Apology accepted

"You can't come. I haven't come yet."

There's a panicked gasp amidst his entwined moans and begging for orgasm. As he realises he is going to come, to disobey my newly instated rule, his legs start to jerk and thrash. Face down, latex hood closing out the world, he's trapped in his body and trapped in the waves of driving sensation.

I could, of course, always stop what I am doing to him - but where would the fun be in that? Certainly, I've been building him up to this. I'd spent the evening alternating between beating him with his own belt, using his mouth and fucking him with the strap-on as he lay on his back in the middle of the room. I wanted him to feel prone, exposed, so he was stomach up, legs parted and resting on my thighs to get the perfect angle, his arse rising to meet me as I gripped his shoulders and thrust. Once he was suitably tired, I took him upstairs, still blinded by the eyeless hood, bound him to the bed and started to fuck him once more.

Then, surprisingly, an orgasm started. I was pressing the large, beaded vibrator deeper into his arse, holding it inside him with my thigh as I lay on top of him, fingers on my (very wet) clit. Indulging in a little masturbation at the sight of him. I started to grind my hips against his legs, then felt the orgasm rise up out of his body, through my hand, stomach and out into the cool night air. I leaned towards his ear:

"Don't you fucking dare."

He strains to speak through the gasps and pants: he's sorry, he can't help himself, he can't, he can't, he can't not. Of course, he does. And when he comes, he comes hard: sweating, groaning and flailing. There's a part of me that's pleased: after all, I've just popped the cherry of Mr Smith's anal orgasm. Most of me, however is pissed off. I didn't allow this, in fact, I've been trying to curtail his natural, slightly lazy, lie-back-and-take-it tendencies by limiting his orgasm to a maximum of one less than me.

I feel a strange mix of elated, angry, let down and slightly shocked. I've already punished him once for orgasm without permission but this time is somewhat different. Obviously, there needs to be punishment, but equally obviously, I'm not entirely sure I want to keep paying attention to him. I stop everything that I'm doing and pull the vibrator roughly out from him, smirking as he winces. I adjust the ropes at the head and foot of the bed so he's tied over to one side. I am still hot with annoyance, so look around for a leather tawse and lay a few blows onto his upturned bottom. He grunts but otherwise lies still in a post-orgasmic slump, which only serves to make me more annoyed. The tawse raises wealts, red and thick, but I don't actually have the heart to deliver a sound beating. That would be effort and I'm disinclined to spend any more effort on him.

I get up, turn the light off, and without saying anything, get back into bed and curl up facing away from him, leaving him tied up, partly covered and mostly abandonned.

He starts to squirm and whimper. He's extremely tactile, and I know that refusing to touch or acknowledge him after such an intense orgasm will be difficult. I wait, in the darkness, as he blusters apologies, wanting desperately for me to reach over and tell him it will be ok, to hold him and wrap myself around him as I usually do before we both fall asleep. I'm having none of it. I retrieve a vibrator and start to masturbate, informing him that at least this toy responds to commands. I smile to myself as I watch him: tied a few inches away from me, groaning as he hears me sigh with my own pleasure, separate from him and his body. I like the idea of him waiting, for me to be ready to use him. It's a strange kind of voyeurism and exhibitionism: he cannot see me, but he knows what I am doing. I am enjoying the sensation of being desired and withholding that desire. Teasing, yes, but also deeply satisfied by the knowledge that at any moment, if I wanted to, I could do anything to him.

Eventually, brain full of the thought of perfected human toys, I orgasm and he utters a noise of displeasure, a pouting note of unhappiness. The climax flushes out a lot of my immediate personal frustration and calms me somewhat, allowing me to focus on what to do with the disobedient object to my left.

I slowly unbind the ropes and pull him out of bed. I navigate him into the bathroom, roughly, letting him bump a little into the walls as we go along, then put him on his back in the bathtub, kneel over his face and let him believer for a moment he can lick my cunt before rising up slightly and pissing into his open mouth.

"If I can't rely on you for one thing, I'll find other ways for you to be useful."

I smile as he splutters a bit, then starts to swallow. When I'm done, I turn the shower on, setting it to cold and wash myself briefly before soaking him thouroughly until I can see goosebumps. He shivers and brings his arms up to protect himself, then curls them to one side. I turn off the water and step out.

"Goodnight."

I turn off the light and shut the door. A plaintive cry of "Don't leave me to sleep in the bath!" follows me into the corridor and I do my best not to giggle. I shut my bedroom door and listen to the noises of mild, sulky complaint echoing out of the bathroom.

After I've decided he's had enough I turn the light back on and lay a warm, dry towel over him. I gently remove the hood and help him out. It's a slow process, he's shaky and unsteady. I rub him down, reminding myself once more why he's a horse and I hold him close to me before leading him to bed.

Horses sweat

Muscles vibrate in his back, clenching and unclenching in spasms that wind tighter and tighter. He's coiling up like a spring, My hands are wrapped tight around his hips as I thrust my new, larger dildo into him. Saturday night, Mannequin has gone to bed. Mr Smith and I are still awake and I'm using the small hours to engage in a very active search for male prostate orgasm. Determined to drag him through it.

