Not Exactly Give and Take…

Jake’s recent post on giving and taking ~ here ~ really caught my interest.  

i had a lot of feeling about it {probably due to some past stuff that got triggered, which really, you’d think i’d be over by now, only you know how that is, apparently i’m not quite.}   

i didn’t want to think about that now, i wanted to go on to the part where i emailed my Sir to ask Him to read the article and give me His thoughts on it.

But.

Damn it.  Apparently this is going to be one of those redemptive experiences where i have to remember what i felt back then first before i can move on.

Ok.  Here we go.

When i got married the first time, it was with the understanding that we were equals.  We both worked.  We both did housework.  We both took care of  his daughter.

Over time that changed.  At some point, i realized that he thought anything he did, other than paid employment, was above and beyond  his responsibility.    Everything else was my responsibility, and really kind of the least i could do.  

By those standards, he could never do too little, and i could never do enough.  He totally expected “extra credit” for anything he did around the house or with the kids.  My paid employment didn’t earn “credit,” even though we couldn’t have paid our bills without it, because it gave me less time to take care of him and the kids. 

And i did appreciate the things he did.  Not every little thing, but lots of things, and i was generous with praise.

Anyhow i don’t mean this to turn into a post about my first marriage, and i don’t mean to sound like a victim.  

i was telling Sir last night that i used to laugh about it; i’d say to my husband, “Yep, there’s 2 kinds of people in this world, givers and takers.  And you’re just a giver ~ you just give, give, give, and i’m just a taker ~ i just take, take, take.  That’s just how it is.”

i was totally being sarcastic.  i didn’t believe that for a minute.    

But i think that’s what i was thinking about when i read Jake’s post, so i was in a little mini-panic when i asked Sir what His thoughts were.  

Sir emailed back the following:

“First of all, I don’t see it as a taking , but rather “receiving”, such as in the giving and receiving of a gift, not the taking of a gift, or perhaps the receiving and giving of instructions, not taking of instructions. In the context of what appears to be taking, it can be seen rather as receiving the acceptance of the taking by the giving.  (The giving person accepts the taking by the other person… that acceptance is received by that other person, who is perceived as a taker)

I think the giving and receiving goes both ways in any relationship, but remember that a very wise man once said symmetry is not balance.   What determines the correct balance of giving/receiving between the individuals is a personal matter to be resolved within the back and forth of the relationship.  Passionate people do this passionately.  The D/s relationship provides a framework for the balance of giving/receiving to find its own dynamic.

The Dom is ultimately responsible for many things including safety and the overall tone of the setting, the Dom “gives” that care and acceptance of responsibility and the sub ” receives ” that and finds value in it. The sub reciprocally gives obedience and personal service, among other things, and the Dom “receives” that personal commitment and finds value in that. The giving and receiving is so integrated that it’s difficult to discern and assign those terms.  Persons of deep thought find multiple examples in every interaction.

In my mind, the Dom also mentors and provides emotional growth for the sub. While exploring personal horizons, the giving  and receiving become: sharing.

That’s my two cents…”

That relieved my mind and restored my perspective.  

i think {forgive me, Jake, if i’m wrong here} that what Jake was expressing is that being a Dom isn’t just about getting your own needs met.  It carries a real burden of responsibility.   i think that’s true no matter what your dynamic is ~ as true for  Omega and mouse as for Jake and Joy and Sir X and me.

From outside the lifestyle, it might look like the flow of “giving” is from sub to Dom, but that’s not accurate.  i think it’s a dance of giving and receiving.  

i had forgotten, before i got Sir’s response, that i wrote about giving and receiving from a vanilla perspective a while back.  i said, in part, something like this:

It’s like plugging in a light ~  the socket receives the prongs of the plug, and gives out a flow of electricity.  The prongs receive the electricity and pass it on.  Together, they create  a circuit of giving and receiving that turns on the light.

When i was married the first time, i wasn’t valued for who i was, and what i had to offer wasn’t found adequate or acceptable, no matter what i did.  That hurt me deeply.

i found ways to be ok anyhow.  But i still carry some of that anxiety that what i offer will never be quite enough ~ and don’t we all?  

Today, i feel less anxious than i did just a few days ago.  Thank you, Sir, for your wise and reassuring perspective.

And ~ this cracks me up ~ i just found a post i wrote  just about a year ago about giving.  Here it is…  laughing… from my own archives. 

