Posts tagged ‘submission’

December 19th, 2014

The Little Things in Life

I’m finding myself in the position that I’m writing about something new I have found out about myself again.  I suppose this is what goes on in life, constant changing, evolving, learning about out ourselves.  Sometimes I think it’s really strange for my kinks to be like that but I think some of it is the people I am involved with.  Each one brings out something new, each one adds something different to my life.  I get to explore in a safe space and sometimes find something I don’t expect.  That’s where this post comes in.

I never thought I was someone with a little.  I occasionally did role play (maybe that needs to happen again!?) but it was never a real age thing.  I might play the younger girl but I was always really me.  I didn’t think there was anyone else.  I was wrong.  I have an inner child that I actually seem to be able to let out a little.  Not much, and she doesn’t take over completely.  I don’t know whether she ever will but I’m definitely letting her have her moments more.  She seems to be about 10, I think, although she’s sometimes more like a very naive and young 15.  She loves being cute and pretty, likes to play with Lego, to colour in pretty things and watch Adventure Time.  She’s silly, a little bratty but never too much.  Deep down, she’s like me, a good girl who doesn’t want to get into trouble, who would rather be praised than told off.  She generally just wants to drink hot chocolate and be looked after, to feel safe.  That’s all I know right now.  I’m scared to let her out too much.  She likes E but I don’t know how she sees him.  I really don’t know how she fits into E’s life!

Ok, this might be starting to sound a little weird to people, the fact I talk about my little as a different person.  Well, she kind of is and isn’t.  It’s obvious that she’s me but, at the same time, it’s not my adult head in there.  Or it wouldn’t be at all if I let go, gave her a little more freedom.  That’s something very new for me.  To realise that I do have this little, that she’s not just me acting a role.  This is something I actually feel is part of me.  She scares me sometimes.  I don’t know whether to ever let her out fully.  That is also a thing I need to work out with E.  I need to know she (and I) would be safe, which I do but I also don’t want him to be a non-consenting babysitter!  It’s probably hard enough as it is, especially when she pops up.

I suppose this is more me wondering what to do with a kink/dynamic/thing I didn’t expect, that I didn’t negotiate with my partner.  Obviously, communication is key, just like when I started to feel my submissive side coming out with S.  It’s just so hard when you barely get it yourself and you don’t know where things will take you.  All the fun of evolving, of changing, of growing; you never know exactly where you will end up, you just hope you have someone to share your journey with.

July 13th, 2014

Pain

I promise there will be some more smut in the near future, rather than all this rambling on about my feelings and stuff but sometimes I feel this is a good place for me to talk about what is going on in my head as I know people can often relate.

I recently wrote about inadequacy and how I end up comparing myself with people when I top and not feeling good enough.  I talked about my feelings as a bottom and how it’s rare for me to do that same kind of comparison but I found myself thinking like that on Saturday night and it got me thinking about pain during play quite a lot, including talking to E about how I’m needing to play a little differently at the moment.

It started out on Friday.  At Lash, a couple were playing really hard, harder than I think I’ve seen anyone play for quite a while and for quite a long scene too.  I remarked that it was making me wince, feeling that there was no way I could take what the bottom was taking.  The thing is, I have done.  I did two videos that I am taking a lot in and I have taken some violent canings in my time too.  I can still take a good kicking (as I proved on Friday but that’s another story) even.  Thinking of those videos, of some scenes from about a year ago, I look back and don’t see the same person.  I can’t even believe that I could do those scenes and enjoy them as much as I know I did.  I went through a period for being a heavy masochist; probably more that than submissive at the time.

I didn’t think much of it until we played a little on Saturday night.  It was a flogging scene and I’d talked about needing a good warm up.  I ended up crying my eyes out, my tears getting worse at the fact that I was crying (silly, I know).   I actually don’t always have a problem crying during play but this didn’t feel like release or the kind of time that I wanted to be crying because of the pain.    I was struggling a lot more than I wanted to be, than I felt I should be, than I know I normally do.  I felt silly, less like a masochist than ever and frustrated as hell at myself for not taking the pain well.  E is so used to me warming up so much quicker that it caught him off guard and he started again, easing me in better.  It doesn’t help that he is a dacryphiliac either! It was a good scene and let me talk about my pain thing that’s going on right now, plus I got my own back later!

