Down the Rabbit Hole…

There is a lot about my various kinks that I have embraced over time. The further down the rabbit hole I go, the more I discover about myself. Some of it stopped me short when I realized it was a part of myself… That there is an aspect of myself that is very much a slave to the proper Master, that I just can’t do pick-up-play. That there is a part of me that is a pain slut when I’m in the proper mindset.

That I very much have a little side, and that that little is sexual…

My first discovery of my little side was with Smith…and when that blew up and bit me in the ass my little went into hiding, DEEP hiding. That aspect of myself was a core part of our dynamic. He was the first one to expose me to phrases like ‘princess parts’, who made me stop squirming at the idea of calling someone ‘daddy’. He helped show me that taboo can be attractive, erotic… that the fetish could be done in a healthy way and can be incredibly fulfilling. And then our whole dynamic exploded and I was cut out like cancer, my little discarded because his partner was severely triggered by he and I… Not even James could coax her out again.

For two years, my little hid. Unfulfilled. Slipping out in spirts of a bubbly voice and an obvious love of stuffies; a side of myself that filled me with severe amounts of shame because when she finally came out she was told she was horrible and wrong.

And then I got to know Ryan.

Ryan is a BaGG regular who I’ve known for over a year now, in some capacity. For a very long time he was the rather attractive fellow that James gave rides to from time to time. Then he became the rather attractive fellow that was always at BaGG. Then he was the attractive fellow with the REALLY pretty partner. Like. Really pretty.

And then I found out the attractive fellow thought I was also attractive. Meep. MEEEEEEEEP.

As my squirly brain often does, it had labeled Ryan as ‘crush’ and therefore ‘untouchable. I found out that was very much not the case sometime in the late summer months. He was established with his partner, and I was slowly creeping back into dating after my release..and I was restless. I liked his voice, calm and soothing with a ‘sadist with a smile’ quality. I enjoyed his calm, easy going nature that was a balm on frazzled nerves. I especially liked how well we had begun communicating.

The first time we played he tied me up, giving me a pretty chest harness with bottlecaps underneath the rope for the edge of pain I craved…and then he fucked me into oblivion. Holy crap, that man scratches that particular itch for me in a way that will have me sated for a good few days afterward (a rarity with a libido as active as mine). It was good, comfortable. We played well with one another…though the dynamic wasn’t mind-blowing, it was fun. And I found myself much, MUCH more attracted to him than I thought possible… He has strong arms with just the right amount of muscle, a fit body, and his legs… Yum yum yum yum yum….

Another date followed, this time at his place, and then the weeks went by. We talked, both at BaGG when we saw one another and online when we didn’t. I don’t quite remember how it started, but somehow the topic of me being a little slipped out.

He was interested. He liked the idea of it. More than liked it.

Part of me was hesitant. Yes, it had been two years…and yes, this was a stable play partner that I trusted… but did I trust myself not to fuck up again? What if my little was just bad, and not in the good way? What if it was the rotten part of myself that I just couldn’t show?

…If I didn’t try, I would never know.


And so, I dressed up. I wore a frilly pink shirt, my ‘little’ underwear, my hair in pigtails. I brought stuffies and let myself slowly, slowly relax into the dynamic as I drove to Ryan’s house.

I love when risks pay off. He spanked me, of course.. He pulled my hair, played with my ‘princess parts’ and made them feel ‘funny’ and ‘got me all wet’. He had me cumming so many times I lost track, and seemed to all but purr every time I called him ‘daddy’. That magic switched that existed when he called me ‘kitten’ or ‘sweetie’ worked both ways..and the dynamic went from good to pretty fucking fantastic. We found a very natural niche for both of us to play in, a need that others weren’t sating at the moment, and so we played through taboo whispers of mommy not finding out what we were doing, and the little girl begging for daddy’s hard cock in her bum and princess parts… I let myself go, let myself enjoy.

The dynamic has developed over time, and now our play dates are some of my favorite things. They are catharsis, release, whether he simply fucks me into oblivion or beats me with a hairbrush before. It’s fun, and easy. There is something about Ryan that from the beginning has felt incredibly… safe. Our relationship isn’t romantic, but I do very much love and care for the man, and his partner. I know he’s protective of me, that he has my back. I know that I can run to him and his lovely at BaGG if I feel unsafe or uncomfortable. I also feel so free to talk to him about my headspace, how I’m feeling and what I need from play on a certain night. I don’t feel on edge, or ashamed, or in need of censuring myself with him. Our negotiation skills are kinda top knotch, and there’s an ease to he and I that I respect and enjoy.

Some of my favorite parts of our playdates are our ‘games’. I have a wee bit of an oral fixation, as I’m sure has become quite apparent in my entries.. I love sucking cock. We developed a ‘game’ a couple of dates ago. While daddy is on the phone ordering take out, kitten kneels in front of him and sucks his cock. This usually continues until long after the phone call is over, much to my great pleasure. Ryan is not small..and I take great pride in being able to take all of him down my throat, even if it’s not for long yet.

Last date he led me into the bedroom by his cock, starting with me sitting on the couch. He let me suck him for a few moments, and then took a step back, forcing me to my knees chasing after him. Step by step, he backed toward his bedroom. Inch by inch on my knees I followed, eagerly bobbing my head after his cock in an attempt to keep a steady rhythm as we moved. He’s one of those that I always love the taste of..male and musk and..mmmmm.

He pushed me down onto his bed and thoroughly beat my ass, literally punching into me. I remain very much an impact slut and absolutely love rough body play. I can take a lot of thuddy punching, especially with two or three fingers shoved up my pussy as a fist slams into my ass. I get off on the impact, asking for more, begging for it…and I did beg. Asking daddy for more and begging to be allowed to cum. Sometimes he makes me wait… He gets me there so easily. Other times he forces the orgasm out of me, having figured out on our first date that I can cum on command. By the fourth or fifth orgasm I am spent, screaming and begging daddy, daddy, daddy over and over as fingers fuck me, and then his cock. He’s not one to relent, to let me off easily, and I enjoy the play even more for that. He stretches me, pushing me through orgasm after orgasm, his cock going so deep it hits my back wall more often than not and sends me spiraling even more often. If I’m a good girl, if I ask nicely, he’ll toy my ass. If I’m really good daddy will have me spread my bum and slide his cock, inch by inch, inside, pausing just for a moment before picking up a punishing rhythm that gets me off so quickly I can barely see straight. All the while I cling to the blankets, begging for more, trying not to scream..

Afterwards, there is tobacco (he smokes. I don’t, though I will at times steal a drag after sex). He more often than not will offer his house coat and slippers to me over real clothes, a touching gesture and ritual I’ve begun to enjoy. I like the fuzzy texture on my skin when it’s still buzzing with aftershock goodness. I love it combined with cuddles, the smell of tobacco and man and sex, and the ease in which Ryan and I communicate both in and out of scene.

It’s taken more than words to make my little side feel safe, cared for, and like she isn’t…bad. Innately evil. It’s taken touches and teases. Cuddles, cartoons, and dozens of sweeties, kittens, and lots and lots of patience. Ryan has seen me cry, both in and out of little space, and has offered a safe space for me. He is honestly an incredible top and an even better friend… and I’m not sure my little would have ever been coaxed back out of hiding without him, and the encouragement and support of his epic partner. The combo platter of the two of them in my life as my people, my safe place, my friends… I am lucky. Very, very lucky.

The further I jump down the rabbit hole, the more I learn about myself. I continue to marvel at how kinks and preferences can change, and how relationships can be so meaningful and yet so different as well. A few years ago I never though I would be talking about poly pods and seeing someone I’m involved with not just as himself, but part of a unit. It would have plagued me with so much jealousy and made me feel like a third wheel. Instead, compersion is very much a thing, and my happy little side squees at time with both of them.

And so, further down the rabbit hole I go.