Just Remembering

i was reading the discussion over at ‘Nilla’s blog, and was struck by a new feeling.  This is not a big deal, I just want to say it and see how it sounds.

Some of the discussion was about early adolescence and the wondering.  Wondering what it would feel like.  Longing to feel it.  Remembering what it was like to masterbate and feel guilty about it.  Thinking about the innocence of early puberty.

And it triggered me.

Funny, isn’t it?  My PTSD friends know what i mean.  i’m just reading it, and all of sudden, i remember.  Not in my head, where i always remember, but in my gut.

My innocence was lost early – not before puberty, but at the brink of it.  i think this may be the first time i felt a sense of grief about that innocence taken too soon.

Not that i haven’t grieved other aspects of my molestation and abuse.  But this sudden realization of how different their memories sounded from mine…

At the time, back in the day, i knew it set me apart.  It was just one of a bunch of things that did, but it was a big one. 

i saw myself as being wordly and wise.  In the know.

While my peers were wondering and longing, i was fucking and getting fucked.

i made that a strength, in my head, i made it a strength.

And at the same time, i let it trap me.  i believed that i belonged in a world where you got smacked if you didn’t want to right that minute.  That my peers and their innocence belonged somewhere else.

Sigh.

Of course, some of my peers were in the same boat.  i know that now.  But at the time, we seemed to live in different universes.

And, in all my knowing – you can’t know what you don’t know.

i’d been getting fucked for four years  when i realized that what happened when i touched myself and felt that wonderful, over the top, shuddering release ~ i was 16 when i realized that feeling was what was supposed to happen when you had sex.  Four years into it when it dawned on me ~ that feeling was this “orgasm” thing i was always reading about.  

{laughing}

i guess i had my own kind of innocence, right?

i’ve done so much work around all of that, and this morning when i got triggered, i still wanted to shut down and not think about it.  But just for a minute.

Instead ~ this morning i touch the pieces of my memories and feelings, and i add a new one.  Maybe that lost innocence really was a loss, and not some burden i chose to get rid of.  Maybe i really did miss something there.

 

It’s my Birthday…

…and a holiday!  Well, it’s not actually a holiday for me, my work doesn’t close for President’s Day, but i took the day off, so now it’s a holiday for me.

This time last year, i was just beginning to talk to The Man i First Called Sir (FS.)   Have i told youall that story?  It’s a great story.

FS and i met on a vanilla dating website.  i don’t know what i thought i was doing at the time.   There i was, divorced for a while, and spending my time on vanilla dating sites.   O – but i didn’t even know fetlife and collarme existed back then.  Ok, so i didn’t even know about the options.

Anyhow.  FS messaged me and we exchange messages, although his tend to be brief.  i’m not sure i’m interested, so that goes on for a while.  Then we talk on the phone, and i discover that he’s smart and funny and never at a loss for words.   After a couple of conversatons, we agree to meet for a drink, possibly dinner. 

He picks a restaurant in the part of town where i live, which was sweet.   And i dress with great care, although i’m also really sure nothing will come out of this.  But – 

– we have had a conversation about boots.  My boots.  O!  And it’s boot week on Mick and Molly’s blog!  Hmmm.  Let me see if i can get a picture of the boots…

  

Taking that picture was a little tricky, but there they are, what i think of as my cute boots.   i have other boots, but i love the corset-like laces in the back of these. 

Anyhow, i didn’t actually wear those boots the first night i met FS, i was saving them for a next date, if there was one.   i only mention them because at that point the only thing remotely sexually intriguing about him was the interest he’d shown in my boots.  O, and a little brief message exchange we’d had about lingerie.  But that was it, and he’d apologized for the lingerie discussion.

O, wait, one other little moment.  He sent me directions to something – for something?  i don’t remember now.  Some kind of directions.  And after i followed them, he’d messaged me, “You take directions well.”  And something about that –

i thought on it for a while, before i messaged back, something like  “But good directors are hard to find.”  

And  that was it – just the tiniest tingle there. 

So we meet for dinner in this middle-of-the-road restaurant and have a pleasant meal.  And i begin to wonder – am i attracted to him?  At this point, it’s been a really long time…  And –

– the guy i told youall about, the one who lived about 12 hours away that i’d talked to for a long time and then he came to visit and there was no sexual spark at all – none – that had already happened.  So really i was starting to worry just a little bit that maybe i’d lost it…  Maybe there was never going to be any zing in my life. 

So i decide to check. 

i know, i’m an impatient slut – your point?