All the pre-signs are there. He's prone, arms splayed out and fingers grasping at the bedsheets, feet curling. The muscles in his thighs are trembling and he's bucking against me, pressing his hips against the cock. I fuck him, building him up through faster, harder strokes, then slower, deeper ones that take their time to press him open. I can see his desire for release in his body, and I watch him carefully, judging depth, speed and playful little thrusts upon his own movements. I can hear it too: the tell-tale type of panting, tiny gasps that lift upwards, getting softer and more lost as he begins to hyperventilate. A few times I need to calm him down, to force him to breathe more deeply, relax and stop striving so hard.

I stroke his back, I can feel the heat rising from his skin, feel the sweat pinprick, then run in rivulets over his naked body. I love that moment. Sweat is an under appreciated fluid: I love sweat. The cold sweat that starts from fear, shock or pain. The sheen from flushes of excitement. The gentle overnight sweat where the scent of two (or more) bodies mingles with sex, sleep and animal contentment. And this. Pure fucking exertion and mindless force, flowing - literally - from his pained efforts at my command. With it comes his smell, now familiar and resonating with my own dominance, already part of the attraction I have for him - scent is a hugely important thing for me. I can track pheromones and those the rise from him are heady. Sweat. It's a power trip. Emperors must have felt this way when gladiators roared and bled in the arena.

The orgasm isn't coming, but he's working really hard towards it. Perhaps too hard, in that desperate, uphill struggle that climax can sometimes be, especially unfamiliar climax. I remember the effort (and surprise) of my first orgasm through cunnilingus, and later, from someone else's fingers. To this day I've never had an orgasm purely through vaginal penetration. Each first time was hampered by the fear that it wouldn't happen, that I would fail, falter and collapse. Which is what happens to him, eventually, both of us worn down by the exertion. I've led him up and down the waves of rising almost-orgasm several times before I decide we need to stop. His entire body is shuddering through with tiny convulsions and he is almost without speech (a rarity for this one) for several minutes. He's angry, frustrated and - as expected - feels like he's failed. Submission and failure are tricky but often present bedfellows, I can certainly call on my own experiences, especially the desire to produce orgasm for a dominant, but also for oneself, to give a true sense of completion and finality.

Eventually I get up and fetch a dry towel and begin rubbing him down. The long strokes across his back and limbs seems to calm him, and he quietens. Even that action is pleasing to me. He's a horse ridden hard and in need of stabling. What I'm doing is very familiar to me from teenage years spent riding. And the minute I think "horse" is the minute everything falls into place. The more I think about this one, the more I think of horses, and all the pleasures that come with that.

I tend to visualise my submissives as animals, so they generally go by a moniker like "kitten", "puppy" or even "bear" to recall a name from my almost-vanilla past. And so this one is a horse. Sweat like horses do, with all that impressive power and force behind them, yet passively following a bit and bridle. Groomed, trained and even bred for purpose. Sure, they whinny and nicker every now and then, but generally fall into place if treated correctly. I smile as my brain fills with all the thoughts of leather tack, hay-filled stables and my thighs twitch a little. Once he's dry, I curl up around him, wrapping him up in my arms and holding him tight whilst he continues to give the odd twitch and moan. I stroke his hip, and my brain reads "flank", whispering soothingly into his ear. There's plenty of time for all sorts of training for this boy.

Kigu time!

A quieter week, following on the heels of a lovely rope and wine evening that consisted of wine and lots of people huddled in cuddle puddles on sheepskin rugs. I think the weather made us feel more in need of warm, human bodies than anything else. Chiaroscuro and I did bring along our kigu outfits which made us even more huggable, and cause Ringmaster to look on aghast as we demanded Shibari. Probably not an authentic traditional experience but a worthwhile exploration of otaku culture and also lots of silly, giggling fun. This tangentially led on to a conversation about "eastern" versus "western" Shibari - the former placing emphasis on passive, receiving rope bottoms and the latter involving more ties that revolve around restraint and struggle. We wondered whether this was a cultural thing - certainly it would be a very British trope to only feel able to let go and enjoy being tied up in situations where one was forced to do so, or could not escape.

Eventually, after being chased around Benny Hill style, he overcame his disgust and used ties that were appropriate to the animals we were dressed up as - emphasising the limbs of the long legged giraffe and the traditional pose of a growling bear. He will probably start talking to me again around 2019.

I don't think it's a kink in the sense that being a furry is. I don't feel sexual or sexualised (I really, really don't want to have sex whilst wearing one), but I do feel happy and amused. All of which are good and positive things. After a shopping trip the next day in which other perverts bought kigu the general consensus was that they do create a different persona for you to inhabit. Certainly I was me, but I was me with the knowledge that I could be silly. Part of me thinks that this sort of dress-up and lets pretend teeters on the edges of The Doll Project and of aspects of animal play.

Except, not quite.