Yours, ever growing and ever changing,


A Different Embrace 

I started off last night somewhat jealous. 

I’ve never wanted to be Chris’s primary. We started after James and I did.. and let’s face it, James is still firmly rooted in my heart’s primary spot. But I like being special to Chris. 

He does a good job of it, for the most part. Even with a primary and another relationship of almost 11 years, there are many things in his busy world that are just mine.. and I’m honored for that. I have my own set of sheets for when I stay over that he was going to throw out… until I said how much I loved the feel of them. I have my own tooth brush in his cabinet (it’s a light saber 🙂 he bought it for me). I have my own side; I always hold his right hand. I have my own play collar and cuffs just for he and I.. 

And then there’s my special paddle. And my belt. Gulp. 

Let me backtrack. 

I was meeting Chris after a teaching session last night for an evening date. Earlier in the day, he had posted that his girlfriend sent him flowers.. and it oddly made me jealous. Not that he got flowers. But that I’m a poor little creature and can’t surprise him with things like that. I walked into the end of his lesson a wee bit off-kilter, sat in the back, and watched. 

There are very few things sexier than take-charge Chris, at least for me. I love watching him do his thing with this perfect balance of knowledge and levity (and just the right amount of too many bad jokes). As I watched him teach, I let my mind wander down a very bad rabbit hole…

Just because he and I aren’t fucking doesn’t mean I don’t think about him in a sexual way. By the time the lesson was over I had manage to play out about ten naughty professor fantasies in my mind. In one I sucked him under the desk as he taught. In another I was bolder, unzipping his pants and having him grab my hair and face-fuck me while he continued to teach, without missing a beat. 

My mind really should not be left unsupervised for long periods of time. 

I crept up to the front of the classroom and sat in the big, fancy teaching chair while Chris talked to the last of the stragglers, allowing myself to get a closer look at him in what I call his ‘adulting’ clothes. White dress shirt, dress slacks, shined black shoes… and then I saw the belt. The belt that was a bit too informal to go with the outfit but still worked. 

My belt. 


He had been wearing my belt all day while he was teaching, no doubt thinking about its multiple uses at least once during the day. He had thought of me. 

My poor panties were drenched by the time we got to his place. Dinner had been sweet. We caught up on the week’s events, I got mistaken as his wife (hey.. at least I wasn’t his daughter) and we teased each other mercilessly over sushi.. as it should be. I love, love LOVE when Chris gives me domestic duities. I love performing for him; love being useful. He ordered me to make the bed and make him tea. I did so with a smile on my face. 

I fuck up on a regular basis with Chris.. but my Sir is forgiving. I pay for my fuck ups in spankings. Hand. Belt. Paddle. Nothing is off limits when I wear my play collar and cuffs. I sunk to my knees in front of him, naked except for said collar and cuffs, and let myself have a masochistic moment. 

My love/hate relationship with pain has continued to develope as time has gone on.. and last night I needed a good beating. I’m in the process of moving, again, stressed about my current roommate, and my San Francisco apartment, and money, and leases, and a dog with skin issues, and, and, and… So many ands. And I needed them to stop, if only for a few moments. On top of my ten fuck-up spankings, I asked if I could please have a short beating to make my brain stop. And my kind Sir said yes. 

I genuinely feel bad when I fuck up. Chris and I have a daily ritual that is very precious to me. There is some form of contact every day in the form of a task. Our default if I don’t hear from him is a photo of me outside, but lately he has been more creative with his requests. Explain this or that. Tell me a story. Send me a photo of you doing -blank-. Send me a photo of you with a big smile. I love this ritual.. I just sometimes let the day get out from under me. And then I get spankings. Ten for each missed day. Plus spankings for sassing (which I frequently accumulate throughout the night when in service to Chris. I don’t know why my brat comes out so often with him). My fuck up spankings proved to be wonderful warm up for the beating ahead. 

Leather is my true love. I am a complete and utter leather slut. I love the feel, the smell, the touch of leather on my skin. I even love the sound as it hits my naked ass and back. A flogging from Chris is a special treat I often crave. The man turns it into an art. He dances, moving beautifully to the beat of whatever music is playing, hitting his partner with a rhythmic -thud- that quickly lulls you into sub space. I enjoy watching him flog almost as much as I enjoy being flogged… but I needed the leather. And he realized that even before I did. 

He put me up against his wall with the gas fireplace (glass covered and protected) burning just below me, so that I was cast in its light as he worked. Chris’s black leather floggers are perfectly worn, perfectly thuddy, and even thrown at their hardest and stingiest I welcome them. I nearly came when I saw him pull them out of the little bag he keeps them in; old friends I hadn’t realized I was missing until that moment. 

The dancer went to work, switching up patterns and techniques as he went at my back, thighs, and ass. Occasionally I squeaked and screamed, but mostly, I moaned. He covered my face in the leather at one point, letting me breathe in the scent I loved before he softly caressed me with the tails all over my body. I knew if he looked close later he would find the falls damp where they hit me between my thighs. 

He did something new with these old friends. He began to throw them in a way that the leather wrapped and caressed my breasts and sides. I thought it would be unpleasant as he made my breasts bounce in the firelight, first one and then the other, but in reality it was the opposite. It felt as if I was being embraced by the leather, surrounded by it in a new way I hadn’t thought possible. I was high as a kite when he finally ordered me to close my eyes and pulled out the single tail.

I HATE single tails. Despise them. I can’t handle sting at all and they are the definition of just that. I red out hard and fast when someone pulls out a bull whip.. except for Chris. Like James with canes, Chris is the only one I allow to use a single tail on me. The only one I trust to properly play with me in that way. Because. It HURTS. I don’t like it. It’s not the pain I know how to process. In fact. I hate it. Despise it. 

But I love him. I serve him when he puts my play collar on me. And I want to make him proud. 

And so I took the little bites he peppered my skin with, going oh-so-gently compared to how he goes with partners that love the sting. He pushed, making me scream and cry, but never too much that I would yellow or red. He knows my body well. 

There was a moment when he hit a particularly sweet spot and I screeched. Before my body had a chance to relax he was on me, surrounding me. I hadn’t realized I needed contact in that moment but he had. He held me until the tears stopped.. and then the touch changed. It was less one of comfort and more one of raw sexual need.. something I hadn’t felt from him in a long time. Every growl, every nuzzle, every caress, shot through me, arousing me to the point where my knees almost caved.

Gah. Fuck. I had forgotten he could do that so easily. 

Moral improved, the beating continued. He worked me with the single tail until right when I would have yellowed, my eyes closed through all of it. Eyes still closed, he pulled me back from the wall I was braced on, using the handle of one or two of the toys to guide me backwards against his body while I groped the air for some sense of direction. 

And then we were falling into one of his leather chairs, me on top of him like a blanket. I always think of Chris as small until he manages to surround me like he did last night.. and I remember why I kneel at his feet. He held me there, our bodies interlocking, as both our heartbeats slowly returned to normal.  

“Now you may open your eyes. Slowly. Don’t rush it.”

I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay in this cocoon of surprise and bliss. But.  I did. I was rewarded with a smile from my Sir and extra snuggles before being given marching orders to put my clothes back on. 

Boo clothes. 

You don’t have to be a primary to feel like you matter. Chris shows me that time and time again in our play and in our interactions with him. When we play he makes me feel.. precious, yet strong at the same time. And wanted. So very wanted. 

There are times when I desperately miss jumping his bones. But. At least there is leather. 

Yours with a few less brain squirrels, 


Same Dance, Different Steps



The rhythm of routine is a comforting one in a world that no longer makes sense to me.

I see hate in so many places and cruelty where there once was kindess. I admit that I hade in the welcoming arms of my community. I mark, I protest, I growl with the rest of them, and then I run back to my land of misfits to dance another day.

My routines are simple, and exhausting. And I suppose, simply exhausting. I go to BaGG every week, managing to show up hours early to sit across from the stubborn asshole I love while he works and I work.. and then we dance.

