Wishes

This has been a year full of incredible rewards and intense challenges, both in and out of the "The Scene." More than anything, I want to express my deepest gratitude to those of you who have been part of this crazy year with me, whether you've held my hand, given good counsel, made me smile "that smile," or offered yourself up as inspiration or canvas for my fantasies. That you are even reading this means you've already given me the best gift I could possibly ever wish for.

Nonetheless, a few of you have asked me what I might like for Christmas. While I love the serenity and the opportunity to give thanks at midnight mass on Christmas Eve, I choose not to participate in gift exchange during the holiday season. I do, however, wish you and those you enrich your life a peaceful, loving acknowledgement of what you truly mean to each other and a celebration of another year experienced together.

While Santa may not be visiting this girl who is so very good (at being bad!), I DO, however, eagerly anticipate the celebration of my birthday. (In fact, those close to me know there's a full pass on Christmas, Valentine's, Anniversary -- all that stuff -- if you remember my birthday.)

The big day is January 10. I will be here the week prior (but unavailable Jan 11-13) and strongly encourage indulgence -- especially since I put myself on shopping restriction for my studio for the past several months. Wishlist gifts, it should go without saying, are not required nor expected. Most of you reading this blog have been a part of my life as a dominant for quite some time and I would love to just have a moment to raise a glass to toast and thank you for being part of my very, very wonderful life.

If you are inclined to commemmorate my proud strut into my "late 30s" (I'll be 38!) there's a wishlist over at Amazon that I've recently updated with stuff from the Amazon site as well as other sites thanks to the "universal wishlist" widget. I also made a pretty hot list over at JT's Stockroom. And of course Mr. S has a few things that have made my fingers itch during my kinky shopping chastity...

Nova Light EStim Trip

Ball Gag Muzzle in RUBBER

Electroboard for the cock ***** Leather bondage set, Sz L

(Yes, my HTML coding sucks...)

Anything ordered or mailed, including cards/letters, should be sent to:

Miss Troy Orleans
2753 Broadway #103
New York, NY 10025
(646) 373-2423

Items on a list, of course, are just that, so here are a few comments on each piece on my wishlist so you can get an idea of why it's there.

Mr. S details (above pics/links) :

I've played with a colleague's electroboard recently and have had tremendous fun with it. It's cock bondage AND electrotorment all in one! Given my growing interest in long-term, sensedep bondage, the Nova Light system just seems like a no-brainer (ha! no pun intended!) that I'd love to experiment with. The leather thigh/wrist/waist restraints just look like locking, leather deliciousness to me and I LOVE the comments about how comfortable it is for long term bondage. (I'm thinking those restraints plus my Scott Paul Humiliator Gag System could make for a really fun afternoon....). And the rubber ball gag muzzle is for good gagging and easier cleanup -- plus, who doesn't love a breather/funnel hole!??!

NEW: Just got an email from Mr. S that reads:

From December 31st through Sunday January 11th, we're offering you
15% OFF on the Best gear available! We are ONLY offering this to our valued customers who receive this email - so you MUST enter the Promo Code: NYSALE in order to receive the discount or bring this newsletter into one of our stores.

Some notes on my Amazon list:

The Dungeon Delights spreader bar system has been on my coveted list since I started this blog (see left column, a little down). Metal bondage. Complete rigidity. Ain't a thing wrong with that.
The pillows are for my bed. In my dotage, I'm finding I like the squish and sink of a good down pillow: it'd be like you're sleeping with me! The Mr. S Asylum mask series is SUPER hot to me. I love the coverage without the intimidation of a full hood. My urgentest desire is for the upper half mask (because you know how much I like mouth access), though the full one gives me wood, too. The martini glasses are because ... well, if you've been following me on Twitter, you know how much I've been enjoying my "Bad Decision Martinis" lately and yet I have no martini making gear of my own! (The shaker would be welcome, too.)