We are sitting across from each other in a booth for two, so the table between us isn’t that big.  And his hands were on the table.  So all i did was –

i say – “i have a favor to ask you.” 

He says, “Yes?”

i say, “Is it ok if i touch your hand?”  

Well, you know, he wasn’t going to object, that was ok with him, so i did it – i just touched his hand, lightly.  And kept touching it.   Sort of exploring it, so to speak.  

And pretty soon, i can tell he’s having some reaction to that.  And i am too.

So that goes on for a while, and then he returns the favor.  It’s incredibly sensual and erotic. 

Later, JM, the amazing analyst, would say that we’d blessed each other with touch, and really, we did. 

But that night, just to make it even better, we talk about it. 

“I didn’t know what you were looking for – what you expected.”  He says. 

“Well, i needed to know if you had any reaction,” i say.  “i mean, if you didn’t, better to know now.” 

“Yeah, but that could have gone the other way,” He says.  i raise an eyebrow, questioning.  “You could have gotten offended if I reacted.  Some women might have been testing to see if i reacted and then gotten pissed off, like, well, that must be all he’s interested in.”

“That would never have occurred to me,” i say, laughing.  “But i see what you’re saying.”

“It really wasn’t fair,”  He says.

i lower my eyes, trying to look demure and repentent, but totally teasing, i say,  “i’m sorry.  “i’ll never do that again.” 

And he says, “Yes, you will.”  His tone of voice grabs my attention, time slows down, and i look up.  He’s looking directly at me.  “You will,” He says, “when I tell you to.”

And while i’m still reeling a little bit – i notice my heart beating faster and – omigoodness, is my pussy wet? – he changes tone and goes on to talk about something else. 

Whew.

Then we realize the restaurant is closing – they’re about to start vacuuming  around us.   He walks me to my car, kisses me good-bye, and sends me on my way. 

Leaving me with those words in my head, “Yes, you will.  When I tell you to.”  Wondering – is he?  Could he possibly be?

****************************************

Well, that seems like a really long time ago, even though it was only a year.  My life has changed so much.  Birthdays are a good time for looking back – and i have so many wonderful memories…

Thanks, FS, for all the paths you started me on.  We had a lot of fun.

 

 

The Feeling

i have lost the feeling of submission.  The deep down letting go that sets me free. 

i don’t remember the rush of heat between my legs when He says “Come here.”   i’ve lost the shivering that runs through my spine when He says, “Bend over.”    Can’t hear the whistle of His belt whipping through the loops as He pulls it off.

Gone is the thrill of nipples pinched tight that made me catch my breath, made me whimper.  Can’t feel His mouth on my breast, that hot, moist pleasure has faded far away.

The taste of His cock no longer lingers with me.  The hours spent on my knees in worship have slipped away.  i don’t feel the call to kneel, to explore, to caress the length of His shaft.  No desire to lick and suck, to swirl my tongue in the way best designed to elicit His moans of pleasure – that has left me too.

My pussy is not aching to be filled.  Left unattended, she has decided not to yearn – not to crave the touch of His fingers, His cock, His mouth.  She scorns my own caresses, deems them weak substitutes and tells me not to bother.  A little offended, i withdraw too.  Fine.  Let the tension go unnoticed –

– til the tension becomes the norm.  i feel my body tense when i lie down – when i could be relaxing, my shoulders are tight, leg muscles taut – i make myself relax.  But i wake with my neck stiff and sore, back aching.  Hmmmm.  Not so relaxed, i guess.

But this is not a giant pity party – please don’t leave me comments with sympathy, even if you feel it.  Usually i appreciate your kind and gentle words, but not so much today.  Where i am today –

     – is exactly where i need to be. 

Well defended, for the moment. 

Because underneath, below the wall of sexual apathy, all the wants and needs simmer, quietly waiting for the spark that ignites them.  {laughing} And when the spark lands –

 

A BDSM Riddle

The Riddle:

A Dominant and a submissive are sitting at a table, sharing a plate of food.  You can see them, but can’t hear them.   One of them is cutting the food into bite sized portions, and feeding them to the other person.   Which one is the Dominant and which one the submissive?

