... girl weak in the knees.
I was teasing the Southern Gentleman today about men’s clothing. It got me to re-thinking the whole thing about preferences in this area, though.
I wrote a story several months ago called “The Suit”. The story started off from an idea I had in my head about who and what the Southern Gentleman was (this idea and picture has changed a lot over the last several months but much of that remains), and was about a woman who submits to a man who, while he removes her clothes slowly over several hours, remains completely dressed in a regal suit and tie the entire time. It was a story about perception, and what we believe to be true about people just from their outward appearances, and how we are many times wrong in those assumptions.
Anyway, at the base of it, is the idea that submitting in that way to a man in a suit – the dirtier the submission the better – was something that would keep your mind on edge, because it was unexpected. Also at the base was the power that a well-fitting suit seems to exude.
I wonder then what it is about men dressed in certain articles of clothing affects me the way it does.
A man in a well-fitting suit, especially a black one, will make my heart pound if I find him attractive. The same can be said though for a man in a flannel shirt (especially if he’s wearing one of those thermal undershirts under it – hubba hubba) and a good pair of jeans.
And I’m admitted several times on here to having a definite turn on to a man wearing boots.
And then there’s the whole cowboy thing….
So none of this is fetish for me – because these turn-ons are so varied and different.
And yet each of them have the ability to make me weak in the knees in their own right.
So is it the clothes themselves, or is it our perception of what the clothes stand for, and what we feel we *know about the person from the way they are dressed?
Using the suit as an example, I would perceive at first glance someone dressed in this way as a powerful business man. The power would definitely attract me, but so would the idea that his mind was just as filthy as mine (if I knew it) and that even dressed as immaculately as he was, he could make me beg for him and want every bit of him that I could not see under the suit. Maybe it’s a partial mindfuck.
Then you look at the cowboy. The rope-swinging, horse-wrangling, hat-tipping loner on the range. I don’t think I need to explain why I find that hot *grin.
The flannel shirt and jeans? Casual, and Masculine to the extreme. Same with the boots. I love the way men *smell. I can’t help it.
So maybe it is 90 percent simple perception – and what we believe we know about someone by the clothes they wear.
Yes, I think too much. It’s who I am /smirk.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Controlled Force
Okay. My list keeps getting longer instead of shorter, so I’m going to go back to something I started toward last night and never really got to.
‘Controlled Force’
(This does relate in some way to my descriptions last night in Hurt vs. Harm, so you may want to backtrack…)
I started off last night writing about anger in a scene and how it’s so taboo to so much of the quote-unquote BDSM community at large. And largely, these people are probably right. Uncontrolled anger, rage, temper really don’t have any place in a scene (for me).
But working off frustration, letting yourself go enough to feel a bit of that emotion come up in you – these things definitely do fit into a scene for me, if it’s with someone that I know and trust.
For so many submissives – especially new ones – who come into the ‘lifestyle’ – they’re looking for someone they can trust – someone to take care of them(no, not financially (well mostly) and no, not like they’re a child, but someone who will be firm but gentle, you get the idea).
While I will admit to occasionally want that – as I said in my last post – to be taken care of rather than be the caretaker – the Caretaker is my typical position. Doing things for the dominant – be that cooking dinner, organizing his schedule or blowing him under his desk – is pretty much what got me into the scene in the first place (second place maybe…*grin).
If part of taking care of a dominant is being bent over the kitchen counter and fucked hard and roughly because he’s had a frustrating day at work – how is that not fulfilling what I’m looking for?
If part of what he needs is to push me up against a wall face first and feeling him rip and tear what I’m wearing so that he can get some frustration relieved isn’t part of what I need, what is it?
Controlled force then, to me, is putting myself into someone’s hands and knowing that yes – they do have some tension to work off, and yes – I am going to be the focus of that tension for a period of time. Controlled force means that I trust him to be in control of the angry part of himself enough not to do any serious damage to me, but that he uses his “force” to get through those frustrations just the same.
I say all this having been married to someone with one of the *worst tempers I have ever been witness to – and no, something like this certainly would *not have been welcome in that relationship (my first husband btw, not the recent one) because after being around him long enough I knew without a doubt that when he was even a little angry there was no way in hell I could trust him. But I’ve met very few men like that in my life (thank you!) and most of them, I could have trusted with something like this.
Which is all fine and good, but the problem isn’t typically on my part. It’s on theirs.
My recent ex repeatedly refused to even discuss anything like this. Why? Because he did not trust himself. And frankly, that’s a good thing to be able to admit to yourself and your partner. I believed him when he said he couldn’t do it.
With my ex-partner M, we did play with this to some extent, and because he was extremely empathic, it worked very well for us on the few occasions we tried it.
This is not something you do the first weekend you meet someone. And this is certainly not something you do with someone that you do not have a deep, abiding trust in.
But it can work, and does work. And it’s not something that should simply be tossed aside because it’s not “politically correct”
(*waits for the bdsm police to come take away my toys)
To tie this in with last night….
“Controlled Force” is not all about anger or frustration. Sometimes, it’s about fantasies that involve force. There are men – even some seasoned dominant-types – that hesitate when using anything that can be construed as ‘force’. It’s easy to get tangled up in the whole hurt vs. harm thing, and intellectually I can accept and understand that.
But sometimes…just sometimes…some of us *like to be pushed up against a wall or bent over the nearest piece of furniture and taken just because you want to take us.
Just keep that in mind /wink.
‘Controlled Force’
(This does relate in some way to my descriptions last night in Hurt vs. Harm, so you may want to backtrack…)
I started off last night writing about anger in a scene and how it’s so taboo to so much of the quote-unquote BDSM community at large. And largely, these people are probably right. Uncontrolled anger, rage, temper really don’t have any place in a scene (for me).
But working off frustration, letting yourself go enough to feel a bit of that emotion come up in you – these things definitely do fit into a scene for me, if it’s with someone that I know and trust.
For so many submissives – especially new ones – who come into the ‘lifestyle’ – they’re looking for someone they can trust – someone to take care of them(no, not financially (well mostly) and no, not like they’re a child, but someone who will be firm but gentle, you get the idea).
While I will admit to occasionally want that – as I said in my last post – to be taken care of rather than be the caretaker – the Caretaker is my typical position. Doing things for the dominant – be that cooking dinner, organizing his schedule or blowing him under his desk – is pretty much what got me into the scene in the first place (second place maybe…*grin).
If part of taking care of a dominant is being bent over the kitchen counter and fucked hard and roughly because he’s had a frustrating day at work – how is that not fulfilling what I’m looking for?
If part of what he needs is to push me up against a wall face first and feeling him rip and tear what I’m wearing so that he can get some frustration relieved isn’t part of what I need, what is it?
Controlled force then, to me, is putting myself into someone’s hands and knowing that yes – they do have some tension to work off, and yes – I am going to be the focus of that tension for a period of time. Controlled force means that I trust him to be in control of the angry part of himself enough not to do any serious damage to me, but that he uses his “force” to get through those frustrations just the same.
I say all this having been married to someone with one of the *worst tempers I have ever been witness to – and no, something like this certainly would *not have been welcome in that relationship (my first husband btw, not the recent one) because after being around him long enough I knew without a doubt that when he was even a little angry there was no way in hell I could trust him. But I’ve met very few men like that in my life (thank you!) and most of them, I could have trusted with something like this.
Which is all fine and good, but the problem isn’t typically on my part. It’s on theirs.
My recent ex repeatedly refused to even discuss anything like this. Why? Because he did not trust himself. And frankly, that’s a good thing to be able to admit to yourself and your partner. I believed him when he said he couldn’t do it.
With my ex-partner M, we did play with this to some extent, and because he was extremely empathic, it worked very well for us on the few occasions we tried it.
This is not something you do the first weekend you meet someone. And this is certainly not something you do with someone that you do not have a deep, abiding trust in.
But it can work, and does work. And it’s not something that should simply be tossed aside because it’s not “politically correct”
(*waits for the bdsm police to come take away my toys)
To tie this in with last night….
“Controlled Force” is not all about anger or frustration. Sometimes, it’s about fantasies that involve force. There are men – even some seasoned dominant-types – that hesitate when using anything that can be construed as ‘force’. It’s easy to get tangled up in the whole hurt vs. harm thing, and intellectually I can accept and understand that.
But sometimes…just sometimes…some of us *like to be pushed up against a wall or bent over the nearest piece of furniture and taken just because you want to take us.
Just keep that in mind /wink.
Princess
I’ve written about pet names before. Probably more than once. But this is an ever-evolving topic for me, so you’ll just have to suffer through it again.
A year or more ago, I had a friend that inspired eight great pieces of writing for me. There was a definite sexual tension with this man (I met him last year, along with his girlfriend. I didn’t feel the tension, but I did feel a great deal of affection for him, and still do), and in our conversations and exploring different kinks, he came up with a nickname for me.
He called me princess.
Whether it was due to the sexual tension already present, or just due to the connotations of what the name symbolized (age play, we’ll come back to that in a soon-to-be post cause it’s on my list anyway), I don’t know. But what I do know is that I had a strong reaction to it each time he typed it, or spoke it to me. You know. One of those physical kind of reactions, kind of like hitting the peak on a roller coaster and going over the other side. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love that feeling? *grin)
The “Muse” phase of our relationship didn’t really last all that long for many and varied reasons that don’t really rate any airtime here, but our friendship has continued. When I met him finally last fall, in a quiet moment when we were talking, he very softly called me “princess” and I laughed and said “none of that!” to him. It’s more like a joke between us now I think, and it’s actually a very cute thing.
I didn’t really think anymore about it after that. It was something that was between he and I, and it wasn’t like I went looking for someone else who’d call me that, or asked anyone to.
But someone did. Someone with whom I have a similar though not the same kind of relationship with now. Someone who does inspire quite a bit of my writing lately, and who I do consider to be a good and trusted friend, with strong interests in kink. I’ve referred to him in the past as the Southern Gentleman, and I think he enjoyed that little title, so I’ll use it here as well.
One night when the Gentleman and I were talking, I related to him the story above about the name. I think I made a little joke about it.
And then awhile later, he called me that.
And I got back on the roller coaster again.
I’m pretty sure my reaction was apparent by what I may – or may not have – said afterward, and the Gentleman admitted awhile later that he’d been hesitant to use it, thinking that it was just a “thing” between my former muse and I. And before that moment, if you’d have asked me straight out, I’d probably have agreed with that.
But we were both wrong.
“Princess” evokes an innocence from me that I don’t have much of anymore. (“I’d trade wisdom back in for innocence….Ben Jelen, ‘Slow Down’). It completely removes the need for me to be rational and wise. It allows me to be taken care of, rather than being the caretaker.
As I said, I had assumed that the pet name had so much effect on me because of the relationship I had with my former muse, but as it turns out, that wasn’t completely the case. Now, the fact that I have a similar relationship with the Gentleman may indeed have some impact on it (no, I wouldn’t get on the roller coaster if some smart-ass in the bank line called me a princess!) as well, or it may not.
I’m kind of guessing it has at least a moderate effect though.
Regardless of that, I was a bit in awe of his ‘ease of use’ with that word with me, and my reaction to it. Still am. And thinking about it now, after having seen it come up on my IM screen just last night from him, and remembering my vivid reaction to it, I’m smiling.
It’s funny how you think, when a relationship changes or ends, that you’re never going to get those specific feelings back. And maybe you never really do. But you can get similar, or even better ones to replace them, and not have the residue of an ‘ending’ hanging over them.
And how incredibly fired up one simple word can make me. *grin
Hm. This post so did not go where I intended it to go (yet again!). The original topic will have to stay on my list *smirk
A year or more ago, I had a friend that inspired eight great pieces of writing for me. There was a definite sexual tension with this man (I met him last year, along with his girlfriend. I didn’t feel the tension, but I did feel a great deal of affection for him, and still do), and in our conversations and exploring different kinks, he came up with a nickname for me.
He called me princess.
Whether it was due to the sexual tension already present, or just due to the connotations of what the name symbolized (age play, we’ll come back to that in a soon-to-be post cause it’s on my list anyway), I don’t know. But what I do know is that I had a strong reaction to it each time he typed it, or spoke it to me. You know. One of those physical kind of reactions, kind of like hitting the peak on a roller coaster and going over the other side. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love that feeling? *grin)
The “Muse” phase of our relationship didn’t really last all that long for many and varied reasons that don’t really rate any airtime here, but our friendship has continued. When I met him finally last fall, in a quiet moment when we were talking, he very softly called me “princess” and I laughed and said “none of that!” to him. It’s more like a joke between us now I think, and it’s actually a very cute thing.
I didn’t really think anymore about it after that. It was something that was between he and I, and it wasn’t like I went looking for someone else who’d call me that, or asked anyone to.
But someone did. Someone with whom I have a similar though not the same kind of relationship with now. Someone who does inspire quite a bit of my writing lately, and who I do consider to be a good and trusted friend, with strong interests in kink. I’ve referred to him in the past as the Southern Gentleman, and I think he enjoyed that little title, so I’ll use it here as well.
One night when the Gentleman and I were talking, I related to him the story above about the name. I think I made a little joke about it.
And then awhile later, he called me that.
And I got back on the roller coaster again.
I’m pretty sure my reaction was apparent by what I may – or may not have – said afterward, and the Gentleman admitted awhile later that he’d been hesitant to use it, thinking that it was just a “thing” between my former muse and I. And before that moment, if you’d have asked me straight out, I’d probably have agreed with that.
