Blossoming Submission
September 27th, 2012
I don’t think I did justice to the topic of my journey into submission in my long rambling post. Not sure I really did justice to any of the topics I covered, but this one struck me especially. I talked more about my development over the last few years, mixed with a few popular questions of the day, around the cyclical nature of D/s and how a strong woman can be submissive. All those thoughts about control came much later, when I finally got the language for it. But how, exactly, did the submissive grow within me to start with?
Early desires, and my most guilty pleasures, revolve around over the knee spankings. I don’t know why this came about, but it started as early as grade school with an unhealthy(or so I thought) enjoyment of the poem The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. And in middle school blossomed into school girl fantasies that I very much enjoy to this day. With stops along the way to incorporate a Newsie spanking fantasy or two, as well.
This is where my submissive side started. A desire to bend, or be bent by, a person of authority. I was a good girl, I didn’t like causing real trouble, never got a detention, though I came close once, only got grounded once, I don’t even remember ever being spanked as punishment, though I’m sure I was when I was very young. But in these fantasies, I would get into mild trouble, and the person punishing me wouldn’t actually be angry, they’d simply be teaching me a lesson, usually in private. Punishing me for being “bad” or “naughty,” but without the public humiliation of being paddled in front of class, or others. And after I became a bit more sexually mature, I would always thank them for this lesson.
In grade school, we had a hierarchy among my friends. The one at the top of the pyramid could still the rest of us with a look, and usually a smile. I never wanted this power, but I certainly respected it. And fantasied about it. To be quelled and cowed with just a look. It made me shiver, it aroused me. It took me years to understand why. We gave him that control, and he used it, without abusing it, so he got to keep it. He ruled our part of the playground, but he was always kind and always fair. He took care of us, so we followed him. That exchange of power, so simple on the playground, and so much more powerful in a relationship, has always thrilled me. And for those who can express it with just a look, it still makes me shiver and smile.
I comment in the long rambling piece about meeting “strong men,” but what I really meant was strong dominants. Men can be strong without being sexually/kinkily dominant. And I met a woman, as well, who fit this role. I had a few boyfriends that were tops – we played physically, the only power exchange being that I was physically submitting to having things done to me. Usually things like biting, spanking, pinching, pressure points.
Then I met a couple of friends online, who, when they were dating, adopted me in a non-kinky RPG we were all playing. I still call him Daddy, or my Aussie Daddy, to this day, though it never was kink-related. When I lived with him for a (US) summer/(Australian) winter, he preferred Sir in our play. They taught me about what power exchange really felt like. I loved it, though many will say online isn’t the real thing, it was where I was first able to explore it. And explore it I did, in role play, in cybersex chats, in long-distance telephone calls. When I went to Australia, Daddy wasn’t active in the community, but we made the best of our time together. Our kink relationship was mostly physical, but I also enjoyed the bits of D/s we tossed in here and there, as well.
It was a long while before I found that again. Hubby, a sensualist, enjoyed the physical play I asked for, but D/s was not something we managed to figure out on our own. When we found the community, our explorations took different paths, as I found two dominant men that I was drawn to, and he found his own path to kink.
This blog tells the story of my journey since then, for the most part. Exploring different types of D/s and the different ways to submit and serve, learning about taking and giving control. I have tripped and fallen many times. I have had high expectations, and been crushed by reality. I have lost sight of the path and been shown the way back. I have run headlong into the darkness, and survived the fall. I have been taught, guided, chided and chastised. I have been cared for, comforted, crushed and rebuilt. I have been programmed and reprogrammed. I have experienced amazing scenes, awesome service, and incredible love, trust and understanding. Submission has always been inside of me, and these last four years have made it a rich part of my life.
