Reflections on safewords- intrinsic meaning and letting the sub pick the words

First off.... is it "safeword" or "safe word"?

That aside, I have recently been reading through the archives on Pervocracy, including this older post on safe words.

My first thought, after the author mentioned that she'd spent the whole class terrified that she'd blurt out "red" instead of blue was how I recently (intentionally) blurted out "red" when a friend was tickling me in public. To him, friendly tickling. To me, all tickling pretty much lands in sexual territory because it makes me feel terribly out of control. But the thing about tickling is that people often don't take you seriously when you say stop. I usually give people one "not joking, don't tickle me" before I start intentionally hurting them. (Pinching, elbow to sternum, knee in balls, scratching, ect.) I was pretty sure this guy was gonna catch my drift though, and one syllable stopped the tickling dead in its tracks.  I think I *will* use it in the future, despite the risk of other people catching the drift of my proclivities. Because chances are, even if the tickler doesn't necessarily get it right away... some one will.

The other part of my reflection on this is in response to some of the comments on that post.  People propose using 'aardvark' and such as safewords; it's the "it should be jarringly incongruous" line of thought. Someone brings up the post where Mistress Matisse recommended "vomit" and "lawsuit" as safewords. Her point, though was that safewords should have intrinsic meaning- it was "vomit" for someone being spun around and "lawsuit" for in general because people know that are for making people stop doing shit. Or that lawsuits are serious.

For me personally, I recently had real, actual, in person, kinky sex for the first time. Well, not counting the times when I've tried to get vanilla partners to do it and nothing much happened.  And I have to say that the scenario put forth in the comment thread, where one of the guys says that when he's topping, he specifies the safeword for his subs to use (and it's a weird word), seems fucked up.

My partner and I agreed on "time out" for a pause in the action/check in, "yellow" for approaching a limit/ having a hard time for real (but dont necessarily stop), "red" for stop what is in progress (stop hitting me, stop fucking me) and don't resume because too far for real, and the actual words "safe word" for full stop, untie me, scene ends everything ends, I'm gonna need cuddles and reassurance.

I picked those. And after having gone through with it, over the course of a couple weekends I used "time out" once, "yellow" a handful of times, "red" once, and "safe word" never.  I don't know what it'd take to get me to cop to actually saying "safe word" but I suspect I'd already be injured. We actually added "yellow" at the last minute and I'm glad we did, because I had the world's hardest time bringing myself to say red, either. Because I didn't wanna be a quitter, because I didn't wanna fuck up the scene, because those words are so very jolting. And that's playing with a partner who'd caress me and praise me immediately when I called any of those things.


I'm not sure there's anything that could get me to choke out "aardvark" in the middle of a scene no matter how badly I was doing. It seems like the bottom should pick??

Detained at the airport part 2

The cop finishes fishing around the inside of my waist band to the extent that he's allowed while I'm laid out on the floor in public, but they're not done with me.  They're certain I am hiding some terrible contraband somewhere, and between the frisking and my tight pants, it becomes obvious to me where they think I'm hiding it.  The first cop stopped tickling me just short of making me cum on the floor in public, but there is no guarantee, or even probability, that I won't lose control if they start strip searching me and actually touching me. I start to cry harder, and the cops all look at me in disgust while they haul me to my feet.

They march me to a detention room.  All white walls, grey institutional carpet, one table. A pretty obvious one way mirror. An equally obvious camera.

I hear the cops bickering about the need to call a female security officer to follow protocol for the strip search. Suddenly, one of them speaks to me, jerking me around to face him.

"Do you want a female security officer to conduct the search? Or do you want to be a good girl, and help us get this over with?"

Desperate to garner any shred of leniency, I stammer that I'm fine if they do it, if they'll just let me go, that I swear I swear I don't have anything.  They shove a clipboard in my hands that they tell me is consent to a body cavity search, and a waiver for the female officer. I blanch at "body cavity search," though I knew it was coming.

I can feel the wetness and heat growing, the slickness when I walk and at the suggestion that I bend over, and I know the ultimate humiliation is certainly coming.

They cuff me to a ring on the wall and begin.

First, they pull my shirt up over my head and leave it hanging around my wrists. The same with my bra, and my breasts are thoroughly patted down.  To make sure they're not fake? This is the same cop that ran me down and pinned me in the hallway, and my nipples still hurt from where he pinched them.  He chuckles to himself when I flinch when he touches them, but he has to be slightly more behaved now, with the cameras. There are three cops watching.

Next, they pull my pants and my underwear completely off.  Those are handed aside to be tested for residues. I'm frisked again, though I'm naked, and his fingers brushing my hairless labia when he gets to the tops of my legs start me dripping. One of the other cops snickers when he notices.  I'm still sniffling and leaking tears, but now the cops are elbowing each other in the ribs and joking that I like it.

"You start smuggling just so you could get felt up, bitch? It's ok, I'll give you what you want." I shook my head furiously, but he just laughs.

I hear him snapping on a glove.

