Dominants and Sensitivity

I recently posted a piece on submissives and sensitivity. In it, I mused about Dominants and their own brand of sensitivity. As a woman and a submissive, I can be highly sensitive, sometimes too much so. I’m the first to admit I can be hyper-sensitive and that’s often to my own detriment. I’m working on that. We’ve all had our brushes with truly insensitive people and know the hurt feelings they can cause.

I simply adore sensitive Dominants. It’s a trait I look for in Dominants. I can often see it in his eyes. I can feel it. If it’s lacking, my radar goes up. Unfortunately, there are those Doms who may have a measure of sensitivity about them, but behave like asses anyhow. There’s not much I can do for these types, except wonder why in the world they’d want to jeopardize a relationship with poor behavior. But that’s a maturity thing and has nothing to do with insensitivity. Of course, a very important companion to sensitivity is the ability to communicate. There’s very little point in having one without the other.

A sensitive Dominant feels me. He feels my submission, my struggles in submitting even when I am hesitant or afraid. He intuitively knows when to back off and when to push. He doesn’t push simply because he can. He takes me with him knowing I’m ready to follow. He watches me carefully and he cares a great deal about what I’m feeling and where my head is at any given moment. And he reacts appropriately and accordingly.

A sensitive Dominant is a hot Dominant, in my book. Considering that 90% of sex appeal is mental and the brain is our largest and most active sex organ, sensitivity only adds to the excitement of a scene. It allows us to communicate without speaking. And what can be hotter than that?

Oh my. What can be hotter than a Dominant who feels my submission and communicates with me without saying a word? Mmmmm....yummy!

Richard

Richard was my first Dominant. I haven't written of him before, but someone else has written of him extensively. She's part of the story. At one time, this was a very painful story to tell. Now, it's old history and is just something I did once, however significant. That's the beauty of time.

We found each other online, on AOL in the early days of social networking on the internet. We exchanged a tons of email, lots and lots of IMs, a few phone calls before finally meeting face to face. He is about 12 years older than me, very handsome, very smart, very successful. Tall, salt and pepper hair, twinkling brown eyes.

For 12 years I submitted to him. Upon meeting, we were both relative newbies, and thought a mild spanking was wildly edgy and exciting. I utterly adored him and my affection was returned. In addition to being my Dominant, he was also my very dear friend. He always had a way of listening to the stories of my life and responding intelligently and insightfully. Our relationship was a D/s relationship which just happened to be peppered with a loving friendship. We were very important to one another. I don't believe we were ever in love, though we did love each other. Neither of us ever expected our relationship to be anything other than what it was. And that was enough, plenty and good.

We grew together in our D/s journey. We learned together. We even cried together on several occasions. Richard was very sentimental, sensitive, and loving. I recall once - for reasons I don't remember now - I felt I needed to end our relationship. I will never forget the devastated look on his face. Never. His brown eyes stopped their twinkling, for a time. I came to my senses and vowed to never cause him pain again.

Our journey took us places neither of us thought we'd ever go. Or want to go. Or love as much as we did. Richard grew into a fine sadist. He carried my masochism right along with him. We did it in small incremental steps.

Belts. Whips. Canes. Needles. Knives. More bondage equipment than most kink stores stock. Paddles. Beautiful creations made from rope, needles, clothespins. A lot of oral sex. A lot of fucking. A lot of bonding. A lot of love and a lot of tears. Mostly mine.

We covered a lot of ground in those years. I have the scars on my breasts to prove it. Everything we did was completely consensual, highly erotic. Those memories still produce some powerful orgasms, regardless that we both moved on a long time ago now.

On the downward slide. He was becoming more and more of a highly demanding sadist. The more he tasted the more he wanted. My masochism peaked. I could not follow him.

On occasions, we would play with others. One of these ladies proved to have a level of masochism that appeared to match his need to provide pain. She was young, beautiful, charming. She was also manipulative, possessive, and extremely needy. She used her masochism to achieve her ends. He followed her with a broad satisfied smile on his face.

I've had several partners since leaving Richard's dominance. None have matched his intensity. That's good and they have all left impressions that I will carry with me always. They met my need in this time which is light years from where it was at the beginning of my story and is very different from where Richard and I left off.

In retrospect, I am thankful for my relationship with Richard in spite of the pain it caused me at the end. And isn't that the true hallmark of a significant relationship? One that leaves you with beautiful memories to counteract the sadness?

One that touches you for a time in a particular way and will continue to touch you forever in other ways.

Why so many paddles?

I moved recently, an excellent opportunity to weed out, toss out, downsize significantly - even the toybag.

I downsized the toybag (filled to overflowing with too many years of collectables and a thousand memories) even further yesterday when I gave a Dominant friend a few items to torture his submissives with. I'm not one of his hoard of submissives, which on one level seems a damn shame. On the other hand, maybe that's a good thing. :-)

As we were going through things to see what he wanted, he made the same comment I've heard from others: you have a lot of paddles. Yes, I do. I have a spanking fetish, as anyone who has ever read this blog is well aware. Now a few of those paddles belong to him, and I sincerely hope he enjoyes them as much as they deserve to be enjoyed. 

I'm not really much of a pack rat, but I'll confess that I had more stuff in that toy bag than any submissive ought to have. Now that I'm down a paddle or two, I took stock of what was left.

Holy cow!  How many floggers does one (single) submissive need!?! I won't list item by item what's left, but it's not nearly as much as I started with. But I adore the remaining items, so they'll probably go with me to my grave. The leather and suede floggers, my lovely bondage belt, a remaining paddle or two....all things I love.

I've often said that if the house ever caught fire (heaven forbid), that I'd first grab my ipod, and then my favorite vibrator. Let's hope I'll also have time to grab the toybag!

Intimacy on my mind

It's been on my mind this afternoon, intimacy. It was a brief topic of conversation today with a Dominant friend. When he first spoke of it, it hit me that intimacy is what I really miss most these days.  I miss the intimacy that comes with being a committed submissive to someone who really gets it. Not every Dominant gets it. But a few do. A very few.

For several weeks now, I've intensely felt ....something. As if something's missing. Couldn't really put my finger on it, and in my more shallow and horny moments, I chalked it up to plain ole sex and whipped out my favorite vibrator. But maybe that wasn't really it.

Maybe it was missing the familiar. I've had an enormous amount of change in my life in the past 12 months. I've recently moved from a home I lived in over 20 years of good, bad, wonderful, sad, and love. More love than anything else. Plenty of love, but it was time to move into another phase of life. So I packed up my life and planted myself in a new wonderful place. New, unfamiliar. But wonderful. For a time, I was happily involved in a D/s relationship. Then, suddenly I wasn't. A new job, a new home, a new status. Loads of change in a very short period of time.

I've always known that I needed to be someone's submissive. For a good portion of my "submissive career" I've been fortunate enough to be someone's submissive -   for better or for worse. Usually for better, but you know how that goes. Every relationship has it's ups and downs. I've been exceedingly fortunately to have more ups than downs, though I will admit that my downs have been real ass-kickers.

But back to the intimacy that D/s brings to life. The intensity inherent in a BDSM relationship brings to it an intimacy that is lacking in vanilla sex. It's more than a closeness. It's almost spiritual. Real intimacy develops over time, which is one of the reasons I generally avoid one night stands and mere play relationships. I give way too much in my submission to give it to someone who is here today and gone tomorrow. That's always left me with a sad empty feeling.

I have found that BDSM shortens the journey toward intimacy. It's often not a long trip given the highly personal business of submitting. But one of the greater problems with this sort of intimacy is the vulnerability that comes along with it. These days, that's what I have the greatest problem with - vulnerability. I am afraid of it. But you can't achieve intimacy without putting yourself on the line. And if you put yourself on the line, then you become vulnerable. A wicked cycle.

A genuine D/s relationship is a powerful thing. When I'm immersed in one, it has my total attention and focus. But sometimes, it's hard to just enjoy the relationship without letting the fear creep in. You would think that sort of fear would make me hold back, and give 95% rather than 110%. But no. Not me. I give all.

We all have baggage. It always amuses me a bit to read personal ads insisting that anyone with baggage should not apply. You don't live without collecting a little baggage along the way. The trick is in learning to put that baggage away in a closet and not allowing it to sit on the sidewalk or in the hallway where you can trip over it.

The most intimate and emotionally satisfying relationships in my life have been of the colorful D/s sort. Not vanilla. And after experiencing that sort of bonding and intimacy, who wants to settle for anything less?

Not me.

The Perfect Spanking

Most of us involved in BDSM have a spanking fetish. For many, I imagine it's where our interests began. It was for me. It was a springboard, of sorts.

Understanding there are two different types of spankings - those that are erotic and those that are for punishment sake, I'm thinking of the erotic type. As a submissive, I generally don't have much say in punishment type spankings, but erotic spankings are another thing.

I struggle a bit with my "ideas" of the perfect spanking. It gives me a sense of topping from the bottom, which I abhor on a number of levels. But since my fantasies are MY fantasies, I think it's ok to put my own spin on things. :-)

My idea of the perfect spanking starts slow and builds. It proceeds slowly, in baby steps. This isn't a quick process. It takes time and patience. We all know the mechanics behind a spanking - that the idea is warm the area and bring blood to the surface enabling greater intensity and the flow of endorphins.

For the Dominant, it's about the red glow of a well-spanked bottom. It's about control, and if he's a sadist of any sort, it's about having the right to do what he is doing for as long as he wants and as hard as he wants. For the submissive, it's about endorphins, what's going on in her head and between her legs.  It's a beautiful and wonderful mix of emotions and hotness and chemistry.

Slow. Start slow. Build. Slowly. As the intensity ramps up, I get lost in it. I feel it, I'm aware of my surroundings, but I am so lost in the sensation that I wish for more. More. Harder. Give me more intensity.

Make me cry. Make me fly.

What the hell happened?

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you had to scratch your head and say "what the hell just happened?"

That very thing happened to me, quite some time ago, with a very nice, very experienced, and very attractive Dominant. I was reminded of it this morning due to a chance email from said Dominant. The memory of our encounter came flooding back. When I first realized he was THAT Dominant, I groaned. And not in a good way.

He was really very nice. I am a nice person, as well. Two nice, educated, similiarly kinky people meet for coffee. Just to check each other out. I enjoyed talking to him. He spoke intelligently, he was interesting, and I liked him personally outside of our stated preferences to walk on the wild side of our sexuality. That's always a huge bonus to me...to actually LIKE a dominant outside of his dominant self. I can't just play for the sake of play. I need to actually like him. Just one of my many quirks. Anyhow....

We chatted over coffee. Told our respective stories. Talked about our professional lives, our families, our mutual interests. He musta liked me just a little, cause he invited me over to his house. I was hesitant, my guardian angel was whispering to me. Screw my angel. I'm going anyhow. Oh, bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

The ultimate point to this story is how differing expectations can leave you confused and bewildered. And the moral behind the story is:  COMMUNICATION.

We apparently didn't communicate very well. By the time I left his home, I was the one scratching my head trying to figure out what the hell happened. He wasn't terribly impressed either. It took us over a year to finally get it all out on the table and gain a better understanding of each other. We probably could have saved ourselves time and ego had we just COMMUNICATED a little better at the onset.

We hear it all the time - how vitally important communication is in the lifestyle. We all know it. And those of us who have been around the block a time or two should know it better than most. But still we stumble.

Maybe we can look beyond our misdirected first encounter and still be friends. Just so long as we communicate. Even "just friends" need to have a basic understanding of one another. And how cool is it to be friends with like-minded folk? Just so long as he doesn't try to spank me, I won't try to spank him. We've agreed it's a deal. :-) 

Smile!

Top Ten

Having just read a post over on Fetlife about the top ten most erotic moments in life, I naturally started making a mental list of my own such moments/moves:

10. Kisses on my neck. Hands on my neck. Anything on my neck, and I'm done. Oh so done. In a puddle on the floor.
9. Hands in my hair. Pulling it, rubbing it, holding it to kiss. Oh my.
8. A look. You know, THE look.
7. His breath in my ear or on my face.
6. When he is able to make "whore" or "bitch" sound like a term of endearment. That always makes me smile.
5. Being pinned against the wall. In either direction.
4. Feeling his body brace for a mind-numbing orgasm. Those few seconds just before...
3. A physical and mental reminder - of any sort - of who is in charge
2. The unexpected slap in the face
1. When he says "Good Girl". Makes me tingle.

:-)

Inspiration lacking

There have been a few times in my life when my submissive bent bit me. It happened just recently. It takes work not to allow times like this to close the door on my submissive sexuality. I've always said that once you recognize your own submissive (or Dominant) need, you can never turn back. It's with you forever. And that's true - I firmly believe that. However there are times when I can tuck it away and almost forget that it's such a part of who I am. Almost. Forget. But not quite.

Sometimes my submissive tendancies can cloud my vision. Or maybe it's trust that clouds my vision. Or just a nice mix of both - which is a very nice place to be...when you're feeling very submissive and trusting of someone. It's so sweet when that happens. Almost like settling into a warm comfortable bed. Like taking a nice deep breath. It's a place where I feel perfectly at home.

The problem with being in that sweet comfortable place is that it makes you very very vulnerable. Almost at the complete mercy of the person who took you there. Which in itself is a pretty cool place to be. Unless that person doesn't take extreme care and caution while you're in this special place. Then it's bad.

Do Dominants really appreciate what they have in a submissive? I'm sure some do, and likely all of you Dominant types would nod and say "of course I appreciate it". But I think not. I think you get it on a very high level. But you don't always get the subtleties. Maybe it's more of a man thing than a Dominant thing. Like understanding your place in a submissive's life and how your reactions and behavior affect her. Now I'm not talking about the high level things that immediately come to mind, but rather the very fuzzy, soft, hard-to-explain things. So hard to explain I couldn't begin to adqequately describe it here.

I'm not quite ready to close the door. But I'm really really close. I'm very pleased that I'll have house guests this weekend - of the kinky sort. And that I'll get to be with a big ole group of happy kinky people this weekend, as well. They won't let me forget. Maybe, in the wee hours, it will come back to me.

Me? Demure? You must be kidding!

