Monday, November 29, 2010

Flirting with fantasies

Daddy... my fantasies scare me.
The way they are more extreme than my tolerance.

Everyone's fantasies exceed reality.

The sadist's words reassure me. Arousal and anticipation gnaw at my pussy, while my mind spins wild and evil scenarios of rape and beatings and hordes of cocks forcing their way into every approximation of an orifice... my buttocks glow pink, turning a burning red the monogram scar his green-handled knife carved into my skin...

I'm afraid of what it will do to me.
I can't really handle all that pain.
And my psyche is horribly fragile...

I'm afraid.

I'm afraid that such a brutal experience would send me into the place where I'm dark and lost, and that I would sink so far down that nothing I could want or that he could do would bring me back.

But now his words reassure me.
They remind me.
Even he has his limits.
He alludes to the evil things he has done.
He lets slip his scariest fantasies...
the one with the knife...
his green-handled knife
and my pale, vulnerable belly.
A fantasy so seductive that even I can feel its attraction.

And then every so often he reminds me. He lives on the edge, it is true, but he doesn't throw himself over. His appetites are huge, and his dark side is very dark. But he's not a fool. We are both safe from the knife. As he says, he doesn't go in for blood. It's too messy. And he values me too much to send me so far down into that dark place that a verbal slap on the face can't haul me back out.

So yes.
We all have our fantasies.
We may even get to drink deeply.
But most of us stop before draining the bottom of the cask.
For in the dregs lies the poison.
Even the sadist knows that.
He will keep me safe.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Things are happening

Those were his words.
Things are happening.
When you are a glacier,
a move forward of 2 inches a year counts as things happening.
In my mind, a more accurate phrase would be planning proceeds.

The sadist does love to plan. Times, people, locations, implements, everything must be coordinated, arranged, adjusted, lined up perfectly so at last a gentle puff of air from his oh so kissable lips will set off the action. Writer, director, producer, and actor, my Master takes his time and then fusses if everything hasn't played out to his satisfaction.

With all his talk of sharing me with his friends, it is perhaps surprising that there has been only one encounter so far, and that was a good 8 months ago. That hasn't stopped him from referring to his plans for me, from mentioning that he has been talking to one of my potential playmates (as he calls them), or from dropping hints about the various scenarios he has in mind.

These days, I've been itching for the action to proceed. There was something about my previous experience that fed an intense need to be objectified. Something about being used like that, about the feeling of detachment that accompanied being used merely as a source of sexual gratification, fed a need that I can't quite explain. Of course the aftermath was intensely satisfying, as the sadist was highly aroused from watching his well-trained pet perform, from seeing confirmation of what a valuable asset his poet whore had become, and from knowing that everything I did was out of devotion to him. There are so many routes to the extraordinary intimacy we share, to the ecstatic heights we attain, and his insufficient references to the progress of his plans sets my pussy twitching and my mind conjuring possible scenarios.

The cast of characters seems to be growing, and a potential encounter may be nearing. The men (I think so far they are all men) have varying knowledge of our relationship, which will affect the script as well as whether the fiend will be present. I have changed so much over the years of my training that I am no longer disturbed at the thought of giving myself to someone he dispatches alone to my door as if to a suburban callgirl. The mere thought of it sends me to that place, where all that matters is that I am serving the desires of my Master.

Another scenario seems to involve multiple people, men who understand the nature of our relationship. These men will want to do more than enjoy my willingness to be fucked. A couple of days ago, the sadist referred to a conversation with one of these men, who added some of his own ideas to the developing screenplay. This scares me a little, this idea of another sadist adding his imagination to the plot, but it also arouses me almost painfully.

And why?
Why do I want this so much?
Why do I crave that sense of being crassly used?

Contrast this with my fear of a "real" relationship. There are men now who are showing interest. A man who knew me in elementary school, with whom I had lunch on the way home from my Thanksgiving foray up north. My car salesman, who for no good reason called yet again to see how I liked me car. It's not just my concern about how I would explain my need to have an undefined relationship with another man should something ongoing develop. (It won't happen with the old schoolmate. Not my type.) Something in me feels uncomfortable with their interest. And something in me definitely fears that a relationship would lead to my being swallowed up. My relationship with the sadist feels much safer. Sure, at any time he could lose control and hurt me badly. Sure, he could become so caught up with one of his plans that it escapes his control. It is not unreasonable to have some fears for my physical safety, although in general he is working very hard to protect me so that he doesn't lose me.