We have yet to physically play, James and I. Not since he took my collar, slave ring, and pendant. I often wonder about the box they’re placed in. Is it plain, decorated. Does he take it out, along with photos and momentos, love letters and notes, and godde knows how many gifts, or does it stay locked away in some corner of his closet, another mistake he doesn’t want to look at? I don’t know. It’s eight months today, and I still don’t know.

What we do end up doing is dueling. Trading cards. An old game called Yu-Gi-Oh that he’s been into for eons, and that I enjoyed as a kid. I never played before him. I ‘built’ decks in the loosest of terms, with the childlike mindset of “Oh, this is pretty! Let’s put this with this!” and never had anyone to actually play with. Eons ago, a world ago, he tasked me with learning the game again. I did…and then the world exploded. And exploded. And exploded, and playing cards was the furthest thing from my mind.

After I was released, there was a time when playing cards was…all we ended up having. He shoved the fact that I hadn’t build a deck in my face during our breakup, and my rebuttle was to show up at the Citadel two days later with my skeleton of a deck, ready to duel. Since then, it’s been the only thing guaranteed safe to talk about. When he’s in a foul mood during a ride I bring up Yu-Gi-Oh. When he’s overly stressed and obviously needs a break from work, like he did today. When the dungeon is slow on a work night and I can seek him getting stressed. We duel.

It’s become such a lovely ritual as time has gone on. The banter has increased, to the point where there is quite a bit of sexual tension with our duels. There’s more joking, more teasing, more… comfort, and slowly, bit by bit, we have begun to feel like our old selves. He’s more approachable and less intimidating, and things like sitting in silence together have stopped feeling so uncomfortable. They are, in many ways, oddly comfortable. I know why he’s quiet some nights; I can still read his body like a book and can tell when he’s stressed, or sore, or in a mood.

That being said… the duels are all I get. I can’t touch him. I can’t snuggle him, or kneel at his feet, or go in for the big, long hugs that other can. I still am only permitted a hug goodbye most days, and I am touch starved. We spend so much damn time together that in certain ways it can be cruel smelling him, hearing him, being surrounded by him and yet being unable to reach him. There are times when he looks so damn fucking good… and I curse that he still pushes all of my fucking buttons. All of them. He always has, and I have no clue anymore what I push of him, if anything good.

Today, we dueled as always. He brought out his Blue Eyes deck, I my Lightsworn, and he destroyed me like he always does. He topped me through cards, because he could. Any progress I make he lets me do. I’m well aware of this. It’s always been that way with James. Any progress I’ve made, it’s because he’s let me. The banter, the dance, lasted until a friend mentioned that she played.

This friend is not a threat in any way. She doesn’t make me jealous, at all. She is safe, a beautiful soul who still calls James my person and is well aware at just how complicated she is. And the truth is, I love watching James duel. It’s fun sometimes when it’s not me. It wasn’t that they dueled… it’s that they interrupted the ritual that triggered some brain squirrels in my mind.

He doesn’t top me right now, in any way but the cards. That’s all I get. I don’t get swatts at BaGG. He won’t pull my hair, or bring me to my knees. I’ve forgotten, for the most part, what his lips feel like. I don’t get casual kisses or bites. He still won’t even just… poke me in the arm in a friendly way. Touch was so much a part of our love language that it was one of the main things taken away when we ended, and so I cling to the cards. I cling to the ritual of every Wednesday I get my dance with him. He will give me time, top me, and then go off to the others.

Today, that wasn’t the case. He played a few rounds with me, and then moved on to someone else. It was bound to happen. The nature of games is that you play other people. It’s a silly game; it’s fun. But… it’s our fun. It’s our thing, and for an hour I sat and watched while they played. I watched the bit of time I normally get with him tick away, and as it did I felt more and more invisible to him.

Emotions rarely have logic, and unfortunately for me my emotions are almost always written on my face. If anything, I’m sitting and writing this all out to get the kicked puppy expression I know I’m wearing to disappear. I am posessive of the few points of connection that I consider mine with him, logical or not, and I don’t think I realized how posessive until tonight. I felt.. inferior. Our friend is a better duelist than I am, with more experience. She was more of a challenge for him, and he and others commented that despite having months of practice now, she played better than I have. She lasted better.

There was a moment, hearing all of this, that I realized how easily replacable I could be. I wonder what value I still hold to him, this man that never seems to want to know his own heart. Over a silly game of cards that have been our safe-zone.

Maybe it’s the time of year; that Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, and I remain without a primary. Maybe it’s looking around and seeing other people valued by partners, and finding myself at war with my self-imposed loneliness. Maybe it’s that fear that… I’m just another background piece for him now.

None of this is logical. Time is gold to James, and more than anyone else I get his time.

Except, for when I don’t.

When the dance gets interrupted, the partners changed out, and you find yourself doubting if it was a dance at all.

It’s time for BaGG. Perhaps I will be brave and approach him for a different type of dance.

Yours, in routine



Shadows of 2016

Hello world

I have started and stopped so many posts over the last few months… and apparently accidentally published a couple when I shoved my phone in my bra or some such nonsense. 

Life happens. I am a flawed human. 

I am also currently wide awake at 1:29 in the morning thanks to some coffee I had at 9:00. Sitting in my parents living room in New Jersey. Letting the weight of 2016 hit me. 

It has been one hell of a fucking year. Every time I think to write something new appears. And so I get stuck. 

When I was being mentored, I was tasked to write 200 words a day. These days I’m not tasked with much. It’s easy to get overwhelmed with life. To let myself get away with the little white lies I process through when I write. Bad habit. Old habit. 

I remain unowned and uncollared.. and no clearer in what I want to do than I was six months ago. I still reach up to touch my neck from time to time and feel the emptiness there. It’s an emptyness I struggle with… because it truly is self-imposed.  James and I are still not together. We’re still working on.. what I suppose is a friendship. I see him twice a week or so. I drive him home when asked.  We talk. We laugh. Inside jokes are slowly returning. But play hasn’t yet. 

I don’t have control over that. Over the play. But he still has my collar, and he knows it. I still haven’t asked for it back. And I know it. Neither of us are there. Neither of us.. can fully close that book. We’re in limbo. Can’t close the book. Can’t start a new one. Can’t move to the next chapter yet. We’re still settling, in a lot of ways. It’s hard. I love him to the moon and back, and he knows that. But I want to strangle him about half the time. I crave touch and connection. I want love (who doesn’t really) but… books. Chapters. Pages. 

I don’t have a primary. But my damn heart does. 

I own and acknowledge that. What I want and what I need right now are two radically different things. I’m not spinstering or anything. I have partners. Chris still exists as my Dominant, though we no longer have a sexual relationship. There’s Grey still, and two regular play partners. Just. Nothing is mind blowing. Nothing is razzle dazzle, za za zoo, dreams of marriage and babies. Every partner I play with or date right now has a primary. And I want to be one (not with any of them!) and I don’t. 

So many around me are happily owned. Happily coupled. And there’s this reality that I could easily move on. I could ask for my collar, close that book, and move forward. And if something mind blowing came along, I think I could. If someone swept me off my feet and wanted to claim me, I could walk away from James romantically. I don’t ignore the za za zoo. It’s how I got myself into this mess to begin with. 

But. No one has. And I haven’t. And I don’t want to. And so here I sit, watching sex and the city, contemplating the difficult creature that is James. 

I never choose the easy ones. Here I go, falling for a man with shattered emotions. Whose feelings settle at a snails pace. Whose brain works so differently than everyone else’s. Who I have to constantly explain. May he never know how much I do, how many fires I put out. He’s an amazing asshole, there’s just so much beneath the surface that other don’t see. He’s my favorite asshole, my butthead, my 5 a.m. Phone call, safe space, and friend. The asshole pushes all of my damn fucking buttons. And I lack the on/off switch he has. 

