Unfortunately, me sitting “quietly” lasted about 5 minutes, up to the point when Daddy Wendell  asked Jolie what their scene should entail.  “A rope corset!” I blurted out without thinking, and then apologized profusely.  As it turned out, though, they both liked the idea and he pulled out a selection of ropes and got started.

Watching the two of them together was quite intense.  Jolie is striking – with her pale skin and dark hair she reminds me a lot of a young Dita Von Teese – and the purple rope looked beautiful wrapped around her.  Wendell worked carefully, clearly enjoying himself, as I moved around them, taking pictures of the scene.

(Now do you see why I was ready to do anything Jolie suggested?)

I’m sorry that I can’t post pictures of their faces, because I’d love to share her classic beauty, his intense concentration, and the sweetness of the moments when they would communicate trust and tenderness without saying a word.  Daddy Wendell has a kind, evil way of slowly drawing you in with his innocent smile and friendly laugh and then unleashing his sadism in one wicked, unexpected blow.  He is by far the scariest teddy bear I’ve ever met.

After Jolie was fully bound, he applied clothespins in across her chest and pulled them off with one sharp tug…

and then he held her close, alternately slapping and caressing her face.  He used a firm hand and hit hard, but had such a gentle touch, and all the while she was smiling and moaning or gasping and wincing so beautifully I was in awe that I was able to capture even a little of it.

After they paused and I brought them some water, we went downstairs into the dungeon to watch the scene that was playing out there (yes, there are pictures, and yes, I will share some in another post.)  Daddy Wendell and Jolie sat together on the couch and soon he was untying the ropes and sliding clover clamps onto her nipples and she was slung over his lap for a paddling.

The glow of a heater along her body was just perfectly gorgeous:

Daddy Wendell with his hand up, ready to bring hard leather down onto a very pink ass

Jolie trying to keep her composure as blow after blow landed.  The look on her face was amazing – a combination of beauty, pain and pleasure that almost reminded me of fervent, pious prayer…

..if your god happens to be an evil mother-fucking teddy bear, that is.

I owe gratuitous thanks to both Daddy Wendell and Jolie for letting me photograph their time together – it was my first time taking pictures of someone else’s scene, and it was an incredible experience.  And thanks also to the residents (denizens?) of the Big Pink House who regularly lend their space for classes and parties for the kink community.

And after all of this…I’m almost afraid to say it out loud, but I was surprised to discover…

as much as I love being in a scene, I think I might enjoy taking pictures of one even more.

Now where am I gonna find myself a kinky therapist to talk that over with?

Tagged: BDSM, Becoming Roxy, BPH, Daddy Wendell, Jolie, Pictures, Real life ]]> http://uncommoncuriosity.com/2010/01/04/voyeur/feed/ 4 sroxy IMG_5135_2 IMG_5159_2 IMG_5202_2 IMG_5212_2 IMG_5271 IMG_5555_2 IMG_5570_2 IMG_5595_2 http://uncommoncuriosity.com/2009/12/22/on-what/ http://uncommoncuriosity.com/2009/12/22/on-what/#comments Tue, 22 Dec 2009 20:44:12 +0000 sroxy http://uncommoncuriosity.com/?p=1512 ]]> And so, after months of lively email exchanges, I headed up to San Francisco on Saturday night to meet Daddy Wendell for my first fire scene.  He and his partner were staying at the Big Pink House, a really cool household of kink-minded folks, and I arrived in time to sit in on the second half of his leather workshop down in the basement/dungeon.  Per his special request, I brought some girl scout cookies with me, which quickly disappeared into the group and were never heard from again.

After the class finished, we broke for dinner and sat around talking as I did my best impersonation of someone who wasn’t terrified at the prospect of being set on fire.  There was time to chat, and I got to know Jolie, a beautiful femme who was there to play with Wendell as well.  One of the best features of the BPH is in the kitchen – a massive, tiled island – and we worked quickly to clear and clean the dishes so that it would be ready to play.

In his gently sadistic way, Wendell then decided to spend a few moments recounting various past experiences when fire play had gone terribly, horribly wrong.  The phrase “fire ball” was uttered, more than once.  And of course I, nearing a panic, whimpered and cringed like a violin being played by a virtuoso.  And then something wonderful happened – Jolie put her arms around me and covered my ears with delicate pink-tipped fingers and pulled my head in against her chest to quiet my fears.  How was I feeling?  Let’s recap:  1)  Daddy Wendell was telling scary stories, 2) I was nearing total panic and 3) a beautiful woman was touching me.  I felt like the luckiest person on the planet.