But emotionally I feel quite safe.

I know the parameters.
I know the rules.
I know the limits.
I know what I can expect.
I know what will never happen.
He knows that I love him.
I'm not sure what that means to him,
but it arouses him and that,
at least,
is something.

I'm tired.
I'm babbling.
I've said more than I meant to say and less.

Meanwhile, I'm writhing in my chair, rocking back and forth on the leather seat, pushing the hard seam of my black jeans through the crotch of my plain, white, cotton panties so that it rubs against my clitoris and between the folds of my labia and makes me crazy hot as I think of being presented naked to the chosen few of his sadistic friends to hurt and fuck and abuse and humiliate as I keep my eyes locked on the eyes of my Master and cry out that they are hurting me and cry out that I love him while a part of me remains calm and focused as I do what he has trained me to do and endure what he has ordered me to endure and rejoice in being what he wants me to be and delight in being what he says I am.

A thoroughly sexual being,
created to serve the sexual pleasure of others.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

"The inscriptive power of pain"

From a NY Times book review of Ivana Lowell's memoir Why Not Say What Happened?
This summer, an idealistic young New Yorker spent several weeks working with poor children in India. Just before she left, a little girl ran up and pinched her so hard she drew blood. When a translator asked why she’d hurt someone who’d been kind to her, the girl explained, “This way she won’t forget me after she leaves.” That startling child already knew the inscriptive power of pain.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Pain & chain

"You can tell your blog fans whatever you'd like about this," he said, nearly sneering as he referred to you all. He likes to denigrate my readers, but his vanity can't help wanting you to know about him.

"You can tell them whatever you'd like. They'll probably be glad to hear that I hurt you. It's boring to hear about people being happy."

That wasn't his exact word. "Happy." I can't remember his exact word. But it was the same basic idea. A blog without drama, without heartache, without stunning scenes of torture and degradation, without struggles... Oh my goodness, we submissive do have our struggles.

I too, of course, have my struggles. And we do have our misunderstandings, and sometimes he takes me a little faster than I can handle, and I take a few days to recover my equilibrium while he decides, in most dramatic fashion, that he must rewind the tape of my progress by months and months. He does love to strut the stage, does my beloved sadist.

And yes.
I really do love him.
He's a very complex man
and I love him in very complex ways.
And every so often he gives me yet another reason.

The odd thing is that I had just been mulling over the same issue. It is almost 4 years since I came face-to-face with my submission, although at first I denied it was real. It is over 2 years since the sadist found me, and began teaching me what submission really is. What it really can be. What I really am and what I really can be. Until I am learning that I have gone beyond submission.

What I offer him is surrender.

But really, it can be very boring to write about - and certainly boring to read about. So I'm not driven to write that often any more. There's not that much to say.

I awoke thinking of him.
I sent him a "Good morning, Daddy" message.
I thought of him as the warm water ran down my body.
I thought of him as I ate my breakfast, watching for a reply.
I thought of him as I tried to be productive.
He does want me to be productive.
I thought of him as I listened to playlists he compiled just for me.
I thought of him as his message arrived.
I became very wet when his message arrived.
And even when I wasn't consciously thinking of him,
I was always,
thinking of him.

I could report the same thing every single day,
whether he visited or not.
Whether he gave me a special assignment or not.
Whether he filled my Inbox or said not a word.

And we would all be bored.
The living of it isn't boring.
But the writing of it would be.
Not to mention the reading.

Today though... He clipped the chain snugly around my neck as I knelt naked before him. He doesn't avail himself of the chain all that much, although he played with it regularly the first month or so that I spent in his service, and it was the first item he brought me. "This is a chain," he said at the time. "It is not a collar." And it really is a chain. A length of cold, hard, heavy metal chain from the hardware store. Nothing special about it. No heart-shaped locks, no furry pink leather, just plain ordinary utilitarian chain.

