Tag Archives: dominance

Exploring New Ground

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Tomorrow I leave for Fusion, a Dark Odyssey event in Northern Maryland. The event consists of 5 days of kink, INTENSE kink, classes, bonding, camping, etc.

When I originally bought my ticket, I was in a very different place with a very different relationship dynamic. I bought it missing the connection I had felt at Surrender between D.O members, and with the hopes of further exploring a connection with somehow I had met at the event outside of the “crash, bang, boom” as he put it.

Now, going, it’s almost like starting from scratch. I am in something new and shiny with someone who just doesn’t do relationships (something I’ve heard over, and over, and over), who for some reason picked me. The question is, will he keep me or will I bore him?

I have been back in New Jersey almost a week visiting my family before Fusion (the excuse that allows me to go to the event)..and I am at the point of crawling out of my skin. I’m blessed to live in a kink bubble, where all of my friends are in the scene in some way. I didn’t even think about vanilla repercussions for kinky actions before I left. I asked James to mark. I don’t have a collar yet (and I don’t want one yet. I take the commitment of a collar seriously. It’s something that’s earned with time and not something that appears just because you say you’re in a relationship with someone) and I needed something for my frazzled subby mind to feel claimed when I’m going to an event where many MANY others will be touching, and taking, and fucking, and spanking me. And, short term, it worked. I love when he bruises me. I wear the marks with pride.

…My parents…not so much. Hearing what I do is one thing. Seeing visible proof of the type of relationship I am in? … Probably a bit too much for them, along with me trying to justify why I have the marks. “I’m going to be gone for so long, and I’m going to a big kink event without my significant other. Seeing the marks makes me feel possessed even when he isn’t here.”

…Bad choice of words resulting in multiple lectures about how “loose” I’ve become. I’ve written multiple times about how open minded my parents are, and they really are. They will just always see me as their little girl, and processing the fact that their little girl craves being bruised and marked up is too much for most parents that I know, even mine.

Fusion… I’m still torn about it. Yes, I’m excited. I got my tent. I’ve got the extra phone chargers, a rough schedule of what I’m up to, a notebook for classes, more outfits than GODDE because dammit I’m gonna look cute if I’m gonna be photographed. But I’m still nervous. I know Smith and I will cross paths, along with his partner, and I’m not sure what will bother me more. If he acknowledges me or if he doesn’t. I don’t care about any kinky fuckery we engaged in. I care about the loss of a friend… so much so apparently that I’ve had rather vivid nightmares depicting multiple reactions from him if we cross paths. Why am I going on my own? Why did I think this was a good idea???

Before I left for my trip back east I stopped by to visit my friend Lexi. She humors me and listens to me ramble…probably much too much… and I did indeed ramble about James. It’s been a while since someone has gotten to me as much as he has, gotten under my skin, and she let me gush about how sweet he is, let me ramble about how nervous I was and how new and shiny things were and what on fucking earth was I doing. She smiled when I squeed about being in a relationship again..actually being someone’s girlfriend where that someone is willing to show me off to people. I exist, everyone knows it..and it’s a nice novelty after being a secret and a second choice.

We talked about my worries about Smith and any conflict between him, his partners, and I. She just laughed. “You’re not a drama starter, pixie”, she told me. “You’re not going to go looking for a fight you don’t want. Besides, before if they messed with you they were messing with me, along with others. Now?” She laughed. “They’re messing with James. Not something someone does unless they have a death wish. He chose you, sweetie. That means a LOT, especially from him. He doesn’t take someone on lightly.”

Logically, I know all this. But logic and I don’t always get along, especially when emotions get involved.

The logic of “I am his” slowly gets worn away by days trapped in a time warp 3000 miles away. I love my family, I do, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been gone from my kinky little world, especially for this long. There’s only so many times I can say “I miss you” and not feel pathetic.. which I kinda do. It hasn’t been that long. It’s been a week. I’ve done long distance relationships where I went months without seeing my boyfriend and I was okay.. But I also skyped with that person, and had nightly phone calls, and sent photos back and forth and… yeah.

I’ve mentioned before how tactile I am. How I need touch from a partner. Being away from someone who I’m used to all but mauling me twice a week while immersed in this time warp environment has not been good for my girl brain, at all. He’s given me time.. he texts me when he can, and I appreciate that. I smile every damn time I see a text message from him. But I keep waiting for something to go wrong.

