#play parties
Since I’ve started a relationship with my Daddy, I haven’t bottomed to anyone else in the scene. No reason for it, I just require a lot of trust and attraction before I even consider playing with someone. So after many months of thinking about it, I finally decided that there was one person that I absolutely wanted to play with.
We’ll call him The Hammer because…well, that’s his name. He’s handsome, charming, libertine…a rake if you will. It’s not often I have a crush on anyone, but he’s definitely been the center of many of my young girl/older man dreams. He’s probably the heart of many girls’ fantasies, when I think about it. It’s not often I see him by himself: he’s usually surrounded by women, all who want a piece of The Hammer. I often don’t bother, he’s a busy man and since I have as much sex appeal as watching paint dry, I assume he wouldn’t want to play with me.
Somewhere along the way, Daddy gave The Hammer permission to play with me, as long as certain limits were respected. A tiny part of my brain was concerned that maybe he was only going to play out of pity. but my extremely active libido didn’t care.
I don’t remember the exact details of what happened. I was extremely nervous and extremely turned on as he began tying me up. His touch was gentle, a lot gentler than I was expecting, but it contrasted heavily with the roughness in which he placed rope on my body. The Hammer has incredibly soft hands, something he joked about afterwards.
When he raised my leg in a partial suspension, I’m fairly sure he could see how visibly wet I was; I could feel it on the inside of my thighs. I wanted him to touch me, but it was probably best I didn’t ask. It would definitely be crossing a line that I wasn’t ready to cross.
He blind-folded me and this is where details of what happen get hazy. I remember being suspended, I couldn’t tell you how it looked, but it felt amazing. I vaguely remember him whispering sweet things in my ear, like telling me I was a beautiful girl. For some reason, hearing him say girl really excited me. I WAS just a girl and he was a full grown man, doing whatever he felt like doing.
When he was done, he laid me face down on a pillow (perhaps it was a dog bed, but somehow the truth kind of wrecks the image I’ve created in my own head) and he laid on top of me and untied me as slowly as he originally bound me. I’m fairly sure I was grinding against him and tugging on the hem of his kilt in an embarrassingly slutty manner. Feeling his chest against my back and listening to his breathing did help me calm down, eventually.
The Hammer held me until I was actually able to think semi-clearly, but we were eventually kicked out of the Play House. I think that was probably the most I’ve ever spoken to him about stuff that wasn’t related back to Rope Bite Baltimore (something that he runs), Welcome to Kink, BGSC (stuff that I run), or Dirty Things (a play party that he organizes and I advertise). In fact, it’s probably the most I’ve ever spoken to him ever, since I tend to work through emails and texts more than actual conversation. Hopefully it’ll provide some proof that I’m not a mindless little fetish girl-bot.
Pictures to come in the future, if The Hammer allows it, of course. :)
I had a ridiculously good time at the party tonight.
My first scene (with The Unknown Quantity) ended because I was laughing too hard and couldn’t stop, just from the endorphins, and the main result was an incredibly sensitive right inner thigh. Then I got incredibly sleepy and down, so I napped to the sounds of screaming, moans, and all kinds of impact.
When I woke up, I tottered over to Reaction Junkie and glommed onto him and listened to the conversation. During a break in the talking, he asked me how I was doing. I told him about being sleepy and down and a short while later, he was grabbing and squeezing my right inner thigh, making me cry out in extreme pain.
Then he sat down and tied rope around my right thigh. He pulled it taught around the arm of the chair and I whimpered and yelped. He started slapping and punching my right tit as I made delightful pain noises and struggled not to move. Now my right tit is swollen with blood and it should have a lovely bruise tomorrow. I’m not down or sleepy anymore. I’m so lucky to know such amazing and fun people, and especially lucky to have a wonderful person like Reaction Junkie in my life to hit me when I’m down.I’m at a play party and I just had an unexpectedly excellent scene with someone I hadn’t played with before, The Unknown Quantity. I’d seen him around happy hour, and he’d seen me. I’d observed that he’d been improving with his rope. He’d been observing with others. And it showed.
He tied me up with my arms harshly pulled behind my back, my hands pulled in front of me and rope tied between a crotchrope, and rope tight around my legs. It left me unable to take deep breaths without causing myself some pretty excellent discomfort.
He picked me up by the crotchrope, pushed me around, tied my legs in a crossed position and put his weight on them, grabbed me and squeezed hard, dug his nails into me, and then the tickling started. He made me tell him how pretty I am and complimented my smile as he held me down with his weight and made me squirm. His fingers ran along my sides, around my hips, to my feet. I actually felt ticklish with him, which doesn’t always happen. He took a letter opener and dug the tip into my side, the sharp spring surprising and frightening me.
The pain, fear and uncertainty, and the restrictions on my movement put me in a pretty decent subspace and made me lightheaded. It was entirely unexpected, since I don’t normally enter subspace at events, and haven’t been going into it that much in general, lately. Fantastic! I’m really happy with how that scene went, and he was, too. My squirming, whimpers, gasps, and struggling made him smile and pleased him.
Time to head back in, hopefully for some more fun!
The Unknown Quantity and I found a space and started a brief negotiation. We’d done a fuller one the previous day. I told him where my new bruises were so he could hurt me, and told him I didn’t want my arms tied that day. Then he grabbed me and basically tossed me to the floor. As the scene started, I added a few more things that I didn’t want, including that I didn’t want my tits punched, only slapped. He listened and acknowledged what I was saying as he tied my legs.