Dolls are, by my own definition at least, for sexual use or abuse. And animals tend towards the dangerous and somewhat cruel, rough things in need of taking and taming. These toys are different. Remember when you were young and you built a den, perhaps using blankets and old clothes horses? You hid in it, maybe with a torch and were safe in your own secret world where everything was soft and comforting. They are like that. I got the giggles a lot and romped around.

We discussed how clothing affects how you are perceived, and whether we could all get kitted up in our plushie jumpsuits attend a BDSM event and engage in some extreme edge play. I think that there would be a certain element of point scoring involved in this - which isn't to say that it shouldn't be done, although it's fair to say that some people will get upset and think we are taking the piss. Which in one sense, we would be. However, far too much kink is taken far too seriously and far too much labelling is done via whatever someone is wearing.

Plus if you can dominate someone whilst wearing a giant panda costume, you can pretty much do anything. And it would be marvellously creepy.

Puppy face

Chiaroscuro gets the mask out of his bag and puts it in my hands. It's a puppy mask made of rubber, very dark grey and quite thick, smelling strongly of latex. Unlike other masks I played with, and generally I do love playing with masks, this one has a realistic face - it's a doggy face, a kind of Labrador cross with a bulldog face. It's well made and and the mould has been shaped so that the protruding mouth and nose offers a very dog like expression. He inclines his head down a little so his face is in the mask, I put a hand on his neck and zip the mask closed. He kneels. Paws go on and are buckled in place, then finally a collar to complete the picture.

The transformation is quite startling, his physicality alters immediately, becoming looser around the shoulders and arms. His strength held in the back and thighs with a centre of gravity that is now much lower and powered from the hips. He launches himself forward with great speed and exuberance after objects thrown into the crowd. He is delightful. There's a mix of giggles and some cries of annoyance and I find myself heading after the puppy to detach him from people's legs. This is a different type of dog to the others, I'm learning that all puppies are very unique. The negotiation document was useful, but nothing compares to actually seeing it in practice. This one is playful, energetic and easily distracted. An actual puppy as opposed to a grown dog. And he's off again...

The mask is causing me some problems, however. I'm used to masks that erode the face completely - either a smooth veneer of latex or some other abstract, obviously fake pattern without expression. Onto those blank slates one can paint whatever attitude you like, or, as I quite like to do, just let them be neutral, absent, inhuman and servile machines or dolls. With the knowledge that a real face sits beneath, in pleasure or in pain or both at once. But it can't be seen. Only heard. Here, there is a fake face, one that is very expressive - a realistic and bouncy, pleasing dog face. It looks happy, although also just a little dim. It's real enough to make me react to it, to view the dog face as the actual face, although of course I know it isn't, and makes it very strange to watch. A few people in the room find it decidedly eerie, perhaps in a similar way to how some people can react to the doll suit. It has a certain unheimlich quality to it - that sense of the familiar being made strange or inaccessible. Like toys that speak or everyday items suddenly doing something they should not.

I'm doing a double take throughout. Parallel processing the dog-with-a-face and the boy-in-the-dog and trying to look after both. It's quite a challenge and I find myself at times a little confused as to what to do because it's an explicitly non-sexual scenario which is very interesting and not a type of play I often engage in, although find myself doing more and more as I explore specific kinks and activities. I absolutely don't want to fuck the dog, and even less be fucked by the dog, because that would be bestiality - and that would be "wrong". This is a puppy. You just don't do that to puppies. Something that needs looking after, caring for, playing with, owning and training. But an asexual thing. Similarly, the feelings I get from the dog do not make me feel sexual - I feel wanted, important and powerful but I don't feel desired in that way - and neither do I want to be.

Perhaps the face has something to do with that - making it much more animal than boy-pretending-to-be-an-animal. Or forced to behave like one, which would be a sexual experience. I'm learning as I go (aren't we all?) but each new partner shows me just how context influenced, specific and individual - and frankly, damn changeable and plain whimsical - my tastes can be. Over the past few months I've learnt how D/s can be a non-sexual thing and still be exciting. Perhaps this is the one of the key differences between my dominant and submissive desires - I certainly prioritise and need a lot of sexual attention from my partner as a submissive, but as a dominant, less so. Perhaps because the control, manage and withholding of the sexual needs of others requires an attitude of being the stronger party - the one who doesn't "need", because they can simply take as and when. Which means I can luxuriate in knowing it's always there as opposed to hoping for the crumbs as and when they fall. Or dog biscuits.

Dog

The lovely Chiaroscuro sent me this link on puppy play and negotiations. We met for a coffee a few weeks back to discuss all things boy-shaped-yet-also-canine. It is to my detriment that I have yet to set a date to actually play with him, my diary is descending once more into chaos and for certain people, such as The Ladies Who... for example it has been almost six months since I last met for more than a drink and a wink across the bar. But, my own planning aside, it's time to seriously consider the puppy and what he is made of beyond the fact that they are fun and make me smile.