Because when I was with Kane and I came home, something always did.

Not a single holiday passed when we were dating where I wasn’t crying, missing the connection between he and I. I would go weeks without hearing his voice and seeing his face and it would KILL the part of me that craves connection. Trying not to go into panic mode with James when I’m this far away for this long has been an interesting challenge. He doesn’t do selfies, can’t Skype, and has shitty phone reception.. so my options are limited to words showing up on a screen. And I can feel the disconnect, the removal from the world I’m normally happily a part of.

When I’m fully immersed in the SF Kink scene I have no jealousy issues, and no self-doubt issues. I can tell from the way James looks at me that I am his, even when he goes off and spanks others, kisses others, etc. Most of the time I’m such a voyeur that I love to watch him do bad things to others, and the idea of watching him bottom for someone actually turns me on quite a lot.

Tonight, my jealousy spiked, along with my insecurities, while I was packing for camp. I was texting with James and he told me that he had recently reconnected with an old friend, and that they had bitten him last night.

Girl brain did very bad things. My lovely girl brain immediately tail spinned, going “That’s it! That’s the bad thing! You’re about to be downgraded, girl. Forget keeping that girlfriend title, forget having that talk about being his primary partner. FORGET IT. There’s no way you can compete with someone he has history with, especially when you’re this far away for this long. Of course he’s playing with someone else! You’re practically unreachable for almost a month. What did you expect?”

Now, logically I realize that my girl brain is on crack. A man like James does not randomly go “Ummm… YOU! I pick you!” after years of not having a relationship and just drop them like nothing. I know he cares about me. But I feel so damn isolated out here, and he’s out there having fun, and seeing friends, and playing.. and all my insecure bits say, “This is a very new relationship.. perhaps too new to survive you being gone this long…”

I am scared of Fusion, but I also think I need it to get my head back on straight. I am a kinky little creature. I’ve gotten into a pattern of play, between BaGG and dungeon parties, and too long without it does not make for a happy pixie. Specifically, and I hate admitting this, too long without seeing James. Without kneeling at his feet, or curling up next to him, attempting and failing to brace myself for the slaps and nails and kisses that make my knees week. I want to see what this other kink community is like… and I admit, I’ve enjoyed planning things with James in mind. I’m putting myself out there with getting photos taken. I normally hide from the camera at all costs… but I’m with a voyeur, and I aim to please.

This is new ground for me all around.. new kink event, new relationships, new boundary lines with the parental units…

Time to finish packing.

Yours a little out of sorts..but I’m getting there

-Rena

Self-Dicipline and Serving My Body

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Yesterday, I had that moment that every woman dreads.

It was warm out for San Francisco. It had been for the last few days. I decided that it was time to dig through my drawers and pull out one of my favorite pairs of shorts. They were longer, dress style, button and zip fly, and I had no worries of chubby chafe with them. I had worn them just fine a year ago when I had gone down to Disneyland with my family for Easter. I hadn’t really touched them since then.

I pulled them up, went to button the fly..and..

Fuck. Fucky fuck. Fucky fucky fuck fuck.

It buttoned. Barely. Uncomfortably. I immediately pulled them of and pulled on my “fat shorts” that always had room in them. They fit perfectly.

FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK.

I have been on and off diets since I was 8 years old. I’ve always been curvy, and my mother, who was 4 ft 6 and 80 lbs soaking wet, never quite understood what to do with me. I was a double digit clothing size when she was a double zero. I’ve never NOT had to work to keep my body in some sort of shape other than round.. and it’s so easy to get lazy.

I had a very poor self-image for a very long time. I saw “FAT” whenever I looked in the mirror. Who on earth would ever want me? I was never going to be the average person’s version of beautiful. I was in my 20’s and I was supposed to be the skinniest I would be in my whole life… and I was pretty fucking heavy. I hated it.

..And then I found out what service was.

Cal, Kane, Smith, Graham.. Every single Dominant man I have known, for however long I’ve known them.. from one-night encounters in a dungeon, to actual romantic relationships that extended outside of the bedroom, made me feel like, in that moment, that I was the most incredible woman in the world. That I was a goddess, even as I was being used for their pleasure. I have never felt more beautiful then when Kane was taking me. Not asking. Not making love. Taking what was his, a hand wrapped around my neck, because he could. Because only I, in that moment, was capable of pleasing him. My body and what it could do pleased him. As is. Not 20lbs lighter. Not 60. As is.

