Favorites of 2013

Chess camp has eaten my life, (Ithinkihatechessithinkihatechessithinkihatechess) but I put this post together throughout the year, and it would be remiss of me to miss posting it before the next year rolls around. I compiled this list over the course of the year, and I almost forgot to post it.

There are a few posts that were not written this year, and you will see a couple of authors pop up more than once, but hey, I read them all this year and some posts are just that awesome.

I couldn't find an actual title for this one, but this particular post was written by cat, of Be Pleasing Always. I found it to be incredibly hot...

Patience, from cat of Be Pleasing Always. This post says so much of what I have been learning this year, and I think it's an incredibly valuable and wonderful approach to submission.
I know that's two from cat, but how could I resist?

A Temple, This one is from Bleuame at L'heure Bleu. I was never able to form eloquent thoughts about this post, but I truly loved it. This was one of those posts that has really made a difference in my life, and I'm still pondering it.

My Most Important Job ,Written by Sir J of What Does It Mean To Be Dominant? it's just an awesome post.

"But What of Love?" Written by Her Liege at Her Liege. I have often mused on the impact of love on ttwd...

Service Sub Written by Morningstar at The Journey. This post is a wonderfully realistic take on service, and I enjoyed it immensely.

Whose Body is This?  By P Surren & E Surren at The Power of Surrender. I guess the whole body image thing is kind of a running theme for me, but I really liked the post and I enjoyed reading both perspectives.

Dominants: it starts with you, posted by Michael at The Journey. I just really loved this post, and I think it's a totally awesome look at how successful Dominance works. I'm inclined to believe all prospective Dominants should read this one.

I discovered this lovely little gem, at My Trousers Rolled. That post...It is a poignant and perfect expression of something that I have never been able to properly verbalize in any format.

grateful, by Greengirl at What I Wonder. What can say other than it's lovely, and it made me smile.

Safe Without A Word, written by Kaya of Under His Hand. I think that any submissive who has dealt with an injury can understand this feeling, and she said it so well...

Little Things, from For the Love of a Submissive. Because I liked it.

When Love and Hate Collide, By tori at Pain's Pleasure. Because it's a truth that is difficult to put into words, and I think she did so splendidly.

Kaya did it again with Fear, posted at Submissive Guide. Because that's it, that feeling of needing to take the burden from him in whatever form that taking might be...

Untitled post another one from Her Liege. Just because it's exquisite.

I hope that some of you have a chance to check out these lovely posts, and that you enjoy them as much as I did. Let me know what you think!

Remorse

I despise the first two days of my period, and not just because I feel like Freddy Krueger's throwing a celebration inside my skin while my head implodes. No, it's also because I have this awful feeling of remorse. It's a sensation which I go to great lengths to avoid. I did not turn in the $120 I found in the milk cooler last month because I'm a good person, nope. It was because remorse and guilt are two of my least favorite emotions.

So it's really a terrible truth for me that I'm a raging bitch the week before my period. Yes, it has gotten better over the years, yes our hierarchy helps control it, and yes, it is a hormonal storm a bit beyond the norm because, well because my hormones come from their own special level of hell.
Before you ask, yes it is warm there and yes, that is the alternate dimension where some idiot lets me wield the whips and chains. And yes, in the midst of the moment, I believe everything that I just said.

Then the storm abates leaving me curled up on the couch, cringing at the sight of the destruction left in its wake, and feeling something which Alpha informs me is commonly known as remorse.

The fall is really a rather spectacular display of extremes.

I just spent a week in constant trouble spinning on the edge of acceptable behavior and not really caring what he thinks (she cringes), and now suddenly...All I want is to curl up at his feet, to know that I have pleased, for him to be happy with me, and to feel that I am where I belong.

Ah remorse. It really is a bitch.

Killing Turkey...?

Alpha caught me...I play a bit of a Grinch come this time of year, sneaky $%^*^& that he is, he called me on it, and accused me of being excited about Christmas. How dare he! She says before sneaking off to slip on her super comfy Grinch pants and stare at the tree.

I haven't cooked a turkey in years. Lots of years. And as I peer doubtfully at the suspiciously rock-like turkey in my sink, I am doubting the wisdom of doing so now. I am 90% sure that it will be defrosted by tomorrow. Never mind that I had dreams about scraping frozen guts out of it...

There was a time when our house was full for holidays. Not anymore. It'll just be us and my mom this year. But one of the things I picked up from my mother in law, was going all out, no matter how many are celebrating. So I'll be making double layer chocolate cream pie, cherry crisp, deviled eggs for the devil, and among other things, a 16 pound turkey which I may have to kill again if it doesn't soften up here soon.

The house is clean, the tree is well stocked, and the kids are healthy (for now. Another night like last night and well...)
Really, I'm soaking up the holiday feeling of semi-relaxation before my week of driving and cursing Those Who Should Never Drive On Mountain Roads In Snow.

Now I had better go exercise...That pie isn't going to eat itself tomorrow.

A Morning Much Like Any Other

It's a quiet morning here. Too cold to snow, the sun shines across the valley with echoes of warmth not quite achieved. He's playing chess, and I'm contemplating wrapping presents while the boys aren't here.
The house is cold and quiet, except for the familiar sounds of the radio, its familiar DJ introducing songs and going on about the weather.
Yet, there is an unusual quiet beneath the soft drone in the background.

A quiet of expectation and possibility.
Of anticipation and promise.
Like a current underneath the surface, this is not an empty quiet.
It is a soft quiet with hard edges, a step from the edge.
A quiet with depths as yest unseen.

It is an unassuming morning, much like any other. Except that here soon, I will shower, paying special attention to details. He cares about the details. He will notice each line where the razor missed a hair, the scent of...Everywhere.
The details matter because later, he will spread me wide and explore every single inch with a critical and attentive eye.

It is an unassuming morning, much like any other. Yet there is promise in the air. Promise that comes only when beautiful day and deviant night collide to make a glorious new dawn.

Image source unknown

He Really Crossed the Line This Time

Really, he did! Though, he of course, would argue that one can't cross a line that that they move at will, and perhaps I'm just slow on the uptake...Whatever, he's not always right.

I was mad you see, and he made me not mad. I can't even remember what I was pissed off about, but I do remember being ordered to not be angry.

"Um, excuse me? I have a legitimate right to be illegitimately angry. You can't just order me not to feel a certain way--I have a right to my thoughts and feelings!"

Then he said bossy things to me and made me laugh. Suddenly, I was honestly not at all mad anymore, which sucked because I do think I have a legitimate right to feel however I feel, and I don't think that he should be able to order my feelings around like that.

Yea...I read that that stupid sounding run on sentence too.

I just...He's done it a few times now, and I think that I'm entitled to my feelings, I mean, he has occasionally ordered them around, but his doing so didn't actually change them. Until lately.

I have this idea that if he wants to change my feelings, he doesn't think that they are valid. That's it, I want to know that he believes my feelings are valid. It's not even that I mind him ordering my feelings around, so much as I mind the thought that he might think they aren't important because they are occasionally less than desirable.

Being told what to do or not do, is a lot different than being told what to feel or not feel. My emotions can be...Overwhelming. At the right time, I might literally cry over spilled milk and consider doing so to be  perfectly  reasonable. Until I look back in retrospect, which is when it seems silly and stupid, but it really was how I felt in that moment. So perhaps those particular feelings aren't entirely valid, or in the least bit reasonable, but they are mine!

Maybe I'm just jealous because my feelings have never obeyed me. Much like my body, now that I think about it...

Still, I say that I have a legitimate right to feel illegitimately angry. According to him, he has a legitimate right to do as he pleases with me and my crazy emotions. Bastard.

Tis the Season...

I'm sitting here, alone with that first glorious cup of coffee, wondering why I feel the need to blog every day. Even if I don't really have anything to say. I think it's because I have this irrational fear that if I stop, even for a moment, all inspiration will immediately dry up and vanish, and I'll never write anything again.
But the coffee is good.