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i heard that riddle at the BDSM convention of course.  And i thought about it because of Sin’s comment on my post about how much i like to rub Sir’s feet.  Sin said:

“And it makes me envious a couple of different ways. I would like to do this for him. But you know, I’d also like someone to do it for me. It sounds divinely sensual. Maybe I need a sub/slave to worship me?”

i could totally relate to what she’s saying.  i LOVE to have my feet massaged.  And i actually have a lot more experience on the receiving end of that than on the giving end.   Having my feet rubbed sends me into this blissed out space, and back in my vanilla relationship days, more than one man discovered that it leaves me grateful and open to  all kinds of suggestions.

When i got married the second time,  to a man who might or might not have actually been dominant – ok, i guess not, probably not, but maybe he thought he was for a while there, or maybe he was just humoring me, i don’t know.  Anyhow.  i’ll call him “B.”  

B liked to massage me – feet, and other parts as well.  With lotion.  Warmed a little in the microwave.  Which was – well, “nice” would be a ridiculous understatement.  Really.  He spent hours rubbing my body.  We’d be sitting on the couch watching a movie, and he’d have me put my feet in his lap and rub them. 

And it didn’t occur to me to wonder if this was a sign that he wasn’t really dominant.  i mean, we were pretty isolated in our relationship anyhow – no blogs, no munches, no one to talk about our experiences with.  So he’d say, “Feet.  Here.” maybe snap his fingers,  point to his lap and – well, who wouldn’t have obeyed?

But i wonder now.  Is that something that Dominants just don’t do? 

You know, i don’t want to get too deep into what my relationship with B was like, but he made it seem like it was a way to possess me, and that worked for me.   If anyone had told me it meant something was wrong with our D/s dynamic, i’d have probably laughed at them anyhow. 

But some rude awakenings and one divorce later –   Sin’s comment really got me thinking.    What’s your experience and thoughts?  Do Doms/Dommes, Masters/Mistresses not do massages,  foot rubs, and such?  Is that a submissive phenomenon?

O, and the riddle?  The answer, of course, is that you can’t tell who’s Dominant and who’s submissive without more information.  The submissive might be serving by feeding the Dominant.  Or the Dominant might be controlling the submissive’s food intake.  It could be either way – you can’t tell by looking. 

Which do you see first - the vase or the two women's faces?

Holding On

i wake up this morning thinking that the buzz is wearing off.   That i no longer feel physically super charged and connected to Sir D.   Some of the memories are fading.   i can no longer actually feel His hand in my hair.   His cock in my mouth.   No longer see His hands cruelly pinching my nipple.   See the rope spinning around my body.  No longer hear the hitachi buzz as i squirm trying to capture the exact right angle…

Then i realize that even as i write those words – YES!- it all comes flooding back in a rush of memories, my pussy heats up, and all is well. 

Seriously, Sir has been careful with me this week, concerned that subdrop will be fierce.  So i’m supposed to check in with Him often.  Which, of course,  feels good.  But for now i am still high.  Quite ok with sleeping a few hours a night, waking up with visions of dungeons dancing in my head…

**********************************************************************************************************************

Ok, that’s only part true.  If i try, i can still recapture the feeling.   But i go walking this morning and there are tears behind my eyes.  Damn it.

i’m Icarus,  flying too close to the sun.

 Ok, that might be a little overly dramatic.  Sigh.  

Sir reminded me last time i went through this that part of being in the lifestyle is the highs – and the inevitable lows.  O f course that’s a little like telling someone in the middle of childbirth that she knew this was gonna be uncomfortable…

{giggles}  Ok, that’s too dramatic too.  This is not frigging childbirth.  i’m just a little blue.

And needy.  That’s the part i hate the most.  i want to seeeee Him.  i want to beeee with Him.  (whine)  i want to – you know, the whole i-want-to-kneel-in-front-of-Him-and-worship-His-lovely -cock thing. 

Sigh.

It’s ok.  i don’t have to feel wonderful all the time.  i just need to be ok, centered in my own space. 

How do i get there?  Would a fantasy help or make it worse?

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i’m kneeling in front of Him, my jeans and shirt almost neatly folded on the couch.  He has let me caress His cock with my mouth.  i lick the shaft, work my way up til my lips encircle the head, draw it into my mouth.  His hands entwine in my hair, but He pulls my head up, away from Him. 

“Not yet.”  He says.  “Go to the bedroom and take off the rest of your clothes.  i want you to lie in the middle of the bed, on your stomach.”

“Yes, Sir,” i say, surprised – and aroused.  My pussy clenches, throbs, gushes…  i love obeying.  

