Wednesday, September 30, 2015


There are some days that I just get tired of being here. I want to go somewhere where no one knows me. Start over, I guess. That's always something I've been afraid of. Uprooting myself from my support system and planting myself in a strange place. So, I suppose it's more an urge to replant with an anchor. I have lived here all my life. Every anxiety trigger I have is here. I have often romanticized moving to him will help me improve myself and my broken brain. I want it so badly. I've been wanting it for more than two years.

She likes to hide from people too. We can hide together.
And cuddle.
I am on the precipice of running away. Metaphorically, of course. I can't actually go anywhere. Not without an anchor. I have the means to go, but without the anchor, not the means to stay. But, I can crawl into my hole and disappear from the realms of other humans aside from those I can't avoid. Like work. Or roommates.

I have these little breakdowns every so often. For a while, I would consistently fall apart every spring. However, it's been a while since my last internal combustion, so I suppose I was due for a pyroclastic eruption.

The sudden onset of that crippling fear of social interaction. That sickening feeling of perpetual nausea. The tightness in your chest. The repetitive thoughts beating at the back of your brain. Then there's that feeling that's hard to describe. It's a like a combination of a tension headache and being lightheaded. It's that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, except it's in your head.

I don't know if this is what depression is, or if it's just months or years of over-stimulation and stresses crashing down on me all at once. Or perhaps it's just one long panic attack stretching over days like a storm that won't let up. I can't even really socialize much because it just starts all over again. My libido is shot. I can't even really think about sex without bottoming out. I tried to catch up on sinful sunday posts yesterday, I think, but I could only manage a few before I wanted to beat my head against the wall.

I feel like I'm not accomplishing much of anything. I backed off of FetLife completely, but I'm still not getting anything done. I'm not packing for my move. I'm not dancing. I'm not writing, nothing beyond what I've inscribed here so far. Hell, I went to bed two hours early last night because sleeping is kind of easier than thinking right now.

I'm not sure what I plan to do, besides withdraw for a while. I'm popping Valerian root two or three times a day. I'm not sure how well it's working, but I think it's helping a little. I have some posts planned, so I'm not going to abandon my blog whilst I have my little meltdown. I just have to find the damn notebook that has my outline in it. Just don't be upset if I don't comment on some of the more sexual posts on the memes. I'm triggery as fuck right now. It's not any fault of yours. I just get this way sometimes.

I'm resisting the urge to ask permission for some of my self-inflicted masochism. He doesn't like it and most people would disapprove. It relieves the tension though. Sometimes.

I suppose this isn't very wicked, and I'm not sure how well it fits the theme. I'm definitely revisiting things. Catching up with the monsters in my head. Reliving the old days.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Kinky Cakery

For this month's kinky party, we celebrated the recent marriage of a couple in the community with a collaring ceremony and a kinky wedding reception. I volunteered to make the cake. Naturally, it had to be kinky. Green and silver for the colors in the collar, and a dungeon scene with equipment used at our parties.
  • Strawberry cake with buttercream icing
  • A St. Andrew's Cross made of Kit Kats
  • A Spanking bench made of Twix and a Snickers bar
  • Candles made of fruity tootsie rolls
  • Licorice rope
  • Licorice flogger
  • A border with Sixlets
  • Triskelia on nonpareils 
  • A gummy teddy bear (for the Littles)
  • A paddle and belt of buttercream
Of course, not having moved yet, I had to construct this in my kitchen with my parents wandering through. 

Mom loved the "little swirls" on the sides of the cake. 

Sinful Sunday

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Down the Tumblr Hole

Well, I've done it. I've fallen into the gaping abyss that is Tumblr. I had considered creating one to promote the blog, but I hadn't ever gotten around to it. Someone started following me on Twitter who posts those animated porn gifs, and I followed back because that's kind of the perfect porn for me. Bite-sized soundless clips. No weird moaning. No men saying stupid shit. I followed them back just for those.

I started noticing Tumblr tags in the corners of the gifs, so I decided to bumble my way onto the site for the many many porns. Fortunately, Foxy and Peach are Tumblr veterans and told me how to make the many porns show up in search results.

