October 20th, 2012
So I was reading posts on Fearless Press, looking for ideas for today’s post. I liked a lot of the posts, and, as I said in the previous post, the idea of labels and active D/s came to mind. Well, I guess, not labels, but label – submissive, to be precise. I might get into dominant a little, too, due to the nature of the discussion. We’ll see how it goes, shall we?
Sea’s post What is a Submissive and Who’s on First? goes into the impossibility of strictly defining what a submissive IS. He suggests, rather, starting with a ballpark, and asking the specific person about their expressions of submission. Bendyogagirl‘s post If you were really submissive, you would… talks about people’s expectations and how her style of submission did not match one her previous partner’s style, and how it got to the point where it was causing her to question if she really was submissive. This, in turn, allowed her to be able to express her experience of submission. In both this post and her post titled Respect & Cherish, she explains how it is an active exchange for her. In the former, how she needs active dominance, that brings out her submission. In the latter, she also talks about how she wants her submission to be received. She respects the dominant and wishes, not to be respected in return, but cherished. She holds him in high regard, gives him authority, and wants, in return to receive the affection of being cherished.
So, what does this all mean to me? What did I get out of it?
It got me thinking about definitions, and words, expressions and active exchanges. I get caught up in labels sometimes. In my desire to feel special, to feel wanted, to feel important. To feel owned? I put a question mark there because the words were in my head, but I’m not sure what they mean to me right now. I look at M/s dynamics, at some of the 24/7 folk, and I know that isn’t what I want. But then we’re back to defining things by others’ standards. I don’t want to be a slave, well, except for in those masturbatory fantasies. But in reality, slave is not the right word for me. I like submissive, most days I like service submissive, but I’ve only ever been that to him. I’ve been told that is untrue, that my nature is to serve and assist people. But back to the question of active exchange, those “other people” are not ones I expect anything back from for my service. (Well, except my job which pays me to help people.) And maybe that’s how my expressions of service works, I do service for the joy of helping others, but I am a (service) submissive to him, because he gives back to me. I will not be submissive to someone who does not return with dominance. That does not mean that someone who tries to show me dominance automatically receives submission. I am not a door mat, I choose when to let my submission shine.
I think I went off track there, talking about service and submission. But what about that “owned” question? Perhaps “claimed” would be a better word. He once told me that he liked the fact that without outward symbols like a collar or a ring, everyone still knew I was his. I wrote recently about enjoying the word “my” from his lips. We all like to belong in society, and I also like to “belong” to my partners. We tease that sometimes his protectiveness turns into possessiveness, but sometimes, when I’m feeling lost, I like that possessiveness, too.
He and I have gone through many changes during our relationship. At one point, we were backing away from the D/s nature of things, to give ourselves time to heal from one of our biggest explosions. He was concerned that I would continue to do things for him, as was my nature, but might begin to resent the lower rate of return from him, as he worked to rebalance things. But even during the time when we had said “No D/s” at all, we never fully let it drop. We couldn’t, it is part of how we interact. It certainly changed tunes, from heavy metal down to classical piano, if you will, but it was still there, softly playing in the background. I look at FetLife labels every now and again. He and I removed our D/s labels back then, and after a while, set them to service labels. Sometimes I want those D/s labels back, some days, I really wish I had a collar. But then I look at our relationship, and I know we are still growing. I know that service is one of the biggest parts of our D/s relationship right now, and I know that there is a lot of road left to travel.
What about active exchanges? Sometimes I look at “In service to” and “Receiving service from” and I am annoyed by the passivity of the latter phrasing. Receiving can feel so one-sided, but it really isn’t, if you’re doing it right. If you are receiving a blow job, do you just sit there without moving or reacting? I hope not. If you are receiving a promotion, didn’t you work hard to get there, and now have to work harder to keep it? I hope so. If you are receiving an award, didn’t you do something to earn it? It is the same with us. Our relationship is a very active one, we both work hard to maintain it. I serve him in various ways, all of which he is sure to acknowledge and show gratitude for.