We're dropping the boys off with my mom tomorrow, and I'm finding myself to be quite nervous already. Remind me again why I want time alone with that big scary man?
I've really been struggling with this whole tightening of the reins thing. I figure that I'm due one of those epic splats that I do so spectacularly well.

I keep telling myself that

But...I like comfort! Oh yea, I want a man that pushes the limits, that's too much for me, that wants to take me further than I'm willing to go. Ha! Ongoing moment of insanity that one. I'm having growing pains in a big way.

I'm kind of dreading the week after Christmas...I volunteer as an assistant coach at the boys chess club, and I was able to get them both into a five day chess camp. For the small cost of coaching a group of ten or so little kids during said camp (trust me, I'm actually getting a great deal here). But..It's five days of driving to town very day. That's about fifteen hours of drive time...And children are really much cooler when you can take them out to the car and turn them over your knee...
It is interesting to me how few women/girls seem to play chess. Of all the kids I work with, there's only one girl. I do wonder why that is...

I'm afraid that Thing1 is going to try calling on Christmas...Thing2 was playing message girl the other day, "Thing1 says she loves you guys!" I ignored it. Inside I'm thinking, "We love her too. Doesn't change a damn thing". There is no going back over the lines she crossed, and she knows it. There will be no happy reunion or mending of family fences. Meh meh.

Now that we have that out of the way...

Did I mention that I'm having terrible growing pains? The man's making me claustrophobic. I wanna kick him in the shins and run away.
And just in case anyone gets any bright ideas about logic...

Haha!

The Dom Handbook

He was building a fire (which is sexy because everyone hates being cold), so I was already at a slight disadvantage...


"And to think that you were going to leave me because I was too controlling."
"Hey, that year/situation was not all me!"
"No, it was not. It was you and that damn shot."
"Wtf? You played a part in it all too." 

Now at an even greater disadvantage because he's looming over me with his hand tangled in my hair... 
 
"Do you remember why you got the shot in the first place? Because we were having sex all the time, and we were afraid you'd get pregnant again."
"Uh...No, I don't remember that..."
 "Then everything went to shit after you got that shot. So it was you and the shot. I had maybe a teensy weensy part."

A point he illustrated with an annoying finger measurement, suspiciously close to my nose...

 Now sitting firmly on the high horse exclusive to those with the self-righteous surety of knowing that someone else is doing it wrong, I informed him that, "Everybody knows Doms are supposed to take responsibility for their actions! It says so in the Dom handbook!"

 *Smirk*
"I wrote the handbook."

 *Pause*
 
"Can I read it?" 
I try to never miss an opportunity....

"Lol."
"Um...It was an honest question..."
"You're living it."
"I'm an experiment!?!"

Competence is Sexy

Do you ever feel as if you are probably repeating yourself, but the idea feels semi-unused, so you write it anyways? No? Just me then...

People say that intelligence is sexy. I get it, intelligence can be an extremely attractive trait, especially when one has a low idiot tolerance. But I don't find intelligence itself to be inherently sexy--I have known some brilliant people who's minds I found not in the least bit attractive.

No, my weakness is competence.

Want to see the whore in me squirming under the surface? Drop me in the presence of a competent man with a Dominant personality. I avoid them as much as I can. You know, besides the obvious pitfalls of being married to one...

Stupidity turns me off. Incompetence really brings out the mean girl in me (as my husband likes to remind me). A mixture of stupidity and incompetence, and my worst traits come pouring forth in a nastily predatory manner. But uh, we don't have to talk about that since he's not here to promote the fact.

Luckily for me, I married a man who is both intelligent, and competent. Here's the thing though--sometimes his intelligence infuriates me. There are times when he thinks circles around me, and I really just want to kick him in the shins. What can I say, sometimes those baser instincts take over, leaving self-preservation in the wind.

It's his competence that really gets me going. Oh yes, competence is definitely one of the cornerstones of a beautiful mind. So totally sexy.

Ahem, anyways...

Competence is not necessarily how much you know about something, or how smart you are--it's about how you choose to handle yourself and the manner in which you deal with challenging situations.

It's important to know that one has put their well-being in capable hands, because really, not only is incompetence a turn off, it can be downright dangerous.

Did I mention that I find competence to be incredibly sexy?
*Sigh* He says I'm easy.

More...

Sometimes I feel like no matter how hard I try, no matter how far I think I have come, no matter the amount of energy I put into pleasing him, it's never enough.

He always wants...
More.

And, if you think it's the kinky shit, you're wrong.
Morning sex
checking the mail
morning sex
more compliance on every level
morning sex
more vanilla oriented service
morning sex.

I did mention that the morning sex thing is really a big deal for me...? I know it's something normal people look forward to, but seriously--I just want to go pee without asking permission (and not in the cup), make coffee, not feel that desperate desire for release, drink the whole cup of coffee myself, and completely ignore those around me.

You know how impossible it is to ignore a Dom, right?

Sometimes it's not even because he wants, it's only because he wants me to do what he wants. So I do.
I feed the beast, and I feed it, and I feed it, but it's never sated. And often it's not kink, it's coffee and tea, errands, and tone that used to be acceptable but isn't anymore, responses which used to be tolerated that are now punishable...

I love that he is too much for me.
I hate that he is too much for me.
I hope that he is always too much for me.

The more he takes, the more I give. Until I am sure that I am empty, that there is nothing left and I hate him just a little for it. But not as much as I hate the thought that he might stop because I want him to.
He demands more and more and more, until I am so empty that I become full.
His need fills me up, his desires bind me.

I love that he is too much for me
I hate that he is too much for me
I hope that he is always too much for me
and that I will forever be striving to feed the needs of that beast
but always, always I pray that he will find me pleasing
and that he will feed on me because long ago, I asked him to let the beast free.

Time and Place

His grip tightened on my wrist as he drove slowly and inexorably into me,
"Time and place don't matter. You are always mine. No matter where we are, no matter what time it is, I own every square inch of your being in every way. Always."

On the surface, this is a simple concept. Perhaps its complexity is simple too. However, it is a vast and all-encompassing statement with repercussions far beyond the surface. To sum up something as complex as power exchange in one sentence, is not easy. Yet, he does it.
There is that natural ebb and flow, but there is no such thing as an off switch for us. One cannot take time off from being who they are.

It could be said that time is a concept I struggle with, no matter the context. It goes by so fast, you know? I ponder yesterday while I'm worrying about tomorrow and trying to get through today. It's really a terrible approach that is difficult to change.
When I focus on our D/s, on being his and pleasing him, that is when I am most often in the moment.

As a kid, I often thought about the joys of being an adult (ha--clearly, no one told me) and about how wonderful it would be when my time was my own. Now, I am at my best when I am focusing on the fact that everything in my life, even time itself, is really his.

Time...Having kids in the house 24/7 limits certain activities and the time that can be spent on them. Seems though, that we might actually be starting to get a weekend or two a month to ourselves on a fairly regular basis.
This thrills me to no end. In the way that one feels slightly sick to their stomach as they peer over the edge of a cliff...
The notion is obscenely beautiful, terrifying in it's complexity, comforting in it's simplicity and all consuming as only he can be...

Because I know that I committed to a creature of extremes, a man of an all or nothing nature, who's unbridled presence I find both terrifying and comforting.
Being alone with him is very much like being locked in a cage with an alpha wolf--the only choice is to submit. Obedience isn't optional, and complete submission is the path to salvation.
He is judge
jury
executioner
and savior.
He will make me beg for deliverance
for him, from him, to him...
I will crawl on my knees, begging for redemption
and he will say,

"Shhh, just a little bit more. Time and place do not matter. You are always mine. No matter where we are, no matter what time it is, I own every square inch of your being in every way. Always."

And always, there is the unspoken truth...

Glitchy Bitchy Blogger

Blogger is punishing me for my inability to shut up--it won't let me comment at all. Here, there, or anywhere!

