Discerning Dom writes today of what he calls the micromanaging dom. This is the one who, for example, specifies panty colors (or panty absence) and controls orgasms.
My goodness, how fiercely my cunt twitched as I began to write that sentence! Clearly, I am one of those submissives who not only respond to that sort of manipulation, but positively thrive under it.
I would not, however, use the term micromanaging, which has a negative connotation implying excessive control. DD does speak of the dom needing to do what works for any particular submissive. An effective dom will, I believe, do that which is required to achieve the results he wants.
Ah, yes. For me. Here we come back to something that comes to my mind again and again as I read Discerning Dom, bringing home how much I've grown and changed since my early days of exploring my submission, when I read the column he posted as the English Gentleman. Doms come in different flavors. And there is a continuum from those who are focused on the pleasure of the submissive to those focused on the needs of the dom.
Perhaps in the end it is a matter of semantics. Any relationship requires awareness of the other person's needs and reactions if it is going to last. Even dysfunctional relationships are fulfilling needs in a way, albeit not healthy ones. A radio piece the other day, in a discussion of our desire to keep checking our e-mail just in case a new message had arrived, caused me to think of how intermittent reinforcement works in relationships, D/s ones included. Just think how we treasure those little messages acknowledging our existence, those intoxicating morsels of approval that they toss at us. We keep looking for them, working for them. Even in a bad relationship, whatever the flavor, we can't stop believing that we will be granted a little affection, a little notice, a reason to believe that there is a true connection between us.
Please excuse that digression. It's a topic that probably deserved its own post, but it's on my mind, especially after having been stuck at an event last night with ex-hubby #2.
Back to "micromanaging." And me.
Whatever you want to call it, I love it. And not just for its erotic value. It is good for me.
As I've mentioned before, I have ADD. Having these little points of obedience keeps me focused. They are little signposts along the path of my day which remind me of who I am and what I am supposed to be doing. The philosopher used to order me to leave him voice mail messages at very precise times. I'd set the timer to be sure I didn't miss the appointment, and then carefully watch the clock for the exact right minute. He also did exercise panty control as well as orgasm control.
He instituted these things for his pleasure, because they excited him to do it. I responded well, of course, which increased his enjoyment, but the impetus was that it was something he enjoyed.
With the sadist, things are a little more complicated. He most definitely manipulates me for his pleasure, although clearly part of his pleasure, as with the philosopher, derives from my reactions. And both have adjusted their plans when I couldn't yet handle what they proposed.
But my demon muse wants more than a little fun here and there. He has a plan. I am his project. And everything he does along the way is aimed towards making me into a creature who fully uses my talents for his pleasure, provides for his needs, and makes him proud to own me. Do note that the pleasure I referred to is not only sexual and not only perverted. Fulfilling my destiny as a writer is very important to him, and he becomes furious when I waste my potential. Boy, I wish he had owned me in college!
As for his individual efforts at controlling me, they amuse me to some extent, as in the beginning he said he wouldn't be doing things such as telling me what panties to wear. And then one day, because of an erotic exchange that rather surprised both of us, he suddenly ordered me to wear plain white cotton panties the next day. And now I e-mail him every morning to tell him what panties I'm wearing. It's just a report, although occasionally he will repeat his request for the white ones, and might even require me to wear them, with perhaps a bra, when I meet him at the door. Normally I am naked when I greet him, feeling particularly vulnerable, which is just how he likes me.
The result of the daily panty reports is a centering, a reminder that I am his. I feel a net of fine golden chain, woven into mesh, pulling tight around my body and around my neck and up between the lips of my cunt. I feel happy and owned and care for.
The orgasm control is something else. My Master owns my orgasms. This is not merely a manner of speaking. He really does. When I am granted one from the huge locked trunk in which he keeps them, I am not given it for my pleasure. Everything is for his pleasure. Sometimes, I am required to call his voice mail, timing the process so that he receives the offering of the pain of my being close to the edge, the gasps and cries of the orgasm itself, and the inevitable sobs that follow. Sometimes I am granted the orgasm as a reward for my performance in person. Due to the very short length of his visits, and the services he now requires, I no longer come for him in person. And it cannot be denied that I do enjoy the masturbating and orgasms. But my focus is always on the pleasure he derives from my experience - just as when he will watch me being fucked by another (towards which, he wrote today, he has made significant progress), and truly I never forget that all that matters is his delight.
In his pleasure lies mine.
I'm afraid this essay is not as coherent as I would have like, as I might be getting that nasty cold that is going around, along with other mind-sabotaging issues. But my writing has been spotty lately, so I am hoping you will be tolerant - and will make up for my own vagueness by contributing your own comments to the discussion.