Kneeling

It's impossible for me to be with my Sir, without wanting, irresistibly, to kneel. It isn't something foreign to me, this impulse, I have felt comfort in kneeling at other times. But with him, it's risen to the level of a force, some gravity in him that pulls me downward. When we first met each other I didn't recognize or understand it, was unaware of any submissive impulses, barely aware of the word submissive, certainly not aware of its relation to myself.

So this last time, I end up in my happy place, at his feet while he sits in the chair and we talk, very quickly. It is here, kneeling, that I can put my head on his knee to be petted, here that I turn my lips up to his to be kissed, here that he takes my hair in his hands, touches my breasts softly, then roughly. Here that he holds my face and brushes his lips against mine gently, here that my silly heart, which had thought to regain some control in this relationship, thought to put him in his place as just another man to me ... falls again.

This time of reconnecting is so precious to me. When I miss him the most, its these moments I think of to comfort myself. Yet, suddenly in the midst of my content, I'm restless. Not just randomly restless, specifically in need suddenly and desperately for his touch.

I'm unable to ask, although looking back I suppose I should have. Instead, I decided to hint. I put myself across his lap, head down, arching my bottom up to him, hoping his hand will slide down and stroke my pussy. But, alas, he only began to spank me, not realizing perhaps how far past that point his chaste kissing had brought me. Somehow, I'm not really certain exactly, I ended up bent over the foot of the bed, his belt striking my thighs and ass, my body responding in shock and arousal.

It's been months since we played in this way. There was a time this would have been light play for me, but now, unused as I am to this kind of treatment, a concern began to build inside me that this might actually hurt. What if the magical something I used to have, my special relationship with pain that I was unaware even existed until a few years ago just left me? Suddenly I flew back away from myself, and realized, I'm alone, all alone, with a sadist. He wants to hurt me. I could feel my pussy flooding at these thoughts, just moments before I was snapped back into myself when he grabbed my hair and pulled me to the floor before him.

This kind of play disarms me the most. This is something I could only do with someone I love and trust completely. Being treated roughly under other circumstances frightens me too much - I've done it once and ended up with my teeth chattering so badly and my pussy so dry the poor dom had to stop the whole thing. But with my Sir, it feels so different because I want so badly to make him happy. His cock is hard for me, because of me and my suffering for him, because he can hear me whimper, see me close to tears, see how aroused I become, he's hard for me and I do my best to swallow his cock all the way down my throat. My ass is suddenly so hot, I don't even rest it against my heels, but I swallow and suck and feel the heat.

Then I'm back on the bed again and he's using the belt. I don't know how many times we alternate this way, but eventually I'm in some kind of rhythm because I just vacillate between my knees and the bed, his cock becomes larger each time I return to it, my pleasure and happiness growing because I know I'm pleasing him.

Somewhere in there I begin the change, the reason i do these things, for the moment I abandon myself in him, where I and my needs stop existing. I've forgotten about my pussy and how badly I wanted him to touch it. Now I'm his toy entirely, there to be used and abused if he desires, willing to do and be anything if it will only win me his smile. He orders me onto the bed and I go - suddenly lost as I kneel there, should I kneel, should I stand, or lie? I hover there, kneeling but up on my knees, waiting for orders. My legs tremble, my brain feels fuzzy and I think it again, I'm alone in a room with a sadist... why that phrase, why the distancing?

Three years ago if you would have told me I'd be here, I would have never believed it. Three years ago I was unhappily married, in some kind of sexual hibernation, ducking myself into hidden places to vent the painful crying that seemed to come out of nowhere. Sometimes I'm a stranger to myself, this woman I've become, this creature with her special relationship to pain, her lover a stranger, really, if you count the proportion of her life that he's been witness to.

Kneeling on the bed alone while I wait, I float in this uncertainty. Until his touch and voice bring me back to myself and to him and I'm home again in one piece, the only spot in the universe that truly feels safe.

Homecoming

When we're together its what we both call home. In the little lover whispers, the lexicon of owner and owned, home is when we are one.

I crawl into my bed, deliberately naked, his smell on me still, my body aching from his touch, his hands, his teeth, his belt. Each welt and mark and ache evidence that I'm loved, treasured, that I belong to someone...that I'm real.

My bedroom window remains open from when I left to meet my Sir. Now the sun spills in through the trees outside, the wind blowing across the bed where I lay, remembering. The parts of him I love the most: the smile I only see at certain times, the rounded part of his hand below his thumb that I sucked and mouthed as my head lay on his lap, his ears, the thickest part of his arm, his soft skin, his teeth and how they aren't straight but have a distinct shape - I would know them on my skin even if I were blindfolded...his voice, particularly when he's stern, his bottom lip, fuller than my own and how hard it is to ever resist lingering there when we kiss.

