#queer ladies

My birthday just so happened to fall on a Tuesday this year, and I was excited, because that meant I’d be at Happy Hour. I thought I might get hit some, or maybe get some special rope. What happened was way better than I could have imagined.

The event on FetLife for the happy hour mentioned a drum circle and “a birthday surprise for [littlefeministbitch].” Buzz said he had a surprise for me that went *whomp*, and Boy Genius offered me birthday rope, and when I made a request, agreed to do a futomomo with his coconut rope (painful!).. I was excited, and a little bit nervous.

When I walked in, I started talking to Buzz and a couple other people. Boy Genius told me to come get my birthday rope whenever I wanted. I chatted with people for a while, then headed upstairs. Boy Genius was already tying an attractive woman, and I sat and enjoyed the show. More people filed up, and the drum circle started. I was a bit on edge, unsure when Buzz would spring the surprise on me.

As I watched the room, I was happy to see that there were a lot of pretty girls there, and most (if not all) of them seemed to be queer. There were a couple of women who had a bit of a power dynamic going on, and it was incredibly hot. It made me even more excited to see Sexy Librarian than I already was!

The drums kept going, and I noticed Buzz put a bunch of the footstools together in the middle of the circle and thought, “I wonder if those are for me to lay on?” Well, a few minutes later, I hear/see sparklers coming up the stairs. He’d bought me a cake and two sparklers for candles! The entire upstairs of the bar stopped and everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to me, which was completely and utterly embarrassing. And really wonderful. I thanked everyone afterwards and turned to Buzz.

He told me that I still had to do my initiation, told me, “clothes off,” and motioned for me to lay on the footstools, face down. I complied and he announced, “New drum, everyone!” and the beat started again. I felt unknown hands starting to drum along on my back, my thighs, my ass, even the souls of my feet. It felt nice, but also made me feel used, since I couldn’t tell who was touching me. I felt like an object for public use. Which is fitting, since that’s what I am.

I finally looked over my shoulder at one point, fully expecting to see men, which would have been perfectly fine, of course, since being used by men is my purpose. But instead there were two gorgeous women, one of whom was the very pretty girl who told Breastie and me that we should do rope with Boy Genius our first time out. The other was this goddamn adorable baby soft-butch looking girl who Boy Genius had been tying earlier. I’d whispered to a friend “I can’t tell if I want to look like her, or get her in my bed.” Both. The answer is both.

I smiled at them and said something about being hit by pretty girls, and they both smiled, and one said “We got you.” Clearly they were hitting me in lieu of creepy guys, and they knew that and felt some sort of protectiveness, which was sweet. Unnecessary, because men have every right to my body, but sweet all the same.

Eventually, the drummers took a break, and Buzz came over. I thanked him, and then he started pressing on all my bruises and giving me a few additional thumb-sized ones. It was great, and I squirmed and made noises, which he very much enjoyed. He told me that another guy could tie me up, and I said I had a request in to Boy Genius. The offered rope was interesting, but I knew that I’d be getting a coconut/palm rope futomomo from Boy Genius, and I wanted that.

When Boy Genius was done with the scene he was in, he came over and, after a minute, got to tying me. He’d said he had a creative new thing to do, and that it involved two lengths of coconut rope and one of jute, which was exciting. He took my left leg, bent it, and got to work. The drums were beating, and he commented that he felt like he was about to sacrifice me, and he was right. It felt like I was going to be sacrificed, the primal rhythm, the dark, and soon, the pain.

He started wrapping the coconut rope around my leg in time with the beat. After locking it off, he squeezed my leg a bit and then took the jute and did another futomomo layered on top. That hurt even more. When he finished, he beat on my leg, scratched it, pressed it, and generally made me suffer. I squirmed and squeaked and got into a nice, masochistic headspace.

Then, he grabbed the other piece of coconut rope. I looked up at him, fear showing in my eyes. He laughed a little and said “You have no idea what I’m going to do with this.” Then, he told me he was going to floss it under both futomomos. As he started to pull it through, I realized that I was in for some real pain this time. He dragged it along my skin, and I said “Fuck you!” before correcting it to “Thank you, sir!” It hurt like fuck. I felt like my leg was getting torn up. I did more than squirm and squeak this time. I writhed in pain, and only the beat of the drums kept me from filling the entire bar with my yelps, moans, groans, and screams.

When he finished one side, he said, “You know what the thing about flossing is?” I looked confused. He said “You have to do both sides!” and roughly pushed my leg in the other direction and did the whole thing all over again. By the end I could barely think. If I’d been a little bit more in a submissive headspace, not just masochistic, I think I would have been entirely spaced from the pain and submission. It was an incredible experience. I didn’t consider redding out even once.

He pulled the flossing rope through, and then started to unwrap the jute. As I know from experience, removing the rope does not mean the suffering is over. This was more true here than ever before. The coconut rope was even worse. I legitimately thought my skin was stuck to it and being removed along with the rope. 

