It's been just over a year now since someone first suggested to me that I might be submissive. Some of her suggestions have sent me on a journey that is both fascinating and life changing, and I thought I would share some of the things I love about finding out that I am submissive.
1. The world stops.
When I am focused on him, on the look in his eyes, the tenor of his voice, the graceful movement of his hands, everything else stops still. There is nothing else. As one of those people who has trouble stilling their mind and freeing it from anxieties, visions of the future and examining everything in every shade and nuance, this is very akin to being in a meditative state.
And believe me, this is a massively welcome relief.
2.I Have Found Me
I am becoming clearer about who I am, almost on a day to day basis. Okay, so I hitting the age where people often have mid-life crises and do mad things anyway, but after 20 years in the same profession I can suddenly see a way out of it. I feel clearer about my relationships with people...friends, family and significant others and have made it clear where I stand with them. This simply wouldn't have been possible for me before and I am convinced there is a link.
3. I am having so much fun!
And believe me, it is fun. From choosing lingerie and clothes that I think he'll like and enjoy, to smarting from the sting of his palm on my backside, to pony-ing for him, it has, for the most part, been pure fun. And fun is not something I have had for quite a while.
4. I have made many friends
I am not very good at keeping secrets. Most of my significant friends know what's going on in my life. Their reaction has ranged from believing this to be a phase, just another one of my whims, although on the more adventurous side, to being convinced that when I meet and fall for the right someone, I won't need "all this kinky stuff".
So, it has been so good to meet people with whom I can talk open and frankly, people who undersgand not only about Ds, but also my own particular situation, which is not unusual in this world so it seems. But whilst we may have been drawn together by an interest in DS, I now have friendships that span writing, films and the workplace.
I am also part of an online and Submissive women's group and have found this hugely rewarding. I rarely post myself, but I have learned so much ...from how to make my own vampire gloves (If I wished!), to how to spot if a DS relationshop is turning abusive.
5. I have discovered Sex
Well, not strictly true, I admit, but in the past I had always felt vaguely unsatisfied by vanilla sex. The orgasms were always too fleeting, disappearing like wafts of smoke as I clutched at them. I always felt as though there was something missing, but I didn't know what. I remember trying to voice this once or twice, but as I wasn't aware of what was absent, I was not able to explain what I needed. I had been aroused by the melodrama of stern and commanding characters from black and white b movies, but no one seemed to understand how deep a nerve they touched. It wasn't until I met someone so naturally dominant (rather then being a Dom), that I even begun to understand what I had been craving.
And finding it has been both the end of one journey, and the start of another.
Saturday 26 February 2011
Thursday 17 February 2011
Greedy
She rarely gets her toys out without him. Somehow it doesn't feel quite right. Or didn't. But he's unleashed something in her that he isn't there to fulfil often enough and she's found out that now she needs it more than ever before.
She's never been into vibrators or stuff like that. Somehow that all seems a bit too mechanical for her. She prefers the imagination. But there are toys she's starting to think of as her toys, not just their toys.
She loves her gag. Just putting it on can make her climax now. Feeling it's tightness wrapped around her head (when she's finally got it on, it's not easy) can send her woozy. She takes a picture of herself wearing it, partly for him, but mainly for herself. It arouses her to see herself like that.
She's thinking she'd like to try another type of gag. Doesn't want to get reliant on the same old one. The very idea makes her hot.
She likes her pony tail. Of course, she would never actually use it in its proper way without him, but she can trail the soft leather of the tail over her naked body and watch a trail of goosebumps form behind, and then in front of its path, anticipating the sensation before its even arrived.
She's even tried the butt plug once or twice. She's not so sure about that one. She can't decide if she actually likes the sensation or not. With him, of course, she knows. She knows she loves the sensation of him thrusting her legs wide apart to push himself in further. She loves the sensation of being pinned underneath, of having no choice but to stay still under his weight. To stay still and submit.
But that's hard to replicate with a sex toy.
She's starting to feel a little greedy. She wants more. She runs the crop along the inside of her thighs and climaxes picturing herself wearing a brand new pair of pony boots.
Even in her submission she's still a materialist.
Thursday 10 February 2011
The Interrogation
She was stubborn. Besides, she knows that he won't hurt her. Even when he hisses in her ear that he had lied, that he will hurt her to win, she trusts him. Even when he drops down on top of her with an open pen knife in each hand, she trusts him.
Even when he slices through the straps of her bra and shreds her knickers to ribbons, she trusts him.
But then it all changes.
It had started innocently enough, if innocent is quite the word. She'd told him of her ultimate fantasy, an interrogation, and he agreed to indulge her. He'd waited downstairs whilst she had hidden a key, wedged it tight behind the key card in the hotel light fitting, and waited.
At first she is full of fight, compartmentalising the key's location somewhere else. She concentrates on sliding out of the handcuffs, on cheeking him back, and rather enjoys it.
But his stillness unnerves her. And his patience. She's not a patient person and he knows that. It was a clever move of his, sitting there on the corner of the bed, patiently watching her as she sits on the stool writhing in the handcuffs.