I know that there are comments waiting for responses, but Blogger is being a glitchy bitch. Apparently, it thinks I need a lesson in keeping my mouth closed...

*Sigh*

On a (mostly) unrelated note, I just wanted to say that I am grateful for my readers. In the beginning of this blog, I thought that being grateful for one's readers meant caring about the numbers and letting them dictate one's writing, so I questioned the value of feeling that way.

My perspective has changed. The question became, why am I grateful for my readers? It isn't about the numbers. Indeed, if I had to say there was one scary thing about blogging, it would be the number of people who read the thoughts out of my head that find their batty tenacious way to the page.

I am grateful for the fact that I can have a shitty week and come here to drown my sorrows in self-pity, but some brave and lovely soul (or two, or three) will come along with a smart-ass, sarcastic comment that makes me laugh out loud.

I am grateful for the ideas. Sweet Goddess, the ideas! Do you ever stop to think how amazing it is? The ability to share your ideas with such a vast range of humanity while simultaneously having access to concepts and inspiration from across the globe with a cumulative scope of thought and understanding far beyond what one mind could ever hold...It's incredible!

I am grateful, and most of all humbled, by those women who stop by and they say something beautiful about my crazy place being a life raft, or my words somehow setting off one of those light-bulb moments...Seriously, sometimes you make me cry. Sometimes I fall to my knees at my Master's feet, asking how this could ever be because I'm just faulty little me. And he tells me that perhaps it's because I never pretended to be anything more than that...

Sometimes I think those moments of connection happen because out here in this endless sea of humanity, some way, somehow, we find what we need. We make those little connections, find those tiny inspirations, read those occasional sentences that sing to our souls--and we reach out. Because we can.

I am grateful for the insights I have been given. I am sometimes awed by the humility with which I have been offered the most incredible and evolutionary thoughts and ideas...

I am grateful for having this place where I can bare my soul on a page
let my mind flow into words
admit that for all it's tenderness, my soul holds a deep and abiding rage
I am grateful for the companionship of minds like mine
the voices that whisper softly across virtual pages
of their dreams, triumphs, and tears
of their fears, successes, and the toll of passing years.

I am grateful for the opportunity to be someone's candle in the dark, the light that beckons and says, "There are others like you, and you need never be truly alone."
I am grateful for the feeling in my bones when I know that I am not alone. Because I love my Master deeply, but he is not like me. He knows not what it is to crave the gift of being on one's knees, that overwhelming desire to please, the soul-consuming need to surrender all that one is and might become...

And I guess that I'm grateful for glitchy bitchy Blogger too. Because it gave me this page, this amazing place, this ongoing opportunity to empty my mind and unburden my soul.

Though, don't expect not to hear a considerable amount of bitching if glitchy bitchy doesn't get over this particular issue soon. It's your own fault for continuing to come back for more. lol

Lines in the Sand

Yesterday, I told him that I feel like the line of acceptable behavior keeps moving. There are behaviors and reactions which would have been acceptable a few months ago, but aren't anymore. I'm having a hard time keeping up.
I informed him of this fact as he was herding me towards the bedroom and a rather unpleasant encounter for my behind. It was totally unfair because I had tried to run...Ever seen a sub attempt to escape reckoning while favoring an injured foot? Well, it's not pretty. I'm told that my attempts at dignity were completely unsuccessful. 

Got distracted again, didn't I...

Ahh yes, I pouted raised the issue that he keeps moving the line and it's terribly unfair some days I have a hard time keeping up. His response was that he likes to draw the line in the sand so that he can move it whenever he wants. Uh, what happened to all that stuff about the importance of clear expectations? Oh, they're still clear, they just evolve. Hmph.

The compulsion to redraw this used to be terribly strong

I might have complained just a teensy bit. He smirked and pointed out that my corner was indeed shrinking. He asked me if I had a problem with that. Now, I might be a slow learner, but I know a trick question when I hear one--often, there is really only one right answer. Happily enough, I didn't actually have a problem with it, so it was easy to provide the correct response.

That line in the sand is tricky though...Sometimes the urge to hang a toe over and wiggle it just a teensy bit is terribly strong. Though I have found that I no longer have any desire to move the line wherever I want it. Because I need it to be wherever he draws it. Even if he does keep moving the damn thing.

I Don't Care How You Do This Thing We Do

Disclaimer duly posted

 Really, I don't care how you do what you do. I could give a shit less. If I don't like it, I just walk away because it's none of my damn business. That's the beauty of the internet.

I don't think there's anything wrong with ttwd being a game, or something that you are really serious about on the weekends, or if you live on a chain, or if you sub one day and Dom the next. I don't care if you call yourself a submissive, a slave, a Dominant, a Master, the queen of Sheba, or a friggin teddy bear.

In short, I don't care how anyone else does power exchange. I don't think that I'm better or worse than anyone else, and I don't feel that it is important how anyone else views our power exchange. I could care less where you stand on this crazy road.

The only time you are likely to see my feathers ruffle about how anyone else does ttwd, is when I feel that someone is portraying themselves and their relationship as something they are not, or walking around acting like they have all the answers and are God's gift to us lowly struggling subs who are willing to admit that, dammit, this shit isn't always easy.

Okay, so my feathers will also ruffle if I feel that I have made a reasonable effort to have a polite discussion of thoughts, and someone gets their panties in a twist and has a go at me.What can I say, I'm only human.

Sounds about right

 But I digress...

Top, bottom, submissive, slave, Dominant, Master, fucking furby, whatever--you do what you do. If I don't like it, chances are no one will ever know because I will browse on by. It's not my life, and it has not a damn thing to do with me.

This blog is about how I live power exchange, not about how I think others should experience ttwd. I write from my perspective about my struggles, triumphs, failures, growth, internal musings, and how I'm pretty sure I broke my damn toe on a chair this morning.

Blogland is not a judgement free zone. Sure, we like to think that we are reasonably accepting and everyone has their own way of doing things, but lets be honest--this is a public forum, and you are going to make judgments about me, just as I am going to make judgements about those I read.
The difference comes in what we do with those judgements, and for the most part we keep them politely to ourselves if they are uncomplimentary. That does not mean that all blogs reside at the end of the rainbow covered comfortably in unicorn pelts.

Some people are going to come on as "More submissive than thou", others will take the approach that you're in too deep, and the relationship isn't healthy.
I try to ask myself though, "Does that person's opinion really matter?" And you know what, nine times out of ten, it doesn't.

What you see is an image from someone's mind, typed out into the public domain and frozen in time. Each "scene" you read is just that--a scene. Perhaps it was beautiful and breathtaking, or perhaps it was disturbing and uncomfortable. But we only know what we read, we only see what we are shown.
I was thinking about this after my last shower post--you got the hot and heavy main story, which was a wonderful experience for me.
Before that scene I was cranky and unwilling. After the scene and the sex and the endorphin crash, I curled up on the bed in the kind of agony that comes when your body isn't working how it should, and cried.
That's the whole picture, not just the image I wrote for you.

Yes, chances are that I will judge you in some form or fashion, but you will judge me too, and I like to think that those judgements will usually be kind.
We can only judge what we are shown though. And when it comes right down to it? I don't care how you do ttwd. I care that I am what he wants me to be.
What matters to me is how I live ttwd.
And that I'm fairly certain I did break my toe on that damn chair this morning. Yep, that matters.

Batshitcrazy

You know how sometimes you're afraid that you will go off the deep end, and then one day you do something so stupid and out of character that you just know you've finally gone and done it, then your reaction just solidifies the knowledge that you are bound for batshitcrazy and there's no hope?

Oh...You don't?

Well bear with me, I'll give you a peek.

Kiddos tournament was in the city (poor guys, they had a rough go this time), and we were due for a food shopping, so it made sense for me to go shopping at the same time.
Different stores, same chains, bigger city that I didn't want to drive in, but still--everything we needed was available there.

