It started innocently enough. We were messing around, joking about this or that, had already had dinner. It was one of those really casual, easy evenings where everyone’s guard is down, everyone’s just relaxed.
I go to sit down next to you on the couch and don’t think much of it. After I sit though, I can feel your eyes burning into me. I look up to see that, sure enough, you’re staring straight at me with this… look. You know me and looks, so I’m trying to figure out what I’ve done that wasn’t quite right.
As you may (or may not) know, Charmer loves to integrate games into… activities. She tends (tends?) to create rules around those games that just may favor her a bit. Maybe.
If you haven’t seen it, you can check out multiple renditions of the @^#@#^@ scrabble-esque games she’s done in the past. There’s something about making up words (sometimes with rules around the words) in the heat of the moment that just gets to me nearly every time. Oh, and I *suck* at scrabble. There’s that too. So she gleefully rolls out the tiles and shakes the bag. I know I’m in trouble. (Here’s a link to different scrabble posts)
Everyone started arriving for the party and I noticed one thing in the people you’d invited. They were all women. You’d had presented the party as an afternoon get together – time by the pool, casual conversation, etc. You’d asked me to don my very best attire (think dress shorts and a sleeveless tux shirt and bowtie) and provide drinks for everyone, playing up the service side to have some fun. Nothing overt, just a ladies day at the pool, with service.
I always wonder how you come up with these bizarre things. From challenges to toys to just simply situational stuff.
You walk out of the room and I have the distinct impression that I’m NOT to follow. You come back with the bench (fun!) and your assortment of implements (not necessarily as “fun”) and tell me to strip and uncage.
“You keep writing about this pain/pleasure mix up in your head. That the two play off each other so well and that it’s so much fun. I mean, sure you don’t SAY it’s so much fun in the moment, but the fact is, it keeps coming up.”
You’re sitting there, looking at me for a response. I’m never quite sure if I should jump into things with both feet or hold off to see what you have in mind. I mean, has anyone read the Scrabble chronicles? Seriously. I nod.
“So, we get to test it. Plain and simple. Today, I give you permission to have an orgasm.”
I want to say up front, I LOVE these games. It pushes boundaries and limits, many times just physical “that much?!” type things and makes it a fun and, yes, exhausting weekend. It also pushes me as there’s nothing quite like plopping on the couch and asking if she’d like me to do one of my edging challenges now. Just… strange and weird and fun.. especially when she spins around to face me and has this grin on her face… [SSC: No clue what he’s talking about…]
There are many aspects of This Thing We Do (TTWD) that *seem* really mental or *seem* really physical. But so many times, it ends up being both.
For me, that’s the case with impact play. Honestly, I went into it thinking it was a mental “game” – just dealing with it and that I could get past it. But the physical side of things surprises me every. single. time.
I’m “in training” I suppose – I’ve had times where we warm up and I feel pretty good about my control and response and even love it. But then the times that come with no warm-up… not my favorite thing. I’m still working on those times.
When I walk in you ask me to tell you about my day – we start some typical banter, I realize that everything I say is met with “mmmhmmm” and “oh, I see…” in an exaggerated way. You could not care less what I’m talking about and you are somewhere else as we get things around to start making dinner.
I try to find out what’s up, but you’re having none of it, egging me in to tell you more about my day. But you stay disjointed, truly uninterested in this comic way. I finally start to give up and start to move away and you stop.
We are both excited to try out some new items that have arrived. We set aside the time to just relax, goof around and then get down to the business of new toys and options. As we’re sitting there talking and just trying to turn off the day, you tell me that you need me to go get “the box” and “the furniture.”
Seems a little strange, perhaps. But I expected the box, that’s where our new rope is. But the furniture is a different story and intent. When I come back with the different things after a couple of trips, you just point to the middle of the room where you’ve moved the table and have a blanket out.
I lay out our brand new rope and you tell me I just need to check out and come back in a bit. I look at you oddly but you just grin and let me know that you’d prefer I not say a word, instead just let you do whatever comes to mind in whatever way it comes to mind. Sure, safewords are in place, but anything short of that, just let it happen.
When I walk in the door on Friday afternoon, you’re there to greet me. You have the grin on your face. The one that says you’re plotting and scheming and are in a place where you’re interested in one thing only – getting your way.
As I walk in you put your finger on my lips softly to shush me. You take my things, put them on the floor and proceed to undress me.
Still such a noob at this whole impact punishment/play thing. I feel like every time I set out to be better at it, to own it, Charmer tosses another wrench into things and gets me all kinds of messed up. [SSC: I don’t want you getting bored…]
This time was no different.
We’ve sort of settled on a ratio of 10:1 currently. For every infraction, it’s 10 “impacts” or swats. She has say on whether that’s increased/decreased, but it seems to work out.
Before this time, I was sitting at 26. That’s right. 26. [SSC: Wouldn’t you think that he’d stop getting them for the same thing? I think that he secretly likes this.] That’s at least 260. I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s a LOT. The warning I’d received was that we were going to take care of 5 infractions that evening. I spent the rest of the day going over in my mind how I was going to mentally rush to the corner and just take it. Show that I can control the response. Suck it up, as it were.
That’s what I ended up asking Charmer at the end of our time together over the weekend. It was about 4:30a, and we’d just been through a very intense time together.
Let me rewind a bit.
She’d been accumulating infractions and been teasing the idea of trying out some of her new implements that she’d had me order. A couple of paddle-type implements, a crop, a strap and even a cat-o-nine tails. She’d done research and found these were a good cross-section of different implements and that each had different, well, impact. [SSC: Side note: We had also just rocked our first serious solo dance performance in front of friends and family. ] After binge-watching a few shows earlier in the evening, it came to after midnight and she told me to go get things ready for her.
Charmer wrote earlier this week (link to the post) about my being a mouthy (in jest) sub and spanking.
We’ve not gotten much into impact play at all to-date (save for a few passing instances). So this was a first. For those of you who already have experienced this, you may be laughing by the end of this post, but I wanted to provide a look at my side of the scene, and the things that both were, and have been, going through my head.
About 3 weeks ago, I’d forgotten a house rule of CFNM. Essentially, I left off the NM part. Charmer came over, leaned down in what seemed like out of the blue and looked me square in the eye. “5 swats.” I didn’t even connect at first what she was talking about. “5 swats for not getting undressed like you’re supposed to.” My mind went into overdrive. First, she’d never done the whole spanking thing, and here I was with an instant 5 swats. Second, CRAP! I forgot to get undressed. and third, whut?! Spanked? I didn’t know, really, what that was like. After the initial wave of panic, I realized that another pressure was setting in. My cage was completely straining. What the hell?