When I was done talking, he started with the hitting. He didn’t think he was much of a sadist, but I can tell you that he very much enjoyed my pain reactions throughout the weekend. My poor inner thighs were already bruised from The Violinist, so when The Unknown Quantity started hitting me, it hurt more than it normally would have. I started struggling, and he grabbed my hands to hold me down. I squeezed his his thumb so that I could take more and move less. When I told him that’s what I was doing, he nodded and allowed me to keep holding his hand while he hit me.
Eventually, he needed both hands (the better to hurt me with, of course). When he returned to the grabbing and beating, I tried to be good and stay still, but I started thrashing. Reaching out in desperation for something to hold, I managed to grab the edge of the mat with my left hand, but my right hand grasped at nothing. I was trying not to kick, so I made a fist with the right hand and slammed it into the mat. The Unknown Quantity saw my half-failed attempts to control myself and stopped hurting me for a moment. I caught my breath while he stood up and grabbed a bundle of rope. He put it on my chest and said, “Hold this right there.” I clenched the rope in my hands and channeled my desire to struggle into squeezing it tightly.
He moved back to my legs and held them down. After he slapped my thighs a few times, the next thing he did challenged my desire to take as much as possible, physically and psychologically. I felt something digging into my leg. Something sharp. He was using the same thing he’d used the night before, but now my legs were even more sensitive. It felt like he was going to push the point right through my skin each time he jabbed it into my thigh. I was shaking with the effort it took not to move from the pain and the mental anguish. A bolt of fear shot through me each time I felt the sharp object pressed into my flesh. I trembled, part of my brain in a half-panic, part of it trying to be logical. He wouldn’t break the skin. We haven’t talked about it. We didn’t negotiate that. But what if he just pressed too hard? No, he must know how to use whatever it is he’s using. He definitely wouldn’t break the skin…Right?
When he put the thing away, I was relieved for a moment. Then he started using his hands again. At first he was just punching my thighs, maybe throwing in some smacks. Then he grabbed both of my legs, holding me down. He knew I’d react strongly to what he was about to do, and he didn’t want to get kicked. He started slapping my upper left inner thigh. He did this rapidly and repeatedly, the pain building as he brought his hand down on me. I writhed around, clenching the rope in my hands as tight as I could, trying to take the pain. I attempted to kick my legs, to no avail. He’s stronger than me, had a good grip on me, and I was beneath him. As he continued slapping, my pain noises started getting louder and louder until I screamed. Each strike hurt worse than the last and each strike ensured that the next one would hurt even more. Finally, I couldn’t handle anymore, so I managed to get out a “Yellow! Yellow!”
He stopped slapping and switched to lightly, very lightly running his fingers along my reddened inner thigh. I twitched. He’d made my thigh so sensitive, that the lightest touch hurt. The Unknown Quantity seemed delighted at this discovery, and increased the force he was using until I asked, “May I please have some water?” I was thirsty, but I also needed a break from the torture he was inflicting on my body. He stood up and told me to stay put. When he came back with my water, he instructed me that I was still not to move my hands or the rope from where he’d put it initially. He helped me drink some water, and I took a breather for a minute or so.
When I indicated I was ready to start again, he pushed me back down. I was still holding the rope, but now he wanted to hurt my tits. He reached for the rope and I slowly let go, loathe to lose it. The Unknown Quantity considered for a moment and then told me, “Put your hands on top of your head, and keep your elbows on the ground.” I did as I was told, assuming a position that left my breasts completely exposed and vulnerable. It was also a position that was impossible for me to hold properly as he slapped my tits, hit my battered thighs, and grabbed them to dig his nails in. Every so often, a strike or a squeeze would be so hard that I would lift my hands off my head for a moment. Each time, I returned them, wanting to follow instructions. I cried out and thrashed around, trying and failing to keep my elbows on the ground. Any time I lifted them up, The Unknown Quantity would give me a look and tell me to return them.
At some point, in the midst of the pain and the fight to keep position, something happened. I started laughing. He continued to hurt me, and I kept laughing. Reaction Junkie had pointed out that laughing is sometimes my response to getting hurt. This was different, though. I couldn’t stop laughing. I was cracking up. Holding position was a lost cause as I gave in to the uncontrollable laughter. I wasn’t able to tell The Unknown Quantity that I needed to stop, but by the time I managed to choke out, “I think I’m done,” he was already taking the rope off. “I know,” he replied, which gave me a nice little shiver and cemented my subby feelings. We cuddled and talked for a while as I finally managed to get my laughter under control. I felt warm and giddy and very contented. When we stood up, he said, “This time you’re going to do something for me.” “Clean the mat!?” I said in an excited tone. He replied that yes, that was what he meant, and I ran off to grab some wipes.
That was a fantastic scene, and I really enjoyed the feeling of being pushed until just cracked up, laughing too hard to continue. The Unknown Quantity is hella fun, and, just as importantly, I feel super comfortable communicating to him what I need, before, during, and after scenes. I told him what kind of rope I didn’t want that day and that I was okay with my tits being slapped but not punched during this scene. I let him know when I needed breaks, and that I wanted to grab something so I could take more pain. He’s also observant and perceptive, which is important and sexy.
After The Unknown Quantity and I hugged and went off to enjoy the party, I went to find a place to sit down and recover from the scene. I got sidetracked by talking to people, and wandered between a couple of groups. Then I started feeling very tired, so I found a chair and sat down. I almost fell asleep sitting up, so I got up and went over to another group of people I knew. The drop expanded from tiredness to me feeling sort of sad and down, and I decided to go be by myself for a little while to recover. I nabbed a spot on the couch, curled up, and took a nap. The sounds, of impact, groans, screams, moans, and background conversation were the perfect lullaby.