I do find it interesting that my pain threshold, especially for certain types of pain, has changed so much.  Or at least my perception of it has.  E insists (with witnesses) that he actually hits really damn hard anyway and that it’s not that I have no pain threshold.  There is a definite shift in my tolerance right now, though, and it still surprises me everytime it happens.  Currently, I feel my identity as a masochist is slipping away a bit and I’m actually quite sad at that.  Maybe it’s just because of the type of play I’ve been doing recently, maybe it’s because, much as I see myself as mainly a bottom, I have actually rarely bottomed to anyone other than E in the last year and we now have such a strong D/s dynamic that I can’t always remove that frame of mind from my subconscious.  I’m not sure.  Maybe it’s the time of the month, a change in my medications, something else entirely or a combination of any of them.  I know that I will learn to love pain again and I will stop feeling like a whimp.  And, in the meantime, I can play around at see how to ease this.  Or let E enjoy making me cry from the physical pain for once!

June 28th, 2014

Good Girl

As you may know, I didn’t always see myself as a submissive.  Or submissive really.  I’ve been thinking about that a lot, having read various different things recently, including some awesome posts on Sugarbutch Chronicles and I also took the Submissive Playground s-type quiz.  Plus I’ve just been doing my usual pondering/overthinking thing like I always do.  It’s been interesting to look at myself in retrospect, realising that there always was a submissive part of me, just I didn’t always have someone to submit to.  Or, I should say, someone I could submit to.  My journey with that is still continuing, although I’m sure I have met my match.  I still don’t always want to now, which is probably one of the main reasons that I can’t do a permanently collared, 24/7 D/s relationship!  It’s not just be being bratty, there are just aspects of my personality that don’t sit well with having that power exchange all of the time, plus, being a poly switch makes a permanent collar more difficult, for me anyway.

There is a difference between being submissive and a submissive.  I’ve always been aware of it but I don’t think I really got the distinction until quite recently.  Well, the distinction I have in my head, of my kind of submission.  There is a submissive side of me, one that wants to give myself up to someone.  It’s the act of submission, of serving, of taking a punishment, of being an object, whatever that act may be.  Being a submissive, though, is that craving I have.  That deep seated longing I have to behave, to give up my control, to be collared and cared for.  It’s subtle, with blurring edges and I’m not even sure if I’ve really put my point across well enough for you to see how I feel it’s different.  Plus I know that other people will probably see it in a different way.  Maybe it’s because I see myself as submissive but I am his submissive.  Not just a random one.  Not a submissive for just anyone.  I can act the part when needs be (sometimes my camming work dictates this) but, in general, I am his.  Let me explain.

Sometimes, all I want is to be a good girl, a princess, a good kitty.  Curled up, being stroked, my head in a lap, a collar round my neck.  Or on my knees, waiting, presenting, polishing boots.  Or wearing a plug, dressing up pretty, taking photos of myself.  I want to be his good girl.  I want my head in his lap.  I want to kneel before him.  Follow instructions for him.

This is where I realise I am a submissive, but not any random one, his.  Always.