His toy bag is already in the bedroom.

i am on the bed, as directed, face down, waiting.  i don’t know what He’s doing.  i wait.  i wonder what He’s going to do.  Butterflies in my stomach, getting o-so-wet.  Feeling soooo submissive.  O.

i hear him behind me.  i don’t look.  i wait.

“Open your legs wider,” He says. 

i spread my legs.  i can feel the bedclothes pressing against the inner lips of my pussy.  i tighten my ass, pushing myself farther into the bed, rubbing just a little –

– and feel a stinging slap across my ass.    i gasp.

“What a slut,” He says.  “Trying to rub your pussy.”  His hand caresses my ass, i relax –

– and feel a shower of slaps landing on me, stinging, burning – i squirm.  His hand fists in my hair.  “Hold. Still.”  He says.  

Mmpf.  i try to hold still, but even though it’s just His hand, the blows are fast and sharp and….

…make me moan.  It’s not all pain, there’s pleasure there, o, yes, and wanting more…   He knows that, and He laughs.   “Let’s try this…” He says, and there’s a pause…

…i hear him open the toy bag, i don’t look, i couldn’t see anyhow, but then i feel it – a ruler maybe?  Hard, landing hard, ooooooo – stinging more – ooooo.  He pauses to caress, and starts again.  Stiking different places, making sure my ass is covered, moving to the tops of my thighs. 

OOOOOOhhhhhhhhh.  It hurts so badly, and so wonderfully.  i feel Him possessing me, taking me, making me His.  i am  floating on sensation, losing myself in the feeling, in the pain and the pleasure.

And then – just as i think it’s too much, think i can’t take anymore – His hand probes between my thighs, feels the wetness flowing from my pussy.  “Turns you on, doesn’t it?”  He says.

i moan.  “Yes, Sir, it does, Sir.”   i try to press myself down on His hand – squirming into Him – i can’t help it.  Of course – whack – wham – my ass is on fire again.

“Stop that.”  He says, the stinging creates new sensation over the tingling that was already there.  O.

 Then, “Had enough?”  He asks.

“Yes, Sir,” i say, “O, yes, Sir,” thinking that now i’ll get to finish what we started with His cock, anticipating the sense of deep submission that will be mine as i work on pleasuring Him.  Instead –

– His hands spread the cheeks of my ass. 

i gasp.  Feeling totally exposed, nervous – ok, scared.  He has not done this before.

His finger touches.  Lightly.  i make a tiny, almost muffled noise.  More firmly now, His finger traces the crevice that’s open to Him.

O…. O, my.  i barely breathe, all my focus is there – on His finger, stroking me there…

*******************************************************************************************************************

Ok, gotta go to work.  i feel better!  Well,  for the moment anyhow.   Whew…

Not Ordinary

 “To think of him in the middle of the day lifts me out of ordinary living.”
— Anaïs Nin (The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1)

i am at lunch, eating in my office today, trying to catch up on paperwork.   Suddenly, i remember the feel of His hand on my nipple.  The left nipple, crushed between His thumb and forefinger.  Instantly, the memory tugs on the line that runs directly from my nipple to my pussy, and i feel heat between my legs.

i’m lying on the bed, on my stomach, stinging blows from the famous yardstick landing on my ass.  He’s careful to strike the “sit spot” more than once. 

Shifting from memory into fantasy, i’m on the spanking bench in His dungeon. 

Remember the spanking bench?

 Blindfolded again.  Ass raised a little, exposed and vulnerable.  “What is this?” He asks; i hear something whistle slightly, it lands with a sharp sting.  “O!”

“i don’t know,” i say, “i don’t know that one!”

“Yes, you do,” He says.   “Here, let’s try it again,” and He does – “O!” but-

“i don’t!  i don’t know that one.”

“Ok.  It’s the quirt,” He says.  “Quirt.  Say it.” 

And i do, even though the word doesn’t want to leave my lips, i say it.  “Quirt.”

and He says, “Good.  How many?”

“i don’t know!”  

He rubs my ass, caresses it, “Breathe,” He says, “Uh huh, that’s it, good girl.  Breathe.”  And when my breathing has calmed, He says, “Ok.  Now.”  Patiently,  “How many do you think it’ll take for you to be able to recognize the quirt next time?”

A huge wave of pleasure runs through me, sitting there in my office, in front of my computer.   Am i going to have to – you know, take care of myself?  Right here?

Back on the spanking bench –

“Five,” i say, reluctantly.  “Five, Sir, please.”

