You Watched the Movie

So you watched 50 Shades of Grey and now you're curious? You've read the blog and you're curious? Or you really just have been curious from the beginning and you were too afraid to ask? That's okay. It happens. A lot of people are too afraid to admit their curiousity and are willing to jump in without realizing there is a right way and a wrong way.

I don't have any commentary on this movie other than the fact that the movie BDSM isn't BDSM. You can get hurt. What we do, what I allow others to do, is dangerous. And while it will continue to be dangerous there are things you can do to do it safer.

I'm a leader of a Bottoms group for my local scene and I just helped to plan and host a Bottoms event at the local sex shop. So here are the highlights that you need to know if you want to try and play safe!

Use wrist cuffs
I know that most people think of "adding a little spice" by throwing in being tied to the bed post or throwing on a pair of handcuffs. Don't. For one, furry handcuffs...cliche. They also don't generally fit girls with bigger wrists, they're too tight. Silk ties that are self-cinching? Don't use those either.

Your median nerve that runs up the side of your wrist and down your thumb, can be in major danger with both of those. Yeah, I know from experience. I still can't feel a spot on my thumb. If you're new to BDSM and you don't know what to feel, chances are your top is new and doesn't know how to check in. If you feel tingling or coldness in your fingers, there is a problem.

Where to hit
Your body can be a whipping a post. That doesn't mean it has free reign. While it may be obvious that the butt is the best place to spank a naughty bottom, there are places to stay away from. Stay away from whipping or beating both kidneys and the spine; you need those to live. As far as the front goes, stay away from the collar bone up. Just ya know, common sense.

Safe Words
Don't you dare say you don't have limits! You do. It is okay if you don't know them but you have them. Using a safe word doesn't invalidate your experience or your time together but it may save your life.

Aftercare
You're going to need to take care of yourself. Generally you should have a bag of things ready, particularly, if like me, you don't play at home for whatever reason. I keep a blanket, a first aid kit, water, and my favorite Altoids handy. The candy helps the sugar drop, always stay hydrated, and the blanket helps with the fact that you're body might actually be in a stage of shock. It helps to stay warm and cuddled with the person who just beat the shit out of you.

Warning: The most sadistic tops can be the most cuddliest cuddlers.

And if you have questions...ask them. I want to tell you the answers so bad I can taste it.

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Don't forget to check out SnarkySass Adventures and donate if you can for more educational information with a dash of sass.

This is NOT Your 50 Shades

If you've read 50 Shades or you plan to see the movie, have a glimpse at this. This tale, Interrogation: The Breaking of a Rebel, is true. These events are the recounting of a real BDSM scene experience that I had with 2 tops and I'm trying my hand at erotica.

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The lights of the club cast the blue haze on everyone. There were a lot of people here tonight, some waiting the arrival of me and my companion. People close to my heart knew what had had my panties wet for days. My brain was flooded with thoughts and nerves. Fear was never an option because I oozed confidence. It bled out through my very skin.

I was unstoppable.

Our arrival was greeted with the warm vitality that is an event of sexual fortitude. A lot was riding on tonight. I had spent my time building myself up, fantasizing. Not only was it to put on a show. Put on a show for them but I was supposed to meet her.

I would eventually get it all right. But until then, my skin was like fire. The two of them, him/her...ebb/flow...push/pull... thought they would get off easy with this. They had agreed to this on the pretense that I am a stout whipping post but that I am breakable. I fall to their knees and grovel like the pleasing little slut that I am.

And so, I steer clear of them. Oil and water tonight. Until it begins.

The bathroom. A call to escape usually, but a necessary shelter for someone who wants to change her clothes. I'm prepared to walk in as a classy woman but to walk out a barrage of rebelliousness and spikes. They're not taking me down. Everything inside me is twitching and sensitive to the sounds and energy around me. No one can touch me in the place between my legs that's throbbing with energy and need.

But to get to the bathroom, I have to cross their paths. All three of them. I'm actually quite skilled at tunnel vision; this should be a piece of cake. I'm nearing the home stretch until I feel his hands run through my curls and pull my head to him, stopping me. I grit my teeth against his force, as he grumbles into my ear, "You should really learn to say hello..."

Ah, my first opportunity to snip; nothing more, nothing less than the most sarcastic "Hi," that I could drum up. I suppose that must have been acceptable when he threw me back onto the path of my destination and back into tunnel vision; I was only mildly disheveled by that.

I snarl my face into the bathroom mirror while stripping. He knows how to play my weakness. Grumbling into my ears like that. And so my resolve, and albeit my excitement, was found again. I also found myself silently wishing I had brought more panties. By this time, I had found these were going to end up in a very interesting predicament by the end of tonight.

And so I changed clothes. I changed from the leather clad & collared beauty into the rough and rowdy rebel. I steeled myself against the change and braced the wilds, tunnel vision in tow. My nerves were beginning to also surface, and I couldn't bare a glance in her direction, I couldn't bare to watch them set the stage and so I did none of it. I stood. Aimlessly. Steeling and breathing.

I turned my back for the quickest of moments and the world went black. Something, a bag or a pillowcase, had been forcefully shoved over my head and down onto my shoulders and a strong arm came around me. He started yelling in my ear about dignity and asked if I had any. I stumbled, my internal desire to please him and innate need to get it right caused me to waver in my resolve and I responded, "No," I had no dignity. Did I even want it?

And so the reaming questions began as he dragged me backwards and I found the chair that would be my prison, my interrogation chamber, my downfall.

That was when I felt the other part of the equation, the yin to his yang. Both of them were now my captors. Tying me relentlessly as I fidgeted in the chair. I couldn't make this easy. I wiggled my feet, I shifted my arms, and only after it was done did he have to retie me all together. Oops. All that hard work. I was smiling a wicked grin beneath that hood.

The bag was made of canvas and kept me from seeing the world but not from hearing it or feeling it surround me. I was being told exactly what a dirty whore I was, and that it shouldn't matter that the bag was a cum-covered mess of cloth because it was all I deserved. I should feel right at home.

The next thing I heard, whore that I am, was the sound of my clothes being cut. Stripped down, tied to a chair, with a bag over my head. I'm more concerned with the fact that if one of them gets too close, they're going to smell my sex as my body begins to take over. I feel the cool steel of the knife smack into me for good measure. We have knives, and we know how to use them... That was something that he had told me, and my very essence cried out to feel what I knew he couldn't give me, the feel of that blade dragging across my skin. The sharpness cutting me.

Then he was gone.

From a distance he asked for the answers to my questions. Questions that had been pre-planned and pre-assigned. "Now, where are your questions?" My first thought was simply that he was making this too easy. Too easy to foil his plans.

"They're on the table!" But that wasn't a good enough response. It was quickly followed by a snarl from him and indication of which table. No, no, this wasn't how this game was going to be played, "They're are plenty of tables to chose from, I'm sure you'll find it..." I laughed.

His hands were now pulling my neck back to unbelievable angles and my hair was ripping from its delicate place on my head underneath that bag, "If you don't tell me, we're done, because you're wasting my time."

That was a statement that I felt could strike fear into the heart of man, and all of the sides within me warred against each other, and I shouted, "Meira has them!" I had left them with her before I'd ever found myself stuck in this situation. And while he saunters off to retrieve them, their is no reprieve from the hands of a sadist, I'm left to her and she was going to enjoy this.

And the hits started to rain down. Across my breasts, down between my thighs, over and over the feel of her cane, his hands, and the pain of that flogger fell. God that pain rocked my world, the weight of a grown man throwing his all into hitting me, I could feel the wind before I felt his skin. The feel of her at my back, I could hear her satisfaction at my delirium and restraint. And she cracked that cane across my leg.

It was a misstatement to say my skin had been on fire before because now I knew what that meant. He pointed out all the bruises as they bled underneath my skin immediately. Just to point them out he took the bag off my head.

The light was so harsh. I blinked against the intrusion of it. I could see the people in the club watching me; watching as I was reduced to a rebellious little slut. Clothes torn, pussy drenched, taking a beating. He held up that little pink envelope that held inside the answers to my private questions. Things that none should know of me. The submissive side of me, the part that wants nothing more than to please the two of them, had tried so very hard to put effort, care, and love into those questions. I used my very best handwriting, paper, and envelope with the best of intentions...and there, before my eyes, he ripped them to shreds. Ripped them to shreds with only a "I don't give a damn" attitude and the notion that I answer only to him now.

This was the first time I thought that maybe...I'm breakable.

Flight or fight. Cry. Effort and love torn to shreds. Cry. The emotions were beginning to swirl as the bag was shoved back over my head. The spinner for emotions landed with fight. I WILL NOT BREAK THAT EASY!

He so eloquently called out to the club to witness the demonstration of his new toy. I was to be his willing target practice. The sting of the flogger spread out over my thighs and I shook my head at the tenderness that now flooded my nerve endings.

When he was...satisfied?...he tore the bag off my head again. He forced me to look into his face. Looking into his face, the face of my torturer, stirred up everything in me and it took everything I had to not spit in his face, but everything I had inside me called for it. He'd deserve it the bitch side said. He'd punish you for it the masochist side said. He'd not expect it the brat side of me said. While the voices raged on inside my head, came the first question, "What color are firetrucks?"

I almost laughed. I got a little dizzy at the question. It's a warm up. Oh, come on, we play this game better than that, I thought. My answer was simple, "Green." And I laughed at his hesitation, and I laughed through the punishment. They could both deal it out, they will make me pay for my transgressions. And so they shall pay for theirs.

I rocked the chair that I was in, tossed my head and threw my elbows, until the chair fell to its side and now they couldn't reach me. Oh, I was a slutty little mess they had to clean up now. I could see them clearly. See how our energies were blending in the epitome of BDSM roleplay. It was one of the most amazing things I had ever felt and it spurred me on. I tossed, turned, and threw my elbows. Anything that I could do to make untying and righting me more complicated was what I wanted to bring to this scene. I wanted to give them something.

And so, with a moderate amount of effort, I had been planted back in that chair. Untied except for one leg, and now the role reversal. He stood behind me, wrapped his hands around my arms and pulled them out to the sides, crucifying me. In that, he opened up my entire body for her. She could hit me anywhere she wanted, she was free to do it. She caned my thighs and I could swear I heart her giggle. He strung me tighter and pushed the tiny nerve endings and pressure points, and the rest of my body belonged to them in that moment. I had finally landed in a position that was fulfilling my deepest desire. Words like thank you, please, and more begin to take the place of any fight that I have.

If there was a door to subspace, a door to heaven, I could now see it. Gratitude bloomed over my body, my nipples harden and my skin resolved itself for the torture.

The next question...

"What color are strawberries?"

Oh, I know this one. "Red! They're red."

BDSM & Depravity

Okay, so I took a month off and a bunch of shit happened. A bunch of fun, kinky, and good sex happened but shit happened. And have a happy new year bitches.

But in the time that I was also taking off, I've been planning something with my dearest kinksters. And in that time, one question keeps popping up.

You're okay with being brutalized?

That is the question I'm being asked. Not by one person. Not by two. But by a lot. And it is hard to answer yes because I want to explain. I want to tell them about the depravity that runs down and through my body and soul; but I don't. I just assure them I'm okay with it and continue on.

But I have to explore it. I have to feed something that has been gnawing at myself for more than a year. That's the craving for brutality. If I spend my days encouraging you guys to figure out your own sexualites, let me share this. Let me tell you my fucking story.

I've been hurt and beaten down (in the figurative sense here). I was a self-harmer for about 3 years. I was known for cutting, scratching, and dragging scissors across my skins. For an extensive period of my high school life I wore scar patches to tend to the wounds and create elaborate stories of how I got hurt.

That was the time when pain began to be a part of my life. It was a time when I struggled to feel more alive than when pain was a part of my routine. Without that pain, I felt suffocated and at a loss.

But as the wounds began to heal on my skin and on my heart I began to take on this idea that from pain comes beauty. Life is life because of pain. Life is life because of healing and feeling. And I need pain, physical pain, to reach my own heightened existence.

It started with little things like hair pulling and using asphyxiation as an orgasm trigger. Biting was another orgasm trigger. And I realized the rougher I was given the rougher I wanted it. But the rougher I sought to give, too. Until I found myself being unfilled by "sex". By the casual fuck sessions between me and my "lovers". Something was missing. And in my subconscious, the whispers...

I want to be brutalized...

That was months and many more months echoing in my head before I found myself in the lifestyle. And it has been nearly years before what is coming had been dreamed up.

There inside my head is a craving for sexual brutality. This need to give myself over to them and say it is okay to break me. If I never want it again, I will have fed the beast inside.

I'm fucking ready.

That's Miss Sabina, to you!

Ever had one of those experiences that changes your life? Gives you confidence, strength, and ultimate power? I have and [Aristotle] gave that to me. He handed it to me on a goddamn silver platter the moment he said he wanted to submit to me.

For years, I have known that I have a dominant side in me. I've dabbled in topping and in masturbation control. It is a thrill that I feel deep inside when a man begs for my permission, generosity or mercy.

But this is what I've wanted; what I've craved.

I wanted to cause the sound of the whip. I wanted to control, demand, punish, and reward.

I haven't found a lot of men confident in their own sexuality to lose control to a woman. I've seen fear in their eyes or heard it in their voice. But then when you plant a "Get the Fuck Over Here Kiss" (trademarks pending), it makes them question their resolve. But [Aristotle], he is different.

He knew that by agreeing to meet me, he would be mine. My pleasure would come from control and his pleasure would belong to me. He showed up in a black shirt just like I told him to and everything stirred in my veins. Blood pumping hot and strong, power driving my moves, my panties getting wet, stimulus overload.

And in public, I made his face the most beautiful shade of red by making sure he knew exactly what was coming his way. I'm not the most handy person when it comes to creating things but I managed to rig a complete door jam to string my little sub to the front door. It worked beautifully and I am fucking proud of it!