Any time in the past where I have mentioned to Kane that I wanted to lose weight I have always been met with the same response: I think you are beautiful as is, but you need to be happy with you.

It’s amazing how long that message can take to sink in.

It kind of hit me while I was standing there, strained fly in hand, glaring down at my shorts.

I know I am desired by men. I know I am a DAMN good submissive when I am permitted to serve. I know that I am pleasing in both my deeds and actions and I know that I want to make myself better, for myself and as a reflection of who I serve. I want to be better, and that means taking care of my body.

Yes, I am beautiful. Yes, I want to lose weight and get in shape.

Submission has taught me many things and pushed my body to lengths I didn’t think it could go. I have taken lashes, smacks with a riding crop, spankings, and paddles when I thought I just couldn’t do it, but I did it because it was asked of me. Because I wanted to please someone. Because I knew that I could make it through, so long as I grit my teeth and focused.

If I can go through beatings for others, why can’t I go through exercise and diet for myself?

Why can’t I use the discipline and determination I’ve gained in serving others to serve myself for once? If I go into super subby mindset, getting myself in shape does serve others in the long run. I will be more confident in my appearance, and my body will more than likely be able to take more and be bendier (hopefully… Yoga is involved..and being Gumby should be part of a submissive’s job requirements…). I will be more pleasing to the eye, not because I am ugly or fat now, but because I will hold my chin higher, my chest further out. I will smile more and be more open, less likely to hide because of my chub.

So, this submissive is back on Weight Watchers by her own choosing. I like it because it makes me accountable for every single thing I put in my mouth. I have to track, have to write it down, and have to see the consequences when I eat crap. I’m back to using my Fitbit, to see every single step I take towards a little better physical me.

I am beautiful. I am desirable. And if I don’t believe that, no one else will. I could be more confident though, more sure of myself. And I will be.

It helps that I actually LIKE healthy food. The exercise…eh… but there’s always room for improvement.

Bring on the vegetables and yoga classes!!! RAWRR!!!!!

Yours continually trying to better herself,

-Rena

One Pain for Another

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I have been thinking a lot lately about pain.

Okay, that came off REALLY wrong.

Is it possible to think about pain in a good way? To analyze, as a submissive, why I need (not want, need) a good spanking to get my head on straight, or a flogging to make me fly? Why anal sex is my favorite because of that pleasure/pain line that pushes my body so?

I am a psych major..and I forget that most of the time. When I am how I’ve been lately, covered in clay and plaster along with the crazy cat next to me (also covered in clay and plaster…), pushing myself to sketch out new pieces, search for kilns to fire in, get the courage to approach galleries.. I forget that I went to Lesley originally for psychology. Art is in my blood, but there is a part of me that loves picking things apart. Figuring out why people react the way they do. Why they love what they do and do what they do…

I do this with myself, often. Most of the time it’s in a healthy way, to stop myself from harmful behavior, from spiraling or over-eating or getting angry without reason. I stop, analyze what I’m about to do and why, what led me there, and what I should do next.

Kinda weird from someone who so often exists in the moment, and functions on emotions and action I know, but it happens.

I’ve been doing this lately with my relationship with pain; physical pain. Where it started. Why I put myself through it. In starting off this journey I wouldn’t have said I enjoyed pain at all. I was afraid of it. I still wouldn’t call myself a masochist. I’m a tenderfoot. Even when I was playing on a regular basis (and I mean REGULAR, 3-4 times a week at least) I could never take too much pain. I would cry and shake when Kane would spank me, gritting my teeth and willing myself to make it to the end, to show I could do it. It was to please him, to show him how tough I was..

Where did that start?

I’ve always been into body modification. I see the body as a canvas made to be decorated. My tattoos are my road map, showing my journey through life. What mattered to me so much that I put it on my body for all to see forever. I have 9 tattoos now, want more, and 17 piercings (I had 18 but a cartilage piercing in my ear closed.. must re-pierce that.. I don’t like not being symmetrical). I’ve always gotten the endorphin rush that follows the pain of a needle going through me… But I’ve been poking holes through my ears since I was 12 years old. I never thought anything of it. I loved the product of the pain, the piercing that I got to wear. The pretty jewelry. The feel of the rings in my ears. It made me happy.

