Oooooh, so, Wendy’s been getting her groove back. I had a lovely play date this weekend, with Nick, of Nicholas Leather. (Psst. Really, go there. He makes pretty leather things!)
He has pretty knives. He also knows how to use a riding crop properly, as you’ll see in a moment.
This was the first time I had made plans to play with someone where sex wasn’t specifically part of the plan. For me, sex and kink are totally wrapped up with each other. If you hit me with stuff, I’m generally going to be all hot and bothered and want to fuck you. If you do deliciously evil things to me, I’d like to return the favour with maybe a blow job, or some anal, or at the very least, some hot dry humping.
I think this is why I don’t play much in public. Most play spaces are low on the sex.
On the other hand, there are times where I’ve gone over to say, Jefferson’s to fool around, and wind up getting beaten up, not fucking. Sometimes, I just need the kink.
But most of the time, I really prefer to mix them.
This time, however, I’ve got a hooch out of commission, a remarkable lack of interest in anal (Unless Sebastian calls. Then the anal interest pops right back up) and the prospect of holidays with my family. A thoroughly good scene was in order.
Especially these knives. I really enjoyed the knives. Really really. Who’d have thought a knife to the throat could be that hot? (Oooh, I bet being ‘forced’ to give head at knife point would be really hot, next time. Hm. *ponders*)
Now Nick is a boy who knows his knives. I had been hemming and hawing about trying knife play, but after going to his class at C.V., I was impressed, and interested. Watching him work was fun, because he’s very intense with his knives. He *really* like them. Really.
When I arrived at his place, he was still setting up and prepping the knives, so I relaxed while we chatted, and covered boundaries and safe words.
“So, are you afraid of knives?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Can I try to change that?”
After that, he offered me his hand, knives all cleaned and ready, and the next thing I know, I’m being thrown against the wall and have a knife at my throat. Let me tell you, that, gentle readers, was hot. Like, straight up, zing to my cunt hot.
At that point, I was done in. I was nervous before hand, but a knife to the throat really whams you into subspace. And is hot, hot hot.
My shirt came off, and more knives came out. Then pants came off, and I was moved to the futon. That was particularly useful, since the arm gave me something to hold onto since knives can get kind of owie, and when not restrained, I tend to want to fight back.
Ah, how I love my marks.
Alas, its only a small sampling. My whole chest and stomach were all marked up, along with my thighs. My sister wasn’t able to get very good shots, since we were trying to photograph marks that had been fading for three days.
After Nick declared me thoroughly knifed out, there was mention of a toy bag. As I was still up for more play, out came two floggers he made (One of which was so extraordinarily stingy, that at first I thought I was beating beaten with a rope, it was so concentrated in once area). I did decline the cane today, as I didn’t want to sit on the LIRR to Long Island Christmas eve with a tore up ass. A shame, since the cane does wonders getting me to cry. Crying is fun. For me, its cathartic. Sometimes, its hot. I was not able to move to tears, but this was less of a reaction to the skill, and more to how I relate to new friends I play with. While I like and fancy Nick, and respect his mad knife skillz, I’m not quite comfortable enough to let go to cry. Yet.
My favourite, however, was the riding crop. I’ve found that not many people use the crop the way I do. I can get pretty vicious with a riding crop, but when people use it on me, its never quite as mean as it could be. That wasn’t a problem with Nick. He hit me so hard, there was a raised red mark in the shape of the crop where the it had landed in the middle of my back. I couldn’t even see it, just feel it with the tips of my fingers.
Of course, it was located *exactly* where my grandmother likes to pat me on the back. Oye.
Here’s the crop mark three days after play.
Nice, innit? It packed quite a punch, since unlike mine, the slapping end of his flogger is plastic, and mine is leather.
Let me tell you, if my poon was in shape after all this Nick would have gotten jumped like there was no tomorrow. In a good way. hehe.
After we were through, we spent time sitting and talking, and I poked around looking at some of his leather projects (Which, again, are awesome!), and we got bagels and took the subway on our ways together.
