craving so desperately lately.


*But is it a need or a want? This is what I have difficulty figuring out. I can live without it, sure, but having it regularly contributes positively to my general emotional/mental well-being and health. I know I'm a slave and it's his decision, so I'm trying to "just deal with it." With marginal success.
topthemonkey: (Fred Einaudi)
I've been reading/hearing a lot about masochism lately. Well, not really about masochism, more like people saying "I'm a masochist" or "I'm a painslut."

(Sidenote: I tried to write about this before but didn't get any replies and didn't really work anything out on my own.)

I feel like I'm not a masochist. I'm not a pain slut. I can't call myself these things without feeling like I'm just trying to fit in, silly as that might sound. But at the same time I feel like I'm supposed to be these things.

But recently I've given myself permission to ask for pain, to enjoy it, without labeling it or myself. That was really hard. But it's been really rewarding for the Top and myself. The Top certainly seems delighted with this development. -grin-
topthemonkey: (Default)
I'm not sure I understand what the difference is between a masochist and a painslut, if there even is one.
I'm also not sure where I am on the pain continuum, if "sadist" is one end and "masochist" is the other. I like to inflict a little bit of pain. Very little. Like, biting or scratching, not enough to break the skin. I like to experience pain much more.

My threshold is higher when I'm aroused, which is the norm. Pain, particularly light to medium pain, frequently makes me more aroused. Sometimes I like a lot of pain but mostly I just like a little. I almost never like it to start off intense or to sharply become more intense. I never like it out of nowhere. I like build-up. Approximately 95% of the time I want my pleasure with at least some pain. But I don't exactly orgasm when I stub my toe, yanno? Even if I've been rubbing my genitals at the time.

Fairly often intense pain will:

-bring up feelings I had been suppressing or things that I did not think were bothering me at all
-make me angry
-cause me to lash out at the person administering the pain
-cause me to be rude/sarcastic/snarky/mean in defense and/or an attempt to distract myself from the pain

The vast majority of the time, intense pain will:

-make me cry
-make me feel emotionally vulnerable/exposed

Sometimes the Top will call me a painslut but let's be honest here, he calls me a lot of things, particularly when he's close to orgasm. I see pictures of nails driven through breasts, saline injections in the labia, and these are not the things I want. I've seen other people enjoy them very much. I like of them as painsluts. Not me.

I think this might be similar to the little bit of apprehension I have when I call myself a slave. People take it to a level I don't, and that's what it means to be a slave to them, so why should I call myself a slave? The same goes for "total power exchange" and "24/7 relationship."
topthemonkey: (Default)
Note: Yes, I am still gender-switching with pronouns describing the monkey. Sometimes I refer to my monkey as "he", sometimes as "she". I realize this is frustrating to read, so I'm trying to at least keep paragraphs consistent. I am writing from the first person, so there shouldn't be much confusion, and there are only two people in our play sessions, the monkey and myself, and with regard to anyone else, I will refer to them by name or initial. Nuff said!

On a side note, if anyone wants to invest in a really nice spanking bench for not a lot of money, I highly recommend this:

The monkey pointed out last night, after a night of fairly intense play, that I need to update this more.

After which a) I suggested that I bitch-slap the monkey for his impudence, b) the monkey mentioned his dislike of the word, as well as the fact that slaps are only for true punishment and c) I discovered that he has a magazine, titled "Bitch" that I could roll up and wail on his behind ad infinitum, thus rendering a completely politically and contextually correct bitch slap with no vocabulatorical worry; I realized the monkey was right. I do need to update more. So I am. Here you go, you stylish readers.

Some might find it odd that in my panic room, along with the recently added eye bolts in the floor, in the ceiling, and such, I've now assembled a large petco-variety dog cage. Some might also find it odd that for The Monkey, this is a safe place to go, a relaxing place where she is free to be a sub with no responsibilities other than to just be a sub in a cage. I regret that I haven't had enough time to properly cage the monkey as much as either of us would have liked. The reason for this may be detailed in another post, but it relates to another person in the house.