April 15th, 2014

Tied and Teased

I have you strip for me, your eyes not meeting mine.  You stand, waiting for me, goosebumps forming on your skin, even though the room is warm.  My hand gently strokes your face, my lips skimming over yours, not quite touching and I pull back as you try to kiss me.  A pout from you, a grin from me and my hand runs down your body, ever so gently.  As your eyes close in the moment of pleasure, I push you back onto the bed and straddle you so you can’t even think of moving.  I grab my rope and bind each of your limbs to a corner of the bed, simple, quick, secure.
Now I have you where I want, I can take my time with you.  I kiss you deeply before pushing the black ball gag into your mouth. A snort of derision, a slap across your face. You pull at the ropes that hold you down, unable to fight back, unable to move much.  My hands trace across your chest, down your arms, barely touching.  Another shiver.  I continue to tease, lightly caressing you, focusing on your upper body for now.  A gentle flick at your nipples and you shiver again.  I can feel your cock twitching against me, knowing what it longs for, knowing that you can feel the heat from my cunt as I am playing with you.
I move downwards and grasp your thighs.  Fingertips drifting up the insides, stopping before I touch your balls.  Another shiver, a moan of disappointment muffled through the gag.  So I shall carry on like this for as long as I can manage.  I want you on edge, I want you to be desperate, I want you to have no other thoughts than your deepest desires.  My hands continue to trace across your body; along arms, up legs, down sides and still I avoid the obvious parts.  My touch is getting firmer, yet, I drift my hand so gently across your balls, your cock, it twitching and hardening. You whimper through the gag and so I pause.  My hands start to roam my own body, hunting out my sweet spots, moaning as I catch them, my desire heightened by the look on your face, the twitch of your cock.
I grab the paracord from the side of the bed and pull it around your genitals, a make shift cock ring.  I wrap the cord around the top of your ball sack, stretching you, pulling your balls down.  I can feel how aroused they are as I tie the wraps off, leaving a length of cord.  My nails scrape along the underside of your rock hard cock and dig into the skin of your scrotum.  Your muffled gasp and moan, your twitching cock, all turn me on that little more.
I lean over the side of the bed to grab the nipple clamps, making sure you get a clear view of my arse, a glimpse of my cunt.  I straddle you, pushing my wetness against you, letting you know how much I enjoy this.  I grasp your nipple and pinch it between the clamp, releasing slowly.  You wince.  I repeat it with the second one then sit back.  I flick each clamp to see you flinch in pain, then run the extra length of paracord slowly up your stomach and attach it to the chain between the clamps, making sure it is just tight enough to pull at both ends a little.  I pull slightly and grin, seeing you gasp.  I press my knee up between your legs and you pull back, tightening the cord, pulling on the clamps, moaning in pain and pleasure.  I giggle sadistically and you snort.
“You love it, Boy.  Your cock betrays you to me.  Now I want you to suck on cock for me.”
I switch the gag to a dildo one, fastening the straps securely so that I can mount your face and push the dildo into my aching cunt.  I hover, teasing you with the smell and the sight, until I slowly lower myself right onto it.  I can’t help but let out a groan of pleasure as I feel it filling me up.  I ride it, slowly at first, taking cues from your moans of desire until I lose myself and fuck it as hard as I can, coming hard and fast, over and over again, my come dripping all over your face.  I take off the gag and brutally force it to the back of your throat, wanting to see you lick it clean, wanting to see how easily you can take cock in your mouth.
“That’s right, my little slut.  Show me what you’ll do when I get you a real cock to suck!”
You whimper but continue as you have been told until I am satisfied.
I pull on a black latex glove and run it over your lips.  You take it into your mouth and get my fingers nice and wet.
“Good boy”
I gently push into your asshole and start to milk you slowly.  Another finger easily slips in and I continue, backing off every time I feel you clench tightly around me.  Soon, I have four fingers in there and you’re begging me to come.
“Not until my whole fist is in there, Boy” and I reach for the lube.
March 8th, 2014

Secretary

I decided to watch the film Secretary again last night.  It’s been a while since I last watched it all of the way through and meant that I was watching through a different pair of eyes again.  This film has a lot of importance to me; not only is it a very accessible film to do with BDSM, D/s dynamics and features the ever gorgeous Maggie Gyllenhaal but it was also in watching this that I first became aware of my identity as a submissive.

When I first watched Secretary, probably about 10 years ago, I loved it.  It had a girl I could lust over and identify with, at least a little, and it was affirming: kink existed outside of my little bubble.  I did already know this; I’d attended Erotica exhibition and went to Kinkfest 2 but to have something so mainstream, so watchable, so talked about, out there was a big deal to the younger me.  It still is one of my reasons for loving this film.  As I’ve talked about before, I didn’t really see myself as submissive when I was younger so I could only really observe the story from an abstract point of view, although I could at least empathise with Lee’s mental health condition and self-harm.  I know how much of a struggle that is and finding someone to help ease that pain is a wonderful thing. 

The last time I can properly remember watching Secretary properly was with S.  It was when we were away for a post-Conference rest at a hotel with the biggest bed I have ever slept in!  I remember it clearly as I found myself struggling with how it stirred my emotions and thoughts, how it made me realise certain things about myself.  In watching the film at that moment, I managed to understand the feelings I’d had for S, in wanting to be the best I could for her, in wanting to give myself to her completely, in wanting to do anything she desired.  In that moment, I finally saw myself as a submissive.  Not submissive all the time and for anyone but for S.  I was her submissive.  I got upset.  I didn’t fully understand how I could feel like this, the girl who insisted she wasn’t a sub.  S hadn’t signed up for this.  She didn’t see herself as a dominant.  It was probably one of the scariest but amazing moments, realising so much about myself as a person from one film.

