Scene Report: Diva #23

Shibaricon marked the first BDSM Convention for which I’d made multiple play-dates, all of which I initiated. I’ve spent the past year-and-a-half of so building up my kink résumé with many events, cons and classes: and all but a handful of them were out of state. I haven’t played much locally of late, and I have a very particular approach to letting people cane, slap, punch, whip, bind, beat and abuse me. Call me picky but the way I need to play, if I’m gonna fucking do it, requires people with a certain level of skill, compassion, emotional and physical attractiveness that is a rare fucking thing to find in mutuality.

As it happens, my travels have allowed me the privilege of meeting and mixing with kinksters from coast-to coast and, in my crazybrave mode, I managed to get up the nerve to actually ask for play-dates with several people I’d admired for varying lengths of time. Some I’d admired from afar for years, and some people I’d only recently met, but felt that easy bond of trust and friendship I think of as “Spiritual Family.” Shibaricon turned out to be stellar when it came to that type of connection, and I am still mulling how wonderfully the stars aligned to make that experience as unique as it was.

One of the high points, for me, was the opportunity to not only spend time with but also play with a woman I’ve admired since before I even had my first taste of real-time BDSM. That is Lolita Wolf. She is someone whose name I’d run across in my exhaustive year of pre-scene research: this being the soul-crunching time I spent before going real-time in the scene. Reading books, lurking on mailing lists, websites, et al. There aren’t many women I’d found whose opinions seemed straightforward, stripped of gloss, faux mystique and the veneer that made so many people talking about kink seem, to me, “personalities” rather than “people.” Lolita walked the walk, talked the talk and was so down to earth I felt like I knew her before I met her, several years later, at a local BDSM event.

Fast forward to today, when our social circles overlap and we now run into one another at kink events now and then. And finally I worked up the nerve to ask for a play-date. Admittedly, it was a bit of a roundabout “ask.” Over diner with friends at the Sex 2.0 Conference, there was a lighthearted discussion about Lolita’s”100 Diva’s” list, and how one became eligible, and I waved my hand in the air like a kid in the back row who really had to pee and asked if I might be a candidate to be one of the 100. Not that I consider myself a “Diva,” as I am far too dorky, but it was as good an “in” as any, right?

She smiled and laughed and said I WAS, in fact, totally eligible and so a loose plan was made to catch up with one another at the next event at which we were both present. That happened to be Shibaricon, and so the date was on!

On the first night, as she was doing DM duty, she wasn’t really available to play but we hung out chatting while she was patrolling the Dungeons. I’d been having a tempest-in-a-teapot over one of the more controversial topics on which I present and she was offering some rousing “Shake off the haters!” advice. Knowing a bit about controversy herself, having been involved in an imbroglio about “racially focused play” in NY when Mike Bond was putting on his notorious “Nigger Play: Free At Last” class, I listened quite carefully to what she had to say.

At two different times that night, people approached me to express some very positive, moving and humbling thoughts to me about my classes. I was kind of speechless, because I never really know what to say when someone comes up to me and says “Hey, what you said changed the way I think.” or “Your presentation helped me regain my faith in the community.” or even more mind-blowing shit.

Lolita, next to me listening to all of it nodded as the people walked away “I love that, when you hear that stuff, you gotta hold on to it…leave the rest of the bullshit behind. Those people were passionate about telling you what you did for them. Don’t ever forget that.”

That was a remarkable gift. I’m hard-headed when it comes to positive lessons, and having someone I deeply respect bear witness, underscore and drive home that moment was profoundly invaluable.

The next night, we got together for our planned play-date. It took a while for us to find a space in which to play, as it was crowded and people were circling like vultures for choice pieces of equipment. We finally asked a DM to remove a cage that was hanging, unused, from the only open spot in all of the dungeons.

Even after all of these years I am profoundly self-conscious disrobing in playspace. Even though I know no one is going to point and laugh, lest they risk evisceration, I am very shy. But since Lolita’s energy was so buoyant and playful and focused, I didn’t feel any weirdness at all. As she toyed with the rope, fussing over the gorgeous prism of hemp that tumbled about in her toybag…as she chose which rope she was going to use, I was entranced. By her obvious delight in telling me stories about this rope, specially colored just for her, or that rope, which she mentioned she liked because it was better for suspension play with bigger girls. Knowing how some gauges of rope can bite in an untended way, I appreciate this consideration.

Despite hemp being the second unexpected kink I’d discovered when I immersed myself in the scene, I’m still always surprised when the earthygrassy dustywarm scent of hemp can pull away bits of my focus like so many dust motes floating within sunbeam. Words become beads on a string of thought, one end of which I no longer grasp in firm mental fingers, and suddenly my words seem disconnected baubles rolling about, laughing at my sudden inability to wrangle them as well as I ought.