My parents, as open minded as they are, were always against tattoos. I didn’t get my first until I was 19, though it was one I had planned for years. A pentagram on my back, with representations of the five elements inside of it (earth, air, fire, water, spirit). Tattoos are different.. They’re not the quick, endorphin rush pain of piercings. It’s a slow, painful burn that slowly wears you down. I max out at 4 hours of sitting.. I know people who can go longer. My older sister can sit for 5+, though she curses like a sailor the entire time.

I did these things because the result was pretty, or the symbols tattooed on me meant something, enough for me to sit through the pain. I didn’t enjoy the pain. I just knew that it came part and parcel with the things that would decorate my body.

The exception to this rule is a set of tattoos I got on Valentine’s Day 2013. My aunt had died on January 27th, and I wasn’t dealing with the pain. I was single, alone, trying to keep my head afloat and finish my senior year of college. I wanted to graduate, not for myself but for her. She was why I had gone to school to start with and not gone rogue, running to New York to be an artist. She had paid for my first semester of college, and given me money for every single semester so that my loans weren’t too horrific. I wouldn’t let her down.

I have always identified as Pagan, for as long as I can remember. I have never been able to read the Runes for divination, but I have always respected them and the mythology around them. I chose two runes, Uruz and Tiwaz. Uruz, for internal healing and strength, Tiwaz for the ability to persevere, to survive battle know matter what. I didn’t want to look at the symbols, I didn’t even really want others to see them. I wanted them to lead the way. To keep me going.

I got Uruz on the arch of my left foot, the bottom. Tiwaz on the right in the same spot. The tattoo artist told me that it would ink out, that in a few years the tattoos wouldn’t exist. I didn’t care. I wanted the symbols to be with me with every step. And I wanted the pain that came with the tattoos.

For the first time, I wanted physical pain to dull the emotional pain raging inside of me. My aunt was gone. My indestructible, strong, always there for me, force of nature aunt had died, and I needed to survive.

I say often that play makes my brain stop. When I’m in sub space, when I’m flying, I’m not thinking about money or stress or partners or.. anything. I’m blitzed out on the endorphins, in a place past pain that I can only get to if I go through the pain.

Is that the same as all my other tattoos, where I sat through the pain for the pleasure of the adornment? Or is this like that first exception, where I traded one pain for another?

Why do I need to fly?

Yours, thoughtful

-Rena

The Shrinking Man

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I love the Dominant men I’m involved with, in their different ways for the different relationships I have with them. I’ve gotten the closest to three; the man that found me, the man that owns me, and the man that pushes me. Each relationship is radically different from the last, with different levels of closeness.

Despite all the differences between the men and the relationships I’ve had with them they, along with most Dominant men I’ve met, have had a common trait; one that often clashes with the submissives in their care.

Submissives, by nature, are made to share. To be emotionally honest. To share every last detail, last thought, with the Dominant men in their lives so that the Dominants can be assured that their submissive is healthy, physically and emotionally, and that this relationship is still okay for both of them. In essence, we talk a lot. We share a lot. We can yammer until we’re blue in the face, especially if we’re nervous (just ask Kane…).

Dominants, from my experience, tend to do the opposite. They take any emotional burdens in on themselves. They want to process through emotional stuff on their own. Smith gave me the term “shrinking man”. He’s admitted to shrinking when he’s upset, or going through a hard time. He pulls away, gets quiet. Trying to balance and talk to submissives turns into another emotional burden, making the situation worse.

There’s nothing wrong with not being an emotional talker, with not wanting to express every last emotion and empty out what’s going on in your head. It’s just such a different approach than most submissives take on communication and processing emotions. This can be a bit of a mental mindfuck for subs, especially inexperienced ones.

This journal entry hits close to home for me.. it’s something I personally struggle with, seeing those I care about in emotional turmoil but being unable to help as they help me. A Dominant’s job is to be able to put together all the pieces of their submissive. To know what makes them tick. Know what their triggers are. In that knowledge, they ease their submissive during tough times more so than anyone else. Kane is the first man to see me at my worst, my most depressed, and know exactly how to bring me back from the emo ball of doom that I was in. He did it so easily, so effortlessly, that I hadn’t even noticed what he was doing until after, when I was curled up in his arms and my mood was 20 times lighter.