How can I be this in love with someone who can bring me to tears from pain, who rarely gives me what I want just when I want it or how, who forces me to his will in nearly every encounter, who makes me feel simultaneously small and unworthy, and at the same time like I'm the most important thing in his life? How can I give him things I don't necessarily want to give, but only do so because they are for him?

I wonder, does he know all these things I feel, or does he suppose I liked them all before him? Its as if I'm being reshaped and formed into a creature of his design, interrupted off my own path and redirected to his ... does he know or does he just assume that's the way it is?

A Summons and a Kiss

I was summoned recently. It was quite a surprise to me, to be called so abruptly and out of the blue. "How close are you?" He asked and I told him. Even as I finished I was altering my course to get to where he was. My heart began to pound, the worry began in my head about what I was wearing, how my hair was. My Sir has requirements about how I look - but I'd had no notice at all this time, no chance to prepare.

I was wearing shorts because of the heat, and a thin t-shirt. At a stop light, I undid my bra, sliding the straps down my arms and slipping it off beneath my shirt. My breasts ached and felt heavy - but it was a relief all the same as I threw my bra into the back seat.

A text came, telling me specifically where to be, where to wait for him, and for me to let him know when I arrived. My nipples began to ache ... while I drove I pulled out my hairbrush and ran it through my hair with one hand.

I parked in the corner as instructed and replied by text to him - "here". Then made my way to the spot I had been told to be. A door opened and he stepped out. Within moments he was upon me, his lips against mine before I could even murmur a hello. One hand held my hair in the way that melts me and my stomach began to do that thing it does whenever I'm nearby him. The way he touches me makes me feel small, owned, invaded. One hand in my hair is all it takes, but his other hand immediately went to my breast. I had a fleeting relief that I'd remembered and removed my bra - its expected, but would have been so easy to forget. I gasped as he grabbed a nipple - I'm used to his rough touch here, it pleases him to pinch and twist and pull while I squirm and whimper. I can almost feel him soaking up the noises I make - only this time he's not letting up.

The pain lasts the entire kiss, as his fingers turn and pull, my body alternating between pleasure and desire from his kiss to frantic sounds as I will myself to not struggle against his hand. The pain is ... delightful, sending itself down to my pussy. I try to pull my mouth away from his for a breath, so I can gasp or moan but he holds me there against him, each sound I make muffled by his mouth, his hand not letting up on my poor nipple.

He releases me from the kiss, and I gasp as my nipple is let go, the pain seems as much as if a nipple clamp had been on it. I still haven't said a word, barely had a look at him and my eyes are down now, drinking in the sensations and composing myself, preparing to meet the eyes of my Sir, feeling small and humble as I know he recognized what he does to me, how much power he has over my body, how I respond just with his nearness.

Before I look up, he is gone. "I love you" he says and his voice is deep and growly, sending chills up my back as I know the desire and intent behind it. But he's already back through the door - returned to his meeting or whatever business he had.

I'm left there to compose myself alone. To make my shaken and delirious way back to my car, to ponder the hot, wet readiness a few moments with him creates. My nipple is throbbing and erect, my lips ravished and very likely swollen. I taste him in my mouth still.

It's not until I arrive home that I realize I never got to say hello or even a single word.

Slave Space

Tonight I was reading some of the other blogs I follow and I read one wherein the writer mentions her "slave space".

It made me wonder... do I have such a place, a space in my mind where I go to when I'm experiencing my submissiveness at it's deepest? I fear that I do. My love and desire for my Sir is leading me into places I didn't intend to go. The place where what he wants is important, more important than what I want, or else they are the same. The place where I circle back to his way even when I believe I'm thinking on my own.

Right now I'm a submissive. At times a conflicted submissive. I still struggle with things, still have moments of pause. Days when I attempt to impose my own way.

Something very emotional is triggered within me at the use of the term slave. A longing, a desire to explore what that would mean. I'm drawn to it, and at the same time am afraid of it, afraid to go deeper into this.

I feel the lure of accepting a collar, yet am unsure if its the commitment, the unknown, the inability to recant that stalls my steps.

surrender, dorothy

When I decided to begin this blog and needed to choose a name, I had some difficulty. Most of the blogs I read that touch on similar subjects involve the word "submission". However, I don't feel that I fit the typical "profile" of a submissive. Surrender seems to me to be the more appropriate word for how I engage in a D/s context.

Letting go of my own sense of "the way" and allowing something else to be imposed upon it requires that I surrender, not merely submit. Or at least that's how it feels to me.