In a brief (and first) conversation recently with gentleman who just happened to also be a dominant, he made the comment "you don't sound very submissive or demure". I had to laugh at that. How funny. Good thing we're just friends cause he already thinks I'm a bitch. :-)

Particuarly when I'm in work mode, I don't sound or act much like a submissive. This conversation occurred mid-day, so perhaps he was picking up on my work attitude. But in general, he's right. Anyone who doesn't know me well, would never guess or think that I'm a submissive behind closed doors. At work, I'm told I have a solid reputation for high standards, but one of a woman who doesn't put up with much junk. My son tells me his friends are all afraid of me. And well they should be. :-)  I'm not really that scary, but I can stop an unruly teenager is his tracks with just a look. And once you make me good and mad, you just better watch out - the venom is about to spew. Quick, hide!

So how does a woman with strength in the workplace and otherwise in her personal life, also find the strength to be submissive in a personal relationship with a dominant? It's surprisingly easy. Until I get hurt or mad, that is, and then it can be hard for me to come back from that without a whole lot of attitude adjustment. But in general...it's where I find my real self. It is where I am most comfortable and happy. 

It's just the few and the trusted who get to see the real me. It occurs to me that there is a lot of imperfection in my submission, however. Plenty of room for improvement. Perhaps someone should give me a performance plan. :-)  But that can be said for all of us.

One of my very bad habits is putting my dominant on a throne. A pedestal. I think he's perfect. Which of course, he isn't. Is it his fault when I realize that he isn't perfect and I have to scramble to rearrange my image of him? Of course not. But that doesn't mean that I don't continue to hold him in very high regard. It's ok to stumble with me. I have a very forgiving heart. Sometimes, I forgive a little too much. Maybe it's that submissive thing at play.

In fact, there is some comfort to be had in knowing that my dominant isn't perfect. Hopefully, he'll just as tolerant of my shortcomings. Cause if he's looking for the perfect submissive, he needs to keep lookin'.

Sensitivity and Submission

I am a highly sensitive woman. I feel everything intensely - happiness, sadness, pain. I feel nothing half way. When I'm happy, I'm happy. When I'm not, I'm not. I'm usually quite positive and happy, fortunately. But when I'm sad or unhappy, you can see it in my face. I wear it, often not very well.

I wish I could learn to be more "emotionally level", but in the words of the immortal Popeye, I yam what I yam. That's not to say I'm unstable, at least I don't think I am. But I am indeed highly sensitive and it's easy to make me cry, especially if you're someone I care about. But then again, I am one of those silly people who cry at commercials and at funeral prosessions for people I do not know. I just feel it.

Further, I'm very intuitive. I feel people. I feel what they feel. Sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes it's a bad thing. And worse, when I feel someone is unhappy with me - particularly when it is someone significant in my life - I carry their unhappiness in my heart. Definately not a good thing, regardless of the validity of their anger or unhappiness.

And to make matters really bad, I'm also very submissive. Am I correct that most submissive women are highly sensitive? Do the two go hand in hand? Could one be submissive without a highly tuned level of sensitivity? I don't think so. How can you have a serving heart, otherwise? I also happen to think that Dominants are highly sensitive. But that's another discussion for another day.

So stir together all this sensitivity, intuition, and submission, and what do you get? A sensitive and intuitive submissive. Smile!

A friend wrote to me recently, "Submissive women need a lot of input. Imposing silence on them is cruel."  There's a lot of discussion I could wrap around that statement, but a truer statement was never uttered. Or written. Perhaps it's the sensitivity and intuition. But silence is indeed one of the worst things for me. I feel it. I hate it. It means something is unresolved, and in my nice neat little world, I really really really hate bows that have come untied.

I'd rather have a bad outcome, than no outcome. Reminds me of something a co-worker once said to me years ago, "I'd rather have no coffee than bad coffee". Amen.

Do or Die

Any relationship that involves more than one person is not going to be easy, you might as well count on that from the get go. Sometimes, it isn't easy to even live with ourselves. So when you add another person (or two) to the mix, you'd better hang on to your pants, as my grandfather used to say.

Making any relationship work takes time and effort, but when you're tossing in some kink for flavoring, you can figure on doubling that investment. To make things even harder, there are no guarantees. What's a known element or surety today, may not be so tomorrow. Or even 10 minutes from now.

The ability to compromise and to constantly negotiate is critical. Think you don't want to constantly negotiate? Think you want to hammer through it once and walk away thinking it's all set? You should be so lucky. 

Remaining within the negotiated boundaries is equally critical. And so is realizing that you're standing on shifting sand, and your partners have the assumed right to raise concerns at any point in the process.

The scariest part of twosomes or moresomes is there is no "trying" polyamory. You can't stick your toe in the water to see how it feels without radically altering the landscape of your primary relationship. You can never go back again, just like you can't go home again. Once it's done, it's done.

Love and respect, in and of itself, isn't necessarily enough to see you through the gauntlet. But in the end you have to be true to yourself and you have to be strong enough to stand up for yourself, even when it's easier - and safer - not to.

So I'm hanging on to my pants tonight, negotiating the shifting sands, and searching for some clarity. For better or worse, whatever tomorrow or next week or next month may bring, my life has definately been enriched. And that can only be a good thing.

The Surrendered Wife

I have two sets of friends who are about to enter into loving marriages complete with traditional ceremonies, white dresses, and vows to guide and obey. These wonderful people have brought me to consider what it must take to be part of a relationship that is not only legally binding, but which they enter into promising to submit, guide, and follow what is considered a very non-traditional path these days.

I've always said that I thought I would thrive in a D/s-based, DD sort of marriage. Anyone I've said that aloud to has agreed that it would be a good fit for me. Maybe. I'm plenty submissive in my personal relationships with men. Submission brings many things to my life, it's interesting to think about how the submissively-inclined can thrive in a marriage. Can it truly be successful...or are we just dreaming?

I'm wondering how it would be day-to-day, long term, till we die....to surrender in such a way. Does marriage stop being about what's equal and what's fair? Does life really become totally about pleasing him? Marriage is hard, regular vanilla marriage can be very hard. When you toss in this particular kink, does that make it doubly hard? Or does it simplify things? 

I've been married. And even if I must say so myself, I'm a pretty good partner. I'm all about the partnership. I'm not a selfish person (at least I hope not...someone beat me if that's not true). The best thing about marriage for me was knowing I was part of a team working to build a life, a home, bringing love, peace, and joy into our days. Really. That may sound idyllic, but it's what I think marriage should be. It's all about us, all about the family. Not about me or you. I don't plan to re-marry, ever, but if I did, my attitude would be the same. It's critical to have a very non-selfish approach to any relationship -be it marriage, friendship, personal or professional.  Once it becomes all about you, it's toast.

So how would a D/s-based marriage change my view of how marriage should be? Would it mean that it's no longer all about us, but now it's all about you? I'd hate that, and I would certainly think that attitude would not be in the best interest of anyone - least of all you. And how is that different from not being married, but still in a committed D/s relationship? Folks tend to think that nothing really changes when you step from a committed relationship to a legally binding one, but it does. 

Here's what I think: a D/s-based marriage would be (ok, should be) completely about US - not just about Him. Because without a US, there is no Him, so to speak. It's still about love, nuturing, building a life together. It's just done in a very specialized way - in which someone is the leader, someone submits, everyone compromises. It's still being done with grace and dignity. It's just happening in a very special way.

Cry Space

We hear a lot of discussion about sub space and it's many benefits (most of which are hot, hot, hot). I have a little segment of sub space that I enjoy visiting on occasion - I call it cry space. Cry space when I am in a place where I no longer have to "suck it up" or keep my angst inside. As a woman with a lot of responsibility to others and a career, I generally think I am not allowed to have meltdowns. I have to be strong no matter what. I'm supposed to be a tower of strength and have all the answers. Oh, how that is so not true most of the time.

Cry space doesn't require me to be strong. It gives me permission to let go, let the emotion and tears flow. And flow they do. It's not necessarily the pain that brings about the tears, though it is an important trigger that opens those flood gates just enough to allow the first tear to flow. After that, it's generally just a flood complete with runny nose and a mind that can't absorb anything other than release and sensation.

Cry space can be an intimidating place for some dominants. I just had a conversation with my dom about it, and received assurance that my tears - while they have his attention - they do not deter him from the task at home. Oh, thank goodness. THANK GOODNESS. Because if I had to worry about holding back the tears, that would be just one more thing to add to my stockpile of stress. And it would mean that he didn't really understand the significance of cry space or that it intimidated him.

Not many things intimidate my dom. Least of all my tears, from whereever they may come. Thank goodness.

Swallow it

As the submissive in a relationship, I sometimes find myself in a position where I have to work hard not to let retorts and come backs just roll off my tongue. I'm sure there an element of self-discipline in there, and certainly a dose or two of respect.

But sometimes it's harder than others to just "swallow it" rather than let it come out of my mouth, which I already know will be to my own detriment. There's a little swallowing of pride going on there, too.

Someone called me a smart-assed masochist a long time ago, and we all know that SAMs are common to the breed. I'm not really a smart ass by personality, but sometimes my sarcasm has gotten me in a bit of hot water. I've worked over the years to find that fine line between being respectful and appropriately letting my opinion be known (which I am not afraid to do), and letting words and attitude roll out of me in a way that I don't really intend.

My current dominant is a little less tolerant of such things as others I've known. He's a little more demanding of a higher level of respect. I certainly want to offer him that respect, cause that's part of the commitment I made to him.

Every once in a while we find ourselves in a conversation that takes a path which practically begs me to respond in an inappropriate way. I try really hard not to be pissy about things - not with anyone, not just my Dominant, simply because that's not the kind of person I want to be. I don't know if it's hormones, moodiness, or just plain bitchiness that pokes at me during these times. It's sometimes a matter of "devil, get thee behind me" before I open my mouth and either start a full on fight or get my ass in trouble. Either one is bad.

I'm sure you submissives out there are nodding your heads. And you Doms are probably smirking. And to you Doms, I'll just say....when we say nothing at all or simply nod our heads....understand that our submission is shining in those moments, and appreciate it for what it is.

Disappointment - a growth opportunity?

A while back, an incident occurred that caused my Dominant to be disappointed in me. It occurred several months ago, but as of a couple of days ago we were both still shaking our heads in disbelief that it ever happened. In a very recent conversation, he once again expressed his disappointment. I felt a stab - remorse, regret that I'd disappointed him.

I'm a people pleaser. I hate to disappoint anyone with my behavior. Although my dominant is at the top of the list of people I don't want to let down, I find that I work hard not to disappoint anyone - or anything - in my life - from my dog to my neighbor to my friends. Anyone. Sometimes this is to my own detriment, and I am working to correct that. I can be my own worst enemy in that regard.

But still...disappointing a dominant must be every submissive's worst fear. I'm fortunate I am involved with someone who is quite reasonable in his expectations. Perhaps he is fortunate he is working with a submissive who feels his disappointment so deeply.

I've wondered if dealing with my own feelings on disappointing him is part of growing as a submissive. To be sure it is. It is part of the journey, and part of the very complex task of being a heart-felt submissive. There is no punishment he could deliver that would have the same impact as disappointment in myself for disappointing him.

Two submissives and a Dominant

It was not our first adventure together. A Dominant and submissive couple had searched for a submissive toy. Someone they could play with, toy with, share. Someone to share in the pain of serving Sir, someone to please him in the special ways in which he prefers to take his pleasure.

She responded to their ad, soonafter met, and immediately followed them home for the first of their hopefully many adventures. She was a slut true to the word. Their own personal slut. Now he had two sluts - two bitches to please him. A dream come true.

During a recent evening together, we both served Sir in a way that appeared to please him greatly. One was licking and gently sucking his balls. Tongue slipping around his balls, gently gliding back to front, softly sucking. The other sucking his cock - long deep sucking coupled with a tongue wrapping itself around his head, over the top, back down. Over and over. Both of them, over and over. Simultaneously. Two heads - one blonde, one brunette - busily and happily pleasing the man who brought them together. In unison.

He looks down at his two submissives working diligently and effectively at pleasing him. Their sole purpose for being at that moment was to please him. Their sole purpose for the entire evening? To please him.

He smiles and comments on his own pleasure. The vision of two submissives working to please him - a Kodak moment, he says. How apt. Kodak moments are once in a lifetime moments. A term that has permeated popular culture.

A truly decadent evening. More than an evening - it lasted till dawn. And continued after only several hours sleep. A solid 18 hours of decadent play. 18 hours of orgasms, fucking, laughing, and fun. I'm certain there was more than one Kodak moment in those 18 hours.

It was a Kodak moment

Two submissive sluts. One licking and sucking his balls, the other on his cock. Two very busy mouths, a blonde head and a brunette head, side by side.

It's what my Sir calls a "Kodak moment".

Twosomes and Moresomes - Continued

The topic of Twosomes and Moresomes has generated a good bit of discussion and thought this past week. For me and for others.

Part of the beauty of this sort of thing - and of the lifestyle in general is that it generates thought - heavy lifting sort of thought. Sometimes that complicates things, however, because I am a thinking person. I have to think about everything, re-think it, turn it over in my head endlessly until it is mush. Sometimes I confuse myself with all this thought. Other times, it does exactly what thought should do - it leads me to a conclusion.

The good news there is that I am typically not impulsive. Most everything I do - right or wrong - is well-considered. The bad news is that it takes me longer to figure certain things out than it might someone else. The topic of "loving more" is one of those things. I've certainly spent countless hours thinking about the implications of poly-ness, and I've dealt with some of the uglier fallout that can occur. I've also been the receiptant of a great deal of pleasure from it. The trick is to find more pleasure than pain.

One of my friends in blogland recently wrote a great post on the topic of sharing behind closed doors and dealing with the inevitable jealousy. As I read his post, I could almost feel the emotions he described. Good writers make people feel and think. He is a good writer, but more importantly he gets it. He demonstrated the fine line between getting a sexual tingle from including others in your play and in dealing confidently with the conflicting emotions that can sometime choke the moment. Besides, anyone who quotes John Updike and Harry Truman in the same post is my kinda guy. :-)

I'm sometimes told that one of my more attractive traits is that I know what I want. I'm not sure that's always a compliment, but it's generally true. When I do not follow my heart, my instincts, or my well-thought out plans, I often regret it.