Now, getting on for three years later, I watch the film from a very different place, both emotionally and physically.  I was on my own, treating myself to a well deserved night in being kind to myself.  My relationships have vastly changed in this time, although I still identify as a submissive, but to E now.  Another unexpected relationship, another unexpected dynamic.  Watching the film, I see all of the subtle hints to high protocol; the hand gestures, the unquestioning nature of Lee, the emphasis on certain words and phrases.  I see all of this and smile, knowing what it is like to be like that.  I even understand more fully the use of kink and D/s in dealing with mental health issues, myself knowing that it helps ground me, helps me get through rough patches, by being cared for, looked after and, above all, having control “taken” away from me.  In fact, as many people realise, submission is never about having control taken from you but the submissive giving that control up, offering that to their dominants.  At the same time, I can see how I have grown, how things have changed.  I hope it’s for the better and I can have more healthy D/s relationships now.  I look at the film and, obviously, in the beginning, the relationship isn’t healthy.  No negotiation, no consent, no communication.  I’ve always tried to do better than that.  It’s not just that though.  I don’t know whether it’s just because I switch with E or whether it’s my take on D/s or just a slightly different dynamic but I don’t have exactly the same need to be my absolute best all of the time.  I don’t feel I need to prove myself as much.  Of course, when I am in sub mode, I want to do my best for E, show him just how good I can be but it doesn’t eek out into my everyday life as much.  In the moment, I am still his, still giving myself completely, still willing to do almost anything but I definitely don’t end up feeling that all of the time and I know that is better for me now.  Much as there is a romantic notion of 24/7 D/s that I love, I know that it’s not for me.  I am too much of a switch, way too stubborn and far too independent.  I could never give up control all of the time and I would never want to.

November 13th, 2013

Submission and Collars

Collar

I’m a strange one, I suppose.  It took me a long time to accept my submission but, even when I did, I didn’t really understand the collaring thing, beyond it being a sign of ownership, something that I really didn’t want.  I’d owned a few collars as fashion accessories but nothing more. My opinion of it slowly changed, realising the connection I would get when S placed a collar around my neck, the nakedness I would feel without it.  Still, the collar I wore
actually belonged to me.  I did not wear her collar but my own.  When we had the uncollaring ceremony, I took the collar back but I decided that I didn’t want it giving to me directly; I wasn’t in a place emotionally to take it.  So E was with me and took it, as I trusted him to have my D/s interests and happiness at heart.  At the time, he was just a close friend and I wanted him and needed him to look out for me.

When we started playing more seriously and a D/s element crept in, it seemed like a logical and natural thing for him to place my old collar around my neck.  Collars and cuffs made me feel safe, loved, protected.  The Girl wears his permanent, locked collar but I know that’s just not something I could ever do; I’m too much of a switch for something like that.  My old collar was working out fine, most of the time, but it would get uncomfortable after a little while but I just couldn’t see myself getting another one though.  E talked of buying one for me but a few things happened and that saved me the conversation that would seem a little off for a submissive girl to be having.  The thing is, I can power exchange and give myself up in the moment.  I can submit, trust someone with everything and yet I cannot give up that teeny, tiny last bit of control.  I need to be in control, even if that does just mean that the collar that goes around my neck is one that I choose to let someone use on me.

We chose together and I even had it posted to him.  He brought it over and slipped it around my neck, padlocking it for extra effect.  It fits so well; wide enough to feel a little restrictive but comfy enough to wear for hours.  It matches the cuffs he owns already.  It feels beautiful, it smells lovely and it really is mine.  But it’s also a symbol when I wear it that he is looking after me, he is caring for me, he is in control.  I have chosen to give him that and that is what makes this collar so special now.  It may still belong to me but it was bought very much to show who I have given myself to, in that moment and it makes me feel safe and protected.  Plus, it is very pretty.  I’ve always loved wearing a collar but this is the first that has made me feel quite like this.