But we were both wrong.
“Princess” evokes an innocence from me that I don’t have much of anymore. (“I’d trade wisdom back in for innocence….Ben Jelen, ‘Slow Down’). It completely removes the need for me to be rational and wise. It allows me to be taken care of, rather than being the caretaker.
As I said, I had assumed that the pet name had so much effect on me because of the relationship I had with my former muse, but as it turns out, that wasn’t completely the case. Now, the fact that I have a similar relationship with the Gentleman may indeed have some impact on it (no, I wouldn’t get on the roller coaster if some smart-ass in the bank line called me a princess!) as well, or it may not.
I’m kind of guessing it has at least a moderate effect though.
Regardless of that, I was a bit in awe of his ‘ease of use’ with that word with me, and my reaction to it. Still am. And thinking about it now, after having seen it come up on my IM screen just last night from him, and remembering my vivid reaction to it, I’m smiling.
It’s funny how you think, when a relationship changes or ends, that you’re never going to get those specific feelings back. And maybe you never really do. But you can get similar, or even better ones to replace them, and not have the residue of an ‘ending’ hanging over them.
And how incredibly fired up one simple word can make me. *grin
Hm. This post so did not go where I intended it to go (yet again!). The original topic will have to stay on my list *smirk
Sometimes, more is more
Awhile ago, I went on a little lingerie binge. Not a big one, I only bought a few pieces, but they were very special pieces and not cheap; the kind of pieces I’d be proud to put on and wear for someone else with the intent of seducing them, or letting them seduce me.
My taste in lingerie is different than it used to be. One of the pieces I bought is even a very light pink with subtle pin-striping and trimmed in black. A few years ago, just it being even remotely pink would have made me shudder. But I’ve come back around lately to realizing that there is a difference between feminine-sexy and slutty, and there are occasions where feminine definitely is going to be more appropriate.
Another difference is that these are two outfits leave a bit more to the imagination then things I’d have bought to wear for my ex. For him, the sluttier and the more “almost naked” I was, the better. But I’ve also come around to the fact in the last couple years that sometimes, less isn’t more – more is more. And that sometimes, the allusion to sex is more important than the blatant exposure. Not always of course. The completely whorish outfits still hold a certain appeal for me, and I do have a few well-selected ones left that aren’t too big yet.
I had to run some errands today, and stopped into my favorite department store to pick up a few things. Browsing through the clearance rack, I came across a black velvet tuxedo style jacket – fitted – with a black satin lapel. I imagine if I pair that with the pink pin-stripe number and perhaps a short black skirt, I’m going to get exactly what I have coming to me someday ...
If I’m lucky /wink.
My taste in lingerie is different than it used to be. One of the pieces I bought is even a very light pink with subtle pin-striping and trimmed in black. A few years ago, just it being even remotely pink would have made me shudder. But I’ve come back around lately to realizing that there is a difference between feminine-sexy and slutty, and there are occasions where feminine definitely is going to be more appropriate.
Another difference is that these are two outfits leave a bit more to the imagination then things I’d have bought to wear for my ex. For him, the sluttier and the more “almost naked” I was, the better. But I’ve also come around to the fact in the last couple years that sometimes, less isn’t more – more is more. And that sometimes, the allusion to sex is more important than the blatant exposure. Not always of course. The completely whorish outfits still hold a certain appeal for me, and I do have a few well-selected ones left that aren’t too big yet.
I had to run some errands today, and stopped into my favorite department store to pick up a few things. Browsing through the clearance rack, I came across a black velvet tuxedo style jacket – fitted – with a black satin lapel. I imagine if I pair that with the pink pin-stripe number and perhaps a short black skirt, I’m going to get exactly what I have coming to me someday ...
If I’m lucky /wink.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Passion
"Sex without pain is like food without taste" Marquis de Sade
…I’m not necessarily talking about hot wax and nipple clamps here, but a little biting and clawing never hurt anyone (okay, hurt maybe but ….)
I saw this quote tonight and it just made me grin like a kid. It reminds me why I started exploring all this naughty bdsm stuff anyway…
Intensity. Passion. Complete and total abandonment of “that good girl” who was raised Catholic and a good girl and who always behaved herself like a lady (until I turned 16 apparently. That’s when my dad says I turned a 180 in the middle of dinner one time and never looked back).
These are the things that I enjoy. They are the things that make sex worth having for me, make the tangled hair (and take a look at the picture – do you really think I enjoy brushing fuck-tangles out of that?), the smeared lipstick, the ripped underthings and bruises, scratches and sore thigh muscles worth every minute.
Does every time have to be a circus? *chuckle. No. I can – and have – enjoyed what most kinksters would call “vanilla sex” many times in my life. But there is almost always some kind of “edge” to it. There is pain or teasing or someone holding my arms above my head. There is nasty whispering, directions, touching of one’s self for another viewing enjoyment. Those things on their own are vanilla (right? Ha ha). But they add a level to sexual enjoyment for me that I just don’t get from what I call “careful sweet sex” on a regular basis.
I’m a passionate person. When I believe in something, I go full out. I don’t back down. I explore eternally. When I want something, I try hard for it. I think endlessly. I feel deeply. When I am moved to tears you can bet your ass there is a damn good reason for it. I do not run from the depth of my emotion; I run toward it. I *enjoy. Period.
You’ll note one of the nicknames at the top of this blog is “Screamer”. Yes, it means what you think it means. And yes, it’s all part of the package – the part of me that enjoys intense sexual interaction.
This is, of course, not to say that a bit of spanking, the use of nipple clamps or a belt or paddle during sexual interaction isn’t something I enjoy. But it’s just to clarify – maybe just to myself – what it is I enjoy. And what that is, darlings, is passion.
Show it anyway you like. But show it often and proudly.
…I’m not necessarily talking about hot wax and nipple clamps here, but a little biting and clawing never hurt anyone (okay, hurt maybe but ….)
I saw this quote tonight and it just made me grin like a kid. It reminds me why I started exploring all this naughty bdsm stuff anyway…
Intensity. Passion. Complete and total abandonment of “that good girl” who was raised Catholic and a good girl and who always behaved herself like a lady (until I turned 16 apparently. That’s when my dad says I turned a 180 in the middle of dinner one time and never looked back).
These are the things that I enjoy. They are the things that make sex worth having for me, make the tangled hair (and take a look at the picture – do you really think I enjoy brushing fuck-tangles out of that?), the smeared lipstick, the ripped underthings and bruises, scratches and sore thigh muscles worth every minute.
Does every time have to be a circus? *chuckle. No. I can – and have – enjoyed what most kinksters would call “vanilla sex” many times in my life. But there is almost always some kind of “edge” to it. There is pain or teasing or someone holding my arms above my head. There is nasty whispering, directions, touching of one’s self for another viewing enjoyment. Those things on their own are vanilla (right? Ha ha). But they add a level to sexual enjoyment for me that I just don’t get from what I call “careful sweet sex” on a regular basis.
I’m a passionate person. When I believe in something, I go full out. I don’t back down. I explore eternally. When I want something, I try hard for it. I think endlessly. I feel deeply. When I am moved to tears you can bet your ass there is a damn good reason for it. I do not run from the depth of my emotion; I run toward it. I *enjoy. Period.
You’ll note one of the nicknames at the top of this blog is “Screamer”. Yes, it means what you think it means. And yes, it’s all part of the package – the part of me that enjoys intense sexual interaction.
This is, of course, not to say that a bit of spanking, the use of nipple clamps or a belt or paddle during sexual interaction isn’t something I enjoy. But it’s just to clarify – maybe just to myself – what it is I enjoy. And what that is, darlings, is passion.
Show it anyway you like. But show it often and proudly.
Hurt vs. Harm - Again.
There’s an age-old argument in the BDSM community about not playing when you’re angry. I’ve blogged on here about that before and I’m not going to go into it all over again, but a conversation with a friend recently brought up another extension of that discussion.
He said something along the lines of – “I could never hurt someone that I was dating.” (No, it’s not an exact quote, I’m not digging through IM logs for it, but that’s the jist of it.)
Now, this is not to say that this friend does not have dominant tendencies, he does. It’s also not to say that he doesn’t have any fantasies about force or spanking or shoving his cock down someone’s throat or anything of that ilk – he does.
But I think where things get tangled up for people is with the word ‘hurt’.
I’m pretty sure I’ve blogged about hurt vs. harm here before. If I haven’t, let me explain briefly:
Hurt: Cause pain but no permanent damage physically or emotionally.
Harm: Cause pain and permanent damage physically or emotionally.
The two words are far from interchangeable but they are interchanged sometimes, and it makes discussions like this much more difficult.
(I was actually working toward a different point, but I’m on a roll here so let me finish this up and I’ll get back on the other road. Further, this is not a discussion about sadists and masochists, or people who’ve been doing bdsm for years. It’s for anyone else who lives on the fringe of this.)
Maybe in casual relationships – those in which the two (or more) people don’t know each other all that well, hurt could be mistaken for harm and vice-versa. But if you’ve spent enough time talking with someone about your own fantasies and desires, and you’ve listened to theirs – along with exchanging fears and dislikes, too – it’s going to be pretty hard to tangle those two words up. For instance…
Discuss “face fucking” with partner. Male partner has it as a fantasy. Female partner is not concerned about it, finds the idea exciting. Male partner tries to pull it off one night. Female partner gags a bit, but doesn’t pull away or run away screaming. Female partner has tears on her cheeks during the “act” but isn’t really crying. “Scene” ends.
Did he hurt her? Perhaps.
Did he harm her? No.
When he asks her about it later, she admits that it made her weak in the knees.
He was concerned about hurting her, and he likely did (No matter how much you might enjoy a good sound face-fucking, gagging does not feel like a massage for the gagger *smirk). But he didn’t harm her – emotionally or physically – and the small amount of pain she endured was done out of desire for same.
Push my back up against a brick wall? Hurt? Maybe. Harm? Fuck no, hot as hell.
Getting a picture here? *evil grin.
With above-average communication skills, fantasies that involve a bit of “controlled force” can be highly charged and hellaciously fantastic for both people.
(And yes, Controlled Force is where I started this to go, but I got all kinds of distracted. I’ll come back to that later *wink)
He said something along the lines of – “I could never hurt someone that I was dating.” (No, it’s not an exact quote, I’m not digging through IM logs for it, but that’s the jist of it.)
Now, this is not to say that this friend does not have dominant tendencies, he does. It’s also not to say that he doesn’t have any fantasies about force or spanking or shoving his cock down someone’s throat or anything of that ilk – he does.
But I think where things get tangled up for people is with the word ‘hurt’.
I’m pretty sure I’ve blogged about hurt vs. harm here before. If I haven’t, let me explain briefly:
Hurt: Cause pain but no permanent damage physically or emotionally.
Harm: Cause pain and permanent damage physically or emotionally.
The two words are far from interchangeable but they are interchanged sometimes, and it makes discussions like this much more difficult.
(I was actually working toward a different point, but I’m on a roll here so let me finish this up and I’ll get back on the other road. Further, this is not a discussion about sadists and masochists, or people who’ve been doing bdsm for years. It’s for anyone else who lives on the fringe of this.)
Maybe in casual relationships – those in which the two (or more) people don’t know each other all that well, hurt could be mistaken for harm and vice-versa. But if you’ve spent enough time talking with someone about your own fantasies and desires, and you’ve listened to theirs – along with exchanging fears and dislikes, too – it’s going to be pretty hard to tangle those two words up. For instance…
Discuss “face fucking” with partner. Male partner has it as a fantasy. Female partner is not concerned about it, finds the idea exciting. Male partner tries to pull it off one night. Female partner gags a bit, but doesn’t pull away or run away screaming. Female partner has tears on her cheeks during the “act” but isn’t really crying. “Scene” ends.
Did he hurt her? Perhaps.
Did he harm her? No.
When he asks her about it later, she admits that it made her weak in the knees.
He was concerned about hurting her, and he likely did (No matter how much you might enjoy a good sound face-fucking, gagging does not feel like a massage for the gagger *smirk). But he didn’t harm her – emotionally or physically – and the small amount of pain she endured was done out of desire for same.
Push my back up against a brick wall? Hurt? Maybe. Harm? Fuck no, hot as hell.
Getting a picture here? *evil grin.
With above-average communication skills, fantasies that involve a bit of “controlled force” can be highly charged and hellaciously fantastic for both people.
(And yes, Controlled Force is where I started this to go, but I got all kinds of distracted. I’ll come back to that later *wink)
Be careful how you define yourself......
I think one of the things about the bdsm lifestyle that bothers me the most is that people take their definitions of words like “dominant” and “submissive” to the extreme.
For instance, I witnessed a discussion recently in which someone stated that they felt that making any request to a dominant, as a submissive, was “topping from the bottom” and that they felt like they were telling the dominant what to do.
What?
Wait. So, if I’m a submissive, I don’t get to offer any suggestions or ask to try anything new?
Who the fuck made up that rule and where do I go to get that over-turned?
Talk about taking themselves too seriously…
Listen, I don’t know about other submissives, but my mind goes a mile a minute sometimes. I read a LOT, and talk to a lot of people and read a fair amount of erotica. Am I supposed to *not share anything I’ve read about with a dominant-type person simply because it’d feel to me (or them) that I was telling them what to do?