But she can't keep up the fight forever. As soon as the knife comes out things change. It's not that she's scared, not quite. But she doesn't cheek him any more, all her senses are tuned to staying still, to staying out of the way of that knife.
"Choose a nipple, left or right," he taunts, lightly pricking the very top of her left nipple with the point of the knife. She blocks him out, listening to her own shallow breathing and pretending she is somewhere else. But her body betrays her. He slides two fingers between her thighs and inside her. He doesn't even have to push, she is so slippery.
She thinks she is through this. After all, what can he do now. She knows he's not going to cut her. And then she hears another knife open and now she screams. She hadn't imagined this.
And then he relents. He allows her to dress, lets her lie her head on the pillow. She is so sleepy, so exhausted. It is as if her body is telling her she needs to break to gather her energy for what comes next. She wants to sleep but she's afraid he'll say the game is over, so she rouses herself. He rests his arm on her curled up leg. He's tender, gentlemanly. She comes so close to telling him. After all she wants this tender interrogator. She can feel herself opening up to him. She tells him that yes she has hidden something but she can't tell him where. Please, please, don't hurt her, she can't tell him where it is.
And then there's a gap. Did she go to sleep? Did he hypnotise her? She has no memory. The next thing she knows is that she's has decided it's time to run and tells him the key is on the balcany. Once he's out there she can make a break for it. Clearly, she's forgotten that she's in a hotel room, bedragled, handcuffed and smelling of sex. They'd both get arrested
And then the fear hits. Not the hold the breath fear that he might slip with the knife and hurt her but a blind panic as he propels her towards the balcony. She doesn't like heights, and they're on the fifth floor. There is no way in hell she is going willingly to that balacony. The curtains get damaged as she writhes out of his grasp and he leads her to the bathroom instead, running a sink of water to put her head in.
She hates water on her face but at the same time she's relieved, this is nothing compared to going out on the balcony, Right now, she'd rather drown.
Eventually, he concedes the game. He doesn't want to hurt her, and it's the only way this can go. If he really wants to win.
She's got what she wanted. She played to win. They both did. They almost always do. It's why they get on so well.
She had worried how it might affect them. After all, it's not every day a submissive gets to beat her Dom into submission. She had worried that she might feel a smidgeon less respect for him, or a need to crow over her champion status.
But she doesn't feel any of that. In fact, she feels quite the opposite. She feels bonded to him, bound to him. Part of him looked after her, cared for her, watered and dressed her, even when they had unlocked his dark side.
He cares for her after too, when the heady concoction of adrenaline and endorphins and who knows what else makes her naueous. He brings her back to the hotel, and soothes and strokes her on the bed. Headwise she's happy and at peace, but her body is in meltdown, her stomach bubbling and curdling noisily.
She has won yes, but in her victory she actually wants to concede even more power to him. They talk about it later, about how he is going to be harder, to be stricter with her. She wants him to be able to play with his dark side when he is with her, beacuse ultimately she knows that his care for her is stronger.
But in the back of her mind she thinking of what game they can play next. After all, she still loves winning.
Even when he slices through the straps of her bra and shreds her knickers to ribbons, she trusts him.
But then it all changes.
It had started innocently enough, if innocent is quite the word. She'd told him of her ultimate fantasy, an interrogation, and he agreed to indulge her. He'd waited downstairs whilst she had hidden a key, wedged it tight behind the key card in the hotel light fitting, and waited.
At first she is full of fight, compartmentalising the key's location somewhere else. She concentrates on sliding out of the handcuffs, on cheeking him back, and rather enjoys it.
But his stillness unnerves her. And his patience. She's not a patient person and he knows that. It was a clever move of his, sitting there on the corner of the bed, patiently watching her as she sits on the stool writhing in the handcuffs.
But she can't keep up the fight forever. As soon as the knife comes out things change. It's not that she's scared, not quite. But she doesn't cheek him any more, all her senses are tuned to staying still, to staying out of the way of that knife.
"Choose a nipple, left or right," he taunts, lightly pricking the very top of her left nipple with the point of the knife. She blocks him out, listening to her own shallow breathing and pretending she is somewhere else. But her body betrays her. He slides two fingers between her thighs and inside her. He doesn't even have to push, she is so slippery.
She thinks she is through this. After all, what can he do now. She knows he's not going to cut her. And then she hears another knife open and now she screams. She hadn't imagined this.
And then he relents. He allows her to dress, lets her lie her head on the pillow. She is so sleepy, so exhausted. It is as if her body is telling her she needs to break to gather her energy for what comes next. She wants to sleep but she's afraid he'll say the game is over, so she rouses herself. He rests his arm on her curled up leg. He's tender, gentlemanly. She comes so close to telling him. After all she wants this tender interrogator. She can feel herself opening up to him. She tells him that yes she has hidden something but she can't tell him where. Please, please, don't hurt her, she can't tell him where it is.
