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...

Feelings and Other Things

Chess has taken over where soccer left off. Except that it's shaping up to be a family affair, and because I'm crazy, I volunteered to assist at chess club. So I guess I'll have to start playing more, and learn all sorts of basic stuff that I previously had no need of knowing.
The kiddo will be going to the state championships in December.
It's still cold.
I'm behind on the housework.
Still lost: One sex drive. Last seen in the company of an elusive, and rather bitchy, muse.
Alpha and I had a another damn 15 year long fight about checking the mail. Apparently, when you own someone, that someone should do as they're told. Go figure...
He hurt my feelings. Apparently he has feelings of his own. Wtf?

And there's the thing...Feelings.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that he has them too. Hurtable ones anyways. He's like an immutable wall--it doesn't matter what I throw at him, he doesn't budge.
Sometimes I feel like he doesn't listen to me, and "I know" is a common reply, which often leaves me muttering about what he may or may not actually know.

The man infuriates me.
He's pigheaded
loyal to the point of ridiculousness
he's competent and confusing
completely unreasonable
he's infuriatingly logical
he odes things just because he can
and I am convinced that he is fully capable of pissing off a saint.
He an amazing human being and to this day, I still wonder why he chose me.

Then he steps up behind me and grabs my hair, tilting my head back he whispers things in my ear, about how I am his slave always, in all ways. And the world fades away. Because that truth is always there under the surface.
No matter what may or may no be true in life, no matter what else happens, no matter how much he makes me want to kick him, (which incidentally, is completely against the rules because he's a big meanie) I am his.

And now I have to go cook dinner. Wherever did the day go? Damn time change always throws me off...