And He is still stroking my ass, and then He isn’t and – “Oh!!  One.  The Quirt, Sir,” i say.   Five times i feel the sting and say it,

“Two.  The Quirt, Sir.”  

“Three.  The Quirt, Sir.”

i’m getting wetter, squirming in my chair.  Fast forwarding the fantasy a little. 

“Good girl.”  He says.  “Do you think you’ll recognize the quirt next time I ask you?” 

“Yes, sir, i’m sure i will,” i say.  my ass is hot, i can feel the heat, and my pussy is soooo wet and hot.  The spanking bench is wet with my juices, i want to rub against it.   Press my clit against it til i cum.

“Do you want the Hitachi now?” He asks.  “Or should we try one more recognition task?”

i smile a little, “Well, of course i want the Hitachi, Sir,” i say.  “But if it would please You to try another one, then of course i want to do that.”

“Good girl,” He says.   Another shiver runs through me.  “Let me think.  Let’s -”

My phone rings.  What?  Someone at the front desk, the receptionist not sure what to tell them, can i come up there?  Sure, yes, sure, on my way…

And i park the fantasy, not sure what He’s going to decide.  Is the Hitachi waiting for me, or the paddle?  Only time will tell…

************************************************************

Yes, this is similar to nilla’s post the other day, with my own twists.  i was amazed that she’d given words to a scenario very similar to a fantasy of my own – one i’d had since long before i even knew what anything other than a hand  felt like on my ass.   More of what Mick calls Smut-ergy.

As you can see, i’m apparently over my subdrop.  Sir D was very sweet yesterday, i got a text message while i was still at work, an e-mail when i got home, and then we talked last night.  i also have adventures to look forward to.  Have i mentioned that my Sir is very sweet?  <smiles>

And i just realized – having gotten myself all stirred up writing this post – that if i’m going to see Him on Saturday, then today is two days before Saturday.  Just last weekend,  i agreed that two days is not too long to go without an orgasm before i see Him.   What was i thinking?  That was a lot easier to say when i’d just had a multitude of orgasms.

Thank goodness, i took care of myself last night. 

 

Submission

Discerning Dom wrote another wonderful post, this one on practices that maintain the D/s dynamic when other things – like regular life – get in the way.  http://discerningdom.blogspot.com/2010/07/question-no-3.html

i love his blog because he writes either very erotic pieces that turn me on, or very thought provoking pieces.   These also  turn me on because he often seems to have read my mind.  There are few thing more seductive than feeling understood.   

Feeling understood has an element of  being exposed, and that’s arousing too.  A theme that runs through the lifestyle is “being seen,” an implied nakedness of both body and mind that’s intimate and intense.  Ultimately, it may be what we submissive people most crave – to be exposed and accepted, right?

So Discenrning Dom’s post got me thinking about how D/s relationships take the shame out of so many aspects of self.   He says:

“Submissive girls need maintenance. You can’t just park them in a corner and expect them to be in full working order whenever you decide you need them again. A submissive girl, like any girl but more so, needs constant encouragement and reassurance. She is prey to doubts and loss of confidence. Does he like me enough? If I haven’t heard from him, does that mean he’s not thinking of me?” 

and suddenly i don’t feel ashamed of all the times i feel that way.  Magical. 

When i was involved with Mike Moore, at the very beginning, he’d call me at least half a dozen times every day at work.  We rarely talked during the  work day; he’d leave messages on my voice mail.  Sometimes he told me how beautiful he thought i was.  Or what pleasures we’d be enjoying after i got off work.  Often, he sang to me:  “I love yoooou, Ba-a-by, and if it’s quite all right, I need you, Baby…” 

He couldn’t sing.  i knew it was insane.  And i loved it.  i began to crave it – if I left my office for a meeting, i couldn’t wait to get back and check my voice mail.   It was intoxicating, swimming in a sea of approval and attention.   With the multitude of orgasms he gave me on top of that – omigod,  just hearing his voice made me wet. 

Sigh.  Well, that was a long time ago, and of course that level of attention doesn’t last.  If you’ve read my previous post on Mike, Memories and Orgasms  https://beingaisha.wordpress.com/2010/06/10/memories-and-orgasms/ , you know that he died several years ago.  i’d quit being involved with him before that, and it was like ripping a piece of myself off to give him up.  Of course, i would have lost pieces of myself if i’d stayed too.

i remind myself sometimes that abusive relationships often start with that intense level of attention.  She feels like he’s interested in, cares about, every aspect of her.  “He even wants me to tell him what I’m wearing every morning,” she may tell me.   “He wants to spend all his time with me.”  “He thinks about me all the time.” 