As a submissive, it’s hard not to feel like a failure when you can’t do the same for your Dominant, or a Dominant in your life. We want to make everything better, to please, it’s a need for us. We need to make it better… or we’re not doing our job, right?

Wrong. This can be the HARDEST thing for a submissive to process. Submissives, who are groomed to be emotionally open and pleasing and cause pleasure for those they care for and trust.

Sometimes you just can’t make it better, and that’s okay.

You, as a submissive, are not a failure if you can’t pull a Dominant in your life out of his funk or mood. It’s hard, because your focus is on them, You get pleasure from their pleasure..and if there is no pleasure for them… falling into their spiral of unhappiness is all too easy. “Why should you be happy” the bad voices say “if they aren’t? Why should you do well, take care of yourself, when you can’t take care of them?”

Because, in the end, taking care of yourself is your job. Yes, you gain pleasure from pleasing Dominants. Yes, I’m sure you care about the Doms in your life, probably even love some of them, or all of them, or one of them. Maybe you only have one spectacular Dominant man in your life who owns you, and you completely come undone for him. Maybe you have other players in the band who don’t have quite that much power over you, but let you come undone all the same. No matter how many men you have holding the flogger in the wings, you are, in the end, your Dominant’s prized possession. If you are not in working order, not taking care of yourself, you cause so much more harm than good.

The easiest way to help a Dominant who cares about you is to care for yourself. Keep going, Don’t shrink when he does, but don’t push either. Continue with your day to day life and do things that make you happy. Keep yourself okay, so that when they’re okay again you’re emotionally healthy enough to really be in their lives. It’s okay to be supportive, to let them know that you are there if they want to talk, or lean on you.. or, you know, beat some of their frustrations out on you if that’s your thing. But it needs to be okay with you, subby sub, if they say “Thank you, but I have to get through this on my own.” It’s not personal, it’s not against you. You are not a bad submissive. Your Dominant is just human, just like you are. Humans have flaws; cracks in their armor, even humans you worship, kneel in front of, and beg to use you for their pleasure. Dominants are not gods.

Polyamory adds a whole other twist to the mental mindfuck of pleasing the Shrinking Man. My friend says often that polyamory helps make you a better you, and that each partner helps bring out different parts of yourself. That may mean that when Mr. Domly Dom goes into shrink mode he turns to another partner instead of you.

This is not a personal attack, subby sub. You are in that person’s care for a reason. They play with you, or date you, or do wonderfully wicked things to you, or snuggle with you, for a reason. If you are in their lives, you hold importance to them and you have to remember that. Polyamory is a juggling act, making sure that every partner feels special and unique and secure in their particular relationship with you. That particular relationship may mean that another partner shoulders the heavier emotions so that your particular relationship with Dommy Dom remains healthy.

I have heard it said, and have said myself, that being a Dominant is a damn hard job. Supporting your submissive, anticipating their needs, and thinking of 12 different outcomes to one event is hard work. But being a submissive can be hard as well. It takes courage to submit, and strength in knowing when to submit and when to merely support. Don’t let the shrinking scare you off from the Dommy Dom, and please don’t read this thinking that all Doms shrink. Hopefully, this will just help a couple subs navigate emotionally choppy waters if it does happen. If you support the people in your lives, and still manage to support yourself, you are a good submissive. Keep going. Things will get better.

Yours hopefully helpful,

Rena

Peace of Mind (In Uncertain Times)

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I love watching Kane paint.

It’s not one of those things that I can put into words as to why, and it’s a hard balance for me between wanting to indulge in the enjoyment and making sure that my watching doesn’t make him uncomfortable. I don’t particularly like people watching me work over my shoulder. But he puts up with me doing it, and so I watch, content to sit quietly while he paints.

He and I are so different in so many ways. He is practical, he is logic. I am emotion, always emotion first. Sometimes that can be a fantastic mix, and sometimes it can be volatile.

It has been over a year now since I’ve started this journey. Over a year since Cal first messaged me and I jumped down the BDSM rabbit hole. Do I regret it?

