ABC’s of BDSM/Kink

In celebration of Dr. Seuss’ birthday this month…let’s go on a little sojourn into the ABC’s of BDSM and kink, shall we?

A is for Anal.  Come on ladies, ass up.  It’s no longer just for birthdays, anniversaries and make-up sex.  I’ll Analyze it for you.  It is Amazing. So get off of yours and get some…

B is for Bondage.  Bound by ropes, cuffs or even words…there is no freedom like it. Hog-tied.  Tied to the bed.  Hands in front.  Hands behind.  Legs.  Ankles.  Hands tied to legs…to ankles…to the bed…I could go on…

C is for Control. The word itself stirs me…In my humble submissive opinion, it is best given away and Consensually coerced with the use of a strong Crop and well-positioned Clamps.

D is for Dominant.  Delicious.  Decisive.  Direct and Demonstrative.  All I can say, in Southern-speak is DAAYYUUMM. (Which is DAMN…for those of y’all who don’t speak the language)

E is for Exhibitionism.  Could you would you in a boat? Could you would you in my throat?  Could you would you in plain sight?  Could you would you when it’s bright?  It’s anytime.  Anywhere. Exposed.  Erotic.  Exciting.

F is for Fetish.  Fly your freak flag. All are welcome.  Flags of a feather Freak together, with Floggers and all.

G is for Good Girl.  These 2 words, when used together, dripping from the lips of my M, ignite a fire in my loins that burns like the flames of Hades. That’s HOT…Damn HOT.

H is for Hitachi Wand.  You know you’re in for a fun night when the lights flicker and dim as it is switched on. Now, that’s some powerful shit…Hello and HOWDY, Mr. Hitachi.

I is for Insatiable. To quote the late-great-Barry White…”My darling..I can’t get enough of your love baby”  (Sing it to yourself in his baritone and you’ll totally get it)

J is for Jesus.  Not trying to be funny here…but I guarantee I say His name about 100 times in the midst of a kinky weekend.  Just sayin’.  As God is my witness…

K is for Know thyself.  To set boundaries and establish limits, one must know who they are.  K is also for Kink.  And lots of it.  Go big or go home.

L is for Little.  It’s a wonderful place to be…sometimes stocked with glitter and rainbows…It can also stand for Love.  Lust.  Lustful.  Lusting after…

M is for Masochism.  The sheer pleasure from pain. Mouth-watering smacks on the ass that Melt. My Master is a master at this…More, please.

N is for Nipple clamps.  These implements demand upright attention.  And there is something so Naughty about having someone tug on your chain.  State of Nirvana guaranteed…

O is for OH MY GOD…Orgasms.  Preferably lots of them.  Sometimes they are denied, but when allowed…they are Overwhelming.  Oh..my.

P is for Paddle.  Ah, the precise Pain from the use of a Proper Paddle. It’s Penetrating.

Q is for Quiche.  In order to do all of this kinkery…one must eventually eat to keep one’s strength up.  On a side note..real men do eat quiche and they also eat pussy for that matter. So eat the fucking quiche already.  You already know what’s for dessert.

R is for Rope.  Japanese silk.  Jute.  Nylon.  Regardless of the material, it’s the technique that counts, Scout’s honor.

S is for Safe and Sane.  It’s the Sadists out there you have to watch out for, you know.  Sluts beware.

T is for Talk.  “I am your dirty whore from way back, Daddy.” I fucking love to Talk dirty during hot, carnal sex.  Although I don’t always get to say much when his cock is halfway down my Throat.

U is for Use Me.  Analogy:  What “good girl” is…when spoken to me…”Use me” is…when I say it.  It’s global warming, climate-changing dialogue that turns me into a dripping mess…as I anticipate the Unspeakable things awaiting me.

V is for Vibrators.  Be mindful of the friendly Vibrator packaged as a personal massager…it’s certain to Violate you in ways unfathomable…such Vigor.

W is for Wet. Here it is used in a sentence.  Whips and Wartenburg Wheels make me Wet. Weally…Weally…WET.

X is for, you guessed it…X-RATED.  Once again…my humble and submissive opinion.  Handle your business in the bedroom (or wherever it may be for the Exhibitionists) and act like you are making an XXX rated movie.  Crank it up a notch whether or not the camera’s rolling.  Or whether or not you know it’s there….

Y is for Yours.  It is about belonging to your One.  It should be said frequently.  It’s a powerful statement.  Practice with me, “I am YOURS.”  Say it loud.  Say it proud.  You know who You are.

Z is for Zen.  We, subbies out there refer to this as “subspace” which is a state achieved when you lose all conscious awareness and rely on the sublime feeling of pure ecstasy as you float in the moment.  It is heaven on earth.  ZEN….Namaste…hey…hey…hey

So I will close with this…

Down and dirty and downright flirty, this little post is meant to amuse those who use those

For their pleasure, with a feather or even paddled and likely straddled.

Some like it hot and some like it cold.  Some want them young.  And some want them old.

Some crave the pain while others like to restrain.  Some prefer the view from the top as they wield their crop to their unsuspecting bottoms’ bottoms…

Waiting to hear that first “POP”

But it’s all in good fun, for now I must run.  The wheel calls my name in decibels of pain.

