Doms can be dicks….

“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
Anaïs Nin

It’s time to do a little venting. I’ve been on Fetlife for a while now, and I’ve had the benefit of meeting some really amazing people, I’ve also met my fair share of dicks…..Today was a day for dicks, and yes people, some of you Doms can be dicks.

Maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m the only sub-like person out there who doesn’t want to hear or read the word cunt in your first five messages…..maybe I’m crazy for needing to be actually turned on before that word become acceptable….is that really too much to ask?

Am I a dirty slut? You better believe it, but am I a dirty little slut for just anyone? No, that would make me an idiot, and my mama didn’t raise no fool.

I like so many subs out there, I started off on my journey not knowing my worth. However, after just three short months I’ve learned two very important things, that as a sub I am much more desirable that I once believed I was and that I have the right, and the opportunity to be discriminating.

I am offering you a gift. My submission is worth more than you know or can imagine. I am worth every minute that you put into getting to know me, and I am worth any effort that is expelled in gaining my submission. Don’t treat me like I’m not human, unless I ask that of you. Don’t call me a slut until I’m willing to be one with you, and don’t for a second believe that I have to do what you tell me unless I want to.

So, in closing, please don’t demand that I ‘describe my cunt in detail’ before we have actually had a conversation, there is so much more to me than that. Please don’t get pissed off at me for not giving you my first name and my phone number with in our first three messages…..and please keep in mind that if you actually want to see what is underneath my night gown, I expect that you actually try to gain the attention of the mind that is wearing it.

 

Today, I am all that I am.

Image found on Facebook

Image found on Facebook

Slowly but surely I am crossing the line between a woman playing at BDSM and a certified, submissive with masochistic tendencies. I don’t know why this surprises me, I’ve been dancing this line for the past eight months.

Some days I struggle, obsessed with the fact that this would not fit any ‘normal’ definition of a relationship from my family’s perspective. While others like today, I declare myself to him over and over again without so much as a second thought.

Those thoughts are always there, both the good and the bad…..I might find myself jealous of his female friends, or insecure around certain fantasies we share, but at the end of the day I know where I am meant to be. If not at his side, then just one step behind.

Some of us are leaders, we approach life, love and work with a strength and passion that is hard to mistake. While some of us feel insecure with that kind of responsibility and we shy away from the lime light. For me my place is in his shadow, striving every day to make his life a little easier, even when I fail miserably and stress him out with my insecurity.

There is nothing wrong with that. How can you know the light if not for the dark? How would you know good if there were no evil? To every yin there must be a yang, and he is mine.

Today I know who I am, I know whose I am, and I know my place. With Him.

Vile’s word…..Slave

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Image found on Facebook.

Today I read a post by The Kinky World Of Vile, he was writing about what it meant for someone, in his case a man, to own a slave. Now let me preface this by saying I have never considered myself a slave….My ex used the term to describe me many a time after I told him about my kink, and it left me feeling sick to my stomach. The thought of being owned by such a weakling who could not pay his bills on time if it were not for me, made me physically ill.

However today when I was reading Vile’s description of a slave I started to wonder. As I grow under my Dom’s care, I’m left questioning the definitions of myself that I came into this with. The limits that I once thought were hard limits have changed and slowly I’m moving into a place I never expected to.

Vile describes subs as codependent, was I not just talking to my Dom about this? How I’ve slowly come to a place where my world seemingly revolves around him? He describes us a needy……and holy hell am I needy. In his eyes we are introverts, uncomfortable in busy homes with lots of friends, we are reclusive, withdrawn. (Can I just hold my hand up so you get the picture?)

He says that slaves do not want to make their daily decisions. Well here I must say, that I would like to choose my clothing, most of the time. But when it comes to whether or not I’m coming for dinner or spending the night, I get a secret thrill from being told, “You will be in my bed tonight.”

When he says that we do not like to be left alone, to our own he was right, I don’t. I can some times be so needy that just not hearing from my Dom can send me spiraling back to a place I’d rather forget I’ve been. When my Dom left town two weeks ago, speaking to him only once per day felt like torture. Not sleeping beside him or at his feet had me so wound up at the first sign of trouble it was all that I could do not to break things off and go into hiding as is my way.

I like routine, I like structure and I like to know my place…….Does this mean I’m more slave than sub? What is the difference?

I don’t call him Master, my ex wanted that. I can’t have him call me slave, but when he calls me kitten my insides melt and I purr beneath his touch. The anticipation of my new collar has me wet day in and day out…and slowly but surely my kink is evolving. To the point where I look in the mirror and instead of saying, “who are you?” I’m asking, “where have you been all this time?”

Contracts and Condoms

Contracts
That one word that seems to transform the excitement and thrill of submission into a cold, emotionless business agreement. Right?

So many people don’t use condoms because it ‘takes away’ from the moment. Who wants to take the time to pull out of the moment, and put on that layer of protection. It’s often awkward and uncomfortable as you separate yourself from your lover and take the time to protect yourself. Contracts are BDSM’s equivalent to condoms for so many in our world.

Well I’d like to challenge you to change the way you think about contracts. Yes getting together and working through your boundaries and putting it down on paper can be tedious, uncomfortable and some times ‘mood killing’, but it is a critical part of the life we lead.

How can your Dom truly know what you want if you don’t clearly lay out what is acceptable and what is not acceptable for you in your submission? How can you know exactly the place you hold in his or her life if you do not lay out the ground work? How are you to feel secure when you are gagged and bound at their feet, if you have not discussed it all beforehand?

To me a contract is a security blanket, it lets me know who I am to my Dom and what position I play, and for how long I can be sure of holding that place in his life. It sounds silly, but that is such a critical part of my safety.

When we sat down to discuss our agreement, we both came to the table with our lists of what we wanted, what we needed and what we were willing to offer. There were some things on my list that he was not comfortable with, and one or two that we negotiated that night. At the end we had an agreement, verbal, but set in place for both of us.

Now as our D/s has evolved, so has this agreement. Limits have changed, time lines have moved throughout the year. Yet, in the end the contract is there to protect both my Dom and I in the event that something happens.

For us it is critical given the nature of our vanilla relationship that something be in place to protect my Dom should something happen. If I was in a car accident how would we go about explaining the marks beneath my clothing, the bite marks on my breasts and the bruises along my backside?

I don’t want anyone to question him and accuse him of abusing me, because for me there is a very big difference between what I ask of him and what an abuser would do. In everything we do I have a choice, and today that choice means I give him everything.

Protect yourself, protect your Dom and protect your relationship…..Ask for a contract, then Google it and find something that works for you.

No more running

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“What are you thinking?” He asked looking over at me with that quirked eyebrow I’d come to know so well. With a small, fake smile I shake my head and turn back to my dinner. A few seconds later I glance back up to catch him watching me with that look that says I won’t be getting away with this. “No really,” he nods at me, “what were you thinking?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and take a deep breath; I knew this was coming. After glancing in his eyes, I shivered and let them drop down to the table. Quietly he said my name and with another shuddering breath I answered him.

“I’m sorry for how I left yesterday morning,” I whispered, completely unable to meet his gaze. My guilt had been haunting me, when he stood above me the night before last as I lay on his couch, it was clear he could see on my face what I was thinking. My guilt came from him not understanding how close I came to doing what I always do…..running.

“You were upset, I understand that,” he replied, his voice dropping to prevent the neighbouring tables from hearing our conversation. From his tone I could tell we hadn’t yet crossed over that grey line between two people who were dating, and what we had become behind closed doors, but it was coming.

“I wasn’t just upset,” with my down cast eyes and the softness in my voice; I’ve moved us passed that grey line. Part of me tells myself that I can fake my way through this, he doesn’t need to know, but that little voice that cannot be ignored speaks up from her place in the corner, and reminds me what I’ve promised him; honesty, total and often brutal honesty.

Patiently as always, he waited for me to continue, expertly exerting his power over me with nothing more than a look and his energy. I bite my lip in my nervousness and meet his gaze over the top rim of my glasses. Our eyes meet and even with this stress I feel the calm that only comes from being near him seep throughout my being.

“I was trying to leave without waking you,” I let my words sink in, registering the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes as the realization of what that meant came to him.

“Good luck,” he told me straight faced as I zealously chewed my bottom lip making my dinner jealous. “Good luck trying to ever leave without waking me.” There was more; he knew it and I knew it, we just both waited for me to continue.

“I was ready to leave yesterday morning without talking to you, waking you.” There was a glint in his eyes that told me everything I already knew; that would have been the wrong thing to do.

“You were scared,” he added finally after I failed to continue.

“Not of you,” I quickly replied; never of you, I thought to myself. “It’s my nature to run,” I murmured as both of us glanced up at the person walking passed our table. Briefly our eyes met and I quickly dropped them again; embarrassed by my cowardice, and unable to be that vulnerable with him. “When I’m scared of being hurt my first instinct is to run before it gets to that.”

There was a moment of pause before he spoke. Before the first word had passed from his lips I felt the shift in our energy. This was no longer me talking to a man who called me his ‘partner’; this was my Dom addressing his sub, about to tell me in no uncertain terms what he thought about that.

“There is no way in hell you could run from me,” his words were softened by the quiet sound of his voice drifting across the table. “No matter where you went I would find you. You’ve made a commitment to me, until solstice,” he reminded me, pointing at the amulet around my neck.

Habit made me reach for the large circular amulet resting on its silver chain above my breasts. In the time we had spent exploring each other, I had stared at it nearly every day as it sat on his dresser. It had taken what felt like forever before he let me wear it, but like he had promised it had been well worth the wait.

“You could safeword out every time you saw me,” he continued, nothing outwardly changing to the untrained eye, but everything changing between us, “and I would respect that; but you made me a commitment until solstice, and I won’t let you run from me.”

There was no threat in his voice, our relationship had never needed that element of fear; instead there was a quiet strength, a confidence that implied everything I needed to submit to him. From his place across from me, this man who held so much of what, for the moment, seemed essential to my sense of self and my sense of peace, watched me; quietly gauging my reaction to his softly spoken declaration.

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Bad Scene Part 3: aftermath

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I wish I could say that it all went away, that I walked out of the bathroom and he apologized, I apologized, we made love and everything was peachy. I don’t think I could lie that well if I tried.

The truth was that while I stood in the shower, punishing myself with water so hot I almost could not stand it, I was desperately contemplating my options. If I hadn’t left my car at home, if my dog was not waiting on foot surgery, if we didn’t have plans for a road trip with his daughter, who was gleefully anticipating the event, I would have gathered my things and left.

Hell, if it wasn’t for my dog and his daughter I would have taken my things and walked, but as hurt as I was, as much as I needed to get away from his disgust, I couldn’t hurt them. Instead I took my time, showering, drying, getting dressed, the longer I was in the bathroom, the longer I could avoid his gaze.

When I finally felt brave enough to exit my sanctuary, I paused for a minute. I thought back to the few times I had tried to explain to my ex how I felt about sex; how I had asked him to do some things for me and I had been met with that same disgust, that look of revulsion that I believed was behind my Doms anger.

When I found my own anger, I held onto it with an iron clad grasp; if he couldn’t handle this, he never should have agreed to this. If he really thought that was what I wanted, then why were we here, doing this, and why would he have said all the things he had up until that point? Stepping out of the bathroom I wouldn’t look at the bed where he lay waiting for me, I moved as quickly as I could out of the room.

“Are you going to come and talk to me?” he asked when I reached the doorway.

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly, my voice as unsteady as my emotions. I told him I was angry and turned away from him and went to the couch.