Kane and I were out to dinner the other night and I mentioned it to him, that I had been in this world for a year. I asked if he thought I had made a mistake in staying in San Francisco.

“Sometimes.” He said. “I feel like you would had been further down your path if you had gone.”

I disagree. I feel as if I would have been further down my path as an artist.. but my work would be going in a very different direction from the turn it has taken. I would be in a city that yes, I enjoy greatly, but that has very few jobs. I would have enough student loan debt to keep me drowning for the next 40 years. I could teach, yes…but at what cost?

I didn’t choose the path he would have. I chose my heart over my head, emotion and need over logic. Do I regret it? No. Not at all. Not a single day.

Submission is a need for me. Even when I didn’t acknowledge it, it was there. I can remember with my very first “real” boyfriend certain key behaviors; for instance, my favorite spot was sitting at his feet while he played video games in his favorite chair. Why? it wasn’t as if I thought less of myself than I did of him. It was just that I enjoyed sitting at his feet. I felt at peace being there. By the time Jason and I split I knew well what I was. I had gotten him to dress me, spank me, claim me, mark me.. I knelt at his feet out of my own choosing, not his. I had Googled these urges to know what it was without Cal having to give it a name.

With how much these behaviors leaked out of me, there was a time limit on how long I could suppress my submissive side. Cal’s first message was just the final excuse to embrace it.

Submitting is the only thing that makes my brain STOP. All other aspects of my life are under control, for once.. Getting them under control have taken some time (hence my absence lately) but I’ve done it. It’s just.. a constant juggling act. And it’s exhausting. The NEED to submit becomes so strong sometimes it’s painful. Spank me. The silent voice inside me screams. Pull my hair. Fuck my mouth. Use my body for your pleasure. Take control and use to me to ease your aches. In doing so, you ease mine. You make the world stop, just for a little while, and I can be. Just be.

There are very few days where I feel as if I do good for Kane.. The other day I got the chance to do so. To aid him, and to help both of us. I am terrified of his rejection, of his frustration. I know I am a trying creature to deal with at times. I try his patience on a regular basis and can tank his mood if I push a subject too hard. The submissive of me is extra conscious about this…because each time I upset him it feels like I’ve failed him. I’m supposed to bring him pleasure and joy, not frustration and grief.

And so, when given the chance to do actual GOOD for him, un-fuckable good, I jumped for joy. Quite literally at one point. And I took a risk. I asked for what I wanted, for a way to aid both of us in sleeping well. I wanted to service him… needed to. I craved submitting to him, giving him pleasure and only pleasure. No grief. No emotions, no outside world or questions. Just service.

And he said yes.

And for just a little while, my brain shut the fuck up and I did good. I pleased him. And it felt so damn fucking good.

I am a submissive. I am not ashamed to crave his touch. A year ago, I would have been. I would have questioned what was wrong with me, that I wanted this man to use me. That my pleasure stemmed from his. That when he hurt me he didn’t harm me. Instead, that his spankings can bring me euphoric bliss.

A year ago I would not have called myself poly. I wouldn’t have even considered the idea of Smith, in fact a year ago a man like Smith who is VERY poly (enough partners to make up a small harem, as much as he disagrees with me) would have broken my heart. Instead, Smith has done so much good for me. He’s shown me how enjoyable poly can actually be, how multiple partners really do allow you to be the best you that you can be. He pulls out the aspects of my submission I still shy away from and has me stare them down, say that I’m not ashamed of them. Instead, he pushes me to embrace them.

He also.. listens. He loves hearing about Kane and I, about our relationship before we (Smith and I) met, about how it is now. What we do together when we are together. How I feel about him. Without Smith I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask for what I wanted the other night.

I love watching Kane paint, with sure strokes and a steady brush. I don’t know why. When I watch him, I think about my own work. The direction it is going in, the ideas his paintings give me for glazing techniques. As an artist, I admire Kane. On the canvas I see his emotions and his logic, I see his imperfections and his expertise, and part of me understands why I feel at peace when I kneel at his feet. Because for as different as he and I can be, we share a need that overlaps. We both need to create to function.. When we’re not working, we’re not okay. We both gain inspiration from dark desires, he from Dominating, me from submission.