There is *no relationship in this world that cannot benefit from a bit of give and take from both sides. And frankly, I would be a poor match for someone who didn’t want my input in the sexual – or any other – part of our relationship. That does not mean that as a submissive that if I make a request or suggestion I expect to have it acted out RIGHT NOW – or even ever. But having the ability to say it – share it – ask for it – these things are pretty much necessary for me. I don’t speak for all submissives of course, but I would hope that anyone in an adult relationship would not gag themselves (err…wait) from suggesting something that seriously pushed their buttons.
Call me crazy, but defining yourself too strictly by what you think your kink terms mean can be hazardous to not only your relationship, but your sex life, too /wink.
For instance, I witnessed a discussion recently in which someone stated that they felt that making any request to a dominant, as a submissive, was “topping from the bottom” and that they felt like they were telling the dominant what to do.
What?
Wait. So, if I’m a submissive, I don’t get to offer any suggestions or ask to try anything new?
Who the fuck made up that rule and where do I go to get that over-turned?
Talk about taking themselves too seriously…
Listen, I don’t know about other submissives, but my mind goes a mile a minute sometimes. I read a LOT, and talk to a lot of people and read a fair amount of erotica. Am I supposed to *not share anything I’ve read about with a dominant-type person simply because it’d feel to me (or them) that I was telling them what to do?
There is *no relationship in this world that cannot benefit from a bit of give and take from both sides. And frankly, I would be a poor match for someone who didn’t want my input in the sexual – or any other – part of our relationship. That does not mean that as a submissive that if I make a request or suggestion I expect to have it acted out RIGHT NOW – or even ever. But having the ability to say it – share it – ask for it – these things are pretty much necessary for me. I don’t speak for all submissives of course, but I would hope that anyone in an adult relationship would not gag themselves (err…wait) from suggesting something that seriously pushed their buttons.
Call me crazy, but defining yourself too strictly by what you think your kink terms mean can be hazardous to not only your relationship, but your sex life, too /wink.
What's on Your Mind?
One of the things that people in the bdsm community often pride themselves on is the added “trust” that’s inherent in their personal relationships as they relate to each other.
Why then, do you suppose, are discussions about how submissives always seem to have difficulty talking about things that are on their minds to their dominants?
I see about one of these discussions a week. And while I’ll admit that I have occasionally been guilty of this myself – when the trust, or more specifically the intimacy – seems to be in a downward flux in a relationship, I also have trouble swallowing the idea that submissives don’t or won’t do it because they’re being respectful.
What’s more respectful than tempered honesty? I don’t mean honesty to the point of being hurtful, but more honesty in the interest of a healthy adult relationship. If I want or need something I’m not getting from a relationship, chances are I’m going to find a way to say it somehow. I don’t see a point in suffering with it in silence for an extended period of time (say a year or more – like I used to). As with anything, relationships and relationship energy ebb and flow. And yes, patience is a virtue. But if you’ve waited a long time and you haven’t seen a change for the better, it’s probably time to speak up and let your partner know what’s on your mind.
When my ex joined the Navy, any and all bdsm in our relationship came to a screeching halt. Whether this was because of the Navy directly, or his internal energy levels, I still don’t know. But I waited a very long time – well over a year – to bring this up to him. He made a few half-hearted attempts at it, and I recognized the fact he was putting forth an effort, and let it be. As it turns out, that was all she wrote for bdsm for us, and it doesn’t really matter why – it just was. I had to make a choice at that point if the marriage or the bdsm was more important to me, and because of my relationship with him, I chose the marriage. But that was *my decision, and it was made after discussing the issue with him a few times in a few years. I didn’t just sit and wait for it to magically happen and I didn’t suffer silently for an extended period of time. (Some might argue a year is extended, but the fact is, he was gone for more than 8 months of that year on the submarine).
When the time comes and I have another consistent dominant-type person in my life, a high priority for me will be making sure that he’s fully aware of what’s on my mind. It’s not disrespectful to do so; it’s necessary to intimacy and trust. And anyone who thinks otherwise is fooling themselves.
Why then, do you suppose, are discussions about how submissives always seem to have difficulty talking about things that are on their minds to their dominants?
I see about one of these discussions a week. And while I’ll admit that I have occasionally been guilty of this myself – when the trust, or more specifically the intimacy – seems to be in a downward flux in a relationship, I also have trouble swallowing the idea that submissives don’t or won’t do it because they’re being respectful.
What’s more respectful than tempered honesty? I don’t mean honesty to the point of being hurtful, but more honesty in the interest of a healthy adult relationship. If I want or need something I’m not getting from a relationship, chances are I’m going to find a way to say it somehow. I don’t see a point in suffering with it in silence for an extended period of time (say a year or more – like I used to). As with anything, relationships and relationship energy ebb and flow. And yes, patience is a virtue. But if you’ve waited a long time and you haven’t seen a change for the better, it’s probably time to speak up and let your partner know what’s on your mind.
When my ex joined the Navy, any and all bdsm in our relationship came to a screeching halt. Whether this was because of the Navy directly, or his internal energy levels, I still don’t know. But I waited a very long time – well over a year – to bring this up to him. He made a few half-hearted attempts at it, and I recognized the fact he was putting forth an effort, and let it be. As it turns out, that was all she wrote for bdsm for us, and it doesn’t really matter why – it just was. I had to make a choice at that point if the marriage or the bdsm was more important to me, and because of my relationship with him, I chose the marriage. But that was *my decision, and it was made after discussing the issue with him a few times in a few years. I didn’t just sit and wait for it to magically happen and I didn’t suffer silently for an extended period of time. (Some might argue a year is extended, but the fact is, he was gone for more than 8 months of that year on the submarine).
When the time comes and I have another consistent dominant-type person in my life, a high priority for me will be making sure that he’s fully aware of what’s on my mind. It’s not disrespectful to do so; it’s necessary to intimacy and trust. And anyone who thinks otherwise is fooling themselves.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Eggshells
I don't like it when people walk on eggshells with me. And I don't like having to do it with other people, either. It makes me extremely uncomfortable from either side.
What starts out as being a protective thing usually ends up feeling more like a fear thing. "Oh, I can't say that, it'll upset them." Which results in trying to come up with something *to* say, which is forced and un-natural and makes me feel awful.
This is especially uncomfortable for me when dealing with someone I am submissive to, or I feel submissive to sometimes, or have been submissive to in the past. It feels dishonest, even though at the start of it, I'm trying to do something protective. I guess one has to weigh the warrant of it against the desire to be honest and open. And sometimes it is warranted. But even then, it's not something that makes me comfortable.
===
In other news, I got an email on alt today from someone who wanted to wash my hair and brush it for me. Considering some of the other ones I've gotten recently, it was pretty mild but for some reason it made me giggle.
What starts out as being a protective thing usually ends up feeling more like a fear thing. "Oh, I can't say that, it'll upset them." Which results in trying to come up with something *to* say, which is forced and un-natural and makes me feel awful.
This is especially uncomfortable for me when dealing with someone I am submissive to, or I feel submissive to sometimes, or have been submissive to in the past. It feels dishonest, even though at the start of it, I'm trying to do something protective. I guess one has to weigh the warrant of it against the desire to be honest and open. And sometimes it is warranted. But even then, it's not something that makes me comfortable.
===
In other news, I got an email on alt today from someone who wanted to wash my hair and brush it for me. Considering some of the other ones I've gotten recently, it was pretty mild but for some reason it made me giggle.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Mirror
I woke up Thursday morning with a cute dirty-blonde looking back at me in the mirror. I went to bed Thursday night with a full-blown sexy blonde gazing at me *grin*.
I asked for highlights. I got a bit more than that. But spring is coming and I actually love the look. Maybe since I'm soon to be snowed in this weekend, I'll actually get some new pictures taken.
I'm getting a bit more used to the image in that mirror. Not just the hair cut and color, but the weightloss as well. It's a good feeling. I smile a lot.
I asked for highlights. I got a bit more than that. But spring is coming and I actually love the look. Maybe since I'm soon to be snowed in this weekend, I'll actually get some new pictures taken.
I'm getting a bit more used to the image in that mirror. Not just the hair cut and color, but the weightloss as well. It's a good feeling. I smile a lot.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Redirect, don't restrain
I send a lot of people to read here.
When I get responses from my ads (of the kink variety), I send them here to read to get to know me better. This blog says more about me than I can sum up in a paragraph, and shows how I express myself most of the time. I do make a conscience effort to keep most negative stuff out of here, though, and I'm wondering about that today.
Expressing myself when I'm in the mood to, whether it be positive or negative, is important to keeping my writing channel open. The last few days, I've had a very negative feeling around me. I'm not 100% sure why (I do have a pretty good idea), I need to express it, so I've been doing so in a private journal on my computer, rather than up here where half the world can read it. That's probably the healthiest thing I can do, both for myself and my writing.
But I'm wiping all that negative out today by doing something nice for myself /wink.
When I get responses from my ads (of the kink variety), I send them here to read to get to know me better. This blog says more about me than I can sum up in a paragraph, and shows how I express myself most of the time. I do make a conscience effort to keep most negative stuff out of here, though, and I'm wondering about that today.
Expressing myself when I'm in the mood to, whether it be positive or negative, is important to keeping my writing channel open. The last few days, I've had a very negative feeling around me. I'm not 100% sure why (I do have a pretty good idea), I need to express it, so I've been doing so in a private journal on my computer, rather than up here where half the world can read it. That's probably the healthiest thing I can do, both for myself and my writing.
But I'm wiping all that negative out today by doing something nice for myself /wink.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
This made me laugh
...and then it made me feel it.
Have you ever felt like a phone call that's been disconnected?
Shannen Doherty
Have you ever felt like a phone call that's been disconnected?
Shannen Doherty
I saved you
...I wrote a two page rant, and I decided to save you from reading it.
You'd thank me, trust me.
You'd thank me, trust me.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Percentiles
So, what percent vanilla are *you*?
This question was posed on a message board I read, and I really had to stop and think about it for a minute.
In reality, most of my life is vanilla. I have a vanilla job, vanilla family, vanilla friends. Despite the fact that I live, breath and sleep sex -- only a small portion of my time (on a typical day - lately my days have not been typical *wink*) are spent actually doing anything that pertains to sex in general. Even less that pertains to BDSM (*sigh*)
If we're talking in generalities, most of my life is vanilla.
If we're talking about sex, be it writing, reading, thinking, talking - I'd say probably a portion of my life is vanilla.
If we're talking about desires, it's some vanilla but mostly kink.
Now see, you kinda have to define vanilla here, too. But for me, vanilla means mostly that there's no kink involved at all. Kink is a huge range. Kink is anything (for me) from anal sex to age play to BDSM.
I'm a girl who enjoys a variety of kinks, and while being dominated is mostly certainly one of my basest and most prevalent desires and kinks, it's not the only one I have. "There is more to me than this."
So I guess I can't really answer the question (and didn't). But it's interesting to think about.
This question was posed on a message board I read, and I really had to stop and think about it for a minute.
In reality, most of my life is vanilla. I have a vanilla job, vanilla family, vanilla friends. Despite the fact that I live, breath and sleep sex -- only a small portion of my time (on a typical day - lately my days have not been typical *wink*) are spent actually doing anything that pertains to sex in general. Even less that pertains to BDSM (*sigh*)
If we're talking in generalities, most of my life is vanilla.
If we're talking about sex, be it writing, reading, thinking, talking - I'd say probably a portion of my life is vanilla.
If we're talking about desires, it's some vanilla but mostly kink.
Now see, you kinda have to define vanilla here, too. But for me, vanilla means mostly that there's no kink involved at all. Kink is a huge range. Kink is anything (for me) from anal sex to age play to BDSM.
I'm a girl who enjoys a variety of kinks, and while being dominated is mostly certainly one of my basest and most prevalent desires and kinks, it's not the only one I have. "There is more to me than this."
So I guess I can't really answer the question (and didn't). But it's interesting to think about.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Playing Catch Up
I had a quiet night tonight, good for catching up with various boards, and emails from alt and another bdsm site I belong to.
A wonderful quote: "I want the kind of Man a Woman can trust when she can no longer trust herself. "
I got asked in an email tonight (y'all knew I was going to start sharing the silliness again didn't you?) if I had to classify my submissive self as one of the following, which would it be? The choices were passive, trashy, innocent, bratty or obedient.
What the hell - no "all of the above"? What kind of crap is that?
I am all of those things. Sometimes more than one at once. Sometimes I am none of them, and something else entirely. I do not fit one mold. I do not wear one pair of boots (you were expecting shoes there, weren't you? How long have you been reading here?). Over the course of a day, I can be many or none of them at different times. I sometimes adapt to my surroundings, I sometimes create my surroundings with my behavior.
I don't blame the guy. He probably stole the question from somewhere else. But expecting anyone - even a "submissive" to fit into one role 24/7 is akin to expecting the sun to stay out all night and day.
My response to him was simple: I asked what time it was where he lived. /shrug
As a nice bonus though, it was all spelled correctly and he used proper grammar, so I couldn't possibly be mean /wink.
Oh.
And if I see the word "Subbie" one more time tonight, I'm liable to go postal.
A wonderful quote: "I want the kind of Man a Woman can trust when she can no longer trust herself. "
I got asked in an email tonight (y'all knew I was going to start sharing the silliness again didn't you?) if I had to classify my submissive self as one of the following, which would it be? The choices were passive, trashy, innocent, bratty or obedient.
