My Addiction

Sitting on the bathroom floor, I sank into the feeling. Grabbed it like a lifeline hanging over the edge of a cliff.

It all started with a random comment he made, in a very dominant and somewhat aggressive manner, about how I would fuck someone at work.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, feeling the marks of his belt rising from my skin, I knew to the core of my being, with utter and complete certainty, that I was alive. That this is what I need to survive. What I need to wake up and want to live another day.

Owned.

He teased and tortured me with humiliation and pain.

This is what I need. To survive the self-repression, the people, the misery of the job and the miles upon miles of concrete.

Owned. I need his control more than I need any fucking thing in this world.

My drug. My addiction. The feeling of his ownership, the growl of possessiveness in his voice, the unwavering authority in his movement, the way his hands have no doubt that this body belongs to him...Not me...Raw dominance. When it radiates off him, I fucking melt.

It really doesn't...

I Need...And I run

Challenge or struggle?

I was thinking again, (terrible thing really--consumes entirely too much of my life) about us, about the long slow shift to where we are now.
There is an ache in my being for who we used to be together.

I can't get into subspace anymore. This is...Particularly unsettling to me. It is that one place, where it doesn't matter where your body is, or what your mind thought it knew seconds before, or how much you felt like you left a piece of your soul at home.
Subspace has been our place. His playground and I'm on the ride. It has been a very long time...

He has no interest in someone without challenge. I look at that long slow shift to where we are now, and I wonder at what point the challenge became a struggle.
I miss the feeling in his eyes when his control over me was so complete that it provided him with the ability to control more circumstances outside of us. I see it there flickering in the depths, the beast slightly starved and sitting to the side.

I crave it to the depths of my being. The feeling of his passionate fury. That feeling of total surrender. The carefully crafted and delicately nursed ingrained responses to the touch if his control in everything I did. It took so very long to get there and so, comparably, little time to leave it.

The fear of drowning without breath under water, the knives, the mind bending touch of pain, the humiliation...Dear sweet goddess, the humiliation...The feeling that the choice even to breathe, the most basic and automatic of functions, is not mine to make...

I need. I need to go home. I need our place, our space where nothing and no one exists. And I run from it. Every step of the way I run in the other direction. He is without energy to run in pursuit of that which was long ago captured, of that which is already owned.

I run. I run because I know that, at this point in the road, the trip back is inevitably unpleasant. That the trip to subspace alone will be more brutal than I desire to experience. And I'm fucking terrified.
I need. There is an ache in my soul for the mountain I always called home. There is an ache in my being for what we have been together, for the master and slave in unforgotten days. Fuck that. I lie--they are not unforgotten days, they are years. A decade. Over a decade. I have forgotten exactly how long.

For a while, I forgot who I was. The world swallowed me and consumed me. I don't know how to be this me and who I am, how to make both play nicely as one. I am afraid that the existence of one severely compromises the existence of the other.
Now, though still so consumed that it permeates every waking and sleeping moment, I accept what he has always suggested to be true--that, for me, there is true happiness only in being owned.

Slave First

"But I thought we were friends!"

I wailed dramatically, while blinking blearily to awareness this morning.

"Slave first, friends second." He stated factually as he loomed menacingly over me.

"Uh, say wha...? That's news to me."

Kids activities and financial stresses have completely consumed life.
One of the soccer moms was complaining last night as she pulled her daughter out of the game, "We have lives, you know!" I laughed, "We do?"
Yep, that's where I've been--living in my car in between hours spent on cold and unpleasant soccer fields. I'm soccer/chess mom/queenpennypincher extraordinaire. Apparently I have not balanced it all well with slavery. Skimping on my medicine to make it last longer might be a slightly contributing factor to my current inability to successfully juggle hats.

But back to this whole, "Slave first, friends second" concept. That's kind of a new basis for things around here. We have been friends for much longer than we have been Master and slave. We were always friends first...

Apparently a new (or at least somewhat obscured) era is being ushered in. An era of demerit marks (in permanent marker on my ass) to be totaled and payed for regularly. I racked up five in the first hour this morning. Do you have any idea how much I hate that cane?