Reaction Junkie and I had plans to do dinner and head to the party together on Saturday. Also, he’d just gotten a kitten! He’s fostering the adorable critter, and I was definitely excited to meet her. I headed to his place and was greeted at the door by an adorably post-nap Reaction Junkie holding a tiny creature in his arms. I squeed over her and provided some highly intellectual commentary. “Kitten!” We played with her for a while, watching her run around and play with toys.
Finally, we had to go eat, so we headed out. We ordered and I pulled out my card to pay for both of us. Reaction Junkie said he’d been planning to treat me, which was super sweet. I’ll have to let him do that another time. I don’t mind paying most of the time, depending on circumstances, but after dating someone who basically never paid, and when he did pay, wanted me to pay him back, I’m happy to be dating someone who is at least willing to pay sometimes.
After dinner, we headed back to Reaction Junkie’s place to wait for our ride and play with the kitten. We waited for a while, and then decided to just take the train in. When we got to the station, we ran into another friend of his. That’s something I like about him. He knows a lot of people, which means I get to meet a lot of people. It reminds me of how meeting MLAM greatly expanded my social circle, and definitely for the better.
When we got to the play space, I again felt no urge to do my customary social-anxiety-hide-in-the-bathroom-for-five-minutes thing, and simply started talking to people. I started chatting with a guy from happy hour who I’d spoken with a few times, Denver. He’s a subby type, and we started flirting a little back and forth. Eventually, I suggested a scene, and he agreed and we negotiated, although he wanted half an hour to settle in. Obviously that was fine with me, and I continued talking to people until he came over and asked if I was ready.
To be honest, I was nervous about being more than incidentally toppy in a public space, especially with someone new. We talked for a little while, he showed me the hitty things he’d brought, and I relaxed a bit. We found a space to play and I had him take off all his clothes except for his underwear. I started warming him up with my hands, spanking him and scratching my nails down his back.Then I started using the implements he’d brought. I hit him with the ping pong paddle, the nice side of the mean paddle (per his request), and a crop. I was talking to him and looking for reactions the whole time, but it was a little difficult to hear and my heart/vagina wasn’t really in it. We had kind of an awkward rapport. I did enjoy hitting him though.
About when I was feeling done with the scene, we got interrupted by some people who were going to do something in the space we were in. It was bad that we got interrupted, but I was also a little glad. Trying to do something I’m not confident about, in public, and without being into it was an unpleasant experience. I checked in with him afterwards and he seemed agitated about being interrupted. I asked him about it and he said he wasn’t, but he definitely seemed like he was. I asked him for comments and he said it was mostly good, but that I should take it “more seriously.” Either that or take a different attitude, like a high school bitch type. I know I may need work on my domly dom domminess, but also, I’m just never gonna be like that to any significant extent. I have much more fun being sarcastic and snarky and talking to the person I’m playing with and being a bitch and having fun with it. Maybe that just means Denver and I aren’t a good match as play partners.
I was feeling sort of unsettled after the unsatisfying scene, so I went and talked to some happy hour people. After a little while, I went over to Reaction Junkie and informed him that I wasn’t going to ask permission to go to the bathroom that night. He looked at me and said I’d be punished. I responded, “No. I won’t.” because my original intent for the evening was to at least try and be dommy and toppy for him. He’s so good to me, basically letting me sub out nearly all the time when we play, even though I know he’d like to have a chance to be all bottomy with me. I can deal with service topping for him, or having him top from the bottom, and I’m definitely up for doing that, especially when he mixes in a bit of being controlling and using a dom voice. But I also want to be able to just straight up top him, be a bit dommy, and get into the right headspace so I can fully enjoy taking on those roles in and of themselves and maybe even start feeling confident being the one making decisions and directing things.
When I was done talking to Reaction Junkie, I went over to The Unknown Quantity and started talking to him. He invited me to do a scene and my immediate response was an excited “Yes!” I felt like that would be just what I needed to pull me out of the funk I was in.
When Reaction Junkie and I reached the party, he suggested we go up to a private room. I was a little unsure, but I decided to go along with it. We went upstairs and picked a room. Reaction Junkie unzipped his bag and began showing off his handcuffs. He’s a bit of a fan. (That’s an understatement. He almost always has like 5 or more sets of cuffs in his kink bag, even if he’s just going to happy hour. And of course, I have to carry the damn thing.) He showed me how to use a couple sets and I set to work putting them on him.
I secured his hands behind his back and cuffed his ankles together. Then I started hitting him a bit. Not very hard, but hard enough. As we played, we chatted. I don’t remember much of what was said, although I’m sure the regular conversation was intermixed with me saying condescending and/or insulting things to Reaction Junkie. I told him I wasn’t sure about having sex, but noted that, I really should since he is a man, after all. At the time, MLAM and I were playing with a fairly intense and all-encompassing context of fucking with my feminism/consensual misogyny, which meant I was supposed to offer myself to any and all men for their pleasure and entertainment.
I also informed Reaction Junkie that he couldn’t give me permission to get off, though, since he was choosing to let me dominate him, thus forfeiting the control over my orgasms he would otherwise have as a man. I enjoyed saying that to him, even if it meant I wasn’t going to get off. At his request, I uncuffed his hands and recuffed them in front of him. I straddled Reaction Junkie and started grinding against him. I continued messing with him, and I was really getting into it.