At one convention, his wife noted that when he gave me tasks, he didn’t always thank me for doing them. He replied that he wasn’t sure I wanted it. At the time, that type of verbal, immediate gratitude would have landed wrong. I would have been embarrassed to have my service publicly acknowledged. What he did do, was at the end of the weekend, catch me privately, and tell me how much he appreciated all my hard work and service to him. That made me feel so much better than twenty thank you’s scattered about throughout the weekend ever could have.
These days, it is often done both ways. Small thank you’s throughout an event are acknowledgments that make me smile, even when he is too busy to spend individual time. And then after an event, when there is time, the private gratitude and appreciation gives one big dose of warmth and love.
You might ask, but how is showing gratitude part of a D/s exchange? How is that returning my submission with dominance? I’ll have to go with Bendyogagirl on this one, it makes me feel cherished. I thrive on affection and acknowledgment. I serve him and he values that service, and both of those things build trust between us. That trust allows us to go further, for me to serve him in more ways, and for our relationship to continue to grow.
But what about “active dominance?” What about “put you on your knees, give over complete control to him” types of D/s exchange? We have that too, in our play. It isn’t something we maintain in our day to day relationship. That is an energetic ideal, but our respective available energy and time is nowhere near the ability to maintain that anymore. Would I like a little more of that flavor in our lives? Sure, I always want more out of life and work towards that, but the first step there is figuring out what works for us. Right now, saving most of this for our scenes is what works for us.
May 6th, 2011
I’ve written about labels many times, but I have generally ignored names and titles between people. By that I mean, I ‘ve written about labeling oneself Dom or sub, but not about calling someone Master X or Slave Y. Last year, calling him Sir was a big thing, part of object space, part of the game. But I never really wrote about what using the word meant to me. Hubby is my Master, I call him that when we play, and he calls me slave or little one, but I’ve never written about that either. Words are very important to me. Names, they say, hold power. Labeling yourself something is one thing, being called that by someone else, another. We all know the power of our parent using our full name in anger, or our loved one using a pet name in joy. This week, there was a question about what I would be called on Monday nights, by toy and by him. And it sparked a lot of different thoughts in my brain. I’ll try to get them out onto this blog if I can.
A long time ago, in a country far away, I had a Daddy. But he was Daddy for nonsexual reasons, so I never called him Daddy in bed. I called him Sir. He called me a lot of things. Including a few I didn’t like. A few that upset me, made me feel like less of a human being. I did not tell him, I didn’t know how to tell him, I was afraid to tell him. So, I tried to ignore those words coming out of his mouth, but they still stung. Years later, the other used them, in the same types of situations. And I let him, and they didn’t hurt anymore. They reminded me of the time when they did, but the sting was no longer there. They were entertaining and useful and sexy when the other said them. Words can hurt, but it is all in how they are delivered and received.
My name is special to me. I like it, I like how it is spelled. I like that it came equally from both my parents. I do not use someone’s first name in casual conversation with that person. It feels strange to me, to do so. Using a first name, to me, puts significant impact into what I am saying. If I am talking to someone, they know I’m talking to them. I don’t need to say their name unless I am trying to get their attention or if I want to emphasize what I am saying. So, when someone already has my attention, and uses my name, what they are saying has more impact on me. I honestly don’t know if other people feel this way or not.
Then we come to how I refer to people I am playing with. Sir, to me, is the most natural title or name for a male I am submissive towards. It is what I call male customers at work, though I’ve had a few object to that (Don’t Sir me, I work for a living.) simply out of respect and not knowing their name. It is a term of respect, deeply ingrained in me. Last year we made it into a task I repeatedly failed at by requiring it in every sentence to him. I guess I wouldn’t do well in the military, but we already knew that. But even then, it was couched in terms of my respect for him.