What the hell - no "all of the above"? What kind of crap is that?
I am all of those things. Sometimes more than one at once. Sometimes I am none of them, and something else entirely. I do not fit one mold. I do not wear one pair of boots (you were expecting shoes there, weren't you? How long have you been reading here?). Over the course of a day, I can be many or none of them at different times. I sometimes adapt to my surroundings, I sometimes create my surroundings with my behavior.
I don't blame the guy. He probably stole the question from somewhere else. But expecting anyone - even a "submissive" to fit into one role 24/7 is akin to expecting the sun to stay out all night and day.
My response to him was simple: I asked what time it was where he lived. /shrug
As a nice bonus though, it was all spelled correctly and he used proper grammar, so I couldn't possibly be mean /wink.
Oh.
And if I see the word "Subbie" one more time tonight, I'm liable to go postal.
Monday, February 12, 2007
You Learn
Yea, you learn, cause I'm tired :p
I, recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone, yeah
I, recommend walking around naked in your living room, yeah
Swallow it down (what a jagged little pill)
It feels so good (swimming in your stomach)
Wait until the dust settles
You live you learn, you love you learn
You cry you learn, you lose you learn
You bleed you learn, you scream you learn
I, recommend biting off more than you can chew to anyone
I certainly do
I, recommend sticking your foot in your mouth at any time
Feel free
Throw it down (the caution blocks you from the wind)
Hold it up (to the rays)
You wait and see when the smoke clears
You live you learn, you love you learn
You cry you learn, you lose you learn
You bleed you learn, you scream you learn
Wear it out (the way a three-year-old would do)
Melt it down (you're gonna have to eventually, anyway)
The fire trucks are coming up around the bend
You live you learn, you love you learn
You cry you learn, you lose you learn
You bleed you learn, you scream you learn
You grieve you learn, you choke you learn
You laugh you learn, you choose you learn
You pray you learn, you ask you learn
You live you learn
Thank you, Alanis. I needed that.
I, recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone, yeah
I, recommend walking around naked in your living room, yeah
Swallow it down (what a jagged little pill)
It feels so good (swimming in your stomach)
Wait until the dust settles
You live you learn, you love you learn
You cry you learn, you lose you learn
You bleed you learn, you scream you learn
I, recommend biting off more than you can chew to anyone
I certainly do
I, recommend sticking your foot in your mouth at any time
Feel free
Throw it down (the caution blocks you from the wind)
Hold it up (to the rays)
You wait and see when the smoke clears
You live you learn, you love you learn
You cry you learn, you lose you learn
You bleed you learn, you scream you learn
Wear it out (the way a three-year-old would do)
Melt it down (you're gonna have to eventually, anyway)
The fire trucks are coming up around the bend
You live you learn, you love you learn
You cry you learn, you lose you learn
You bleed you learn, you scream you learn
You grieve you learn, you choke you learn
You laugh you learn, you choose you learn
You pray you learn, you ask you learn
You live you learn
Thank you, Alanis. I needed that.
Blasphemy
Awhile ago, I was given an idea to write a story with a religious theme. I found this difficult for several reasons. I started it three or four times. Religion is a hot-button for me. I was raised Catholic, and basically booted out of the church for my views on abortion and birth control. I don't believe at all in organized religion (which includes wicca as far as I'm concerned).
Well, my cable went out last night. No tv, no internet. So I was thumbing back through my list of ideas and saw that -- and decided to start from scratch.
The result is... well, I'm slightly proud of it.
Here's a nibble:
“Do you touch yourself like this at home? In your room at night?”
“We’re not supposed to….”
“But you do….”
“I have…”
“And what else have you done?”
“I can’t…I can’t tell you ….”
“You can. You trust me don’t you?”
“Yes, but …”
“Then tell me.” He leaned back again. “Or, show me.”
She didn’t believe it possible, but her cheeks burned even hotter then. “Father, please don’t make me….”
“Do you do things that make you feel good?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then how can this be bad? The whole point of this experiment is to reward you so that you can learn to be a better girl, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s…”
“It’s dirty, isn’t it?”
His words hung in the air, pushing against her. Her voice suddenly left her, and she could not answer him.
“It’s dirty and naughty to touch yourself, but you do. When the lights are out in your room, you pinch your nipples and you reach down into your panties, don’t you….”
“Father please….”
“Put your heels up on the edge of the desk.”
She swallowed hard again and let go of her breasts and pulled her legs up onto the desk.
“Spread them further apart. That’s better. Good girl. Now push your skirt up for me…over your hips… good.”
She began to do as he asked automatically. Tears hung in the corners of her eyes and her cheeks still burned, but she lost her fight.
“Now pull your panties to the side. No, better yet, just slide them off. That’s it, all the way off. Good. Put your heels back up now…further apart…fix your skirt….good. That’s perfect.”
Well, my cable went out last night. No tv, no internet. So I was thumbing back through my list of ideas and saw that -- and decided to start from scratch.
The result is... well, I'm slightly proud of it.
Here's a nibble:
“Do you touch yourself like this at home? In your room at night?”
“We’re not supposed to….”
“But you do….”
“I have…”
“And what else have you done?”
“I can’t…I can’t tell you ….”
“You can. You trust me don’t you?”
“Yes, but …”
“Then tell me.” He leaned back again. “Or, show me.”
She didn’t believe it possible, but her cheeks burned even hotter then. “Father, please don’t make me….”
“Do you do things that make you feel good?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then how can this be bad? The whole point of this experiment is to reward you so that you can learn to be a better girl, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s…”
“It’s dirty, isn’t it?”
His words hung in the air, pushing against her. Her voice suddenly left her, and she could not answer him.
“It’s dirty and naughty to touch yourself, but you do. When the lights are out in your room, you pinch your nipples and you reach down into your panties, don’t you….”
“Father please….”
“Put your heels up on the edge of the desk.”
She swallowed hard again and let go of her breasts and pulled her legs up onto the desk.
“Spread them further apart. That’s better. Good girl. Now push your skirt up for me…over your hips… good.”
She began to do as he asked automatically. Tears hung in the corners of her eyes and her cheeks still burned, but she lost her fight.
“Now pull your panties to the side. No, better yet, just slide them off. That’s it, all the way off. Good. Put your heels back up now…further apart…fix your skirt….good. That’s perfect.”
Friday, February 09, 2007
Swamped
I wrote another "perspective" but I'm not going to post any of it yet. I'm not happy with it. It's a complete departure from what I typically write, and I'm not sure I captured the essence of what I was after. I'll read it again later and see if I feel the same.
However.
I do have another story I'm working on as I write this. I started it a few weeks ago, and couldn't find myself getting back into it tonight.
Writing is like this for me. It comes in bursts. When I am properly inspired, I can churn out 8 stories or so in a week.
I am currently so inspired.
This is a bit different. It's written from the perspective of two characters from a role-playing game. Two characters of different races, who find themselves alone in a swamp without companionship of the opposite sex of their own race.....
It's not finished, but here's a bite:
Remembering his warning about resistance, she swallowed hard, and leaned her head back against the soft grass. She spread her thighs as far as she could and prepared herself.
He nudged the head against her outer lips, rubbing it between them, wetting it. Slowly, he started running it up and down, grazing her clit with it several times before placing it at her opening and pushing just the head of himself inside her.
He howled at her warmth and wetness surrounding him. Orc women were built for orc cock. Troll women were built for smaller, leaner ones. She was tight around him, with just the head. He tried to push the lust aside long enough for her to get used to him but he knew it was a losing battle for much longer. Desperately trying to pace himself, he pushed in a small bit at a time, until he was nearly halfway there. He forced his eyes up to her face again, and saw her staring wide eyed at him.
“I can’t…”
“You will.” He growled.
A look of fear crossed her face, and drove his lust into overdrive.
He growled again loudly and grasped her hips, pushing himself deeper into her. She cried out but did not fight against him.
“Take it. You want it, I can feel your want dripping onto my balls….”
However.
I do have another story I'm working on as I write this. I started it a few weeks ago, and couldn't find myself getting back into it tonight.
Writing is like this for me. It comes in bursts. When I am properly inspired, I can churn out 8 stories or so in a week.
I am currently so inspired.
This is a bit different. It's written from the perspective of two characters from a role-playing game. Two characters of different races, who find themselves alone in a swamp without companionship of the opposite sex of their own race.....
It's not finished, but here's a bite:
Remembering his warning about resistance, she swallowed hard, and leaned her head back against the soft grass. She spread her thighs as far as she could and prepared herself.
He nudged the head against her outer lips, rubbing it between them, wetting it. Slowly, he started running it up and down, grazing her clit with it several times before placing it at her opening and pushing just the head of himself inside her.
He howled at her warmth and wetness surrounding him. Orc women were built for orc cock. Troll women were built for smaller, leaner ones. She was tight around him, with just the head. He tried to push the lust aside long enough for her to get used to him but he knew it was a losing battle for much longer. Desperately trying to pace himself, he pushed in a small bit at a time, until he was nearly halfway there. He forced his eyes up to her face again, and saw her staring wide eyed at him.
“I can’t…”
“You will.” He growled.
A look of fear crossed her face, and drove his lust into overdrive.
He growled again loudly and grasped her hips, pushing himself deeper into her. She cried out but did not fight against him.
“Take it. You want it, I can feel your want dripping onto my balls….”
Different Perspectives
I was having a conversation with a friend the other day, and a scenario came up. A man, watching his "woman" (girlfriend, submissive, mistress, whatever) get fucked by another man, without the other man knowing about it.
There are so many ways to write that story. So many different possibilities. Is she doing it because he wants to? Because *she* wants to? Is it her fantasy or his? Is she teasing him? Teaching him a lesson? Trying to show him some new part of herself?
I decided then that I would write it. But I'd write it in two or possibly three different ways.
The first one, I wrote today. "Because You Asked Me To."
He doesn’t return to my breast, instead reaching down and unbuttoning my jeans, and unzipping them slowly. He doesn’t slide them down, but pushes me down onto the bed on my back instead, leaving my ass at the edge. He kneels down between my thighs and kisses me hard again, before letting his mouth slide down to my left nipple. Again, I try in vain to forget that you’re watching me, that you asked for this. You have always liked me to show off for you; but this is something new for us. Usually, you’re sated by me masturbating for you, but this time you wanted more.
And despite my initial misgivings and fears, I find myself completely open to giving you the best show you could ask for. As my companion’s hands run down my sides, stroking my skin as he continues to lick and bite at my nipples, I glance superstitiously at the ajar closet door, and give you a small smile.
He pushes me back onto the bed and starts to slowly pull my jeans over my hips. He takes the red satin panties with them. Once they’re off my feet, he drops them casually on the floor, and looks at me, head to toe. I run my fingers through my hair, and gaze up at him as he slowly starts to take off his clothes. I watch for a few moments, and then sit up. I reach for button on his jeans and he laughs at me softly.
"Impatient."
I nod at him.
"You’re ready for me already." It’s not a question, and I don’t answer. Nor do I offer up that while he’s very good at what he does, he’s not the entire reason that the room smells of my desire and my inner lips are slick and swollen.
You’re a big part of the reason for that, too. I lean back a bit on the bed, and spread my thighs apart a bit, to make sure that you can see what this has done to me.
My lover finally has his clothes off, and has my attention again. He moves closer to the bed and stands between my spread thighs, dropping slowly to his knees. I stay up on my elbows so I can watch him.
He runs two fingers on each side of my outer lips, caressing them before sliding them in between and parting them. With both hands now, he slides his thumbs inside and pulls my lips apart, leaning his head forward to taste me. His tongue barely grazes my clit and I moan loudly, lifting my hips up off the bed.
"So wet…." He murmurs softly into me. He looks up and sees me watching him. The idea seems to turn him on more, and he returns his face to my cunt. I wonder what he’d feel if he knew that you were watching, too.
He starts licking long slow lines up and down the length of my pussy, barely touching my clit and running the tip of his tongue around the entrance. He’s still holding my lips apart with his hands, and I wonder if you can see. I hope you can. I want you to.
That one is nearly five pages long. One of the longest I've written in awhile.
Maybe tonight I'll get to work on the second perspective.....
There are so many ways to write that story. So many different possibilities. Is she doing it because he wants to? Because *she* wants to? Is it her fantasy or his? Is she teasing him? Teaching him a lesson? Trying to show him some new part of herself?
I decided then that I would write it. But I'd write it in two or possibly three different ways.
The first one, I wrote today. "Because You Asked Me To."
He doesn’t return to my breast, instead reaching down and unbuttoning my jeans, and unzipping them slowly. He doesn’t slide them down, but pushes me down onto the bed on my back instead, leaving my ass at the edge. He kneels down between my thighs and kisses me hard again, before letting his mouth slide down to my left nipple. Again, I try in vain to forget that you’re watching me, that you asked for this. You have always liked me to show off for you; but this is something new for us. Usually, you’re sated by me masturbating for you, but this time you wanted more.
And despite my initial misgivings and fears, I find myself completely open to giving you the best show you could ask for. As my companion’s hands run down my sides, stroking my skin as he continues to lick and bite at my nipples, I glance superstitiously at the ajar closet door, and give you a small smile.
He pushes me back onto the bed and starts to slowly pull my jeans over my hips. He takes the red satin panties with them. Once they’re off my feet, he drops them casually on the floor, and looks at me, head to toe. I run my fingers through my hair, and gaze up at him as he slowly starts to take off his clothes. I watch for a few moments, and then sit up. I reach for button on his jeans and he laughs at me softly.
