Tag Archives: coping

Day 28

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28) Has your submission ever let you down? Have you ever been criticized for your submission? Have you ever regretted being or feeling submissive in a moment or in a relationship? Have you ever looked back and realized you made a mistake and how did you handle your submission going forward from that.

We are human, submissives and Dominants. Sometimes we wish we weren’t. I know that there is a part of myself that always wants to be the BEST submissive possible, to please him more than anyone else has.

I am going to start this question off by answering the last part of it. I have never thought my decision to submit was a mistake. Never. It is as natural to me as breathing. It is a part of myself I shoved away for a very long time. I may make mistakes in that submission from time to time, but do I regret deciding to be who and what I am at any point in time? No. I am what I am. And to be honest, I love what I am. I have doubts about myself constantly…but not about my ability to submit or my skills as a submissive. It is the one place where I am completely sure of myself.

I had parts of my submission criticized, very early on. Very, VERY early on, back when Cal was still mentoring me. His girlfriend at the time decided that I was a threat to her, and my poor friend was so enthralled by the woman that he didn’t see for a long time just how much he was being manipulated. Every time I saw him, it was with her as well, so that we could never talk privately. At the time I was a little bit of a mess.. I was growing up, feeling those aches and pains of the first time you stand on your own two feet away from any outside help. I was scared, and just needed someone to tell me that it was going to be okay so that I could keep going. When we were alone, or when we talked privately, he reassured me that this was a normal part of growing up, and that this too shall pass and I would be okay. He would then list fifty thousand logical next steps that would short-circuit my panic button and make everything better. When I saw him with her, however… She noticed when I was upset and jumped at the chance to make it worse, telling me I wasn’t prepared to be in a relationship with someone of his age and experience, and that I should just move on.. She was right about the relationship, but I didn’t WANT a relationship, I wanted a teacher… She spent a good couple of months telling me I was a horrible submissive and would never learn to be one properly. Eventually I stopped talking to her and my friend, because I couldn’t fucking take it.

As for my submission letting me down.. The end with Kane. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t mine.. It was both of us stretching something out that should have been left behind and miscommunication all the while. He kept trying to tell me that he could no longer be what I needed… but he couldn’t find the words. He would try it gingerly, not fully wanting to let me go just as much as I didn’t want him to let me go.. And I misheard him time and time again. Every time he said “You deserve so much better.” I would go no no no. I don’t want better I want you… Subby mind was just too devoted to here Dominant. I loved being his. I loved wearing his collar… He gave me Disney. He gave me my first taste of feeling cherished, being someone’s princess… and I loved it. Letting go of that, even knowing that it was the right thing to do, was a heartbreaking process. Even then, it took me months to take off the collar. I felt at war with myself, pulling apart my day collar. I had to take it off myself because he didn’t have time to see me..but it felt horrible. It felt disloyal. I now understand why being properly released is so important. Because otherwise a submissive will eat themselves alive for doing something that they know is right but feels so wrong.

Phew.. Okay. That was a loaded one that brought up much emotional baggage… I’m going to go and pick out my dungeon outfit for this evening… Nothing like corsets and stilettos to make the night better.

As always, yours

-Rene

Jealous

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Jealousy is a thing.

I know there are some people who claim not to get jealous… There are also some that claim that if you’re poly you can’t get jealous.

The second one is bullshit, and I envy those that can accomplish the first. I can’t. I fully admit that I can’t, even with the poly element as part of my relationship.

James has one friend that is literally everything that I am not. Friend is a very loose term.. They’ve known each other for years and, as it often can be, it’s complicated…

I don’t mean the whole she’s everything I’m not as a dig against myself.. she just.. is.. While I’m a brunette and dark of features she is a blonde and fair. While I am compact she is tall and leggy, and while I have some extra curvage she is quite literally perfectly proportioned. It goes passed physical into the world of skills..  I was excited to show off belly dancing for James..until the first time I saw her move with a grace I just don’t have and went “nope!”. She is also rather skilled as deep tissue massage, something that helps James when he has a sore back that I just don’t know how to do right now.. She is outgoing while I take a while to warm up to people, and has no qualms plopping down in my boyfriend’s lap when I am incredibly skiddish about trying such a thing.. I am incredibly self conscious (especially recently… I can feel clothing being tight on me…) about my size.. I’m worried I’m too big to plop in his lap… and the thought makes me very sad. I want lap time too…

I digress. As I said, James has this friend who is everything I’m not. She is very sweet, very nice, and so for the most part I ignore the triggers she causes in me. I know it’s me, seeing my own inadequacies and girl brain, and that there is a reason he chose me as his primary. There’s a reason he keeps me. But that doesn’t help when the pretty leggy blonde is in his lap and I’ve been begging for lap time for a good month…

