Mija’s Room

Category: marks

Limits – Revised

Posted on By Mija

[Much of this post was written for my old blog, el tercer ojo, back in 2007. Most of it holds true.]

Some of the discussions here and elsewhere recently made me wonder about my limits. It can be a hard thing talking about playing with someone for the first time, especially someone who I don’t know and who doesn’t know me or only knows me via my spanking fiction. Anyway, this got me wondering.  What do I do? What are my limits these days?

In the past I’ve broken them up into lists for people when we talk about playing. These do vary, even within the stuff on the YES list depending on how I’m feeling and whom I’m planning to play with.
And yes, it was kind of hot making the lists.

The YES List
* school uniforms
* scolding (not verbal abuse, thanks)
* role play (with pre-talk to me about what sort — CP is definitely my thing)
* spanking
* paddling (with normal paddles)
* strapping
* caning
* marks (bruises or welts)
* tears
* bottom
* thighs face
* slapping
* touching toes or holding ankles
* cornertime
* blindfold
* earplugs

The MAYBE List
* breaks in skin and bleeding (don’t try for it, but it’s okay if it happens)
* molestation roleplay (well negotiated, please)
* hand punishments (tawsings/rulerings)
* whipping
* enemas
* plugs
* kneeling
* mouth soaping
* photographs
* restraints

The PROBABLY NO List
* gags
* nudity
* sexual toys
* frat paddles (I’m really really afraid of them and not in a good way)
* erotic / sexual play
* electricity

The NO List
* permanent marks (you shouldn’t be trying to scar me)
* verbal humiliation (don’t call me mean names)
* scat
* urine
* sex / masturbation (outside of negotiated molestation rp scene)
* breath play
* hoods
* smoking
* hot/cold creams
* nettles
* nipple / genital clamps

Information about me
* asthmatic with eczema
* mild claustrophobia
* hearing problem if there’s background noise
* don’t bruise or mark easily

Severely allergic to:
* tobacco smoke
* cats
* wool
* dust mites and lots of other stuff…

Safeword: My safeword is SAFE.  I don’t use it lightly.  If I use it, I expect the scene to stop immediately and to be released from any and all restraints BEFORE any questions are asked.  If we’re going to do roleplay where I resist (verbally or physically), I’d like you to have a safeword or “dial it back” signal — something that basically tells me if I’m resisting too hard or you’re starting to feel bad about the scene in some fashion.

Aftercare: I usually feel pretty energetic after a scene with happy thoughts about the person or people I’ve played with. So being able to spend some time with, maybe grab coffee afterwards, is fun.

About Partners: What I want to know is about the other person’s experiences, the good and bad and their fantasies. What are their limits as a top?

What I definitely don’t want to hear are answers like “I’m into everything” or “Whatever works for you will work for me” or “everything you’ve said sounds just great, perfect.” Aside from not giving me any good information (which is scary and makes me mistrustful), that sort of non-information is a total turnoff.

Playing with someone is an intimate act for me only if I know about the person I’m playing with. I don’t want to play with someone if the scene is all about them “pleasing me” and me knowing nothing about them. Anyway, these are just some thoughts — I’m sure I’ve missed a lot of things. What I find is that my limits move over time and depending on who I’m playing with and how well we know each other.

There are a few people who I’d trust to do pretty much anything. But only a few and that trust has been earned over time. Not just by a succession of good scenes, but by the fact they opened up to me and were honest. I know them and feel like they know me.

Red Lights and Bruises

Posted on By Mija
Bigger image…
Look closely, I swear those are finger marks.

This morning Paul and I took the cutest dog in the world (she is, and I won’t hear another word — I’m sure your dog is cute too) to the “nice” dog park, that is, the one with trees and grass rather than wood chips and dust, about a 15 minute drive from our house, with plans to go out for brunch after.

Driving to the park, in response to his probably-not-out-of-thin-air-but-I-don’t-remember-the-lead-up that he could smack the tops of my thighs, I replied that he could, but as I was wearing think white cotton jeans it would likely hurt him at least as much as me. We were stopped at a traffic light — I was so unconcerned I didn’t even look up from my phone.

Until he told me to take my jeans to my knees…

“I can’t do that.”

He assured me I could and would. Surprise! I did, fully aware there was a van next to us. A van whose driver was so much higher up. And at that moment, glancing over into the car. (BTW, I’m not sure who’s writing this because I definitely died from the sudden flush of embarrassment). His hand smacked down hard, once on each thigh. Because balance is important or something.

The light changed, we turned the corner and passed another driver who could definitely see down into our car. I expected Paul to say something along the lines of “Be a good girl and pull up your jeans,” but as we drew up to the next light, he told me to move my hands out of the way.

Two more hard smacks.

That was when I learned the “rules” of this new game. My thighs would be smacked at every traffic light between our house (first two lights, check), but only if the lights were red because, as was explained to me, “we have to drive safely.”

Reader, there were a lot of lights. Too many of them were red. I know there were a least five, but am leaning toward seven. Or maybe fifty. As we approached each light I both willed us to go faster and prayed we would not pass SUVs. Neither seemed to work. The embarrassment added another level to the sting.

I couldn’t pull my jeans back up in the car, even when we’d parked. I had to slip out of the car, yanking and fastening as I went. The only good thing was I was wearing a longish top.

The pictures above are my bruised thighs. I confess I’m rather pleased with them. I have a kind of olive skin that generally doesn’t bruise or even redden much. Except, clearly, my thighs.

My dilemma, aside from figuring out how to amusingly explain these should anyone ask, is whether I should start wearing skirts so as not to be riding around Southern California with my jeans pulled down to my knees. Or would that make this new game more likely to be repeated, often?

I can but hope.