I had limits once...

I left a comment about limits today on a new blog called Submissive Missions. I checked it out after the writer, Lea, bumped up my little list of Followers from 100 to 101. Not a big number, as some blogs go, just as my daily stats are pretty modest. But I do notice new members, and I'm always curious what they're about.

What pleased me about Lea's blog is that this self-described geeky woman in her late 20s is thoughtful. She's trying to understand - herself, her submission, what others do and think and say - without being either all floaty or hard-lined about it. It's very easy when you're new to think that, because some people claim that this is what this means and this is how that is done, there is only one right way. My own firmly held philosophy is that a D/s relationship is still a relationship, and that the only Right Way is what works for the people involved. If the capitalization thing works for you, then great. If "W/we" looks and feels stupid and clumsy (I'm sure you can tell that's my personal take), don't feel, oh great and powerful Doms, that you have to impose it. If being called a slave, or calling your submissive your slave, feels right, then go for it. Don't worry if the way you are together doesn't conform to some arbitrary checklist of what defines a slave. There is no Bureau of Standards for BDSM.

So I added Lea's blog to the little list on the right in case you want to check it out and give her some support. I feel I should mention that my list is rather arbitrary. It doesn't include all the blogs I regularly read. Some of the blogs are rather dormant, but it's worth delving into out their archives. I mention writers who are thoughtful or challenging or take a different perspective or are particularly creative. And I beg forgiveness from those I don't list. It doesn't mean I don't love you.

Back to limits. Lea's latest post stems from an old post on Intelligent Submission about nipple piercing. I've known that post is there and I've never read it. I won't. I'm so squeamish about the topic that I get all squirmy just thinking about it. And there's a picture. If I were to compile a list of hard limits, needles in nipples would definitely be on there. Unh-unh. No way, Daddy.

The sadist said early on that I could have a safe word if I wanted, but there was no guarantee he would respect it. And he doesn't accept the idea of limits. I remember discussing this with another Dom in the early days, having met him on line the same day I met the philosopher. No safe word. I felt that was absolutely unacceptable, and in many ways I still do. If I were the kind to play, I would sure as hell insist on there being a safe word, and on presenting my list of hard limits. Within a relationship? I think that depends.

A very unsatisfactory answer.

The thing is, I now understand why the fiend said what he did about safe words and limits. I think it is less that he won't abide by them as it is that they would fall before him. And not because he would batter them down. Rather, he would erode them. He does erode them, dripping images that will eat away at the bricks, seep between them and loosen the mortar, inject themselves in my impressionable brain until to my horror I find myself wanting what I previously recoiled from.

Like coming to see the beauty in his dark and evil knife fantasy.

I can do that.
I can let myself see the beauty.
The attraction.
The seduction.

Because, in the end, he sets limits. He treasures me and he protects me. He knows his power. He knows the seductive power of the beast. For all the struggling I do with myself, his own struggles are far worse. I can almost see him, wrestling naked with the beast in a forest clearing under a full moon. To protect me. To protect himself.

And so,
the knife is now left in the car.

A very hard limit.

As for nipple piercing, I have no worries. He seems to almost worship my breasts, speaking today of the contrast between my engorged nipples against the creamy-soft surrounding pillow of my sweet titties (as he has taken to calling them lately). He will clamp them, yes. Eventually. [she shivers] But needles? I don't think so. And no, he does not at all think they would be improved by having them pierced for rings. No way.

Which I'm very relieved to know. Because if he did want to, he would take his time, planting the seed, until I was panting for him to declare the day it would be done.

Closing note: this is just me. This is just him. This is just us. I don't expect it to be the same for anyone else. But what I do appreciate, and one reason why I think he is so exceptional, is that he does take his time. He does slowly train me, educate me, indoctrinate me, so that even though I struggle about certain issues, these struggles stem from basic aspects of my personality which have always been issues for me. Discipline. Obedience. Respect. In trying to get me to do something, to accept something, to be something, he takes his time and he reads me. He never forces me. And if I'm really fighting back, then he backs off to an earlier stage and starts over again, nudging me, prodding me, gently leading me, but never shoving me, so that I end up wanting to be what he had in mind all along.