I told Reaction Junkie to say nice things about me, and he immediately started complimenting me. He said wonderful things about parts of my body, my personality, my intellect, etc. I loved it. I should make him do that sort of thing more often. I uncuffed his hands and he started using them on me. He’s got game in the “hand stuff” department, but I wasn’t quite getting there. I knew what I needed. I needed degradation, consensual misogyny, name-calling, and to feel subby. I felt a bit bad, but decided that it was best to just ask for what I wanted. I asked Reaction Junkie, “Would it ruin it for you if I asked you to say terrible things to me?” Without missing a beat, he slapped me across the face and said, “Shut up, whore.”*
I swooned. Reaction Junkie saw how positively I responded to his words and the slap. He took over and continued this treatment, degrading me and hurting me. I clearly remember thinking “What a clever boy” as he got a handle on the consensual misogyny quite quickly, calling me names, insulting women as a class, saying the kinds of terrible things that get me soaking wet. He hit me, hurt me, and choked me, treating me the way I crave being treated. His words and actions combined to put me in a lovely little subby headspace. When he started playing with my cunt again, I got into it, gasping and moaning. Reaction Junkie said, “Oh? Can I give you permission now?”, calling back to when I told him he couldn’t give me permission to orgasm because he hadn’t been taking his rightful place over me. He continued using his hands on me as I whimpered that of course he could give me permission. He continued rubbing my clit and fucking my cunt with his fingers, gave me permission, and managed to get me close to orgasm.**
By this point, I was both super turned on and super into Reaction Junkie. I said*** that we could have piv sex (whether by saying “Fuck me!” or asking more demurely, I can’t recall), and he took me up on that offer. I grabbed one of the condoms supplied by the space, gave it to Reaction Junkie, and he fucked me. Now, I had mentioned to him earlier that I was into forced impregnation/nonconsensual unprotected sex fantasies. Not one to let a chance to press someone’s buttons pass him by, after he came, Reaction Junkie leaned close and whispered into my ear, “Our baby is going to be beautiful.”
We chatted while we cleaned up the room, and then sat on a nearby couch for a while to cuddle and talk more. Eventually, we went off to do our own thing with other people at the party. Whenever we ran into each other, Reaction Junkie took a dominant attitude with the way he spoke and acted towards me. I had already been hoping to see more of him because of the fun we’d had the previous night, but seeing him in that new light made me even more eager to spend time with him. At one point, he even threatened to choke me out. Then, as I was leaving, I went over to him and was delighted when he grabbed my hair firmly to say goodbye. I smiled to myself as I walked to my car and drove home.
The next day, I texted him, “I had a great time last night! It hurts when I press on my sternum, which is the best. We should definitely hang out again sometime soon.” He responded, “I had a fantastic time too. Glad you enjoyed yourself. Let me know when you want to get together again soon.” “Soon” turned out to be the following Wednesday. And then again the very day I got back from my San Francisco/Colorado trip. We started to see each other most days out of the week. That became spending most nights together. Before I knew it, I had fallen for him, and he had fallen for me.
*Reaction Junkie likes to say this is when I fell in love with him. That’s not actually true. But it did flip a switch in the way I thought about him. I decided, “I need to spend a lot more time with this guy.”
**Reaction Junkie thinks I did get off, although my notes on the night say I got close. Either way, I know I was impressed with his hand stuff game.
***To be honest, I actually can’t remember who offered/suggested the piv sex. Either way, the important point is that I was more than ready to have him fuck me.
Reaction Junkie started in on my beaten and already beginning to bruise thigh. He brought his open hand down on the spot, slapping hard, and mixing in punches that made me groan and gasp. Then he began throwing elbows again, his weight slamming into me behind the elbow. With the rope now gone, I had to exert more control over my body to fight the urge to struggle. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to change what was happening, and the attempt to get away or stop him would only result in my situation getting worse. As he hit me deep and hard, I wanted to safeword, at least to say “yellow” to make the pain lessen or maybe move to a different part of my body. But at the same time, I was hesitant to test him. There was the chance that he would ignore my “yellow” again, or even ignore a “red.” To be completely honest, I can’t say which outcome would have upset me more – if he had ignored them, or if he hadn’t.
Before I could put that to the test, the pain from the impacts and the racing thoughts about safewords and not being able to stop him and the fear all became too much and I began crying. Reaction Junkie continued hurting me as the tears started to fall. I tried to stop being a little bitch, but wasn’t able to stop crying. Rather than risk breaking his favorite toy with too much intensity, Reaction Junkie decided to stop beating my thigh. He lay next to me, arms around me, and held me. This break from the physical abuse didn’t mean I was free to relax, however, and Reaction Junkie began to talk.
He told me he was going to take a melonballer to my eyes to blind me. Then he would put drops of molten lead in my ears. Not enough to damage my brain, mind. Just enough to destroy my eardrums, making me deaf. Next, my tongue would be cut out and all of my teeth pulled. After he removed my septum, he would burn every inch of my skin, except maybe my tits. When I went to say something about dying, he stopped me and informed me that he would do all this with me sedated and give me painkillers during all of it. The different mutilations would be performed over the course of a few years, giving me time to heal in between. Reaction Junkie promised that I wouldn’t die from shock, adding, “You can’t get away from me that easily.”
He continued, saying that after he’d done all that, mutilated me and destroyed my body, after that was all done, one day he would gently lead me to the car. He would drive me out to the woods, carefully take me out of the car, and then just drive away. I wouldn’t have any idea where I was or what had happened. He might even do it somewhere where if I got lucky and went in the right direction, I could have a chance to wander into civilization. If I did, someone would find me and take me to the hospital. People will try to figure out some way to communicate with me, but it’s going to be difficult, what with me being blind, deaf, mute, and without fingers. Because of course, he’ll remove my fingers before he lets me go. Scientists will want to study me, trying to figure out how I could have survived the trauma. They’ll assume I was in some kind of horrible car wreck. Who could even begin to fathom that someone might inflict such damage on another person?