He clasped it snugly around my neck and wrapped the other end around his fist and pulled it tight against my throat and things started to go fuzzy and I breathed deeply through my nose and something happened.

I went to that place.
But it was a different place this time.
Something had shifted.
I can't quite put it into words.
It was beyond words.
It had something to do with how owned I felt.
Owned in a different way.
More owned.
Does that make sense?
And his right hand was near my left nipple
and I said Hurt me,
just as he took my nipple
between his thumb and forefinger
and squeezed.
He hurt me.
Not all that much.
But enough.

Because what had happened, what I can't accurately put into words, was that suddenly I felt that I was indeed his slave, and that part of my being his slave was that he would hurt me... not the way he hurts the madly masochistic creature who bears the title of his slave. But still... there was this sense... I needed him to hurt me.

And he did.
I'm sure he sensed what had happened.
I'm sure he knew what had gone through me.
He always does.
He looks into my eyes as he hurts me
and he sees

But he had already planned what he would do.
He always does plan ahead,
although sometimes his passion gets the best of him.
This time, though...

He ordered me to collect from the table
the spoon
the flogger
and the nasty strip of cherry wood he uses as a cane.

I arrayed them on the shaggy red rug next to his chair and then set to my usual tasks of sucking his cock and surrendering my mouth to his kisses. A tough life, that. His kisses...

Eventually, he ordered me down into position. He attacked my proffered butt with each implement as well as with his hand. I think that my tolerance has decreased, because really, he didn't hurt me all that badly. I wasn't even positive that he had actually caned me and wondered if perhaps he hadn't just used the spoon again. Only later, when I saw the welts on a ground of pink, did I know for sure the cane had struck.

My tolerance was low, and it was a while before I reminded myself to make an effort to hold position as I wriggled and cried out and declared that he was hurting me - which he was, but also he really likes me to say that he is hurting me. And then finally he stopped, and was pleased to hear that my bottom was stinging and burning.

Later he asked how long my trip north would take, as I head to my parents for Thanksgiving. 7 hours, I over-estimated, allowing for traffic and lots of pee stops.

"One of the reasons for your treatment," he said, "was so that during your 7 hours you'll remember me."

At that moment, I wished he had beat me harder.

Not that I need any help in remembering him.
I will be wrapped in his web every mile of the trip.
And the web will be as hard and cold and beautiful as chain.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Meditating on devotion

The last few weeks have sucked.
Truly sucked.
I've been stressed out over money.
Marko was horribly ill and looked as if he might die.
My asthma was heading towards a crisis stage.

And oh yes.... there was the little matter of my car being totaled as it slept peacefully in front of my house early one morning when a van belonging to a major American (is it still American?) corporation smashed into it. And then I was the one who spent hours and days and all told it will be at least 2 weeks getting the claim filed (and why did *I* have to file the claim?) and working my way through the layers of bureaucracy and pulling money out of my IRA to supplement the actually very generous settlement I got for my beautiful VERY low mileage car that had just been given a hearty meal of a full tank of gas.

I flirted with the appraiser.
He was very generous indeed with the valuation.

In the end, I did treat myself to an elegant new car - a car that one would never think could be elegant but this one is indeed elegant.

Still, I'm angry.
I'm angry and stressed and all these little details remain unresolved.
They are eating at me.

On the other hand, the day I picked up the new car, Marko suddenly decided he was starving and gobbled down every bit of food in sight. No more squirting kitty Ensure down his throat. And he started playing! It had been weeks since he played, and there he was with one of his favorite pipe cleaners. Such joy.

But the stress still festers.
And it distracts me.

I shouldn't be thinking of myself.
I should be thinking of the sadist.
Of my Master.
Of Daddy - which is how I address him now almost all the time.

He is ALWAYS very stressed out this time of year. He is stressed out and his usual schedule is disrupted and there are all sorts of extra demands on his time and this is when he needs me to concentrate on providing a diversion. On providing entertainment. On being his poet whore. On being his vulnerable baby girl. Even when circumstances are disruptive and he has to go 2 weeks without enjoying the physical pleasures I can provide, I can give him the gifts of my mind and with half a dozen sentences do for him what no one else can.

