What “Yes” Looks Like: Part 1

Over on Formspring someone asked me about posting “raw” pictures from my scenes and I replied that I’ve usually done that on Twitter (though the Twitter-linked image hosting sites have gotten quite testy about what kinds of pictures it allows. The one I had been using the most recently deleted my account. Many of the photos I’d posted there have been lost.)

So I’ve decided to start a new recurring feature for my blog. “What ‘Yes’ Looks Like” is a weekly? monthly? entry featuring a candid, “raw” photo from one of my scenes with a bit of a description of how we got there.

Let me know what you think.

Blood and Wine

It’d been so long since I’d seen J, I’d forgotten what it was like to play with him. The funny thing is, even though we’ve been sessioning (albeit infrequently) for nearly three years I still have no idea what his scene is. From the beginning, he’s always just come in, usually with a bottle of wine. We sit, drink, chat … and see what happens.  I wrote about one of our scenes on this blog before (read it here).

This time, when he arrived, I wasn’t ready for him. In any sense. Barefaced, street clothes, and stressed out, it’d been a year since we’d last seen each other and I greeted him through the cracked door with, “I need you to talk a walk. And get me a Starbucks while you’re at it, please.” He returned, coffee in hand and I was slightly more composed … but barely presentable.

I grabbed the heavy Clejuso cuffs, bound his wrists behind his back, and sat him on a stool in the space between the bathroom and my dressing room. Then I locked his mouth in the brutal, heavy, and punishing Raskas Gag from MEO. He stared at me and squirmed in his seat while I readied myself. Brushing my teeth. Stripping out of my street clothes and sliding into a soft, clinging black dress. Then makeup. Eyes. Lipstick attentively and fetishistically stained red. He groaned through the gag and I lingered even longer on my mouth, pressing my lips just so.

A little while later, the cuffs were gone, the gag removed. Now that I was dressed, polished, I had him undress and sit at my feet while we talked. I poured a glass of wine. “Would you like some?” I asked. At his “Yes” I filled my mouth, leaned over his face and gently opened his mouth with my finger. He couldn’t keep up with the gush of wine that went from my mouth to his and quite a bit spilled down his bare chest.

We continued our conversation and I found myself distracted.

“It looks like blood,” I told him. My head tilted and I squinted at his chest again. “I would like to see real blood.”

First, I tried a scalpel, making tiny incisions in his areolae. It wasn’t enough and I was wary of going deeper. I didn’t want to mark him. Not that way, anyway.

I grabbed two 20g needles. In. Out.

There.

I leaned back in my chair and rested my feet on his shoulder, pleased with myself, my handiwork.

Some time later, I had him lie down on the floor while I stood over him and sprayed him with piss to rinse off the spit and blood and wine. When he begged for it in his mouth, I laughed.

Afterwards, he would write to me:

There was a time when I felt I looked into you for just one exhilarating, terrifying, wonderful moment and […] I caught the look in your eye when I asked if I could reach for the bottle of water, it was just pure….You. I’ve known you to give me those moments deep in sub-space when it feels for an instance as if I’ve switched off, then switched back on – to something like the National Grid. There’s a shift, a distinct change and you can do anything you like with me at that point. It’s not surrender, and it’s certainly not permission. It’s wanting to go where you go, wanting to know what you know, more than anything else, wanting to please you more – so much more than the usual submissive platitudes. It’s beyond playing from Yes. And last week I thought I got it back from you, delivered in an amazing purely violent look as if we were hardwired into each other.