September 15th, 2013

Back to School

It was Club Lash on Friday.  As usual, I was helping the RWN guys and was able to actually carry equipment in and out of the venue!  That’s a huge deal for me as I’ve not really had the strength in my hip to be able to do it until now.  It was also the Skool! theme night, something I would often ignore but felt like dressing a little bit silly.

Once we were set up, he ordered me to get changed, to make myself look like the cutest school girl I could.  I already had my hair in buns, a look that automatically makes me look a lot younger and more innocent.  On went my plaid skirt, my actual school tie, white knee high socks, shirt and crazy Mary Jane shoes.  I felt so very young, so very vulnerable and very much taken back to being a well behaved girl from when I was at school.  The outfit preparation took me from giggling, over caffeinated me to submissive, well behaved me.  I had thought that I just wanted to be used that night but, from then on, I wanted to be controlled, looked after, protected.

Most of the time, our D/s relationship isn’t high protocol and definitely isn’t a 24/7 thing.  I will often be bratty, take control myself or just be spending time very much as equals, with one of my closest friends.  There are the times, though, that I want to be controlled, that I want to adhere to rules and protocol, I want to do almost anything to make him proud of me.

He started with rope work.  Stripped down to just white knickers and a ball gag, in front of what turned into quite a large crowd.  A sign of things that have changed for me as I used to hate wearing gags and the idea of them in public…  Trying so hard to not just shy away from people’s gaze, trying so hard not to bow my head in embarrassment.  Finding it easier with time as the rope caressed my skin and took me to my happy rope headspace.  Taking a particularly hard beating and caning whilst in stressful rope.  Then being let down, allowed to kneel at his feet, ordered to tidy his rope in exchange for my clothes, him knowing it’s one of my favourite post rope play activities.

Back to reality and he took me for some fresh air, a stroll around the Village, making sure I was well aware of people looking at me.  Showing me off.

Back to Lash.  Chatting with friends, having a drink, asking permission to play with K.  A lovely flogging that put me into a daze.  Heavy, with soothing caresses.

Then back he came, to finish his beating.  Fists pummelling me, teeth biting into my flesh, my body sinking lower.  And then the spanking came.  The heavy, full force, slaps to my arse.  Over and over again.  Followed by my shoulders, my back and my arse again.  Heat rising from me, body craving, back arching for more.  Him pushing me, wanting to hear me cry out, wanting the tears to flow down my face.  And they came, but only when to led me off and sat me down, looked me in the eyes and told me how proud he was, how much he loves me, how beautiful I looked.  I feel so lucky and am reminded of how much I have when I hear words like that.  And I earned myself my spanking merit badge.

Our parting moment, on my knees, kissing his boots, his other foot on my neck, pinning me down, putting me in my place.  The place I want to be.

September 5th, 2013

Consequences for a brat

This is a sequel to The Brat. Again, I’m not 100% about it but it has got me writing again, plus there is a possible 3rd part to come too.

Alone, crying to myself in my confinement, I long for you to come back now. I want to apologise, to say I’m sorry for my indiscretions, to beg at your feet. I hate to disappoint you. Time passes and the tears dry on my cheeks. Where are you? I want to shout out for you, but I know better now. I have to wait, be patient, to learn my lesson.

I must have fallen asleep as I am suddenly aware of a crick in my neck and the clatter of metal against metal. I open my eyes and there you are, opening the door. A smile breaks out on my face, until I see yours. There is a cold, hard look in your eyes and your lips are drawn in a thin line. I don’t think you are about to forgive and forget and why should you?

“Out”

There is nothing in your voice that hints at warmth and I stumble out of the cage, hugging my near naked body, shy and desperate for your caring arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, Sir. I really am. I won’t do it again. I’ll be good.”

You don’t even look at me as I talk to you, your back turned, moving furniture around, tidying the room.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what I was doing.”

Still you ignore me and I shiver, feeling myself on the edge of tears again.

“Please let me make it up to you, Sir, please. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything? Really?” you question, with the hint of a smirk.

“Of course, Sir.” Desperate to please, eager for you to forgive me.

“Hmmm” you don’t sound convinced and I try to look at remorseful as I can. “You need to prove that you have learnt your lesson. Brats are not worthy of my attention and I won’t think twice about locking you back in that cage if you disappoint me again.”