No one.
He says this again and again.
No one can give him what I can.

So how selfish of me to allow my own woes to distract me from my duties. Duties which,when properly performed, end up distracting me from my own woes.

The mere act of writing those last few sentences has calmed me.
The stress and anger aren't all gone.
But I'm breathing deeply now
and the warmth of my love is caressing me inside and out.

I love you, Daddy.
Everything else is irrelevant next to that.

I love you.
And with my surrender
I regain my strength.

Monday, November 15, 2010

He came

He came for my tongue, he said.
He came for my tongue.

He came for my tongue but my brain must have been jealous. It slipped around my tongue and eased into the spotlight and at the end was alone for the encore.

He came from my brain, he said.
He came from my brain.

He came from my brain and my words and my breath. He came from my whimpers as I slid into that place. My tongue was at work, with my lips and my teeth and my baby girl fist clasped around his cock. My tongue was at work but my words made him cum and for those he will come again and again.

I am very proud of you, he said.
Good girl.

Based partly on my Daddy's own words, which are shared with his permission.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Oh, Daddy...

In case there were any doubts...

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Fame has its rewards - and responsibilities

You may have noticed the little icon below my copyright declaration, after the third lusty lady. I was awarded position #34 on the list of Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2010, as featured on Rori's blog Between My Sheets.

Now, I don't take that designation all that seriously as a guarantee of top quality. It's more a question of "these are some sex blogs we know about and that some of us like and you should check them out because you might like them, too." But you know what? I'm not complaining. I like attention. I like reassurance. I like to be liked - especially as I appeal to specialized tastes and don't have a huge following. You won't see me getting 500 hits a day!

But I'm getting a few more hits now, from the list - and I hope some of the newcomers will like what they find and come back for more.

My inclusion has brought me other attention as well. From marketers. People looking for blogs to promote their stuff. People who don't bother to read what the list is about, and then who don't even take a look at the blogs of the people they approach.

I've gotten 2 overtures so far. The first is from an on-line sex toy company, offering products to review. No one has ever asked me to review sex toys before! I explained that all I could offer with the review were links, that I don't have ads, that I normally can't masturbate, and that I'd need permission from the sadist. He did approve. However, the first 2 items that were suggested mde me burst out laughing. Here I'd been hoping for one of those beautiful Lelo vibrators and instead I was offered pink plush ankle cuffs. Complete with a very thin chain running between them.

Now, please don't be insulted if your favorite toy in the world is a pair of pink, plush ankle cuffs. We all find our pleasure in different ways, and I suspect that many of you would not be thrilled by having an initial carved in your butt with the blunt side of a folding knife. (You can still see its remnants, by the way. Which thrills me. Now. Now that I've recovered from the terror and panic of the experience.)

So if pink, plush ankle cuffs are your favorite toy, enjoy. But that's the problem. They're a toy. And the sadist and I don't play. We don't use toys. The chain he wraps around my neck and pulls up into my cunt is thick and heavy and comes from the local hardware store. The cane is a strip of cherry wood with one end raggedly hacked into a sharp tip. And he doesn't restrain me. He expects me to stay and submit. And I do.

He loves the memory of the first time the beast got the better of him. The first time he gave me a relatively protracted caning. I was down on the dungeon floor, in the required position, my butt naked and vulnerable. He struck. And again. And again.

It hurt.
More than I had ever before experienced.
And what did I do?
What did I do that thoroughly charmed and delighted my tormentor?
I unconsciously reached one step forward with my knee.
As if to escape.
One step only.
And then moved back.
Back into position.
And surrendered to the inevitable.
More than submission.
Even back then.

And in the hotel.

In the hotel, when he beat me with the hairbrush to punish me for my thoughtlessness, when I was so broken-hearted and in such pain that I couldn't hold position, I knew - and he knew - that I would stay and take it. I couldn't hold position. I collapsed flat on the bed. And he brought down the back of the hairbrush again and again on my reddening bottom as I sobbed and sobbed and took it and took it and was restrained by nothing more than my love and my commitment.