We go down to the city once a month for a food shopping. I do the list, I make the food decisions, I keep the tally of money spent, I stick to the budget, and I always get enough of what we need to last until the next shopping.

I'm sure you can guess what the most important item on my list is: Coffee.
I buy an average of 5 pounds a month, and yes, we drink it all.

I fucking forgot to buy coffee.

When I realized this on the highway somewhere between 100 miles from said coffee and 80 miles from home, I knew that was it--I really am destined to dementia.

My reaction only solidified my certain ticket to Batshitcrazyville:
I cried.
Not just because it royally sucks to have to buy coffee that is twice as expensive and half as good for a month, or because I have to make a trip to town just for coffee, but because I forgot it.

I forget crackers, or yoghurt, or cookies, or tortillas. I do not forget the single item that we both consume several times a day. I do not ever ever forget something as important as coffee.

I have a prepaid ticket to Batshitcrazyville. Oddly enough, he doesn't seem to think I'll use it. Me, I'm pretty sure that I'm already on the train...

That Fucking Sucks

This has been one of those weeks that just keeps on giving and seems quite intent on lasting well into next weekend.

There's a big tournament tomorrow, and we have to leave at 4:30 A.M

I saw the chiropractor yesterday, which was awesome, but my head hurts worse than it has in a very long time....They have been reoccurring for so long, when they're this bad, I always have that (I hope) irrational fear that this is going to be the time when the pain never stops.

Really though...The dog didn't make it. 
I've never worked on an injured animal to the extent that I did her, and I've never lost one like that either. Until her.
And you know what? That really, really just fucking sucks.
She was a ten year old stubborn, stubborn, fat pit bull that loved all people to an almost disgusting extent.
She was a good girl, and she's gone.
Did I mention that really really sucks?

I have to get up in a few hours, so I should probably forgo further whining for the comforts of sleep.

In retrospect, I can probably put a humorous spin on tomorrow, and possibly even the pain in my skull, provided it stops. But I think I need a day or two to work up to it.

Into the Darkness

To varying degrees, we all like to play in the dark. Sure, we love our sunshine, and we often pretend that the darkness has no appeal, but that is merely a facade we create because we are often a bit afraid of the dark.

There is peace in darkness.
There is quiet.
There is curiosity about what we cannot see.
And there is a little bit of fear because we can't be totally sure what's in the darkness.

But that fear doesn't matter. Because we wouldn't be descending into the darkness without a guiding hand.

We all know that there are things in the darkness. They might be lovely, they might be terrifying, they might be a thrill ride like you have never ridden before, they might be all of the above and then some. But one can never be totally sure...

It's that age old truth of there being no light without darkness, no understanding of joy without sadness, no appreciation of pleasure without experience of pain...

It is always, always coldest and darkest before the dawn. But if one is brave and wishes to play...There is no joy like that found in the darkness just before daybreak, in the silence of one's own heart, in the quiet whispers of the soul as it bravely takes a step into the unknown...

Submission is saying, "I will follow you into the darkness". Surrender is taking that first step without sight, that first leap into the unknown. Surrender is walking into the darkness knowing that it, and it alone, leads to a glorious new dawn...And all you have to do is follow wherever he chooses to take you.

As the light begins to peek over a cold and snow covered horizon, accompanied by the sound of a softly crackling fire, I can appreciate the darkness as a place of discoveries, as a place of quiet, of harsh cold and heartening warmth...As a place to retreat to when the well-lit world outside becomes a seemingly unbearable load.

Darkness is where we hide our deepest desires, the secrets of our soul that we think no one knows.
Darkness is where we lick our wounds and trace our scars with weary fingers.
Darkness is where we hide our dreams, our sins, our tired hearts.
Darkness is where one must become blind in order to truly understand what the eyes have seen.
Darkness is where one can be what eyes alone could never truly see.

Oh yes, there undoubtedly are things in the darkness. Some of which can lead to discoveries far beyond anything we could ever see while blinded by the light.

Pride and Humility

I have been pondering the concept of humility for a while now, and I think that it is essential and integral to submission. That might sound a bit odd, given that blogging seems to be somewhat of an inherently narcissistic activity, but I digress. As usual...

Humility is a concept found in religions across the world, ranging from Catholicism to Buddhism. As such, interpretations vary.
From my perspective, humility is a state of being. Something which perhaps transcends the ideology of religion and comes to rest at the feet of spirituality. Without it there is no true surrender, no trust, no acquiescence.

To truly hand over the reins and trust him to lead the way is an act of humility--without it we cannot let go of our attachment to our own decision making, we cannot really accept that another is as good as, if not better than we are, at directing our lives.

Humility is letting go of self enough to revel in the pleasure of another.
Humility does not want, nor is it overly concerned with self.
Humility does not not struggle for control.
Humility makes room for the will of another.

To submit is an act of humility.
To be a slave is to humble oneself at the feet of their Master.
Surrender is having the humility to let go of the importance of being right.

Now pride on the other hand, pride is a far cry from humility isn't it? I know it ranks pretty high up there on the list of seven deadly sins, but so does lust, and I'm currently trying to cultivate a bit more lust in my life. So no worries there.

Pride is a tricky beast. On the surface, it interferes with humility, and contributes to arrogance. Pride really is often present before the fall, and there's nothing quite like an overabundant ego to ruffle feathers.

Pride says that it's too good for humility because pride knows best.
Pride inhibits growth by refusing to admit fault.
Pride is never wrong because pride knows best.
Pride makes the same mistakes over and over again because perfection needs no evolution.

Yet...Pride is not always a negative concept. It's kind of like love, in that it takes on many varied forms.

If one takes no pride in a job well done, then why bother?
If one cannot be proud to serve on their knees, how can one bear to stay there?
If one takes no pride in the one they submit to, how then does one yield to that person?

Pride allows us to reach for our full potential.
Pride motivates us to submit with grace.
Pride in our owners gives us the faith to surrender all that we are.

Pride and humility work best hand in hand.
It is pride and humility which give the phrase "Good girl" its appeal.
It is pride and humility which allow for the seeming contradiction of queen and slave.
It is pride and humility together, which  give us the confidence to submit and the acceptance of its necessity.
It is pride, hand in hand with humility, which allows us to seek our full potential in slavery.

Pride without humility becomes hubris. Humility without pride sees no reason to reach for one's full potential.

Yet together, pride and humility are a dance of antonyms, much like Dominance and submission.

Missing Pages

I'm feeling a bit less whiny today. Something about being nice and warm and my terrible weakness for a man with a chainsaw, I suppose...

If you've been reading here for more than a few days, you know that I have issues sticking to just one background, or even maintaining a certain subject matter. It's no secret that I would rearrange the furniture all the time if it wasn't against the rules.
As usual, I'm getting sidetracked.

For some time, there were several pages at the top of the blog. They were part of the things that are really never changed.
I had a not so little identity crisis surrounding this whole submission thing, and really put some thought into the whole concept of being, "Fraud or flawed" (an interesting and thought provoking term that I cannot take credit for).
So down came the page titled Submission, because I never really meant to give anyone the impression that I thought I knew what I was talking about, and maybe I changed my mind about what submission was because I never knew what I was talking about to begin with. Then down came the page about Dominance because it didn't really say anything since I couldn't make up my mind what to write.
The About Me and Our Story pages...In all honesty, I get more traffic than the one person I have always  imagined would be my only reader, and I felt that perhaps there was too much of our/my story in one easy read.

After our fight, I was 90% certain that the answer to my question of identity was fraud. Then we had some serious conversations, and he made me see how much I was really just holding us back from deeper explorations by being so tripped up on the basics.
It's one thing to say "I'm ready for more" it's another thing entirely to be required to prove it. And in that process of proving, I realized that I wasn't, yet I became so.
Reading that sentence, it sounds so innocuous...Yet, for me, it isn't--it seems like it should be printed across the sky in bright neon caps. Even if it doesn't seem to make sense...