My point here is that when you put yourself on the line and invite others into your bedroom, you had darn well better know beforehand that it's what you want and that you can deal with it. It has very little to do with the other 2 (or 3 or 4) people in the room. It has everything to do with you. When it's fun, it's great fun and awesome fodder for many fantasies and conversations to come. But when it's not fun, it can destroy relationships.

It takes faith and confidence in your partner to handle themselves appropriately. And it takes faith in yourself to know it's what you want. I suppose I'm making it sound like way more work and effort than it should be, than is actually fun. After all, fun, adventure, and hot sex is the point. Just don't stub your toe on it.

Twosomes and Moresomes

Monogamy is over rated.

Ok, so that's a broad statement to make. I completely get the theory behind monogamy. It's about loyalty, faithfulness, love, and trust. In any mature loving relationship, all those things are extremely important. And I would want any committed relationship in which I am a party to be firmly rooted in these things.

There's all sorts of monogamy - social, sexual, genetic, and marital. I am on board with all except perhaps sexual. That's not to say I am opposed to sexual monogamy. I'm just saying I question it - at least in my own life. Complete monogamy seems an awfully tall order to me. For me, it means that I feel the responsibility for another's person's sexual happiness and satisfaction for the rest of our lives. That's FOREVER.

Whew. Forever is a long time. And I'm a sexually adventurous open minded person. AND I would hope to be partnered with someone just as adventurous and open minded as me. Does that mean that because I love someone enough to make a commitment to them - or even if I just enjoy someone enough to want to spend time with them - that I can have a sexual relationship with them and only them?

It seems an awfully heavy burden to expect any one person to meet all your needs for all your life. But suppose you could have your cake and eat it too? Suppose you could build a relationship with someone - a relationship of any level or design - yet have a freedom that most would consider either highly inappropriate or just plain stupid. I can just hear it now. Whhhaaattt? You let your SO have sex with other women? Are you crazy??

Perhaps I am. I have lived exactly this sort of lifestyle. It bit me terribly. But even that pain didn't completely cure me of my theory that open relationships can work and can be extremely satisfying. The only problem is that everyone has to be on board, follow the rules, have tons of respect for one another, and communicate more than they ever thought possible.

It works so long as everyone follows the rules. Once someone doesn't follow the rules, then it no longer works.

It isn't easy to be in an open relationship. Jealousy is an ugly thing, and it's nearly impossibly to completely control it. It takes a very secure person and a very secure couple with a strong bond and an extraordinary ability to communicate. Otherwise, it can tear a couple apart and leave everyone feeling inadequate and hurt. Ick. Who needs that? But on the other hand...it has a ton of appeal to me.

Understand that my theory doesn't mean that it's a free for all. It doesn't mean that either partner can have wild sex with anyone they want any time they want. Doesn't mean that at all. There must be rules and parameters to go along with all that respect and communication. There can't be any secrets. Secrets in an open relationship are deadly. Trust me - I know that first hand.

There's lots of different ways to design an open relationship. I tend toward a design that assumes the couple are primary partners, and everyone else is secondary. If at any point, anyone gets uncomfortable, the secondary partner goes away, no questions asked and no resentments allowed. The primary couple must constantly take temperatures to ensure everyone is happy and not feeling left out or insecure.

As I said, it's not an easy way to live. It takes a ton of effort and it's not at all about having sex with anyone you want, any time you want. It works for some, and is a total distaster for others. But when it works...it works.

He holds my fear in the palm of his hand

I read somewhere once that the difference between a good dominant and a great dominant is that the greater one can hold your fear in the palm of his hand and show it to you.

I've been in D/s situations where I was fearful, and overcame the fear mostly on my own. Sometimes with a little support from my dominant, and sometimes with no support. One of my greatest strengths in life - in my opinion - is my ability to face my own fears head on. I've done an awful lot of that in the last 18 months. I now consider myself an expert in my own fear.

But those are different kinds of fear. The fear I'm thinking of today is the fear of going toward the edge of my comfort zone. Or maybe teetering on the edge. Or even falling off the edge into the darkness.

I am involved with a Dominant who will force me to face my fears if I am to continue to serve him. He will not allow me to rest on my laurels or to turn away from my fears. While that's a mighty scary thing, it's also a good thing.

There are moments where I am afraid of what he will make me do or do to me. That pleases him, that I am afraid of him in that way. My fear of him has less to do with the physical acts of dominance and submission, although I know his sadistic streak will take me places that will require me to use my greatest strength and face the fear. It's also about the emotional aspects.

Facing my fear means letting him take me where he wants me to go, with complete faith that he will take care of me, but also clearly understanding he will show me my fear and he will expect me to deal with it head on in my service to him.

It's odd to think of service as facing your own fear. But that's what it is. Because if I can swallow my fear, and follow him where he wants to take me, it will please him. And pleasing him, pleases me. And it makes me wet.

Therein lies the real crux of the matter.

Working out the kinks

So I've been ambling along with a new dominant for the past 4 months or so. I really like this man - on a number of levels.

I like him on a personal level - he's intelligent, southern, nice. He's really a very nice man. He's a sturdy man. Even strangers who have met him mention that he seems such a strong and sturdy man. That's how I like 'em. I don't have much use for wimpy wishy-washy men. There's nothing wishy washy about this man. We have a good bit in common - both of us enjoy the arts, love our North Carolina, like to travel. Those things give us a lot to talk about and enable us to relate to each other.

On a dominant level, his style suits me very well. I respond well to it. I think that's partially because I understand him - surely not completely cause we're all complex people. But I do get him on a couple of important levels. It's a southern cultural thing. He's a bit of a sadist, and I swore I'd never go there again after untangling myself from one of the world's greatest sadists.

Even in spite of these things, it's been a bit of a rocky road for us - especially recently and especially to me. There's been a number of reasons for this, and although I'd like to lay the blame at his feet, I must admit some of the rockiness was due to my insistence that I had to understand and define whatever it was we were doing. The second I let go of the idea that I have to understand and define everything, it felt so much more comfortable and enjoyable. Another reason for this difficult period was a lack of communication. I'm a paid professional communicator. I can talk about anything to anyone. I can get conversation out of a tree. He's not so communicative.

We've recently had some very good time together. We talked and talked and talked until suddenly it was 5am on a Tuesday morning. It was excellent progress. We inched closer to defining our relationship which was very satisfying to me. And we talked about designing it in a way that both of us felt comfortable and excited about.

If I am going to serve a dominant to an intense level as he wants, it is important to me to have some structure, tons of communication, a clear understanding of what and where we are. Otherwise, I can't do it. I can do - and greatly enjoy - casual once-in-a-while play. But I can't do the intense stuff. I can't give very much of myself at all. I can only give a smidgen. But with the safety and comfort of something more defined and sure, it's a very different dynamic.

It'll be very interesting to see where this goes. I'm not necessarily looking for a permanent and forever-till-we-die sort of thing, and I have no interest in marrying again. So that's not what this is about. Having said that, I do hope it lasts a long long time. He has said he is going to be around for a long time. I hope so.

Crossroads

I often feel I am at a significant crossroads in my life - as a woman, a submissive, even professionally.

I was divorced back in the winter from a man I loved more than I ever thought I could love. He loved someone else more than he loved me. That was a problem. A year earlier, I'd ended a very long term D/s relationship (husband aware). Both losses were very painful. I'm still reeling from the divorce in many ways. Six weeks after my divorce was final, I lost a job I loved as the recession deepened. Somewhere in all these significant life events, my beloved son went away to college, my cat died, and on and on...life events just like everyone else's life events.

Whew. A tough 18 months, I must say. Yet, I survived. I'm one of the strongest women I know. Nothing has happened to me that hasn't happened to millions of other women, though. It's just life. Good things and bad things happen to everyone, and I have to say that many many more wonderful things have happened to me than bad. I am hugely fortunate.

My good fortune continues: I have the best friends in the world, I am now happily employed, I am on the other side of the divorce darkness. But I'm also at a weird place in life. I've always been someone's wife. Someone's submissive. Now I'm certainly not anyone's wife, and I'm not at all sure if I'm someone's submissive. That's still open for discussion.

I am trying to sell my home to downsize to a smaller townhome in the city. As a single woman and an empty nester, I no longer need the big house out in the country. I've lived in this house 22 years. A long time.

Every single thing that I knew and believed about my life has changed. Every single thing. Is that a bad thing? Heck, no. It's an opportunity! Here's my chance to re-build my life, to massage it into whatever I want it to be.

What do I want it to be? I don't want to be married. I do want to be attached to a dominant. Not attached at the hip - I hate to be smothered and crowded. But what is a submissive without a dominant to serve? There is a dominant in my life, one that I like a lot. We're still trying to figure out exactly what we are to each other. I think he's is more confident in what we are than I am. Maybe I should stop overthinking it.

So I have this new life - hopefully soon my home will sell and I'll have a new home in which to live my new life. I have a new job. A new dominant (well, he's been in the picture since March). A new attitude. I'm excited!

This has been a rambling and disjointed post - no real point here. Except to say that I'm open to all the wonderful possibilities and adventure this new life may bring me. Bring it on!

.

I still want it

2am. He sends a text message, "Are you up?". "Yes", I answer. "I miss you and would like to see you tonight", he writes. "Call me", I say. We must talk. Middle of the night text messages are partly what got us here...whereever "here" is.

The phone rings immediately. We talk, briefly. He comes over. It's now nearly 3am. He slides into bed beside me. We chat, catching up after a long stretch of no communication, miscommunication, hurt feelings, confusion. A dry spell on many levels.

We do what we do best, in those wee hours of the morning. He dominates, I submit. It feels good. Right, it feels right. It feels very right. God, I've missed it. I need it. I am so completely lost without it.

Then the sun comes up. And we're left with...what? What are we left with? Neither of us have any idea. We talk about it just a little. Promise to talk about it further. He leaves.

The fact is this: I want it. I want him. Still. I want us to find a way. That doesn't mean I will ever be happy with what came before. It only means I am willing to continue the walk to see what's around the next bend. That's the only promise I can make.

No

I really like the comment someone left on a previous post today. The gist was to enjoy this phase in my life. That point was well taken, and I intend to do just that.

I'm trying. Sometimes my efforts are more successful than others. I haven't been so successful today.

Never mind that I've had an exhausting week - started a new job on Monday and between the 12 hour days and the enormous emotional energy that goes into such a thing....it's 9:30 on a Friday night and I'm pretty sure I won't be awake an hour from now. I'm wiped.

And never mind that I told not one but TWO dominants NO tonight. It's kind of funny now that I think about it. Does that make it a banner night? That I told TWO of them NO? Don't think it was an easy thing to do. NO doesn't come easily to me, especially when there is an interesting dominant involved.

It did not come easily to me when I was telling someone NO who hasn't really shown me very much respect. He ignores my emails, text messages, and efforts to have a mere conversation about something that bothers me a great deal. He's actually been a bit of a jerk. But it still wasn't easy to tell him NO. It was a matter of standing up for myself - had to draw a line in the sand. He's mentioned a couple of times that it doesn't really matter to him if a woman - any woman, pick one - is in his life...so I'm sure that my line in the sand had a relatively minor impact on him. He'll wake up tomorrow just as happy as he was before I fell into his life. Maybe that's half the problem. The bottom line is he just doesn't have much respect for me as a submissive. Which in itself is a problem. But so be it. The sad part is I liked him, aside from this elephant in the room.

And it didn't come much easier the 2nd time today when I said NO to someone who has always been very nice to me, and who is an extremely nice and respectful man. I just wasn't up to it, and although he's always very respectful of me, he's your typical dominant who doesn't like to take no for an answer and will push until the cows come home. Nice guy, but pushy. Describes most of the dominants on the planet, huh?

After my recent rants/observations on being a single submissive, it seems oddly funny that I find myself in these shoes today and I'd rather go to bed early. Not sure what that says, except that I'm tired. And feeling totally disregarded. And pushed. And I'm tired. So tired.

Good night.

Unowned submissive

Is there really such a thing an an unowned submissive? Such as when one is not owned by a dominant? I'm thinking not.

In this period where I find myself unattached (that's somewhat debatable actually, but for the sake of argument here, let's assume such), I am discovering that being an unowned submissive can be a wonderful time of discovery. Although, I guess it could be said that I am not unowned. I own myself. That's a pretty cool thought.

For the first time in a very long time, I am completely on my own. For the first time in my adult life in fact, I'm not committed to someone - either as someones wife, or girlfriend, or submissive. At first, the very thought of being completely on my own scared the hell out of me. I wasn't sure I could walk the path alone. But once I discovered my own strength, I can't describe how empowering it was. It gives me an opportunity to stand on my own two feet. It can even be said that being unattached for a period of time is necessary for long term fulfillment. I completely understand that in a way that I might not have been able to comprehend had I not found myself at this particular place in life.

The ONE thing that being unowned doesn't mean is that I'm community property. In general, I treat dominants just like I treat everyone else - with kindness and respect. It's only MY dominant who gets special treatment from me. Lucky fellow that he is. Pity the poor dominant soul who expects anything whatsoever from me simply because he thinks he's an entitled dominant. Poor fellow. How stupidly misled he is.

Being unowned means I answer only to myself and I set my own rules. So what are my rights as an unowned submissive? I have the right to say yes. Or no. I control who, when, where, and how. How cool is that?

But then we get to the whole sticky issue of attending events alone. Without a date, without a dominant, without an escort. I did that recently. At first, I was really really uncomfortable. But being something of an extrovert, I was able to step out of my discomfort and extend my hand in friendship to anyone I didn't already know. Which was nearly everyone in the room.

I want to use this period in my life to grow and learn. I've already learned a good bit about myself - both my submissive self and my true self. I know exactly who I'm looking for, and what I need from him. I haven't met him yet. And maybe I won't. The fact that it's perfectly OK with me if I don't meet him is an important distinction. It means that I want him, rather than I need him. That can only be a good thing.

Sex and the Single Submissive

Being a single woman out in the world isn't always easy. And it's compounded when that woman is a submissive.

Relationships are hard, and often ridiculously complex. Throw in a little "must have" kink, and you have a nearly impossible situation.