Erroneous Statements

I think we often, erroneously, state that, "Life got in the way of M/s". Over time, I have come to appreciate the error of those kinds of statement--M/s is life; therefore, life simply cannot interfere with it.
However, the rest of life can influence and change the currents in a rather undesirable manner.

Being sick
being a hot mess
having a family that's a mess
crazy chess events
squeezing money out of rocks
sick kids
you know, some of those less thrilling aspects of being human...

No, it is not life which interferes with M/s, it is simply life doing the ebb and flow that it does. And M/s must flow with it, because M/s is life.

I can feel the flow changing back to its familiar path. It is in the way he looks at me, the tone of his voice when he speaks to me, the possessive nature of his touch, the aggressive glint in his eyes.
It is in the nature of the beast to always return me safely to my knees. Even if I am occasionally just a touch reticent.

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.

Little Epiphanies

I had walked away from attempting to write a blog post, when standing in my living room, I had one of those little epiphany things.
For the first time, I realized how huge slavery is in my life.
It has become so deeply insinuated into who I am, that there are times I have actually thought it wasn't there.
Because slavery is so much more than my image of it implied.

Have no doubt, my fantasy of slavery is hot
it is me on my knees begging to please
it is all those things that turn me on
it is surrender of flesh, mind, and soul,
it is dangerous and sweet
it is achingly and painfully, exquisite beyond belief.

Some days, that is the form slavery takes.

But it couldn't really take that form if not for all those little moments every day. Moments which create the space for that fantasy to make appearances in reality.

M/s is in the food I cook, the condition I keep the house, the choices I make, and the way I keep my hair.
M/s exists in the way he strokes my face, the tone of his voice when he speaks to me, the intent behind each touch of his hand, and the day-to-day life that we live.
Ms winds beneath the surface of all that we are like a river--always nourishing even when it flows unseen below the earth.

And some days, M/s prompts insane urges to please that incite unreasonable behavior. Like attempting to make crepes in a pan that has no handle...It might work...

Perspective

I often think that we are pretty tame--in the lighter end of the spectrum of ttwd perhaps.
I sometimes complain about his expectations, and put on a front that he asks too much, but really? I think he's pretty easy going and not all that strict.

It's kind of like that beautiful long drive to town--I don't really like it. I see the road, and the tourists. I know every turn, and where the elk are most likely to be. I can close my eyes and drive it in my sleep because I have seen it a million times.
But if I step back and look at it with fresh eyes, pretending that it is a previously unseen view? It's stunning, and I can see why people stop to gawk, and come from far away places to see that which I have grown to take for granted.

Our relationship is a bit like that.
I walk around feeling like we are just a couple steps from vanilla, then I take a look at a "Normal" vanilla relationship, and wonder if we are even on the same planet.

There are very few decisions that I make on my own, and even when I do, it's when he has told me to (just call me Miss Independent).
My hair is how he likes it
my clothes are what he approves of
the food I cook is what he wants (never mind the rice. Damn the rice)
I maintain my body in a manner that pleases him
I think of that body in terms of it being his far more than I see it as mine
as easy going as he seems on the surface, he's actually quite strict--but that is our "normal"
I don't question the plugs, the golden showers, the enemas, the restraint, the slaps
I accept that his are the only limits I have
I accept that he decides if anyone else touches me, and he is free to explore with other women if he so chooses
the list could go on and on...
In fact, having spent my entire adult life with him (beginning several years before I technically hit that landmark), I don't know any other way to be besides his.

I think that it's easy to fall into the thought that D/s and M/s are the same as kinky fun.
Really, there's only so much kinky shit two people can do with kids in the home 24/7.
And that's where I fall into comfortably thinking that we live in the shallow end of possibility. The thing is...Ttwd is not always defined by actions alone. It can be a mindset and an approach to life with another human being.

If slavery means picking up the dirty laundry next to the basket, or being whipped to tears
if slavery means making decisions I don't want to, and accepting responsibility for things I don't want to be responsible for, all the while accepting his word as final in all things
if slavery means baring my soul and giving him access to every private thought
if I accept that my slavery is whatever he says it is
then I am well and truly further down the rabbit hole than I every thought to go.

I couldn't pick out the exact moment when the shift was made
I couldn't tell you when
or how
I stopped being his submissive
and became his slave.

But I do know that I accept ttwd to be whatever he says it is. And that itself is my slavery.