We are returning to that now, with the contract. We will respectfully call him Sir. I find that when using Sir, I will say it far more often than I would have normally used his name. It holds my respect for him, but less of the power of his name. On which point, his name, during such times that we are calling him Sir, is a safeword. It does have power. The power to alter headspace. To denote something is wrong, and that we need him, not the Dominant he is being for us.
I call hubby Master, because that is what we chose to use. He likes that term and he is first in my life, above any other Dom or Top that may be part of my life. He is the one who takes care of me, day to day and the one I come home to. I am collared to him, married to him, and forever his. That is what calling him Master means to me.
I have never bottomed to a female and used any type of label or title. There are a few who I call by their chosen names: Domina or Mistress or Lady. But these are just like using their first names, not out of any sense of my respect for them, just an identifier of who they are.
Toy is the first bottom I’ve had a name for. It is her relationship to us, and a tool to help her stay in the headspace. It is a term that she enjoys hearing, and depending on inflection, can be very useful in getting a message across. I am still learning about what this means to her and to myself.
So, what about things people call me?
Toy calls me Miss. A counterpoint to Sir. But not all the way up to Mistress or Madame. I wasn’t comfortable with those. They felt too high, too strong. I’m just the little d, afterall. Miss, I like. It’s what we call young women. I am very young in this topping role, so I feel that it is still respectful, and it fits me.
Hubby calls me slave or little one. Slave is the counterpoint to Master. It is filled with all those same feelings of love, and care and forever. Little one, is a term of endearment that has been used by several men. I am not tiny, but I am rather small in comparison to a lot of my partners. Certainly, I’ve been shorter than all of them. It makes me feel protected and cared for.
Other names I have been called(again, not labels, but names): kajira, slut, whore. These last two being the names in question in paragraph two, and most often used by the other. Slut and whore were used sexually, to heighten a moment, for dirty talking or teasing. To push emotionally and mentally. Kajira was a term of endearment, around our mutual love and use of rope in our play and sex. It held all the sensations and attachment of rope at it’s core for us. I was not just a rope slut in those moments, but a slave to the rope. And it felt good.
So, full circle, then. To what sparked this post. What, if anything, did I want him to call me during Monday playtime? I am terrible at naming characters in stories. In my erotica, I tend to write without names. I did not want to use names used by hubby or by the other. He had only ever used my name last year. Names from other venues had their own attachments. Toy had a few suggestions, but none of them felt quite right for us. In the end, he decided that for now, he would just use my name. As we have always done. As I am learning to do with Toy, he is able to do well, put the meaning behind his voice that he wants there by tone and inflection.
January 1st, 2011
Dom, sub, switch? What parts of BDSM interest you? Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self for us.
The first question seems simple. The second question leaves things far more wide open. The third asks for specifics. And the last oversimplifies the whole thing. Defining oneself is an ongoing process made up of all the other questions. So, one at a time, shall we?
Dom, sub, switch? Sub. I am a submissive in my kinky journey. I am submissive to my partners to varying degrees. I relish giving control to those I love and trust. I have no desire to be dominant. I have no desire to take control in a kinky setting. I do provide service topping for electric scenes, but even then, I am in the role of pleasing the person I am working on, providing for what they want.
What parts of BDSM interest you? Well, let’s break down that acornym. Bondage – yes. I enjoy bondage in rope, leather, chains, canvas, plastic, tape, and mental bondage. Discipline – yes. I enjoy having rules and penalties for breaking said rules. Dominance – yes. Submission – yes. As I said, I am submissive and enjoy giving control up to the dominants in my life. Sadism – yes. Masochism – yes. I am a masochist, and enjoy the sadistic tendencies of my partners. So, all parts of BDSM interest me in the very narrow definition of each of those letters, but let’s move on to more specifics.