Accepting guidance, even when I know its needed and may be more appropriate than my own way requires a conscious act, not just a submitting, but a letting go as well - hence the feeling of surrendering. Abandoning the thing I cling to that gets in the way.

A couple of days ago, I asked Daddy to explain to me how he sees something, how he looks at it and understands it, a situation in our lives that we differ on. I wouldn't say its a disagreement, but more of a perspective. I hoped, by understanding his view, that I would be able to embrace it and therefore avoid the consequences that arise from my own view.

I haven't got his answer yet, but the basis for my question was, I think, a fear that we view the circumstance dramatically differently. I wanted validation of my own viewpoint, either a reassurance that it was in line with his own, or perhaps the discovery that his was so very different, and I could adopt his point of view and save myself some ... thinking and plotting.

But it hit me overnight somehow, that I don't need to understand his perspective at all. I don't need to be like him, to adopt his views, or agree with them. I simply can just adhere to the agreement between us to understand his wishes and if not that, to do things his way, to obey. I don't have to change myself or my thinking, just let go of it, even if momentarily.

What I find, though, is sort of anticlimactic. Maybe it's just peace. But without the struggle, internal or otherwise, its ... vanilla?

Last week, my mind was set on adventures, outings, parties, events I wanted to attend that he put limits on. I dressed carefully, knowing he'd approve or disapprove the outfit prior to my leaving. I got permission prior to everything, throwing myself into a veiled tantrum when he said no.

It's as if a switch has been flipped somehow. It's the weekend. And I've lost all desire for engagement in kink activities. The people I wanted so desperately to see ... meh - I saw them, they're still there, nothing really has changed since I've been gone. My desire to be beaten has withered. The excitement and suspense that once accompanied interactions in the scene and community have just evaporated.

It may be temporary. But in some ways it's a relief. There is nothing I want to do that is forbidden, out of line with his wishes, or even in the general neighborhood of what he normally regulates. The influence of his will may need to become more personal and less global, I suppose, for me to feel it's confines.

bound by words

My Sir and I have always had a literary relationship. My first inkling of interest in him was due to the discovery we had a love for the same authors. He is the only man I've known who can make me drip merely by writing a sentence or two. My heart beats faster and skips when I see his name in my email box. This is how he owns me first, and always has.

It makes me wonder, though, at how common this could be. As it happens, although we write to each other a great deal, we met in person first, and fell in love with each other's minds through our correspondence.

What if I'd never met him, didn't know the face and voice to match the words would it have been the same?

His "voice" - his writing voice, is what lures me and makes me love him so fiercely. He compels me to obedience with it, pulls out tears and laughter, consoles and comforts, controls and dominates me without once needing to lay a hand upon me. Is it any wonder I fight to not drop to my knees in his presence? The intensity of the flesh incarnation of my Sir, the carnal and weakening effect his presence has on me is difficult to endure. I feel such an idiot at times, unable to think or be as clever as I feel I sometimes am when we only write. My wits are entirely gone when I see him. I wonder, does he miss the woman he writes to, question if she's even the same person? I'm so much more flirtatious and intelligent when I'm not under his actual influence.

I've never experienced this kind of involvement - the pure lust I can be driven to by the least mention of what he'll do to me when I see him. The sweet aching and painful longing that accompanies our good-byes, whether in person or apart. The miracle it seems to be when we're together, as if I've invented a lover in my head who's been transformed into flesh by some magic.

His words echo in my mind when we're apart, memories of things he has said or written that can make me blush in business meetings. They contribute to the feeling of being his, as if he's within my head, an active part of my smallest moment. I rarely ever feel truly alone or without him. I invent conversations that never happen, little things I must remember to say to him, sigh over missed viewings of pretty skies or funny events he will miss. I try to silently communicate all these lost moments when we're together, pressing up against him, an effort to melt into him as long as I can.

For all the words that pass between us, our times together are much more silent. We talk and visit, but there's also so much communication only with looks or the awful inability to look into his eyes for too long. Because we spend so much time writing to each other, it improves our nonverbal abilities somehow. We sink into the silent moments, initiated often when I'm in mid-sentence, unaware, my guard finally down and becoming comfortable with him. His possessive touch that undoes me, and renders me once again mute.