If he ever decided to subject me to something requiring restraint, to true torture, there's no way those pink, plush ankle cuffs would be strong enough.

So I wrote back and explained a little about us and about our relationship as opposed to the play some people might get into to spice up their sex lives. Which, again, is a great thing. But it is far from who we are and how we live. She apologized for offending me. Which was sweet. And I wasn't offended. I just needed her to know a little of our truth. So she's sending me something else, and I expect to write an amusing review after I've had a chance to try it out.

Today, however, I received another overture, which was much further off target.

Good Morning,
My name is C-- and I’m part of the Promotions Team here at , a Boston based company. We have been seeking out high quality websites and blogs, gauging interest in doing a giveaway with one of our sites.

We love the look and feel of your blog and think that your US and Canadian readers might be interested in a giveaway of a gift certificate valid on any of our 200+ sites!

Have a look at a couple of our sites [she listed 3, one of modern furniture and stuff, one of cooking supplies, and one of children's toys] and let me know if you think that this might be something you’d be interested in. I’d be happy to brainstorm some other ideas with you if you’re interested. Alternatively you could do a review of something from our site.

Please let me know if you have any questions for me. I hope to hear from you to further discuss the details of the giveaway or review.

Kind Regards,

I replied:

Dear C--,

Are you sure you actually looked at my blog? It's called submission & metaphor, and is about my submissive relationship with a creative and highly intelligent sadist. There is poetry, too, and pictures of my cats, but I doubt you would want to advertise your toys there. Still, it really is a high quality website. You might also note that there are no ads, except the one for the book in which one of my stories was published.

However, I have written about an Eames chair (lounge and ottoman) that had been my father's. He probably wouldn't be all that happy to hear that it's my Master's seat of choice for having his cock sucked. The only thing is, a friend who knows these things suspects it's not a genuine Eames chair after all, although my parents are convinced it is. If you want a review, perhaps you could send me a new Eames chair and ottoman and we could do a comparison. I assure you that the piece would be quite different - and much more creative - than what you'll get from most bloggers.

Thanks for contacting me, and do let me know if there is any other way in which I can be of assistance.


I don't expect to hear back.

The rewards?
Getting my ego massaged.
And I still have hopes of someone sending me a nice, expensive Lelo vibrator.

The responsibilities?
Being honest.
And not revealing more than I want to.

PS - here is the complete list of "Top" sex bloggers. I never heard of most of them. I suspect the same goes for most of you. Check out someone new. Just be sure to come back here now and then.