I was done crying well before he was finished speaking. At the beginning of the story, I’d been amused by the seemingly over-the-top threats, but as he continued describing the mutilation that would be coming my way, amusement turned to some kind of fucked up enjoyment. It wasn’t arousal, exactly, but I got into the narrative and felt strangely comforted. The level of dedication that it would require to keep me like that made me feel wanted and valuable. A favorite toy. A well used, beaten up, and almost entirely broken toy. But a favorite nonetheless.
Reaction Junkie saw that I had recovered from the beating. He asked me, “Do you know what’s going to happen now?” “No,” I responded with some trepidation. Leaning in closer, Reaction Junkie said, “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you until you yellow. And then I’m going to keep hurting you. You’ll probably try to say red, but I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to stop until I feel like it.” As he spoke, I thought about how it felt when he was slamming his elbow into me, about taking more of that, about it not stopping until he decided it should end. Ignoring my “yellow” earlier in the scene had made it clear that I was in a position of powerlessness. It drove home my utter lack of control of my situation. “Red” wouldn’t work, “safeword” wouldn’t work. Nothing would work. I curled into myself and started sobbing uncontrollably.
After making me cry with his words, Reaction Junkie cuddled me close again. He whispered into my ear that there was a DM standing right over us. I don’t like the idea of someone getting the impression that I’m not okay with what’s being done to me (I know, I know. Maybe not the most rational thing in these circumstances, just from crying after being beaten.), so I turned my head and kissed Reaction Junkie. I later found out that the DM had been there for a while and had heard Reaction Junkie talk to me about ignoring my safewords. Thinking about that fact makes me shudder. Of course no one would interfere. He’s my owner and I’m his property. What he does with me is no one else’s business.
Reaction Junkie comforted me and then began beating me again. I begged him not to hit that thigh any more, and he kindly agreed. Just as he was starting to hit me in the tits, a DM came over to us and let us know that time was up. Reaction Junkie had been abusing me for too long. Or, from my perspective, not long enough.
When I started coming out of the headspace the scene had put me in, I suddenly realized there were a lot of people there. I had been entirely within the scene, so focused on Reaction Junkie, that I hadn’t noticed them at all. He and I gathered our things and walked to the couches outside of the main play area. We sat down for some aftercare, cuddling and talking. I had no way to know that this aftercare session would be just as intense as the scene that preceded it.
Reaction Junkie said something teasing, and I responded, “I hate you,” which, of course, I didn’t actually mean. His response took me entirely by surprise, “No you don’t. You love me.” My mouth dropped open and I couldn’t find words for a moment. Then I squirmed and buried my head in his chest. I said, “No,” and reiterated my hatred, “I hate you I hate you I hate you.” Reaction Junkie interrupted me, saying, “You say you hate me because if you didn’t, you’d say you loved me.”
I was shocked that he was bringing this up in this way, that he was just saying these things. Who does that? I was even a little mad at him. He was pushing me out into the open, making me confront feelings I hadn’t yet labeled even to myself. Finally, I was able to say, “I like you a lot.” Reaction Junkie shook his head. “You love me. You’ve loved me for weeks.” I stopped trying to dispute the emotion, although I also wasn’t ready to admit it. I instead focused on the timeline, “I don’t know about that.” He accepted that aspect, but continued to insist that I loved him.
I kept up my denial for a while. Finally, I admitted to it, “Okay. You’re right.” I said that it wasn’t something I had even acknowledged to myself. I’d brushed against it in conversation with friends and things I wrote for my feels blog, and even talked about the word “love,” but all in roundabout ways. Reaction Junkie said, “You know how I knew? Because of the jealousy feels.” He was talking about the first night he and I spent with Kitten. I shoved him a little and pouted. We continued talking and, as we did, I started thinking about everything that had happened that night and might happen now that my feelings for him were out in the open. I started crying, sobbing really, both from the pain and fear during the scene and because of the emotional intensity.
Reaction Junkie held me and comforted me. He asked what I needed, if there was anything he could do. He said he didn’t have a blanket and asked if I wanted to put my clothes on. I wasn’t sure what I wanted and was trying to sort it out when a guy came over to us. Normally that would be rude, but in this case it was actually really nice because he told us where the aftercare room was. I looked at Reaction Junkie and sniffled, “Can we go in there?” I felt bad for monopolizing him. I didn’t want to keep him taking care of me instead of going off and having fun with other people. But at the same time, I still needed care. Now it wasn’t just from the scene; I needed afteraftercare.
Obviously, Reaction Junkie immediately agreed we could go to the aftercare room. We cuddled up on a couch. He put a blanket over us and held me while I cried into him. We talked about the word “love” and about fear of saying it. My mind was racing as we talked. I wasn’t sure I wanted to say what I was thinking, but I decided to just spit it out instead of holding it inside and continuing to be upset about it. I told him, “I’m mostly upset because I don’t know how you feel.” Reaction Junkie paused. Then he told me that he’s also afraid of the word “love,” but that I should know he feels the same. He asked, “Would you feel better if I said it back?” I told him I didn’t want to make him say it, didn’t want to push him. He looked at me and said, “I love you.” I smiled at him and replied, “I love you.”