Boundaries and Fear

I struggle with boundaries and limits. Identifying, setting, and adhering to them. Its bad enough when they're my own, I can change them at a whim then, with only myself to answer to. I may feel regret afterwards, or be angry at myself, or frustrated at whatever situation or person contributed to the breach. Not surprisingly the boundaries I try to set involve less self-disclosure ... even as I write here relatively anonymously I recognize the need within me that I dislike, to share things about myself that maybe I should not. Part of it is exhibitionism, sure. Being a girl who has always been burdened with secrets, I rationalize that it's my need to steal the power from them that leads to the violations. Maybe. I think other times it might be motivated by the searching for the one I could tell my secrets to who wouldn't see them and look away.

Boundaries around my body are different. I don't like to negotiate, to set limits. I think part of it is a lack of knowing what I want and don't want - do this, maybe I'll like it, maybe not - it depends. Sometimes I like things only if they're forced on me, there are things I want that I might never agree to because that would be admitting it. I'm an adrenaline junkie, I get bored, I find drama. Boundaries keep drama out. Another side of myself I dislike, but without it, am I even me?

Having boundaries set for me by someone else is difficult. It's so easy to just say do what you want to me, or to obey, to learn to not resist, to hold still. I'm the perfect toy, because I will do almost anything. Its getting me to not do things that can be a struggle.

It isn't that I don't want to please, it's just so hard to do things someone else's way. I can't think of a time before now when I've done that, or even tried to. Instead I do them my way, and try to fuck someone into still wanting me, use my body to impose my will onto them. I do things my way and scare others away - after all, if you have no self control or limits, if you can't learn to reign yourself in or be reigned in, are you safe? Not only for yourself, but are you safe for someone who needs to be in control?

This is how I found myself at a play party - not playing. I dressed the part, short skirt, fuck-me heels, tummy revealing top. But I wore a push up bra, padded in case errant hands tried to pinch my nipples and full panties (blue) in case my skirt was lifted, rather than go without or wear a thong. These days my body is no longer mine, and therefore I cannot give bits of it away randomly. So I avoid eye contact with former play partners who might otherwise use it as a signal to grab me and begin beating, as in the past. I move away from the inquiring flick of a cane tapping my skirt as I pass. I eye the bench where I've had nearly every man presently in the room take turns trying to make me cry out in the past, where all I could do was giggle and ask to be hit harder. I sit there, watching the other bottoms squirm and scream ... not letting the thing out that wants to rear its head, or at least lift an eyebrow. I could be there, I wouldn't scream - the way I play usually gets attention which I always crave. So many people, so many new people who would be shocked or scared by what can be done to me before I'll scream.

I chatted, tortured myself by watching, smiled, tried not to be envious when I conversed with my friend, obviously high on endorphins. Left after a long hour and a half ... time moves so much faster when you engage and allow yourself to lose track, so slowly when you're being obedient.

The entire time I thought of my Sir, of his wishes for me, his requirements and most of all what consequence to disobedience. It wasn't that I couldn't play. I just would have had to talk to someone, negotiate, and then run it past him first for ultimate permission. Talking, negotiation, not skills I'm used to employing, so I don't play until I get up the nerve.

One success. I feel no triumph, just the relief at not displeasing him, trying to make myself feel something other than the desire to never attend another party under those conditions. It felt like wandering through a warm rainstorm in a plastic suit. What's the point? No emotion, no fear, no suspense or potential for anything unexpected to happen. Very safe, though.

I console myself I'm doing things his way, this is how he wants me, he's pleased. And I have to admit, its calmer, definitely not the roller coaster of endorphins, then returning home alone to get droppy, bruised and sore and weepy and alone the next day.

But are those the only alternatives? Maybe, for right now anyway. I don't see much else around me, only the extremes.

Another boundary today. I may not go someplace I really want to be. His reasons are valid, although he was disappointed I wanted to know why, that "because" wasn't good enough. There's a whole world of other places I can go and things I can do. But, because it's not allowed, its the only thing that appeals to me.

I slept instead. Instead of walking or writing, or reading or watching a movie. I crawled into bed and shut down.

It would be easier if he just wanted to play S&M games. Or sex games. Control in sex is a huge turn on. D/s outside of it is making me squirmy. I don't inhabit my own body the same way. Its much more difficult for me to accept this kind of control.

Its bringing back to me a couple of other times I've been very drawn to someone, someone who probably didn't know they were dominant, but who I have lost because of doing things my way. I'm trying to not mess this up. It seems I'm emotionally in a position where if I do fail, it will hurt an incredible amount.

But I do wonder, can I do this? Maybe it should be easier, if it were the right thing, wouldn't it be? Its not that I wouldn't do anything for him, but this "not" doing things for him is what's cost me vanilla relationships. I suppose I thought there would be fewer restrictions in this world. That how I am naturally would be enough, would be okay. Or maybe he's targeting my boundaries in this way because it is the most difficult thing, or because he knows it's best for me?