Mistakes, Punishment & Service
February 17th, 2011
My Four Mistakes
1. I did not wear a skirt when I went over to his house last Tuesday. In fact, I wore jeans. Excuses, excuses, excuses. I did not wear a skirt, as I had agreed to do, and failing a skirt, shorts, in his presence. This was a promise I made to him, quite a long time ago. And this was the second time I had broken that promise. Both times, I had excuses and distractions, but that does not change the facts. He asked me to wear skirts or shorts so that he could have easier access to things he might want. I agreed to wear skirts and shorts for him, to always be available for that access. It became a sign of my submission to him. Being ready and available to please him at any time. To forget, no matter what the reason, to not be aware enough of myself and my promise, is unacceptable. It is disrespectful of our bond and my gift of submission to him.
To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I have chosen a skirt to keep in the car at all times. It is shorter than my usual skirts, but still appropriate for wear around other people and in vanilla settings. It is a skirt I don’t mind wearing, but it is not my preferred skirt, so it will allow me to keep my promise, and remind me to be fully conscious of my choice of clothing.
2. I did not text him when I got home last Thursday. More excuses that do not matter. I know it is the rule, and it has a very solid basis in history, both his own personal history, and in our personal history. He wants to know I have gotten home safely, and I have agreed to let him know that. There are even nights when I haven’t been with him that I text to let him know I’ve gotten home safely so he does not worry. I often ask others to do the same and have recently started teaching our Toy this habit as well. I often get on Hubby’s case to let me know where he is at and I understand the worry, though not with the keenness his past has sharpened it to. Driving anywhere is always taking a risk that something might happen along the way.
To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will let go of the various things that caused excuses in my brain. Daylight or early evening is not an exception. Not playing is not an exception. Whenever I leave his presence, I will let him know when I have arrived at my destination, regardless of situation, time or place.
3. I did not follow a direct order. He told me to take off her pants and I hesitated and hemmed and hawed and used her as an excuse. He even said I was getting in trouble the more I hesitated, and I did not act. He told her I was getting in trouble, and I was still negotiating the order with her. Eventually, when a solution seemed to be reached, I did take her away and get her changed out of her pants, but I still did not take them off myself. I was acting as a buffer to her comfort levels, instead of doing as I was told.
To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will remember that she is responsible for herself, and while it is our agreement to protect her, I am also to do as I am told. She has full capability to take care of herself and stand up for herself, I must allow her to do so and not do it for her.
4. I took the cuffs off her without permission. No excuses, no demurring, I did not have permission to remove the cuffs he instructed me to put on her only minutes before. He had, in effect, put them in place, and I removed them. Putting them back on correctly makes no never mind, I took them off without asking. He bound her and I undid that. She is our toy, but the bondage, in that instance, was to him.
To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will be more aware of what I am doing for myself, for us, and what I am doing on his behalf. I will be more aware of the bonds of bondage and respectful of undoing them. I will be mindful of asking to undo things he has done, or asking to stop doing something he has begun.
Punishment and Service
I speak above about how I am going to avoid making these mistakes in future. But that is for me, that is my process. For him, I must not only correct my behavior, but also make up for these mistakes. It sets my mind running, thinking of what to offer him for these infractions. I have warring feelings of guilt and a desire to please. I know he likes to receive service, but I feel a selfish want to be punished. There are also complications of health, situation and timing, and our new toy to consider. I also do enjoy the punishment fitting the crime.
It took me a while to break the cycle of feeling pain must be involved or offered. It took him being blunt and throwing it in my face for me to realize that I had to stop. Sometimes punishments include pain, but in this case, it was not on the table. My masochism was not to be fed, my guilt was not to be relieved through physical catharsis. To truly make up for my mistakes, I need to be selfless and offer service to him, not ask him to do something for me.
I also got spun around on writing as penance. I would write about my mistakes and read it aloud to remind myself not to repeat them again. But this is hardly punishment for a writer, this is what I do. And it doesn’t really work all that well, as may be evidenced by my repeated attempts last year to stop making the same mistakes over and over again. Writing, as he pointed out, is good for reflection, but does not punish or correct mistakes. It does help me to make plans though, and that is good, but not what I need to offer to him.