Trying to find a comfortable position after the numerous sessions we had over the last 24 hours was more than a little difficult. Finally I sucked it up and lay on my back, using the pain as a distraction for the torrent of overwhelming hurt that was welling up inside me.

A few minutes later I heard him call my name and I ignored him. The second time he called my name he added, “Come here”. Petulant as I can be some times, I waited a moment or two before I got up and went into his room.

He asked me to join him on the bed; I lay down stiffly, focusing on a spot on the ceiling. He asked me to look at him, and I refused. After a few minutes he asked me to talk to him, and in my anger I refused again. I felt like everything we had been working towards was shattered in that one horribly defining moment; every agreement and negotiation reached was broken the moment he made me feel like my kink was wrong.

Looking back on it now, that was the night I stopped wearing my amulet. I had been without it for only a few hours the day before, but I stopped intentionally reaching for it that night. That would lead to its own set of problems.

It took a few minutes, and one or two more firmly worded requests but finally I explained. His words hurt, they made me think that he thought I was perverted, fucked up and broken, asking for abuse. I felt like he had judged me, and found me severely wanting. It reminded me of how my ex had looked at me, sneered at me and been turned off by me and my desires. I was angry, I was hurt, and I didn’t believe him when he apologized.

There was a silent pause, and then he apologized again. I rolled my eyes and tried to move away from him but he ordered me back. I still refused to look at him and silently cursed myself for my weakness.

It took him some time but he was able to explain that he wasn’t mad at me, he was mad at his reaction to the marks he left behind. That he didn’t like hurting the people he loved, and he didn’t like seeing me in pain. What scared him was how much it turned him on, how much he wanted to cum all over the marks and bury himself inside me.

It took a while for that to sink in, and even when it did, I didn’t believe him. I was too hurt, too upset to think straight, and when he asked me if I would sleep beside him I said no. At that he gathered his pillow and his blanket and followed me out into the living room. Whether I liked it or not he would sleep beside me, and if I was going to sleep on the couch, then he would sleep on the floor in front of it.

No matter how much I argued he wouldn’t budge. When I protested too much he turned around and snapped at me. Part of me thinks he was scared I would get up and leave in the middle of the night, and that same part of me thinks that was a pretty realistic fear.

So I lay on the couch doing my best to muffle my tears. My backside was throbbing and my clothing did nothing to ease that. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, it never does.

I lay awake for what seemed like hours. When sleep finally came it was filled with night mares.

Bad Scene Part 1
Bad Scene Part 2

Bad Scene Part 4

Don’t mistake me

After a week of illness I am back, and ready to tackle a subject I have been hesitant to touch on as of yet.

There is this misconception through out the vanilla community, women to be specific, that to be submissive is to declare a war on feminism. They believe that submission in one such as me means that I believe I am not the equal to men; that I believe my worth, intelligence and value as a worker or even as a human is less than that of my male counter parts.

To them I shake my little blonde head and smile indulgently.

I am by no means a weak woman. I know my worth to my family, my friends, and my employer. I know that in any vanilla relationship I am well worth any emotional upheaval I may put you through.

Just because I give myself over to a man after careful consideration, does not mean I believe that every man out there is my equal, let alone my superior.

I guess you could say I am offended by this misunderstanding. I struggle with websites that insist I call everyone Sir, not because I wish to be rude, or even that I would be less than respectful, but because as my Dom would say:

“You bow your head to no one but me.”

I am very selective with giving any part of myself away, I do not trust easily, and because of this I believe it is worth more. When I gave myself to him, he knew that it was because I saw in him those special traits I could see in no other.

Weakness is not valued in Doms, nor in subs. What thrill is there in dominating anyone who will lay down to anyone who claims to be a dominant? Isn’t there some unique pleasure to be obtained from receiving the submission of one who demands respect from the world?

Do not mistake my submission for weakness…..I will surprise you.

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