There is a routine to BaGG nights, one that I have fallen in to easily. The time before BaGG is my time with James. It’s when we snuggle, do very bad things in his car that could possibly get us arrested (tee hee), talk, and basically touch base before the hecticness of the night begins. Once we walk into Wicked Ground we can still snuggle and often play for the entertainment of ourselves and others, but that’s when the performance starts and I have to share him. Once we enter the club I know he will spend time with me when he can, but the performance continues. It only breaks when I need him… when something’s seriously wrong and I need that point of connection, of eye contact, of him to hold me for just a second or give me one sweet kiss to tell me everything is okay. Once that performance starts there is no stopping it, especially in the club when you add work mode on top of it. I know this routine, I know it well, and I don’t attempt to stop it. I love watching James work. He works his ass off and he’s got a damn good eye. I’ve even learned to love giving him material to shoot… I have a group of friends that I play with at BaGG. I love when he takes photos of me playing and I catch the smirk on his face as he clicks the shutter.

It’s a good routine, one that I don’t think to disturb for lap time or unnecessary snuggles when he’s focused… I play by the rules, afraid to break his focus or be too much of a pest. Afraid of the reprimands he may give. It can be hard, especially when BaGG is the only day that week I get to see him and that hour alone in the car together is the only in-person time I get with my boyfriend.

I am one of those people that finds physical touch to be incredibly healing. I’ve mentioned before that I am a tactile person. If I’m not touched enough, held enough.. Emotionally, I shift. I become more on-edge. Sometimes I don’t realize it.

The other night I got no time with James before BaGG. This happens sometimes, it’s life. Sometimes adulting gets in the way of kinky fuckery. The week before I had only gotten to see James at BaGG itself, and he had barely made it in time. There was no check-in, no snuggles… and the day had not been the easiest. The week had not been the easiest.

I didn’t quite realize how much it had effected me until I looked over and saw Leggy Blonde in a little outfit walking off with my boyfriend just when I had gone over to talk to him about something. I gave them a wide birth, and did what I tend to do when my friends are not at BaGG and I’m not otherwise occupied. I watched.

I watched her curl up in his lap.. Watched him hold her, nuzzle her. Watched them kiss. I was shocked by the amount of jealousy and hurt that I felt. We’re poly. It wasn’t as if this was breaking any rules.

…But this wasn’t play. This wasn’t sex. This wasn’t kinky fuckery, which we both get off on watching the other do.

This was intimacy. Something I can’t ask for once the performance starts, and something I hadn’t gotten much of with him lately. I fought the tears burning the corners of my eyes as I watched, half talking to the friend who had come down to sit next to me.

She, in turn, followed my gaze.

“He picked you, you know. She doesn’t have the girlfriend title. You do.”

That didn’t mean that the girlfriend title would have been denied to her if she had wanted to. I didn’t know. I don’t know their past. I haven’t asked. I’m too afraid that my girl-brain will self-combust and I will become an insecure mess no sir wants to touch, no matter MY Sir.

I could feel my hurt turning to resentment and anger. Before I did something based off of heat of the moment emotions that I would regret, I sent him a text telling him that we needed to talk.. that I needed to talk to him as his girlfriend, not his submissive.

It’s when communication breaks down that you’re fucked over jealousy issues.. And while James and I don’t have great amounts of time to discuss things, when we do sit and really talk we do well. We clear up a lot of miscommunications and issues and leave the conversation a lot lighter than when we entered it..

I entered the conversation pissed and hurt, angry that while I played by the rules someone he has a past with was getting the physical attention and intimacy I craved and, at times, begged for. I went back into the club a bit more reassured about my place. I understood why she was receiving such physical intimacy, and understood why he reserved such intimacy between he and I for when we were alone.. I know when the mask goes on, when the performer goes on stage, I should not try to pull him off. I wouldn’t want to. I love the man behind the mask and know when to watch him on stage, when to join, and when to be in the wings for the intermission.

That doesn’t mean I still don’t want physical attention while in the club.. and that doesn’t fully kill off my jealousy issues. She is still everything I am not. And I am still aching for more touch from the man I adore..

But I can see James doing what he can to squash those issues, as I try to work on the internal triggers in me that cause the issues I have in the first place. Neither of us shut down, which would be the easiest thing to do. We hear the other out. He’s got the patience of a saint with me when it comes to the feels, and it reminds me often how lucky I am to actually be in a healthy poly relationship.

Jealousy happens. We’re only human. It’s what you do when the jealousy spikes that matters.

Yours reassured,

-Rene

Emotional Masochism

Sometimes, on a particularly low day, I go on Facebook and look at Kane’s photos. Some I love. From time to time he posted selfies that are just…him. The man I love.

Others I look through for reality checks.