And so I began again, for a third time, to think of service to offer him. To think of things he would like, that I could do for him, that would match up to the mistakes I made. Things I could do with Toy’s assistance, as well, because two of them involved her, and perhaps it would help her, as well as entertain him. Things that would not interrupt our evenings, but enhance them.
We are still negotiating the final details, but I have found my path again, with his guidance.
No Limits
March 25th, 2010
I posted my limits list some time back. Recently, however, I asked him to take me into the darkness. Deep into it, past simple submission and into places where limits only get in the way.
I had face slapping as a hard limit and he stripped it away with logic and I let it go the rest of the way in a burst of confusion, but given the chance, I did not take it back. When I am in that space, I call him Sir, except when I fail to, which is more often than either of us would like, but that is another topic entirely. He convinced me to agree that I deserved to be slapped for forgetting to say Sir because I was disrespecting him by doing so. I agreed to this, feeling he was right, I deserved to be punished for these infractions. Not long after this, he asked if he could now slap me whenever he wanted, and I said Yes, Sir, thinking he meant as punishment as we had agreed. As he laughed at my quick agreement, I realized he meant for any reason, or for none. I fluttered and stammered, but did not take it back. We talked about one reason behind the limit being facial bruising. He even asked me, if I wished to take back my agreement and I said no. I trust him, I love him and I want to give up control to him. Face slapping does not turn me on, but it is one example of stripping away my limits to give him full control.
Giving up my limits, thus far, has been smoother than I thought. Though I still cling tightly to a few, knowing full well I will give them up, but still allowing fear to hold tight so far. He has been steadily working me up to longer whips, and harder floggers since we met, pushing me and my limits. As noted above, I gave up face slapping. Just a few weeks ago, I inadvertently gave up breaking the skin and blood when he used a grill brush on my thigh that did more damage than we planned. He called my limits a checklist, and he is not wrong.
I want to give up everything to him, I want to let go of all control and all choice when I am with him in that space. Limits have no place there. To truly submit to his will, I must be willing to do anything for him, without hesitation. This scares me, but I must not let fear take the control I want to give to him. I must be willing to let him slap me, poke me with needles, whip me, yes, even wrap a snake around me, if that is what will please him. Not just let him, but ask him, ask him to use me in whatever way serves his will. Fear and limits will only hold me back, I must let go.
Erotic Shorts
October 7th, 2009
—–
Bullet
—–
She felt his hand in her pocket, turning up he dial as she lined up her next shot. Her breath quickened as the little bullet sprang to life in her panties. She barely noticed that her shot went wide and the cue-ball didn’t hit a single thing as she handed off the stick to her partner.
“You missed,” he said, pulling her against his leg, pressing the little vibrator tighter against her clit.
“Umhmm.” She mumbled.
“Stay in control, little one. You have to be ready for me later.” He kissed her tenderly, turning it down just a bit. “Wouldn’t want to distract you from the game.”
—–
Arrest
—–
“Stop right there. Drop your purse and put your hands on the hood of the car.”
She didn’t turn, there was no need, the voice and the tone were unmistakable. She pulled her purse off her shoulder and let it slip to the ground. Taking a step sideways, she put her hands on the top of the hood. She didn’t bother to ask what she’d done, it hardly mattered at this point.
“Spread your feet apart and then hold still. I’m going to search you.”
He waited for compliance and began to pat her down. She was not surprised when he roughly squeezed her breasts and massaged her ass. Then she felt him kneel down behind her as he made a thorough search of her panties and stockings. As he stood back up, he gave her crotch one last grope that made her gasp softly.
“Hands behind your back, we’re going for a little ride.”
—–
Hair
—–
His fingers slipped up the back of her neck and entwined themselves tightly in her hair. He pulled her slowly toward his mouth, feeling a shiver run through her body.
“Behave yourself, little one.” He whispered against her throat. “or I might put you over my knee right here.”
“Master, please, you wouldn’t…” she stiffened and caught a moan behind her teeth as he bit a taut tendon in her neck. “I… I’m sorry, Master. I’ll be good.” She gasped as he release her with a single swat on the ass.