There is one other problem worth mentioning in this equation: The last time the monkey came to me, he left his toys at home. Given, the monkey only *thought* he was coming out to a medical appointment with me. Which means as much as I might have wanted to see him properly ball-gagged, butt-plugged, or strapped-on...it hasn't been happening (my vehicle is currently in the shop, and monkeys cannot drive).

But this entry is mainly to think about the events of last night. After reading in a friend's journal the benefits of Fisting, and knowing the monkey has expressed an interest, I decided this might be the evening for it. As I've never attempted such a feat with anyone else (although I can think of two other girls who might have enjoyed or had the capability for it), I decided to do at least a little research and found This Howto.

The evening started easily enough. I had the monkey strip to his underwear, and put his packing dildo in, which (okay, I admit it) really turns me on, and locked him in my favorite set of red cuffs, and then, over his ankle socks, I snapped a standard set of police leg irons. A blindfold completed the gear, for the moment.

I ordered the monkey to stand on the bed, palms against the wall, leaning as far down as possible, and took out the crop. I started very lightly, taking to her with controlled sets of three strokes, all over the body, stopping in between to hold her, making sure everything was okay. At some point, I loosely buckled *my* ball-gag onto her, which is normally too large for her to take due to TMJ/TMD. After six such sets, I switched over to the lucite rod, and again, started lightly, but built in the same controlled sets. After each set, the monkey was allowed to ask if she could move, and often did, curling up against me, cringing from the pain until ordered into position again.

The last set, she was very, very unsure of, feeling scattered and on edge, but I kept insisting, telling her that she needed to trust me. She took position and I delivered three very light taps. As she laid down on the bed, she told me "That was pathetic". I invited her to go for another round, but she didn't seem interested and her mood seemed a little bit broken, so I turned out the lights, and we cuddled for a bit, her head on my chest, and all her gear still locked on.

About 20 minutes later (I am guessing), I ordered the monkey to get me a set of gloves (recent hospital discharges rock for free medical gear), and after she had gotten into position on her back...

[at this point, gentle reader, I must take pause to remark on why I don't put nearly as much time into writing these entries as I could be...but the past few hours (today, the day after the events in this entry) have been very nice, and will likely be another entry entirely]

...and after he had gotten into position on his back, I greased up my right hand glove with Astroglide, and inserted four fingers of my hand into him (he was already quite wet), pressing firmly, pausing, massaging what I could reach on the inside (more fingers tends to limit the mobility one has less than if one has, say, a single finger), and massaging the clit on the outside. It took about twenty minutes.

At the apex, my hand was mostly curled into a fist, pulsing and flexing gently and all the knuckles of my fingers were inside her. My thumb was in up to the point where the trapezium meets metacarpal I (just to the last knuckle where the thumb meets the hand). I feel I was pressing too intensely, but she claims the pain was only minor. Afterwards, I removed my hand as slowly and as gently as I could. I have every intention of being inside her to the wrist, now. It's only a matter of time.

After I withdrew, I tried to taste her to go down on her, but the astroglide just tasted god-awful, and hey, not having to do things you don't want to is a privilege of those on the looped end of the leash.

He curled up against me, again, and began masturbating. I held him tight, talked him off, told him all the fantasies I had for him, wearing a welded steel collar and cuffs, everywhere. Being marked. Being owned. Being beaten not because he had done something wrong, but simply because I could. Being chained up to sleep. Being fitted with a zone collar. All the things that make him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He approached orgasm, and asked me, softly: "May I, Sir?" To which I assented, and he came, shivering against me.

Of course, after that, as she was satisfied, I had her go down on me, which was also quite nice. She swallowed most of it, and afterwards, being both tired, and post-orgasmically-snarky, we decided we were both hungry, so I removed her leg-irons and we went downtairs and pigged out on ice cream. We came back up and curled up next to each other to sleep, her head on my shoulder, purring softly.

This morning, I was given the highest of compliments: "Last night was really nice."
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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