Give us an interesting in depth definition of what that means to you. BDSM, to me, means exploration. It means pushing and learning and sharing and teaching. It means spending hours in ropes and straitjackets. It means nipple clamps and clothes pins. It means floggers and paddles and canes and drumsticks. It means blindfolds and hoods and collars and shackles. It means knives and needles and sparklers and snakes. It means single tails and dragon tails and stun guns and violet wands. It means giving up control of my body and my mind. It means kneeling for half an hour every day. It means standing back up after every strike that knocks me to my knees. It means relaxing in a cocoon of duct tape and saran wrap. It means pinches and smacks and slaps and bites and punches and kicks. It means cuts and bruises and scabs and scars. It means screams and tears and squeaks and laughter. It means massages and boot blacking and taking care of his gear. It means love and joy and connection. It means experiences so wonderful, awesome and intense that there are not enough words to express them. And it means trying anyway, because it is too important not to share.
Basically define your kinky self for us. I am kinky, submissive, polyamorous, a pain slut, a rope slut, a slave, a brat, a smart-assed masochist, a bottom, a service top and a service submissive.
April 15th, 2010
I often think of this question in terms of the physical. What can he DO to turn me on? This is often the easy answer, the safe answer. It involves the surface of my being. Often it involves involuntary physical reactions. Kissing, licking, sucking, touching, groping – these things are meant to turn us on. Spanking, pinching, biting, paddling, caning, whipping, squeezing, grabbing, holding, restraining – these things turn on a masochist, it is no secret.
But what about mentally,what about my fantasies, what do I think about to get turned on? This is more risky territory. These are things that aren’t straight forward, are more vulnerable and personal. Not that I think my fantasies are unique to me, if you can imagine it, you can find it on the internet, after all. But to offer my thoughts and my mind has always been riskier than offering my body. The hurt when my thoughts are rejected is far higher than when my physical desires are rejected.
So, what are my fantasies? What are my daydreams? What do I think about to get turned on?
School girl. Kidnap victim. Slave girl. Are my top three.
1)School girl. Typical short skirt, white panties, button up top. It always involves getting in trouble and being made to bend over a desk for a spanking or paddling. It then generally devolves into sex on the desk. Sometimes it begins by being caught having sex on school grounds. Sometimes it involves bad grades or incomplete assignments, and trying to trade favors for good grades.
2)Kidnap victim. Blindfold, duct tape, handcuffs, rope, being driven off in the back of a van. Stripped naked, threat of violence for noncompliance. Photos or video taken as blackmail. Forced to pose or perform sexual acts seemingly willingly for the camera.
3)Slave girl. Collar, shackles, little else. Taught to please and serve. Often involves being raised specifically for this purpose and and may start with meeting the one I was raised to serve, or being shown and tested to find a buyer. Occasionally, involves being taken prisoner and forced into slavery for a more rebellious and discipline oriented fantasy.
So, what turns you on?
December 9th, 2009
She knelt on the bearskin rug on the hearth, hands on her thighs, hair falling down around her lowered face. The fire crackled and popped, casting an orange glow over her pale skin. He stood with his hand on the mantle, watching her from behind. He wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, run his hands down her back. He needed to touch her, to take her, but he waited. Control. He had to be in control, but the sight of her there, naked and kneeling was driving him crazy.
She had come to him a year ago, a gift from his parents for his eighteenth birthday. A servant girl to entertain a prince. She had knelt to him then, but there had been fire in her eyes and a stubborn slant to her chin. The past year had been a journey for them both, full of joy, sorrow, excitement and conflict. All leading to this day, where she knelt willingly and submissively on the rug, waiting to serve him.
Had it really only been a year?
The hall grew quiet as King Samsen and Queen Sylvia rose from the table. Prince Jayceon returned from the dance floor to stand beside them. At a motion from the King, the guards swung open the doors, and two men entered, flanking a young woman, dressed in an iron collar attached to iron manacles, and a small leather skirt. The men in the crowd murmured and stared. The women eyed her critically. Jayceon bit his lip and looked between her and his parents as she was marched to the front of the room and shoved to her knees.
