Mr. S Leather

If you haven’t been to Mr. S Leather in San Francisco, CA, then you are seriously missing out. It is the biggest and baddest kink and fetish store around. While it largely caters to the gay male community, it still has plenty to please any pervert.

So, of course, whenever the opportunity arises, M and I stop by Mr. S.

M has been a customer for years, but he just introduced me to this wonderful (and admittedly, initially terrifying) store about a year ago. Oh the difference a year makes… No longer the shy girl out of her depth, M’s previous assessment of my reaction at The Stockroom in LA is appropriate even now: I was a kid in a candy store.

One of the truly great things about Mr. S is that the staff are incredibly helpful, incredibly knowledgable, and incredibly nice. On a prior trip to Mr. S when M had been considering a particular cockring, they encouraged us to go into the dressing room and “try it on”. If you have any questions — and I mean *any* — they will try to help, and often come up with great solutions to challenges or suggest the perfect product.

While the damage was not insignificant to my bank account, it could have easily been much worse. As anyone into kink and BDSM knows, it is typically not a cheap hobby. But it is a ridiculous amount of fun. And I finally own my own pair of fancy locking wrist restraints.

What I do when I’m a little drunk and M’s not home…

There has been more than one occasion when I’ve been out drinking with friends, and I come back to M’s place afterward when he’s out of town. I usually end up texting him or calling him, but I also have been known to do some pretty kinky things with only one or two drinks in me.

The first time that happened I ended up in a latex catsuit.

Another time I ended up wearing a mask and latex heels.

And yet another time I ended up playing with the e-stim box.

The most recent night of drunken kink started out with what we jokingly call a “horny purchase”, with shipping promising its delivery the day before M gets back. I confessed this to M afterward, though the original intention was that it would be a surprise for the night he got back. The night ended with spandex, my favorite mask, and the e-stim box, with M watching on video chat.

M laughs about it, and acts surprised that I’d do such a thing — that I’d make a horny purchase and that I’d do such kinky things without him around. But he doesn’t complain about it too much, so I think he doesn’t mind. ;)

Dear M…

Regarding this, I suspect you already know the answer, but I will say “most of it”. Perhaps a different mask and/or gag (you probably know the ones I have in mind), but you already know how much I enjoy electrifying experiences and being tied up… ;)

Add this to the wishlist? – xoxo, B

Kinky Comfort

Trying to fall asleep by myself in bed last night, I could do anything but sleep. I eventually gave up and reached for a vibrator and a mask to see if that would help me relax and drift off. It was quick and nothing special, but it did the trick to relax me… just not enough to fall into slumber.

I pulled the neoprene hood off. It’s one of my favorites. I love it when M wears it. I really like wearing it. It’s surprisingly comfortable and sexy, with only an opening for the mouth and chin.

I pulled the hood off and tried to relax, tried to let sleep overtake me. And then it hit me. And I pulled the hood back on and just laid there in the dark. And it was exactly what I needed.

When M puts me in the sleepsack, I’ve come to beg him to tighten it around me. It’s made for him, and so I have space to move around inside it, but I beg for him to tie the straps tightly around me.

The hood was similar in a lot of ways. It was comforting. Wearing it made my mind forget about everything else that was racing through it, and instead focus on that feeling.

I eventually slipped the hood off again, and fell asleep thinking about the next time M will tighten the straps around me and slip that hood on me. It was exactly what I needed.

M jokes that when we stop dating one day, that I’ll be like his previous girlfriends, and shrug off the kink, giving it up when I give up him. I hope that day doesn’t happen, but even if it does, I now know that kink won’t be disappearing from my life.

Bondage Tape

I’ve been curious about bondage tape for a little while, but have yet to buy some. Stopping by a store today, I saw some on display that could be touched. I have to say, I was pretty disappointed in it. It actually doesn’t look that good and doesn’t feel like I’d hoped. Yes, it’s shiny… but it feels low quality, and that’s a big turn-off.

I think this has made my decision for me, in that if I do want to play around with something like bondage tape, it would be best if I picked up something like this rubber bandage from Fettered Pleasures. I imagine M would be happier with that as well.

In the Moment

M and I talk about writing stories. Recounting past exploits and imagining future ones. We send each other snippets of fantasies, and talk for hours about what we plan to do to each other. Or, even more dangerously, what we want done to us. They say the largest sex organ is the brain, and we certainly don’t ignore that.

It’s difficult, though, to remember the details. It’s hard to recall and put into words exactly what was happening the night before. So many of the details blur together, only a few very specific things standing out in stark relief.The thrill as he tightened the straps on my arms, pinning them behind my back. Closing the Kali’s Teeth around his hardening cock and snapping a lock on it. The sweat dripping onto my face as he fucked me on the floor. Brushing my hand over his tender nipples, captured by clover clamps. Begging for more, begging to be punished. There’s so much between these snapshots. Lust and fear and trust and the desire to push ourselves, and to push each other.

He comes home from another business trip, this one longer than anticipated. I’m dressed up and waiting for him, restraints ready, mask over my head, on my knees. The anticipation nearly kills me as I hear the key turn in the lock, waiting for him to set his bags down and shove his hard cock in my mouth.

Another night I replicate the “science experiments” I ran while he was away. But this time he restrains me and takes the control box, tweaking the settings, adjusting the speed and intensity of the electricity. In no time he has me begging for mercy.

I do the same to him another night. Zipped up tight in the sleep sack, chained to the bed. I take the box into the other room, playing with the settings to remind him I’m still there, giving him a jolt now and then. But I want to watch him, and I want to push his buttons, so I end up sitting on the floor by the bed, adjusting the settings, eventually making him come.

For a long time, neither of us felt the need to use our safewords. We had them, but rarely uttered them. Lately, though, it’s almost as if we’re daring the other to say it. Trying to push each other into crying “red”. It’s a boundary that we need to push, but we’re pushing it together.