I never forget the fact that he’s married. I would love to sometimes. Would love to have him to myself, to be able to proudly show him off to my family and friends as much as he shows off me when we’re in a dungeon together. I want to be able to tell everyone and their mother that we’re dating, and that I’m madly in love with this man. That we talk about a future sometimes. That we talk about trips to Hawaii, and from time to time to see my family.

The reality of the situation is that I am the “other woman”. I have been since July. The moment emotions got involved he was cheating, and I cheated with him. The guilt eventually turned to resentment; resentment that this person that seemed horribly incompatible with the man I meshed with so easily had all the claim to him when I had none.

It wasn’t so bad in the beginning. In the beginning, I was spoiled. I got weeks with him instead of days and lived in this sheltered bubble that he was mine as much as I was his, and that we were meshing worlds. I cooked him dinner. We curled up and watched movies together. We slept in the same bed. We went away on an incredible weekend vacation that I never wanted to end, where for the first time in my life I felt not only like a princess but his princess.

Then the weeks turned to five or four days…then every other week..for four days.. Then weeks apart. Now this.

Each time I resent her, I go on his Facebook. There staring me in the face is his relationship status, the first check. “Married to”. I wince, I breathe. I click on his photos and scroll all the way to the end. The very first photos are from his wedding. I make myself scroll up and look at the photos of the two of them, happy and in love. I can hear his voice in my ear as I do this. “I married her for a reason.” I wonder sometimes if he can really understand my resentment.

I look, really look, at what I’m asking him to end. A life together, a real, acknowledged, merging of two people. A house together. Friends together.

The friends don’t know about me. No one does outside of the kink community. None of his friends know we’re together. His family doesn’t. It dawned on me when he left for Hawaii that if something happened, Godde forbid, I wouldn’t find out. No one would think to reach out to me because for all they know I’m a casual friend, if they know of me at all. I have photos of the two of us together… on my phone, away from the public. I don’t even post them on Fetlife for fear of his best friend finding them and him having to explain. I don’t want him to have to explain, to be stressed, to be uncomfortable.

It’ll be six months December 2nd since he first said he loved me. Six months since we recognized what was going on between us, and that it would be more than either of us ever thought. And for months we tossed around ideas. He could come home for Thanksgiving and meet my parents. By then he was sure he would have made progress with his wife and if he went to Hawaii it was just to keep things civil. Maybe by November we would be looking at places together, we said in August. Maybe a small transition place that we can start moving his stuff in. Something we could build together. We were going to go to Ikea and get a bookcase months ago. But timelines were never our thing. He didn’t want to give me time frames he couldn’t guarantee. I quit my job and suddenly my extra income was gone. Eventually, the frames and the talk that went along with them disappeared.

When I am ready to scream with frustration I force myself back on to Facebook and see the ways that she is compatible. That financially she is fifty thousand…more like three hundred and fifty thousand… times more put together than I am. She is established, with her life put together when mine continually splinters apart. She has the time put in, the established relationships, when I’ve been around less than a year. She’s the same age as him. I’m a lot younger.

Sometimes my mind decides to travel down hypothetical lane. Hypothetically what would have happened if we met before? She’s been around since I was a teenager… It’s very possible we’ve crossed paths in the city before. He lived there when I went in every other week or so. But he wouldn’t have looked at me, dressed vanilla and young as a pup running around the museum with my family. And after? Would we have crossed paths years from now when he finally pulled away and was on his own again? He may not have been looking for a submissive anymore…may have given up on that route, along with children.

There are so many mays, and maybes, and perhaps, and possibles. There are no more promises. Just hopes. Lots of hopes that help me sleep at night. We have this little app called You and Me on our phones.. It’s supposed to be for a relationship, to send things between the two of you. I go back and look through what we sent each other in August and September and I smile. I think about apple picking. About that long ride where we drove together for hours and talked about everything and nothing; I felt that zaa-zaa-zoo that drew me to him as a person in the first place. There was a moment, looking at the sunset in Santa Cruz at the end of a perfect day. He stood next to me, just for a moment looking at the horizon. As corny as it sounds, in that one moment I loved him so fully and completely. I saw how we would work together long term. I saw the future, and I smiled..it made all the other shit worth it.

I picture that when all the maybe’s raise their ugly head. When I sleep alone, knowing he’s sharing a bed with her, and I miss him so bad it hurts. When I selfishly want to scream at her to go the hell away so that I can start a life with him already. I never forget that she was there first..and when I want to beg him to give me more time, to finally tell people about me, to walk away from his wife, I check myself. I go on his Facebook and force myself to see the relationship there. I force myself to give her respect. He married her for a reason.

I don’t know what will happen when I see him again… When talking will begin again. But I continue to check myself. She earned that place in his bed beside him.. regardless of where they are in their relationship now I can’t scream at her to relinquish that right because I’m lonely. Because I miss his heat and his touch. She was here first. I never kid myself in that, as a submissive or a girlfriend. He picked her before me.

I ended up writing this whole thing because of a conversation I had with a friend I am quickly becoming close to. I had sent him a text telling him that I was trying very hard not to be bothered by Kane’s wife being in Hawaii with him. He immediately called in response. He’s in a poly relationship with a woman who’s in an open marriage for all the RIGHT reasons, and the first words out of his mouth were “I’ve been there. I understand exactly how you feel, and how illogical it is. And you just want to reign it in and put on a smile for that person and tell them everything is okay because it’s all your internal war… and that’s fine. But you are allowed to feel what you are feeling. It’s okay to acknowledge it. It’s okay to be jealous, and lonely, and not have words for how much you miss that special person. All of that is okay. Just let yourself feel. Put on whatever face you want to keep the person you love sane but let yourself feel“. And so I did. I’m hoping writing all of this down will get some of the non-concentual pain out of my body..

Sometimes, I really am a damn masochist.

Thoughtfully yours,

-Rena

Waiting..and Hoping…

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It has been twelve days since I’ve seen my Dom… Twelve very long days.

Once again, I’m back in New Jersey. It’s great to see my family, as usual..but my chest is so tight.

I don’t know where we are..what we are… I miss him so much I ache.

It’s not a simple matter of communicating through technology while he is gone, filling the void how he can. He has horrible reception where he is, and he dislikes talking on the phone. I am an incredibly tactile person. I close my eyes at night and I crave his touch, the way he traces his finger around my face as if he’s trying to memorize it. I crave his scent… I miss the security of curling up right in my spot next to him, our bodies wrapping around one another. I miss his voice, and his face… I just miss everything about him.

He’s been so busy, getting everything that needs to be done, done. I understand.. I’m trying so hard to, but I feel such a distance between the two of us… He and I had a falling out about communication before I left for home, and then again once I got here just two days ago.

The weekend before I had done something I hadn’t in so long. I went and I played with others. I went to Dark Odyssey’s Surrender event and actually connected with a dominant man for the first time since Kane and I got more serious. I partially went out of my own loneliness, and partially went because he had tasked me with getting back to that place while he was gone, the one where I could have fun with others without feeling this knot of guilt, as if I was betraying him. I played, sort of.. I couldn’t do full on, intense scenes.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. One of my best friends in the kink community was there, someone who can be very paternal with me. Before the weekend was over I asked something of him that I have never asked of anyone. I asked if he would beat me. I am not a pain slut, far from it. I have a very low pain tolerance compared to most submissives out there…but I was in so much pain. I wanted Kane there… All these intimate scenes, people connecting around me, and I just wanted my Dominant to take me and put me on the cross, flog me with the red and black flogger we both love..

He flogged me, and I felt nothing. Spanked me..paddled me… I started laughing. As odd is this sounds, that’s a bad sign for me. When I actually get into sub space I become very quiet. I sigh a bit, let out little noises, but I never laugh. I broke down about a minute later and was sobbing so hard my friend refused to continue. He flipped me around, hugged me, and ended up helping me with a different sort of aftercare. He took me over to the side, sat me down, and had me list all the reasons I am thankful Kane is my Dom. Then list all the negatives of him being gone for so long, and see if the pros outweighed the cons. They did, by a long shot..

The other day I found out just how much my outside play bothered him, and just what insecure thoughts he had floating around in his head. Since then… I don’t know. He’s been texting me from time to time, and I’ve been texting him, but nothing D/s has been discussed. Nothing deep and emotional has been discussed. It’s been light, cute.. friend like.

I’m hoping I”m just emotional..reading too much into something when I’m far away and can’t fully connect…but I can tell you straight out that I would give quite a lot to hear him tell me he loved me right now. I haven’t heard the phrase in so long..I think that’s what shakes me.

Photos are hard for me..especially of my lower body. I don’t like my stomach, don’t like my pudge. In an attempt to connect after an awkward day I made a video for him, something that I don’t do… I sent it to him. He mentioned being excited to watch it… and then he was gone for the night. I hope he watched it.. hope he liked it..but I don’t know. I don’t know if it was right to do, if he wants me submitting to him now or to wait until he sees me in person.

I don’t know anything right now, and I don’t know whether or not he has the time to reassure me and calm the frantic thoughts in my mind.

And so I wait..and I hope… I will see him sometime around December 1st, hopefully…

Until then, I stare at my phone. I send him what I can. I try to keep him involved without spamming him when he can’t respond. I try not to beg when I know he is tired and stressed and busy. I love, fully and completely, and try to tell him so at least once a day, support how I can when it’s a world I don’t know.

I pray the pit in my stomach is wrong.

Yours, waiting

-Rena

Recluse

Oh boy. Oh boy… ohhh boy.

This will be a long post. I apologize for this.

I got back to San Francisco about two weeks ago from a FANTASTIC trip home. The only thing missing was Kane.

It was an odd feeling for me, missing someone as much as I did when I was only away for a week and a half. It just..felt like he should be there for everything. Like he belong there, and would have enjoyed it. I wanted to share my old haunts with him; my childhood hideaways and my loves. I sent videos and photos of my childhood home to him, showing more to him than I have to anyone in a long time, sharing pieces of myself that I have held tight and guarded for way too long.

Regardless, I had to returned. I returned to a week without him and two weeks of hell at work.

I very rarely discuss my work on this blog because it involves childcare..and childcare and BDSM rarely mix well. I had been hired as one thing, and gradually throughout the months I had watched my position slowly crumble to a mere shadow of itself and began dreading going to work. My duties were never the same day to day. They began to change radically, drifting into a realm that were not at all involved in my job description.

Poor Kane. The man had the patience of a saint with me this week. He got double whammied with a girlfriend/submissive that had her period AND severe work problems. The anxiety was so bad that I found myself unable to get into the submissive mindset at all.

I have not gone to a play party in a month and a half. A month was because of other commitments. Two weeks have been by my choice. Last night I could have gone with Kane if I had truly wanted to. He would have happily taken me to the Citadel and put me on one of the crosses that I love. He would have used the purple suede flogger on me first, to warm up, and perhaps teased me with the rabbit fur flogger so much that I fantasize about curling up in bed and snuggling it like a stuffed animal… Then the thud and sting of the red leather flogger would have started, with an added weight that the other two pieces lack… In an idea world he would have hit me in a steady rhythm that I count in my mind like a dance count, getting lost in the strikes until I’m pushed so high I’m flying… Mmmm…

A shiver of pleasure just went up my spine. I miss that. I crave that. But for the past couple weeks it’s almost like my submissive side has been hibernating…and it is a large part of who I am as a person. A large part that has been missing. I was shocked when I came back from my trip and Kane bent me over for a spanking for the first time..because it HURT. I cried. My pain tolerance was gone, pathetic to a point that made my heart sink. I had built it up quite a bit before I left, and I wasn’t gone long.. around ten days. Kane and I had been playing in private and public on a regular basis, almost nightly, and I was shocked when the thing that had given me so much pleasure caused me actual pain. Not the buzzed pain.. the bad pain. THE FUCK???

What was I doing wrong? Why couldn’t I get there? I thought part of it was Kane and I playing at my place. My little in law apartment is always in a state of chaos. I’m there maybe one week out of the month on average, mostly just spending the weekend. The rest of the time I’m at Kane’s with him…and so I’ve never actually fully unpacked. It’s not a home, it’s a resting place in chaos. When I’m with him there it feels like home. I thought that playing at my place, a place that I normally don’t associate with BDSM, coupled with he and I not spending the night together was making it harder for me to slip back into the submissive mindset. I was definitely his horny little girlfriend, and the sex was fantastic… but I just couldn’t get there.

This surprising week of short play was the prelude to the week from hell of work.. combine the two and it was a recipe for disaster. The FLOGGER hurt me when Kane put it to my skin. I found my mind wandering and had to constantly bring myself back. I didn’t want to strip. Didn’t want to see myself naked. I spent way too much time crying, which is something I absolutely hate doing.

Kane is an incredible boyfriend, I will say that frankly. His ability to comfort me, to make me feel safe and have me believe that everything will actually work out. I have my spot as a girlfriend, curled up on the couch with him. I lean into his side and put my head on the nook in his shoulder and he drapes his arm around me. There is my safety spot, where nothing can touch me. And there is where I’ve been hiding.

I’ve dealt with depression all of my life. Major depressive disorder runs in my family. My dad has it, my grandmother has it, etc. It’s not constant with me, it spikes when I get anxious or when the road gets rocky. Combine that with hormones of the month and…yeah. I was bad. Even in the environment of Kane’s apartment with him I just couldn’t get there. I didn’t want to go on fetlife, didn’t want to see my kinky friends, and just wanted Kane. I wanted my rock, my safety, my assurance that even though my job was miserable and the progress of our relationship meant things would get worse before they got better that everything really would be okay.

He causes old feelings to surface that I had forgotten existed.. It’s been a long time since I talked about marriage and kids with anyone. I don’t do that. Don’t trust people enough to lift up my walls and reveal the girly squishy bits of myself. Kane continually breaks down my walls. We’re in too deep at this point, and are set on a future with one another. With kids… though marriage seems to be arguable.

Last night was the culmination of KABOOM that has become my life. My work had become unbearable. My hours got changed and cut yet again, and my duties had become out right illegal. I quit, knowing that if nothing else I own a car (that was in the shop with a check engine light on. It turned out to all be fine but it was definitely an added stresser) and was halfway to starting up Lyft, which I could live off of easily if I worked the hours that Kane was at work. I love driving, and I love talking to people so the job would be easy for me. And I was sick of crying.

This turned Kane into a stress ball…which I hate seeing. He thinks of every possible outcome, and the more he thinks the more he shuts down and just doesn’t communicate. He doesn’t want to stress me out with his worries which just stresses me out and I worry more…it’s a cycle of stress that ends in both of us breaking, and that’s exactly what happened. I broke first, sobbing at something silly. He shut down because he thought I blamed him for the entire situation..when I just hated the situation in general.

It ended in he and I going for dinner and a drive and talking about some hard realities. Realities like he and his wife splitting up, but not having a time line for it. Like we want kids, but I want marriage and he will only get married if he has to. Neither of us expected to be this intense this soon, to be talking about living with each other and getting a “transition” apartment between now and his lease ending in February. But we’re here. And we’re dealing with it. And we both agree that the relationship is worth it.. which is what in the end matters.

I can hear Cal’s words echoing in my mind from time to time, advice he gave me when I first told him about Kane. Yes, fall. Yes, the relationship is worth it, but he and I will both hurt one another. And we are, we do, but we also keep each other going. We inspire one another when we’re not in mire and muck, and we come up with crazy artistic ideas that lead to other ideas that lead to amazing studio nights.

He is helping me pick up the pieces of my life, but he is not doing it while I sit on my ass. Yes, I have more financial problems than he does. Yes, he has more relationship problems than I do (that whole “I have a wife I need to hopefully separate amicably from” thing)..but we are definitely knee deep in a “we” thing. We are building a life together, piece by piece, and part of that is he and I getting our separate lives together in the ways that we must. I need a job, asap, hopefully with health insurance (which is something I lack right now..another stresser). And I need a firmer hand from Kane. I need discipline when I’m too sassy or too out of line, or don’t do what he asks me to do.

He was shocked when I mentioned this to him last night. “You don’t do what I say most of the the time. I just didn’t think you wanted that.”

“Of course I do!” I responded. “I’m a twenty four seven sub! Part of that is wanting, no, needing tasks from my dominant.” And part of that is pushing my limits. Seeing how bratty I can be before I get consequences. Kane figured that out. He set rules.

Now, after this long long LONG blog post that has followed an even longer week, progress is being made in my vanilla life and in my BDSM life. Next week I WILL go to the play party at the Citadel, and will dive back into munches again. I will reach out to friends I’ve been shunning in between applying to fifty million jobs. And most importantly I will work with my dominant. I will scene with him. I will build my pain tolerance back up and fall back into the steady rhythm and embrace of the flogger Kane wields. I will fly again, sometime soon.

Finally, I’m feeling better.

Yours coming out of hibernation

~Rena

Past and Present

Image

 

“Please, Rena? Please!”
Jase, you’re being pathetic.”
“But please, you promised you would be there! I need you there!” 

Jason has never begged me for anything, ever. I’ve begged him for plenty over the past couple of years; more love, more affection and attention, being a higher priority in his life. Not being forgotten. Those sort of things. Never once has he begged me for anything, until now. 

Perhaps I’m being a hard ass. After all, there was a time not so long ago when he was my knight in dented armor and could do no wrong. I would fly to the moon and back for him, bend backwards, do somersaults, anything to make him look twice at me and remember who really cared about him. In return, he showed me affection. He dangled just enough of it in front of me that I would bite and stay on the line as his safety net. And somehow, I never noticed until after he cut the line. I was too happy for any attention he would give me. 

The garter belt had gotten me in a bit of trouble at the airport. I had both it and the thigh-highs it attached to hidden underneath the comfy pair of sweatpants I was wearing on the plane, which had earned me an extra pat down from the TSA agent at the edge of the security check point. The look of surprise on her face when she realized what I had on was priceless. 

I had gone all out for this trip, because it was Valentine’s Day. Normally I gave Jason straight hair, and perhaps a bit of makeup and some nice lingerie that he barely noticed before ordering it off me. This trip, however, I kicked it up a notch. The moment I got off the plane I had stripped out of my comfy sweat pants and changed from my sandals to my black “fuck me” heels (I left the pink ones with the spikes at home) and a skin tight, form-fitting dress that Jason had nicknamed my “witch dress”. It was long sleeved, cut low enough to show off my DD’s, and clung especially well around my ass, while just being long enough to cover the tops of the stockings. The dress had prints of the moon on it, and around that all the astrological signs. It was not something I wore out in public normally, unless I was going to a club or on a date I knew would end well. This wasn’t exactly a date, but I knew where the night would end. 

Jason walked into the airport with his father, which made me chuckle. I got a very short “very nice” from him when he hugged me, and then he didn’t say a single word to me until we got back to his place. His father and I chatted. I mentioned the art opening I had been to earlier int he evening, the commission I had picked up because of it… It had been a good night. 