We stayed there talking for a long time, about our issues with sharing feelings, about not wanting to risk being hurt, about life, about the future, and about “our” possible future. My favorite moment was when Reaction Junkie said that he wouldn’t have said “I love you” to me unless he meant it. When I mentioned the times he’d said it sarcastically or in teasing way over the past few weeks. He repeated himself, “I wouldn’t have said it unless I meant it.” I looked at him and he added, “I said it sarcastically, but that was a way to protect myself and get myself to say it.” That means each time he’d said it over the previous weeks, each time he’d told me, “I love you” in a joking tone that would seem to imply he didn’t really mean what he was saying, each time, he’d meant it. He’d been saying “I love you” to me for weeks.*
I felt giddy and contented the rest of the night. I still get that warm fuzzy feeling when I think about it. We’ve grown even closer since then, and I’m ever so pleased with the way my life is going. It’s full of love, caring friends and partners, and hella fun.
*I’ve told multiple friends that bit of the story, and pretty much each person has responded, “Awwwwww!” That is the correct response. It’s sweet and adorable as fuck.
Just as quickly as the knife had become the focus of my attention, it was gone. My trials and tribulations were far from over, however, and Reaction Junkie began to use his hands. He started hurting me, hitting my tits and my stomach with open and closed fists, making me breathe heavily and gasp with the impacts. Still blindfolded, I was taken off guard when the first slap hit my face. Then there was another, and another. These were hard slaps, and as I yelped, he told me to be brave and take them, making it clear that he’d read the post I wrote about wanting face marks. Everything I said in the post is true, but imagining how painful and difficult it would be to handle enough impact to get a mark, and thinking that he meant to leave one on me during that very scene was enough to freak me out. My whimpering intensified. Then, suddenly, bright light hit my eyes, making me squeeze them shut. There were tears in the corners of my eyes from being poked with the knife and from the face slapping. I peered out from half-lidded eyes and saw Reaction Junkie’s grinning face. I grinned right back, and he leaned down for a kiss.
The blindfold now gone, the scene continued. Reaction Junkie began smacking my outer right thigh, warming it up. Then he began punching it increasingly hard. What had been controlled movement on my part turned into writhing, and then thrashing. Grabbing my leg, Reaction Junkie held me down and still and began elbowing me. The first time he did it, I was unprepared for how much it would hurt, and I cried out in surprise and pain. He repeated the action, kneeling next to me and dropping his elbow into my thigh, putting some of his weight behind it. I felt a deep pain each time, like he was hurting me all the way to the bone. I started whimpering, and felt the tears starting. Reaction Junkie made fun of me, asking, “Are you going to cry like a little cunt?” I nodded, and began crying. Just like a little cunt.
I took as much of the elbowing as I could, but after only a few impacts like that, I felt like I was going to break. “Yellow, ” I panted out. Reaction Junkie just looked at my frightened face and pointedly ignored my request to dial things back. He slammed his elbow into me again, just as hard as before. As he set himself up to do it again, I started to breathe faster and faster, half-panicked at the thought that there was nothing I could do to stop him. I watched him dropping his weight into me again, his elbow landing hard, and groaned loudly in response, the tears rolling down my face. He hit me again, and then again. Finally, he decided to stop. It wasn’t anything to do with me wanting him to, of course, but because he felt like it.
Just because he stopped hurting me that way in that location didn’t mean he was stopping altogether. He straddled my legs, sitting on them. That put weight on my now battered thigh, making me grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut from the pain. He started slapping my tits and my face. I struggled, but my arms were bound and now my legs were held in place, so it was even more futile than usual. When he paused for a moment, I realized that my thumb felt numb. Not an emergency, but also not something I care to experience for longer than necessary. I opened my eyes and asked Reaction Junkie if the rope could come off. He sat me up and obliged me, wanting his toy to be fully functional. By the time he finished untying me, my thumb was back to normal.
When the rope was off, Reaction Junkie allowed me a few moments to rest. He comforted me, telling me, “There, there. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.” By the end of the night, those words would provide no solace. To the contrary, because of the way he was saying them, and because he would tell me such things in the midst of frightening me and hurting me, each time he said them, I became more and more certain that he would do the very things he was saying he wouldn’t. Promises not to hurt me meant pain was imminent, guarantees of safety meant certain danger. In my mind, reassurances turned upside down into threats. In fact, Reaction Junkie eventually had to switch to telling me “You’re not safe. I’m going to hurt you. You’re in mortal peril.” to convince me he meant me no harm. My mind was thoroughly and deliciously fucked.
When I stopped crying, Reaction Junkie resumed his lesson about what it means for him to own me. He made a comment about the horrible things he could do to me, and I replied that he probably shouldn’t do some of them there, at the playspace. He looked at me and, using that voice, he said, “I don’t think you understand how much power I have when it comes to you.” He reminded me that I’m his property, that no one else cares, and that he could kill me and no one would even notice until it was too late. Then he began to hurt my thigh again.
“And none of that is even remotely true.” Reaction Junkie said this moments after whispering the final, devastating lines of the story into my ear. I sat there, letting the sadness sink in. Then I turned towards him and buried my head in his chest. I hadn’t cried while he was telling me the story, but now the tears started. I was getting into my head, thinking about how it would feel if he actually did that, imagining those emotions. He’d come incredibly close to some of my real fears and insecurities. In fact, he’d hit upon them. Being unwanted, unimportant, replaceable, second best. Having someone I care about pull away from me. Being left alone, with no social support network. Those are some of my biggest fears, the things that would destroy me most readily.