This was a poor idea on so many levels. Those little gifs eat the shit out of data, I've noticed, so I can't peruse them on my phone away from a wifi network. My piddling little data plan is not made for perving images that move. I've also been trapped in a constant state of really fucking horny since I started seeing the images in my twitter.

Which, okay, whatever, so my hitachi gets a workout. But I have a history of making what I consider poor decisions when I'm horny. You're there, you're crazed, and you're like I wanna do this and this and this and that! But once the orgasm is over, you kind of just want to hide under the covers and wallow in your shame.

Oh...that's just me?

Well, then.

There's also the problem of the sheer number of blow job gifs on the bdsm Tumblr accounts. I'm personally not much of a fan of the mouth hug. Sure, I've done it and I will do it because, well, frankly I've never met a man who doesn't like receiving oral sex, but I have never enjoyed it or found it appealing. I get mildly grossed out when I see other people do it. It just brings up bad memories of my ex, whose entire concept of foreplay was choking me with his dick.

Also, as a service top, I know my way around the toy chest, and I get really annoyed at seeing these female tops in the extreme images using a cane like it's a fucking tennis racket. I mean, seriously? That's not how you use a cane. It's shit like this that has newbie tops who get their info from porn doing really stupid stuff.

I enjoy the gifs, but I honestly don't know how the bottoms in those clips can deal with being whaled on that hard from the get go. I cringe when I see them getting pulverized by a paddle or barraged by a hair brush. I am so not hardcore enough for that.

I really need to stop trawling the bowels of Tumblr before I negotiate even more stuff with Peach than I already have this week.

If you're interested in following me on Tumblr, where I will post blog updates and repost the porn that will never appear on this blog, as well as whatever funny shit amuses me, you can find me there at rabbit-in-chains. I haven't prettified it yet, but there it is. 

Sunday, September 20, 2015

A New Old Friend

At our last local party, a couple attended who are having to give up the physical parts of the lifestyle due to age and health issues and kindly offered up their stock of toys for sale. This little beauty caught my eye from the moment it came out of the box and I quickly claimed it for my own. I hope to get a lot of use from my new old friend.

Sinful Sunday

Friday, September 18, 2015

e[Lust] #74

Ginger nic1
Photo courtesy of Switch Studies

Welcome to Elust #74 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #75? Start with the rules, come back October 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

She wanted to let the light in...
Reflections on the Male Nude

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Is it play acting?

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Can a Woman be a Good Mother and Write a Sex Blog

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7

days.Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Leaden Heart
Summer awakening
Our Kind Of Monogamy
If You're Gonna Be A Thot Do It With Grace
Playing at Poly
I'm a-Lousy-Monogamist
Sharing the bed
The Couple and the Coquette
Four Love

Erotic Fiction

All Girls Night
Unresponsive Satisfaction
i don't want realism, i want magic
A Stranger's Tale
Motion Capture
Checking Southward
His Slave Heart.

Erotic Non-Fiction

Sexy Riding
I noticed without paying attention
Humiliating an ex-Nazi submissive: sex slave
The End of a Rut
Rayne is a Fucktoy Cunt
Mindful Orgasm


5 Reasons Woodhull Was an Amazing Experience

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Sex: Vegans, Carnivores, and Apex Predators

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Location, Location, Location
Seven Dimensions of Dominance
Light That Fire: Motivational Tools

When A BDSM Scene Ends Abruptly

Writing About Writing

You Down With OPT?
Cover Me
ELust Site Badge

Monday, September 14, 2015

Disciplinary Drives

I'm sure I've mentioned before that I have a punishment fetish. I think I might have said that spanking was my first kink, but while that's part of it, I think it's far more accurate to say that punishment was my first kink. My earliest fantasies always involved some form of punishment, usually spanking, but it took other forms as well.

From One Cab's Family
I remember being fascinated by the old cartoons that had spanking scenes. I have a rather vivid memory of when I was rather young, of an old cartoon about a family of cars called Tex Avery's "One Cab's Family" where a baby cab decides he wants to be a hot rod and his dad is not cool with that and flips up his trunk and spanks him. While watching this one day in my room, I decided to try and spank myself with a book. Mom walked on me of course. I'm not sure what she thought at the time. I doubt she even remembers it.