By the time we got inside the rest of the house was quiet. Jason made sure all the doors were shut and my bags were inside before turning his attention back to me. “Strip.” Whelp, so much for the dress. I began tugging it over my head and hadn’t even gotten the thing entirely off before I heard him whistle. He’d seen the garter belt, the stockings, and the black lace panties that I had picked out especially for him. He loved black lace. “Very, very nice, Rena. I appreciate the show.” 

“What’s changed? You had said you were coming to my graduation for months.”
“Uh huh. And each time I said it, you said it wasn’t a big deal if I didn’t go. That we would just see each other over the summer when you got back from France-“
“After I get back from going to Giverny, for you, and taking pictures, for you.”

Oh yes, because he was going to get so much out of going to Claude Monet’s garden for me. He’s not even all that interested in art, and calls Monet’s haystacks cupcakes along with his father. 

“And I appreciate that, Jason, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not comfortable coming down and staying with you after what happened.” 

Silence. 

“Is it because of him?” 

We were catching up. I hadn’t seen him since Thanksgiving, and I had both birthday and Christmas gifts for him. I lounged across his chair in nothing but my underthings, watching as his boner got more and more prominent as time went by. Each gift he thanked me for, eventually getting up and hugging me in thanks for them. 

The hug didn’t remain just a hug, of course, Eventually the hands wandered down to grab my ass and his lips took possession of mine. They moved south, grazing over my neck all too quickly before focusing on my chest. “Take this off” he said, even as his mouth teased me through my bra. The black lace was gone in seconds. As I moved to relax against the chair he instead grabbed me and pulled me to my feet. Before I could process what he was doing he dropped to his knees in front of me and once again turned his attention to my chest. Godde help me, but he was good with his tongue, and his teeth. I let out a moan and ran my fingers through his hair as he all but worshipped my breasts, instinctively parting my legs in anticipation for what was next. 

No, it’s not because of him. It’s because of you. Because you crossed a line and I’m honestly not sure that you won’t do it again.”
“Oh come on! I apologized! I said I was sorry! I don’t even remember doing it, Rena! I was fucking plastered. You can’t hold it against me forever.”
“Not forever, Jase, but I’m not letting you off scott free either. I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You hurt me. You raped me, and it until me saying I wouldn’t go to your fucking graduation for you to apologize for it.”
“I said I was sorry!” I could hear his heavy breathing. He was trying to collect himself. 
“Does he have a problem with me now?”
“What do you think?” 

“Wake up.” 

The order was followed up by fingers slipping inside of me. I had been dead asleep, curled up next to Jason, after he had thoroughly exhausted me. We hadn’t fucked, but he had fingered me to the point where I had cum so many times I had lost count. My body was shaking by the time he guided me to bed. I had thought that would be that for the evening. 

Apparently not. Apparently earlier had been foreplay. 

He worked me into a tizzy, pulling me out of the sleep-filled fog I had been in and taking me right to the edge of orgasm before he pulled away. His mouth captured mine for the briefest of moments, making sure I was awake and responding, before he pulled away. 

“On all fours, on the rug. Now.” 

Quickly, I scrambled out of bed and got into the position he asked, my cheek touching the carpet, my ass in the air. Waiting.

I think I have no problems with him, and that he should feel the same.” 
“That’s bull crap, and you know it.” 
“No, no I don’t. I don’t understand what his issue with me is. He’s not even your fucking boyfriend. He has a girlfriend. What are you, his mistress?”
“No. I’m not. I’m his submissive, and he owns me. My body belongs to him, and you, with your sticky fingers, tried to take what was his. I don’t belong to you anymore. You know that, and you still pushed. How would you feel if Tori fucked her ex?” 
“You leave her out of this!” 
“I’ll leave her out of this if you stop bringing him into this. He has a problem with you because he’s protective of me. He is the one that held me when I cried after telling him what happened. He calmed me down when I felt like I was losing my mind. You made it fucking worse.” 
“… You cried?” 

The normal fucking lasted all of five minutes before I felt the cool trickle of lube down my ass and let out a moan. 

“That’s right, Rena. I’m going to take you in every hole tonight.” I had sucked him off earlier in the evening as a thank you, even though I didn’t care for the taste of him. It pleased him, and that was all I cared about. 

A hand came down on my ass with a resounding “smack”, which only aroused me further. 

God, such a gorgeous ass. And It’s all mine.” 

Yes, I cried. I was freaked, Jase. You’ve never NOT stopped when I said no. This time.. you went too damn fucking far. It didn’t feel good. It HURT. Hell, you pulled his shirt off of me and nearly ripped it doing so. You know why I was wearing that?” 

Silence. 

“So you wouldn’t be tempted to cross the line again. So you wouldn’t hurt me, or Tori.”

More silence. 

“Do you not want me anymore, Rena?” 

It hurt in such a good way, it always did, and he was the only one who had dared to enjoy taking me that way. 

Afterwards, I got a kiss before I went to go clean up. I was sated. In one night I had been worshipped and taken with a vigor he hadn’t shown in almost a year. Happy Valentine’s Day indeed. 

I crawled back into bed where Jase was already laying and flopped over him, the two of us forced to overlap on his twin-sized mattress. 

Goodnight, Jase” I closed my eyes. 
“Rena?” 

Uh oh. My eye opened again. 

Yeah?” 
“Don’t get used to this.” 

I sighed. I was tired, and I was late to class, and dreading telling Sir about this conversation later.  

“I want my friend back.” 
“You never lost me, Rena, but I feel like I’m losing you.” 
“That’s because you threw me away. You tossed me aside for a better model..and then when I moved on you were upset about losing your toy.” 

More since. I at this point had become pretty sure that he was sharing the phone with a cricket. 

“You’re not wrong. I’m jealous. I want you back in my bed. I don’t want you in his.”
“But that’s all you want. You want me in your bed. You don’t want my mind, or my heart, and you haven’t told her any of this because you want her heart, and her body when you get the chance. It doesn’t work like that, Jase.” 
“I know.” 
“I have a lot of thinking to do.”
“Please? At least consider still coming? Bring Gabe if you really feel the need to. I just want you here. I need you here. I need my friend.” 
“I’ll think about it, Jase” 

-Rena

The Creative Outlet

This doesn’t just relate to BDSM in my opinion… it’s a life thing, but I think it’s important in BDSM as well and people so often try to function without it.

Yesterday was a bad day. I won’t lie and say it wasn’t. I’ve been dealing with not talking to Jason when I’m used to talking to him every single day, and that meant thinking about why I wasn’t talking to him which led to a bunch of “I don’t knows” and a very worried Sir, which I felt very bad about… Right as I began spiraling Sir had to go for the evening. His girlfriend was coming over, something he should be able to fully enjoy without having to worry about his melting down submissive twenty or so miles away.

Before he disappeared Sir and I had a brief discussion about telling others what had happened to me (though that was actually one of the reasons why I posted on here). He told me I needed more support. The problem is that I don’t trust people very easily. I trust Sir, absolutely, and my older sister. I trusted Jason. That trust has very much been ripped to tatters, to the point of I don’t even know if he is still my friend or not. I didn’t want to talk to people, or lean on them too much, or be a burden to Sir.

And so, I turned to the one support system that will never, ever fail me or leave me alone.

I am lucky enough to be an artist, a sculptor by trade. I see with my hands; I have since I was very young, though I didn’t start calling myself an artist until much later in life (yes, I know because I’m SO old..but hey, it took me some time). I threw myself into the studio yesterday evening and remained there until the wee hours of the morning hand building, throwing clay onto slab roller and slowly exercising all of my demons to the point where I could breath again. I was alright. I wasn’t spiraling.

And I got a shit ton of work done in the process.

When I say I am lucky enough to be an artist, I mean it. I don’t have to struggle with what to do when words aren’t working, or I can’t talk, or I’m just too overwhelmed to the point of almost freezing. I work. I’m a firm believer in art being therapy because it is for me. It’s gotten me through the worst events of my life, when I truly had no support and was completely on my own.

I am surrounded by creative people. My parents are artists. My older sister and Sir are talented writers, and my baby sister will probably be a damn good fashion designer someday. Each of them turn to their craft when they need to expel demons, or decompress, or just can’t do anything else.

It’s harder for those who don’t identify as artists, and writers, and craftsman of any kind.

Understand, it’s not about the finished product. You don’t have to be an artist to make art. Hell, I’m not a writer and I’m writing this because it makes me feel better. It’s about what the work gives to you, how it helps when you just can’t talk to anyone. “Work” can be anything. Like cooking? There you go, it’s a creative outlet. I know many people who blast music and dance around when they’re just too overwhelmed to think. That counts too.

My older cousin is a frazzled little woman, always wound tighter than a spring. When she is pushed to her breaking point she does laundry and cleans the house. Not my thing, but if it helps it helps.

Just don’t lock it all in. Don’t sit there and wait for that spike in depression, or loneliness, or hopelessness to just pass. Get it out of you somehow. Don’t hold on to it and dwell. You’ll just sink deeper into that dark state. That is NOT a fun spiral, I assure you.

Wow… this turned into a bit more of a rant than I thought it would..whoops. I didn’t mean it to come off that way. I do hope it helps someone out there though, who tries to just keep it all in instead of letting it out.

Create, in any way you can. Express in any way you can. It will make life a hell of a lot more enjoyable

Now, if you will excuse me, it’s time to get back to my studio

-Rena