In that process, my definitions and the labels that I apply to myself and my relationship began solidifying in a direction that I have known we were headed for some time.
Does it really matter whether I define myself as submissive or slave? Whether I define the parameters of our relationship as being Master and slave, or Dominant and submissive? In the grand scheme of things, probably not. They are merely places on the road in the journey of infinite possibility that is power exchange.

Yet...It does matter, because how I define us impacts my behavior and the way I view our relationship. If I think of myself as submissive, I also apply forms of thought that are not acceptable with the scope of a Master/slave oriented power exchange.
Looking back, while I would vehemently deny it and truly believe my own denials, there have been so many times in the past where I approached ttwd as a game. And it's one of the only things that really pisses him off. Because this is the way we live, not something we toy with and put away when it suits me us.

He pointed out that it was impossible for us to move forward while I was still struggling with the basics. As much as his statement made me cringe, I have to admit that he has been true to his word--when I quit wallowing in the shallow end, things began changing rather drastically for the better.

Some of the missing pages will not return. Others will. My definitions and the way we live D/s are evolving, and so must they.

Life Happens...

First and foremost, don't forget that the annual Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza is coming up on the fifth, and if you want to participate, you need to send Jz your recipe and blog URL by tomorrow!

Now onto my moaning...And not the attractive kind, lol.

I'm so sick and tired of wood...I'm not talking about the fun kind either.
I despise being cold, really no one wants to live in an icebox all winter, right? But the kids have been kinda sick, my headaches are back, I just spent two days working the splitter, and for the first time in 2 1/2 years, I'll have gone 6 weeks without a chiropractic appointment. My body hates me.

I was less than thrilled to get up this morning and hear that we're going out to get more wood. Of course, I shouldn't complain--he had to chop half of a cord by hand yesterday just to be able to unload the wood he brought her, because my mom's...Lets go with incompetent, shall we?
And nobody wants to freeze to death and die (never let it be said that I avoided a perfectly good opportunity to be dramatic).

We stumbled in last night, I was doing my usual hold-the-girl hybrid-at-the-gate-so-she-doesn't-run-off, when I realized that her neck was covered in blood. For the most part, the animals get along, but historically, there have been some pretty bad fights. They're fairly big, so if they do fight, it's not pretty. When this particular one is covered in blood, it's hardly ever actually hers.

Yea, it wasn't her blood...I spent my evening patching up the pit bull. Say what you will about the breed, but they get a bad rap--not many animals will let you scrub out and bandage wounds, after chopping off dangling skin... I have patched up some pretty bad wounds, but this time was in the running with the worst of them...Not the way I had planned on rounding out my day.
And to think, I made a conscious choice not to become a veterinarian...Still, it's preferable to patching up people in the living room--animals complain far less.

I know I have comments, and I will get to them soon...But I have to make ointment for the dog...Before my darling husband drags me back out into the woods with a chainsaw. Like how exciting I made that sound?

Invisible Chains

I love being tied up, who doesn't? Don't answer that...

As much as I enjoy physical bonds, there is something to be said for the invisible kind.
The kind made solely of his will.

To be ordered into a position and told to hold it, to keep those hands just as they are,knees just so, head angled exactly like that, shoulders back, or chest pressed to the floor...
To be held in place by the control of his will alone...
For as long as he wishes
for no other reason than because he said so...

At first, I always wonder, why? A question inevitably followed by, "How long?".
I firmly believe that there is not one single position on earth which will not eventually become uncomfortable if you hold it long enough. It is always in that discomfort that time becomes a concern for me.
How long have I been there?
How long will I remain there?
What is he doing?
Is he looking?
Is he ignoring me completely? Something which shouldn't be hot, but it is...
Surely, it's been ages, but then again, maybe it has only been a few minutes...
There is an incredible desire to fidget,to chase all those thoughts which flit through my mind.
My mind is so loud, my body is uncomfortable, I can hear every little sound in the house, there's a draft, the cats want food, I forgot to buy cabbage, I really hope the insurance settlement doesn't go to litigation, my head hurts...

It is in that hyper awareness that I realize none of it matters.
And the answers to why and how long, become clear:
because he can,
and as long as it pleases him.
Then, ever so slowly, quiet settles in and I feel myself sinking slowly into space.
All that matters is staying right there.
All I think, and all that I feel, is for him.
All that I am is wrapped up in the chains of his will, and his will alone.

Oh yes, it is the invisible chains that bind most tightly, it is the hidden bonds which hold most true, it is those expressions of his will which glow most brightly unseen.

The Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza!

My all-time favorite Blogland event is just around the corner--The Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza, hosted and coordinated by the awesomely dedicated Jz, over at A Reluctant Bitch.
It's totally awesome, really. You'll love it, promise. Everyone does.

If you want to play, on December 5th, post a recipe for the holiday goodie of your choice (there is no discrimination against varying kinds of goodies).
The only conditions are, that you absolutely must email Jz your recipe, and the URL of your blog, no later than December 3rd, if you want to be on the official list of participants.

The lovely Jz will compile a list of links to the participating blogs, and we all put the list in our recipe posts. That way, we can find all the good stuff other people decide to share.

Feel free to email me with any questions, or drop by and visit Jz. Even if you don't have questions, but want a peek at the previous years cookie exchange, she has them all right there, so it's well worth stopping by and taking a gander.

So, just a quick recap:
If you want to play, and I really hope that you do, you must email Jz a copy of your recipe and the URL of  your blog no later than December 3rd. Then, on December 5th, post your recipe on your blog, along with the list of participants that the lovely Jz will have compiled and sent to us all.

It's a lot of work putting all of this together, so lets make it as easy on her as we can by following the very simple rules stated above. We're pretty good with rules, right?

Won't you please come out and play with us?

P.S If anyone would like to share a recipe, but doesn't have a blog of their own, I would be happy to post it here if you want to email it to me.

Wanting and Willing

I have had a lot of little epiphanies lately (it obviously still remains to be seen if I can actually put them into practice for an extended period of time).
It is quite probable that I have not yet consumed enough coffee for this post to make any semblance of sense. Perhaps consuming copious amounts of caffeine while muddling one's way through it is advisable...

One of the things I have realized, is that submission is not about always being wanting, or even wanting at all--it is about being willing.

Submission is very much about letting go of want. Duh, right?

My greatest submissive issues, our most blatant D/s based conflicts, many of my internal struggles, so many of those issues have taken shape, in some form or fashion, from my wants.

He reminds me. With a sharp slap, with a gentle caress of my cheek, in the way his eyes apologize silently for my own folly, and sometimes with words alone, he reminds me that wanting is the wrong approach.

"It's not about what you do or do not want, little one. You want too much, and you know that you can't be happy if I give you everything you want--that is not what you need.
You need me to make you let go of your wants, because this is not about what you want, it's about what I want. And that, babydoll, is what you need."

There is so much truth in that statement, it's not even cool.

I have come so far from the original thought I started this post with, I have no clue how to tie it all back together...Excuse me while I attempt to muddle through over here...

If submission is not about wanting, how then does one deal with the concept of wanting to do things that they want, when one really really does not actually want to do them? Yes, that is what my mind sounds like, and no, it's not much clearer from here.
That is when, I think, one must be willing. Doing the things they want when we want those things too, is easy. The challenge, the true test if you will, is submitting when we don't want to. And to do that, requires a certain, and deep level of willingness.

Humans have a vast variety of wants, and want in itself is not necessarily a bad thing. I think though, if one wants to live M/s, as the s, want can become an impediment to growth and development of power exchange.

What then though when he wants me wanting, yet I do not...? There I believe, is where willing comes in. I won't always be wanting what he wants me to want. I simply cannot do so, but I can be always willing.

Even when one is unwilling, to acquiesce to his desires anyways, becomes its own form of willing. Because that is what bending to the will of another is all about.