The term of address "puppy" is a charming condescension - full of warmth and acceptance of foibles and foolishness, demeaning but not cruel or unkind. The puppy is not a person, but unlike other dehumanising power exchanges this isn't necessarily a bad thing, certainly not when puppy play is desired from the submissive (I can imagine that it would be a key tool in humiliation scenes if someone found it embarrassing to be turned into an animal). For the moment I'll discuss my play with Dandy who wants to be a puppy, who find it a comfortable, pleasant and safe space to be in.

There's two main areas of discussion, the first is how I view him in relation to myself and the second is the activities we partake in (and my thoughts on future activities). More than a puppy, I think of him as my dog. The age is relevant and has a knock-on effect on the sort of training and situations that work well. He's a smart dog, well groomed, honed and completely house trained. He is also a strong animal, loyal and with well developed protective instincts. In my mind he is an Alsatian, perhaps a police dog, muscular, a little aggressive and able to rip the throat out of anyone who upsets me. I've probably been watching too much True Blood (is there such a thing?) but I'm also thinking Werewolf - I absolutely derive a thrill from submission by those physically stronger and more powerful than me, whose power I can either turn against them or use to do my bidding. I think he sees himself more of a Labrador, but we're both working within a tolerable range of dog-types.

For myself, I am certainly his owner, and probably his trainer, though he is quite well behaved and his own desire to please means that I don't require much in the way of choke leads or rolled up newspaper - just as well as that sort of thing done too often would become quite tiresome I imagine - "forced" submission is not high on my list of things I enjoy.

Our play has generally more puppy-flavoured than being pure bred animal only play. We don't use a lot of kit or do much in the way of puppy dress up. There is a butt plug with a lovely wolfish tail that I like to use on him when I can - the physical shape and pressure it creates is a sign of my ownership - I can stroke and play with it and he'll feel the vibrations. On one rather memorable moment he started to whimper because I was leaning on his tail. Also, it just looks damn hot against his naked bottom. Hoods are a bit of a difficulty, which is unfortunate because I quite like them, so I'm considering some sort of muzzle that isn't as enclosing but creates the right shape. Similarly, paws.

In terms of how the dog looks he will be mostly naked and always on all fours - we do a lot of work on posture - how he holds himself, sits etc and I tend to move him around by placing a hand on the scruff of his neck. He will waggle his bottom when happy and licks my face when excited. He even has certain puppyish characteristics when not strictly in role. He will happily sit at my feet, makes tiny growls of pleasure if his neck is scratched and says "ruff" every now and then - the frequency of his doing these things is often a good indication of how submissive he is feeling.

Play involves a lot of stroking, general fuss and just having him around as a dog - it's quite light because he's well behaved and doesn't require much punishment plus even I find it a challenge to be cruel to a dog for no reason. Even giving him a wash in the shower on all fours or grooming with an epilator caused a lot of unhappy looks and whimpers that made me feel mean, and not in a good way. I generally stick to light taps around the cock and balls area when I feel like delivering something harder. I'm quite keep to employ electricity in future sessions, but the violet wand seems like the wrong tool - remote control pads would be better. I also want to do some more longer term play where he's in dog mode for an entire evening, and then perhaps take him out to a club or to do some socialising classes with other dogs.

Bangs and whimpers

Different things attract me to different people. With Dandy, there is the obvious, yet despite my superficiality, there is also the less obvious. The things you only find out after a bit of time, when you've spent a while observing reactions and doing what passes for getting-to-know-you in the kinky sense of the word. I know how his skin smells, that he bites his lip when he's thinking about something filthy and looks away, almost shyly. That he shudders and his back twitches when I run my fingers down the nape of his neck. All these things make me smile, but not as much as the main thing.

He whimpers.

It's not a groan, or a gasp. It's not a breathy noise at all and it's not exactly human either but more definitely animal, specifically puppy. It's a small noise, quiet but high pitched. A whimper. A whine. A noise of want, need and natural, unfeigned subservience to what I am doing. Regular and pulsing in time with his breathing. Tiny little yelps of not-quite pain and not-quite pleasure. A bit of both. Just right, in fact.

He's on all fours by the side of my bed. Cuffed, chained to the bed and gagged with a bit which is making him drool a little, not unappealingly (his choice - I let him lay out four items for use and that, rather than the ball, made an appearance). I let him hear the snap of a latex glove and smear my fingers in lube before probing around his raised arse, pressing in a bit before getting into a rhythm. Which is when the whimpering begins in earnest. I want to fuck him like this, but annoyingly, I don't have the kit. On the other hand, there is something satisfying about doing this by hand, I can feel his responses more readily and, certainly for the first couple of times at least I want to go slow and be a little gentle. There will be time for more later. Right now, I'm exploring.

One of the joys of being on top is the freedom to put your hands wherever you want, to take the bottom wherever you want them to go. It's quite a luxury, actually. Taking my time to stroke, pinch and press against every inch of him until I understand exactly how he works. I'm not there yet, by no means, but I've made some progress. I like the feeling of having him in the palm of my hand, to know that those noises, that expression, that tremor of the leg or clenching of the fists is something owed to me by virtue of what I am doing. Making his body bend to my actions makes him mine, even just for those moments.