And then there's a gap. Did she go to sleep? Did he hypnotise her? She has no memory. The next thing she knows is that she's has decided it's time to run and tells him the key is on the balcany. Once he's out there she can make a break for it. Clearly, she's forgotten that she's in a hotel room, bedragled, handcuffed and smelling of sex. They'd both get arrested
And then the fear hits. Not the hold the breath fear that he might slip with the knife and hurt her but a blind panic as he propels her towards the balcony. She doesn't like heights, and they're on the fifth floor. There is no way in hell she is going willingly to that balacony. The curtains get damaged as she writhes out of his grasp and he leads her to the bathroom instead, running a sink of water to put her head in.
She hates water on her face but at the same time she's relieved, this is nothing compared to going out on the balcony, Right now, she'd rather drown.
Eventually, he concedes the game. He doesn't want to hurt her, and it's the only way this can go. If he really wants to win.
She's got what she wanted. She played to win. They both did. They almost always do. It's why they get on so well.
She had worried how it might affect them. After all, it's not every day a submissive gets to beat her Dom into submission. She had worried that she might feel a smidgeon less respect for him, or a need to crow over her champion status.
But she doesn't feel any of that. In fact, she feels quite the opposite. She feels bonded to him, bound to him. Part of him looked after her, cared for her, watered and dressed her, even when they had unlocked his dark side.
He cares for her after too, when the heady concoction of adrenaline and endorphins and who knows what else makes her naueous. He brings her back to the hotel, and soothes and strokes her on the bed. Headwise she's happy and at peace, but her body is in meltdown, her stomach bubbling and curdling noisily.
She has won yes, but in her victory she actually wants to concede even more power to him. They talk about it later, about how he is going to be harder, to be stricter with her. She wants him to be able to play with his dark side when he is with her, beacuse ultimately she knows that his care for her is stronger.
But in the back of her mind she thinking of what game they can play next. After all, she still loves winning.
Tuesday 8 February 2011
First of The Super Doms?
My favourite show of the moment....swords, very sexy costumes and lots of alpha males fighting!
But, on a more intellectual note, the period of history when kings were the ultimate authority in the land enthralls me. Often called the most successful usurper, Henry VII used his wits, defeating Richard III and uniting the Lancastrians and Yorkists with his marriage to Elizabeth of York. He was a very Machiavellian character (well, a pragmatist if you want to be nice)and for him power was a strategic weapon.
His son, Henry VIII however, whilst benefiting from that power, seemed to become drunk with it. No one was able to challenge him...even the Catholic church got ousted in the end when it refused to grant an annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragaon. As for advisors and wives, well, they didn't have a chance.
Is Henry VIII a Domly icon? He had the trappings of a Super Dom....everyone, but everyone, had to be submissive to him. His only challengers were the other kings of Europe. It must have been lonely however, as it would have been hard to have been intimate with other people (apart from sexually) as no one else could be deemed to be on the same level.
And popular opinion is that his power eventually corrupted him.
I do wonder sometimes, about that knife edge between being a submissive and being intimate, intellectually intimate I mean. It's a hard balance to keep. For me I have to be drawn to someone intellectually, to be seduced by their mind as much as their body. And the sort of man I like would definitely feel the same. Sharpening your wits with someone can be just as erotic as anything physical. And yet that's a hard balance to keep if you are being Dom and sub. But I suppose part of the appeal is in trying to keep that balance. If it is all too easy, where's the fun in that?
And hopefully power only corrupts kings.
Tuesday 1 February 2011
Switch Bitch
Sometimes she wonders what it would be like to be a Dom, or a Dommme even, considering changing gender would be hard.
It's not really a sexual thing, more an intellectual curiosity. She'd quite like to see what he gets out of it. She'd quite like to see if she could do it.
Sometimes she imagines taking a whip or cane to him, but then remembers that the only time she ever wants to hurt or damage anyone is when she's angry, and that's hardly Domme like behaviour.
Sometimes she imagines binding his wrists, restraining him tightly, but then she wonders what she'd do with him then and has a sneaking suspicion that she'd probably get quite bored, and with him lying there she'd have to do all the work. Hmmmm.
Sometimes she imagines being able to make him orgasm with a look or a word or even a text, but them remembers that's quite a lot of responsibility to take on, and she's not keen on responsibility, not if she can help it.
Sometimes she imagines him on his knees, at her feet, but then she quickly stops as the whole idea makes her feel slightly panicky, as if the world has turned upside down.
Sometimes she thinks that it's rather nice to know her place.
It's not really a sexual thing, more an intellectual curiosity. She'd quite like to see what he gets out of it. She'd quite like to see if she could do it.
Sometimes she imagines taking a whip or cane to him, but then remembers that the only time she ever wants to hurt or damage anyone is when she's angry, and that's hardly Domme like behaviour.
Sometimes she imagines binding his wrists, restraining him tightly, but then she wonders what she'd do with him then and has a sneaking suspicion that she'd probably get quite bored, and with him lying there she'd have to do all the work. Hmmmm.
Sometimes she imagines being able to make him orgasm with a look or a word or even a text, but them remembers that's quite a lot of responsibility to take on, and she's not keen on responsibility, not if she can help it.
Sometimes she imagines him on his knees, at her feet, but then she quickly stops as the whole idea makes her feel slightly panicky, as if the world has turned upside down.
Sometimes she thinks that it's rather nice to know her place.
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