My Mr. Big.

Can I wait years for him to figure out how he feels? Can I hold out? 

It’s hard. Balancing between the patience needed to navigate James and the desire to.. be desired. To be wanted. And loved. 

To be owned. 

I’ve learned throughout this year that my most satisfying play is tied to emotions. I can go deeper, push myself further, when I love someone. I suck at pick up play. I’m a lightweight when I’m not attached. When I love someone, truly love them, I let them break me. Shatter me. Knowing that they will help me pick up all the pieces. 

Can I go years without being fully owned again? Without being truly pushed? Truly broken? 

I don’t know. Honestly. I won’t let myself get lost in him. He’s not my Master right now. He’s.. complicated. Hurting. Lost in his own world and trying to come up for air. And I love him.  But I’m not masochist enough to dive back into that until his life settles some. And mine. My life being more stable would be nice. 

My play isn’t completely unfulfilling. I love Chris. I give the most to him when we play. I love Grey as well, in my own way. But. I don’t drown in the scenes. I can get lost in Chris’s scenes and get to bliss… but. It’s just. It’s not quite the same. As I’m sure it’s not the same playing with me as it is with his primary. As far as James… he’s not dating. He’s rarely playing. He’s.. not datable right now. And he knows that. I know that. I think everyone knows that. We.. are complicated. And I know that can mean so many things in the kink community. But saying we’re friends. Fuck. There are so many more complicated components than that. We are not together. I am unowned. And I still feel an invisible tag on me somewhere. I’m sure he does as well, and gets frustrated by it in different ways as I do. 

2016 has taught me some hard lessons. It’s taught me that everything ends.  And that’s sad. But everything begins again as well. And that’s happy. 

Life’s too short not to be happy. And it’s too short to date just to date. 

I will wait. I will see what I can learn from this, rather than throw myself into empty rebounds chasing that ownership again. But I will also selfcare. I will remain open to new without discarding the old, and will not let myself be taken for granted. I will make sure what I give I give freely and without regret or bitterness. I will look for what I get in return. I will accept good things. Maybe I will find an Aiden while Big pulls his head out of his ass. Maybe he’s not Big. 

So many maybes. 

One thing I’m sure of. I’m ready for 2017. I’m ready to feel more, to write more, and to embrace what come next. 

I’m still here, lovelies. Still submissive. Still exploring, and learning, and loving. 

And I’m not going anywhere 

Humbly yours,




New Relationship Energy.

Everything monumental in my life has always started with an “oh shit” moment. It’s just how it’s always been with me.

The big relationships in my life have been a dance of avoidance vs submitting to my own desires. It happened with James, who I felt immediate chemistry with and then hid from for a year afterwards because the amount of chemistry terrified me. It happened with Chris, who I watched scene from afar for over a year before I friend pulled me in to play with him. And now, it’s happened with Grey.

I’ve known Grey for over a year at this point. He was a BaGG regular who disappeared for a time..but when he was there, he and his lovely fiance were two of the people who helped make me comfortable with being at BaGG. They pulled me into a group, a clique before I had a clique, and made me feel safe and desired when there was a sea of people around me that I didn’t know yet. The play with Grey was always…toe curling, but it was never much. I was collared, and I honestly didn’t ever know he was interested in me. He’s confusing with a mutual friend of ours who is GORGEOUS, and his lovely fiance has curves in all the right places. And then there’s me. I never saw it. I played with his partner more than him, and then they disappeared for a bit.

And then they came back. They finally came back, and I was thrilled. And surprised.

That first night that they returned to BaGG I found out just how interested Grey was in me. He’s a vocal one, something I am not entirely used to, and is not afraid to express how he feels. Another thing I am very not used to.  I was upset about something.. I can’t even remember what anymore. He was walking me back inside when I heard him whisper in my ear, “You know I’ve got you, right, little one? You’re mine.”

My knees buckled. In a good way. As I said..he’s safe. He’s not trying to claim the primary spot. But he will claim at least part of me..

The night was laced with play with him; intense play that resulted in some lovely bruises on my chest. There were whispers of all the things he would love to do to me if we weren’t in a club. How he would love to hear me scream around his cock while his beautiful fiance did wonderfully evil things to me from behind… Followed by how he loved me, how gorgeous and beautiful I was. How he adored me.

It was a balm over so many sore areas in my life. And I felt myself melting.

The truth was, I had had a crush on Grey for some time… But the logic of ‘he is my crush and is therefore untouchable’ remains in my warp, twisted mind. Suddenly, my crush was showing he wanted a very big way. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such an overwhelming rush of feels before. It terrified and thrilled me.. Terrified, because love scares the ever-living shit out of me. Thrilled because at least part of me understood the feels were safe with him. That they had always been safe with him.

We started texting back and forth..and realized just what derps we had been, each having feelings for the other but imagining the other didn’t feel the same. We played at yet another BaGG. Finally, we went on a date.

Oh my goodness… It has been so, SO long since I’ve had a first date like the one Grey and I had. I felt that zing, that ‘oh fuck’ zing of this is going to be something. And I cursed internally as we drove to our lunch destination, trying to process all that I was feeling. The last time I had zinged so intensely on a first date had been James..I didn’t know if I was ready for another James, or Chris. Casual play, yes..but this would not be casual, this would be intense.

We’ve spent more time together since… I have neither asked, nor expected intense or emotional. Neither of us did. I don’t think he was looking for a new partner any more than I was..and yet here we are. There is a bitter-sweetness to it. Chris and I have continued to have bumps, where Grey and I have a natural ease when we’re around one another. “I like us”, he has told me, over and over. And I have to agree. I like us too.

The NRE is so strong with this one.. I forgot all that comes with a good relationship. The missing. The craving the presence of the person hours after they’ve left. The fantasies that spring to mind late a night, when I’m alone in bed and left to my own wandering hands and thoughts.. And the play! GODDE, fresh play again! Bliss is the simplest way I can describe the feeling of his hand wrapped around my throat. He has big hands; hands that know how to work and that are not without their scars.

I most certainly have a type.

I have missed new adventures. It feels as if Grey was this piece that I’ve been missing. He’s slid into my life so seamlessly that it feels as if he was always supposed to be here. Of course, this is my partner. And his partner? What a joy she is, and how amazing she has been in sharing the man she is going to marry.

After so much struggling, being in a relationship with good, safe poly where I don’t feel threatened and I know someone isn’t trying to fill James’s spot… It’s a good feeling. I let myself revel in it, and I look forward to more adventures with Grey.

Yours, enjoying the new and the shiny



Who’s On Top


Hello, lovely internet world. Yes, I still live. I’ve..been through quite a bit since my silence, and I will get to what I can, when I can as time goes on..but I am back. I hope some of you are still around, and willing to continue to read my thoughts as my journey continues.

I am very much active still in the local San Francisco scene. James is still in my life, though we are..complicated (as if we have ever been simple). I remain unowned and uncollared for now, but I am far from single.

For now, I’m not talking about James. This entry will be about another partner that I’ve mentioned before, Chris.

Chris and I have had our bumps, but even through me being released we’ve managed to stay together. For a time I was..terrified. There are still times I feel unbalanced, not having a primary and remaining in a relationship that would be considered a ‘secondary’ relationship. Right now, officially, I belong to no one. Emotionally is a different story..but I’m digressing.

It was about a month ago that Chris and I hit our biggest bump in the road. One of the reasons being with him was always so easy was that I felt like I was on an even playing field with all of my met amours. For the longest time, Chris preached that he did not believe in hierarchy, and that he did not have primaries and secondaries. There was no worry about who came first. We were all even, and would be what we would be.

For the most part, I get along with my met amours. Some I want to play with. Some I enjoy a sort of sibling relationship with… there’s a kindred spirit feel. I work to maintain these relationships because these people matter to me, and matter to a man that I call my Sir. I enjoy the family feel that I have with the majority of my partner’s partners. There, however, that does not fit this mold.

Emily, my partner’s parter, is a force of nature. She is a polarizing, creative soul that has frustrated the majority of us from the very beginning. She wants nothing to do with any of us, and that (for the most part) is okay. It’s her personal choice and not something any of us can really impact. Not even Chris can. Their relationship has been..turbulent to say the least, and the only time the lack of contact with Emily has bothered me has been when I’ve had nights with Chris a day or two after a drama-filled visit and my partner was visibly distraught. She has effected him emotionally unlike any of the others; the highs with her are the highest for him and the lows are the lowest.

I suppose, knowing this, I should been able to predict what would happen next. I got a call from my partner informing me that he was going to choose a primary, and that it was Emily.

There were many emotions associated with this decision..still are.. I was so angry at first. I felt betrayed. Hurt. Confused why he never communicated any of this to me. We had just had a very intense, connection-filled camp at Dark Odyssey, and during all of it he could have easily opened up to me. Out of all of his partners, I was one that understood hierarchy and the complicated emotions often associated with it. I felt like I had been slapped, backhanded. Not only had he not trusted me enough to open up and tell me what was going on, he had chosen for his primary the most unstable relationship in his life. One that I had seen almost destroy him emotionally multiple times.

Slowly, the other partners have adjusted. I have as well. I am now the closest partner locally that he has. Emily is next, at a couple hours away from him to my half-hour. I see the little changes the most..and some have them have hurt me.

This world of hierarchy is wildly new to Chris, and I know that… and I’ve watched him struggle with navigating it. For the majority of the summer Emily got all of his weekends, which cut off most of the time he could have spent with two partners that were long distance and only are able to see him about once a month each. The bit of time I got with him was almost always good, especially when we were out and away from his place.

The last couple visits to his home, however, have felt like I was on a day with not just him, but with Emily too. The first real blow came when I walked in one day to see an art piece Emily had made up on his wall. Chris has artwork all over his apartment, including mine, and Emily’s was a rather big piece on a wall that had nothing yet besides it. It framed the wall funny, and I mentioned to Chris just shifting the piece over a tad.

He agreed, but only after going to his front door to look at it on the wall. “I want it to be the first thing I see when I walk through the door,” he said. I winced at the words and looked over at the piece I had given him; a painting I had done a lifetime ago that had meant the world to me. I never thought I could give it to anyone. I let it go to Chris because he had worked on me so much, gotten through my armor. Slowly, he had taught me how to love more than one person. That meant so much to met that I wanted him to have the 2D piece I was most proud of making. In one moment, with a single comment he probably hadn’t even thought twice about, he had thrown that out the window.

Another time I had opened the fridge to find it filled with food; a rare sight in the land of the Chris. None of the food was for him. It was all for Emily’s kids, who he loves. Over and over, throughout the evening, he mentioned how much he was enjoying the uncle role and how amazing the children were. I felt like a bitch, staring down at my dinner, upset about him loving something so much that I was unable to touch, or see, or fully understand.

There are many conversations about Emily being his number one, and wanting to be number one with her. Emily getting the most of his time, the most of his energy.

Emily, Emily, Emily.

I felt myself swallowing bitter pills more and more as time went on. Chris, this strong top who is quick to punish me for being five minutes late to lunch, let Emily get away with murder. Rescheduling and canceling things last minute, not showing up to something after a fight when she had made a commitment to, calling and having a fight with him in the middle of a date he and I were having.. More and more, I felt my territory stomped on. And there was always an excuse. If I pulled half the crap she did with him, he would have dropped my ass months ago. I couldn’t understand it. I was so hurt, so terribly sore, and yet even as he bent to her I saw him happy and fought being upset and jealous. I disregarded my feelings, chalking up what I could to a lack of primary and a need for more attention. I was okay, until I saw a photo of Chris wearing a leash and collar.

Chris is a switch, but his submissive side rarely comes out to play. It exclusively comes out with Emily, and I knew this. I was aware of this. But he is my Sir. Selfishly, I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t understand it. I was..disturbed by it. Upset he didn’t give me any warning about it. Angry at the amount of power and control she had over him. Very human emotions.

I asked him to give me a call when he could. He was away, on vacation, and we could not talk face to face. When we did talk I shared what I could about how I was feeling; that I didn’t want to be a bitch and be bitter when he was so happy but that I felt neglected. Shoved to the side. Second fiddle. I am aware that Emily comes first. I don’t need it shoved down my throat. James always came first for me and I tried my damnedest to make sure that Chris was always sure and steady in his importance and his place in my life.

Chris said one very key phrase, and suddenly everything fell into place in my mind about their relationship. Why he gave her so much lee way. Why she could do so much damage to him and why the effects lingered long after a fight with any of the rest of us would have been recovered for. Why he was so greedy for as much time with her as he could get.

“I feel as if I belong to her.”

The moment I heard the words, I felt equal parts pain and understanding. The subby ache inside of me reared its ugly head, and I let a couple silent tears fall. Yes, I knew that feeling well. From the beginning I had belonged to James. I didn’t need a collar to tell me that. He has always been able to touch parts of me that no one else has gotten near.

Chris, as much as he was my Sir, as much as he was a sadistic bastard at times, was not the emotional top in the relationship. He was hers. Emotionally, he was submissive to her.

I had been looking at the whole situation from a top’s prospective. Why was she given special treatment that the rest of us never would have gotten long before she became primary? Why WAS she the primary when she was by far his most difficult partner? Why did he cater to her so much, when so much of what she was would be a deal breaker with anyone else?

Because he was emotionally in service to her, and probably had been for some time. Now, as their relationship develops, he is comfortable enough to be physically in service to her from time to time as well. She is the only one he can do that with; the only one that he can even begin to imagine doing that with.

In a way, I understand. I can call any man who tops me that I respect sir. James remains the only man I have ever felt the desire to call my Master. He is the only one I can be a slave to, as of now.

I don’t know where this relationship with Emily will go. I hope that Chris doesn’t end up hurt, and I’m going to do my best to help him begin to navigate this sort of relationship in a slightly healthier way. There are ways to belong to one partner and still not make the others feel like crap. Partners are partners for a reason. Relationships are hard work. You don’t continue them, especially through conflict, if they aren’t things that matter to you. And I know that, realistically, I matter to Chris. I know he absolutely loves me. I know that I am not Emily, that I do not touch certain parts of him that she touches, but I also know that we have other things in common, and that’s okay too. Other things is different… not ‘not as good’. It’s teaching him how to communicate that (at his request) that will be..interesting.

Poly isn’t easy. But honestly, at this point in my life I can’t imagine being monogamous. Even with the drama, my life is much better with Chris in it. He is a good man, and for the most part a fantastic partner. We’ll navigate this. Nothing is unchanging. Nothing is perfect. Life is change, and development, and growth; and there is so much beauty in that.

Yours, still very much alive and kicking





I am sorry for how sparse this blog has been the last few months. Life became so hectic that.. I became horrible at posting. Now, for the first time, I’m planning on purposefully slowing down on my writing here.

I started this blog when I started my journey into BDSM. It’s gone from my mentor to my first Dominant to my first Master, and has seen many of the twists and turns of relationships recorded here.

Right now, my Master is not mine. I am not his.

I fucked up. I broke a cardinal rule, and it may cost me the love of my life not just as my lover and partner, but even as a friend. I’m not going into details (although I will say that I did not cheat. It wasn’t spicy or exciting.. Sorry. It was just stupidity and laziness on my part).. But there’s no other way to spin it. I fucked up. This is on me. And if it’s fixable, it’s on me to do the work.

That work is why I’m taking a pause on this blog.

I’m working on getting past the shock and the hurt of what just happened. Working on breathing.. And in the end that’s the first part of what I need to do as I move forward. I need to learn again what it’s like to breathe without him. To be “just me” for a little while and what that means. It’s the hardest thing right now. I want his arms around me. I want his lips on mine, want his hands on me.. And I know that can’t happen. I know if it did it would be a lie or a band aid, and that’s so much worse than dealing with this pain in certain ways. I’m working my way through it.

The second part is.. More complicated. Messier. I have a shit ton of work to do on myself, some of which I didn’t realize until I talked with a Dragon late into the evening. I can’t change what happened. It happened. But I can look at why and make sure it doesn’t again in the future. The ‘why’ is what I want to understand… And it’s so much more complicated than I originally thought. Small steps are being taken..things that I never let myself do before. I’m going to start seeing a therapist and try to understand what causes certain spikes in my anxiety and certain reactions to things (thank you, Dragon) and will probably end up uncovering some bits about myself that are rather messy and hard to face. Parts of my past that I long since covered to try to make go away that probably created quite a few triggers for me.

I’m much more broken than I thought I was… And the thought is sobering, along with the knowledge that I don’t want to be this way. So, along with mental work will be other things that need to change. I need a new job. One that is a reliable, 9-5. I want to still work in the city, if only because my studio is there, and I have a feeling that’s going to go back to being a large part of my existence. But I need a full time job that pays the bills. I’ve put off finding another one because of the flexibility of my current job and the ability to wrap it around the schedules of others. I can’t afford that anymore. I have to work on me. On standing on my own two feet so no one is putting out my damn fires for me. So that, if I do submit, I’m doing it willing, not hiding in my submission because it’s easier than dealing with the mundane world problems of life.  It doesn’t work that way.

I need to see if I can do poly right now, without my anchor point, and what that means for my other partners. Especially Chris. I honestly don’t know what my emotional threshold is right now. I’m kinda waiting until the emotional turmoil dust settles and I’m able to pick myself up a bit to see. Right now I’m keeping my distance. I don’t want rebound play…. And right now even established partners would be a rebound. That’s not fair to them.

So.. Lots of emotional work, lots of physical work and attempted change.. And then there’s the hardest of all.


He’s given me… So much. He was even going to give me tonight to enjoy. I asked if we were okay. I opened the can of worms. He and I are starting from the bare bottom, up. If I want to regain his trust I have to do it as a friend.

Trust takes time. That’s hard for me already. I want to fix everything. I want my place back, when right now I don’t have a place at all to want back. I want my boyfriend and my Master when neither are mine right now, and it is excruciating. … But it probably should be. And as much as I want to wallow, wallowing won’t accomplish shit other than put more distance between James and I.

I am going to try my hardest, bit by bit, to earn back the trust of the man I love. He has my collar, my slave ring, the pendant he gave me, and my floggers. If he gives everything back to me at once we’re done. There is no hope. But if I can fix this, somehow regain the trust I lost, then bit by bit I get the pieces that I love back.

The worst part of today wasn’t what he said to me. Wasn’t the actual words of us breaking up. It was how he looked at me. How he held me at a distance emotionally when he had slowly been letting me in over this last year. I saw it. The moment he came into the cafe today I saw how tall the walls were. I never want to see that look from him again… And I’m sure I will for a little while. Like I said, trust takes time. There will be fresh hurts as time goes on.. Certain privileges I lose that I thought of as mine. Certain spots lost.  Nothing is fixed at all yet. I have to earn back every ounce of trust I lost, which is far from an easy task.

But there is hope… And there is also the knowledge that if he does take me back at the end of all of this, it will probably be a much healthier relationship. I don’t think we were particularly unhealthy before.. But the more I reflect the more I see that parts of myself were. I’ve got to fix.. Many things. And it will be hard. And painful. And I am completely honest when I tell you that I don’t know where this rabbit hole will lead. I don’t know if all the work and the trying in the world is enough to earn James’s trust back. I don’t know.

I know he’s letting me try. I know I’m going to do just that. And I know it’s going to take a shit ton of time.

So, for a little while at least this blog will be silent. I need to do the work, not just write about wanting to.

I will be back though. I’m not abandoning this thing. I just have.. A lot to get through. A lot to change. A lot to do. And I know I can. It’s just gonna take a fuck ton of hard work.

Let’s do this.

Yours hitting “reboot”


A Painful Goodbye 

He called me Pixie.

I met ZebraJim roughly eight months after I moved to San Francisco. I was disenchanted with the Bay. So far, I had made no real friend. Art school had taken more from me than it had given, and I was greatly considering closing up shop and moving to Portland. I had gotten into school there. It would be a fresh start. Again.

I was giving the Bay one last chance, diving into the kink scene instead of the art scene. I had a mentor, was slowly dipping my toe in the waters of submission, and finally got the courage to walk into the kink cafe that I had passed hundreds of times before, but could never bring myself to enter.

It was a Foundations munch, and my first munch. I was slightly late. I snuck in and sat at the end of the table, next to a man with snow colored hair and beard. He was in full leather garb and had a walking stick with an 8 ball as the grip, and Buddhist prayer beads wrapped around hands worn from work. We started chatting. He called himself a dungeon troll, hopping between Alchemy, the Citadel, and Black Thorn.

That night he talked me into my second party ever, walking me over to the Citadel and getting me in as his plus one. As we walked, we talked. I found out he was a Vietnam vet with a history of heart problems and homelessness. He told me stories about his best friend, also a war vet, and told me of his weaknesses for women of all kinds, binary or no. He loved trans women, was truly gifted in the art of chasing tail, and from that day on became fiercely protective of me. He gave me the nickname Pixie, because I am tiny and feisty and always getting into trouble, and slowly introduced me to people in the community.
I called him Zebra. ZebraJim had zebra everything. Zebra blankets. Zebra toys. Zebra bandanas that he would give out to everyone he played with. I still have mine, tucked safely away until I can make myself look at it again. We played at my first Surrender, when I was hurting in the worst way emotionally at the realization that Kane and I were slowly ending. He hit me with his zebra flogger and his hands until I buckled on the cross, sobbing. Then he pulled me into his arms and let me cry, knowing that this was much more than the physical pain of the beating.

The man, at 64 years old, helped me move. I lived in a third story shoe box in SoMA and was moving into an in-law at the edge of the city. Finally, I would have space to myself.. But funds were so tight coming up with firsts and lasts that I couldn’t afford a moving truck. Zebra helped me move over two days, climbing up the stairs, grabbing my shit, and loading it into his truck. He was doing laps around me and my very fit 21 year old roommate who was helping with the process. He got me moved though, and when we got where we were going and he saw I didn’t have a mattress to sleep on the man gave me his.

There was a night close to Halloween. I was carving a pumpkin, watching the Craft after a horrible day. I looked over and there was a roach in my bed. I am terrified of bugs, beyond terrified. I had a panic attack. I called my Dom at the time.. But his wife was home and it was too late to help, in his mind. I didn’t know what else to do. I called Jim. He couldn’t understand me on the phone because I was crying too much. “Darlin’, I want you to take a few deep breaths” he said. “And when you’re calm enough to drive get your ass over here. We’ll fix everything, don’t worry.”  He was living at Alchemy at the time. I drove off once I could and slept on one of the large bean bags that night safe and calm, because I knew Zebra would keep me safe.

The old man even inspired me to fly. At that same Surrender that he beat me, he went up on hooks and flew. If he could do it I could. I told myself that for a year.

When Surrender finally came again the one thing I knew for sure was that I was going up on the hooks. Zebra hadn’t been there all weekend. He was already sick and had a chemo treatment that knocked the wind out of him. I hadn’t expected to see him at all… And then he was there in the hook suspension room. He talked to me before I went up, calmed me down. Told me that the next year he and I would go up together.

There is a photo that my Master caught of Zebra, arms out, eyes closed, sending me healing energy as I’m being pierced. I beyond cherish it now.

The last time I saw my first San Francisco friend, he was still himself. He was sick, and in pain, but he was Zebra. He was bald as a cue ball and his beard was thin from chemo, and we joked about his hair being better than mine would ever be. We pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t, when we both knew that we were saying goodbye.

And then my friend did something I never expected. He apologized for leaving me so soon. I lost it. I could pretend I was fine up to a point, but my strong friend apologizing because he needed to rest, because his body was tired and hurting and he was getting ready to leave? .. I cried. And he cried. And then we both laughed and joked about how I would have to give him the birthday blow job I owed him in his next life.

It’s been less than a week since my friend left this earth.. And I am still processing. He was always around. Always everywhere. I’m curled up in Wicked Grounds now, in the comfy chair that I have given up for Jim and his walking stick many a time, and the idea of him never walking through the door again with his leather gear and a big grin on his face is physically painful. It’s BaGG tonight, an event he loved, an event that last week ran a benefit for his care. Where he would dance, and smile, and get in a shit ton of trouble because it’s Zebra.

I’m trying hard to rally.. And while my chest hurts, writing this entry is helping me process. I thank you for reading my words and allowing me to express them.

ZebraJim was a stubborn old pervert who lived each day like a gift, knew more than anyone how to have fun, and would give the ones he loved the shirt off his back (even if that was all he had). The last thing he would want would be us sobbing and mourning his passing. He would want us to celebrate knowing him. To get in as much trouble as we can, dance like no one is watching, and chase the lovely, pretty creatures. I’m sure there will be more tears.. But tonight I will smile, I will laugh, and I will try to get in just the right about of trouble.

And I will bounce my boobs around, a lot, and imagine that impish grin that my friend always had.

I’m going to miss that old perv… I know many of us will. But the truth is I’m not the only one he’s made such an impact on. So long as those that knew him remember him it’s only the old man’s body that is gone. His spirit is woven through the SF kink scene, from the dungeons that he physically cared for to the people he touched (in various ways). Tales of ZebraJim will be told for years.

And I will smile. I will tell the new people about the man who found his herd of zebras, and helped me find mine. How he was a zebra because zebras can’t be broken and don’t fit in with other horses. And how there is always room in the herd for those searching for a home here

Yours, processing




The studio smelled of oil paints and acrylics, scents that have always made me feel at home.

I walked up the stairs in heavy black clogs, my bag for the Citadel held tight against me. Bent was in less than an hour. I wanted to get there around when it started, before it got too busy, so Master could properly collar me for the evening. I love having that moment with him, where I bend my head down and press my forehead to his leg as he slips the leather around my neck…

Kane had invited me to his open studios a couple of months ago, after the first time I saw his studio. Now, the studio was full of people. Wine. Snacks. When I had first been led up its stairs the entire building had been nearly deserted, outside of a few artists who were set on working well into the night.

As always, Kane was one of them. We had connected over artwork, discussing our pasts, our mediums, and our connection to the creative process long ago. He could get lost in his work, and a world ago when I was his I used to kneel at his feet and get lost in his world with him.

He led me through the winding studios to his little corner to show me the pieces he was working in. Big blocks of color, pops of playfulness and inspiration that he had reclaimed after a hard year for him. It was good work. Not my type of work, but good work.

It started with him scooting closer to me, slowly, our bodies swaying together like they were pulled by magnets. Somehow, our arms found their way around each others’ waists, and then around each other, so that we were holding one another. And then we were kissing in the middle of the studio, shy at first…

It was easy. Letting him touch me, letting him kiss me. It was so familiar, so nice. He whispered in my ear that he had missed me, pulling me against him so that I could feel him hard underneath his jeans. He told me every last little thing that I had wanted to hear a year ago. That he fantasized about me, that I was his one that got away. That it wasn’t just my body, it was the woman behind it. My body was nothing without my mind, my spirit, my fight. That he had hated me not being in his life. That letting me go was one of his biggest regrets.

I found myself transported back over a year. I was on my knees, my head on his leg, while he pet me and painted. He would touch me, kiss me, give me some attention, and then go back to his piece. It felt so easy… so easy I almost forgot that it was a year later. That we had ended horribly. That he had hurt me more than he would ever realize.

Eventually, the painted stopped. He ordered me to clean his brushes, a task I had once loved. Happily, I did so. He had me appraise his work; make constructive criticism as an artist that didn’t always see his creations with the kindest of eyes.

He mentioned that the bathrooms at the studio were very large and cleaned nightly.

“It would be very easy,” he said ” for a dirty little girl to get on her knees and take a cock into her mouth in there…”

I was drenched, and wanting, and hungry. I had lost track of time. James was working a party, and I was going there after Kane’s studio. My mind didn’t even register time as I watched the sun set from the studio window’s with Kane behind me, his hands inside my pants, feeling along my ass. He spanked me, hard and quick and unrelenting, and then toyed me ever so lightly. I moaned, missing him, wanting him, and then his voice brought me back to reality.

“I should tell you,” he said, “I sort of have a girlfriend. And I’m sort of supposed to be a good boy and be monogamous.”

I froze, my body growing cold at his words. Not again. I would not be the other woman again. I had been that for nearly a year, and had hated every last moment of it. I wouldn’t let him do that to me again.

“We can’t.” I said, quietly, sadly. The truth is, as wrong as it was I still wanted it. It was the farthest we had gone in over a year and it felt so good, so familiar. Pulling away from him and asking to leave, saying I had to get to the party… It fucked with my head. I hadn’t realized until that moment that there was a part of me that remained his. That longed to be his, to wear his collar and cuffs and greet him naked at the door on my knees as I used to. There was a part of me that so easily slipped into that role.

I walked away. We didn’t do more than kiss. I couldn’t do that to his girlfriend.. I knew too well what it felt like.


Unlike last time, the studio was filled with people, wine, and music. I navigated the hallways on my own, pausing to look at work mounted on the walls as I wrestled with the idea of being there. He probably didn’t even remember inviting me back for the open studio. Who knew who else was here..

Eventually, I found him holding court with prospective buyers in his little corner. He was heartbreaking familiar and incredibly strange to me, and for a couple minutes I stood there simply absorbing a world I had never really been a part of. I let myself look at new work that he had finished after my visit. He came over, hugged me, and briefly we discussed his work. I was about to mention some paintings of birds on pieces of wood that I had surprisingly loved when a group came over and started chatting with him.

They remarked on the beautiful desserts he had at his station. Kane smiled. “My girlfriend made them.”

“Such a talented couple, the two of you! Well suited for one another.”

All the while I watched, smiling to myself. Yes. Such a talented couple. Right place, at the right time.

She came over soon after, and I tried to sneak away, to escape back to my world. My collar jingled in my bag.

“Rene! RENE!”

Awkwardly, I shook her hand. She was older than me, taller, larger, but her body shape was similar, as were her brown hair and eyes. She wore her hair similarly to how I always had, up in a bun unless Kane had ordered it down. He had loved my hair down. He told me once that he had grown up with straight blonde hair all around him and it bored him. He loved my curly, dark locks for being the exact opposite.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your medium is sculpture, right? Are you working on anything new? Have you been to the studio before?”

I was surprised he had told her about me.. although I wondered what he had told. I chanced a quick glance at Kane before returning my gaze to his lady. His eyes avoided mine.

Yes, I had been there before.
And I’m not sure I will ever be back.

No, I had no new work.
And I’m not sure what you would make of my old work.

Many things were left unsaid. As Kane came over and put his arm around his girlfriend I smiled, echoing what I had heard the group saying about them being a talented couple. His lady glowed and looked up at him.

“Oh, I’m definitely overshadowed by this one here.”

I recognized the look she gave him. I knew it all too well. That look of pure adoration. Love. Almost worship. I had given him the same time and time again when I was on my knees in front of him awaiting my next task.

Walking away that day at the studio had been the right thing. The ache, the last tinge of regret, faded as I smiled at the happy couple. I lifted my bag and mentioned to Kane that I had to get to the Citadel. There was a party tonight. James was waiting for me.

He smiled sadly. For a moment, we locked eyes, both our minds on a different time. I think we both saw the door close. Both knew that we had finally fully moved in different directions and that there was no going back, no freezing time. It was done.

“Have fun.” he whispered, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.

I smiled, gave him one last wave, and ran from the studio back to my world. As I relaxed on the car ride over to the Citadel my hand slipped inside my bag to wrap around my leather collar.

Yes, I had made the right choice in multiple ways. It was a good thing, this door closing. It felt oddly nice to fully complete that chapter of my life.

Time to turn the page and see what’s next in store for me.

Yours, as always







It’s been five days, and I’m still processing. 

Five days of pretending I’m okay. That I don’t hurt all over. That my heart isn’t in this weird state of limbo. Still processing. 

I’m not a processor. I’m a rip off the bandaid type. If it’s gonna hurt make it hurt fast and over quickly. Don’t stretch out the agony for hours. 

Last week was one of my favorite parties, one I’ve written about here before. Master’s Den. It was also the marking of a year since I started going to parties as James’s +1. We didn’t get together until May.. But we were becoming at last year’s Master’s Den: Revelry. And it was exciting. I looked forward to it with great anticipation, as always. 

The evening itself went rather well. I did my best in the posture contest that was held (I won it last year, trying to catch James’s attention) and while I didn’t win I did have fun. I enjoy high protocol in controlled amounts. Yes, I’m 24/7… But 24/7 high protocol would be too much for both Master and myself. It would also stifle both our personalities. James is very much a sarcastic goofball at times and I’m too much of a sassy brat to be a formal slave all the time. At events like Master’s Den, it gives us both our fix of the protocol before we return to our regularly scheduled programming of, “Fuck you, Master is not a safe word”. 

We scened towards the end of the night, as we tend to do. At one point I looked at the clock in the social area, nervous. Before I said a word, Master followed my gaze. “Don’t worry.” He said.  “I know what time it is. We’re okay. I promise.”

Master is hard on me… And this would be the second week in a row that we would be doing an intense scene. I’m done at the end of our scenes. I tend to pass out in his lap during aftercare for a few minutes, letting my body recharge and my muscles relax. He makes me scream bloody murder… and will often end scenes at Master’s Den parties in particular by making me scream in pleasure. 

It had been discussed ahead of time that sexual play would end the scene. I settled onto the St Andrew’s cross, legs spread, arms wrapped around the center. I’m so damn short that my head barely clears the center of the cross, and I will hold myself there and brace myself against the wood itself when Master lands some particularly hard blows. 

I was lost in the scene, in the haze of it. Master was making me feel so good and so bad all at once. I screamed, I jumped, I went up on tiptoe.. And then he would claw at my back, or touch my shoulders, or run his hands ever so gently over my body and I would settle again. I would brace myself for taking more, wanting more. To add to the pleasure of this little voyeur I had a clear view of my best friend and her Master doing aftercare in the fishbowl above the Citadel’s social area. Their version of aftercare was him fucking her and eating her out post scene… And it was hot. I let myself gaze hazily at them while my Master pushed my body in his wonderfully wicked way. 

Gradually, I became aware here and there of people trickling out of the party. Master was still hitting me. I watched my friend leave. The dungeon became more quiet, or so it seemed. Master was still hitting me. I heard a cheer and had a far away thought about that cheer usually signaling the end of the party. 

Master was still hitting me. 

The DM came up to us at 1 a.m. to tell us that the party was over and we had to stop playing. My body was humming. I had reached that point of catharsis where I could take anything. I was just short of floating, and wanted to get there so badly. I ached for touch, for the pleasure that had been promised to me… And was shocked when I saw my Master slowly begin to put away his toys. 

We’ve stayed after at parties before. Often, actually. I can only spend the night at some parties but James is a frequent guest of the Citadel. Even though the scene ended… I didn’t expect the scene to end. 

I didn’t drop. I crashed in a way I never have before. I collapsed against the cross, sobbing, with the facts hitting me both at once that not only was I not going to get sexual play I wasn’t going to get aftercare either. And scenes with James are not light. I NEED aftercare after. I need to calm down to be able to function. I needed the reconnection with the man I love… That moment of curling up in his arms and hearing each other’s hearts beating. 

I went from the cross to clothes, feeling shattered and a new kind of sadness I hadn’t expected to feel. My Master had… Disappointed me. He had let me down in a way that caused harm. For the first time since I’ve met the man over two years ago I found that I didn’t trust him… And that knowledge was crushing. 

I told him what happened wasn’t okay… When I could speak again. It was embarrassing to me, having such little control over my body. I couldn’t stop sobbing or shaking to the point where one of the party hosts  came over to check on me while I was putting on clothes. That’s not her job, and it’s never been necessary before. My Master is honestly a very good top. I’ve watched him scene with others many a time. He’s normally very careful. 

He’s also very… Human. Time got away from him. He didn’t mean to cause harm. But he did. And I told him that it wasn’t okay… That it couldn’t happen again. But talking at the end of the night did little good. He hasn’t gotten a full meal in his system since the start of the party.. And because of this he hadn’t taken his pain medication for his back. Since starting a new job he’s had severe back pain to the point of barely being able to speak… He hadn’t told me that he had to put off taking the meds and was in pain. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the evening, he told me, and he knew how much this party meant to me. 

In trying to do good, he did harm. Sometimes humans make human mistakes. He had wanted to give me an amazing evening that ended in an intimate connection. Instead, I crashed. The next day I was in so much pain… I couldn’t physically work. I took the day off. 

The physical pain mattered very little compared to the emotional, however. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there to catch me the evening before, and as I continued to fall and his responses to my texts didn’t come I felt deserted. Alone. In pain. And let down. 

Days passed like this, with the tightness in my chest. My subby friends heard what happened and did their best to support me. They distracted me. They took me out on nights when I was free and made a fuss about making sure I had fun and smiled. 

They weren’t my Master though. 

It has been five days since I crashed, and finally there is some resolution to the ache in my heart. To the feeling of loneliness and betrayal that made me feel for sure that he no longer wanted me in service to him. 

The mind does very strange things during a drop. 

We went to one of our favorite date spots, where you can rent a private room with a hot tub and a sauna for 20 bucks an hour. You can strip down to nothing and do all you want in privacy once the door is closed behind you. 

It’s been almost a year since James and I began. He knows me very well by now… Knows my looks. My body movements. Knows what me being very quiet means. Slowly, gently, he asked me what was wrong. 

Why is it so painful to say that your Master disappointed you? That he hurt you? We talked through the whole evening. What he had originally intended to do. What ended up happening. How he happened. How he felt during it and what was going on in his head vs the same in mine. It was horribly hard. I was finally able to verbalize how abandoned and alone I had felt… How unwanted. 

He pulled me into his arms like I was glass, surrounding me like I had wanted him to do days ago, and apologized in a voice that broke. And then he finally gave me the aftercare and play that I had been craving. He held me. He kissed me. He pushed me between his legs to suck his cock and pulled me back up by my hair to growl into my ear that I was his. And finally, slowly, I felt myself breathing again. It was okay. We were okay. I was okay, and I felt safe kneeling in front of him again. 

Masters and Dominants are humans, same as slaves and submissives. Sometimes they fuck up. More often than not they berate themselves internally more than their slave could ever do externally. To own someone is a responsibility any Master worthy of that title takes very seriously. James was well aware when we met up that day that he had fucked up. That damage was done.

I’m not saying that we’re 100% perfect again. Neither of us can pretend that drop didn’t happen. But we are worlds better than where we were before… And bit by bit, he puts in the effort and repairs even more. 

And I am his. 

Yours, as always 


Ps: this was an extremely difficult entry to write and get though. I thought it was important to talk about, but it took over a week for me to find the words to complete it. The drop happened a week and a half ago, so the time frame is a little off… And yes, my Master continues to make it up to me.