  1. (Please see this post)
  2. TBK from The Beautiful Kind
  3. Iona and James from SapioSlut
  4. Quizzical Pussy from Quizzical Pussy
  5. Sadie from Sexie Sadie’s Stories of Seduction
  6. Vixen from Secrets of a Blue-Eyed Vixen
  7. Adrian Colesberry from Adrian’s Blog
  8. EA from Easily Aroused
  9. Guy New York from Quickies in New York
  10. Joan from Better Than I Ever Expected: Sex and Aging
  11. 25 Things from 25 Things About My Sexuality
  12. AAG from AAG Blog
  13. Bad, Bad Girl from BBG Blog
  14. Holden from Packing Vocals
  15. The blogging team at Sex is Fun
  16. Elle from Kink Unleashed
  17. Rachel from Rabbit Write
  18. Clarisse Thorn from Pro-Sex Outreach, Open-Minded Feminism
  19. littlegirlyone from littlegirlyland
  20. Remittance Girl from Remittance Girl
  21. Mistress Arabella from Bombshells & Rockstars
  22. Axe from Unspeakable Axe
  23. Coke Talk from Dear Coke Talk
  24. Jack from Writing Dirty
  25. Kayar Silkenvoice from Silken on Sex
  26. The blogging team at Gentle Nibbles
  27. Sinclair Sexsmith from Sugarbutch Chronicles
  28. Lilly from This Could Be Dangerous…
  29. Kit from Blogging Dangerously
  30. Mistress Lilyana from Mistress Lilyana
  31. TitsMcScandal from The Blogging Slave
  32. suggestivetongue from suggestivetongue
  33. Library Vixen from Library Vixen
  34. Oatmeal Girl from Submission & Metaphor
  35. Riff Dog from Ashley and Me
  36. Rockin’ with a Cock In from Light Switch
  37. Dick and Jane from Dick-n-Jane
  38. Shasta from Stiletto Diaries
  39. Athol Kay from Married Man Sex Life
  40. Padme and Anakin from Journey to the Darkside
  41. PrettyPowerTools from Pretty Power Tools
  42. Dark Gracie from Gracie’s Playground
  43. Mollena from The Perverted Negress
  44. The blogging team at Sex in the Public Square
  45. The blogging team at Pop My Cherry Review
  46. Emma and Maymay from Kink on Tap
  47. Dave from Glimpses of Dave
  48. Jake from Facts and Friction
  49. Sylvanus and Mina from At Longing’s End
  50. Lucy from Sexy Blogtime
  51. Ms. Naughty from Ms. Naughty Porn for Women Blog
  52. Wendy Blackheart from Heart Full of Black
  53. Cin from Seeing My Own Reflection
  54. Holly from The Pervocracy
  55. Lady Pandorah from Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary
  56. Olga Wolstenholme at Cuntlove
  57. Jiz Lee from Jiz Lee
  58. Aubrey from Vagina Drum
  59. Black Pearl from The Filthy Ramblings of a Dirty Girl on Lock
  60. Dallas from Naughty Americans
  61. Jerry Jones from Little Submissions
  62. Sir Zoomer from Vanilla-Xtract
  63. Chantelle from Chantelle Austin International
  64. Gloria from Gloria’s Oversexed Mind
  65. Insatiable Desire from Insatiable Desire
  66. Spring Flower from A Girl’s Gotta Have Options
  67. Epiphora from Hey Epiphora
  68. Wilhemina from Heartbreak Nymphomania
  69. Erin from Let’s Eat Cake
  70. Autumn from The First Day of Autumn
  71. Kyle from Butchtastic
  72. Cheeky Minx from Love Hate Sex Cake
  73. Diva from Debauched Domestic Diva
  74. Scarlet Lotus St. Syr from Purveyor of Pleasure and Wanton Lotus
  75. Janie from A Hundred Ways to be Perverse in the Library
  76. The Secret Slut from The Secretive Slut
  77. Curvaceous Dee from Curvaceous Dee
  78. Jefferson from One Life, Take Two
  79. Kris from Phone Courtesan and Experience Kris
  80. Lila from ¡Qué sinvergüenza!
  81. Essin’ Em from Essin’ Em
  82. Shon Richards from Erotiterrorist
  83. Violet Blue from Tiny Nibbles
  84. Evey from Voyeur on Display
  85. Miss Mia from Things You Can’t Ask Mom
  86. Coy Pink from No Need to be Coy
  87. Mistress Matisse from Mistress Matisse’s Journal
  88. Audacia Ray from Waking Vixen
  89. That Toy Chick from Desk Full of Dildos
  90. Britni from Oh My God, That Britni’s Shameless
  91. SSS and ♀ from Sweat Shop Sissy
  92. Ferns from Domme Chronicles
  93. Jerome Nichols from Let’s Talk About Sex
  94. Dreamwalker from Dreamwalker Sadistic Poet
  95. Dr. Petra from Dr. Petra Boynton’s Blog
  96. Viemoira from Cavern of the Beast
  97. Shirley from Reptillian Prostitute
  98. Carrie Ann from A View from the Floor
  99. Sophia St. James from Sophia St. James XXX
  100. YOU! As always that last person on the list is you. Please, please, please leave a comment below promoting your own blog (or the blog of someone you love). Links are welcome, as long as they lead us to a sex-related blog, not a retail website or porn aggregation site.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

To be dominated. To submit. Which do you really need?

We tend to think of them together.
Dominance and submission.
The other person tells you what to do,
and you do it.
The other person does things to you,
and you take it.

But in another recent discussion with the sadist, he raised a question about underlying need. "There is a difference between being dominated and submitting," he said. Which made me stop and think.