I feel quite protective of him, in this state, and wrap my arms around his shoulders, hushing and reassuring him that I'm not going to hurt him. There's a delicious contradiction in this kind of dominance - I care for him and want to look after him, keep him safe and happy. I also want to make him cry, wriggle and thrash around helplessly. Then dry his tears. Then start again. For now, though, I don't go straight in with anything heavy, no pain. I want to build up some trust first and find out where the pleasure buttons are before I bring in anything harder, rather than rushing in with guns blazing. So it's simple stuff. Lots of hands and skin to skin contact, feeling his reactions. Enjoying the way that a rash of goosebumps explode across his back when my fingers lightly trace down his spine. That he arches against the cold metal chopsticks as I press their points gently against his flesh. The tiny pats of a couple of flat palm beats against the base of his balls - he knows, and is concerned, about my love of CBT, but I promised no pain, and I keep my promises.

After a while, he manages to speak a little, to request items that he's brought. I know from personal experience how hard vocalisation can be, so it's a heartfelt need rather than a whim. He mentions nothing specific and when later questioned it was because he wanted me to "get the most out of him" - I can certainly warm to that attitude. I select a butt plug with a puppy tail. He groans as it goes in, there's some resistance but the effect is worth it. After a bit of a fuss and some tail wagging, I get him to kneel and masturbate so I can watch the expression on his face, the movement of his hands. And hear those whimpers. Observational pleasure. I want him to orgasm because he's mentioned that they are difficult, so I want to see how, especially given it's a situation I can empathise with. Eventually, he does, then I put his tongue to work to clean up his semen before he collapses on the rug. I cover him with a blanket and start to tidy up, one eye on his prone form. He's curled up, sleepily satisfied.

Heavy petting

I'm doing a lot of pet play at the moment, admittedly a lot of it is long-distance with Ten. He's taken to it extremely well, or at least to the imagery and idea of it, things like fetching balls, eating from a bowl on the floor and begging for titbits have inspired strong sexual responses. He's highlighted the fact that whilst in normal life the idea of begging is abhorrent, there is a definite draw to doing it as a puppy. For me, this illustrates how the depersonification of someone and can be extremely liberating, especially to those who can find challenges with their (human) submissive selves.

Puppies, and pets in general, allow for a freer range of submissive / dependent expression without the need for rational thought or "performance anxiety" - you are able to divest yourself of the responsibilities of being a person, or even of being a human submissive, and run on instinct. There's a different sort of responsibility in being the dominant in a mistress/pet scenario than in a mistress/slave situation. Whilst the term "ownership" is just as applicable, the D/s power exchange feels more nurturing - a puppy needs to have lots of things done for them, and they need a certain amount of looking after whereas a human slave can exist to serve the desires of the dominant. Training goes hand in hand with owning a puppy, but there is a certain lightness of touch, after all puppies don't know any better and are somewhat accident prone. Behaviour that would be unpleasantly bratty in a human slave can be endearing in a puppy - which isn't to say I intend to tolerate much in the way of naughty puppies, but I do think that they naturally have more leeway, a wining puppy is sweet for longer than a wining human being.

That might just be me expressing my natural English tendency to prefer animals - especially dogs - to people.

I'm trying to work out what it is about puppies that does it for me - and they really do it for me, so much so I'm amazed that I haven't done more with them earlier. I think in part it's driven by Ten's enthusiasm, but other people as puppies also flicks my switch. They make me excited and also very happy, much like real puppies - I grin when I think about them. Sometimes I giggle. Puppy play is basically fun. Puppies are cute - well, I think that they are cute - and a lot of the activities associated with puppies naturally tend toward the playful: ball throwing, tickling, lots of stroking and petting. A good puppy is affectionate, they do a lot of licking, which is also rather cute. They also get a lot of kit - heavy, restrictive leather kit. Paws are an absolute must, and I'm leaning towards a muzzle, or at least head-harness that has the sensation of a muzzle. And, of course, collar and lead. Plus a butt plug with tail, for him to wag.

Aesthetically, I love the look of a well-turned out puppy boy (and it is mostly boys). I'm not big on furry outfits - to me the result should be very slick, a leatherclad puppy, more of a dog actually, with firm musculature, lots of flesh showing and plenty of restrictive straps that alter the shape of the body into something more animal, then going further and making something beyond the animal. The pleasure is in knowing that a human being has offered themselves up to be presented and treated this way, to be moulded into that perfect pet. I'm looking forward to taking Ten through the transformation process, starting with a good scrub down on all fours in the bath tub (or outside if there's a convenient moment) and then putting on all of the kit.

I also think it will be a good format for him to engage in group scenes in a controlled environment. I had a small but perfectly formed "puppy picnic" with Spiral and her puppy over the weekend - there should have been a few more people and puppies, but real life got in the way. I'm hoping in time to organise a regular meet up for those who are pet-play inclined, partly because I want to learn more, but also because I would like to run some scenes around pet training, including socialisation and other group animal activities. Perhaps if I'm feeling nice I might attempt to secure a bitch for Ten, if he's been good.