JT Stockroom list notes:

While I'm not a full on rubberist -- yet -- I'm really digging rubber hoods lately and love the sense dep and breath control this one offers (in size LARGE, please). Tara Sterling re-awakened my interest in the Spider Gag (with strap, check options), thanks to a photo shoot she did which, of course, now I can't find. Hey. I like open mouths! The wireless remote vibrating egg is there because my other remote vibrating egg is on its last legs and it's a key piece of equipment for me. Hitachi Magic Wand is ... well, because I've never owned "The Cadillac of Vibrators" and I figure it's time. I'm ready. (I think.) The Total Enclosure Hood is there because it's tight, breath restrictive and lockable... and because sometimes I need a hood for smaller heads. (So, size SMALL, please.) The steel fist mitts are to match my steel hood. When I got the hood, I didn't think I was ready for the mitts. Now I am. The Lockable Pump Gag ... does it need explaining? It's an inflatable gag that locks. So juicy. And lastly, the Stockade (don't forget the fucking rod) just is too fucking hot not to want. In MEDIUM please. (I can't say anything else about it here given the sensitive clime ... but use your imagination. Drool.)

Last but not by any means least, if you're the traveling type, I would LOVE LOVE LOVE some frequent flier miles, please. (Especially Delta as well as Jet Blue or American ... but any will work.) If you have miles to spare, please let me know and we can talk about the best way to transfer them to me.

Of course, if you just want to come and play with me for my birthday, I'm always up for that! (Though you'll be taking my birthday spanking!) Really, though, thank you SO much for just being part of my kinky life. I am so grateful, appreciative, and blessed.

Diversification

I'm looking at the tabs on my Firefox browser. Since it made me smile, I thought I'd share.

Gmail. Google Calendar. Serious Bondage.com/Fetters Inversion Rack. Eater. Serious Eats. Facebook. The Hang at Max Fisch. Gawker. Unspeakable Axe. Fleur De Sel. Malcolm Gladwell.

Rope

I spent a recent Saturday with a handful of rope lovers. In my group were mostly rope Tops, but we all took turns getting ourselves hung, bound, and wrapped in rope. I noted the bite of the strands into my hips in an inverted suspension and considered how I might counteract that burn when I'm doing the rigging. Talking, sharing with other riggers made me realize both how much I've learned about rope in the past few years ... as well as how far I still have to go in my journey.

A few days later, I started the process of conditioning a fresh batch of rope for my studio. It takes almost a week to boil, soak, wash, dry, singe, wall knot, and oil.

Most rope players I know find the labor intensiveness of rope conditioning just too much. Me, ever since I got into rope, I've made my own. I love the process of softening the rope, the air steamed with the scent of hemp, loamish and damp. I love pulling the warm rope through my hands and over the gas jet, burning off the twiny splinters and fuzz. Then I lightly dress a cloth with mineral oil (I'm not picky about the oil type myself) and pass the rope through my hands again.

It's such a sensory experience: the steam and smoke scents, the raspy-to-softening texture as handle it in each stage, seeing it transform from its rough, raw spool into the slick, measured coils. There's love in my ropes, my effort and intention. "When I bind you," I tell my partner, "it's like it's actually me embracing you. My energy is what presses against your skin, holding you up, holding you tight."

A few days later, one of my favorite rope bottoms came in to visit. At first, all I wanted to do was dress and bind him in leather: arm sleeves, CBT parachute, a rigid spreader bar. I attached him to the anchor point just high enough that he was forced to his tiptoes. But then that put too much of a stretch on his balls, which were tied to the spreader bar around his ankles. When he'd relax and flatten his feet, I had sharp pricker pads underneath his soles, waiting for him. That was fun.

But then came the rope. Single column ties at each wrist and ankle, I stretched each limb to one of the four points of the suspension rig. More rope wrapped around his biceps and connected to his thighs. Another skein bound a vibrating bullet to his cock and stretched his genitals upwards towards the ceiling. A blindfold and gag as well. Of course. Four points (five if you count the cock) stretched and held. Formulated, sprawling, pinned and wriggling on the floor.

Stretched on the floor beside him, I whispered, "I'm going to leave you here to wrestle with my ropes alone."

Then I rose and walked away.

New Religion

80's Baby wrote me:

I certainly enjoy wearing this cage and was incredibly excited when you told me to put it on. All I could think about at work was the cage. After wearing it for this long, it's starting to feel like a part of me, like it's supposed to be there - leading me to fantasize about some serious chastity (weeks and months). It is difficult at times though, especially in the mornings - I'm worried one morning it's just going to snap into a thousand pieces, but the plastic has held up decently well so far.