Waiting for “good girl” to drip from his lips as I arch my back and hips and spread my thighs, I watch his eyes and I hear my sighs ring out into night’s sky…

I recite in my head as I approach the first O…

Oh The Places You’ll Go.  And Go.  And Go. And Go.

Oh the places

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss…

 

 

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Dr. “Pierce”

Don’t you love the role of clichés in our lives. They serve as reminders that are engraved on our brains.

“You are what you eat”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder”

“You never have a second chance to make a first impression”

And here’s one of my pearls of wisdom:

“You cannot make passion fruit sorbet out of vanilla ice cream”

If it is passion fruit sorbet that you crave, you should at least go the correct area in the store.

Frozen Foods-check
Ice cream/novelties-check
Sorbet-check

The same applies when looking for a Dom. Go to the right place, not a vanilla dating site. If you are on a vanilla site, you are likely going to get vanilla ice cream. Not passion fruit sorbet.

Just sayin’

So after weeks of conversation, I finally agreed to meet him. He was a persistent man I met on Ok Cupid, the same site where I met Sir (I guess he was an anomaly). He was a psychiatrist who lived on an island.

That sounds so mysterious…a psychiatrist on an island…AMC should create a new series…

I digress…

So after multiple invites, I arranged to go to the island to have dinner and spend the evening with who we will call, “Dr. Pierce.”

That was a major task for a mother of 3. For the mom who doesn’t want to disclose her plans or location to the innocent bystander. So much trouble just to leave. I found myself almost dreading the encounter, except for one reason.

This psychiatrist was “pierced” which was something I’d never experienced.

Where was the piercing you ask?

Must you ask? Really? Think…south of the equator.

Saturday came and I finally packed. I secured care for the kids. Cliché ALERT: “When all else fails, throw money at the problem.” (Be sure to file that pearl in your long-term memory, it’s actually useful) So I hired someone from daycare to keep them and paid her VERY WELL.

I arrived on the island a couple of hours later than planned. Dr. Pierce seemed perfectly fine with my tardiness…on the outside. As OCD as he was, I imagine he was enraged on the inside…but hey, not my issue.

He lived next to a marina on the water and his condo was nestled in a nook of bohemian shops and old world pubs. I honestly expected to see Hemingway stroll out of the corner bar. The air was warm with the smell of the ocean and I found myself taken in by the atmosphere

Dr. Pierce greeted me at my car and helped me carry my luggage. Bless him, I’d thrown everything I could think of in there…because what does one wear when staying with a psychiatrist, on an island, with a piercing?

He was smaller than I’d expected and very average looking. When you envision a psychiatrist, on an island, with a piercing…a different persona comes to mind. But he was nice. And I was there. Kid-free!!!
So, for me, all was well.

We boarded the elevator and he immediately threw my suitcase down in a corner, backed me up to the wall of the elevator and planted a passionate kiss on my shocked lips.

“I cannot wait to have you,” he whispered, and we walked off of the elevator to his condo.

Needless to say, I was a little confused…and a little excited at the same time. Who would have thought??

He showed me the view from the balcony and proceeded to disrobe me right there. I protested, but he reassured me that we were in a corner unit and no one could see over the bannister.

So, I thought…what the hell?

I’m on an island.
With a shrink
Who has a piercing. (Honestly, you can’t make this stuff up)

So it was happening right there. OMG…what a rush. Then I remembered…

Oh crap…he has a piercing. What the heck do I do with that?

So as always, I insisted on safety and he readily complied. But before that, I had to see this thing. I mean what kind of jewelry does one wear on a penis?

Does Pandora make a charm for that?

It was a small ring with a rounded stud midway along the shaft.

So there we were…

Me
The psychiatrist
His piercing
On an island
On a balcony

I was truly scared as began to enter me. I didn’t know what to expect. Would it hurt? Would it bring immediate ecstasy? Would I hate it? Would it injure me?

And I all that I can say, is WHOA. A completely different experience. I was almost disturbed by it and aroused by it simultaneously. The piercing hit every spot, every time he moved in me. My voice was a full octave higher at times and lower others. I was all over the place.

It was almost too much. After our passionate encounter, we had a normal date.

Dinner first. Then Drinks. And a Movie. He was painfully quiet and I found the regular dating scene with him tedious and painful. Funny, I thought the piercing would be the “painful” part.

I pondered, during the bouts of uncomfortable silence, his reasoning for getting a piercing. This normal-looking, soft-spoken, professional man made a conscious decision to alter a part of his body. Did he feel inadequate in some way? Did he need the piercing as his offering? Is this the equivalent to boob jobs and teeth bleaching in some twisted way? I thought and thought…since there was minimal conversation. And as I thought about the elephant in the room…

We engaged in round two.

It was equally as good the second time. The mystique of the piercing was gone for this adrenaline-junkie, but not the amazing sensation.

So I leave you with this…the next time a psychiatrist, on an island, with a piercing invites you down for a date.

Do it…and savor the flavor, if you are looking for the experience.

I doubt our relationship will go any further. I am secretly glad. And happy that he had no people skills and that he’s almost 3 hours away. I could easily see myself transitioning into a stalker…

Another idea for AMC…