Getting it whilst it's hot

The weather is against me, it's causing The Photographer to wilt slightly and there has been something of a lull in sexual activity. I'm hoping to enlist the help of cold fizzy drinks, ice-cubes and showers to help freshen him up, because unfortunately(?) the weather tends to make me more, not less, interested in all things kinky. For a start, I can actually stand to be naked for long periods of time without the cold making me lose feeling in my limbs, and it would be a shame to miss out on any opportunity.

That said, some things are better avoided in the baking sunshine, such as we had this past weekend. There was an invite (circumstances prevented us from attending) from Reining-in our previous co-conspirator in our little ponies but the thought of being outside, in the heat, without full control over my factor 50 applications, only gave me red and sweaty thoughts of the unpleasant variety. It's a shame because I'm convinced that being a pony outdoors might somehow feel more "natural" than an indoors pony, but as with many things British, the weather is very important to how well that works out.

Ten step programme

The Photographer and I went to visit Reining In on Saturday for our first sample of pony play. In advance we'd received a ten point email of how to dress and behave prior to meeting up. I'm very fond of protocol, especially if it comes in the form of written lists, given that there can often be nerves at a first meeting having something solid to get a grip on helps assuage these. Both of us had to be shaved smooth from top to bottom, excepting the hair on our heads, and neither of us were allowed to wear deodorant, makeup or underwear. Preparation is part of anticipation, and grooming is part of submissive transformation, both mentally because the ritual of doing so puts one in a certain frame of mind and also physically as you make yourself into something more desirable to another - in this case made all the better by having a precise pro-forma for doing so, no second guessing or worrying about being wrong-footed.

As we looked over the list, I was initially a bit thrown by the request for the "filly" wear a pair of red stilettos and an A-line dress that buttons up at the front, partly because I don't have either of those things (I'm not a very girly girl, and I'm tall so never bother much with high heels) and also because it felt very, well, feminine. A sexualised representation of the female form, which seemed a little strange and not especially animal at all. The "colt" got more leeway and less chance of exposure on public transport by wearing loose trousers and a shirt. That's the knock-on effect of conforming to someone else's desire, I suppose, you stop feeling like yourself, and feel like something dressed-up and strange. For some reason I felt a little confused and confounded by that request, I guess that part of me wanted pony play to be about the removal of the trappings of that type of desire and to partake of something different, I had no real conceptions about what the "something different" might be, but I did have an idea about what it was not.

As it turned out, we stripped almost as soon as we arrived, so I was soon feeling more comfortable. Reining In was very calm, and is very well practised in training ponies so we went straight into it. Harnesses, headpieces and gags went on with very little difficulty, and certainly as soon as the gag went in I felt more ready, more complete. We were each fitted with our own tail, sturdy butt-plug insert and blond horsehair. I got to sit back and listen to The Photographer whimper and wince a little as his was put into position - lack of practice, we later agreed. Our arms were clipped together by cuffs above the elbows, then folded behind our back and bound in a strapped leather sling. The arm pieces felt especially good: no hands to gesture with, no mouth to speak with. I made little snorting noises through my nose and leaned my face against The Photographer's shoulder. I could smell his skin and immediately wanted to lick it. But couldn't.

Finally came the piece of kit that I had been looking forward to the most. Pony boots. They looked stunning, I beamed with joy. Shiny black PVC towers, with buckles, straps, laces and horse shoes on the soles which peeped out the back to give a little extra stability. As mentioned, I don't really do high heels. Now, pony boots are really, really high (although certainly lacking in the "heel" element) and once I was eventually strapped into them I teetered on these four inch blocks and then spent the following hours in constant fear of falling over as I skittered about on the shiny lino floor. Standing still was very difficult and I felt the need to shift from foot to foot, trying to re-balance my weight. Two days later and my thighs are still aching. I wasn't in pain, I was just conscious of not feeling at all in control, and straining to stay upright, especially when plasters were put over my eyes and I panicked, losing all ability to know where I was and needing to be held still for a while.

We were taught how to walk-on, and turn, with a gentle crop stroke or tap to the left leg for leading or a pull on the reins attached to our bits. We trotted up, down and round the room. Throughout Reining In was full of reassurances, letting us know that we were both pretty, and pleasing, but something wasn't quite working for me.

It was a niggling feeling, like the sensation that you have forgotten something important. I just didn't feel as if I was entirely getting into it, every now and then a little voice in my head would pipe up with you are stood naked in someone's living room, wearing bits of leather and looking like a fool. Not entirely the reaction I'd hoped for and to a certain extent I was disappointed in myself for not being able to go with it, and I'm still not entirely sure why. Part of it, I'm convinced though a little saddened, was wearing the boots. Whilst they did give a satisfying horsey noise when I stamped my feet and looked amazing each time I glimpsed myself in the mirror they were very distracting. The need to remain very focused on not-falling-over prevented me from slipping into anything like a comfortable head-space: I was very conscious of simply being a girl in dangerous shoes on precarious ground, which made me tense and anxious. Another part is the fact that I was literally becoming self-conscious, rather than slipping into the sensations and the mood I was looking at myself from the outside and feeling a bit silly, which is rarely sexy.