As I watched her, with her red crinoline a flurry of colour on the edge of my vision and her ponytails bobbing and a wide-eyed grin spreading like sunny marmalade, I tried to parse out who I was seeing. All of the tops with whom I have played have a varying affect when in top space. This varies further as one ventures deeper into knowing them. Being as I’d not played with her before, I was trying to connect to where her energy was so that I could be as open and responsive as possible to it. One plays very differently with a cold, calculating sadist who likes the twist of detachment than one does with a nurturing, caring top who truly wants each moment to be enjoyable to you.

It dawned on me, slowly, that Lolita’s energy at that moment was very much a joyful, youthful kid who would gladly grab you on the playground, tie you to the swing-set, and tickle you until you screamed for mercy. And that was delightful. I felt free to laugh, to wiggle about, to be irreverent, present, relaxed and mischievous in the scene.

I always lose track of time in playing. I’ve had scenes that I thought were miserly-short on time, and later learned that I’d been in the ether for 2 or three hours.  I have also had scenes that felt as though they lasted for long, excruciating hours that were, in fact, less than one. I have no idea how long it took for all of the rough yet silky ropes to find their way over under around and through all of the various extremities and body parts they so thoughtfully embraced, but Lolita was well versed in rope as foreplay, scene delimiter, and endgame. I was laughing, body humming, feeling her having a delightful time which always pushes me further into an open, willing and free space, ready for pretty much whatever the top sees fit to do.

Eventually I wound up in an upper body harness, partially suspended from the tripod but with feet still on the floor, bent over at the waist as Lolita had her way with me. As I drifted into a less lucid reverie, she would brace me with her leg, one hand on the ropes and the other free to get up to all sorts of mischief.

I’m not sure of the transition but the leg that Lolita had been using to brace me against her as she pulled on the chest harness slowly became more firmly insinuated between my own, and as I arched back to shift my weight, bent at the waist and relying, more and more, on the suspension, my pussy became more and more firmly pressed against her upper thigh. Each additional stretch and wriggle on my part was met with a teasing thrust from her and a slight grunt from my mouth: gaped open a bit because i was having trouble catching my breath…a twist from my hips acknowledging the arousal that was kaleidoscoping behind my heavy-lidded eyes as she gripped the central rope holding my breasts in a tight grip. And pulled. And pushed. Each pull of the rope was accompanied by an exhalation on her part, nearly inaudible at first but growing in growling intensity as I slipped to tiptoes and pushed back harder. And harder, her leg slamming now at my cunt and my incoherent keening and sobbing overcoming my inhibitor as I felt my core alight and roll into an inexorable rhythm and an unrelenting pressure. Lolita was fucking me with relentlessness of pile-driving energy that curled in the pit of my stomach and even as the tips of my toes vacated the floor and I growled and started to come in a writhing sweaty mess and I felt my cunt let loose gushing and …oh god what the fuck…she was growling and pulling the ropes even tighter because each twist of the bondage pushed me back into the cauldron of an orgasm that, limited not by mere insertion or direct continuous stimulation, was all the more all encompassing in its totality.

As I slowly pulled back to my body and my feet return to the floor, I fully realized that extent of the gush between my legs as I felt the saturating wetness and slipperiness of my thighs and…oh how fucking embarrassing…smears of pussy juice all over the front of Lolita’s fluffy red crinoline and…her boots. Droplets splashing still even as I struggled to catch my breath, head tight from the slight hyperventilation.

“Oh gosh…I—I’m sorry…” I burbled as she continued to pull on the ropes…which did nothing to help me gather my wits and in fact simply triggered irresistible aftershocks as I wavered on unsteady toes.

“Look what you did! You came all over my boots!” she laughed, with a delighted smile “I should make you lick them clean….”

“………” was all I could say.

A towel was utilized in lieu of a lingual solution. A towel, I later learned, which had been thoughtfully and discreetly left on the perimeter of our space by a Friend who spotted the need for one and stepped in to be of assistance.

The disassembly of rope bondage is one of my favourite parts of a scene. I appreciate it when the person to whom I’m bottoming or submitting takes their time in breaking down those bonds. It is the beginning of aftercare, for me, in these scenes.

I was pretty embarrassed that I’d come all over Lolita’s crinoline. “I’m sorry about that. That almost never happens…hey, at least you weren’t wearing jeans. That would take forever to dry.” She seemed quite the opposite of displeased at my rather…copious…display of arousal.

Somewhat back to earth, a few cups of water down the hatch and dressed enough to be decent, we chilled out a bit. Both of us had other friends with whom we were looking forward to playing later in the evening, and I felt energised, suffused with warmth and aglow with wonderful energy.

“Argh I almost forgot!!” I ran to fetch my bag and rummaged around inside. I’d “imported” a couple of boxes of See’s Truffles, as a token of gratitude and thanks, and a little bit of aftercare for the tops with whom I’d hoped to play that weekend. Lolita had the first. She smiled delightedly as her fingers traced predatory circles over the box before selecting one, and taking a delicate nibbling bite of the chocolate enrobed comestible. Tops certainly appreciate the gesture of providing aftercare, thanks, feedback and acknowledgement post scene.

Chocolate is rarely declined. Just sayin’.

To Lolita,thank you again for permitting me the privilege of playing with you! I am ridiculously proud of being Diva #23