Sometimes I wonder if the old cartoonists were kinky, what with all the spanking scenes and spanking machines you see in the old cartoons as well as all the characters who dress in drag. I know they had a considerable effect on me. You won't see things like that nowadays. I wish they would still play those old shorts somewhere.

If that ain't the kinkiest shit I've ever seen, I don't know what is.

I was never punished by my parents as a child. I vaguely recall being grounded from the TV once when I was a youngling for coloring on the TV. Other than that, everything was just fantasy. Perhaps that had something to do with my penchant for discipline. Perhaps I was just always going to be this way, but the beatings are so much more fun when presented in a disciplinary context.

"Professor Tom"
Tom and Jerry
I'm not looking for actual punishment, I guess. I mean, I'm a masochist, but I didn't get the pain slut gene. Although, I love the idea of true discipline being a part of my relationship. I like the idea of consequences. It satisfies me on a deep psychological level. I expect it to be an element of any M/s dynamic I partake in. I would be disappointed and might possibly lose interest in the relationship if it weren't. 

On a purely kinky level, I just enjoy the headspace it creates. It pushes the fear, helplessness, and pain buttons for me. The disciplinary context just kind of adds that element of domination that might not otherwise be present in a pleasurable spanking.  It's even better when coupled with bondage, because then you can't get away.

I can't be that weird, because pretty much all of the spanking clips I see are disciplinary. I'm not the only one who gets off on it.

From "The Practical Pig"
In the process of discovering all the punishment porn on Tumblr and dealing with the postponement of my relocation, I've been discussing new avenues of play with Peach. I've brought up the idea of role play, although neither of us have really done it outside of literary and gaming avenues. Obviously, most of those are going to be disciplinary in nature, especially since sex is not on the table. We've also discussed incorporating new activities, like more bondage...or bondage, because we've never really done that either.

We have also decided to do more top side play. She's excited to do more breast play, and I think the lack of that so far was just a lack of communication on both our parts. I remember a scene we did where I flipped over to do some top play and I fully expected her to use floggers, but she went with clamps only. When I asked about it recently, she was like "I didn't know I could have used floggers!" Lesson learned. We ask now.

From "The Practical Pig."
What I'm most excited about is what Foxy has termed "downstairs flogging." Twat swatting, if you will. I used to engage in it with a former play partner, and it was one of the best things ever. Thinking about it or seeing images of it just revs my engine unlike anything else.

It is a bit of a journey, trying to navigate a platonic BDSM relationship while trying to feed certain needs. I think these new scene options will bring it somewhat closer to the "funishment" type scenario. I'm not sure if we'll ever completely get there, but if she's open to exploring, I suppose I am too. At the very least, I still enjoy talking about them, even if they don't happen.

I feel like I've always had this particular fetish. All of my fantasies have included punishment as an element from the very beginning. I have been drawn to stories, whatever form they might take, that includes it, from books, or movies, to cartoons. However, looking back now, that moment that sealed it was, of all things, watching a cartoon race car getting his ass beat and trying to spank myself with one of those musical storybooks.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Say My Name

If there is one thing that BDSM world likes to obsess over, it's labels. Names, titles, roles, forms of address. It's a topic you can't get away from. We are very, very invested in what people call themselves, what they call each other, what they call everyone else.

I was part of a discussion today about how a woman was frustrated at some d-types' habits of punctuating every sentence with the word "girl." The overwhelming response was that a d-type has no business addressing a woman they don't know or own as "girl," especially in such a persistent manner. There was one guy who, rather obnoxiously, insisted that if we were offended, that's on us, and that we have no right to change how that d-type chooses to speak. Of course, he made no mention of how a d-type has no right to address another person as a subordinate just because of their identity as an s-type.

I couldn't seem to get it through his head that "girl" is not a casual form of address between strangers or even casual acquaintances. Basically, if you aren't my owner, one of my closer friends, or a sassy gay man, you have no business calling me girl. It's much the same as calling someone you either aren't in a relationship with or don't know well "little one" regardless of their age or size just because they're an s-type. It comes across as condescending.

Now, I'm from the Southern U.S., so I'm used to people casually tossing around terms of endearment like candy. Honey, baby, sweetie, darlin', and dear are just part of our dialect. Those don't bother me, but girl and little one are not remotely in the same category. Not in the context that woman was talking about. They aren't comparable.