“You better, little one. I’ve always wanted to spank you in public.” He grinned at her shiver and lowered eyes.
—–
Bite
—–
She stood blindfolded at the foot of their bed, listening and feeling him moving around her. He slowly stripped away her clothing, running light fingertips over her skin. She smiled and shivered at his touch.
When they were both naked, he slipped behind her. One hand brushed her hair back, away from her right shoulder and then slipped around her waist. His left hand slipped around her shoulders, over her forehead, to catch a nice handful of hair on the top of her head. He pulled her head firmly to the side as he kissed her throat. She squirmed back against him and froze for just an instant as his teeth sank into her neck. Then she moaned with pleasure as he bit deeper and sucked hard on her flesh.
—–
Spank
—–
“You’ve been naughty, little one.” He ran his hand over her bare back, bending her over the end of the bed. “You disobeyed your Master.” He dragged the leather slapper over her pale ass cheeks.
“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.” She shivered at his touch, anticipation of punishment tensing every muscle.
“Too late, little one.” He punctuated this with a sharp slap on her backside.
“Yes, Master,” she gasped, “thank you, Master.”
He stroked the reddened flesh with leather a moment, enjoying watching her squirm. Then he brought it to bear on the other cheek.
“Thank you, Master.” She moaned as he struck her ass again. “Thank you, Master.”
He smiled behind her, watching her ass grow red, enjoying every gasp and groan and Master that came from her lips. “Such a good little naughty slave you are.”
—–
Collar
—–
“You have much to learn.” He stood over her kneeling form. “But if you work hard, I think we will both be very happy.”
She nodded silently, unable to pull her eyes from the bag at his feet. It was from their favorite toy shop, and the outline of the sagging plastic clearly showed a collar within. She could barely breathe through her excitement at the prospect of finally earning her collar. So much so that she hardly heard him speaking again.
“…at any time, any place. “ He watched her, knowing it was the bag that had her attention and not his voice. “You will learn to be a proper slave to your Master without losing your self to the role.”
“Yes, Master.” She replied, her mind reengaging at the key words of ‘slave’ and ‘Master.’ “Thank you, Master.”
“Good, my little one, now go get dressed, we’re going out for dinner.” He pulled her to her feet and kissed her tenderly. “I love you.”
Resistance Play
September 30th, 2009
Resistance play. If you’d asked me about that a year ago, I would have blinked at you in confusion. Why would I, as a submissive, resist? It’s not what you’re “supposed to do.” Now, I regularly play with four people and I have completely different attitudes around resistance for each of them. Let me quickly define here that by resistance I don’t mean fighting instead of safe wording or saying no. I mean giving in to the fight or flight response that some of the play I’m involved in triggers, thus causing the other person to have to work harder to keep control.
One, if I resist, unless he is deeply into what is happening and very enrolled in it happening, will back off immediately, possibly concerned he has done something terribly wrong. I tend to be clear with him about what I want and make sure we don’t do things that would trigger resistance in me unless he is ready and able to deal with it.
Another, if I resist, gives me The Look, and I am immediately apologetic and expect punishment to be swift. He is able to shut down my resistance completely mentally. He occasionally uses this control to end my resistance to someone other than himself.
The third I resist very specifically, usually his teeth, or tickling, and he knows and expects it, and enjoys restraining me more forcefully for those things. He also enjoys putting me in completely vulnerable positions, making me physically unable to resist. This can take me through interesting head spaces as I try to resist anyway and then realize just how futile it is.
The last, I almost always resist, most of our play is resistance play, and we both enjoy it immensely. He can, however, still crook his finger, hold out a hand or give a command and pull completely submissive behavior from me when he wants to. We both enjoy the challenge of seeing how long it takes for him to win, for I am under no illusions that he will not eventually do so. I do like to think, however, that I’m getting better at it as we go along.
Resistance play can be incredibly fun, or incredibly detrimental, as with anything, everyone in the scene needs to be clear on what is going to happen.