He's right, of course.

I'm not being judgmental here, though he obviously sees a clear hierarchy with respect to his own needs. But for anyone else, I don't care. Certainly anyone involved in BDSM knows that different people are happiest with different kinds of relationships, sexual or otherwise. But what if there is a disconnect between what the different sides of the relationship are after? And what if there is a mismatch between what you really need and what you think you are after? That can add even further stress if you are trying to achieve some ideal version of submission when what you really enjoy is being dominated.

So what's the difference? Dominance and submission seem to be no more than 2 ends of a teeter-totter (as we used to call a seesaw), with one needing the other in order to work. But try thinking of it this way. As a submissive, what is it that drives you? Or rather, what do you feel driven to do? What is it that fulfills you? What is it that turns you on, not just physically but also mentally, emotionally?

His (or Her) standing over you?
His bringing his hand down on your unprotected ass?
His fucking you without letting you cum?
His calling you humiliating names?
His making you go out in slutty clothes?
His saying that you are his to do with as he wishes?

Or your giving yourself up to him (or her)?
Feeling safer when someone else encloses your life?
Kneeling not because it feels good,
or makes you wet,
or because you've been told that's what a sub does
in this or that position out of a book,
but because it is the only way to approach showing how you feel?

As you've probably figured out if you've been reading here for a while, I am intensely submissive. As the sadist said on Friday, what I offer is beyond submission. I need to submit, he says. And more than that. I need to surrender.

That doesn't deny that I've struggled with it. I am headstrong and willful and forgetful, with a tendency to confusion. I've been fighting people all my life, fighting a world that doesn't understand me, that rejects me, so that now that I've met someone who does accept me, does understand me, and whose efforts have helped me understand my true self, I have trouble letting go of the urge to resist. But I'm making progress, and because he knows what lies within me he looks past my missteps and moves slowly and inexorably towards his goal.

So that's the question for the day.
In which direction do your needs flow?
How much of it is about the physical exchanges?
How much is about the mental connection?
How much is about the high?
How much is about the wet spot forming between your legs?

And how much is about the need to let go,
to give,
to obey,
and to surrender...

This may not make sense.
And there are no right answers.

The only right answer is your own truth.

And the next question is - how does your truth match your dom's needs?

Friday, November 5, 2010

I am his treasure. I am his jewel.

You are my treasure, he said.
You are my jewel.
And what you offer, he said
as I knelt before him,
my eyes married to his,
is beyond submission.

But first, not long after he arrived, not long after I took him to my bedroom, not long after he pressed himself against my soft, pale butt and ran his hands over my soft, yielding belly and passed his fingers under my soft, vulnerable breasts... first, I recited this poem, which I had written just this morning, in response to these instructions:

I want my Geisha; calm, dignified, soft in voice and body, knowing what I want and offering it gracefully.

I'm not sure if I was quite dignified. But I was definitely calm, most definitely soft, and there was no question that I knew what he wanted.

I was perfect, he said.

I am your Owner, he said.
I have Mastered you, he said.
Just as Yehudi Menuhin mastered his violin.

And here is the song that sang from my strings:

lotus blossoms, pink
and sweet as pussy petals,
line and scent the bed.

drink the liquor of her mouth.
she is yours alone.

teach her to be an autumn
leaf, losing her fear,
freeing her hands from the branch,
floating on your breath.

teach her to yield, then watch her
let go, surrendering all.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Being sub #5 (#6? #7?)

I don't discuss blogland with the sadist much. He rarely reads here, by his own choice, although he did in the early days. Of course, he has seen the pieces I originally wrote for him which he granted me permission to share. And he loves hearing what, if anything, you all have to say about him.

But lately there have been some discussions that have connected with our situation in one way or another. So I've brought them up.

One that unleashed a tsunami of comments was this post from sin on her blog finding my submission. She wrote of the end of an 8-month attempt at what she sometimes refers to as a threesome but mostly wasn't really that. Her Dom had another sub and much as she tried, she couldn't get to feeling comfortable with it.