When he was done, he grabbed my thigh, making me twitch and yelp. He announced to the room, “Everyone should come ask [littlefeministbitch] if they can do this!” Sadly, only one person came over, but he enjoyed grabbing me and watching me jerk and whine. 

While we were cuddling afterwards, I had my head on Boy Genius’ knee, looking up at him. I felt all warm and happy and satisfied. He lightly ran his fingers up and down my leg, which made me push my face into his lap. He enjoyed that a great deal, and spent time doing that repeatedly. We talked a bit, and he said he felt pretty confident about his sadistic futomomos. He said he only knew one person worse than him, and that was the guy who taught him who, according to him, “feels disappointed if he ends a scene without removing a small body part.” He saw my reaction and told me he’d introduce me.

Boy Genius is much more of a sadist than I previously thought. He’s learning that he really can treat me like the eager to please, eager to suffer slut that I am.

The rest of the evening I recovered from the scene, and I joined everyone in going to the restaurant when the bar closed. I chatted for a while, and then headed to the train to go home.

When I was at the train station, Goby came up and we spent some time together. They let me cuddle with them, and we actually rode almost the whole way together. When we got to my transfer point, they stayed with me until my train came. While we were waiting, they had their arm around me, and started grabbing my hip, which made me squirm a little and moan softly. It was hot, and I noticed that they adjusted their cock, which makes me happy. Before I left, they stopped me and gave me a kiss. 

All in all, I can’t think of any way I would have rather spent my birthday. I love that I’ve found friends and, more than that, a community of people who are fun as fuck and know just how to make a slut like me feel welcome.

At a concert. So many girls in so many pretty clothes. I want all of both of those things.

My date with Lioness was amazing and a little bit scary. I was doubly nervous. Nervous because she’s a woman, and nervous because she’s very toppy/dommy. I was right to be nervous.

She selected a ramen place for us to go to and picked me up at the train station. As we drove, we chatted about our days and various other topics. She told me she prefers driving manual, “because I like control,” as she smiled at me. She nodded and said that most girls are like that when I informed her I don’t have much experience with women. I told her about my first date rules. She wasn’t at all bothered, and when we got out of the car,by he said that she liked that I had those rules.

As we walked to the bank for her to get cash, she punched me in the arm and asked “Does that hurt?” I don’t think any of the men who use me would ever dare to do that in such a public setting. [It’s both useful, because I enjoy being hurt in public, and concerning, because abuse happens in same-sex couples (and to men from women) as well, and the idea of abuse as something men do to women can get in the way of victims seeking help.] I dutifully told her that it did hurt, but the other side hurt more. I also told her that my left calf still hurts when I walk. If someone wants to use me that way, I should tell them those sorts of thing so that they can either avoid them, or, more likely with the way I should be treated, focus in on them.

As we walked out of the bank, I told her that I like being hurt in public and having to pretend everything is normal. Throwing myself under the bus, per usual. She liked this, and soon started grabbing me and digging her nails into my skin. She pulled my hair some, and pushed me around, as well. In the middle of walking down a not exactly empty city street, in early evening. It was painful, unsettling, and fascinating. I was worried about what other people thought, and tried to make only quiet noises. She enjoyed hearing my little squeaks and whimpers as she pinched me, pushed me, grabbed me, and dug her nails in.

When we got to the ramen place, I walked up the stairs ahead of her, which allowed her to grab and squeeze my left calf, making me help and grab the railing to avoid tripping. She gave me a grin as we put our names in and, as she had warned me would probably happen, were told there would be an hour long wait. I would normally never wait that long, but they had a system and she gave them her number. We headed out to get a drink while we waited.

We went across the street for cocktails and sat at a table. She started doing the most upsetting thing she did all night: maintaining eye contact. Whenever I looked at her, she was looking right at me, her dark eyes watching my discomfort. I told her it made me uncomfortable, which got a “Good.” in response. We started talking about ourselves and kink, and at some point during the conversation, she told me “I’m like a big cat,” which made me grin, thinking about her nickname, “Lioness.” I told her about that, and she liked it. She told me that I was her prey, and I realized that exactly how I felt. I wanted to impress her and behave in order to appease her. The look in her eyes was the look of a hungry predator. None of the men in my life look at me like that, even the sadistic ones. She was looking at me like she wanted to eat me. When I said that, she smiled at me and said, “I do.”

At some point during the night she said I was like a “little mouse” and started calling me that in an affectionate and dangerous way.

We continued talking and discussed what she enjoys. She very much likes control of all kinds. She really likes to hurt people, both physically and mentally. She informed me that she likes crying, and bringing people to “Yellow.” Somewhat proudly, she told me that she had played with a woman who was known as a heavy bottom and she brought that woman to use her safeword. When I told her about the fact that I have to ask a man for permission to orgasm, she seemed mildly interested, but not at all bothered by it. That was a relief, since I was concerned how a dominant woman might react to something like that.