Wendell got out his tools (a few giant q-tip wands made from gauze and chop sticks, bowls of 70% isopropyl alcohol, a metal bowl filled with water and a wet rag, candles to ignite the wands) and prepared the space.  Many of his favorite phrases are variations on “don’t let anyone do anything to you they’re not willing to do to themselves first” and so he ran a little alcohol on his forearm and lit it, quite thoroughly singing the hair:

(The light purple flame near his elbow is alcohol burning against his skin)

He demonstrated the two different techniques of fire play – you can bounce a lit wand on the skin, which gives a quick, intense heat, or you can choose to run a wet wand along the skin, creating a path, and then light that path so that the fire runs along the path before you wipe it out with your other hand.  The longer the fire stays against your skin, the hotter it feels, and the more intense the burn.  Finally he ran the wand along my forearm and let me feel the fire, my last chance to run out of the room screaming and never be seen again.  Fortunately for me, I was hyped up on enough adrenaline that I’m not sure I even felt the burn on my arm, and so I agreed to continue.

Soon it was time to start, and so I took off my shirt and bra and lay face down on the tile, which were wonderfully cold underneath me.  I held the camera up over my head to photograph my back as he drew dots and lines in fire:

(Yup, I took these shots – aren’t they cool?  Look, ma, I’m on fire!)

So, I know the burning (hee) question is – how does it feel?  It’s honestly really hard to describe.  I was terrified it was going to hurt, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would, until it did, and then it hurt enough to make me cry out in pain and surprise.  The bouncing wand is intimidating, but feels nice, and induces quick little bursts of endorphins.  The longer designs hurt more, like a stinging pressure at first, and then biting in and burning if you don’t wipe them off quickly enough.  The irony, of course, is that if you move it takes longer to get the fire out, which creates a masochist’s dream feedback loop of pain-scream-move-can’t rub it out-burn more-scream more…you get the picture.  In reality, though, each flame stayed on the skin for no more than a couple seconds at most, even if each one felt like an eternity.

At this point, Wendell asked if he could work on my legs and I laughed and said, “no.”  My back’s pretty bomb proof, but my legs are a lot more sensitive, and I had already decided my back would be the end of it.  But then I was hit by a secret weapon – Jolie said, “oh, come on, it’s fun” and, of course, I immediately jumped off the island with a quick “ok” and pulled off my jeans.  Damn, the things I’ll do for a pretty girl.

I pointed my toes to the ceiling and Wendell ran trails of alcohol down my leg and we all watched flame race up to my toes.  It was so beautiful and surprisingly un-painful that I completely forgot to take pictures.  D’oh!

After my legs had been thoroughly toasted, he moved up to work on my chest, although I was pretty certain that I wouldn’t be able to take a flaming nipple.  There was much coaxing (well, pretty much all Jolie had to say was, “oh, come on” and I would’ve done just about anything.  Thank GOD she didn’t ask me to let them set fire to my face…) and I relented.  At first Wendell just bounced the wand along my belly and up onto my breast and nipple, and it was intense, far more so than on my back because my skin is so sensitive there, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d worried it would be.  Soon he was drawing trails of alcohol up and around my breasts and lighting them on fire, and then Jolie took a turn.

I learned something important when she tried her hand at it – if you don’t wipe the flame out quickly, the burn gets a lot worse VERY QUICKLY.  Even though she was working fast, she wasn’t quite as fast as Wendell, and suddenly I started feeling the true bite of the fire on my skin and learned the “if you move, they can’t put you out” rule in earnest.  I have to say, there’s a terrible sadism to making someone try to lie absolutely still while she is in pain and on fire, and I could swear I saw Wendell grinning as I loudly protested my predicament.

Soon we all got the hang of it, and I was taking pictures again and enjoying myself.  With their patience and help, I managed to snap this picture, which is one of my favorite pictures pretty much ever:

Soon after, thoroughly sated and flying a bit high on adrenaline and endorphins, I told them I was done and we cleaned up and I got dressed.  I shared the photos I had taken and thanked them both, and then Wendell and Jolie started discussing the details of their scene together, which they generously agreed to let me photograph.

But that is a post for another day….