My head bows and I feel tears silently running down my face. A fist in my hair and I am being dragged across the room. You pull me up to face you and I am suddenly scared. A hand across my mouth and nose, held there until my fingers are trying to pull you off me. I can’t breath and am starting to panic.

Released and I gasp for air but I have barely recovered before you start the process again. My head is getting fuzzy, my mind blanking and suddenly I can breath again. Once more, I feel you at my throat, once more my breath taken from me. Controlled by you. One of my basic human needs and you have taken its control away from me. A reminder of exactly who I belong to.

“Be thankful I am letting you breath at all.”

You bend me over the back of a chair and nudge my feet apart slightly with your boot. My knickers are ripped off and I feel ashamed, degraded, used. I feel you trailing a cane across my skin, my back, my arse, my thighs.

“100 strokes. One for each minute I had to keep you locked in that cage.”

I let out a whimper and you tut. Breathing deeply, I know this is going to push me but I have to take this for you. I have to show you I can behave. I have to prove I am still your good girl. Waiting, anticipating, fearful. Feeling exposed as a draft skims across my naked cunt. Hoping you have changed your mind, that it’s all just a game to mess with my head but I know, deep down, that is wishful thinking. Waiting for the cane is almost as excruciating as the physical pain it can cause and I stand as still as I can. Still waiting. You must have gone to do something, I get fidgety and move out of position, glancing around the room, just as you come in through the door.  You’re carrying restraints, a heavy wooden paddle and something else, black and bulky.

“You can’t even stay still for a minute, can you.”  It’s not a question, more a statement of my disobedience.  “I thought I might need these.”

He attaches straps at my wrists and ankles without care, padlocking them shut.  A leather hood placed over my head removes my sight.  I am just thinking that I am lucky to be able to breath through my mouth when a ball gag is shoved in there and buckled to the hood.  I will myself to breath slowly, knowing how small the air holes by my nostrils are, knowing you will be displeased if I panic.  You bend me back over the chair and fasten my legs apart, my hands together.

“You shall count each stroke for me.  If you forget where you are up to, we start again.  If I can’t understand you, I will assume it wasn’t hard enough and we won’t count that one.”

My whimper comes out as a muffle.

“What was that, girl?  I couldn’t hear you.” Amusement obvious in your voice.

You start to beat me, slowly, with force and I manage to count well enough for you, numbers uttered once the initial pain subsides, once my brain clears enough.  Each blow sears through my backside.  A leather filled intake of breath follows and I struggle to stay still against my fastenings.  Another number, another stroke.  We’re at about 40 when you seem to kick it up a notch and I start to falter more.  The pain isn’t subsiding enough to let me think even the simple act of counting and I can barely make clear sounds.  I am trying to not cry with both the pain and your certain disapproval.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I heard that.  What number are we on, girl?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” Tears pricking at my eyes.

“Oh, dear.  You know what that means.  Start counting again.”  You sigh, as though you expected me to fail.

On the next few blows, I try to count but I know you can’t understand me.  The blows continue.

“Quit counting, pathetic girl.  They obviously didn’t teach you very well at school.  I will continue until I am done with you.  Until I make you bleed.”

I slump and you beat me, the cane biting into my skin, my arse stinging like I’ve never felt before.  I feel defeated, broken, helpless.  I try to take it as well as I can, knowing that I deserve this, knowing that I should never have acted the way I did.

You pause for the briefest of moments and I take the chance to try and slow my breathing.  I don’t assume you have finished but what comes next was not expected.  A series of strokes down the backs of my thighs, feeling as though a blade has been drawn across my skin.  My breath is stuck in my throat, my head is swimming with the pain but there is no more.  You have stopped.  You are unchaining me, helping me stand, carefully taking off the hood.  Once my eyes are used to the light again, I dare to look up.  Your face is hard to read.  Not blank, exactly, but it’s not obvious how you are feeling.

“Get dressed” as you turn to tidy up. “I want to take you on a little car ride.  Think carefully about what may be a suitable outfit.”

Immediately, scary but slightly exciting thoughts run through my head.  I take myself out of the room, wincing slightly with each step, thinking of the perfect outfit to show off my new marks to the world.

