Feb. 6th, 2009 03:44 pm
topthemonkey: (Default)
Apparently hooves for pony play are really expensive.

Colt $645

Palamino $875

Arabian $1,320

How do people afford this fetish?

Incidentally, the hooves don't actually make me think of pony play. I see them more as a different kind of ballet boot. Though those don't really interest me.

topthemonkey: (Default)
I have never had even the tiniest interest in pony play. Pet play, yes, absolutely. But not ponies. And I don't identify as a furry, or anthropomorphic in any way.

Last night I had a very bizarre dream which felt in many ways like Something Wicked This Way Comes (so much Bradbury love). There's a place down the block from my family's home that I've dreamed of many times, but doesn't actually exist. It's in a residential and there is a concrete or stone entrance set back and mostly concealed by overgrowth of nearby flora. It looks a lot like this. Sometimes it's a former military site, last night it was a former casino. There's always a pizza place on sort of a cliff or an overhang and a big field underneath with a few tall poles. Usually the field is a parking lot. Last night it was the setting for a carnival.

There was an acrobat on this sort of spiderweb between some poles, a mistress of ceremonies who was also in charge of the human pony races, and a few other people, at least one other man who was important but I can't remember what he did. They all went around frightening and intimidating children and their games and performances were rather sinister.

For some reason they needed someone to run a race from one end of the field to the other and I ended up getting roped (forced?) into it. The mistress of ceremonies gave me a pair of hooves to wear, a bit, and blinders. I was also wearing some sort of body harness with a tail. I was hooked up to a small cart I had to pull, on which stood the mistress. It looked kind of like this. I tried to explain that I can't run very fast and I'm in terrible shape, but they didn't listen.

The race was against one of the important men I can't remember. He was not running in pony gear, or standing on a pony cart. I think he flew across the field. I lost, obviously. I didn't even know what the race was for, though it apparently involved permission to go somewhere and do something because he immediately left.

The thing is, I really liked the pony play, particularly wearing the hooves. I wanted to do it more, and wondered what it would be like to do it with a lover. I woke up really horny and confused.

topthemonkey: (Default)
Interesting fun at work, making a call like the following:

"Hello, PetSafe? I have your large dog training shock collar, and I need to call about replacement parts." (For those who care, the battery cover for the remote broke).

...only to have a coworker interrupt. "I didn't know you had a dog."

The "proper" response is up to the reader, mine was simply. "I don't." with a bit of a grin.
topthemonkey: (Default)
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 (being the monkey) sincerely doubt that anyone reading this is so unfamiliar with bdsm as to think that being caged is inherently and absolutely an oppressive state.
I was recently informed that people who do not identify as/with specific animals (not exclusive to furries) enjoy pet play within the bdsm context for the humiliation and de-humanization it provides. I don't know what percentage of submissives find this to be the case, but with me the motivation is very different. I was actually genuinely astonished when he said that, because I don't find it humiliating at all. I guess it's de-humanizing, but I don't see that as a degrading thing. More on that in a few paragraphs.

I suppose, as The Top said, part of why I love being caged *is* the attraction of having no responsibilities while in that space. Even if that isn't the sole factor, I know many people are attracted to the submissive role because (ostensibly) it provides a release from responsibilities. No decisions, choices, etc. Of course, in reality, being a submissive is about much more than not having to make decisions (which cannot be gotten out of entirely unless, I suppose, a dominant took micro-managing to the nth degree).
I think I got a bit off track. Yes, it's nice not to have to think about school loans and doctor visits and such when caged, but if I'm preoccupied with the outside world to begin with, no matter where I am, the scene is going pretty poorly and something is seriously wrong.

I love being caged because it lets me be a pet. I identify very strongly with cats (not in a furry-related way, though The Top did once say I was acting therian-like) and appreciate the moments where I am allowed to let myself go into that headspace.
It's not sub-space, but it's similar in that when I'm there I'm really far gone and I don't want to come back. In general, however, I can be knocked out of sub-space pretty easily but my departure from pet-space includes much hissing and clawing. (OK, not really. I know if the top is telling me to get out, there's good reason. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it in the least.)
Despite the fact that cats are rarely caged, I find it a very natural place to be, a natural extension of what being a pet means to me. Well, not just a pet, but feline in a general sense. Like that cat/pet headspace, it's satisfying and fulfilling. I feel like that's where I'm meant to be. It centers and calms me a great deal.

I am so, so grateful that The Top bought it.
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.


topthemonkey: (Default)

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