Mar. 5th, 2009

kathryntact: (ow)
The front of my thighs look as if an elephant gently stomped on them after a cougar ran his claws over them.  How, one might ask, did my thighs end up like this?  Well, it's simple really.  Like I always say, it's not masochism, it's stupidity.
 
After a wonderful dinner in [livejournal.com profile] makeplayhappen 's suite on Sunday night, a little play began to happen here and there.  Phil and I were in the bedroom along with [livejournal.com profile] lolitasir , [livejournal.com profile] holey1 , [livejournal.com profile] mglthr , [livejournal.com profile] makeplayhappen , and a couple of other folks.  [livejournal.com profile] boymeat  and I had decided that Sunday evening would be blood and cane night for us, so we laid a towel down on the bed and began as we normally do.  A little whacky, whacky here.  A little whacky, whacky there.  And then the needle hammer followed by a scalpel.  Followed by the cane again. 
 
It was low-key play only in the sense that conversations were going on around us, and while we were fully into what we were doing, we were also able to interact easily with everyone else.  We weren't suffering from tunnel vision (for once).  Blood started to splatter and I lifted up the edge of the towel to better protect the bed, also giving Phil an excellent opportunity to not only cane my thighs but my inner right arm as well.  The cane beat back and forth between the two for a short while.  I finally wrapped the towel over my thighs completely and sat back while he went to town turning the white towel a lovely shade of red.
 
As per usual, after a good while, I started to zone out.  He noticed this and sat down on the bed beside me.  One arm curled around me and the other continued to gently cane my thighs.  And yes, we made-out, too.  Cause making out is hawt.  Mmm, kissessss.  I realized that [livejournal.com profile] holey1  was caning [livejournal.com profile] mglthr  when she said, "I will hit you half as hard and half as often as Boymeat hits Kathryn."  Despite my state of "DUUUUHHHH", out of nowhere I busted out with "Harder, Daddy, harder!" 
 
Laughter filled the room as I continued to incessantly urge him to hit me harder and more often so that Sharrin would hit Monica more.  "No, no.  You have to stand up and really hit me."  "Can we move the TV so you can get a full swing in?"  It went on and on, and so did I.  My brain was nowhere near earth anymore as the pain fully hit home and the caning slowed down.  Then, in what I can only describe as a case of pure genius, Monica said, "Okay, he will hit you twice as often, twice as hard as Sharrin is hitting me!"  Exactly what was already going on except that instead of Phil setting the pace, Sharrin was.
 
And up it went again.  Of course, [livejournal.com profile] holey1  hits faster than I can comprehend and my thighs seemed to explode in fire as Phil tried to not only twice the pace but twice the intensity of each stroke as well.  I finally called something akin to "uncle" out, but I'm fairly sure it sounded more like "zomg, I'm dyyyyinnnn'. unnnnnngh!" 
 
It was this great moment of comradery and hilarity combined with pain and blood.
 
I fucking love my life.

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kathryntact

May 2009

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