We say things with these forms of address within BDSM interactions, or with the lack of address.

It occurred to me while I was mulling this over that my owners have never really addressed me by my actual name. My ex employed sweetie somewhat, but tended to opt for terms like slut, bitch, and slave. I wasn't particularly fond of that. Slave was cool, but I've never gotten any kind of warm fuzzies from the other two. It bothered me for a bit that he never said my name. I thought it was weird.

But, then, Daddy never says my name either. With him, I am Rabbit, or baby, but most often Rabbit. I'm not sure what I'd think if he ever did call me by my actual name.

I think with both of them, the only time I ever heard my name on their lips was in reference to me, rather than a direct address. I have to wonder if this habit of renaming one's partner is something people do in vanilla relationships. I admittedly have no experience with those, so it could be for all I know. I do find it interesting that we have such a preoccupation with giving out "slave names" and such.

Outside of my relationships, however, I'm very much on the side of use my name or GTFO. As I have mentioned in previous posts, my identity as a slave is not a social status. If someone addresses me with a subordinate term, such as slave, girl, little one, slut, etc., it tells me that they feel like they are my superior or that they are dominant to me, which immediately raises my hackles. It is presumptuous and, frankly, obnoxious.

I am also very careful, despite the prevalence of the use of sir and ma'am within vanilla Southern culture, not to use honorifics even casually in conversation in BDSM company, because I feel that it, like the use of the subordinate terms, conveys a message. Not everyone may feel like the use of honorifics signifies an concession of dominance, but I have met enough that do, that I would not feel comfortable in their use.  Some may find that disrespectful, but I'm not one for handing out respect to strangers either.

I just find it a little fascinating how much we say with how we address people, and what you can tell about a person based on what they call you.   

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Window to the Soul

Photo by Skin Deep Photography

"The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides." - Audrey Hepburn

Sinful Sunday

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Shattered Reflections

A writer goes through many phases in discovering their own voice. I spent a lot of time writing ridiculous things as a child, full of bad ass female heroines and hints of my latent sexual desires. Looking back on those now, they make perfect sense to me, but even as a kid, I was self-conscious about the themes I recognized in my writing, wondering if anyone else ever noticed the fascination with punishment I had in almost every piece. I doubt it now, as few people read a lot of my stuff, but I recognize changes in the way I write. 

Sometimes I read the old stuff and lament that I don't write like that anymore. Sometimes I cringe the whole way through, wondering what the fuck I was thinking when I wrote some of those lines. I like to think my writing has improved as it has matured. I now recognize the flaws more readily, which enables me to fix them. 

I have also noticed a change in the characters I choose to focus on. As a child, I wrote of young women. These women, girls mostly, were powerful and important. They were confident and kick ass. They took shit from no one and saved the world. They were beautiful and shapely. They were athletic and infinitely resourceful. They were the things I wanted to be but had never been. 

As I have grown, I have begun to tend more toward writing what I am than what I wish I were. These confident, dominant women have evolved into the anxious, broken creatures I am or have been. I won't say they aren't powerful. Power is almost integral to the epic fantasy heroine, but I would say they are reluctantly so. They are afraid of that power or unaware that they possess it, so limited by their own anxieties or physical limitations. 

Naturally, these characters, even with their fantastical abilities are more grounded in reality. While less idealistic, these flawed characters are more relatable. They are easier to write, too. I have plenty of experience with irrational fear. I have very little with unshakable confidence. 

I have also drifted away from the warrior character. I have no talent for war. Not of the physical kind. You won't find me writing a lot of combat scenes. My antagonists are not beings one can fight with a blade or a bow. It is often the war of wills that draws me. The fight against temptation or control. 

These heroines are no longer the magnanimous paladins, ably fighting for the greater good. They have grown in moral complexity. Perhaps they save people, but often it is a side effect of saving themselves or those who are important to them. I suppose that is a reflection of my limited capacity for empathy. Sometimes I feel bad about that, but I can't fix those things about myself. 

My characters are shattered reflections of me. The anxious artist. The inhibited scholar. Pieces of a submissive personality struggling with the burdens of power or importance, not knowing how to be those things or embrace them. 

But, then, I suppose the broken hero is more inspiring than the invincible one. 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked