Purveyor of Pleasure

Pleasure is my business, my life, my joy, my purpose.

Tag: letting go

Aphrodite Temple

Life is moving along at such a pace lately that it’s difficult to keep up with writing about all the things I want to write about. Not that I’m complaining, really, but this hasn’t happened to me in a while. Nearly a month ago Onyx and I attended a Living Love Revolution Aphrodite Temple. It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind, but in a wonderful way. The temple was absolutely phenomenal and transformational in so many ways.

This was a two-day retreat, essentially, at a remote location outside of Seattle. There were somewhere between twenty and thirty of us there. We had been told about it before we went, of course, including having some of the activities described in a good amount of detail, but I don’t think either of us were really prepared for everything that occurred. In a good way.

I could feel a very noticeable energy shift in me from before the temple to after. I have felt far more open as well as more radiant, which often go hand in hand. I feel less timid about expressing myself however feels authentic for that moment, less anxious about what other people will perceive and more content with what I have to offer. I feel in touch with love, which was at least part of the point.

There was great emphasis on embodiment, autonomy, safe consensual touching, and getting what you need. It is all about getting your needs met and learning about how to ask for those things you need. It is about finding the beauty in yourself and everyone around you. It is also about Aphrodite, of course, and all these activities just aid in connecting with her more.

While we were there I felt somewhat disconnected with Onyx, or like I had to disconnect with him in order to be seen the way I wanted to. It’s something I didn’t experience at the play party we went to on March 4th 1, which says to me I may getting through that little blockage. It’s something I’ve held on to for quite some time, this notion and worry that I will be seen as less queer because I’m with him, when that’s really just silly. I have tried not to be ruled by it, but at the same time I have been.

I wasn’t opposed to the disconnection in the moment, exactly, but I saw it as a necessary part which irritated me. I think going through the experience of the temple, though, allowed me to let go of that and be able to connect with him more ever. I’ve been allowing my shy masculinity to shine through ever since I wrote about it and more and more since the temple itself. I think I experienced what it was to be seen for me in the moment which has just made me want to be seen like that more often.

I also didn’t experience any jealousy or anxiety about being disconnected and each of us being touched and caressed2 by other people, which was fantastic. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do with that going into it. It was remarkably easy, and though we were in the same room we rarely interacted with each other during the activities. I’m excited to see what happens in the future.

I loved it so much I’m now in the Priest/ess training program for it and Onyx and I will be going to the one being held in April. I want to go to the July and November ones as well, and would be surprised if that didn’t happen. I’m beginning to work quite closely with the high priestess, not just for the training but doing classes and workshops with her as well as working on websites for her. This is only the beginning.

  1. yet another thing I should write about… that one might fall through the cracks, though. We’ll see. []
  2. and in his case a little more than that []

Helpless

He straddles my waist where I lay and pins my arms against me. I’m still able to squirm but know that even if I tried to get free it would be difficult. Not that I want to try. I look up at him, helpless beneath him, and he just grins and slaps first my left cheek and then my right. I whimper my false protests as my cheeks turn rosy red and sting from the impact.

The same hand connects with each of my breasts in turn. I squirm and try to cover them but am unable to free my arms. He likes me like this: helpless, unable to stop his ravaging of my body as he chooses. I like me like this: helpless, without the ability to move or cover myself, knowing my protests will not stop him.

A few more slaps and he moves to unzip his pants, not bothering to take off his clothes or my own as he rises up a bit. He shifts enough to let my hungry mouth find his cock, or for him to shove it into my mouth. They both happen simultaneously. I try to move my head as best as I am able but for the most part he is just fucking my face. Yet he’s not just fucking my face, he’s telling me through his actions that I am his for the taking, and I’m lapping it up.

It doesn’t take him long to lean against the wall behind my head and really start moving his hips up and down, his cock gliding in and out of my wet mouth.

Occasionally as he fucks my face he presses all the way in until his balls hit my chin and I have difficulty breathing. Sometimes he pinches my nose shut when he does this. I fight my gag reflex for as long as possible before my throat contracts around his cockhead in the way I know he enjoys. I gag once and then twice at the minimum before he lets me breathe again.

He’s usually gracious and gives me a few breaths to recover with after gagging. I sometimes cough or sputter but always move my mouth toward his cock soon after, taking the initiative in a way even as I’m still trapped beneath him. Most often he will utilize this moment by slapping my face, or playing with my breasts or nipples.

Sometimes he will come in my mouth like this, but this time he moves down between my legs which spread easily for him and he slips his cock into my cunt, made wet from his rough treatment. My throat lets out a moan as I move to meet his thrust as best I can. He takes me effortlessly, occasionally grunting his own pleasure but mostly staying silent as my own sounds fill the air.

We move together for what seems like forever, I clench myself around him as he drives in and out of my wet cunt. I am able to hear my wetness with every movement, the realization of which makes me blush internally, my face already flushed from the activity. He moves my legs so they are up straight against him, my feet on his shoulders, changing the angle so his cockhead hits my g-spot perfectly. My moans change and hands start gripping the wall behind me for support.

Suddenly he pulls out and pushes my legs to the side, guiding me onto my knees. I catch a glimpse of his face which is devoid of expressive emotion. He is at once distant from me and present with me. He is treating me like his fucktoy and I am more than happy to receive it. I quickly move into the right position, backing my hips up against him until his hardness slips inside me again and he continues fucking me with renewed fervor.

I am in heaven for the next few minutes as his cock continues to stimulate my g-spot, the familiar feeling welling up in me, so akin to needing to pee yet not the same at all. I brace myself against the wall again as his movements become even more demanding, shoving my body forward with each thrust. I let my body move with the force of him while also pushing back. His hands are on my hips both to stabilize himself and to guide my movements, a constant reminder of his control.

He starts grunting even more, almost growling as he nears his orgasm, focused on taking his pleasure out on me, letting me feel the depth of his lust for me as I absorb it all into my being.

I am His in this moment, completely and utterly.

Soon he lets out a loud growl as he begins to come. I can feel him exploding in me and make sure to squeeze my cunt muscles tight around him, my feet move to hook around his shins as he kneels behind me, a small gesture.

Once movement stops we both pant for breath and he rolls us over onto our sides. Our clothes still separate our flesh from each other in most places. I can feel the roughness of his jeans against my ass.

Spooning, he wraps an arm around me, the other serving as my pillow. My hand entwines with his and my legs slip between his. My ankles rest on his shins. I am enveloped by him even as he is still enveloped by me. I am again trapped by his limbs, this time helpless against the love and comfort he provides.

Owning It

I seem to have gotten past the point of trying to nitpick my identities and settled into a space of simply sitting back and enjoying them. That’s not to say that I’m not still analyzing and overanalyzing my identities at the same time, but I’ve gotten out of the “but what does it all mean?” funk that I seemed to be in for the better part of the last year or more. Instead of being obsessed with being seen by others as whatever given identity I want them to see me as I’ve settled into the realization that it’s not a failure on my part if I’m not seen a certain way.

Gender was a great source of questioning and anxiety last year in particular, before that it was my power/bdsm identity, and it seems as with my switch identity I have settled happily into a fluctuating identity. My genders seem to fluctuate greatly, there are times when I feel extremely compelled to present femme, which has been recently, and other times when femme just doesn’t fit as well and I lean toward the boi and fagette. I’m coming to feel like fagette is my home planet and femme and boi are the two I take frequent jaunts to on my spaceship (see: Gender Galaxy), which kind of makes sense in that fagette feels to me to be more androgynous, something else entirely, and closer to my core genderfluid identity than the presentation of femme or boi.

Overall I’m genderfluid, genderqueer, or any of the other words used to describe a non-fixed-in-the-ever-pervasive-binary and non-fixed-in-general gender. I enjoy playing with all types of gender expression. My gender is play. My gender is drag. While gender is definitely more than the clothes we wear that is a huge identifier and I do tend to dress femme most of the time, mostly because skirts are just damned comfortable (especially when you have long labia and multiple labia piercings). I also find it easier to find plus size feminine clothes that I like than plus size masculine clothes that I like. I have these damned hips to thank for that.

Instead of looking at presentation as a way of limiting myself by being unable to present the multiplicity or fluidity of my being I’m simply letting go of those worries about what others might possibly think of me and contenting myself in the knowledge that no one can have a whole idea of who and what I am because that is constantly in motion and constantly changing. If someone chooses to latch on to the idea of me as a fixed identity that is their problem and not mine.

I can content myself in the knowledge that I can be the inspiration for new and ever changing thought processes in others and in myself simply by being myself and allowing myself to be at every moment. I allow myself to simply embrace my identity at any given moment without the hangup of what I felt the last moment or what I might feel a moment from now. It’s truly freeing and inspiring.

Blind Spots

I’m not sure if I’m doing a wise thing here, and the fact that I’ve not really shared it with Onyx is probably an indication of how not smart it is. I just have a blind spot when it comes to him. I’m not sure what to call him on here, though he might not mind his real name since it’s a pretty common one. I’m not sure he knows about this blog anyway. I am so torn.

He contacted me on Facebook after not speaking for two and a half years. He knew the date, I didn’t. We give great back and forth. There hasn’t been any fighting yet, or bickering. We used to bicker all the time, like old marrieds who had gotten into a rut and just pushed each other the wrong way. We did that.

I loved him once. I met him around the same time I met Onyx, also online. We would call each other up and make sweet dirty music together, and it was good. I just called him for the first time in two and a half years.

It’s strange, though we used to talk on the phone all the time, I was nervous. I remembered his voice and my breath did that cliche thing of catching in my throat before I could speak. He has far too much power over me. He knows how to play my heartstrings just right, whether intentionally or not.

The ball was and has been in my court. There is no promise for anything except talking. I don’t intend to start anything sexual with him, but I want to see how he has changed and grown. My curiosity is getting the better of me, because he seems less severe in some ways. I wonder how he and I will get along now. I wonder if there is more between us than the memory of what we used to have. I know that I still have love for him inside me, and it is more powerful than I was anticipating.

Am I loving him or what he represents? I’ve always had an idealized version of him in my head, the person he could be if he could only stop being so caustic. The person he was when he was with me when we weren’t bickering. This isn’t something I can just leave alone, I have to see what happens, and I’m trying to be as cautious as I possibly can.

Breathe and Let Go


via Squall Leonhartt cropped by me for use in this post

I feel his hand cover my mouth and know what is about to come. Taking a deep breath through my nose quickly before he pinches that shut, my eyes fly open to look into his as he looms above me. My hands are at my sides, gripping at the sheet beneath me, trying to hold on for as long as possible as he pauses his movements inside of me, his cock buried in me, my legs splayed open wantonly aside his hips, my feet curling up around his waist.

I close my eyes again and embrace the sensations flooding me. The pressure of his flesh sunk deep within me reminds me I am his to be used. His hand covering my mouth and fingers holding my nose closed remind me I am his to be played with. I feel my head become lighter with lack of oxygen, my lungs start to strain for anything they can get and, so denied, begin to burn with the desire for air.

My hands come up toward his arm without thinking, my eyes open again to look at him, but I stop myself from tapping out, wanting to withstand the torture for as long as possible before wordlessly asking him to stop. Once I do ask he will wait for just a few moments longer before giving me back the breath that he has stolen.

I feel my lungs tightening and straining more fiercely now, my head becoming dizzy, my thoughts fuzzy, and my movements slightly weakening. My body is screaming with the need to fight or flight, but I am calming it as much as possible as I endure his control over my breathing.

I tap his arm once and then again and again as forcefully as I can muster, the next few moments seem to drag on as he takes his time releasing me from his grasp.

I breathe.

My lungs are full again, and in breathing my mind clouds even more. I am sunk down into deeper submission as the feeling of his control and my vulnerability washes over me. I roll my head to the side just slightly. His movements resume, hard, forceful, pressing me into the mattress as he takes my cunt and moves my ankles to his shoulders.

I respond autonomically, my hands resume their place gripping the sheet and my moans and whimpers escape my throat without any coercion or thought on my part. He draws the responses from me with his movements, his hands now at my breasts to arouse me further, playing with and pulling my nipples.

My mind is blank other than the sensations he is causing in me and I cry out softly as his hand now impacts with my left cheek, my face burning from the slap, both cheeks reddening as I recognize my enjoyment of being treated so roughly. His hand that just slapped me moves again to cover my mouth, and I take a deep breath through my nose quickly before he pinches that shut.

Though I’m not referencing any direct incident in this scene it is one that has happened many times, especially when Onyx was up visiting. While writing it I had the most interesting physical reactions to the scenario, not becoming aroused1 but also feeling the burning in my lungs and lightheadedness that accompanies this type of play.

  1. though I most certainly did become aroused while writing this []

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