May 7th, 2013

Longing for protection

Since I had major hip surgery 4 weeks ago, my kink life has taken a bit of a back seat as the pain I’m in and the breaks in my bones mean I really should be taking it pretty easy.  That doesn’t mean that my mind shuts up though and kink is frequently on the brain, on both sides of the switchy divide.  My cravings change on an almost daily basis, mainly because I know I can’t have any of it but it keeps coming back to something in particular that I haven’t had for a long time.

Although I was never formally collared during my time with S, I did wear one for her at times during play and when out together and I did form a psychological bond with it.  It made me feel protected and safe, looked after and secure.  There was something very comforting in being able to feel the leather against my skin, bound around my neck.  The smell is heavenly too ( I’ve got a bit of a thing for leather, can you tell?).  Recently, I have really wanted to feel that again, and extend it to leather cuffs too.

The thing is, this all got me thinking about D/s relationships in general.  I’ve never really had much of a formal arrangement, having fallen into D/s relationships before, but there are aspects that I would love to see if they would work for me with someone, as a submissive.  I did a lot of reading when I found myself as a submissive, as well as going to several workshops and I became rather interested in protocol and service.  I like the idea of ritual and rules regarding my behaviour and actions.  I am too stubborn and independent to ever want a 24/7 relationship, plus I always wonder how that would work in poly, especially as a switch but I do have a desire to explore this side of myself again in the future, with the right person, when I am well again.  The idea excites and interests me, as well as missing some of the things I had before that came with my submission.

January 30th, 2013

The Seesaw of D/s

Many years ago, I used to be a very different person. People would meet me and assume that I was domineering, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. At the same time, I insisted that I wasn’t submissive either. This was a time when I didn’t really know much about BDSM and the different labels for things; all I knew was that I liked being on the receiving end of things and liked to fight back!

Fast forward to about 18 months ago.  I knew I liked bottoming; I’m very much a masochist.  I also kept having sadistic thoughts about some people but wasn’t that bothered about acting on them.  I’d occasionally switch with the Bear.  There was also this feeling of wanting to serve, to look after, to give myself to S.  It scared me.  I’d spent so long saying I wasn’t a submissive that I was unnerved when it crept up on me.  So I accepted it, with a little bit of fighting and just decided it was a person specific thing.  I was still more into the SM thing.  I could get my head round that.

12 months later and I found myself wanting to use the sadist in me.  Situations meant that topping was easier, almost more mentally.  I wouldn’t have to process pain, I could focus all my attention on someone else.  I found myself playing with T and something clicked into place.  Suddenly I really got what topping was about and I felt fabulous.  I still wanted to bottom though, to take a beating, as well as doling it out.  I wanted to be S’s good girl.

Another shift, another change and I find myself feeling like I will never be submissive again.  I lost S, the only person I thought could make me feel like that.  I was in a much more toppy headspace anyway.  I was a very satisfied switch, happy to remember the D/s dynamic I once had but not to crave or seek it out.

Of course, these things have a habit of sneaking up on you.  The more time I spend with T, the more I play with her, the more I want to protect her, to look after my kitty, my good girl, to give her what she needs.  All it takes is that look in her eyes, kneeling, looking up to me, addressing me as Miss (the idea of being called mistress still cracks me up!).  I find myself feeling more dominant than I ever have done, something that surprises me, however much people insist that’s how I come across to a lot of people, being tall, dark haired, corseted and looking like I’m going to kill the next person who speaks out of line.  That’s not dominant me though.  She is not angry or cold; she doesn’t want to act like she’s better than the people around her.

So why is the idea of service and within scene submission coming back?  Surely you can’t be both a dominant and submissive?  Oh, yeah, the lines aren’t that defined.  The labels we use aren’t always perfect and I think my understanding of them may have been wrong.  It doesn’t have to be 24/7, you are still equal individuals and you can have a set aside time when you play with the exchange of power.  I still want to be someone’s good girl.  I still want to make someone proud of me or take what they feel I deserve.  Being submissive doesn’t make me passive: being dominant doesn’t mean I have to be a stone femme.

I don’t really know where this ramble is taking me.  I think, at the end of the day, my labels are blurring.  I am who I am and certain, seemingly contradictory  relationships and traits are developing and I just have to embrace that this is part if me. Forever a switch at heart, whether D/s or SM, or dare I say it, vanilla! I like to give and receive, that’s who I am.