As I've mentioned before, the sadist does have other subs. I learned of his slave perhaps the day after he first contacted me. We e-mailed some and met once. Because of what happened during the early years of my relationship with S--, I was rather sensitive to how the slave might feel about my appearance on the scene. I was assured it wasn't an issue. All that mattered was what Master wanted.

It may have been that winter, following the termination and amazing resumption of my relationship with the sadist, that he said something about there being others. I think he even said it just that way.

Daddy is very careful about protecting his privacy. But he has always been good about not pretending to be other than he is. About not pretending to offer more than he has to give. (And then giving me more than I have ever had from those who dated me. From those who married me.) So to the extent that you can fully know what you're getting into when you enter a D/s relationship (Ha!), I was quite aware that I would never be his one and only.

[There was a lot more at this point. About the masochistic slave who protects me taking submitting to the torture that the fiend wishes he could inflict on me. Of another of the subs being the man to whom the sadist gave the pleasure of my body as a reward for service beyond the call of duty. But Firefox crashed as I was listening to the beautiful playlist my Daddy created for me and all that poetic prose was lost. I'm just not up to recreating it now, so I'll just make one more point before sharing my own comment on sin's post.]

The sadist is not perfect. Yup. That's right. You read it here. Even he would admit that. He doesn't often make mistakes, but when he does they are usually because he has gone too fast. Raced ahead to get more than I was ultimately ready to give. But when that happens, he doesn't push.

He stops.
He goes back.
He reworks the plan
(and believe me,
there is a written plan.)
He rewinds the tape,
goes back to the previous semester,
and then
he goes

He makes sure the foundation is laid. He pushes me just a little bit at a time, planning, training, teaching, until there I am, further than I ever thought I'd be, lying naked on the futon with the point of his green-handled folding knife pressed against my belly, knowing, praying, trusting, despite my panic, despite my terror, that he would not stab me.

And he wouldn't.
He wouldn't stab me.
He had told me that a long time before.
Despite his fantasies, that's not what draws him
And besides.
All that blood?
Too messy.
(He said that, too.)

What was I talking about?
Oh yes.
His other submissives.

I know of and have met 3 others. And he has mentioned that there is at least one more, of whom I know nothing other than that. But that's ok. Over time, I've come to where that's ok. Of course, I'll admit to being jealous of the time he spends with the others. But I should be more jealous of the time he spends on his job. The big thing is, I feel secure. Secure in what I am to him. Secure in the special value I have for him - and not just for my superior cocksucking talents. I'm sure the others are excellent cocksuckers, too, having gone through his rigorous course of training.

But - and I cannot stress this enough - that's me.

This does not mean that anyone else might be ok with it. Even with the exact same situation. What I wrote - what any of us write - can be a great stimulant for thought and discussion. But we all have our own needs. We all have our own lives. We all have our own tolerance levels. And, in fact, our situations are not the same.

To end, here's the comment I left on sin's post. Do go over, if you don't read there already. Read the comments as well as the post. here's lots to think about.
In some ways, I think we are a very idealistic bunch. In trying for perfect submission and obedience, we persuade ourselves that we can sublimate our own needs and desires in a commitment to put someone else first. In trying to move beyond monogamy, we convince ourselves that insecurity and jealousy are vestigial organs from an earlier existence and can be abandoned by will power alone.

It just doesn't work that way.

Please don't beat up on yourself for not being comfortable with an alternative to monogamy. For some people, it works. For others, it doesn't. For others, it might not work at one time, or with one set of people, and might be fine a decade later and/or in a different configuration.

There are even some people who aren't crazy about chocolate. I wouldn't berate you if you were one of those. I might tease you mercilessly, and be disappointed that you couldn't enjoy the exquisite chocolate cake I spent the whole day baking. But if you don't like chocolate - or like it but must abstain because it gives you migraines - that's life.

Jealousy, insecurity, possessiveness... these are all very natural and human emotions. You tried, you didn't like it, it's over.

To your Dom and his other sub: lay off. If you keep making her feel guilty, making her feel like a failure, she'll never want to try again.


PS - I am by far not the only person with whom the sadist has a relationship, and I know there are many who could not handle my situation.