And I replied:

I am so tempted to tell you that you're not allowed to remove the cage until it snaps off on its own accord like a Kabbalah bracelet.

Untitled

He was waiting for me.

Legs sleeved and bound in the leather sack. Hands wrapped in leather. A padded hood tightened and buckled around his head, eyes and ears blacked out, a grommet to breathe through. His torso, inked but otherwise bare. I watched his stomach undulate with breath and pictured myself licking the edges of his ribcage.

I knew he knew I was there. Waiting, hyper-attentive, he'd felt the vibrations of the door opening, the breeze of my entrance, my hunger surely palpable as I looked at this gift he'd made of himself. For me.

I didn't touch him. I didn't speak.

Instead, I busied myself about the studio, tidying up. I wanted him to feel helplessly abandoned, craving acknowledgment, touch. In the next room, I shed my clothes to shower and wondered if he'd hear the water running through the sensory deprivation hood and imagine me naked and wet. Once clean, I rubbed my skin with oil and slid into a silky black skirt and camisole.

Standing next to the bed, I reached for his hand and his grateful fingers struggled against the mitts to wrap around mine. Straps were added to keep him still. I could see his heart beating madly against its cage of bones, muscle, and skin. I covered his chest with a steaming hot towel, lathered my hands and began shaving him, the hot water trickling like cloudy tears down his sides. Once his chest and stomach were smooth, I stripped off the leg sack, exposing his sex.

Running my fingernail along the underside of his hard cock, I informed him, "Now that you have my attention, I'll tell you what I'm going to do with you. I'm going to fill your ass with the largest electric plug I have, then turn up the juice until you scream. Once you start screaming, I'm going to replace the padded hood with my latex suffocation hood, and then, to keep things interesting, I'll put the Venus on your cock."

I rolled his body onto the backboard and suspended him slightly above the table with a combination of hoists and springs. The large plug slid in easily and I envisioned one day giving him my fist, to feel his heart beat from the inside. I shuddered with the pleasures of his possibilities.

Once he was up to 99 on the ErosTek and barely moaning, I amped up the power input. At HI-60, the screams began. He writhed against the bindings, making the backboard swing and dip. My sadism whetted, I cut a square of expanding sponge and put it in his mouth, drooling copiously onto it to help it grow faster while I covered his mouth with duct tape. Then came the hood: a thin sheath of translucent latex that tightened around the throat but ballooned over the head. Two tiny holes near the nose were the only sources of oxygen. As he groaned and snorted, the hood expanded and collapsed with his panicked exhalations and greedy inhalations, while the plug slammed jolts of electricity deep into his ass.

Good.

I turned on the Venus and positioned the receiver over his cock, letting its slow suction draw it inside. I imagined crawling on top of him and taking him inside me instead, wrapping my hands around his throat for leverage and strangling him at both ends until I was breathless.

Instead the Venus wrapped around his shaft, drawing it in and expelling it. I turned up the juice even higher on the ErosTek and my eyes rolled back ecstatically at his muffled screams. The hood's rise and fall started to lose its rhythm as his breathing got ragged and desperate.

I'll say it. I didn't want it to stop. I wanted to see the hood collapse on his face and be still, all of him still, save his groin muscles spasming involuntarily in response to the senseless plug. I wanted to remove the hood and extract the gag and kiss his mouth to waking with a giant, squealing, willful gasp of air.

Afraid of myself, I turned up the Venus and turned down the ErosTek. He howled as his orgasm exploded almost immediately, racking his entire body with spasms that pressed the binding straps even deeper into his skin.

I removed the hood and looked gratefully into his wide open eyes.

Extreme Constraints

Part of the reason I've loved Extreme Restraints over the years is that I've been able to find good deals on products that seem to cost much more elsewhere. It's one thing, though, to get a deal on some lube or other commercial item and quite another when the low prices are the result of ripping off an artisan's work and having it cheaply mass produced elsewhere.

Seems that's what XR's been doing lately. I do not approve.

Because it's okay to dress like a dominatrix...

...it's just not okay to actually BE one.

Well, actually, it IS okay to be one. Just not to get paid for it.

You know, I have no desire to ever marry. Can't we just pretend I'm collecting my wife credit now?

Sigh. See, it's my compulsive, nitpicky honesty that just undercuts my humor every time.

Fun pics in that link though.