"Impatient."
I nod at him.
"You’re ready for me already." It’s not a question, and I don’t answer. Nor do I offer up that while he’s very good at what he does, he’s not the entire reason that the room smells of my desire and my inner lips are slick and swollen.
You’re a big part of the reason for that, too. I lean back a bit on the bed, and spread my thighs apart a bit, to make sure that you can see what this has done to me.
My lover finally has his clothes off, and has my attention again. He moves closer to the bed and stands between my spread thighs, dropping slowly to his knees. I stay up on my elbows so I can watch him.
He runs two fingers on each side of my outer lips, caressing them before sliding them in between and parting them. With both hands now, he slides his thumbs inside and pulls my lips apart, leaning his head forward to taste me. His tongue barely grazes my clit and I moan loudly, lifting my hips up off the bed.
"So wet…." He murmurs softly into me. He looks up and sees me watching him. The idea seems to turn him on more, and he returns his face to my cunt. I wonder what he’d feel if he knew that you were watching, too.
He starts licking long slow lines up and down the length of my pussy, barely touching my clit and running the tip of his tongue around the entrance. He’s still holding my lips apart with his hands, and I wonder if you can see. I hope you can. I want you to.
That one is nearly five pages long. One of the longest I've written in awhile.
Maybe tonight I'll get to work on the second perspective.....
"Silence"
A bit of a story I wrote last night ....
I have to remind myself to breath. I’m waiting for you to say something but there is nothing but silence.
Two hands on my inner thighs, nails dragging upward until they reach my pussy. One hand, tapping it lightly. I’m drenched. The tapping sends the scent of me out into the air and it tickles my nose. You like me this wet. I wait for you to comment on it, but you don’t. The hand cups me, squeezing gently, and a finger glides slowly and effortlessly between my lips, coming to rest against my clit for a moment. I moan quietly and move my hips back and forth. The hand pulls away. I whimper in protest.
And then, nothing.
One finger pushes into me after a few moments, and I react quickly, pushing back against it. There is a hand on my hip, guiding me back and forth. A second finger joins it, filling me and fucking me slowly. I begin to pant rhythmically, grinding backwards until they are both removed. There is little pause before I am entered again; a hard cock sliding easily into me, pushing hard and deep. You do not pull back, but grind hard against me. I cry out and start to rise up on my elbows, but your hand pushes me down again, flat against the mattress.
You start to fuck me. Long, deep, slow strokes. Not what I’m used to from you. I’m not used to your silence either …
And it’s then that it occurs to me.
How do I even know it’s your cock inside me?
I shudder hard as a wave of fear and uncertainty races through me. I want to pull away, to crawl up on the bed and rip off the blindfold so that I can turn around and be relieved.
But I don’t. Because I am somehow intoxicated by that same uncertainty.
I fight it for a moment.
And then, I don’t fight.
It's good to have fantasies.....
It's even better to write them....
I have to remind myself to breath. I’m waiting for you to say something but there is nothing but silence.
Two hands on my inner thighs, nails dragging upward until they reach my pussy. One hand, tapping it lightly. I’m drenched. The tapping sends the scent of me out into the air and it tickles my nose. You like me this wet. I wait for you to comment on it, but you don’t. The hand cups me, squeezing gently, and a finger glides slowly and effortlessly between my lips, coming to rest against my clit for a moment. I moan quietly and move my hips back and forth. The hand pulls away. I whimper in protest.
And then, nothing.
One finger pushes into me after a few moments, and I react quickly, pushing back against it. There is a hand on my hip, guiding me back and forth. A second finger joins it, filling me and fucking me slowly. I begin to pant rhythmically, grinding backwards until they are both removed. There is little pause before I am entered again; a hard cock sliding easily into me, pushing hard and deep. You do not pull back, but grind hard against me. I cry out and start to rise up on my elbows, but your hand pushes me down again, flat against the mattress.
You start to fuck me. Long, deep, slow strokes. Not what I’m used to from you. I’m not used to your silence either …
And it’s then that it occurs to me.
How do I even know it’s your cock inside me?
I shudder hard as a wave of fear and uncertainty races through me. I want to pull away, to crawl up on the bed and rip off the blindfold so that I can turn around and be relieved.
But I don’t. Because I am somehow intoxicated by that same uncertainty.
I fight it for a moment.
And then, I don’t fight.
It's good to have fantasies.....
It's even better to write them....
Monday, February 05, 2007
Fear
So, like I said, I made an appointment to get my hair cut.
I had the speech all ready for her today. No more than 2 inches, keep it simple (I'm so not a 30 minute in the morning hair kinda girl), etc. Turns out, I didn't really need it, much.
She did a fabulous job. She framed my face with a few layers (she said she'd add more next time if I wanted, she wanted me to get used to this first), parted my hair on the side for a nice change and recommended a couple of products that will keep me from frizzing in the winter and that will let my natural wave come on through.
I came home with an appointment for highlights in two weeks, and fabulous sexy hair.
After the highlights come new pictures.
After the new pictures comes a real social life (maybe) /wink.
I had the speech all ready for her today. No more than 2 inches, keep it simple (I'm so not a 30 minute in the morning hair kinda girl), etc. Turns out, I didn't really need it, much.
She did a fabulous job. She framed my face with a few layers (she said she'd add more next time if I wanted, she wanted me to get used to this first), parted my hair on the side for a nice change and recommended a couple of products that will keep me from frizzing in the winter and that will let my natural wave come on through.
I came home with an appointment for highlights in two weeks, and fabulous sexy hair.
After the highlights come new pictures.
After the new pictures comes a real social life (maybe) /wink.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Is this what you see?
I'll be the first one to admit that I have a shitty sense of perception. Anyone's who's been following this blog for awhile knows I've lost an incredible amount of weight, and yet I still have trouble gaging what I actually look like.
While flipping around the other day, I ran across a picture of actress Sara Ramirez (who apparently plays on Grey's Anatomy, though I've never watched that), who is a size 12.
Guess what. Me too.
I think she's gorgeous personally. (Then again, I have a crush on Salma Hayek so go figure). And if that's a size 12, and that's what I look like now - then I'm damn proud of myself.
I'm not done. Size 10 and/or another 18 pounds is the goal that my doctor and I set, but when I look at this picture, and one of my before pictures, I'm just grinning ear to ear.
Maybe that's why when I opened the lingerie bag last night (yes, I finally did order some!) it didn't scare me near as bad as it used to.
There's a great deal of confidence that comes with that realization.
The mood of the day is sexy confidence. Get in the mood~
Monday, January 29, 2007
Write Right.
I'm not the kind of person who writes by formula, or for money.
I write because I'm inspired. I write what I'm inspired about. When I'm uninspired, I'm frustrated because I can't write.
Inspiring me is not so difficult. It doesn't take a live person, or a visual. Inspiration can come from anywhere.
When I have it, I feel blessed. And when I don't, I feel depleted.
I've learned over the years to live with the depleted feeling. It comes and goes. Sometimes when I can't write, I get cranky and frustrated and other times, I just accept it for what it is - downtime.
I'd like it that if I weren't able to write in the erotic genre, if I could at *least* work on the two or three fantasy stories I've started. But it seems like lately (the last two years), I've had a great lack of inspiration for that too. I have about 100 pages of two different stories that were born in EverQuest. Stories that could easily be translated to non-gaming related fiction. I wish I knew, then, why they just sit there, unfinished and un-worked on.
Steven King says he forces himself to write every day. I wish I could do that. Sometimes, my lack of self-discipline ends up making me feel worse. I've read writing books where authors have stated they set aside a schedule to write. Maybe I should try that. Maybe if I set it in stone, and stop giving myself reasons to bail on it, I'll get something accomplished - in one of my two chosen genres or both.
I'll see if I can't work on that. Today.
A hit off the other one ....
Just because I'm feeling particularly froggy today...
"This is what you wanted. Say it." You growl again.
"I didn’t but ... I do..."
"Say it." You pull your fingers almost out of me and hold them still.
My hands grip the edge of the counter and I go up on my toes, trying to lure you back inside me. "I want this..."
"No." You pull your hand out and smack my ass again. "Good girls want it. Girls like you need it." You press your palm against my outer lips. "Tell me."
"This is what you wanted. Say it." You growl again.
"I didn’t but ... I do..."
"Say it." You pull your fingers almost out of me and hold them still.
My hands grip the edge of the counter and I go up on my toes, trying to lure you back inside me. "I want this..."
"No." You pull your hand out and smack my ass again. "Good girls want it. Girls like you need it." You press your palm against my outer lips. "Tell me."
Taste...
In the last three days, I've written two stories. Neither of them are my typical sort, but both of them are defintely in my caliber, and worthy of the Kanthra Adaire name. I'm remembering now what it feels like to sate that part of myself. How good it feels to take an idea, build a story around it and write it without any restraint. And how much I've missed that part of myself.
Which part? The part that feels and wants and fantasizes about things I very well *could* have.
A small taste of one....
Your hands slide apart, across the fabric to my sides and then down until they rest against my hips. They remain there for awhile, your fingers moving just slightly against the material and then slide a bit lower until they’re resting on the outside of my thighs, between the chemise and the hose. Your nails tickle my skin a little, scratching lightly.
I close my eyes. There is no point in pretending to watch ... whatever it is that’s flashing across the TV screen now. You’re teasing me, and maybe teasing yourself. I decide that I’ll let you.
Your right hand moves again, sliding under my leg and lifting it, dragging it so that my thigh rests over the top of yours.
I wait. And then ... nothing for what feels like a very long time.
Your left hand slides to my inner thigh, your fingers brushing over the skin softly. Your movements are slow, almost as if you’re not really thinking about it, but I know you are. Your index fingers runs across the outer edge of the g-string that matches the chemise, and then just barely reaches under it.
I moan again, my head turning just slightly toward the back of the couch. Your left hand reaches out in response and cups my mound in your hand, squeezing it in your palm. My body responds furiously, my hips pushing up against your hand.
I hear your growl as your left hand moves away from me and comes up toward my face. You cup it over my mouth, turning my head back toward the TV, and pressing it against me.
"I didn’t tell you to fuck my hand, did I?" you whisper in my ear.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Image II...Where's your Sexy?
Have you ever seen a truly beautiful man or woman, and while admiring their beauty, you didn't find yourself immediately sexually attracted to them? Chances are they weren't feeling beautiful or sexy on the inside, which is what makes the outside irresistable.
I know people who've spent years telling themselves they're sexy - and you know what? They are, because they have the confidence to back it up. No, they may not be Adonis or Venus and no, they may not be whatever our country decides is "the ideal height and weight" at this moment, but they exude some kind of fuckable-pheremones from their bodies because they feel it inside.
I said this the other day "I spend too much time looking at pictures of women with impossibly beautiful bodies, and comparing myself to them, instead of comparing myself to what I looked like two years ago. I am a size 12. I am the national average. But women are conditioned to believe that men *need* us to be thin, or they won't find us attractive. And as much as women have fought it over the years, most of us still do feel a great need to be attractive to men."
I had a little shopping trip yesterday that brought a couple things that maybe I wasn't thinking about to the forefront.
Firstly, I love Victoria Secrets bras. Always have. They're well made and sexy and they last forever if you treat them well. Because of this last bit of weightloss, I needed to replace some bras, so off to the mall I went. The salesperson I got was wonderfully helpful and even gave me a fitting (something I haven't done in many years) to make sure I got what I wanted, and what worked for me. She brought me 8 bras to try on, and stood outside the dressing room to answer questions or give opinions where needed. Out of the 8, I liked 5, but picked 3 and gave them to her. She took me to the displays, showed me colors, and then pointed me to matching panties if I was looking for them (I was). By the end of that shopping trip, when I walked out of the store with my big pink bag, I felt incredibly sexy. Sexy enough to stop back through Penney's and buy the long silky red gown and short sexy chemise I saw when I came through the first time. (relating the experience to a friend later only reinforced that for me, too)
I do have that confidence now that I didn't have before. It ebbs and flows sometimes, but typically it's right there where it was yesterday. To the point where - hell yes, I'm dead sexy as a size 12 and will be even sexier at a size 10 (the end goal I think), so look the hell out, here I come.
And if I run across someone who's sexy comes from what his eyes see only? Well, it'll give me something to laugh about later, won't it?
Sexy is in the eye of the beholder, and it's all in *your* mind. It's the way you stand, the way you speak (and yes, voices can be incredibly sexy), the way you meet the eyes of the person you're speaking to. Sexy is not all about dress size. It's about your confidence-size, too.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
What I was trying to say was.....
I started something in my entry called Ask, Say, Do but I never really got where I was going. After a quiet night (I watched Clerks II, it wasn't all that quiet I guess), and a bit of thought, I think I'll see if I can't get there this time.
I tend to be a person who trusts her instincts in most aspects of my life. I seem to have very good ones for the most part (although two divorces might say different...) and when I trust myself and follow them, I seem to do pretty well.
Being submissive to someone then sometimes fucks with that. I'll want to say - or want to ask for - or want to do something, but the good-girl-overachiever-submissive in me makes me stop. She pleads for me to reconsider, and wait; to do what I'm told and nothing else, because if we take that chance and follow our gut instinct, we might ruin a perfectly good evening/encounter/dominant's plans for us.
