Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Playing Pretend

My little Valentine for myself.

For as long as I can remember, my favorite game has always been playing pretend. When I was a kid, this involved games with friends, with sticks, balls, rocks, chalk, and plushies to help play out our little scenes. Or, if I was alone, it involved little play sets and figurines, or dolls, although I wasn't much of a doll girl.

I do remember some of my favorite toys though. I grew up in the days of Polly Pocket and the various knockoffs. I don't remember if I had a legit Polly Pocket set, but I did have similar miniature doll cases. I even had a Pokemon one that had a little Pikachu to play with in it. I also stole the pieces from my Pokemon Monopoly game so I could have more characters.

Polly Pocket Trendmasters Castle (1994)
But, by far, my favorites were these three tiny castles. I remember a pink and a purple one (the one pictured to the right), but I don't remember the color of the third. They opened into two connected halves, with little floors and rooms inside to place the tiniest of figurines in. I would use the Pokemon in these too, because I'm that kind of nerd.

I've been thinking about those more lately, as I delve deeper into this whole Little thing. Today I bought myself a little plushy unicorn from the Valentine's section at the store. I clutched it as I wandered through the toy isles while I waited on my car to be serviced. I looked at the dolls and the little toys, and wished I could find a tiny little castle like the ones I used to have.

My playing pretend has long since evolved into the more adult form of writing fiction. My games are more elaborate and end up on paper. But, I do miss my tiny castles. If there had been a tiny castle at the store today, I'm fairly sure I would have bought it. I also may or may not be currently trolling Amazon for a suitable replacement.

I hadn't thought about those castles in a long time. I'd never really considered the little thing prior to this relationship because it wasn't something my previous owners were interested in despite my also calling them Daddy. It's actually pretty nice. It's a comfortable place. I don't feel like he's going to stare at me like I've grown a second head when the childlike aspects of my personality pop out.

I imagine he'll smile when he reads about my tiny castles. Sometimes it's nice to not be weird.

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

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Three's a Crowd

Gimme all the attention.

I have never been shy about the fact that I am not remotely about the group sex. I am a pure monogamist in my soul, a subject that I have addressed frequently on this blog. There is often a prevailing expectation within the BDSM community of some form of nonmonogamy, be it polyamory, open relationships, or casual threesomes at the very least. It goes hand in hand with the expectation of bisexuality, particularly among submissive females. 

I have encountered those in the past that believe that as a slave, I should fully expect any owner I have to have sex with others or for him to expect me to have sex with others. The expectation of monogamy is seen by these types as "controlling the owner's dick," because, I mean, God forbid monogamous men/owners exist too.

I'm always very up front with potential partners about my expectation of monogamy and my utter disinterest in nonmonogamous sex. I'm not bisexual, so MFF would be utterly pointless, and I can't even stomach the thought of having sex with more than one man at a time, so MFM is out.

However, in my early days in the lifestyle, I did come close to an MFF threesome twice. I've never really counted them, as we didn't really have sex.

The first occasion was actually both my first kinky experience and my first sexual experience. I've mentioned the couple that initiated me into kink before. The night consisted of my first kiss and my first beating. I however remained half clothed the whole time like the terrified virgin I was. The couple did have sex with each other while I laid next to them in the bed, but I don't believe that counts since I wasn't really a participant.

The second occasion was with my first dom, who pressured me into asking a friend to have a threesome with us. We ended up doing a number of things, but no one ended up having sex because my friend and I weren't nearly as comfortable with the situation as we might have hoped.

It was largely through these two encounters, call them threesomes if you want, that I confirmed my heterosexuality. It also reinforced my general possessiveness. I don't like sharing my owner. I'm utterly enthralled by my partner. I have no extra space to worry about someone else in the mix. Sometimes I barely have the attention span for one. I have a tendency to go a bit brain dead when I'm being touched.

I'm really not one for sharing attention on either side of a sexual encounter. Is all mine.


Monday, January 16, 2017

Shoe-nicorns



This would probably come as a surprise to most people, but I am 26 years old and have never once owned a pair of high heels. This is partly due to the fact that they are horrendous torture devices and I like comfortable shoes. It's also partly due to the fact that the shoe industry hates people with wide feet, so finding a pair of cute shoes, heeled or otherwise for my chubby hobbit hooves is damned near impossible.

Wide shoes are the rarest of beasts. Wide heels are the fucking unicorns of the shoe world.

I am, however, a dancer, and spend a great deal of time in relevé (raising of the body on the points or demi-pointes). As a belly dancer who dances barefoot, this would be demi-pointe as my feet are not strong enough for a full pointe even in block shoes. Basically what this means is I spend a fair portion of my dancing in imaginary heels.

There is also a portion of the belly dance world that dances in heels. This is particularly popular in Turkish and Lebanese belly dance. Many belly dancers across the world do wear some form of shoes, but many also perform in these phantom heels made of air.



I often wonder, because I've never danced in heels, how one would perform certain steps and turns with a heel in the way.

Heels have never factored into my kink life. I'd have to find a pair that fit first. In the meantime, I'll content myself with flats and dancing on air.



Saturday, January 14, 2017

Serve First

Long time no see, reader peoples. Along with general holiday craziness, Daddy and I have been laid up with winter plague. He was the first to succumb to what in the American South is known as "the crud," which is a delightful colloquialism for a head cold and conditions of a similar nature. I fell victim about a week later.

I spent New Year's weekend caring for my malarial master, despite the almost guarantee that I would also get sick. He was concerned that would happen. I didn't really care if I did or not. It was the first real opportunity I had for domestic service beyond simply fetching a drink when he would shove an empty glass at me.

I arrived quietly, armed with four cans of chicken noodle soup, two boxes of tissues, and a bottle of Mountain Dew (his soda of choice). He had advised me to let him sleep if he was doing so when I arrived, so I went about picking up trash and dishes and cleaning up the kitchen.

It's interesting, trying to navigate someone else's kitchen without guidance. I hadn't really been given any sort of domestic tasks in his home before. We typically switch off who cooks based on who is hosting during each visit. This time, I brought up food I'd already cooked and was trying to determine what could go in his little dishwasher based purely on instinct and what I could remember from watching him on previous visits. I don't think I managed to destroy anything.

It's interesting to me how much of a motivated housekeeper I am when I'm doing it as a service. I look at my own kitchen or my own room and just kind of grimace. I procrastinate like a son of a bitch when it comes to cleaning up my own spaces. But when I'm cleaning for someone else, I keep finding new things to do when one task is finished.

Which, by the way, is hard, when your master is a bit of a neat freak.

He warned me the house was trashed because he'd been sick. His idea of trashed is more like mildly cluttered.

Fortunately, as I've mentioned in the past, he's wonderfully observant, so he noticed pretty much if not everything I did, regardless of how unnoticeable I thought it would ultimately be. I spent the long weekend fetching drinks, cooking soup, making two dinners from the mess of food I brought with me.

Amidst that, he might rattle off a list of tasks, and I might get a little frazzled trying to get myself organized. I particularly have this issue when I'm cooking a meal with multiple dishes. I kept thinking "serve first, then do [x]."

I've never really had that thought before, but then, I've never had much of an opportunity for service before. The few I can remember have been sparse with perhaps years between.

One thing I do know from those few experiences is I'm much better at taking care of others than I am at taking care of myself.