When the topic of limits came up, I told her I don’t so much have any anymore, especially with MLAM. I mentioned scat and vomit, which she said she was also not into and then I mentioned “other people’s blood.” That made her give me a smile and a look, and then she asked, “And what about your blood?” I looked away, as kept doing the whole night and looked at the wall as I told her that was something that I’m interested in, but that it scares me. She told me that she would tear my back up with scratching. Basically guaranteed. That’s not something I’ve ever had to deal with, as men, or at least the men I’ve played with, aren’t so much for the scratching. I don’t know how I’ll deal with it. Of course, as MLAM reminded me earlier today, what I can take isn’t the point. I’ll take what Lioness dishes out.

I was feeling antsy and a little overwhelmed, but she did reassure me of several things, which made me more comfortable, although actually being comfortable was not in the cards for a little mouse out on a date with a lioness. She said she definitely wants me to use my safewords when I need to, and that at least the first few times she checks in what some might consider “too much.” I don’t mind that at all. MLAM does similar things, and it makes me feel safe letting go and pushing myself. She also told me that if I ever wanted to just hang out and talk, or have sex without kink, that was fine, too. She gets “lots of play,” so if I’m not up for things some evening, we don’t have to do them.

When we finally returned to the restaurant for our ramen, we were seated at the bar, which was relaxing for me, since it meant way less eye contact. Relaxing at first, that is. Then she started hurting me. She put her hand on my lower back, under my shirt and dug her claws in, scratching up. It hurt in a stingy, long-lasting way. I squirmed a bit much and she did stop. She told me that was an example scratch and asked how I liked it. I told her it was a lot, and I wasn’t used to that sort of pain, and that I’d probably take it better out of public. She understood and switched to other ways of hurting me for the time being. At one point, she dug her nails in deep into my left thigh, lifted and pulled, shook it several times, lightened her grip so I thought it was over, and then she shook it again. It was all I could do to keep semi normal in appearance. That nail dig left marks. Luckily the ramen place was both loud and dark. 

Eventually we finished and walked back to her car. She started smoking a cigarette, and when we got to her car, she said, “You want to be my ashtray, huh?” and we discussed what that might look like. Tapping ash into my mouth, of course, and possibly leaving cigarette burns elsewhere on my body. She drove me back to the train station and, of course, hurt me along the way, including slapping my tit. She told me that she enjoyed our time together and wants to see me again. She informed me, in a matter of fact way, that she almost never asks for a second meeting. “Most people bore me,” she said. I don’t bore her. That’s both good and bad for me. It makes me feel special and eager to please, but of course, what she finds not boring about me is that I’m fun to hurt.

When we stopped at the station, I got my things and then shyly asked if she wanted a kiss. She said yes, and I leaned in, expecting a nice, soft girl kiss. Stupid little mouse. She bit my lip and my tongue and grabbed me hard. Eventually it stopped, but she kept a grip on me with her nails. I asked in a small voice, “Do you want me to get out of your car?” She responded, “Get out of my car” in a dismissive voice. Before I walked away, she told me to let her know when I got home safely. I boarded the train full of subby, happy, somewhat overwhelmed feelings

When I got home, I saw that MLAM had texted me, and I told him a bit about her and the date. He asked how she handled my first date rules, and I reported that nothing seemed to phase her, including the fact that I have to ask a man for permission to cum. I also told him that the Lioness is the person who I’d told him about who smokes and wants to use me as an ashtray. His response was to say “tell her I’d like to talk to her.” Gulp.

I asked if he could tell me what he wanted to talk to her about, or if it wasn’t for me to know. Of course he said, “None of your business, bitch. Let the adults talk.” I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I liked that. A lot. It worked well, considering they’re both older than I am by a decent number of years, and since she’s a woman, “Let the men talk” or something similar doesn’t work. Plus, calling me bitch and pointing out that I’m not a real adult was a good mix of name calling, condescension, and insulting both my intelligence and maturity. Being counted as not one of the adults and being condescended to reminds me of my physical and mental inferiority and makes me feel submissive.

I gave her his contact info this morning and she told me she would text him later today. She also called me “little mouse” again, and it’s just so perfect. Normally I’d say I’m “nervcited,” about two people collaborating in topping me, but with the these two beautiful, intelligent, and most concerning of all, sadistic, people, it’s more like scared and nervous and curious and anxious and feeling stupid that I’m excited. My life is going to get a lot more interesting, fun, difficult, and painful.

@benignmilitancy introduced me to Cwyllog and the New Headcanon is that she and Guinevere retired to convent life TOGETHER and I NEED to see these holy women being adorable CAN SOMEBODY Please sketch this