I've asked some of the dominants I know and trust about this. Most of them laugh at me for a minute before they realize I'm serious. And then they tell me that I'm being a silly little girl and to get over it.
Let's face it. 99% of the men in this world like a woman to take some initiative. Not all the time maybe in the case of a strict dominant, but find me a man who doesn't like to be seduced, and I'll sell you my ex-husbands for a buck. Contrary to what we've been taught, ladies, good girls *do* seduce men they find attractive, and they do it for reasons aside from cars, houses, good marriages. They do it for sex.
As a capable, creative and sensual woman, I can find hundreds of ways to seduce a man. I think of them, sometimes I even write them down. But when the time comes to act on them, sometimes it's more difficult than others. The damn goody-two-shoes submissive in me digs her nails in and fights me.
Maybe that's part of the reason that I haven't looked for a full time dominant. Maybe the idea of that scares me a bit because I don't *like* to fight myself that much. Yes, I want to be sexually submissive to someone (and sometimes non-sexually too) but I want to *know* with absolute certainty that if the mood strikes me, he's not going to get all weirded out by me putting a move on him. That if I suggest *gasp* that he let me tie him to the bed and tease him for a couple hours he's not going to flip out. I'm not a switch and I'm not dominant. But sometimes I do enjoy teasing and tormenting a man sexually *grin* - it can be just as much fun as the reverse when the timing is right.
I tend to be a person who trusts her instincts in most aspects of my life. I seem to have very good ones for the most part (although two divorces might say different...) and when I trust myself and follow them, I seem to do pretty well.
Being submissive to someone then sometimes fucks with that. I'll want to say - or want to ask for - or want to do something, but the good-girl-overachiever-submissive in me makes me stop. She pleads for me to reconsider, and wait; to do what I'm told and nothing else, because if we take that chance and follow our gut instinct, we might ruin a perfectly good evening/encounter/dominant's plans for us.
I've asked some of the dominants I know and trust about this. Most of them laugh at me for a minute before they realize I'm serious. And then they tell me that I'm being a silly little girl and to get over it.
Let's face it. 99% of the men in this world like a woman to take some initiative. Not all the time maybe in the case of a strict dominant, but find me a man who doesn't like to be seduced, and I'll sell you my ex-husbands for a buck. Contrary to what we've been taught, ladies, good girls *do* seduce men they find attractive, and they do it for reasons aside from cars, houses, good marriages. They do it for sex.
As a capable, creative and sensual woman, I can find hundreds of ways to seduce a man. I think of them, sometimes I even write them down. But when the time comes to act on them, sometimes it's more difficult than others. The damn goody-two-shoes submissive in me digs her nails in and fights me.
Maybe that's part of the reason that I haven't looked for a full time dominant. Maybe the idea of that scares me a bit because I don't *like* to fight myself that much. Yes, I want to be sexually submissive to someone (and sometimes non-sexually too) but I want to *know* with absolute certainty that if the mood strikes me, he's not going to get all weirded out by me putting a move on him. That if I suggest *gasp* that he let me tie him to the bed and tease him for a couple hours he's not going to flip out. I'm not a switch and I'm not dominant. But sometimes I do enjoy teasing and tormenting a man sexually *grin* - it can be just as much fun as the reverse when the timing is right.
Things~
I guess everyone has their little ...thing. Some people are instantly seduced by a pair of high heels on long legs, or the scent of a certain perfume, or the glimpse of the top of a thigh-high stocking. Some people will melt into a puddle when their earlobe is nipped, their hand caressed in a certain way, their hair stroked.
What's mine? Come up behind me.
If you're close enough, you don't even have to touch me. Let yourself brush against the back of my hair, breath on my neck, whisper. My eyes will close and I will stand (or sit, or lay) there and hold my breath, waiting to see what you'll do.
I could psycho-analyze the crap out of that, about how it has to do with fear of the unknown and such - but why? In this particular case, I just like it. Why does the why matter? It feels rich, thick and sensual. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and gives me goosebumps. It's totally sensual and totally makes me want to curl my toes. That's more than enough /wink
Sensuality to me is just as important as sexuality. There are so many things you can focus on when you're - I don't want to use this phrase but it seems to fit here, so forgive me - making out with someone. Why go straight for the genitals when you can weave in and out of "right now!" and "do that some more". I'll admit there are times when getting tossed up against a wall and fucked hard and fast (the three minute thunder fuck) is fun and sometimes preferable, but other than that, sex should be about taking a bit of time to *enjoy* more than just your sex organs. I will remember someone who came up behind me and teased me a bit before even starting to touch me sexually a lot longer than I will remember a thunderfuck /wink.
What's mine? Come up behind me.
If you're close enough, you don't even have to touch me. Let yourself brush against the back of my hair, breath on my neck, whisper. My eyes will close and I will stand (or sit, or lay) there and hold my breath, waiting to see what you'll do.
I could psycho-analyze the crap out of that, about how it has to do with fear of the unknown and such - but why? In this particular case, I just like it. Why does the why matter? It feels rich, thick and sensual. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and gives me goosebumps. It's totally sensual and totally makes me want to curl my toes. That's more than enough /wink
Sensuality to me is just as important as sexuality. There are so many things you can focus on when you're - I don't want to use this phrase but it seems to fit here, so forgive me - making out with someone. Why go straight for the genitals when you can weave in and out of "right now!" and "do that some more". I'll admit there are times when getting tossed up against a wall and fucked hard and fast (the three minute thunder fuck) is fun and sometimes preferable, but other than that, sex should be about taking a bit of time to *enjoy* more than just your sex organs. I will remember someone who came up behind me and teased me a bit before even starting to touch me sexually a lot longer than I will remember a thunderfuck /wink.
Image is... everything?
This isn't going to be about sex or d/s so you may well want to skip it :p
This is about body image. And why now - after having lost all but the last 18 pounds of my weight, I still look in the mirror sometimes and get disappointed.
I did some lingerie shopping online this weekend (with a bit of help from the Southern Gentleman, who seemed more than willing to peruse pictures *wink*). I've said before, and I'll say it again - I love lingerie. It's nice to not have to look at the plus size websites anymore, I can go straight to the good stuff *grin*.
But then I get there, and I'm drooling over the good stuff, and I wonder -- ya, but what would it look like on me?
It's a fact: I'm never been skinny, and the chances of me ever *being* skinny are mostly nil. I have real curves. I also have a body that's lost a lot of weight, and is fighting to get back to what it should be. That's gonna take time. As I've already spent a year and a half losing it, I guess more won't matter. I can wait.
Can't I?
I spend too much time looking at pictures of women with impossibly beautiful bodies, and comparing myself to them, instead of comparing myself to what I looked like two years ago. I am a size 12. I am the national average. But women are conditioned to believe that men *need* us to be thin, or they won't find us attractive. And as much as women have fought it over the years, most of us still do feel a great need to be attractive to men.
I've grown so much more comfortable in my own skin over the last year, and have made great strides towards feeling comfortable with myself completely, but this little body image hangup of mine has got to go.
I'm ordering that lingerie this week and I'm going to wear it around the house until I can look in the mirror and make myself hot /wink.
Ask, Say, Do
Conumdrums are easy to come by in D/s. Do it, or don't do it. Say it, or don't say it. Ask, or beg, or remain silent.
Maybe that's part of what some of us like. The decisions, the "do I or don't I?". I'll admit that sometimes it certainly does add a bit of steam.
But at other times, it's downright agonizing.
I tend to ask, say or at least ask to say or do. Especially as I get more comfortable with someone and their likes, desires and moods.
But I see where it's a problem. The submissive wants to be pleasing, and do what she's told. She wants to bring the dominant the most pleasure she can - but what if she's unsure how to do that? And he's not guiding her enough to make her comfortable? Then what?
Well, then you ask.
The start of nearly every D/s relationship is exactly that way - do I ask or don't I? - unless they are negotiated within an inch of their lives. I like negitioation, don't get me wrong. But as my friend P. once said about a very famous SM author: "He's the only person I had to safeword with during negotiations." They can be too much. You can zap every ounce of spontaneity right out of a scene, weekend, relationship. And who wants that?
(OK, I know some of you may actually want that, sorry. But for me, without that element of - what's next! - it loses something for me.)
I like a bit of wiggle room. I like to be able to do something that I know would please him without fear of it upsetting him. I could never be with someone who demanded that "do what you're told to do and nothing else." That would frustrate me, and make me somewhat sad. (Let me clarify that a bit. That's a full time thing, not a scene, weekend or evening. It can be fun during short bursts to have ALL choice and free will removed *Grin*)
Monday, January 22, 2007
Necks
There are animals that will expose their neck to you in a sign of faith that they trust you. There are other animals that will bite or nuzzle a neck to show their dominance.
Is that perhaps why some people find their necks to be one of their biggest erogenous zones? I know it certainly is one of mine, and one that's been overlooked for the most part for a long time. Maybe it's because it is a vulnerable place, all things considered, and letting someone have access to it is not only erotic in a sexual sense, but also speaks to intimacy and trust.
Touching, licking, kissing. Nuzzling, nibbling or even biting. Finger tips or teeth, or a whole hand. There is something immediately sexy and knee-shaking about having my neck paid attention to. I will shiver and shudder, purr or growl. And chances are, I'll be in the palm of the hand who does it right.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
The Art of Seduction
The Art of Seduction
Is seduction a lost art? Are we too busy trying to be correct and keep up with our busy lives that we’ve lost this age old art to modern convenience and the fast pace of our lives in the technological age?
I was having a conversation with a friend of mine, a southern gentleman of sorts, today about this very thing. He doesn’t think he’s ever been seduced. And I had to admit that most of the lovers I’ve had in my life haven’t really allowed me to seduce them. At the first sign of “getting some”, they’re overcome and just start pushing for the “main event”.
I said to my ex, the last time I slept with him, that we never really “played”. He disagreed. A discussion ensued. He still thinks he’s right but fact is, any sexual interaction between he and I included little to no foreplay, and a dive straight for getting naked and getting to it. Even when I would go to the trouble of putting on lingerie (oh ya, that’s a huge chore for me /eyeroll) it wouldn’t really be anything more than a cue to him that it was time to fuck. As a matter of fact, he said to me that same day that it wasn’t necessary for me to suck his cock unless I meant to finish him off that way. I mean, c’mon. What’s that?
Disappointing to say the least.
I like to tease. The Southern Gentleman and I discussed that. How it would be fun to tease someone to the brink of insanity (ok, that’s my word not his), and try to keep it up until one of you absolutely cannot take another minute. To wake up in the morning, take a shower, put on makeup and then some sort of seductive outfit and just go on about your day. (as an aside, in my experience there are 2 kinds of lingerie – that meant to entice, and that meant to say “fuck me right NOW”. I’m speaking of the seductive kind, as the picture demonstrates.) Go sit with him and watch TV or play on the computer. Make lunch. Lean over a lot and fix your stockings. Rub up against him as often as possible. As the day progresses, so does the tease. Grab a cock through a pain of jeans and just squeeze it and walk away. Let the strap on the outfit slide off your shoulder so that your breast peeks out close to his face. At some point, lose the g-string and make sure he catches a glimpse of what was under it. On and on. Until one of you absolutely cannot wait one. More. Minute.
C’mon, you know you want it /wink
Where did that go? I’d like to track it down cause it sounds like more fun than I’ve had in a long time.
What's your sex about?
I realize that there are women who enjoy romantic, cuddly sex all the time. That being treated like a delicate flower, and as if they were breakable is what allows them to enjoy sex.
I just don’t happen to one of them.
That’s not to say that I couldn’t enjoy that occasionally. I could, and have. But for the most part, the dirtier sex becomes the better I like it. That doesn’t mean necessarily mean that I want it to a big production every time. That’s not the point or goal.
Sex is supposed to be fun. Not stressful. Not thinking too much about doing something right or wrong. Not about being offended if your partner expresses a preference or a desire that maybe you don’t find as hot as they do. It's not about doing because you want something from the other person (unless it's something sexual!
). It's not about duty. It's not about procreation. It's about fucking. Period. Call it what you want; but don't do it for the wrong reasons.
If it’s not fun – if you take it seriously – what the hell is the point? For me, there is no point.
Fun sex, dirty sex, fast or slow, hard or teasing….it’s all about expressing yourself through your sexuality.
It could be something as simple as only removing – or moving – the necessarily clothing to get to it. Or up against a wall, in the car, in an alley, at the front door. It’s not about comfort, it’s about urgency and that “if I don’t have your cock inside me RIGHT NOW I’m going to pass out” feeling. Or it’s about teased like crazy until one of you just absolutely cannot take another moment.
It’s about feeling yourself – your sensuality, sexuality. And feeling and accepting your partner’s same.
If it’s not? You’re doing something wrong.
I just don’t happen to one of them.
That’s not to say that I couldn’t enjoy that occasionally. I could, and have. But for the most part, the dirtier sex becomes the better I like it. That doesn’t mean necessarily mean that I want it to a big production every time. That’s not the point or goal.
Sex is supposed to be fun. Not stressful. Not thinking too much about doing something right or wrong. Not about being offended if your partner expresses a preference or a desire that maybe you don’t find as hot as they do. It's not about doing because you want something from the other person (unless it's something sexual!
). It's not about duty. It's not about procreation. It's about fucking. Period. Call it what you want; but don't do it for the wrong reasons.
If it’s not fun – if you take it seriously – what the hell is the point? For me, there is no point.