Submission is about that moment when he asks something of me that I truly do not want to do, but I am  willing to do it anyways, because our M/s is not about what I want. And that is, frustratingly enough, what I need.

Morning Coffee

"You're an ass."

"Lol. But I'm an ass that owns your ass. Now go make coffee."

Home Alone

I smarted off, which in retrospect, wasn't actually that smart. That is how I ended up face down on the floor, with my ass in the air, waiting...It always seems like forever when one has been told to wait in a particular position. Yet, somehow, the act of waiting itself turns into an act of submission.

In all fairness, I was probably destined to end up that way at some point during the day. It is an inevitable turn of events when we have the house to ourselves. However, events to follow have not been as predictable.

I did not foresee making breakfast while chained to the stove
or spending the day in cuffs, heels, and clamps...

I would not have guessed that he would instruct me do put on eye makeup, heavy on the black, or that he would send me out to the car naked in a foot of snow to retrieve said makeup, pigtails flying in my desperate attempt to make it back to warmth.

I was a tad shocked when the camera made an appearance. He moved me this way and that, making the offhand comment that perhaps one or two of the photos would make their way onto the blog.
Say...uh, what...?

He says that sex and chains look good on me. Who am I to disagree. Gods know, they feel good. And the day is not yet done...

Time to Stop Pretending

I think that it's finally time to stop pretending

that I don't actually want to suck your cock in the parking lot
that I don't actually want your hand innocuously down my pants while we're standing in the supermarket
that I don't really want to to wear the plug to town
that I don't want you to bend me over the car on the side of the road
that I don't actually want to be left waiting on my knees.

It's time to stop pretending

that being unwilling to do something will mean that I won't get off on it
that I don't want to feel your hand creep up my leg under the table while the waitress takes my order
that I don't want you to pull me into the alley and take whatever form of pleasure you desire in that moment.

It's time to stop pretending that

I don't need you to caress my soul with your words
or fuck my thoughts with your voice
I don't need you to explore my mind and bare my being
that anticipation isn't a turn-on
I don't crave that which I claim to abhor
that I need what I want to matter.

It's time to stop pretending

that I could have ever been anything less than completely yours

mind

body

heart

and soul.

It is time to stop pretending that I wasn't born to be yours.

Some Thoughts on Breath "Play"

This post might possibly be rather long... I recommend coffee, or travel to better places than mine.

I recently read a rather scathing article on the subject of breath play. It purported to be an unbiased  informative piece, and while it raised some very valid points, it was undoubtedly biased in the belief that participating in said activity was dangerously irresponsible, and did not fit under the heading of ssc (safe, sane, and consensual).

Here's the thing...It's hot as fuck. And lets face it, one of the major attractions of D/s is the element of danger.
Here's the other thing...Breath "play" is dangerous because of its potential to be deadly.

In the right context, breath "play" offers a delectable mix of safety and danger...This is the kind of context where I object to the word "play" as a description for something that could easily kill you, but I couldn't come up with anything better, so there you have it.

Here's where my stupid sense of responsibility jumps in and says I have to take quick detour and play the angel's advocate. Forgive me if I accidentally come across as thinking that I actually know what I'm talking about...

Any medical professional or person with a modicum of common sense, will tell you that breath play is dangerous.
Those of us with asthma must admit to a higher level of risk of breathing interruption lasting after play stops, and I think that people with heart conditions are at a higher risk when the neck is involved.
Imho, auto-erotic asphyxiation and choking are the two most dangerous forms of breath play--it is estimated that up to 1,000 people die a year from auto-erotic asphyxiation (that is the high end of a debatable set of numbers), and choking can impact the vagus nerve, leading to cardiac arrest.
So yes, your partner matters, the form of play you choose matters, and so does your physical condition. I am aware that there are medically based opinions to the contrary, as far as the potential for minimizing risk is concerned.

The vagus nerve is in extremely close proximity to the carotid artery.

The other drawback to choking as a form of breath play, is that there's a lot going on in the neck, from arteries and nerves, to larynx and thyroid gland.

A fairly comprehensive overview of breath play in its varying forms, can be found at Within Reality. I strongly recommend that anyone venturing into breath play take the time to go read it.

Anyways...Yea, it could kill you. But sex, sleep apnea, driving, or not looking twice before you cross the road, could kill you too. Nobody runs around waving a red flag at you when you get into your car in the morning.
Surviving life is largely a matter of common sense.

Now that we have the obvious issues out of the way, and my conscience can rest easy that I have not contributed overmuch to the occasionally overwhelming stupidity of humanity, I can move on to how I personally feel about breath play.

The danger is a very large part of my attraction to breath play--breathing is an automatic function of the human body. If we stop doing it, we stop living rather quickly.

Breath play is very much about that ancient dance of predator and prey, which has played out since the dawn of time.
As it is with all beasts, we know that the baring and consequent grasping of one's throat is a universal symbol of Dominance and submission. You acquiescence will either be accepted, or not--it is the risk you take for great reward.

I am going to arch my back, raise my head, and tilt my chin to the side in acquiescence. I will probably be breathing hard and immediately pliant. My lower lip will jut out just  tiny bit--I simply cannot help it, or ignore the throbbing between my legs...
Because in one single movement of your arm, you will become as close as you will ever be, to holding my beating heart in the palm of your hand.

Your eyes are going to develop that dangerous glint, and you're going to reach out and wrap your fingers around my throat, knowing that my life is completely dependent on what you choose to do in that moment. In that moment, you control the air I breathe, and the very blood in my veins.

We both know that you could snap my neck with a calculated flick of your wrist, and we are both acutely aware that my faith and trust are complete and all consuming. That awareness binds us together, suspends us in time--a moment frozen in forever as I breath for you, and you alone. Because you choose to allow me to do so.

When you hold my face under the running water and I cough and sputter as you watch me with that curiously calculating expression, when your hand smothers by breath and I feel that fleeting panic, when you take my life in your hands...
In those moments, I realize that my attraction to breath play lies in knowing to the very core of my being, that I live only because it pleases you for me to do so.

Delicious Torment, Part II

Maybe it's been an hour, maybe it's been a minute, maybe time doesn't matter...

I suddenly need it so bad, and I don't know why I need it--the sensation of his cock sliding down my throat.
I'm consumed, yet I can't open my eyes, and I can't seem to speak, and I wouldn't presume to move on my own, or I'm not sure that I can...

I can hear the smile in his voice, because he knows I want it, I'm begging with my mouth, a whimper escapes me, pleasing him is the sole focus of my being in that moment. I need it more than I need air.
And there's a touch of playful menace in the slight chuckle which escapes his throat. Because we both know that I am, and will do, whatever he desires.
With the slightest of touches, he lets me descend to my knees, where he feeds my needs. Overeager, I choke myself on him.
I don't care about the water in my nose, on my face, running into my mouth... All I care about is the feeling of his rock hard cock filling my mouth, the sensation of him forcing open my throat, the taste of him as he empties himself and I greedily consume every last drop.
In that moment, I know without a shadow of a doubt, that this is what it is all about--though force has its place, a Master does not spend an eternity making his slave to do things. He makes her need to please him so strong that it overwhelms all else.
In that moment, I truly know what it is to get pleasure from pleasing.

I vaguely remember the walk to the bedroom. It is, as such moments often are, a rather hazy recollection.

I remember being blindfolded and spread out on the bed...It is an interesting phenomenon, the feeling of a Master's eyes, as they slide over one's body.
The inspection always makes me nervous, but not so much this time--he bathed me himself, and I seem to have temporarily lost the ability to feel any semblance of shame...

I feel feathers and pain
his breath on my skin, his eyes wandering over me
as I bite my lip in anticipation of the first thrust
that moment when he slides all the way in
and every inch of my skin burns for him.