You see, single submissives have 2 options:

1. Only date dominant men.
2. Date whoever looks interesting and hope he sees the light.

Neither are very pretty prospects. There are only so many self-professed dominant men out there. Even fewer if you live in a relatively small town, and only about 1% of those are single or unattached. And of that 1%, only about 0.5% are compatible/remotely interesting/would go on a 2nd date. Chemistry is such a fickle thing, even among kinksters.

Option 2, dating vanilla men and hoping you can help them discover their inner dominance, is like finding one needle in ten haystacks. Ugh.

There is one other option. Some days it seems to be the ONLY option. Other days it is simply unthinkable. And that's to try to blend into the vanilla world and to ignore my submissive self. Pretending I'm not submissive is like wishing I could be 5'10", 125 lbs. Ain't happening.

Things get really complicated when you're on the other side of 40. I'm not 20. Or even 30. Or even 40 for that matter. I'm on the other side of 40, but don't ask how far on the other side. That's not the point.

So what's a girl to do? Settle? No way.

Switching

I've always thought that switches are weird. No offense meant to anyone at all - particularly to my wonderful friends - but it's just one of those things I've never quite understood. I have a very strong preference for playing with and serving dominants who do not switch. Or if they switch...I can't see it. I don't want to watch. I don't like the picture I get in my head of my dominant bent over a bed receiving a spanking. It just doesn't work for me. I like my dominants to be dominant - through and through.

We've all heard or read that the best dominants subbed at some point in their career, and that experience made them more empathetic toward their submissives. Theoretically, this makes sense. Practically...I'm not so sure.

For one thing, just because a dominant has been on the other end of a paddle, well, we all know everyone has wildly varying degrees of tolerances and preferences so does that really mean he can truly empathize? Or does it just mean that he's had his fanny whacked in jest and can't really relate to the psychological or emotional shades of true and sincere submission?

That's what I think. I think when a dominant switches roles just to put himself in his sub's shoes, it's an empty gesture. Doesn't mean much. He hasn't struggled with all the questions and thoughts and feelings and doubts that most submissives wrangle with when coming to terms with their submissive desires. He don't know nothing, except perhaps his fanny has more nerve endings than he might imagined or that he's a bigger whimp than he'd like his submissive to believe.

But then, isn't that part of the beauty of a relationship between a dominant and a submissive? Both understand the foundation of the relationship, both are on board with all the premises, there's chemistry in place...but yet they are different and somewhat mysterious to one another. It's part of the dance. Part of the serendipity. They don't have to totally understand each other. There doesn't even have to be empathy in place. Not really.

Now, granted, there are those dominants who were submissives first and then switched to the other side. But even then...assuming we're talking about male dominants and female submissives, can they really understand what their submissives feel? No. That's because they aren't women. They don't have the same realm of reference or the same hormones. And that also is part of the beauty.

I'm thinking dominants don't need anything other than their dominant spirit and a little sensitivity in order to be perfectly qualified to dominate. At least to dominate me. Smile!

Spirituality Behind Closed Doors

I will admit that I am often uncomfortable with the idea that spirituality and BDSM have any impact upon one another. For me, they are two entirely different topics. Two different pieces of my life, though each are very important pieces of my life. And never the two shall meet, is my thought.

Yet, I keep running across forums, blogs, and essays on the topic. At the risk of offending someone (and really…I don’t mean to be offensive at all), I just don’t get the notion that these two very diverse topics are in any way related. Yes, I am a very spiritual person – I’m even educated in the matter. And yes, BDSM-esque is the color of my sexuality. And certainly, there are moments in my submission when I can almost experience a somewhat spiritual moment. But not quite. That door is closed and locked.

Spirituality –even in its broadest form – and submission both offer opportunities for self-discovery and “aha” moments. Could it be that people who are not comfortable or steady in their own faith search for spirituality in other non-traditional places? Now HERE is a landmine topic if there ever was one! I should probably keep my eye on the road here and not look to the left or to the right for fear of causing a commotion.

I come from a long line of southern Baptist preachers. I was raised in the church – the hellfire and brimstone sort, and although I left it for some time when in college and in my 20s, I am happily back in the fold. I spent many years, early in my search for my sexuality, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the choices I made behind closed doors. I worked far too hard to reconcile those choices with my faith. Eventually, I moved past that discomfort, and grew to accept my own submission as something I could not ignore or explain. It just is, and I’m ok with that.

The more I read about BDSM and spirituality, the more it perplexes me. Perhaps it’s that people in the lifestyle tend to be thoughtful well-educated people, and so they open their minds to this in a very accepting way. I am very respectful of others and their opinions, but when the topic comes up socially, I can’t even discuss it without fear that I’ll step on a toe. I would never want to be offensive, but how on God’s green earth can you discuss this topic and maintain a neutral stand? You can’t. You can’t straddle the fence on this one. You have to draw a line in the sand, and stand firm in your belief.

It’s a very interesting matter to noodle, in my opinion. I find religion fascinating from every angle – academically, historically, personally. And I understand there is a difference between religion and spirituality for some. But not for me. They’re one and the same for me. I just don’t want them bleeding under my bedroom door.

Knife Pleasures

I’ve always been intrigued by the naughty forbidden edginess of knife play. I’ve only danced on this particular edge briefly, and then it was years ago with one particular Dominant who always claimed that I was the one who turned him on to knife play, as though I had done him a disservice. Funny, I remember it the other way around. Ah, the fond memories of times gone by.

Still, though, I love the notion of sharp cold knives. I love small ones, big ones, intricate ones, simple ones, and especially those with very very sharp edges. I have images of them lying up against my face and close to other very personal places on my body.

A friend recently told me of his newly found interest in knives. We shared moments of conversation in which we understood each other’s interest in this very edgy and somewhat unusual pastime. It’s always nice to have friends you can discuss such things with. It’s not exactly dinner party conversation.

In my view, knives are just plain sexy. They are dark, cold, intriguing. Intimate. Powerful. My first taste of the knife was when it was used to scrape dried wax from my body. I had no idea how mesmerized I would be watching that cold silver blade slide against my skin. I was hooked. And of course using a knife to cut clothes off a submissive’s body gives me shivers. The good kind. I’ve heard of using larger knives or swords for spanking, but as much as I love knives, I don’t think they hold a candle next to a leather belt in that regard. Knives are for mind fucks. Plain and simple.

While knives themselves can be pretty darn interesting, and on their own have been known to provide some pretty unforgettable moments, they have a couple of very cool first cousins: scalpels and straight razors. Scalpels feed nicely into my medical play curiosity (never been there, but it sure makes for some colorful fantasies). I once knew someone who collected straight razors. At the time, I thought it an odd thing to collect. Now I just think it’s very cool. That same person had a proctology table in her basement. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65O6aC3XDJM

Oh, if I knew then what I know now….

Defining Moments

Reading over on Fetlife.com, there is a string about a submissive’s defining moment. I’ve never really thought I had a “defining moment”, but after reading some of the comments I realized that I really do have such a moment. Except my “moment” lasted far longer than 60 seconds. It’s lasted nearly 25 years.

Like many of us in our 40s, the internet opened doors I never thought possible. It allowed education and insight like never before. In the very early days of the internet, back when mostly academics and the military used it, I can recall stumbling across forums and bulletin boards discussing submission and spanking. I was at work for a government contractor at the time, and the only reason I had access to these things was due to my job. No one had internet access in their homes then. But golly….a LOT of people must have been playing on the job, cause there was a great deal of discussion and information to be had…if you only knew where to look for it. I dug like I was going to China.

THIS must be my defining moment…or at the very least the beginning of my life as a submissive.

I remember feeling completely enlightened and even a little frightened, as if I had opened a Pandora’s Box. And oh boy, had I ever! Although initially it was all about that little tingle between my legs when I thought about such things, it was years later before I really understood my own submissive self and what it would mean in my life. I am not just a sexual submissive. It’s how I am made, and I’ve accepted that it is not something that will ever go away and it will NOT be ignored.

In conversations with other kinksters, the topic of “how did you discover D/s or BDSM” often arises. It’s interesting to hear the stories, but I can almost always tell who is sincere in their dominance or submission and who is not, simply by the story they tell. By sincere, I mean who has it in their soul, as opposed to those who simply get off on it once in a while as a bit of spice.

Do Dominants have defining moments? Surely they do. They must. It is in the story of those moments that I get a glimpse into the man behind the dominant. And the dominant as part of the man. Often, being unfairly judgmental perhaps, I use those stories to consider my own involvement with this person. The story tells me something…but I’m not sure exactly what it is. Maybe it’s how the story is told, as opposed to the details.

I can't really say that my submission defines me totally, cause it doesn't. But it is a very big part of who I am, and it brings me the sort of comfort that can only come from understanding and accepting yourself.

Domestic Discipline (or What Makes Me Wet)

Over the past couple of years or so, I've read quite a lot about domestic discipline. I've often thought I would thrive in such an environment, except I can never quite get my head around the idea of using spanking both for pleasure and as punishment. It confuses me.

Maybe that's cause I'm an avid spankee. Spankings turn me on. Knowing my dominant has the power to punish me turns me on. Spanking me turns HIM on. Spankings are often utilized as foreplay (for some they're the main event, I know), but the point is there is absolutely sexual juju flowing in the room when someone is getting a spanking. How could there not be?

I understand that in DD relationships there are two different types of spankings: punishment spankings and fun spankings. And I understand the difference as defined by most of the DD readings out there. But how in the world do you draw the line when you're a devoted spanker and spankee living under one roof??

It's the subtleties that would get me. Certainly I understand the notion of a spanking that is not terribly pleasant (no warm up, pushing the edge, etc), but still...spankings are erotic to me. The whole ritual - part and parcel. And even if the spanking itself isn't particularly pleasant (such as a caning, which I absolutely abhor), just give those endorphins long enough to line up and there you have it: a punished but wet submissive.

Isn't it difficult for a submissive to differentiate in her head the difference between a punishment and a fun spanking when they enjoy spankings? What happens if the punishment spanking is actually a turn on? That certainly negates the whole point. And even moreso, how do you prevent a punishment spanking from becoming a turn on? Merely by making it hurt more? I've never met a dominant who could control his sub's endorphins. What if the dom is a self-confessed sadist and the sub is a masochist? Is it still a punishment?

Then there are the couples I read about who follow their punishment spanking with hot sex. Now THAT would really throw me off kilter. If it's meant to be a punishment, just leave me there with my misery and my sore bottom. But don't take advantage of the inherent turn on and provide a mind-numbing orgasm to immediately follow my spanking. Huh? Where is the incentive to behave? There's certainly incentive NOT to behave!

I have read that in Christian DD relationships, that spanking may not be a sexual thing for either partner but rather a man's God-given right to punish his wife. If neither one of them enjoy spankings, then I can surely see the punishment value in that. Although, I suppose this could be the case in most any DD household - that no one enjoys spankings on any level. That sure seems a shame, tho.

Now, I suppose that the sex following the punishment could be very one-sided, such as a blow job, thereby allowing the spankee to show her gratitude for guidance. But what message does that send? That it turns your dominant on to have to punish you? Of course it does. Duh.

As in all things, different strokes for different folks. And I'm sure I've twisted the reasoning a bit here, but it seems to me that DD might just be a smoke screen for super hot sex. I fear it would be for me, were I ever lucky enough to find myself in such a relationship.

The Birch

Far out in the country, deep down a dirt logging road, he takes a series of turns winding further into the woods. In the passenger seat, I know exactly what is about to happen. He’d threatened many times to take me to a secluded place, tie me to the back of his jeep and whip me merely for his own pleasure. Today he would make good on that threat.

There is sometimes a fine line between nervous anticipation and fear. I was straddling the line. He pulls over and we sit in silence. It is clear there will be no passersby. It is eerily quiet and still. It’s late summer, near dusk, and the only sound is crickets and my heartbeat. The silence is almost painful. The unspoken assumptions about what is about to happen are nearly deafening. I knew this would be a test of my submission and my endurance.

He gets out of the jeep, instructs me to stay put. I hear him in the back, rearranging, preparing. He comes around to my side and opens the door for me. We move to the back of the jeep, where I am told to undress. Completely. I look around nervously. Undress completely? Yes. Completely.

When I am done, he comes up behind me, wraps his arms around me and whispers in my ear “you know why we are here. Do not disappoint me.” Never. Disappointing him is my nightmare. I will go to great lengths to avoid that, including trusting and submitting to him in times of fear and doubt.

Hands in my hair, he pushes me to my knees to take him in my mouth. Slowly, sweetly…I take him in my mouth, running my tongue up and down, over, up and down. Sucking very gently, very slowly. Groaning, he directs me to give attention to other areas. I run my tongue over his balls very slowly, taking my time to completely cover the entire area, from the bottom slowly moving up. I love the smell of him here. The sweet musky smell of my dominant. I carry that scent with me even when we’re apart.

Roughly he pulls me to my feet and spins me around to face the back of the jeep. Tying my hands tightly together and then to the hitch, he doesn’t look at me or speak to me. He works swiftly to run rope around my waist, and attach it also to the hitch. To ensure I am secure, he runs the rope between my legs and around my thighs, again tying to the hitch.

I sense him standing behind me, looking at me, measuring how he will proceed. My senses are on full alert, and I can smell the wintergreen odor of the birch switches laying just to the left of me inside the jeep. The dozen or so switches are tied together with string. I hyper focus on the small buds of the switches which I know will cut into my skin. I close my eyes. I want to relish the moment and prepare myself for a heightened submission. He picks up the birch, and my heart pounds but my mind soars to a very submissive place.

I know how much he wants this, and how the marks left on me will please him. I remind myself to breathe as the birch makes first contact with my bare skin.

The 1950s Household

One of my favorite blogs these days, Art of Authority, is written by a dominant. It’s unusual to happen across blogs that are dominant-oriented, so I’m fascinated with the point of view. Another dominant oriented blog that I’m reading these days is A Dominant Character. Both are well-written by intelligent and thoughtful gentlemen. You can find links to both to the right of this post.

I love the idea of dominants letting us in on their corner of the world. I’ve always wished I could crawl into my dom’s head and poke around a bit. Just to see what’s in there. It would be interesting to find out if he really ticks the way I think he does. Or if there are ways I could please him that I’m not thinking of and he’s not articulating. I’d take furious notes on my little pad of paper, and then crawl back out of his head and surprise him with all my new found analysis!