Bathed in the limelight of his approval,  she’s unprepared for it to suddenly flip to disapproval.  And rage.  And that’s where the path separates from BDSM, right?  The consensual part, the negotiations, the clear agreement about how things will be, is missing. 

It makes me wonder sometimes if men and women in abusive relationships would benefit from learning about the lifestyle.   I wonder if they’re really just Doms and subs without a clue on how to express themselves and their sexuality in a safe and sane way.

And maybe not.  But it’s something I think about, the similarities and differences between BDSM and abusive relationship.  Sometimes,  it starts to feel too complex and convoluted.  i don’t always want to analyze it to death.  Then i re-anchor myself with a memory or  a fantasy.  Like this one:

i’m lying on the bed, on my back,  just a sheet covering me from the waist down.  Sir D is beside me, resting too.   Only His right hand touches me, it reaches across His own body and grasps my right nipple between the thumb and forefinger.  Almost idly, He toys with my nipple.  Pinching.  Pulling.  Twisting a little.

Mmmpf.  O.

There is a direct line from my nipple to my pussy.  As He continues tugging, my pussy clenches.  i am already wet, now my hips begin to move.  i barely notice, i’m focused on the nipple that he’s continuing to tweak.   My pussy throbs.

Without thought, my right hand moves toward the space between my legs.  He notices, His left hand grasps my forearm.  Without a word, He stops my progress, presses my arm, palm down, on the bed as if to say, “Stay.”  So i do, with a mental sigh. 

My nipple is still in His grasp.  My hips still moving.   i’m acutely aware of my hand resting on the bed, the hand not touching myself.

“Your nipples are really sensitive,” He says.  He sounds a little surprised.

“Mmmm.  Yes.  They are,” i say.  Growing hotter, doing little hip circles, lying there on my back, while He toys with me.  Not moving my hand any closer to my increasingly wet pussy.  All my senses focused on the moment. Waiting.

i guess i would have laid there forever if He wanted.  It makes me shiver now, knowing that i would have.  In that moment, i was more connected to sensation than thought, more connected to His will than to my own.   Utterly  submissive. 

Mmmmm.   Just thinking about it makes me want to purr. 

Lazy Sunday

There’s hardly anything i like more than taking a nap on Sunday afternoon.  This week, i expected it to be particularly pleasant.  i’d just gotten home from a two-day conference which had been wonderful and exhausting.    

i  unpack, give my cats fresh food and water, and slip out of my clothes.  Put on an extra-large t-shirt.    Set the kitchen timer for an hour, and lie down on the couch, which is my favorite place to nap. 

Almost immediately, i realize i’m too tense to sleep.  Hmmm.  i know how to solve this problem… i shift to lying on my back, put my feet flat on the couch, knees bent and raised.

It’s only four days since i’ve seen Him, and there’s still plenty of material for fantasy there.   First, i flip the mental pages of memories i’ve already shared here.  One hand rests between my legs, warming myself, the other strokes my left nipple.

i squirm a little.  My nipples can’t possibly still be sensitive 4 days later, but it feels like they are.  Barely touching them and they’re immediately hard, which makes me wet.  i gently stroke myself.  Feel my pussy throb.   

i’m distracted for a minute by thoughts of the workshop i’d attended, which was on reproductive health.  i find myself thinking about the inner and outer labia, bartholin glands, and the clit.  Did you know the clit has as many nerve endings in that tiny area as the entire penis?  i slip my finger inside myself just enough to get it wet, begin to lightly rub that ever so sensitive spot.  Mmmmm.    

When He was here, He had left a pile of – implements – on the dining room table.   Canes and a paddle and such.  He was in the shower when my attention was drawn to the pile, and when He comes out, i am standing by the table, just looking.  i move away from them.    

“Oh, you’re interested in my toys?” He says.  i make a little “mmmm” noise, still moving away from them, and He says, “No, come here, let’s look at them if you’re interested.”    

So i move back by the table, feeling a little awkward.  Lying on the top is – well, it is clearly a whip, which i don’t remember Him showing me the night before.    

    

Cat of nine tails. It was not as big as i might have thought it would be, but pretty intimidating anyhow.

“Were you looking at this?” He says, touching the braided strands.  i nod.  He picks it up.  “That’s a cat of nine tails,” He says.  “Do you know about them?”    