“Happy birthday, Jayceon.” The King announced. “Since you have not chosen a wife, yet, this one will take care of you until you do.”
Jayceon looked at his mother, she was smiling, but her lips were thin and she glared at the girl. He looked back at her and realized why. She was looking up at them all with undisguised fury. He took a step back and then laughed. The tension in the room broke with his grin.
“What’s your name?”
“Well met, Ciera. Thank you for coming to my birthday party, though you look decidedly unhappy to be here.”
She did not answer, nor did she drop her gaze.
“Perhaps you would be more comfortable waiting elsewhere?” He motioned to her guards who pulled her to her feet and led her back the way they had come.
“She’s a wild one, Jayceon.” The Kind confided. “You’ll enjoy her, I wager.”
“Samsen, she’ll bite his head off rather than serve him, what possessed you to pick such a girl?” The Queen hissed as the room filled with chatter again.
“You worry too much, Sylvia. Our boy can handle that small wisp of a thing.”
Jayceon was sure he could handle her, but wisp was not the word he would have used to describe her. She had perfectly round breasts the size of golden apples. Her belly was smooth and her hips rounded out in delicious curves. Her thighs were solid and her calves well muscled. Her arms were thin and her hands soft and slender. Her long black hair ran down to the small of her back and her skin was pale and creamy. No, not a wisp at all.
“What? Oh? Sorry.” He realized that other people were offering him gifts now, and he tried to focus, smiling, and thanking them each in turn, but the girl filled his mind and he wanted nothing more than to rush back to his rooms to see her.
October 14th, 2009
I have different power dynamics in my life, different relationship dynamics, and different energy dynamics. How do people manage these things in a poly lifestyle?
My answer is separation. I don’t know if it’s a good answer, and it certainly causes strain sometimes. I try to keep my interactions with my partners separate. I spend time with them apart from the others. If two or more are in the same place, at the same event, I try to make sure that one is occupied before playing with the other. I do this in reverse as well, I try not to interfere when one of my partners is playing with another of his partners. Though, this too, sometimes causes upset, if communication is not clear.
I talk about the differences in my partners often in this blog. But recently I was thinking about it very specifically, because it was the Energy mixing I was trying to avoid at a particular regular event. I was trying to figure out how to explain it to them, and this is what I came up with to describe the three different relationships.
1) Husband: Master/slave dynamic, Romantic/Forever Love energy
2)Lover: Top/bottom dynamic, High sexual energy
3)Mentor: Dom/sub dynamic, Intense playful energy
I find these different dynamics difficult to balance if my partners are in the same place, wanting attention at the same time. My husband/Master comes first in such situations, but I feel neglectful of my other relationships if he monopolizes my time. So, I choose to keep them as separate as possible, and divide my time as best as I can manage.
Poly is about time management, they tell me. I do my best, but in this busy world, sometimes I wander in the wrong direction and stumble. They love me, though, and pick me back up, and we find a new path. It’s never perfect, but we try to keep moving forward the best we can.
October 7th, 2009
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.”
“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.”
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.
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.
“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.”
“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.”
May 20th, 2009
After various poking and prodding, I have decided to start this blog. Thoughts of: Who am I to write a blog? What if no one reads it? Why would anyone care what I have to say? Have been overridden by Why shouldn’t I? What if I want to? Why not? So here I am, to take you on a ride through my world. Hang on tight, it’s bumpy, wild and sometimes very dark.
Who am I? I am called kinky, submissive, polyamorous, pain slut, rope slut, slave, brat, SAM, bottom, and service top. I am a writer, a gamer, and an explorer. I am on a journey to find my bliss, to find my muse, and to live life with no arbitrary restrictions.
What is this? This is where I will write about my journey. I will fill this space with musings, frustrations, reflections, rants and erotica.
Welcome to my world. Enjoy your visit.