When I stopped crying enough to talk, I looked up at Reaction Junkie and said, “You’re so fucked up.” We both smiled and started talking about what he’d just done to me. I told him how close it was to my real anxieties and how it reminded me of things that had happened to me in the past. I wasn’t mad at him, exactly, but as we talked, I decided to take my upset feelings and use them against him. I put on what I’m sure was a half angry, half pouty face, and said, “Give me your shirt.” Without hesitating, he removed it and gave it to me. I put it on and then licked his face, which he hates. I was grinning now, and when he wiped off where I’d licked him, I told him not to. He told me I’d better cuff him if I was going to do that. I did so, and then held his hands down while I licked him. He struggled a bit, and managed to wipe his face on me. I grabbed his hair in response, and held his head still while I licked his face.
Eventually, I let him get up, and he wandered off, still cuffed. I went over to Mort and told her about what Reaction Junkie had done. She and I talked for a little while, and then parted ways. I figured I should go uncuff Reaction Junkie. When I found him, however, he was already out. I was entirely unsurprised. I joined in the conversation he was having. I mentioned to him that in addition to giving me the emotional bruises with his story, he should touch up the physical bruises he’d given me previously. I was, once again, literally asking for it. And I got it.
Reaction Junkie handcuffed me, brought me to the ground, and started hitting me. He focused his attention on my left thigh, where he’d beat me the day before. He hit me with his open hand, then his fist. He threw in a few elbows for good measure. I was on the floor, half curled up. Because of the cuffs, I couldn’t even do anything with my hands to help me endure the blows. “Please stop,” I whimpered. That had the expected effect of not causing him to stop. I tried to take more, but I was about at my limit. “Yellow!” He didn’t change what he was doing in the slightest. Then, quietly, “Red.” Reaction Junkie still didn’t stop.
No matter how many times he responds that way to my safewords, I’m always surprised, and I always have a moment of panic. That turns into uncertainty and fear, which combine with feeling pleased and excited to create a delicious rush. This time was no different. I didn’t want to say it too loudly, since people are supposed to stop at “red” in most playspaces. I told this to Reaction Junkie later and he laughed and said, “You could be shouting ‘RED!’ and no one would do a thing about it.” Because I’m his. I’m his property. And he can do whatever he wants to me.
Reaction Junkie did uncuff me, but afterwards, he just went back to hitting me again. I pushed away from him at one point, scooting back. Anderson Cooper came up behind me and I sat against him. At first, I used him to help me deal with the pain by squeezing his legs. Then, when I tried to to push back even more, he blocked me. I couldn’t get away as Reaction Junkie slammed his elbows into me. It hurt so much, so deeply. I just couldn’t take it anymore. In the moment between two impacts, I practically pounced on Reaction Junkie, hugging him tightly. The pain stopped, and the tears that I’d started crying during the beating started to slow.
I finally turned to Anderson Cooper and gave him a dirty look. He just grinned at me, having enjoyed his role in my distress. I kicked at him weakly, which he immediately reported to Reaction Junkie. Reaction Junkie said he’d help. Of course, he didn’t help me. As I lay on my side on the ground, he placed his heel on my bruised and sensitive outer left thigh. The pressure was bad enough, but then he kicked down, his heel slamming into my flesh. The pain went through me like a shock, and I curled up around Reaction Junkie’s feet. I stayed there, sobbing and shaking, until I was finally able to stand up.
Reaction Junkie hugged me and put his mouth next to my ear, “You’re mine. Body, mind, and soul.” He continued speaking low into my ear, reinforcing his ownership and reminding me that I belong to him forever. These words contradicted the awful story he’d told me earlier in the night. They turned me on, made my cunt clench. I shivered in response, and Anderson Cooper noticed my reaction. He told me, “I don’t know what he said to you, but I imagine it was fucked up and something only [Reaction Junkie] could think of.” I smiled and told him what Reaction Junkie had said to me earlier, about making me dependent on him and then withdrawing from me. Anderson Cooper looked over at Reaction Junkie and said, “That’s so fucked up…I kinda want to tie him down and pull out each of his chest hairs one by one.” Anderson Cooper is such a sweet guy.
The rest of the night was great as well. Reaction Junkie got on the pole and danced for a group of us, which resulted in laughter and clapping and glee from everyone. I got on the bed with Anderson Cooper and a group of friends and acquaintances. We all cuddled and talked, and people pressed on my bruises. After the party was over, a group of us went to IHOP and sat at a big table of fifteen plus people. It felt like a big family dinner. I was surrounded by fun and friends and affection.
The party went from social anxiety to minor jealousy to fun conversation to emotional anguish to physical pain, and all the way to feeling like I was part of something, a community. Like I fit. It was a wonderful night.
Reaction Junkie and I arrived at the party and socialized separately for a while. Or, rather, he socialized and I half socialized, half felt socially anxious in a corner. Eventually, I wandered up to him talking to a couple people and joined in the conversation. I’d recently written a post about objectification in which I’d talked about my enjoyment of being used as an object in terms of being a demo bottom, and about having my limits regarding feeling replaceable and/or ignored pushed (by particular people). So, when someone asked him about his handcuffs, Reaction Junkie grabbed me and used me to show them off, not speaking to me, but about me. It was exactly the kind of objectification I enjoy.
After he was done showing the last pair of cuffs, Reaction Junkie didn’t remove them. He left them on me and, with me facing away from him and the rest of the conversation, put his arm around me and talked to the other people, completely ignoring me. A few times, he put his arm around my neck and squeezed, choking me, but continued to ignore me. I wasn’t bored, since I was facing out into the party, so I had plenty to look at. When I looked back to see that he was using his free hand to play with someone else’s tits while continuing to ignore me, I felt somewhat uncomfortable, maybe a little jealous, but it wasn’t unbearable.