Anyhow, these two blogs have started me thinking along a number of new lines, one of which is the 1950s household. I’m not entirely sure how the 1950s household differs from a 24/7 Domestic Discipline lifestyle; I’m not that educated in it yet. But there’s just something about the whole era that’s appealing to a submissive. Both lifestyles emphasize harmony in the home via a Head of Household (HOH) and his submissive wife. I’ve always found safety and security in my submission. I imagine that living one of these lifestyles could only increase that feeling.

The biggest gap I see is that women didn’t generally work in a 1950s household, leaving them plenty of time to dote on their dominants. To bring him a morning coffee, a morning blow job, to iron his clothes for work, make his lunch, and kiss him off for the day. Sadly, not many women have that luxury these days. So maybe that’s how DD evolved. Life became a two-career and two-salary proposition, so June Cleaver had to get a job. Now, in addition to all the things she did for Ward in the 1950s, she now works full time. Ugh. There goes the morning blow job.

In the 1950s, women got to be women. And am I the only one who thinks that respect got more respect in the 1950s? Everything was clearer then. Responsibilities and roles were clearly spelled out. And I bet spankings were way more prevalent that many sociologists would have us think. Oh. The good ole days.

Although I’m generally not in heels and pearls at the end of a long work day, I do still carry the mindset that I imagine many women had then. I still think of him first, before myself. He is the first thing in my head when I wake up, and the last thing on my mind at night.

The most beautiful aspect of the 1950s couple was that they seemed way more naturally supportive of one another’s roles. She supports him in his Dominant role in the household, and he supports her more submissive role. He supports her even to the degree that if she steps out of line, she gets a stern lecture and a spanking.

Anyone know how to time travel?

Deliberate disobedience

He had asked her to tell him immediately any time she would find herself at home alone with privacy. The topic had been discussed and an agreement reached. They both live very busy lives with responsibilities to others. Adequate time to be together was scarce; opportunities for extended periods of togetherness were even rarer.

When she let slip that she had allowed an opportunity to pass without telling him of her availability, his annoyance could not be ignored. He was furious. Not only had she disobeyed and disrespected his very pointed request, but she had allowed a precious opportunity to slip away.

Face down, with hands and feet tied to the bed posts, and a pillow under her midsection to raise her hips, he had arranged her in the perfect position to fully understand and appreciate his level of annoyance. His lectures are brutal. His tone and clipped words alone have a powerful affect on a submissive. But to be lectured in this position, knowing he would physically take out his frustration in just a moment, the tension in the room was tight.

She could feel his belt before it ever bit her. And once bit, the belt landed without mercy over her body. He whipped her shoulders, the backs of her arms, her backside, the backs of her thighs, her calves. He took care to strike only where appropriate. But strike he did. Over and over until she sobbed her apologies into her pillow.

He had not whipped her so brutally before. There was no doubt when finished that he expected this to never occur again. She would remember his unhappiness for days. She would remember his explicit instructions regarding her availability a very long time.

Indeed, in this situation, a submissive’s memory now has a direct correlation to a Dominant’s belt. A burning correlation that will not fade with her bruises and welts, but will remain in her psyche.

Master Yourself

To master anyone you must first master yourself.

A truer statement was never written. I’ve had the pleasure of serving Dominants who were in control of themselves and I’ve experienced the agony of serving Dominants who didn’t know who in the hell they were or what they were doing here. My, what a difference it makes.

The perfect Dominant is not a perfect man. In fact, he’s very imperfect. The important distinction is in how he handles his own imperfections. It’s also important to note how he handles others imperfections, such as his submissive’s.

D/s relationships are a give and take. In my opinion, the Dominant isn’t “better” or “above” the submissive. And the submissive isn’t “below” the dominant. They are equals, but they just have different roles. Further, Dominants are human – they falter and have doubts just like anyone else. Problem is, there is no one to “correct” them or to help them back on the path. In that regard, they’re on their own. I’ve often thought it must be more difficult to be a dominant rather than a submissive. Perhaps that’s because I have a submissive nurturing soul so submission comes very naturally and easy to me.

I like Dominants who are confident and sure of themselves, but who are also aware of their own weaknesses. I have more respect for Dominants who show me they are human, and don’t try to be super-human or feel that they are in the right no matter what, simply because they are the Dominant. These guys just make me roll my eyes and move on.

My Dominant recently did something that impressed me a great deal. He listened. He listened to me, and he listened carefully. He stopped, looked at me, and listened to me. I don’t know why this surprised me so much. Perhaps because it is a relatively new relationship. Maybe it’s because I’d been trying to get his attention on this matter for a while, and he kept denying me, for various reasons. But when he was finally ready to have the conversation, he did it in perfect style. He stood, looked at me, listened to me, and discussed the matter with me intelligently and with care.

But back to my greater point….Dominants are not perfect people. Shocking, I know. But the true test is in the heart of a Dominant who leads with character, rather than with a sense of entitlement. Doms who think they are automatically entitled to service and respect simply because they call themselves a Dom are a dime a dozen.

But those who choose to lead with a sense of responsibility and character…those Doms are special. Very special, indeed.

Why I need it

Over the years, I've spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking about why I am the way I am, and why I need and crave structure and discipline. There's probably enough fodder there to keep a skrink happily analyzing for a long time, but I eventually realized that none of it really matters. It just is. And as soon as I let go of my need to understand myself, I discovered the beauty of self acceptance. Truly a beautiful thing.

I often get one of the most common questions probably asked of a submissive: were you spanked as a child. My answer is NO. I was a very well-loved and well-cared for little girl. My parents did not spank me, though there were plenty of threats. I had a very loving relationship with my father, so I can't point to that and claim any particular need for something I was lacking in my childhood. I lacked nothing in my childhood, at least nothing that really mattered.

Whatever the etiology, I am a strong, loving, intelligent submissive woman who needs a dominant man in my life. I need a guide, someone stronger and smarter than me. Someone who understands my submissive nature but doesn't abuse it. That's not always easy to find, but I've been very fortunate in my life to have developed and enjoyed relationships with dominants who nurtured my need successfully.

I crave structure in my life. Not that I lead a particularly unstructured life or a chaotic existence. I don't. I like knowing there is someone in my life who cares enough about me to help me achieve my goals and to hold me accountable for not doing the things we both know are right for me. It makes me feel safe and nurtured. It helps keep me on track. During the times I have not had a dominant in my life, I have felt at loose ends - like I'm not sure which bend in the road to take. I get easily confused and lack confidence in my choices.

In addition to the structure provided by a strong dominant, I crave the discipline that naturally comes hand in hand with structure. I like knowing that if I don't do X, then Y is the consequence. I'm not the bratty type, so I usually don't deliberately test the limits. But when the actions call for the consequence, I need to know my dominant will not hesitate to step up to the plate. It makes me feel safe. Secure. Loved.

Certainly there is a sexual component to the whole mix. I'm the first to admit that while I am feeling so safe and secure, I'm also feeling wet and horny. The dynamic is a huge turn on. It's a wonderfully intricate dance that would completely fall apart if any one of the components were missing.

All this is a very simplistic way of explaining the need. We all know it's a very complex set of needs - both for the dominant and the submissive. I try not to dwell so much on why it is, but rather to appreciate my dominant and accept my own submissive need. When it all comes together, it's a beautiful thing.

Long Darkness, Part II

I am cold. I can feel bugs crawling on me. I have not been able to control my body’s habits. My panic has been replaced with a cold weariness. My fear has consumed my mind and body.

The closet door opens. He comes into the closet and kneels down to me. He is attaching something to my breasts, on top of them, underneath them. On the sides of them, and over my nipples. Wires, I sense wires. I am whimpering. Please, take me home. Please, take me from here. He leaves quickly.

Instantly, I feel the current run through my breasts. He has attached wires to me that carry electrical current. He controls it, but I do not know from where. The zaps startle me, and they gradually get more intense. Across my nipples I feel the current pulse into them. It is painful, but it scares me more. I am caught unaware. Just as I relax, another jolt of current burns into my breasts. I hear myself moan.

I am being torn down, layer by layer. My dignity, my security. He holds it in the palm of his hand. I am nothing more than a thing. A plaything. Less than a thing. Something to amuse him, with my fear and my pain and my terror.

The door opens, and someone enters. It is not him. He stands over me, I can smell him, but I do not know him. First he pees on me. The strong smell of unfamiliar urine. I do not know this urine. It is not my Sir’s. This stranger has urinated on me, and now he is masturbating, about to cum on me. He does, and leaves.

I am at my most vulnerable. More vulnerable than I have ever been in my life. Just waiting to be used. Completely and utterly dependent on him to care for me, to save me, to use me, to allow others to use me in order to give me purpose. I am at my most vulnerable.

Long darkness

“Do you trust me?”, he whispers. Of course I trust him. “Then I want you to do exactly as I say and understand that your fear and pain please me.” Those are ominous scary words.

It is a dark night, and the darkness surrounds us completely. I cannot even see his face in the darkened car. I keep looking to him to calm my rising fear. There is no reassurance. We are far down a dirt road, where there are no houses, no businesses, no lights at all. He knows the way. He has been here before.

He pulls the Jeep off the road and instructs me to wait. I can make out an old abandoned house. A “No Tresspassing” sign. Sounds of night creatures. He opens my door and helps me out of the car. He is carrying a small bag. I am told to leave everything in the car.

“Remove all your clothes and put them in this bag”. I obeyed slowly, not understanding and not wanting to be in this place, without clothes. We are in the house, which seems to stand still in time. It has been abandoned for quite some time, but not empty, I sense.

I am blindfolded. And gagged. My hands are tied behind my back. He leads me across the room, down the hall. He opens a door. It is a very small room, perhaps a large closet. He sits me down, kneels down to speak to me. He unties my hands, and reties them to hooks in the wall. He leaves, closes the door.

I feel the panic all over my body. Has he left me here? Why would he leave me here? How long before he will come back to get me? I try to swallow my panic, but my fear sticks in my throat. Hours pass. My body starts to ache. I need to relieve myself, badly. To my horror and shame, I cannot wait. The moisture seeps below me. I must sit in it.

At last, I hear him return. I know it is him. I sense him, I know his walk, his smell. He is not alone. The closet door opens, I am drug out roughly, trying to stand on my stiff and sore legs. I have been in the closet an entire night. Suddenly I am on the floor. Someone is on top of me, roughly fondling me, squeezing my breasts, slapping them. It is not him. I am being roughly fucked by a man I cannot identify. I sob into my gag. He fills me with his need, and I am drug back to the closet.

He returns later in the day. Or maybe it is night. I cannot tell. The gag is removed, and I am fed. I am given water. I am not spoken to. My questions and tears are unanswered. My gag is replaced, and I am left alone. Again.

Cunt whipping

“Spread your legs, bitch. Farther apart.” He pushes my knees even further apart than I thought possible. He tugs at my cunt lips, runs his fingers over my clit, and plays with it a moment before slapping it hard. I was about to see where my misdeed of masturbating without explicit permission would get me. It had been weeks since my confession, and I thought he’d forgotten. Not.

He removes his belt from his pants. There cannot possibly be any greater sight or sound than a man ripping his belt out of the loops with every intention of using it in ways not truly intended. I was acutely aware that every ounce of pleasure I had given myself was about to be negated by that belt.

In an instant, my cunt was on fire. He whipped it relentlessly. Sometimes landing directly over my clit, and other times landing on the most sensitive spot inside my thighs, I could barely catch my breath. He maneuvered so that the belt landed perfectly across my entire cunt. He stopped after 10.

“So what do you think now, cunt?” “I’m sorry, Sir, I am truly sorry.” Tears have welled in my eyes. “Not as sorry as you’ll be half an hour from now…”. He doubles the belt in his hand and raises his arm. Again, again, again. I beg him to stop between my sobs. I am not restrained, but I lay perfectly still and accept this. He stops only momentarily and asks if it was worth it. No.

Not only was the pleasure not worth the punishment, but having to watch his face as he whipped me in my most private area was excruciating. The humiliation factor made it far worse. To lay on my back and watch a man I respect whipping my cunt was truly humiliating. My tears added to the layers of embarrassment and shame.

My cunt aches, burns, stings, throbs. He finishes by fucking me roughly. I know what he is saying here. He does not have to speak a word. He cums in my burning cunt. He got the last word.

Proper Care and Feeding of Submissives

What is it submissives want? There are a million answers to this question. I can only answer from my own personal and special perspective. My ideas of getting my needs met may not – and likely won’t – mesh with another’s idea of how things should be. But it’s mine, and since I’m the writer here, I’m the only one who matters. Right?

1) Pay attention. That doesn’t mean smother me. And it doesn’t mean that you need to be in contact on a daily or hour by hour basis. Lord knows I have plenty to do without being under your thumb 24/7. But…if I’m your submissive…and if we’ve made an agreement, then you owe me. Yes, not a terribly submissive attitude, but I’m pretty sure most of the submissives out there know what I’m talking about. I’ll work hard to please you, but please don’t leave me dangling – it makes me feel like I’m submitting to myself. That’s no fun.

2) Don’t ask for more from me than you’re willing to give.

3) Be honest. If any aspect of the relationship isn’t your thing…that’s fine. Just be a man and say so.

4) Talk to me. Don’t assume that because you’re the dominant in the room that you know it all. You don’t. You need me. Without me, you don’t have the ying to your yang. This is a partnership (at least in my world it is). We’re here for each other. No tunnel vision or operating in a vacuum.

5) Appreciate me. I work hard to please you and to walk within your lines. Your approval is important to me. Please give it to me when appropriate. Otherwise, I’m not sure why I’m doing all the things you ask.

You can probably determine that each of the 5 items above are intertwined and dependent on each other. They may even be a little redundant of each other. But these are the things that are important to me in my D/s relationships.

Perhaps some of you dominant types can take a hint here. And just for the record, I’m not writing this for anyone in my life at the moment. This is just a list of things that I would bring up if anyone ever asked me to discuss the matter. Really.

And the most important rule of all: You get what you give. The more you give, the more you get.