"Don't need no lube for this hole, looks like you've got it taken care of," he says, as he circles one finger around the rim of my cunt. I shudder, and whimper, with my increasing arousal.

"One finger," he announces. I try and relax.

"Two fingers." I gasp as he pulls one out and roughly adds a second. He pulls both fingers in and out slowly many times, feeling every side of my vaginal wall, and plunging them to the depths to hit the end.  All of this slow, horrible penetration has stoked my arousal to a breaking point. I know what is going to happen next and I begin to break.

"Not in there," he says smugly.  "Only one more place to look." I hear him snap off his gloves and get a new one, and I feel cool lubricant dripped onto the only other place to look.

I begin to sob. "Please, please please please don't," I beg. "I have nothing, I'm not hiding anything, I don't even know what you're looking for, and you can't touch me there."

"I can touch you wherever you want, bitch, and you signed a form that says so. One finger."

I realize that is all the discussion there's going to be, when I feel his one finger none-too-gently penetrating my virgin ass.  I try and squirm away and he just rams it up there harder.  I go limp and hang my head.

"Two fingers."  This burns, and the pain fuels what I know is inevitable.  Please dont, I start begging myself, but as he brings his fingers in and out of my ass, the pain and the violation pile up on all of the humiliation of the day.  My asshole twitches, and the cop suddenly realizes why I'm limp and flushed.

He lets out a whoop! of excitement and starts abusing my ass with those fingers.  Fucking me hard with them, and it hurt it hurts it hurts and I am still riding the edge.... till he crosses the line and actually reaches forward and touches my clit, which is all it takes.  I cry and I cum all over his hands. He pulls his fingers out of my ass, snaps his glove off, and walks over to turn off the camera.

"Anybody else want to see if they can find anything?" he offers around the room.

....

Taking it like a man

So, I like to go dancing. And people like to get dressed up to go dancing. I have pretty short hair and short of androgynous look, so one of the things I've been thinking about is dressing up as a guy and going out dancing as a lead.  Not just wearing men's clothes, but really trying to pass. Nice, structured dress clothes would make this easier.

Of course, some people who had met me before would probably recognize me.  There's a dancer in the national scene who's super hot, ripped, and a very talented dancer, but also very... fabulous. But straight. But loves to dance at the gay clubs, wear scarves, ect.

Lately I've been thinking that it'd be super hot if I could hook up with him... OK I've thought that for a while.  The twist the last few days is that I've thought it'd be super hot if he fucked me in the ass while I was dressed as a boy. mmmmm

Detained at the Airport

I had this dream, a while back.  It's super fragmentary, but it was one of those dreams where I woke up to an orgasm, basically.  Sometimes I come in my sleep.  But doing so usually wakes me up.  It's a nice way to wake up.  :) 

In this dream, I am face down on the floor in the airport.  Not in some secluded special search room, but right there in the middle of the concourse, airport cop with a knee pressed into my back, every random passerby a spectator to my humiliation.  I get the impression that I've run from the cops (more cops are coming, some are just arriving on the scene at a jog.)  They think I've done something, or am carrying something, awful. 

The cop kneeling on my back pulls my arms back and cuffs them.  I'm still struggling, so he leaves his knee in my back, and he begins to search me right there in the middle of the airport, with a hundred eyes on me. I'm wearing a back bra and a white silk blouse, which is damp with sweat and has started to go translucent.  I'm also wearing pretty tight jeans, and a black thong.  The shirt and the thong have both started to ride up with my struggle, and so these spectators are treated, right off the bat, to my exposed stomach and lower back, and the tantalizing curve of my thong string, up and over my hip. 

The cop kneeling on me starts at my wrists, clamping his terrifyingly strong hands around each wrist and feeling his way up my arms.  My arms are quickly done, but the brutal thoroughness which which this has begun escalates my terror and I begin to struggle harder and cry. 

The only thing this gets me is more hands on me.  In addition to the original cop, there is now another.  The first guy, having searched my arms, is now running his hands through my short hair, and grabs a fist full of the back of my head.  With his free hand, still with a knee to my back, he begins to search every inch of my chest, by stuffing his hand down my shirt. He squeezes my breasts brutally, (checking to see if they're real?) and without even acknowledging it with a leer or any other expression, he pinches each nipple os hard I wonder that it's not bleeding.  I scream each time, but no one notices.   Another begins to search up my legs, standard, if thorough, frisking still. 

Between my nipples getting brutalized and the cop frisking my legs making his way higher and higher, I'm starting to get turned on.  Please, please, no, I think. They're surely going to eventually strip search me, and I'd die if my arousal gave me away. 

Done searching the easily searched portions of me, the cop at my legs begins digging his hands into the tops of my jeans.  This tickles horribly, but I'm pinned and unable to move, and the horrible sensation of being tickled and trapped pushes me quickly nearly to orgasm.  He goes over and over that spot, and I quietly cry into the carpet.

This is where I usually orgasm/wake up.  With the airport cop searching me, riding hard on that button of making me lose control. I promise to write the rest of the scene later....