Fun sex, dirty sex, fast or slow, hard or teasing….it’s all about expressing yourself through your sexuality.
It could be something as simple as only removing – or moving – the necessarily clothing to get to it. Or up against a wall, in the car, in an alley, at the front door. It’s not about comfort, it’s about urgency and that “if I don’t have your cock inside me RIGHT NOW I’m going to pass out” feeling. Or it’s about teased like crazy until one of you just absolutely cannot take another moment.
It’s about feeling yourself – your sensuality, sexuality. And feeling and accepting your partner’s same.
If it’s not? You’re doing something wrong.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Yours
Your finger brushes against my lips. "Who's?" you ask.
"Yours."
You smile at me and brush your palm against my nipple. "Who's?"
"Yours."
You drop down next to where I'm kneeling on the floor, and take my nipple in your mouth. Without preliminaries or hesitation, bite down on it, hard - and then slide your mouth off to the side, biting again, leaving a red mark and a shadow of your teeth. My eyes are closed, my head leaned back. You are claiming what is yours; what I've freely given you.
Your hand slides down my arm, and around to my back. Tapping my ass gently, I rise up off my haunches and straighten my legs, still kneeling on the floor. Your hand slides across my skin and down my thigh to the back of my knee. "Who's?"
"Yours." This ritual whets us both. We are nearly done, if our past encounters hold true, and my knees tremble slightly, anticipating.
You drag your nails up the back of my thigh slowly, and with great pressure. As your hand reaches my ass, you dig them in harder, and I can feel the red trails rising on my skin. I whimper quietly, my back arching a bit.
"Cut to the chase." you say suddenly, standing up. I am caught off guard by this and my eyes open, looking up at you.
"Sir?"
"Is it all mine?" Your hand comes down slowly and glides into my hair, wrapping it around your palm.
"Yes, Sir." I swallow hard, not sure where this is going.
Your other hand runs down the front of my body, cupping my sex and squeezing it tightly in your palm. "To do with as I please?"
"Yes, Sir." My eyes on yours, questioning.
You squeeze once more, hard, and my knees tremble. "My property. My territory."
"Yes, Sir."
"So you wouldn't mind if I marked it however I wished to?"
I can still feel your scratches on my ass, and your teeth marks on my breast. "It is yours to do with as you wish, Sir." I whisper.
With one hand, you reach down and pull your cock out, grasping it at the base, and trailing it across my lips. My tongue longs to reach out and caress it, but I don't, and I don't know why.
"I can cum on those pretty lips and face."
"Yes, Sir."
"Or your tits. Your ass. Your legs. In your mouth...." You're still moving your cock around, caressing my cheeks with it. "And I can make you leave my cum wherever I put it, so that you remember, and everyone knows...."
I feel a jolt inside me. My inner netherlips open, swollen and wet now. I sway slightly, trying to retain my balance. "Yes." I whisper.
"And if I wanted to...." You lay your cock, now almost completely hard, against my neck, and point it downward. "... I could piss on you, like a dog would a tree...."
I squeeze my eyes shut. We have discussed the theroy of this; nothing more. Neither of us knows the ramifications or the emotions it would present.
"Answer me." you growl.
"Yes, Sir." I whimper, forcing my eyes open and looking up at you.
You smile softly, and pull me to my feet, using my hair as your leash. "Good girl."
"Yours."
You smile at me and brush your palm against my nipple. "Who's?"
"Yours."
You drop down next to where I'm kneeling on the floor, and take my nipple in your mouth. Without preliminaries or hesitation, bite down on it, hard - and then slide your mouth off to the side, biting again, leaving a red mark and a shadow of your teeth. My eyes are closed, my head leaned back. You are claiming what is yours; what I've freely given you.
Your hand slides down my arm, and around to my back. Tapping my ass gently, I rise up off my haunches and straighten my legs, still kneeling on the floor. Your hand slides across my skin and down my thigh to the back of my knee. "Who's?"
"Yours." This ritual whets us both. We are nearly done, if our past encounters hold true, and my knees tremble slightly, anticipating.
You drag your nails up the back of my thigh slowly, and with great pressure. As your hand reaches my ass, you dig them in harder, and I can feel the red trails rising on my skin. I whimper quietly, my back arching a bit.
"Cut to the chase." you say suddenly, standing up. I am caught off guard by this and my eyes open, looking up at you.
"Sir?"
"Is it all mine?" Your hand comes down slowly and glides into my hair, wrapping it around your palm.
"Yes, Sir." I swallow hard, not sure where this is going.
Your other hand runs down the front of my body, cupping my sex and squeezing it tightly in your palm. "To do with as I please?"
"Yes, Sir." My eyes on yours, questioning.
You squeeze once more, hard, and my knees tremble. "My property. My territory."
"Yes, Sir."
"So you wouldn't mind if I marked it however I wished to?"
I can still feel your scratches on my ass, and your teeth marks on my breast. "It is yours to do with as you wish, Sir." I whisper.
With one hand, you reach down and pull your cock out, grasping it at the base, and trailing it across my lips. My tongue longs to reach out and caress it, but I don't, and I don't know why.
"I can cum on those pretty lips and face."
"Yes, Sir."
"Or your tits. Your ass. Your legs. In your mouth...." You're still moving your cock around, caressing my cheeks with it. "And I can make you leave my cum wherever I put it, so that you remember, and everyone knows...."
I feel a jolt inside me. My inner netherlips open, swollen and wet now. I sway slightly, trying to retain my balance. "Yes." I whisper.
"And if I wanted to...." You lay your cock, now almost completely hard, against my neck, and point it downward. "... I could piss on you, like a dog would a tree...."
I squeeze my eyes shut. We have discussed the theroy of this; nothing more. Neither of us knows the ramifications or the emotions it would present.
"Answer me." you growl.
"Yes, Sir." I whimper, forcing my eyes open and looking up at you.
You smile softly, and pull me to my feet, using my hair as your leash. "Good girl."
Answer
Not the soft rope. No, the scratchy hemp rope. Not tied up in the comfort of the sofa or bed, or even on the plush carpet. No, tied to a stiff, unforgiving wooden straightback chair with no give. Not the typical knots that I could slip out of in an emergency. No, these were rough, tight knots in unpliable rope. No escape route. No safety net. Not this time.
It started as a stand-off; no quarter asked nor given on either side. And it ended up like this. In the dining room, with it's harsh overhead light. With me still mostly dressed. This was not our typical bondage; no, this was war.
You wrestled me into the chair after storming off and bringing back the rope. Held in place by the strength of your arms and legs while you tied knots and growled at me. My curses and cries unanswered. I look up at you now, my eyes wide in defiance. You look back at me, eyes narrowed, a thin film of sweat at your brow. I curse at you again.
"I'll gag you if I have to, until you answer the fucking question."
I snarl at you in response.
You raise an eyebrow. "I'm not kidding around here. I want the answer, and you'll give it to me, willingly, or unwillingly - I have ceased to care."
I wonder if you dare.
"Try me."
You do.
These Four Snippets
...a glimpse is all. Not a full story, not a piece of strict erotica...
... just enough to look inside something you may not have considered, or desired, or even thought of....
... just enough to tempt and tease with words and thoughts... and mental pictures worthy of a coffee table book.....
... just a glimpse....
... just enough to look inside something you may not have considered, or desired, or even thought of....
... just enough to tempt and tease with words and thoughts... and mental pictures worthy of a coffee table book.....
... just a glimpse....
Please
I watch, as you pull the black leather belt through the loops on your pants. You do it slowly, as if you're trying to torment me with it. Your eyes are on me, looking down at the way you have me arranged on the floor in front of you, my hands and knees against the carpet, my ass in the air.
When the last bit of leather has come through the last loop, you dangle the simple leather accesory in front of me, the tip of it brushing against my cheek, and then my lips.
"You know why." You say quietly.
"Yes."
"Will this correct the problem?"
"Yes."
You laugh. "We'll see."
You begin to walk around me, trailing the leather belt teasingly against my naked back. I shiver. Anticipation? Sensation? Fear? Do I know? Or do you care?
The leather leaves my back, and I hear how you must have doubled it, and then popped it. It makes me jump, and whimper, and I know without turning my head that that makes you smile.
"Why not my hand?"
I'm not sure how to answer this. I'm not sure if I am physically able to answer this. But I try. "Because I am being punished."
"Do you deserve to be punished?"
I close my eyes and lower my head toward the floor, my cheeks flushed. "That is up to you to say."
"Very good." The leather drifts lightly across my ass, and I shiver again. "I say that you do. And I believe you'll thank me for this later."
"If it pleases you."
"It will." The belt leaves my skin, and I tense, anticipating. "What pleases me even more is that this is all it takes to get you to behave properly." The air moves, and I hear the leather cut through it. "Please me again."
Choice
"Did I ask if you wanted to?"
"No, but..."
"But?"
"But it's not... it's just that..."
"I'll ask again. Did I ask if you wanted to?"
I take a deep breath. "No, Sir, but if you ...."
Your hand reaches under my chin and lifts my face upward toward yours. "Look at me."
I can't.
You sigh. Your hand moves to my left cheek, cupping it gently, and without a moment's hesitation, your left hand comes up, palm open and taps my right cheek. Not enough to sting. Not enough to make it red, or bruise it. But enough to bring me out of whatever universe I was in that I believed I had a say in this matter, and back into yours. Where I belong.
"I will ask one more time. Did I ask if you wanted to?" Your eyes bore into mine, giving no room for error.
"No, Sir." I eek out softly. My cheeks blush hotly, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to keep my eyes on yours.
"Then do it. Be quiet and quick about it. And don't make me ask again."
Listening
"Are you listening to me?" I can feel your breath on my face, but I'm not looking at you. I have been uncharectaristically sarcastic tonight, and I'm not sure why. Am I testing you? Or am I just letting myself feel what I feel?
I don't answer you quickly enough, I suppose. I heard you, of course. And I hear the growl that follows the thirty seconds of silence that stands between us like a pillar of stone.
And then I feel your hand moving toward me, palm down, fingers spread out. I'm still looking at the floor. Maybe I don't want to see. Maybe I'm trembling with fear or anticipation. How will you know?
The juncture of your thumb and index finger meets the very bottom of my neck, where my collar bones meet. I feel your hand press in, and up with just enough pressure to let me know that I need to focus - now. Your fingers and thumb press into my skin. You push back with your hand, forcing my face up toward yours. I swallow hard, knowing you feel it against your hand. And finally, I look up into your eyes.
"Are you listening to me?" you ask again.
"Yes." I say quietly, my knees weak.
"Then why aren't you sucking my cock yet?"
Tease
You look at me from across the room. That *look* that I know all too well, the one that says "You need to be over here, pleasuring me". I cock my head at you a little and let my eyes go half-closed, a small smile at the corner of my lips. You do not return the smile, but continue to stare at me as if to say "I mean, now."
And I want to pleasure you. But I also want to tease you a bit, because it's what makes this more about pleasure than instant gratification. So I reach down and pop open two buttons on my long-sleeved red blouse and pull it open a bit before sinking to my knees, and slowly - very slowly - crawling across the floor to where you sit.
You still haven't spoken, but your eyes bore into me and your face remains still as you look down at me, at your feet. You know that I'm going to give you what you want. But with the number of possible ways of accomplishing that, neither of us are sure how it will flow. I lick my lips and meet your eyes.
I know, then what I must do.
Do you?
Monday, January 08, 2007
Dry?
So, I got an email from a faithful blog reader that said in part "... we're happy to see you back writing, but what's with the clean, dry stuff? Where's the naughty screamer we know and love ..."
What, talking about vulnerability and trust isn't good enough for you? *smirk*
In the interest of my readership (ok, all four of you or how many ever), let me veer off the "dry" highway for something more interesting.
Since I turned 29 or 30, my orgasms have just continued to get better and better. Stronger. Longer. More intense and felt more deeply. When they say women reach a sexual peak later than men, it can only be because we just get better with age *smirk*.
Having said that, I'll add this to it. Most of the time, I fantasize or read erotica while masturbating (c'mon, anyone who's been reading this for a couple years knows how long I've gone without a steady sex partner lol). I have a few old standby fantasies that always work, and add a new one occasionally.
But there is absolutely nothing better than being inspired.
Except maybe being asked (or told) how to masturbate by someone else.
That's better than almost any fantasy I can come up with on my own. It's someone *else's* fantasy, and in fulfilling it for them, it inspires me to add my own to it, and make it mine.
Gee, does that make me easy? :p
And if it does, so what?
No, actually, it doesn't. I mean it's not like just anyone could say "do this!" and I'd do it. It'd have to be someone I felt some kind of connection to - on some level, at some intensity. And it would have to be someone that I actually wanted to please. I am a submissive, but I'm a damn picky submissive, and just any old person telling me to masturbate standing on my head (*snicker*) isn't going to have the same result as say - someone who I do feel submissive to tell me to masturbate with a finger in my ass.
It gives me a certain focus that I might not have on another given day due to stress or anxiety about work or family stuff. It gives me an excuse to only be concerned with *one* thing - and that's doing what they ask. Getting myself off that way is almost always more intense.
What, talking about vulnerability and trust isn't good enough for you? *smirk*
In the interest of my readership (ok, all four of you or how many ever), let me veer off the "dry" highway for something more interesting.
Since I turned 29 or 30, my orgasms have just continued to get better and better. Stronger. Longer. More intense and felt more deeply. When they say women reach a sexual peak later than men, it can only be because we just get better with age *smirk*.