My true need

I’d waited all day for his call. I knew we would meet today, and I knew why. We had agreed long ago on certain parameters of behavior, several of which had been broken. The phone rings. He’ll be here in 10 minutes. The dread and anticipation in my stomach intensified several times over in the time it took for him to say “I’m on my way”.

This was not a man to toy with. He meant what he said, and said what he meant. He was firm, not one ounce of ambiguity. There was never any confusion about expectations. In its own way, that is very comforting – to always know with certainty where I stood and what to expect. Couple that with a man who also makes me feel safe, warm, and accepted and you have a complex but significant connection with very definite lines of authority.

The doorbell rings. I answer, we embrace. He takes my hand and leads me to the room where we will wipe the slate clean. “Jeans and panties down, over the sofa”. I understood these cryptic instructions and responded instantly. I knew what was about to happen was not only deserved but necessary. It was part of who we were, almost as easy and necessary as breathing.

His habit was to stand behind me, looking at my positioning, and preparing himself to carry out his responsibility. He prepared me too. He made sure I understood clearly why we were there and why he was about to punish me. I knew. We both knew. I didn’t do as I was told. It was something we’d discussed numerous times. The very fact that I disobeyed was nothing less than deliberate. There is no worse infraction than to deliberately disobey. He wasn’t taking it lightly and he wouldn’t allow me to take it lightly either.

He starts with the large wooden paddle. As I knew it would be, there is no warm up for me today. The fire was immediate. The sound of the crack of the paddle against my skin was deafening. Sometimes, I’m not sure which scares me most – the sound or the painful burn.
He was relentless stopping only to be sure I was still breathing between my sobs and that I was fully aware – again – of why we were in this moment.

At those times, he stood very close to me, to my side. If I turned my head, my face would be directly in the crotch of his tight jeans. I loved those moments. My mind was muffled between the pain and humiliation of my punishment, and the surge of desire I felt when my face was an inch from his crotch. I could smell him in those seconds. I wanted what was in those jeans in a way that completely removed me from my shame of being paddled like a schoolgirl.

The pain of wanting what I couldn’t have was even more painful than his paddle brought upon me with a full force. That was my real punishment.

Silent whispers

His voice was in my ear. Muffled, but clear. Amazingly, but not surprisingly, my cunt is trained to orgasm to his voice.

His voice is reassuring to me. It's soft, very southern, very much in control. There's no question who is in control in spite of the fact that I am on my back, legs spread, his fingers in my cunt, and his sweet soft voice whispers in my ear. He tells me who is in control, as though I need to be reminded. He tells me who controls my cunt, my cums, my body.

I cannot cum without permission. Sometimes he grants it, sometimes he doesn't - even while his fingers dance over my clit, tug on my cunt lips, whispers his control in my ear. He waits until I am within an inch of the point of no return. But...I don't yet have permission to cum. He isn't ready for me to cum. I am about to explode with need. He reminds me not to cum. Not yet. Maybe not at all. Maybe in a few seconds. Maybe.

Hold your breath, cunt. Don't cum without me. I don't care how great your need is or how beautifully I am playing your clit. Don't cum without me. Not without me.

Silent whispers in my ear.

I can't believe you did that!

I can't believe you did that. He said it over and over. Even I was shaking my head thinking why in the world did I do that?

He was hurting me. Sir loves to play with my nipples and breasts more than just about anything. And he has a special spot where he particularly enjoys playing. He likes to lay my breasts on the table...just for his own enjoyment. When he moves toward that table...I know instantly that in a very few moments my submission will be tested.

There was a time when I could handle a great deal of breast pain. I could absorb the pain just to please him. But I have more and more trouble doing that now. Maybe it's my age, or where my head is, or just how the stars are aligned. These days, it's pure submission to give my breasts over to one of the best breast sadists in town.

He put his thumb on my nipple and pressed it hard into the table. Hard, flattening it like a pancake. Pain, red hot pain oozing from those extremely sensitive nipples. In a second of blind panic and sheer instinct...I slapped his hand away. Just as surely as I was shooing a fly away.

Oops. He didn't like that much. He really didn't like that much. In an instant, the same hand that was torturing my nipple into the table was laying fire to my backside. I apologized profusely. Over and over. We were both surprised at my reaction. My excuse didn't really hold much water as far as he was concerned. He was disappointed. I was surprised at myself.

Throughout the evening, he kept saying I can't believe you did that. I apologized again. In spite of my very poor behaviour, he was accepting and giving. But that was after he finished with my backside. But still...I consider myself very lucky. It could have been much worse.

Here's my promise to my Sir and to my readers: I will not do anything like that ever again. Promise. It was very poor form and it was disrespectful to my Sir.

I'm sorry, Sir.

I’ve always thought that Dominants get the short end of the stick, in some ways. They have a lot of responsibility. Those Doms who choose to exercise control over a submissive outside the scene at hand have a particularly heavy load. Having control over another person – no matter the level or specifics of that control – is a tough dance. It requires a lot of patience, understanding, and ability to pay attention.

The most important of these things is the ability to pay attention, to have an understanding of just what it is you’ve asked of her. You can’t just say to someone, for example, “I forbid you to drive your car on Wednesdays”, and then just walk away assuming it will be done. Perhaps it will be done, for most submissive bend over backwards to obey. But then…if you aren’t paying attention, then what’s the point of exercising that level of control?

Let me approach from a different angle….walk with me.

Doms are just like everyone else; they are busy people. We all have jobs and a life to lead. Some of us have businesses to run and families to care for. Taking on a submissive complicates things cause you’re taking on an additional responsibility. Just one more thing to do, might as well add it to the list. Requesting and accepting control of even a small thing, further adds to your personal level of responsibility to your submissive. Agreed?

Here's the rub: It’s not fair to ask a sub to relinquish control of even a minor thing, and then not tend to whatever it is you’ve asked of her. And worse, it isn’t fair to the submissive to make a demand that affects her daily life, and then just walk away – for a few days, a week, two weeks.I’m not talking about something as simple as taking away your sub’s nightly dish of chocolate ice cream. I’m talking about taking control of things that are important to her (not that chocolate ice cream isn’t extremely important), and that impact her day to day life, happiness, and general satisfaction in her submission to you. That’s a big deal, Dominants, and you’ve just assigned yourself a new level of responsibility.

Now you might be thinking that Dominants aren’t held to a standard that includes fairness, but they should be if they are in a relationship that has any importance to them. I’m talking demanding, consistent D/s relationships here, not just once-in-a-blue moon casual play. My point is that by asking something significant of your submissive when you’re not available to offer guidance or support, and then not paying attention or really appreciating what you’ve asked of her, you’re not only setting her up for some level of failure and disappointment, but you’re also sabotaging your own relationship with her. You’re not building trust. Or faith. Or nurturing her level of submission to you. And who needs that??

Not that this has ever happened to me, mind you. It’s just something that popped into my head today.

Yeah, but what if.....

I want to be a good submissive. I want to do as I'm told, and to always be honest with my Sir. I'm not the bratty type, and it upsets me to upset him. I will go to great lengths to avoid displeasing him.

Several times recently, Sir has asked if he could trust me. This is a very new relationship, we're finding our footing, both of us. I said "of course". The fact is I'm a very trustworthy person. It's not always easy, sometimes the truth is not necessarily the easy way out. But one of my mantras is "do the right thing". I'm famous for that line among my family and friends.

He has told me a number of times that he will "wear your ass out" if I disobey. That's a very southern expression, "wear your ass out". We're both diehard proud southerners. I can't count the times my grandmother said those very words to me, in her back yard while she chased me around the yard with a willow switch among the chickens. But anyhow...

I'm all for bringing back the birch, but only between consenting adults. ~Gore Vidal

One of the things I must ask permission to do is masturbate. Because, of course, he owns my cunt. It's his to control. Now understand that not only am I in my sexual prime in terms of age, but I am a very sexual woman. Always have been. And until recently, I've been without. Were it not for my trusty wonderful I'll-grab-it-if-the-house-is-on-fire Hitachi Magic Wand, I just don't know what I would have done. Girls, if you don't have one of these, go straight to your fav sex toy site and buy one NOW. You'll be thanking me for years to cum.

Don't knock masturbation - it's sex with someone I love. ~Woody Allen

Speaking theoretically of course, and under the circumstances I've described above - theoretically, would it really be such a bad thing to forget to tell him about my masturbation sessions? After all, it's really very therapeutic...it helps me sleep and it relives stress. I'm sure he wants what's best for me! And it doesn't take anything from him. And besides, HE is the reason I am so....well, so HORNY! It's his fault. So using that logic, he should allow it any time I want when we are not together. Right? I think so. It seems perfectly reasonable to me.

The only problem with this logic is that he doesn't need to be reasonable. It's not a Dom requirement to be reasonable. He gets to lay down the law, and he gets to set the rules. I have two choices. Obey. Or not. I almost always obey.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you." ~A.A. Milne

Control

I’m trying to figure out how I’m feeling these days about certain aspects of a Dominant’s control outside the bedroom. Inside the bedroom it’s a grand ole time. But outside…it’s a little murky for me. I’ve spent the past year trying to figure out how to be on my own. Everything from paying the bills to mowing the grass to getting the oil changed in my own damn car. I often felt like a 2-year old screaming "DO IT MYSELF". I can button my own coat. Do it myself.

I was hugely uncomfortable with having all this control for a long time. I had no idea what to do with it. I’ve stumbled and scraped my knee a time or two, but I have finally learned to ride that horse and I sorta liked it. I’m smart and capable, and I finally figured out how to start the mower and how to stare down a repairman. Now I'm ready to take on the world.

Until the past year, there had always been a daddy or a husband around to do all the “man” things in my life, and now…what???....you mean now I have to do these things for myself?!? You mean I have to take care of MYSELF?? Humphhh. Many times have I wished I had a little man sitting on my fireplace mantle who I could take down only when I wanted him, and then put him back on the shelf when I needed space. How cool would that be?

What has stirred this pot is the idea that I now have a Dominant in my life. And golly gee is he ever a Dominant. Like nobody’s business. Through and through. Just how I like ‘em. He said to me the other day “there’s a new sheriff in town”. He says the funniest things, but I get the drift. Things are gonna change in Dodge.

So in thinking my way through this new way of looking at things, and having to ask permission for things I’ve been taking for granted, my first impulse is a HELL NO impulse. There’s no way I’m giving up my hard won control. Does he have ANY idea what I’ve been through in the past year? Probably not, but my point is I’ve worked hard to learn how to live my own life and take care of me. And now I’m giving up a little piece of that.

Is that ok? Am I giving away the ranch to this new sheriff in town? Who does he think he is? Perhaps I should get on my one-eyed horse and head for the hills.

But the truth is, at the end of the day, I like it. It’s like coming home, in a way. It’s a comfort zone – a place I’ve been before. I wear it well. He isn’t taking over my entire life. At least not yet. And the pieces he has asked to control are pieces of my life that he has every right to control under the foundation of our D/s relationship. So I’m not bucking the system, but I do check my pulse from time to time to be sure I’m still thinking for myself. And I am.

It's in my DNA

Last night, Sir told me that his inherent desire to hurt me was in his DNA. I get that. We're hardwired for what it is that we do. Either it's in us, or it's not. Much like I either have blond hair, or I have dark hair. It is what it is. The best Dominants are the ones who have accepted their desire to use and to hurt. The same is true for submissives.

I had an opportunity to serve him last night. Already, I can see there are certain things we will spend a lot of time on. He's warned me several times that I would spend a lot of time with his cock in my mouth. No surprises there. That portion of my service will be a pleasure. I love to have his cock in my mouth. I already love serving him orally all over his body.

The other area we will spend a lot of time on are my breasts. The "it's in my DNA" comment was in regards to his need to hurt them. There is a small table in my bedroom. I am short, but the table is just high enough that if I am kneeling, my breasts can lie on the table - just waiting for his attention.

I'm really not much of a breast pain slut. A little of pain goes a long way for me. Especially my nipples. I suspect that will not really matter to him, in the long run. He's made it clear that he wants to hurt them far more that I want him to hurt them. He wants to slap them, bite them, whip them. He wants to stand on them, on my nipples. That part scares me.

I love my own breasts. I often touch them throughout the day. In the shower, I touch them and watch the soap and water run over my nipples. I enjoy seeing the bruises that he has left on them every time they have been available to them. This morning, I have bruising on the tops of them where he slapped them and bit them.

He hurt me last night, but nowhere to the degree he will hurt me. I have to get my mind around the fact that no matter how much that scares me, and how painful I know it will be for me, it's what he wants. And if I'm worth my salt as a submissive, I will deal with it and not make my fear his problem.

It's just not his problem.

And so it begins

If only I were more trusting, I could save myself a lot of angst. But by 2:30am, after submitting to Jeff for the first time, I realized I had sabotaged myself earlier in the day when I was busy worrying about my ability to live up to his expectations. Surely, the expectations will increase and become more intense as we go on, but for a first session....it was perfect. Just perfect.

He's a nice person. A really nice person. And from what I saw in the hours I was under his will, he's an awesome Dominant with impeccable instincts. He doesn't let his niceness get in the way of taking what he wants. He's not shy about expressing his needs. He is demanding, and asked me to do things I hadn't expected. But at the end of the evening, his instincts and dominance had walked us though a first session that did exactly what first sessions are supposed to do: it left us wanting more.

I was surprised on a number of levels that night. First, there was his tenderness. Tenderness in a Dominant is a truly incredible thing. There is just something incredible and hot about tenderness and understanding from the very hands that hurt me and take so much from me. I love a Dominant's hands. They hold great power. Power to please. Power to hurt. Power to soothe. Power to pull my hair, hands around my neck, hands that pinch my nipples until tears come to my eyes. Hands that rub my hair. Hands that slap me into my submissive reality. Ohhhh, I love a Dominant's hands. Hot stuff, those hands.

Another surprise was how quickly I fell into my special submissive place. It was almost instant, once the door was closed. And I was utterly amazed when I heard myself promising to serve only him. Whoa. I really didn't expect him to ask that, and I especially didn't expect that I'd agree. After all, it was our very first session, and there were no guarantees we'd both go to bed that night smiling. But we did. At least, I did.

The greatest surprise of the evening was my NEED to give him exactly what I'd thought I couldn't give. The more he hurt me, the more I wanted him to hurt me - partially because the pain was a turn on, but mostly because I knew my pain pleased him.

Just thinking about those hands, my already intense desire to please him, my total and complete contentness to be on my knees with his cock in my mouth, in my cunt, in my hands. To please him with my tongue in dark and intensely personal places...one of the most darkly submissive things a gal can do is to rim a Dominant. It's more than just the act of rimming, the act of running my tongue over and into his ass, fucking him with it. It's the insinuation that in doing so, I am completely giving him my obedience, my service. It puts me in a deep deep submissive place that far shadows the fact that I am using my tongue to lick and fuck his Dominant asshole. For me, there is no humiliation in this. Only submission.

Jeff

I met someone new recently. Jeff. I wasn't expecting much, I've learned to temper my expectations at the first meeting, and then in the first play session. Chemistry is a fickle thing, and you just never know how things will feel once you're face to face, or body to body. Or when the pain starts to flow. That's the real test and it's also where things often fall apart. I try not to make any assumptions that may come back to bite me.

Much to my surprise - and delight - I completely liked Jeff. Now, understand, I'm not looking for a boyfriend, husband, or vanilla friend, though you never know where life will take you. I'm looking for a Dominant. Hopefully he will also be my friend, but the rest of it is of lesser importance to me. First and foremost, I want a Dominant.

I want someone I can serve with my whole heart, someone I trust to take me places I've never been from a D/s perspective. Someone I can respect, like, serve. And someone who likes and respects me and appreciates my gift. Someone who I want to give those parts of me I can't give in the light of day. Things I can't give on my own, without his support and guidance and dominance. Things I can't give someone who doesn't understand the needs of a submissive woman.

I think Jeff understands. I suspect we'll do amazing things together, as Dominant and submissive. I think he will take me places I've never been, and I will trust him explicitly. I will help him explore his Dominance, and expand it in very sensual and highly personal ways. I am excited to be in a place where I can once again let my submissive self shine.

In search of...

It's time. Time for me to get back in the race. I've dealt with a few of life's harsher blows recently. But they didn't kill me, although I did lay low for a long time licking my wounds. Through it all, my need to submit never completely subsided. And once I could smile again, it came back to me demanding immediate attention.

So how does a single submissive woman - not exactly a spring chicken but not yet dead either - find a worthy Dominant? There are definite benefits to age. For example, my BS detector is more finely tuned and my tolerance for nonsense drags the floor. So, that eliminates probably 90% of the purported Dominants within a 100 mile radius.

I posted an ad on Craig's List. My reasoning is that not only is it completely anomyous, but it would allow me to wade through the weeds at my leisure, and maybe, just maybe...I'd find someone worth at least meeting. I knew my greatest challenge would be meeting someone who could deal with my strong personality without crushing me, and without allowing me to walk all over him. Sometimes that can be quite a task. For a submissive, I have a strong personality and it takes a strong Dominant to deal with me.

All said, I met three men. The first one, David, fell off the list the moment he shook my hand. No offense to David, and I hope I'm not being too unkind, but this man has no right to call himself a Dominant. All he wanted was sex. And if he had to spank a little to get it, that was just fine with him.

The second gentleman I met was Tony. OMG, was he ever good lookin'. Drop dead good lookin'. I'm always suspicious of extremely good looking men. For some reason, I think they are covering up something with that pretty face. Turns out I was right. Tony was hiding his wedding ring in his pants pocket. Sigh.

Next, I met Jeff. I immediately liked him. Instantaneously liked him, for a number of reasons, some having nothing to do with D/s and others having everything to do with D/s. He talked a lot about his family. I liked that. I don't have much family, both of my parents are gone. But if I did, I hope I would be as good to my family as Jeff seems to be to his. He looked me in the eye when he spoke to me. That's important to me. He was definitely a Dominant man, not a wannabe. Check. He was polite, kind, intelligent, attractive and completely real. So far so good.

Whose cunt is that?

He said it without blinking, as though he were saying "Good Morning."

"Show me your cunt."

My first thought was of indignation, and it occured to me to say "Well, good morning to you, too." But I knew better. Never mind that I had never shown this man my cunt, I instinctively knew better than to hesitate or to protest. I quickly removed my jeans and panties. Lay on the cold floor, spread my legs as far apart as I could, reached between my legs and pulled my cunt lips as far apart as possible so that he could peer into my soul.

"Tell me about your cunt. When was the last time it was fucked? What has been in it? Has it ever been fisted?"

Stumbling at first, I listed: cock, dildoe, fingers, hand.

"Whose cunt is it?"

"Yours, Sir."

"Who gets to decide if it receives pleasure or pain?"

"You do, Sir."

"Who decides if it is bare or natural?"

"You do, Sir."

"Has your cunt ever been whipped? Has it ever been completely waxed? Has it ever been OWNED?"

Yes, it has been whipped. Yes, it has been waxed. No, it has never been owned.

"I own your cunt. It is mine to fuck, mine to hurt, mine to please. It is mine to deny, mine to share, mine to control. Any questions?"

No, Sir.

Who are you?

I'd been seeing a gentleman off and on for about a year. We met under the auspicious of building a D/s relationship. I had been at loose ends for a good while when we met, and I'm not good at being left on my own for too long. I am a submissive woman, and I need to be attached at some level to a Dominant man. I get lost when I'm on my own, not serving. It's as if I'm floating in a dark cold space and I can't find the line that will pull me back into the warmth.

He showed me where the line was. Only problem is the line wasn't attached to anything. It was just a line to nowhere. In the end, we both discovered he wasn't really a Dominant man after all. He was highly sexed, and likes to direct the action behind closed doors. And he liked the idea of having a submissive. But once he had one, he had no idea what to do with her.

So now we're just friends. We still talk, chat, exchange email, have dinner or lunch once in a while. We've both dealt with major life changes, which is part of our continuing bond. I can't tell him this without provoking his famous Latin temper, but I'm disappointed in him. I'm disappointed that he pretended to be a Dominant, knowing full well he wasn't versed in the care and feeding of submissives. And that he let me follow him down a path to nowhere.

Dancing with the Devil

In my mind, he is the Devil. He tortures me much as the Devil of my faith might. He knows my submissive slave heart. He knows I am slut. A whore, at my core. A submissive afraid to explore the depths of his hell, and afraid not to.

He does not allow me to merely "stick my toe in the water". He makes me jump in head first. I can taste the fear. Literally. On my way to one of our sessions, I lost my lunch a block away. This amuses him.

This man is truly wicked. I know somewhere in him is a perfectly nice man. I've even seen glimpses of it. He is wickedly intelligent. Wickedly funny. Wickedly no nonsense. His response to my fear is "then why did you come here"? Well, because you asked me to. "No, really. Why are you here if not to submit to me? And in your submission to me, do you really expect to dictate how things will go? Where is the submission in that?"

Most D/s relationships start off in a period of negotiation. I think of it as the "getting to understand you" period. It is important to understand my Dominant. I have to absorb him into my soul. That's one way in which I serve. How can you serve someone you don't know or understand? Someone whose needs you aren't aware of? You can't.

But, according to the Devil, you can. There is no need to understand. The only thing I need to do today or tomorrow or 5 years from now, is submit.

I tried. Honest to goodness I tried. But, he is the Devil. I could not rise to meet his expectations. My miserable failure stunned both of us. It stunned me because I considered myself an experienced and sincere submissive who has played at levels most sane people would run from. It stunned him because I had told him of my background, and anyhow, where the hell is the submission if you put your clothes on 10 minutes into the session and flee?

I didn't exactly flee. He kicked me out. Kicked me to the curb. How indignant. I am an intelligent, gently bred and raised southern woman. And I was kicked out of a man's home! Worse, it was the home of a Dominant I had come to serve. He was so disgusted with me, he had to kick me out. I was devastated.

I went back. Three times, I went back. Each time, it was at his insistent invitation. Each time, he taunted me with "you know why you're here". I managed to stay a little longer each time. But each session was brutal. I'm not sure if it was the guitar strap that left bruises on me for weeks, the 8-ounce glass of fresh urine sitting in the foyer waiting for me, or his blatant statement that one of his goals in life was never to use a toilet again, and that I should lay on my back and open my mouth.

I was dancing with the devil and I knew it. I was playing with fire. I was not up to this. I will never be up to this. I've analyzed it to pieces. I can't stand to fail. It will bother me for a very long time, this failure.

Although it was been a while since I last visited with the Devil, he continues to call me on a regular basis. "Come over and have breakfast with me in the morning", he says. Playfully, I ask what's on the menu. He says "you know what's on the menu, whore, don't be stupid."

Imagination and Depravity: The Devil's Playground

Who doesn't love a Dominant with a great imagination and a submissive yearning to discover just how depraved she can be?

Take a look at this list. It was sent to me by the Devil himself. Sounds hot, no? If only it wasn't the To-Do list of the Devil, it might actually be fun. :-)

1. Public display/use – I’ve always thought “why rent a porn movie when you can watch your own woman be a slut for you and act out your fantasies?” That means I would enjoy having you basically do two things: be with strangers that I select for my voyeuristic pleasure, preferably black men, or go out with me dressed extraordinarily slutty and flash strangers and then go to adult bookstores and blow guys through the glory hole while I watch. Being out and doing it in public places is just too cool for words.

2. Oral – I love blowjobs and rimjobs. Simply can’t live without them. Period. End of discussion – rimjobs are my favorite thing in the entire world.

3. Anal – Again, can’t live without it – you are a collection of holes for my use at my discretion and I want them all and in any way I please. “Objects big and small, buttplugs, toys, I love them all…”

4. Face slapping during sex. A man’s gotta put a woman in her place. Simply a huge turn-on.

5. Sadism. Please understand that I am an extreme sadist. For me, B&D is just what you do to get to the S&M, kinda like an appetizer before the main course. Of course, I do like to tie a good knot, so it’s not just something I rush through. My sadistic side takes two distinct paths. Path one is the traditional pain maker: I love whipping, leaving stripes from a beating which “marks my territory” and hearing you breathe heavier and heavier as the endorphins kick in and surge through you is an awesome thing. Also, needle play with your pussy and breasts. Path two is Raunch/Kink/Degradation…toilet training, enemas, verbal humiliation.

Of course, all of this can be “worked into” through training and time but it just grazes the surface of my imagination and depravity.

My story

I was warned earlier in the day that it was coming and I've been dreading it all day. Knots in my tummy, lumps in my throat. Trembling hands throughout the day. The thin veil of anticipation and dread. Now evening, we are alone in a semi-lit room. I am kneeling in the corner, naked and exposed, and considering the next several hours and what is to come.

It seems an eternity before he speaks to me. When he does, he is behind me, arms around me. Wrapping me in his love, whispering in my ear, he reminds me of why we are here this night. He is very loving, affectionate, firm. Disappointed. His disappointment hurts me. I am told I must take responsibility. I know this. In my submission, I am taking responsibility for my own shortcomings. I'm told that my punishment will be sharp and sure, it will not include any sort of warm up, and when it is over I'm to remain in the dark room alone to consider the price I have paid.

Finally. He is ready to begin. I am already in tears from anticipation and dread. He instructs me to bend over the back of a chair so that I'm almost on my tip toes holding on to the edge of the chair. I am not restrained. I am expected to maintain my position as part of the punishment. If I move or try to reflect the blows, we start all over. It is to my benefit to remain still. I can make any noise I need...cry, scream, beg...but I cannot move.

He is right. There is no warm up. The fire from his belt is immediate. It is red-hot and constant. He whips me incessantly where my backside meets the top of my thigh - where it stings the most. And worse, just inside my thigh from the back which is an area he can access if my legs are spread. After an eternity, he walks away. I do not yet have permission to stand so I remain in position. The tears started long ago but they had no effect. They drip and intermingle with my runny nose while I try to catch my breath and compose myself. I know we are not finished.

He comes to stand in front of me and asks if I'm ready to continue. My response is not relevant. This time, he uses a cane. Again, there is no warm up and it is relentless. He only gives me 10, but that is plenty to bring me to my knees emotionally and to reinforce the point.

He sends me back to my corner.

Soon, however, he returns and drags me by my hair to the bed across the room. Sits me on the side of the bed, kneels in front of me. Looks hard into my eyes. He slaps my face. Not hard, but hard enough to shock me. He asks if I have learned my lesson. Yes, I have learned my lesson. Yes. I cannot look at him. I am lost somewhere between humiliation and an aching need.

He forces me to turn my head and look at him. Look at me, he says. Look at the man who gives you what you need. Now, he will take what he needs. Which is so very intertwined with my own need.

Roughly, he fucks me from behind. He wants me to feel not only his hardness in my wetness, but he wants me to feel him against my bruised and torn skin. He leans into my back and whispers his need. His hard, driving, will-not-be-denied need. When he is done, he leaves me on the bed alone and walks away. I am left on the bed in a pool of tears, juice, and cum.

Shortly, he returns. I am instructed to shower and be ready to go to dinner in one hour. I am instructed to wear a skirt, no panties, no hose. I am to be sure I am clean. Everywhere.
I shower reluctantly. The water hits my brutally whipped skin and it stings. I wash myself where he used me, and that is sore as well from his roughness. I hurt. But he knows I hurt. It is part of my punishment.

We have never gone out to dinner after a punishment session. This is unusual. I am always left alone in the dark to consider what has transpired. And why. To thoroughly absorb my punishment and humiliation. In the morning, I am expected to appear before him and show him my punished body. After that, we do not speak of the transgression again. We are done, I am forgiven.

Before we leave for dinner, he asks to see for himself that I am not wearing panties. He is satisfied. I am instructed that in the car and in the restaurant I will lift my skirt so that my bottom is directly on the seat. He helps me arrange my skirt in the car and again in the restaurant. I am instructed to sit directly on the seat of the chair in the restaurant and to keep my legs spread as far apart as possible. Thankfully, they are hidden under the tablecloth, particularly when he reaches to check that I have positioned myself properly.

We are both very quiet at dinner. We eat in a comfortable quietness, both lost in our thoughts and feelings. I have trouble looking at him. My emotions are high. I could easily cry. He knows I am always like this after a punishment session. He is sensitive to it feeling those raw emotions feed my sense of contriteness. He is right. He holds my hand. He is helping me through it. Still, there must be more. I sense it.