Eventually, he let me go, and I started talking to Mort, one of the girls he’d been showing off his cuffs to. We were having a good conversation, enough that, when I noticed Reaction Junkie kissing someone else, I was able to focus in on Mort and get through the jealousy pings without much difficulty. I was so focused on our conversation, that I didn’t even watch where Reaction Junkie went when he left to go play. Mort and I talked for a good while, about all sorts of things, from death, to being submissive, to her time in the BDSM scene in Germany, to wanting to try being dommier and toppier, and more.
During our conversation, I did look around a few times to see where Reaction Junkie had gone, but I couldn’t find him. I laughed and told Mort that he was probably right behind me. I looked over my shoulder, but didn’t see him. Later I learned that yes, that’s exactly where he was. Mort and I continued talking for what felt like an hour or more. She eventually went off to find someone and I sat alone for a little while, thinking about the conversation and considering whether or not to go hunt down Reaction Junkie.
I didn’t have to consider for too long, because he walked up to me shortly after Mort left. We talked for a couple minutes, and then he sat behind me with his arm around my throat. I wondered if we were going to start playing. I’d asked him to make me cry, but requested that he not take the easy way out by slapping me in the face or something like that. What I’d meant was that stingy pain brings me to tears pretty quickly and without too much effort, so I wanted him to make me cry with thuddier, deeper pain, like punching and elbowing and kicking. Reaction Junkie interpreted what I’d said differently. He decided to use his words.
Saturday night, I went to a grand opening for a new play space. I picked up Reaction Junkie, Legal Lolita, and Repressed Boy and we headed to the play party. As we stood in line, we said hello to Legolas and talked. Finally, they opened the doors and we walked in. We explored the mostly empty space, poking around at different pieces of equipment, until Reaction Junkie looked at me and said, “You’re far too free. Let’s go fix that.”
We found a space and put down our stuff. Next thing I knew, I was against the wall, Reaction Junkie’s voice in my ear, asking me what a girl like me was doing dressed like that in a place like this. I whimpered in response, already starting the descent into a nice little headspace. He pulled out his knife and pressed it against my throat, saying “You’re going to do exactly what I say. Do you understand?” I said that I understood. He held the knife in front of my face and said, “Now you’ve seen this and you know I have it, so I can put it away and you’ll behave?” I nodded, and he stepped away, telling me to strip down to my panties. I hurried to comply, afraid of the consequences if I dawdled or acted silly.
Reaction Junkie came up behind me and tied a blindfold over my eyes. I’m very glad he did. Since we were in public, and especially because Legal Lolita was there, I would have had a larger part of myself than usual on the sidelines, observing, instead of being fully immersed in the scene and the headspace. Not to mention, being unable to see leaves me with a heightened uncertainty. Of course, the scene itself was making me uncertain. I had no idea what he had in mind, or even what he might do in a public space. At the beginning of the scene, I had been grinning and happily enjoying myself, but as it went on, the smile fell off my face, and the happy enjoyment shifted to fearful, pained, submissive enjoyment. It became an enjoyment of the reminder of my place, of his power, of his control, and the fact that this isn’t a game.
Once the blindfold was in place, he tied me with my arms behind my back. There would be no getting away, no fighting back. Not that I would try to do either. And not that it would even matter if I did try. He was in control of my mind, my body, and the entire situation. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. He pushed the knife into me, and I felt the sharp tip digging into my flesh. As he pressed the tip into different parts of my torso, he mused aloud, “How much pressure do you think it would take to pierce your skin?” It was all I could do to keep my reactions to a mere tremble, trying hard not to move too much, not wanting to find the answer to that question by accident by shifting unexpectedly.
Reaction Junkie dragged the knife (Okay. I half believe he used the actual knife for all of this, but I also half believe he used parts of the knife besides the blade or something else for at least some of it but wasn’t and am still not sure and I don’t even want to know because I do like the uncertainty.) along my skin, pricking me with it. Sharp pokes like that tend to make me cry really easily, and I like to let people know, even people I know are okay or like crying, that I may cry soon, just in case they don’t feel like having me cry (yet). I told Reaction Junkie that if he poked me much more I might cry. He asked if I was okay with that. Normally, I’m fine with crying, but this would have been crying in a new place in front of people, so I told him “Let’s keep going, and if I cry, I’ll let you know if I need something else at that point.” He agreed and resumed menacing me.
He pressed the knife against my cheek and threatened to fluid bond me to it. As he pushed it into my skin, there were a couple points where I legitimately felt like it might cut me, or wondered if it was. I was strangely okay with that. I don’t like the idea of actually being cut, but if he wanted to do that, I would try my hardest to take it for him. At one point during the scene, Reaction Junkie said something along the lines of “Do you understand that you’re mine and I can do whatever I want to you and no one will do anything about it?” and when I started to say I understood, he asked if I understood it at an emotional level. I did understand, but not at that deeper level. Not until this scene.
Now I get what it means to say that he owns me. Obviously he can do whatever he wants to me. Not just because he’s physically stronger than I am. More than that, I’ll accept whatever he decides to do because all of me, and everything that is mine, is his. And no one is going to stop him because they would see that I want what is happening. Maybe I won’t want the particular thing at the particular moment. In a broader sense, though, I do want it because he decided to do it. My purpose is to take whatever he dishes out, and to give him whatever he desires. I want him to do anything and everything he wants to me, no matter my preferences.