There were definitely moments, this notwithstanding. The feel of the gag as saliva ran passed it and onto my breasts, the floor, The Photographer's shoulder as I nuzzled against him. The leather straps against bare skin, the press of the plug inside my arse as Reining-In jiggled the straps holding it into me making me stamp my feet in frustration as I got wetter and wetter. Almost every sensation when taken individually worked for me, but I couldn't keep it together as a whole in my mind. It's certainly something that I am still interested in, and we have a standing invitation to go back, but there are definitely kinks to be ironed out, as it were, and points of entry into the mode of play to be re-negotiated.

Forthcoming attractions

The Photographer and I have been having a little review of our joint game plan for co-subbing, which has turned up all sorts of interesting and interesting-for-the-wrong-reasons asides. We have waded through a fair number of notes which seem to have no point to them, or which are terribly vague and ambiguous along the lines of "oh, I couldn't possibly tell you what my super secret plans are for that would ruin my mystique." Which is all very well once all parties have agreed to what they do and don't want to do, but a little difficult as a starting position for negotiation. There is also some general silliness over those who respond to a profile which clearly states we are a couple, and both want to be involved, with messages that contain the warning phrase "I'm straight, but" which is usually a forerunner that segues into "I'd like to fuck the female part of the equation". Sorry, wrong tree to be barking up.

New people bring up new activities, naturally turns into thoughts on what kit we need to buy or get our hands on. There have been some lovely notes flying round from Reining In, an experienced lifestyle Dom, on the subject of foot sizes for pony boots and dress sizes for harnesses, which feels a little like Fashion Wheel for the BDSM generation and is exciting to the girl in me who loves dressing up, and the woman in me who likes being stroked, petted then tied up in tight leather. We've scheduled a meet up for mid-March and he seems like a fun and down-to-earth person: jokes about dogs sulking because the new kennel has not been built for them and a frankness over what types of play are on offer and what is not has made him seem like a breath of fresh air.

Other purveyors of crisp oxygen are Mixed Doubles who we are due to meet at Antichrist this weekend for some yet-to-be-determined activity. We've chatted a few times and they have a reassuring air of being extremely comfortable and confident in what they do and a genuine sense of really, really enjoying it. So whilst we have not exactly laid out word for word what we want to do I feel safe putting myself (and himself) into their hands. And finally, we are still in touch with Food of Love, a Mf couple looking to put together a troupe of slaves, and whilst a second round of drinks is certainly on the cards we are not quite sure where we might go from there, but the fact that they are people with whom you can share a drink and a conversation makes for a good start.

Metamorphosis

The process, as well as the results of animal play are both fascinating and completely different to any sort of submission I've experienced before, it's something that I'm very keen to progress and see where it goes. Knight of Wands has some experience in helping people enter animalistic mindsets through trance, manipulated physicality and suchlike, then exploring those spaces with them. The theory we are working with is that by altering body shape, sensory input and playing around with how I'm interacted with we can build the animal outlook. We've discussed how different pieces of kit could be used to alter physicality - I was very keenly aware that when we last played in this way my hands felt particularly "wrong", I kept bunching them into fists or holding my fingers tightly together. Clearly, I was more comfortable with them as paws.

Naked, collared and cuffed, I lay on the bed whilst he selected the things he wanted to use. I watched as he taped my fingers together and yes, that did feel better, much better. He fixed a gag in my mouth and I started to chew reflexively, exploring the texture of it and moving it a little from side to side. A little later on he put me on all fours and fixed a leather hood in place. As soon as that happened, as I took the first inhalation and smelt the material, I felt my body tense slightly, I moved my face forward and began leading with my head, nose first. It didn't feel as if the hood was a barrier to my experience, but rather was enabling it by shutting out the bedroom and putting me further into the mindset and into my body.

The differences in how I was behaving and responding were very clear and obvious. I was not behaving like a human slave: I was barely thinking and certainly not thinking about the service I was providing, or how he might want me to behave for his pleasure. I was reacting and responding directly and purely to the sensations. I felt very calm and serene, not floating, but extremely comfortable in my skin, which was tingling slightly. I was passive, very horny and wet, but not necessarily submissive. I was absolutely enjoying the feel of him touching and stroking me, arching towards his hands or flexing against him, but there was something else as well.

In my usual submissive state I tend to feel helpless, open and vulnerable, but here I did not. I felt extremely strong, both physically and mentally. I don't generally consider myself to be particularly powerful, however I was keenly aware of my muscles and my body not only as a vessel for sensation but as a tool for interacting with the world. There was a certain sense that I was lying back and enjoying the pain and pleasure as the King of Wands pinched, stroked and bit me, but only for the moment: the impression that at any moment I could turn the tables, should it take my fancy, was very strong. A particular example is when he placed my bound hands onto his chest and pushed slightly, my arms tensed and I pressed back, resisting him whilst dodging his mouth as he tried to kiss me - playful but also aggressive. He mentioned his surprise (and excitement) in that response, and it's something we certainly be looking to explore further. It's possible that I may have found a solution to my problem with what to do whilst in a cage...

