Dear Elle,

Thanks for writing down your play party scene for the rest of the perverted world to read. I don't read much of the fiction here (unless its that delicious pedo stuff penned by Inanna) but I love to read about people's real experiences. I'm glad to hear you had a great weekend and I'm grateful to you for describing so well. If you don't mind, I'm going to ramble a bit about the various things your post caused me to think of when I read it. {For those of you who don't know my writing very well, that last statement was my standard spoiler. Translation: Rosie's beginning another *long* one. Immediate action required: press N or S, as is your wont .}

I especially liked your message because it brought back so many pleasant personal memories: the first time I worshipped feet, the first time I begged for something to stop (and a much more poignant and difficult moment: the first time I begged for something to start), first encounters with being slapped and roughed around, first crawls, first caning, the time when I couldn't name accurately by feel every implement that whipped me...ah, those were the days (big nostalgic flash of dentures as arthritic liver-spotted hand shakily waves buttplug-walking stick in emphasis). No really, five months ago when we had a sub woman over who wanted to experience some real S&M and I was the demo slave, Donald draped all of our toys over various tables we set up in the living room in order to scare the living daylights out of her . Well naturally, he had to test each one out on me the night before to see if it was "still working properly." He had me bend over and not look, and each time he hit me with something new, he'd ask "Do you know what this is?" And I'd answer, "Oh yesss, that's the tawse." or "Well, Quite Obviously Anyone in My Position Would be Able to Guess that This is a Braided CatOUCH!! I didn't mean it _that_ way!" "Hmmm, feels stingier than a riding crop but doesn't have the characteristic burn of a cane--deductive reasoning says that's got to be the buggy whip." "Oh Jesus. Nylon pussy whip." "Ooooh...Weird little rubber whip" "Stiff German crop. " "That's the funky hollow cane --what a baby toy!" "Oh shit please oh no not the wooden sorority paddle...not right after the spiked paddle!...Geez, master you're spraying blood all over the place...Oh yeah, you _do_ have someone who'll clean it all up, don't you? Ok, well I'll just stop worrying then and get back to my imitation of a Haunted House recording." And so I continued through each one of our various toys, scoring a perfect 100. It surprised me at the time that I was able to guess what each one was by its unique feel on my skin as I had anticipated that I wouldn't know what half the things were. I was also quite surprised that I had any skin left after Donald's quality assurance tests. So, am I old and jaded or simply well-trained? Don't answer that question.

Your description of the exhileration you experienced when you thought you could take anything your dominant had to offer rang a bell. On very rare occasions I feel like that too--and it's a marvelous feeling: "Ta da! I'm Super Sub!" But more typically what I feel when my master is torturing me is a sort of abject resigned helplessness. I don't feel like I can take everything, in fact everything hurts incredibly bad, but there's nothing I can do about it. It's not just that I don't have a safeword that I can flirt with using, it's much more pervasive than that. Donald's done a good job of making me feel powerless, and when I am being hurt the thought that I could resist or put a stop to it or control the scene in any way is ludicrous. It's a head thing, but it's been drilled into me and so has the same effect as physical restraints. And so I lay there realizing that no matter how awful the pain gets, I'm not ever going to do a thing to escape. This intoxicating sensation of helplessness covers me like a cloud. It's both intensely depressing and intensely sensual at the same time. Although having all will beaten out of you is scary and awful on the surface, deep inside in a dark place it's incredibly satisfying. I wouldn't trade this acceptance and resignation for all the money in the world. It's the best. I was in a lyrical mood last night and at the height of my passion I told my master that he took me to heaven and that he took me to hell, and I've come to realize that they're both the same place.

>>> How do you beg without sounding stupid? <<<

You don't. At least not in my personal experience. Say, did you get into any non-verbal begging at all? If you're serious about writing a beggar's handbook you'll probably have to spend a whole chapter discussing this fascinating and somewhat advanced topic. In my experience, the verbal form comes first, then when you've got that, uh, mastered, and in fact are able to be quite creative in that medium, you are probably ready to say it without words. It's amazing how expressive a rear end can become! The other night I did some verbal begging, though. My master had given me a vicious cut with the cane and let it sink in. During the burning, I got this premonition, almost a certainty, that he was going to cane me again in exactly the same spot, so I began pleading with him not to do that. When the next stroke fell, it initially felt like he had decided to show some mercy--but as it began to burn in and the pain diffused over a larger surface area, I was certain he had hit the same spot. Later, when I was cleaning myself up in the bathroom, I saw that the only two places on my body where I was bleeding were these very two cuts and they were no more than half an inch apart.

I loved reading about the bastinading of your feet. I haven't had that done to me yet, and the thought of it has always made me shudder in dread. How the heck do you hold your legs still for something like that, unless you're taken by surprise, as you were. But after that first unexpected stroke, I'd certainly beg to have my legs immobilized. It's funny, although I've always managed to hold still for everything Donald's wanted me to hold still for, I'm always absolutely convinced ahead of time that I won't be able to do it. Anyway congratulations on your remarkable feats of endurance (or is it f.e.e.t.s, not f.e.a.t.s...hmmm, I must not think bad thoughts). I now proclaim you special honorary member of the hardcore caning afficianados club (a.k.a. Citizens Cane).