Having said that, I'll add this to it. Most of the time, I fantasize or read erotica while masturbating (c'mon, anyone who's been reading this for a couple years knows how long I've gone without a steady sex partner lol). I have a few old standby fantasies that always work, and add a new one occasionally.
But there is absolutely nothing better than being inspired.
Except maybe being asked (or told) how to masturbate by someone else.
That's better than almost any fantasy I can come up with on my own. It's someone *else's* fantasy, and in fulfilling it for them, it inspires me to add my own to it, and make it mine.
Gee, does that make me easy? :p
And if it does, so what?
No, actually, it doesn't. I mean it's not like just anyone could say "do this!" and I'd do it. It'd have to be someone I felt some kind of connection to - on some level, at some intensity. And it would have to be someone that I actually wanted to please. I am a submissive, but I'm a damn picky submissive, and just any old person telling me to masturbate standing on my head (*snicker*) isn't going to have the same result as say - someone who I do feel submissive to tell me to masturbate with a finger in my ass.
It gives me a certain focus that I might not have on another given day due to stress or anxiety about work or family stuff. It gives me an excuse to only be concerned with *one* thing - and that's doing what they ask. Getting myself off that way is almost always more intense.
Vulnerability
I know that for many submissives and dominants, one of the attractions to the lifestyle is the vulnerability of the submissive partner. In some dominants, that gives them the "protector" mode they seek, and in others, it gives them a pliable human being to mold to their own. For the vulnerable person, it's an opportunity to rely on someone else - their strength, judgement, decisions - for a period of time and not have to make those choices for themselves.
For me, the consumate smart ass, I seem to slip in and out of that vulenrable state a lot, depending on a dominant's reaction to it. If he seems to thrive on it, I relax into it a bit more. If he seems to be cautious or even a bit scared of it, then I tend to put it away and go back to my smart-ass self. I don't think I do this conciously. But I've spent the better part of my life being able to read people - in whatever medium - pretty well, and thus I tend to change my actions/reactions/energy toward them, depending on the mood.
That's not really vulnerable, is it?
/shrug
I've been in self-protection mode for so many years that the opportunities I've had to be completely vulnerable to someone have either been a) few and too far between or b) not by free will on my side or c) too short in duration to make an impact over time. I find that if I'm actively seeking this feeling, I can't find it. So I quit looking for it.
And every once in awhile, I feel it toward someone whether I mean to or not.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Trust and Intentions
Trust and Intentions
Let's say for example that a dominant has told his submissive that she was not to use the cellphone all day. Maybe he had a good reason for that, maybe he didn't, but let's just say that was her instruction before leaving the house that morning.
Let's then say that she does use the cellphone that day. She calls her best friend and chats over lunch, remembering clearly what her partner had told her that morning, but ignoring it for whatever reason.
When she gets home that night, her cell phone is off, and at the bottom of her purse. He doesn't ask her if she used it, because he trusts that she followed his instructions. And she doesn't volunteer that she used it, because she doesn't want a spanking.
Who's losing out in this situation? Him? Because she disobeyed? or her, because she missed out on an opportunity to be - yes, I'll say it - submissive to someone she's agreed to be submissive to.
He's assuming she did as he told her, which means that he gets the rush of power regardless.
She gets - nothing, except perhaps a guilty conscience.
My question would be -- what in the hell are you doing there in the first place? If you are in a d/s relationship on the /s end willingly, then doesn't that pretty much say to the world that it's what you want and need? Why would you deny yourself a chance to be submissive if being submissive is what fulfills you?
Let's back up a bit, and say she honestly forgot, and dialed her girlfriend out of habit. Or maybe that she had a road emergency in the middle of nowhere. She comes home that night and fesses up immediately. Is he going to have any less of a rush of power in that situation? I'd not think so. Is she going to be any less fulfilled? Probably not.
That rambling example (and man, can I ramble or WHAT) is basically to talk about trust and intentions. And maybe to spark people to think a bit about the commitments they've made or are thinking about making to a d/s lifestyle.
Let's say for example that a dominant has told his submissive that she was not to use the cellphone all day. Maybe he had a good reason for that, maybe he didn't, but let's just say that was her instruction before leaving the house that morning.
Let's then say that she does use the cellphone that day. She calls her best friend and chats over lunch, remembering clearly what her partner had told her that morning, but ignoring it for whatever reason.
When she gets home that night, her cell phone is off, and at the bottom of her purse. He doesn't ask her if she used it, because he trusts that she followed his instructions. And she doesn't volunteer that she used it, because she doesn't want a spanking.
Who's losing out in this situation? Him? Because she disobeyed? or her, because she missed out on an opportunity to be - yes, I'll say it - submissive to someone she's agreed to be submissive to.
He's assuming she did as he told her, which means that he gets the rush of power regardless.
She gets - nothing, except perhaps a guilty conscience.
My question would be -- what in the hell are you doing there in the first place? If you are in a d/s relationship on the /s end willingly, then doesn't that pretty much say to the world that it's what you want and need? Why would you deny yourself a chance to be submissive if being submissive is what fulfills you?
Let's back up a bit, and say she honestly forgot, and dialed her girlfriend out of habit. Or maybe that she had a road emergency in the middle of nowhere. She comes home that night and fesses up immediately. Is he going to have any less of a rush of power in that situation? I'd not think so. Is she going to be any less fulfilled? Probably not.
That rambling example (and man, can I ramble or WHAT) is basically to talk about trust and intentions. And maybe to spark people to think a bit about the commitments they've made or are thinking about making to a d/s lifestyle.
*can* vs. *do*
There is a big difference, in my opinion (which is rarely humble, by the way), between actually doing something, and knowing you *can* do it at any time.
Typically, knowing you *can* is more than enough for people in most circumstances.
Example: a new submissive/dominant couple begins to explore. She tells him that she'll give him whatever control over her life that he'd like. He says fine, and makes a list of things that he is able to control about her life: clothes, food, phone and computer time, etc. A month passes, and the couple is happily living life, and yet - he's never made any demands on her about her clothes, food, computer, etc.
Why aren't they complaining? Because while he *hasn't* made any demands, he *can*, at any moment and they both know it. She stays on her toes, because at any moment, he could take away her chocolate or her favorite black blazer.
Oh, I know that doesn't work for everyone. There are submissives (and I've met a lot of them) that need the *actual* control day and night. They aren't happy roaming around in the *can*, they need the *do*. Even if the dominant from the couple above would make a small demand (red blouse, black spike heels to dinner) once every month or so, it wouldn't be enough for some submissives. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but there's a more-than-fine-line between the *do* and the *can*, and I'm not entirely sure that everyone "gets that" when they first start exploring this lifestyle.
I hope maybe now a few will :)
Typically, knowing you *can* is more than enough for people in most circumstances.
Example: a new submissive/dominant couple begins to explore. She tells him that she'll give him whatever control over her life that he'd like. He says fine, and makes a list of things that he is able to control about her life: clothes, food, phone and computer time, etc. A month passes, and the couple is happily living life, and yet - he's never made any demands on her about her clothes, food, computer, etc.
Why aren't they complaining? Because while he *hasn't* made any demands, he *can*, at any moment and they both know it. She stays on her toes, because at any moment, he could take away her chocolate or her favorite black blazer.
Oh, I know that doesn't work for everyone. There are submissives (and I've met a lot of them) that need the *actual* control day and night. They aren't happy roaming around in the *can*, they need the *do*. Even if the dominant from the couple above would make a small demand (red blouse, black spike heels to dinner) once every month or so, it wouldn't be enough for some submissives. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but there's a more-than-fine-line between the *do* and the *can*, and I'm not entirely sure that everyone "gets that" when they first start exploring this lifestyle.
I hope maybe now a few will :)
BDSM Checklist
Anyone who's read about BDSM online a bit has seen "the Checklist". It's been around in various forms for as long as I've been on the 'net. For years, I've seen links and just skated on past it, having filled out more than a few of them in my time.
A friend of mine, who is what I'd call a blossoming Dominant and I went through the list together over the last few days - one line at a time. Anything he didn't understand, I explained. Anything he was curious about, we discussed. It was actually quite a lot of fun. I actually may have even pulled some inspiration from it to work on some fiction - which I desperately needed.
If you haven't review the list yourself for quite awhile, you might want to take a look (Search Google for BDSM Checklist. You'll find plenty.)
I guess perhaps it's as they say -- good to go back and review, rather you think you need to or not. And doing it with someone else gives you the opportunity to get a new view of something that perhaps you weren't interested in.
A friend of mine, who is what I'd call a blossoming Dominant and I went through the list together over the last few days - one line at a time. Anything he didn't understand, I explained. Anything he was curious about, we discussed. It was actually quite a lot of fun. I actually may have even pulled some inspiration from it to work on some fiction - which I desperately needed.
If you haven't review the list yourself for quite awhile, you might want to take a look (Search Google for BDSM Checklist. You'll find plenty.)
I guess perhaps it's as they say -- good to go back and review, rather you think you need to or not. And doing it with someone else gives you the opportunity to get a new view of something that perhaps you weren't interested in.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
The Pleasing Conundrum
[10:37] ***: So as an experienced bottom, do you have any useful feedback on things I could/should have done differently?
This will take a moment to get through, bear with me.
There's always been an argument in the BDSM community about motivation. Some submissives will call themselves masochists, because while they do not get sexual gratification *from* pain specifically, they do get it *during* pain because they're submitting wholly to something that they do not "get off on", simply because the person they are submitting to wants to do it. Although I never have (and never would) call myself a masochist, that's exactly how I feel about many things, and precisely the reason I have the big toy bag - I am prepared, pretty much for anything (my short limit list outstanding of course), because what "gets me off" and the reason I am there is to please. If that means I suffer at someone else's hands, or it means I have twenty orgasms at someone else's hands - doesn't matter. It's the pleasing that pleases me. That doesn't mean that I don't brat occasionally, and it doesn't mean that I don't test boundaries (I do, no question, not often, but sometimes), it just means that ultimately, pleasing is what I want to do.
On the converse side of that, you have the unique situation where a submissive may be mentoring, or teaching a dominant. Now, for a submissive, like me, who aims to please, doing that can be quite fun (as I've already witnessed *wink*), but it can also cause a bit of concern. "If I tell him what he could have done there, will he do it next time - and if he does, is he doing it for me? or because he wants to? And what if those are the same thing sometimes, but other times they aren't?"
Just as a submissive wants to please, she wants the dominant to please himself; to use her as she's given him leave to. If she has the suspicion that he's doing something just because *she* likes it, what will that do to the moment?
Well, nothing, provided she has his word that he's not going to do anything "just for her" unless that's his goal at the outset. Meaning, what's going to get *him* off that night is getting *her* off. He's not doing it so much to please her, he's doing it because at that moment, pleasing her is what pleases *him*.
More than anything, I think it's a trust thing.
You compared it recently to "topping from the bottom" - the whole mentoring thing, but those two things aren't related in this at all. Topping from the bottom in an established relationship is one thing - but handing you the tools to explore what's inside you, and helping you do that effectively and safely isn't topping you; it's turning you into a better top.
(The you's and I's in this are generic by the way, for the most part *smirk*)
I realize that that doesn't answer the original question. But it does explain why I'll be careful answering it. At least, I hope I will.
Zoning
It's called many things. Subspace, bottom-space, floating.... none of those have ever quite fit me, so I simply call it "the zone"
What's the zone?
The zone is where I go when I let the outer walls fall back a bit. When the walls drop, so does the incessant need to be right, on time, as near perfect as I can be. I can stop focusing on what's outside and focus on what I need inside. Selfless is replaced by need. Responsible to everyone is replaced by responsible to just the one who's put me in the zone. Perfection is achieved easily when I can fulfill his needs and requests, and that's all it takes.
In other words, I can stop thinking so fucking much, and react.
There's a physical reaction, certainly. Several of them actually, including my eyes being half open most of the time and a slight lightheadedness, almost like a very small buzz. There's also the throb and the wet and the need that accompanies that for me.
I used to think the zone was addicting. But as I sit here this morning, not remotely hungover from it *grin*, I think it's less about a "fix" and more about my body and mind simply remembering who and what I am.
When so much times passes for me between zones, I tend to set it aside and devalue it's importance. I tell myself that I don't need it, that I can live perfectly happily for the rest of my life without it. And then I hit one - and all bets are off /wink. I remember what it feels like to belong and be beholden to someone for your actions and words. And I remember how hard it is to try to describe these feelings to someone else. Not because you don't want to share them, of course, but simply because some things were not meant to be clearly explained *smile* Some things, you just have to feel~
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Defining Me
I came into this world with a few things: an over-developed sense of responsibility, a very well defined sense of what's right and wrong, and a thin line between want and need.
The first one makes me work too hard.
The second one makes decisions very easy.
And the third one makes defining what I go after very difficult.
I'd really like to expound on that, but I have work to do, and keeping with number one on the list, I need to get to it :p
Slacking
Yea, I've been slacking a bit. Been sick. Good reason? I dunno. But it's the reason anyway.
That urge to write isn't getting any less, and I'm still absolutely stuck. I can now free up the time to do it, I just have no inspiration or motivation, so the search for a muse continues. I'm thinking that if I could combine my fantasy writing with my d/s writing, there'd be some major sparks. I need to go back to my last work on that.....
Hm. The weekend approacheth. Maybe I'll make some time.
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