The human animal

Knight of Wands and I have been doing a lot of discussion about bodies and states of being created by different physical stimuli, we've been talking particularly about the alteration in perceptions that are not necessarily part of the BDSM toolkit per se but certainly seem to overlap. Astral projection, meditation techniques, all kinds of trances and shapeshifting. The idea of being able to inhabit either the body or the mind in a way that is different from the day-to-day fascinates me, and also strikes a certain chord. When I submit, I feel as if a portion of my "higher" level thought processes switch off and I become more connected to my body, to my physical presence. Rather than drift away in the manner of one falling asleep I am increasingly aware of any contact on my skin, how I am holding myself and suchlike. This is particularly enhanced with bondage or sensory deprivation.

I am increasingly sure that the type of submission I'm espousing is based partly on the type of dominance he is exerting. Given that one of the satisfactions I find in submission is the sense of being satisfying, pleasing someone is therefore important. We've talked a lot about what he wants and what he is interested in, which is something of a grey area, so we are working to find his specific hooks or handles - the things that really, really push his buttons. Without that specific knowledge, without being given the precise details of what to do and how and when I am responding to how he behaves instead. He doesn't speak, so I don't speak - a reasonable act of mirroring. He does make little growling noises and is very "hands-on", there is a lot of grabbing, It feels animalistic, but without an avatar or animal type. We aren't actively participating in pet play, that's not how it feels. There are no bells or whistles that might signify a puppy or a kitten, and both of us are doing it - there isn't the power imbalance of master and pet, it's different I almost want to say that the sensation is almost predator and prey but wonder if I might perhaps be over stretching the analogy somewhat, nevertheless, given that so much of D/s happens in the mind if that is what I am thinking then that must be part of what I am performing.

There's a strange mix of behaviours going on. I respond to what he is doing, whether it's scratching, biting or pulling me this way and that, in a passive way - like an object or a Doll I let him take whatever he wants. However, I am not still: I moan and make noise, move towards him or against in what feels like an incredibly natural and reactive way. Without thinking. If something hurts, if he hurts me I'll flinch, cry out or even make keening noises before returning to the position he put me in. If he's playing with my clit, fingering my cunt or arse I'll move towards the pleasure. I don't feel like I'm a placid slave or tabula rasa object, I feel like a trapped, willingly trapped, animal of some kind. I'll lick his fingers if they brush my mouth, move my face against him. Blindfolded, gagged and bound whilst he holds me tight in a foetal position, fucking my ass, I am immersed in vast quantities of extraordinary sensation that spring from a body that doesn't feel like, for those moments, a thinking, emoting human body, but something else, something with sharper nerves.

Whatever it is, it's very exciting, and extremely enjoyable for the total release it offers from any form of standardised or required behaviour, and I'm very interested to see how far this can go.

Kitty and puppy

The efforts of our joint profile appear to be bearing fruit, last night The Photographer and I went out to a small kinky gathering with New Friends - we got on really well, and had a very switchy night of deciding who we were going to do next. They introduced us both to a fantastic piece of electronic kit which had a series of remotely activated pads. These were placed on the girl's labia, either side of the clitoris. The warm-up was a firm but gently vibrating sensation, which was very pleasant, and then as the current increased it became sharper, more like the feel of a violet wand, but still with the vibration underneath the electricity so even at higher levels the pain was intermingled with definite, and intimate pleasure.

The Photographer was seconded to button pushing and took great delight in doing so, but it was a little as if he had sidelined himself from the action, or fallen into his more customary role as amused but detached dom. Given the fact that he doesn't get to submit as often as I do, and that turn about is fair play I decided that really he shouldn't be left out and that he should wear the collar for the rest of the night. On hands and knees in tight pvc trousers and later on, even less, hooked to a lead he made a wonderful gift of a puppy to our recent acquaintances, the female half was especially delighted, and amusement was had when we realised that Kitty (pet name from her other half) had a puppy. Who was, as usual wonderfully well behaved, even when strapped to a bench and the electrical pads placed on the top of his penis and at the base of his balls. Then the button pushed. Mercilessly.

The three of us spent quite a while alternately petting and abusing him, until he was quite spaced out and staring, glazed and smiling into space. At which point, we changed location to the St Andrew's Cross and I got to spend a bit of time glazed and smiling as I was flogged and had my nipple piercings toyed with at length. Puppy stayed firmly on the floor, his tongue industriously investigating the potential of Kitty's stockings to everyone's delight.

What was especially nice was the level of sexualised contact, and strong mutual attraction. Lots of kissing, groping, licking and alternating dynamics which were very exciting. Although an element of Britishness (perhaps?) prevented us from inviting them back to ours for a "coffee" afterwards, I'm sure that future encounters, now the ice has been broken, will see us being a little less coy.