One thing that struck me about the way you described your experience was that the exciting moments for you, the high points, which you did such an excellent job of describing, were not the isolated intensity of the physical sensations, but the exchange of power that was going on around and during those sensations. You got off on pleasing your top and being told you were good. You got off on the powerlessness of being slapped, bitten, and roughed around. You were excited by being commanded by someone you had longed to serve. The hand on your throat. Looking him in the eye. (This is off the subject...again, but I have to comment about it. Have you ever looked at an eagle or large hawk up close and seen that intense stare they have? If not, do you remember what Sting's eyes looked like in the video Every Breath You Take? That's what my master's eyes look like. It's a sort of piercing stare that seems to shine a spotlight on your darkest secrets. I'm not talking about the cold, steely aloof look that some dominants wear. Think of the way that eagle looks--it certainly isn't aloof. I've gone into the bathroom and tried to imitate that look in the mirror, but the closest I can come to it is the aloof version. Donald's look is more of a predatory and penetrating gaze, and on those rare occasions when I see someone else wearing that expression I get very curious about about what they do in their free time.) Ok, back to the original subject...that is, if I can remember what it was . Oh yeah, from the way you described the non-physical thrills, I gathered that it's possible that had someone else been giving you that level and variety of physical sensations that it might not have been such a hot experience, because the power exchange might have had a different quality to it. Is that a correct assessment?

On a similar subject, why do you think that answering your dominant's quiz question of "Why are you here?" with "To serve you, sir" was one of the hardest things you've ever had to say?

>>> I felt this tremendous pressure to do everything right, but I didn't know what the right thing to do was. <<<

Something you've probably realized since that evening but which bears saying for those people who haven't yet had these sorts of experiences is that after subbing in a couple of scenes like the one you described, you begin to realize that things are pretty anarchic, in the sense that there's no one right way to behave or perform, nothing you _should_ be doing to prove you're a worthy slave (except obeying), no right answer to give, nothing that everyone else does that needs to be imitated. All that's required is obedience of the instruction you've been given (and perhaps a basic level of honesty and openness--but not all tops require even that). How you obey, your form and your style, the details of what to do first, whether to use hands or mouth, etc., are pretty much up to you. When a sub makes this realization it can have a remarkable effect on her imagination and creativity: within the confines and restrictions of your dominant's commands you are free to express yourself in any way you choose. S&M begins to approach art at this point.

Your list of morning-after marks was very interesting and hot as hell. I don't mark up nearly as well as I used to (or would like to--sigh) but you know how I can absolutely tell the next day if I've been done well (or is it well done?--g). I see how hoarse my voice is. If I can barely speak the next day, I know it was a killer scene.

While I love reading about other people's real experiences, one thing that always confuses me when I read about play party scenes (and I hope that you or someone else will address this--I'd really like some light shed on this) is that while your descriptions of your experiences are evocative of my own experiences in private or semi-private settings and thus have the ring of truth, I have a hard time imagining how what one does in public, among or in front of strangers, could possibly approach the level of intensity or intimacy that one achieves in private, alone with one's dominant. When I try to imagine Donald and I "scening" in front of strangers, I can't envision myself feeling loose enough or unselfconscious enough to be the submissive slut that it is so easy for me to be in private or even the semi-submissive slut that I can sometimes be around very close friends. I think I would feel intimidated imagining what strangers might think of my weird behaviors, and that would make me stiff as a board. Yes, I can see how one could close off the world and just focus on the interactions with your dominant, as you describe doing, but I think that even if I were to do that I would still be aware of all the staring eyes on the periphery of my consciousness. And that awareness would affect my behavior, even if I didn't want it to. I wouldn't be the same Rosie that I am when I feel completely free and uninhibited. And that would not be much fun for me. Is there anyone out there with experience doing both private and public scenes who would care to address this? Do you notice that the public scenes are less intense, emotionally, and do you ever miss that intensity?

Bear with me, I'm gonna get analytical for a second. It comes through loud and clear in your narrative that you were playing with someone who knew something about what he was doing. Ain't it refreshing? By ordering you to put the cuffs in your mouth, he demonstrated that he was observing you quite closely and reading you well enough to provide the direction you needed at the beginning, when you were unsure of how to act. Whether you were aware of his awareness or not, this probably inspired trust. By grabbing your throat he also showed that he knew enough to do one of those acts that inspire submission in people right from the start (having a boot placed on your head, when you are prone on the floor has a similar effect). It's funny, but dominants who haven't been at their business very long often don't seem aware of the little things like this that soften a person up; instead they use anger/shouting, aloofness, or pain exclusively.

One final comment: one of the most delightful (or at least it is for me) aspects of living in a permanent master-slave relationship is that there is never a moment when the blindfold or cuffs come off signifying the end of the scene. Sure, there are varying levels of intensity, but it all has the feel of one big never-ending scene. And yeah, it's also great to be able to experience what you went through at that play party at least once and sometimes twice a week--without having to go to a party to do so.