And I know that this man is my fantasy,
he is all that I ever needed
and everything that I could possibly ever be belongs to him.
It's the tender cruelty
the way his eyes strip me when I'm already naked
the tone of his voice when he says, "Mine"
it is the way he takes what he wants and gives me what I need
the calculating look on his face
the way he shrugs off my wants as immaterial in the face of his desires.
It's how he touches me with that gruff familiarity, no question in his mind that every part of me is owned by him
the fact that he is both protector and tormentor
drowning me in the delicious agony of my own surrender.

Maybe we live for a moment, maybe it's an eternity, maybe time doesn't matter.
As long as I know that I have pleased, there is nothing more that I need to be.

Delicious Torment, Part I

As he swept my hair up onto my head, softly  rubbing, giving me a moments respite from the water pouring onto my face, a moment to breath, all I could do was cling to his shoulders and think, "This man is my fantasy."

I had spent what felt like ages on my knees in the tub, with one single stream of exceptionally hot water spilling from the shower head onto one knee.
The water had been cold at first, so painfully cold. I couldn't help eying the temperature adjustment, wondering if he knew just how hot it was going to get...

It had started as most of my time spent in the tub usually does--being placed somewhat reluctantly on my knees. His voice brooked no argument, his grip in my hair tolerating no resistance as he issued the simple command.

Living in a body that doesn't really belong to you is an interesting experience--sometimes it does as it is told on his request alone, against all that your mind tells it to; other times you have to make it obey his will.
So I sank into the humiliation that occurs sometimes when one's body and its functions are not really their own.

But he wasn't done...
"Play with yourself", he said, with a predatory glint in his eyes, as he claimed me like a wolf marks it's territory.
We both know he'll make me clean him with my tongue. I don't know that later I will be practically begging to suck his cock.

Play with myself I did, staying on my knees for what felt like forever.

The difference this time was in my dedication to maintaining the position. There's something about being made to wait, and stay until everything is shaking, when those minutes become forever. The tub is an unforgiving resting place...But he put me on my knees, where I'm watching that drizzle of too-hot water hit my knee, and shaking with cold. Feeling time stop.
There is only the moment and the only reason that moment exists, is because he can.
In that moment I exist only for him.
Maybe it's an hour, maybe it's a minute, maybe time doesn't matter. As long as I stay until he desires otherwise.

Leaning down, he lifted me up and growled, "Mine". He nudged my legs apart and slid his fingers slowly up my thighs. After all, he had instructed me to play with myself.

Then came the water. Oh God, the deliciously warm water, washing away the cold.
And he reached for my throat.
The look in his eyes acknowledged my slight panic as I shied away, and silently replied that this was happening regardless.
We both knew what was coming, we both knew there was nothing I could do to stop it, and we both knew that the liquid dripping down my legs wasn't all water. Because I'm dancing with danger, standing on the edge of that knife where my protector is my tormentor.

There's something about that moment
when the dangerously sweet and terrible torment is ended
just for a moment...
My head rests against his chest and I am so fucking grateful for the air I breath. I am consumed by the way his hands grip my body, hold me up, and pull me in, as he whispers in my ear, "Mine".
Before wrapping his fingers around my neck, and slowly moving my face back under the water. "Close your mouth", he says with a dangerous smile, and continues washing my hair.

What He Wants, When He Wants It

So all that thinking...Still doing it.

And I have been thinking some more.

In fact, it would be fair to say that I have accomplished little else over the course of the last week or so.
For once though, I believe that I have come to some important conclusions.

There is no room for, "I'm not in the mood"
or, "But I don't want to"
there is no space for me to be mine
or, "Do I have to?"
there is no time for, "Not right now"
or, "In a minute"
there is no place for, "I don't feel like it".

These are thoughts, reactions, feelings, which have absolutely no place in our M/s. I have been holding onto ways of being that don't fit anymore, and haven't for some time.

It's not as if, in saying them, I expect to get my way, But I do expect him to push past it. Or not.
And that's not how this really works.
I made a choice. I choose over and over again to live a different life.
One where such turns of phrase, and forms of thought, have no place.

It's not about when I want it
or what I want
or why I want it
or if I want it at all.

It's about what he wants
when he wants it
because that feeds his needs and desires.
And that works because he feeds my needs.

There isn't always a point, and there doesn't have to be. Often it is just because he can.

Physically, I have issues. These issues contribute to mental shit...Sometimes pain takes over. And I think it can be a delicate tightrope to walk--where "I am in excruciating pain, and my head happens to be inside out" turns into, "I don't feel like it", where "I'll give you the space you need to cope with your body" turns into an ill-fitting loosening of the reins.

He reminds me that this is life
that I chose to be his
that my total and complete surrender is what pleases him
and in that surrender, there is no place for me to choose when, what, or if, I want.

We made an agreement--all or nothing. Because that's who we are.
All in. Always. In all ways.

Wonky

My blog seems to have gone all wonky suddenly...I swear something happens to Blogger every damn November.
My  post  kinda got eaten...
Sigh.
The muse came back and sabotaged me, lol.

Once You Get Past This...

In all honesty, I get a bit hazy, so there's a good chance my quotes lack a certain level of exactness...

"Once you get past this, then we can move on to the fun stuff. Accepting that you are completely mine and it is my way (that's what makes you happy anyways) does not signify the end of the road. It's just the beginning."

That was  a concept which hadn't occurred to me until he said those words. Perhaps I have been  deliberately holding onto ways of being from the beginning of our D/s, because I am afraid that once those obstacles are conquered, there is no where else for us to go.

He continued the following morning with, If we keep going over the same stuff over and over again, we can't go deeper. Lets get over this beginner shit so we can move on.

Oh...

Well then...

Really...?

Oh shit...

Excuse me while I melt and reassess some things here...

He's right. I have struggled with some basic concepts for far too long. And it is simply not possible for our power exchange to progress beyond a certain level if I am continually willing to allow my obstinance to interfere with submitting to his will.

I have had a couple of days to "reassess" things since those conversations, and my perspective is making a  shift...

I know how I need to be, and what I need to do--he has been telling me all along.

One simply cannot continue to fall down the rabbit hole while they cling desperately to the sides.

Work...

This was actually written before my last post, but my drafts folder is suddenly overflowing, so I gotta get it out before moving on to bigger and better things...

I got really caught up in a couple of things he said when we had our....discussion, the other night:

That I want ttwd on my terms, and the concept of being "work".
I acknowledge the former as unacceptable behavior that I still clearly struggle with.

The latter...

Well, that one could be thought to death, could it not?

I know that it's not easy to get me to that place where I can really enjoy sex. I am grateful for the time he takes to ensure my pleasure. Oddly enough, I am also grateful for the times he takes what he wants without a care for my enjoyment. Overall though, he prefers me willing and wanting.

I am aware that Dominating takes discipline and (among many other things) a distinct kind of energy exertion, and that this all requires a certain amount of work.
It is the suggestion that said exertion does not become a cyclical exchange wherein mutual needs are met, which is bothering me.
I admire and appreciate the dedication necessary to make our brand of D/s what it is, and experience has taught me that relationships take work. But I don't want to be work.

I want fucking me to be pleasurable
I need Dominating me to fill a need in his being
I want to be his oasis in the desert of life
I want to be his relief, to feel myself as the source of his release
I want to go to sleep each and every night, knowing that I have pleased him in some way.

I don't want to be "Work". He has quite enough of that in his life.

All that, with a whole lot of "I want"...

Face Down, Ass Up

Face down
ass up
hands clawing sheets
twisting
begging
moaning.

Impaled on the hook
as time disapears
all I can hear is my low whine, his whispered  "Mine", and the blood pounding through my veins.
As the knife slides across my skin
and he pushes his way in
with an exquisitely torturous slowness.

Face down, ass up
invaded by his eyes
his touch
his toys.

His eyes tell me that I am beautiful
his hands tell me that I am his
his touch tells me that I am his most treasured possession
his words remind me that I am his
always
in all ways.

Face down, ass up
no longer concerned with physical imperfection
swallowed whole by need
consumed by his desire to feed.

