Saturday, December 19, 2009

Spanking in China


I just got back from almost a week in China on business. I started in Shanghai, went on to a smaller city, then returned to Shanghai again. In the van ride back to Shanghai I got to thinking about living in this place, a place where people are "disappeared" all the time for political dissidence. My mind wandered to thoughts of spanking. Soon, spanking and China combined in my mind I wondered about spanking in China. Does it even happen? If so, how deep, deep, deep does it have to be? About a year ago I saw the design for China's "killing vans," these Winnebagos that roll up to riots or "criminal's" homes and then they can just drag these dissidents into the van for a quick euthanasia on the spot. Saves time. Quick. Economical. What would happen if the government ran into a spanking party. How quickly would the killing van roll up to the Holiday Inn and start dragging our asses (no pun intended) on in? Think I'm overdoing it? I don't think so. I could log onto the internet from my hotel room, but I couldn't get on Facebook, check out Erica's latest post on MySpace and certainly couldn't get to the bratty emails from Carolyn on FetLife. Why? Censored content.

Heavy stuff before the Holidays, I know. But thank God we live in America where the only thing we have to worry about is being considered freaks. Whee! I'm happy to be home. Happy to be with family, happy to be with friends, happy to be able to log onto whatever the hell creepy, kinky, sick, dark, dirty, funny, weird, extremist website I want.

So Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, my weird, twisted friends!

Saturday, December 12, 2009

A Funny Holiday Story (with very little kink involved)

Tonight was my company's Holiday party. Driving to the venue I was reminded of last year's Holiday party. I know you ladies love it when a top does something ridiculous, so you're going to appreciate this one...

Last year my wife and I were going to go to the Lair, our local dungeon, after the company party. We packed our fetish clothing in the car to change into once we got to the dungeon. As a treat for my wife I decided, on a whim, to wear a pair of leather-looking bikini underwear with a zipper that ran from the front waistband to the back, around the crotch. Kinky. I thought, after we got home, she'd enjoy "unwrapping my holiday package." These particular underwear I had purchased many years ago as a goof, long before we entered the lifestyle. Unfortunately, they were so old the elastic around the waste was dust. I didn't realize this until long after I had put them on, dressed in my suit and headed to the company Holiday party.

I'm one of the owners of my company and was hosting the "show", an hour of entertainment the four owners put on for the 180 employees and their significant others that were there. I stood on the stage of the hall we had rented, microphone in hand, welcoming everyone to our event when suddenly I felt my underwear creeping down from my waist, the elastic utterly shot. As I shifted from foot to foot making my speech, I felt the kinky undergarments sliding down to the crotch of my slacks. I squirmed a bit, sensing without any rational thought, that everyone could tell exactly what was going on.

As I spoke, I put my hand down the back of my slacks and nonchalantly yanked the bikini briefs back up to my waist. I kept going with my humorous monologue without skipping a beat, but a moment later they were down again, only lower than ever. I plunged my hands down the back of my pants again, yanking up those leatherette briefs all over again. And again they dropped. I couldn't take it any longer. Squirming more obviously, I reached into the front of my pants and pulled again, trying intentionally to give myself a wedgie in the hopes those fucking briefs would stay up, even if they were held up by riding waaaay up my asscrack.

I was told in public speaking training years ago to always acknowledge the obvious, so I said to everyone, "I'm wearing old underwear. The elastic's gone. I'm just trying to keep the damn things up." Everyone in the house roared in laughter. I handed the mic over to one of my partners, promptly walked off the stage, face red as Santa's coat, and into the men's room. I slammed the stall door open, shut it behind me, took off my shoes and then dropped my pants. Those annoying fucking briefs dropped to my ankles. I pulled my pants off in the stall, then yanked those damn bikinis off. I re-dressed, going commando, and went out into the men's room. There were a couple of guys from the office in there. I dunked the briefs into the trash as one of the guys looked at me, looked at the trash can and said, "I thought you were kidding."

I wish.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

The Importance of Good Playmates

I'm extremely fortunate. I have some wonderful regular playmates. Some I see rather frequently and there are those I only see a few times a year. But all of you beautiful women are very special to me because of our connection, because we are good playmates. It comes from friendship and communication. Building a respect for one another as well as building an understanding of what each person needs and what each brings to the scene. Good playmates are a find. A rarity. Trust, communication, respect, integrity, appreciation. All these things come into play when building a relationship with a playmate.

Certainly many of you have read Erica's blog and know all about our scenes. I've detailed them fairly extensively myself as well. Everyone who read these knows it's a mutual admiration society going on. I've often talked about on these pages (screens???) the near-psychic connection we share when in a scene. How just a breath or a movement or a sound is enough communication for me to understand what needs to happen next.

Saturday night Erica and I played. Our scenes in the past have been bratty, fun, loud, intense, emotional, dark, punishing...not all at the same time, mind you. Before we played Saturday Erica told me she wanted something "fun and intense." Got it. She'd been having a tough couple of weeks. Dark and intense would've been too much, though before she told me I had considered both a "dark and intense" or a "fun and intense" (note a theme to these?) as viable possibilities. Perhaps she needing centering, focusing as a result of her recent issues. But she sent the word on what she hoped to get.

Our scene was just that. Fun and intense. There was much laughter, sometimes at the expense of others in the room--like the guy with the LED flashing lights and tinsel on his wiener. The banter was light and playful and Erica laughed with joy numerous times. Most surprisingly, at one of the most intense moments in the scene she began a muffled, throaty laugh, face down on the padded table. I couldn't tell what she was doing--laughing or moaning in pain (the bad kind). I stopped and checked in. She was fine. She was more than fine. It started me.

I got to try out my new implements I had purchased at Bizarre Bazaar, some better than others. HL at the FMS Back to School party showed me one of those Japanese gloves with the vibrating fingertips and he told me how much he loved it, so I had to get me one of those! Tried that out during a period of sensation play and we both loved it. Great in combination with a knife or, I would imagine, a vampire glove (though Erica hates "poky things").

Though her subspace wasn't deep, she felt fulfilled. The only word that kept coming to me during aftercare was "joyous." The scene had been just that.

The importance of good playmates. Fulfilling to both parties, delivering something much needed. I don't take these relationships lightly.