I put together a sampler platter of goodies for us to try. Well, really, I wanted to try and test the waters but I needed to know what we would both like. There was a lot of shoving my wet fingers down his throat, whipping, and making sure he knew his place was beneath me and he would kneel if I said kneel. He wasn't even allowed to talk unless I decided to grant his permission.

I've never felt such a high. Never had my own excitement running down my legs.

Until then.

Our scene ended in more fantasy fulfillment when I untied him and granted him permission to pleasure me until we were a glistening heap of sexed bodies on the living room floor.

And in the moments after, I knew the side of me I'd tried to find for years.

Her name My name is Miss Sabina, and I'm fucking hott.

You Did What in Public?

I try to make it a point to go to the different fetish parties around town each month. So I went again. And it may classify as one of the best ones yet, at least for my personal experience.

First you have to know, vainly, how absolutely stellar I looked. I had picked up a fetish corset piece. It isn't a real corset and just something for fun and a vinyl mini-skirt. I honestly felt drop dead gorgeous.

The high that I felt from feeling that beautiful was only bolstered by the rest of the evening. I approached a friend at the party; she is a wonderful woman. I asked her if she would be willing to do a scene with me at this party and she agreed. I was ecstatic.

An hour later, I found myself on a stage, in nothing but my lace panties, being cuffed to a huge wooden suspension rig in front of a bar full of people. Cue one of the most amazing experiences of my life. From there came the blindfold, the breast torture, and the public lashings. If I had had any doubts before I left that house that day about who I was really becoming, it all floated beautifully away with each hit as I became soundly and profoundly a version of myself that I loved.

And as the orgasms came (pun intended, you see), I was held up by the cuffs, caught by warm hands, and tenderly cared for as my head was somewhere off in the subspace and my body was just a pile of pretty squishy mush. And as I flittered around in the arms of my friends and caregivers, I heard the most wonderful compliments about how great it was to watch or that I was a beautiful bottom and so on. The high from that experience was unprecedented, unimaginable, and totally blissful.

If I am honest with myself, when I left the house that night wearing that outfit, I thought to myself the me from 5 years ago would not recognize the me from today. But I love the person I am becoming. The person who is okay with her sexuality. The girl who is okay helping others with their sexuality. The woman who feels empowered by her own strength.

Reader's Response: What Did You Do?

It really is a special thrill when people comment on blog posts outside of the blog. I get messages, and comments, and text messages and even SnapChats about posts. It makes me feel like I have ascended to bad-ass status!

Today's question comes from Twitter:

I read your post about the swinger club and BDSM night. I was curious if you included yourself or just observed.

The short answer is that I just observed...this time.

When I walked in to the bar, I was nervous and had the creepy clammy hands going on while I drained my vaporizer tank. I didn't know what to expect. Coming around the corner, I was greeted with the most erotic seen I have ever laid eyes one.

There was a beautifully naked woman on stage who was being roped and bound. She looked like she was in heaven. I was instantly drunk watching her.

Next to her, a woman was bent over the spanking benches with her skirt up around her waist.

I missed most of the party but I had never experienced anything so sensual and arousing. I didn't want to participate just then. I wanted to drink in the sights. There were flogging racks and I think I would very much like to be rigged to them one day. There were aftercare blankets because the community cares about safety and respect. It was wonderful. I will be back. I can't say I will get to participate very much as the newcomer but I will be back.

Image Credit: Boardwalk Empire

A Place to Call Home

If you can believe it, there are still somethings that frighten me.

My snarky and bullheadedness just leaves and makes way for a girl who is unsure of herself and timid.

I recently found out that there was a swingers club in my town. Of course, in my sexual nature it intrigued me a lot but I wrote it off, thinking that I could never go there. I wouldn't go alone and I surely would find none to go with me.

But then I found the community. I found [Mostly Harmless] and he changed my life.

The "underground" BDSM community that I wanted, that I sought after had been found. It turns out they have lavish parties and meetups and are extremely active yet entirely respectable. I was invited to go to the latest party. I was terrified. I don't like being this girl who doesn't know the ropes and doesn't know what to expect. I don't like being this girl.

So I could have stayed home. I could have been beaten by my own insecurities. But instead, I took my life into my own hands and went to that swingers club for a BDSM lifestyle party. I vaped an entire tank with my vaporizer. I looked like a lost puppy. But it was worth it. I walked into the most erotic scenes of my life. This is a turning point. I feel it.

I had to tell myself again that you can't change your stars without hard work. Exploring your sexuality can be scary and it can be intimidating but I encourage you to do it. Be heteroflexible, be spanked, be tied, be anything you fucking want!

Fetish Confessions: Teddy Bear Part I

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