And in the end, the only thought my mind becomes capable of is how very delicious his cock is,
how very badly I want it in my mouth,
and how very, very good I am going to suck it.

Face down, ass up
hands clawing sheets
mewling
moaning
begging.

The wanton whore
pushing back
crawling and pleading
desperate to please and exploding with need.

Face down, ass up
dripping
maleable
I will do anything he wants
and he knows it.

To Be Pleasing

I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. Even more so than usual, I suppose. I'm not entirely sure that it's a healthy addiction...

And I wonder...
I am to please
such is the purpose of a slave, is it not?

To be pleasing
to bring pleasure and joy
to bare one's truth and offer up one's soul
to surpass the limits of human connection
and explore the depths of depravity
to be the one constant in a world devoid of stability
to serve and surrender
to live for that smile of appreciation
and take the ultimate leap of faith
to breath at his command
and accept that forever never ends
to hand over your pleasure and pain
and strive for the elusive "Good girl"
to give up control of your days
and getting your own way
to give all that one has
and all that one is
to exist simply for the "Mine" whispered quietly into the darkness
to know that purpose is defined by him
to be human as his human being.

To be what pleases him.

And if he does not find me pleasing...Then perhaps I am not really what I have thought myself to be.

Roses and Thorns

He brought me roses the other night. I know that some people think roses are cliche, but I absolutely love them.
I had had a crappy day, and it's been a long time since he brought me flowers out of the blue like that, so I was happily surprised.

Then the kids were horrid and took forever to go to sleep.
And I got sucked into some stupid show on TV while Alpha passed out under a blanket.
Then we had a fight.
The kind of fight that would have, once upon a time, been a screaming match. Instead I opted to stay in bed, cry, and remind myself that I am somewhat asthmatic.

It was fucking awesome.
I think I might have just crossed my own sarcasm threshold...

You see, over the course of our 15 years, there has been a reoccurring fight about sex. I can live without it. He feels differently.
When I can't have it, I'm on.
When I can have it, I'm not interested.
He's always interested. Until he's too tired to "work for it". Because even though he can, he doesn't want to always have to take what he wants. He wants it given.

Throw submission into the mix, and there become so many wonderful ways to fail, it's not even funny.

I know that I'm a lot of work. I thought it was progress given that once upon a time, not even work got me where I should be.
But it's all work for him
sex
submission
me.
And I know that's not his fault.

Sometimes I find irony in the fact that people ask me for advice about submission. Seriously, I'm sure you could do much better. Because the man who judges mine, seems to think it falls quite short.
He's says that I submit on my time, on my schedule, when I want to.
He says that he shouldn't have to work for it all the time.

Then he gave me a lesson in submission and wanting. I'm still surprised he let me orgasm. Perhaps it was a part of making up...

He gave me a lot to think about. Most thoughts being of a nature which I am not entirely happy with.
Because I try ridiculously hard
and no one wants to fail something they try
over
and over
and over
to live.
Something they feel in their bones
to the depths of their soul.
Something they need with all their being
and screw up
over
and over
again.

It seems that suggestions should be responded to as if they were orders. And perhaps it's pretty obvious right, that a Dom will make requests for what he wants, and said requests should be responded to accordingly...But it's easier to obey an order. Therein lies the issue--my repeatedly choosing to treat honoring his requests as optional.

As to the other...
Sex and submission are intertwined in my life. I can experience submission without sex, but not sex without submission. For him, sex is me submitting.
I have a love/hate relationship with sex. I never know for sure when it will be good, or when it will result in excruciating pain.
My sex drive is not, nor has it ever been, an adequate match for his. This has been a consistent source of insecurity for me throughout the years...

I think that, for once, I may be all rambled out.

Well...

It should be illegal for a kindergarten book to have "Dick" and "Suck" on the same line...Hell, neither really belongs there at all.

My eldest kid is obsessed with being an ass who gets poor grades. Seriously, I don't understand how someone can act so brilliantly retarded...

My mother...Lets just say that she's being herself to a painfully irritating extreme.

I firmly believe that hormones were created to kill joy in any and all forms in which it may present itself (say that five times fast, I dare you).

It's cold.

It's only going to get colder.

I just spent 15 minutes on the phone with the state police because...Family is crazy. Literally.

We need a night and a day alone so very badly.

Have I mentioned that I got to see my 5 year old's heart broken for the very first time a couple of weeks ago? By his own grandmother no less--only big brother can spend the night.

I am now going to try my hand at fried green tomatoes. Cross your fingers that I make something edible.

That First Time

I was in the midst of blundering my way through  post about fear, when a comment came through that really fit in with something I have already been musing about, and I'm easily distracted, so what can I say?

I see so many subs longing to reach a...Certain level of submission, a certain depth of D/s in their relationships, a certain something that only comes with time. And yes, that something can be mind blowing and amazing.
No single event or moment will feel quite as it did in the beginning, because now is an accumulation of all those moments which came before.

The thing is, while we are all always learning and growing, (we hope) everything is only new once!

That first time when the word "Master" flows off your tongue as if there was never any other name to call him.
Your first scary/addictive taste of subspace when you learn how to fly, and he learns how to bring you back to earth.
The first time he does something you really really fucking hate. And you discover that you liked it just because you hated it, but the world doesn't end.
There is a first for each and every time your response to a command becomes automatic.
The first time you get off on something you want to think is abhorrent, but you have to admit that you loved every minute, while looking him in the eye.
That moment when you realize submission isn't really about what you think it should be, or what you want it to be, but that it's about being the way, and following the path,  he chooses.

Those and countless other discoveries will only be new once. Relationships and ttwd offer a lifetime of new realizations and explorations, but each of them only gets one first, one period of time when it is new.

There is beauty in the accumulated knowledge of time. There is something amazingly life altering and soul changing in the depths of M/s, depths that take time to travel to. It can be a somewhat transcendent and scary feeling when he truly knows you inside and out. That knowing takes time. And I don't know that there truly is a bottom in the rabbit hole.

Ttwd is not about the destination. It is a journey where each step is as valuable as the last, each mind-blowing moment an accumulation of moments which came before.
Though we may repeat experiences, every single one is unique, and should be treasured as such. No matter where we stand in our journey.

The Evolution of Issues

I have started to wonder if what I have seen as a lack of inspiration, is actually just a shift in my perception about submission.
I have always had an internal struggle with being submissive, becoming slave, seeing myself as property.
Somewhere inside, I have always had this little voice which suggested that the things I crave and the feelings I have are somehow wrong.
That little voice has been remarkably silent lately.

It has taken well over half a decade of exploring ttwd, but I'm okay with what I am, I'm okay with what I like. I accept that Alpha makes the judgement calls about what is okay and what is not.
Everything I need and crave is alright. Because he hasn't said that it's not.

We are beyond the point where I have a closet full of dirty little secrets and even dirtier fantasies. Oh, I still have the fantasies, but he has sifted through them all, and when he thinks there might be a new one, he doesn't hesitate to shine a painfully bright light on it.

There's something extremely freeing about letting go of the need to make those judgement calls about what desires are okay and which ones are not.
Gone is the constant internal conflict of right versus wrong, because I don't have to make that decision, I don't have to decide which fantasies will become reality, or which ones are too twisted to see the light of day.

I don't have to figure out if my slavery is okay, because that's not my job.

Anyways, I think that those internal struggles about submission being okay or not, fantasies being okay or not, slavery being okay or not, are things that make for great writing fodder.

Am I seriously complaining about a lack of angst? Not really, I'm just acknowledging the fact that over the years, many posts have been inspired by that angst.

Maybe it's proof that all this complaining writing really is beneficial when it comes to working through issues.
What does all this mean, you ask? Absolutely nothing. Besides that this general topic has been a huge struggle for me for a very long time.

I suppose that I shouldn't be concerned about a lack of inspiration lol, my cup overunneth with issues. It is nice to get to move onto new ones every now and then though.
Though I have been known to have the occasional relapse around varying issues...