“Are you wet?”, he asks. He wants to know if my wetness has puddled on the chair between my spread legs. He checks. I am wet. The chair is wet. I am embarrassed. I ask to visit the ladies’ room. I am denied.

We finish our meal and prepare to leave the restaurant. When I stand, he looks at the glistening moisture I left on my chair. He wipes at it with his fingers and shows it to me. He gently runs his moist hand and fingers across the side of my face in a caress. I leave the restaurant with my own cunt juices on my face. My humiliation is complete. So I thought.

I am nearly in tears as we approach the car. Shame flooded over me as we walked out of the crowded restaurant with my own juices on my face. I was certain everyone I passed could smell my shame. I do not dare try to wipe it off. This is part of my punishment.

We do not go directly home as I was hoping. I desperately want to shower and hide in my room. We turned into a neighborhood I did not recognize. I found myself on the front porch of a stranger’s home. A man answered the door and invited us in. I could not look at this man without acute embarrassment. I was certain he could see the dried juices still on the side of my face, or worse…smell them.

We are escorted into a small parlor. As we begin to sit, I am reminded to raise my skirt to sit directly on the chair. Surely our host will notice as I lift my skirt and sit my bare bottom directly on his leather sofa! I do so anyhow. It would never occur to me to disobey, no matter how acute my embarrassment. We are served drinks, and make small talk.

“We have something to show you”, I hear my dominant say. “Stand up and show him”, I am told. It slowly dawns on me that I am expected to stand and show this stranger where I’ve been whipped. I am to turn my back to him, lift my skirt, and bend over for his viewing pleasure. The stranger gazes on the red puffy lines and welts criss-crossing my bottom.
He takes an ice cube from his drink and slowly runs it around my not-too-long-ago whipped bottom. I feel the cold water run down the backs of my legs. In spite of my humiliation, it feels good. The ice cools my fire. He traces the ice directly along the welt lines where I was canned. It feels nice. He runs the ice to the top of my hips and allows it to melt down into my crack. I feel the cold water drip there. It runs nearly to my cunt, but disappears and evaporates just before it arrives there. It is frustrating. It is embarrassing. It is about to get a whole lot worse.

“Spread your legs, please”. I brace myself over the coffee table across from the sofa and spread my legs as far apart as I can. Our host is sitting on the sofa. His face is only inches away from me. Only inches from my reddened sore bottom. I can feel his breath on me there. He can see everything. He can gaze directly into my most private area.

He asks me what I did to deserve such a punishment. I haltingly explain. “Do you think your punishment fit your crime?”, I am asked. I silently nod. “Do you think you are deserving of additional punishment? I don’t know how to answer. I am torn between desperately wanting to show him that I am indeed very very sorry for what I did to deserve this, and running from the room. I cannot run. I cannot move. I must accept whatever he gives me. It was my promise to him. It was my promise to myself.

His fingers again trace my bruises and welts. They wander closer and closer to my most private intimate area. They softly brush across it. Back and forth. He begins to press his fingers into me. Very tentatively and slowly at first. But soon more aggressively. His only lubrication are the juices he picked up from my cunt as he ran his fingers back up to my other hole.

He is pressing two fingers into me. It is not painful, but greatly increases my total embarrassment. A perfect stranger with his fingers in my ass. Worse, my Dominant allows it. He encourages it. He watches it. He comes around to the front of me, and kneels on one knee. He looks into my eyes as the stranger finger fucks me. He intently watches my expressions as this stranger fucks my ass with his fingers. He wipes the tears of shame from my face.

First two. Now three. I am feeling the uncomfortable fullness of three fingers inside of me. He is getting more aggressive, pumping me harder. It hurts. He stands and leans over me as he fucks me. “This will give you something else to remember, tomorrow. Tomorrow as you sit gingerly, you will remember me.

He pulls his fingers from within me. On the cheek opposite where my dried cunt juices still grace my face, he wipes his fingers across my face. Very gently, almost tenderly. I am wearing myself now on both sides of my face.

“Sit against the wall and open your mouth.” The stranger holds my head each both hands and drives his cock into my mouth. Deeply, harshly. It doesn’t matter that I gag with each thrust. I try to push him away with my hands. I am told to sit on my hands. It supplies a helpless feeling of being completely used. I open my mouth to his use. He face fucks me roughly. Hard. In and out. His hands are in my hair, pulling my hair with every thrust into my mouth. Tears are streaming down my face. They mix with everything else that has been deposited on my face this night. He pulls his cock from my mouth and slaps my face with it. Twice. Three times.

As we finally prepare to leave this stranger’s home, I am not allowed to wash or wipe it from my face. Cunt juices, my own waste, cum. I am not allowed a drink to quench my thirst or relieve the bitter taste of his cum in my mouth. We go home, and he tells me to prepare for bed. I must sleep with a stranger’s cum on my face. His cum seals in the juices from my own body which were smeared across my face. I must sleep with it all. I will feel it, wear it, smell it…all night.

I will dream of it.

Submissive’s Rights

I’ve been considering my feelings this morning with regards to being someone’s submissive. I have not been fully committed to a dominant in a long time. Our definition of D/s changes with life experience, age, place in life, so it’s been interesting to think about my current definition and feelings on the matter.

Here’s what’s rolling around in my head:

He has control, but I choose to be under it. Having said that, I do not expect him to always be in control. Sound odd? Here’s my reasoning: He’s human. There are times in every relationship when one partner is strong and the other is vulnerable. There will be times when he will need and expect me to accept my own level of control and act accordingly and in good judgment for both of us.

I expect him to make informed choices that will overall benefit both of us, and not necessarily just himself or just me. That’s not to say he isn’t well within his rights to take what he wants from me when he wants it. Just as in any other mature and loving relationship, there is little room in a D/s relationship for abject selfishness. I realize this might sound contrary to the foundation of Dominance and submission, but really it’s not.

The success of any relationship depends on our ability to discuss, amend, develop, and find mutually desirable ways of expressing needs and exploring desires.

I expect my dominant to always be honest with me, even if it is a brutal honesty. Anything less erodes respect and my ability to have complete faith in his actions.

I expect him to always be clear with me. This goes with the honesty thing. I don't do well with gray ambiguity. I need black and white. I need to know precisely where the lines are, so that I can take care not to cross them, and if I do cross them then I do so with complete knowledge that what I'm doing is forbidden and I will be willing to accept the consequences.

I expect my dominant to be in control of his own emotions, to the degree that he never punishes me in anger.

I expect him to protect me – both physically and emotionally - particularly when he is punishing or using me. When he is finished with me, I expect him to ensure I am in a safe place emotionally before he leaves me.

I expect that we will guide and help each other in our growth and journey. In many ways, even a D/s relationship is a two-way street with both partners taking a responsibility for each other.

There’s a lot of expectations here. I may even update this post from time to time. Of course, all my expectations are designed around and mindful of the nature of the relationship; he’s the dominant and I’m the submissive.

Here’s to a wonderful journey!

Barry's hugs

He was very handsome. Young, good looking, smart, polite. And what a nice smile. But one of his very best traits was his hugs. Those arms gave me some of the most wonderful hugs at a time when I really really needed a great hug. It's been months since I've seen him, but I still remember those hugs. I remember his belt, too.

He gave me a few other things, in addition to the hugs. For a short period, he gave me direction. He was someone I trusted immediately, which is a good trait to have when a lost and hurt submissive looks to you to help her focus and gain direction.

He also gave me spankings. Sweet, sweet necessary spankings. The first one was tentative, but very good and it laid the groundwork for future discipline sessions. He would call me at my office and ask if it was convenient for him to stop by. (I work alone.) Such a polite young man. He came in the door, hugged me, and almost immediately got down to the business at hand.

He picked up a wooden paddle from the table, and very politely asked me to take down my pants. It wasn't really a request, and I understood that. It's why he was there, the expectation was clear. He brought me to tears with that paddle. It took my breath away. It took me to that place where I knew I would do as he asked simply to avoid any more spankings. If only I were that strong.

To this day, I still think of him regularly, and I get an instant smile when he emails. I adored this man, and I respected the power he held over me. But one of the snapshots in time that I hold most dear is his BELT. I never felt his belt, but here I am....many months later...and I still fantasize about it.

Our time together ended way too soon. I recall tears springing to my eyes when he told me he was moving away. My regret stemmed from the fact that he was perfect for me. He set clear lines of expectation, and he held me accountable. But he treated me very very well, and I was deeply appreciative for his friendship. And for his spankings.

Needle play: Where fear and submission collide

We’d been talking about it a long time. He’d told me that one day, and one day soon, I would have needles in my breasts, my nipples, and my labia. Just for starters. I thought he was just playing with my mind. Oh, and was it delicious!

Until the day he called me at work and said, “meet me in one hour. Bring the needles, alcohol wipes, and the bite stick (often used when someone is having a seizure to keep them from biting their tongue). Again, I thought he was just playing with my head, but I dared not obey.

When I arrived, he whispered in my ear. “Tonight, you will do everything I ask, no matter how difficult it is for you, and no matter how much you want otherwise.” My first thought was “and how is this different from any other night?”

I soon learned that tonight would be unlike any other night I had ever experienced. It would require a whole other level of submission. It would require courage I didn’t know I had. And it would take me to a place that I would crave again and again.

I sat on a chair with no arms, with my hands in my lap. We played with my breasts and nipples, rubbing them, kissing them. He asked if I were ready to begin. What else could I do except respond “Yes, Master”, although I could already feel the fear in my throat. He unwrapped one of the needles, and drug it across my nipple. At that very second, my fear took control and it shook me violently. I told him I couldn’t do this. I whimpered. I cried. I trembled. I begged. I was teetering on the edge.

He slipped the first needle just barely under the skin. I could see it through the translucent skin. It stung only slightly. The real pain and fear were all in my head. He inserted 8 needles in each breast, all in a pretty circle around my nipples. I admired them and felt proud.

He intended to put two needles in each nipple, forming an X. He placed the bite stick in my mouth and made me watch as he inserted the first needle straight through my erect nipple. It was excruciating. He inserted the second needle. I felt it glance off other needle as it went through my nipple. It hurt even more than the first, and my fear and the pain were quickly overwhelming me. I was very close to losing control.

Master knows all my buttons. He knows just how to talk to me to put me in a place where I can go on, where I can submit without falling into a 1000 pieces, where I can get a grip on my own fear. He quickly inserted the other two needles. It was red hot pain that subsided almost instantly. He had to remind me to breathe through the pain. Tears were pouring down my face and I had trouble catching my breath.

Each needle had caused a tiny drop of deep red blood to pool at the point of insertion. I had never seen my own blood in the context of my submission, and I was mesmerized by it. He put his hands at the base of each breast and squeezed, causing the blood to rush to the surface and make itself known. It was beautiful.

He next instructed me lay back and spread my legs. He was ready to pierce my labia. I was so very deep in to my submission, I did exactly as I was told without any hesitation. A half hour earlier, I might have bolted for the door. He inserted two needles into each side of my labia. I felt pressure as the needle came out on the other side, but the pain was minimal. Or maybe my endorphins had finally come to my rescue. He said they went in like butter.

He put his fingers inside of me, and commented on my wetness. My own fear, pain, and submission had turned me on. I wanted to touch myself. I wanted to feel the needles in me. I wanted physical proof of my submission.

Mind fucks

Certain fantasies are best left to fantasy. They can be potentially explored safely behind the line of no return, but the truly edgy fantasies can only be safely and thoroughly explored with someone you've been with consistently and for a good period of time. Someone you trust beyond all doubt.

Knife play. Cutting. Blood letting.

I had been with this man for 7 years before we found ourselves faced with the scary notion that neither of us could get knives out of our fantasies. We talked about it endlessly. I fantasized about being fucked with a beautiful ornamental knife with a long handle wrapped in dark red leather. He fantasized about cutting me. He wanted to see my blood flow. He wanted the power of being able to do even this very dangerous, edgy, unacceptable thing, and I would submit.

We bought two knives. One was my beautiful ornamental knife. It was so lovely. The other was a plain sharp shiny knife that looked very ominous.

For a long time, they lay on the counter. We'd pick them up and hold them once in a while, talk about them. I petted my knife, much like you would pet a beloved dog. Eventually, he started laying the knives on the bed when we'd play. We didn't touch them, but we were acutely aware of their presence.

Next he would hold his knife in his hand as he played with me, not touching me with it or even threatening to touch me with it. He just held it. Then, he started holding the knife in his hand when he fucked me. Then, he laid it upon my skin. Held it up against my face. I loved the cold steel against my face. Slowly pulled the sharp knife across my skin, barely. It was a long slow sensuous dance with the knife. It became a lover to both of us. A fascinating lover.

On the day we finally consummated our affair with the knife, I was tied to a chair. My arms were tied behind me. My ankles were tied to the chair legs. There was a rope around my waist that bound me to the back of the chair. My breasts were tied tightly in very intricate and beautiful rope bondage so that they stood out prominently. I was blindfolded. I took a long slow deep breath....and felt the knife slice into my skin, just below my nipple. Just barely slice. I did not feel any pain. Just slight pressure, but I knew my skin had been cut. Just enough to allow a trickle of blood. Again. I felt it again. I could smell my own blood. It smelled like a rose.

It trickled down my breast. I felt him put his finger in it, and draw a design on my breast in my own blood. He let me taste it. He drew lines across my face with it.

He marked me with my own blood.

My contract

In helping me to maintain total respect, obedience, honesty and submission to my chosen Dominant, I make these promises.

1. I will never hold up the disciplinary process by arguing the justification of my punishment spankings. Whether just/unjust I will graciously accept correction.
2. I will never procrastinate or try to stall the disciplinary process.
3. I will never cover up my bottom with my hands or buck with my feet to try and stop the flow of correction.
4. I will never plead for the spanking to stop, complain how much it hurts, or express how sorry I am in the hope stopping the punishment quickly.
5. I will be respectful at all times during the disciplinary process.
6. I will always keep my position.
7. I will always apologize to you before my discipline.
8. I will always thank you after my discipline.
9. I will always call you "Sir" during my discipline.
10. I will always look to find ways to please you and to show you my gratitude for your guidance.

Respectfully,

the cunt