“i’ve, well, i’ve heard of them before , but i don’t know…” i say.    

“Well,” He lays it back on the table so the strands – the tails – are separated.  “This one’s made of braided leather, and you can see there are nine of them.”  i nod, and tentatively touch one, hold it between my thumb and finger.   i am aware of my breath, aware of Him.  i’m aroused and a little afraid.      

“The power,” He says, “What makes it different, is because the handle is weighted.  It’s weighted with lead, so it’s heavy.  That causes energy to flow, through the handle…” and He strikes it in the air quickly, makes it snap, “so it carries more impact.”     

Laying it back down on the table, He says, “I think that’s way too advanced for you right now,” and i’m quick to agree.   But i’m turned on, no mistake about it, it makes me wet.    

And lying on the couch, stroking myself, one hand between my legs caressing my clit, the other hand teasing a nipple, remembering those moments still turns me on.  Tensing my muscles, legs tingling a little, my swollen pussy almost ready to cum, i think about the power.  His power.  And that brings me closer to the edge.    

And then, hips raising off the couch a little, i think about my pussy being filled, impaled on a cock, thrusting into me… and i’m stroking faster, rhythmically, i whimper a little.   i think about bending over the bed, being taken, filled from behind, a hand between my legs, pinned between His body behind me, His hand in front… and that takes me higher, up and up, over the top….    

…. and down, ahhhhhhh, trembling, shaken, and satisfied.      

O.  Yes.    

Mmmmm.    

Tension drained.  i roll onto my side.  Smile.  Bet i can take a nap now… 

My Own Path

Memories of sensations linger from my evening with Sir D.   i shiver, the deep shiver that runs through my spine, and makes my pussy clench, leaves me wet.  Sigh.  Things i’d never known existed.

This is a vampire glove. 

Into intense sensation? These gloves contain nearly 100 1/8 tacks that create a indescribable sensation over the part of your body that is being touched. These gloves will not puncture the skin unless they are used out of context (ex. slapping, grabbing, excessive force, etc..). These gloves are made from lambskin leather and contain a button snap at the wrist for a nice snug fit.

 i had no idea what He was touching me with.   It felt good; He was being really gentle.  But there was a hint of warning in the touch that left no doubt:  this could be dangerous. 

Then there was the more familiar:

He had something that looked like this. I didn't find it under BDSM toys though; it's a common household duster.

 Of course the soft, fluffy duster feels incredibly good, and safe, after the glove.  Purely sensual pleasure.  Ahhhh.

i revel in the memory of new sensations,  and in the relationship. 

And then, o, goody, High-School Aisha pipes up.   She chides me – “It wasn’t very long ago you were writing about some other ‘Sir,’ now was it?  Don’t you think you should have waited a little longer before rushing into some new thing?  And I notice he – this new dominant man – hasn’t called you today, now has he?  How are you going to feel if he doesn’t call you?  Hmmm?”  I expect her to add, “Slut,” but she just shakes her head in dismay. 

There was a time that i might have let High-School Aisha torture me for a while.  Now, i just give her a mental hug.  “Don’t worry,” i say.  “Believe it or not, i know what i’m doing.”  And i try to explain it to her.

“Some people,” i say, “seem to think that a relationship has to last forever or it was wrong.  That ended relationships are terrible failures.   And maybe that’s true for them.  Maybe i even felt that way when i was married the first time.  But now i know that the path i’m on calls me to be who i am.”  High-School Aisha is listening, a little pouty, but listening. 

“It’s not like i keep making the same mistakes over and over,” Older and Wiser me goes on.  “It’s that i keep learning new things; things that i couldn’t have learned if i’d given up being who i am to keep a relationship.”  i sigh.  “Really.  i wouldn’t be who i am if i hadn’t experienced the things i have.  Come on, you know that, don’t you?”

High-School Aisha sighs too.  “Ok,” she says, “I know you’re right.  But really, what if He doesn’t call?”

i shrug, “What if that mark He left on my breast never goes away?  i think you’d be better off worrying about that.”  Which distracts her nicely,  at least for now. 

i smile.  There’s affection in my heart for the man i first called Sir in this blog.  But our relationship had reached a dead end; there was no where for it to go.

Beyond that – even if it sounds corny and stupid – i believe that when the student is ready, the teacher will come.  And i believe that Sir D and i have – mmm, lessons to share.  🙂