Nothing in either of our lives is easily fixed, and nothing for either of us is certain right now. I don’t know when the day will come where he just doesn’t want me anymore. I’m terrified of that day. Because right now, I don’t need romantic hearts and flowers, or promises or expectations of love. I need use. I need a hand wrapped around my neck and a cock buried in my ass. I need to know that I do good with my service, that for a brief moment in our chaotic lives his brain stops going into overdrive just as mine does, and I bring him pleasure.

Use me. Twist me and turn me as you desire. Fuck me, don’t fuck me. Pull my hair, smack my ass.. because from your pleasure, I gain pleasure. From your release I gain inspiration. I am an artist inspired by my submission. And I refuse to be ashamed of that need. It has been a long fucking year, and I’m sure the next will be just as long, but it has given me a core part of myself and people in my life that understand and accept that part of me.

And a cat. I can’t forget Poe.

Many things in life change. Relationships change. Smith talks about necessary tweaking from time to time… and while my sexual identity may need “tweaking” from time to time, it’s no longer a big taboo question mark. That’s a good feeling.

Yours, as always, a proud subby and a work in progress

-Rena

Wear

It’s so easy to fall into routines. Wake up. Go to work. Go home. Crash. Wake up again, go to work. 

This summer has by far gone faster than any before it, and it hardly feels like a summer at all to me. I’m used to summer being this endless rest; four months where I can recharge my battery. Instead, I work my ass off and barely make ends meet. I find myself worn out by my job, as much as I love the kids, and excited for the chance to go home in two weeks. 

Two weeks. And then I get a whole nine days in Jersey. The last time for god knows how long. Thanksgiving? Christmas? I hope before that. I don’t know the next time I can get time off from work though. That I could get a whole week off is..amazing. 

I’m doing what I have to do. This weekend that means babysitting instead of going to the Citadel and flying. I didn’t get a chance to buy advanced tickets to the party at Alchemy tomorrow..and so I won’t be going to that either. For the next three weeks I don’t get to play..for various reasons. I’m gone to SoCal next weekend for birthday shenanigans and then i’m home. I WILL be twitching by the time I come back, and will need some serious play time with someone willing to take a firm hand to me.. any takers? 

Speaking of firm hands… wear has also meant both knowledge and built up resistance. I don’t flinch at hard spankings anymore, although I do cry out. Kane very rarely out right hurts me (and never does he harm me), but his spankings have bruised me to high hell, and his slaps can sting. There was one night where he got me to subspace by spanking alone, and then we went and played at the Citadel after, with my ass still raw… Goddes above did that hurt… It was the closest I’ve ever gotten to yellowing with him. After that I can take more. I scream, I cry, but I do not squirm away. 

I’ve had other hands touch me as well.. and there are times when that itch appears. The reminder that I am indeed poly, and need to play with others. There are times when I miss Cal’s style of domination a lot. He is incredibly formal compared to Kane, with proper table service and positions. He taught me a little before the mentorship ended..not much, and Kane has no interest in such things. Cal can also be…colder, more removed. He and I have yet to play properly..and there are times when my mind goes to bad places. Breath play. The violet wand. Marks on my body for weeks. How far would he push? I don’t honestly know. 

It’s fun to poke each other though. The playful nature remains in our conversations. He poked me today after I hadn’t posted a blog entry in a while and he wanted to make sure I was still breathing. I didn’t realize until we started messaging back and forth just how much I had missed him, even though I know he is continually a message or a text away. Send up the Bat signal and he’s there, the protective man that brought me into this kinky world. 

There’s something about talking to Cal that resets me; gets me to breathe easier. Perhaps it’s because I know he won’t bullshit or placate me. He always tells me straight, even when he knows it will hurt. Perhaps it’s because I know if anyone seriously hurts me Cal is likely to magically appear and break his jaw… There’s also the factor that I still absolutely trust him, and still have quite a bit of loyalty towards him… Regardless, we made vague plans to see each other in the coming week. Something to break up the monotony of my summer, and an opportunity to retrieve the art supplies currently living in Cal’s storage shed. I need to start working again. 

Thanks to Kane I will have the opportunity. My 23rd birthday is in exactly ten days. It will be my first birthday away from both of my parents..and the first birthday in a long while where I will receive an actual gift from anyone (that’s not to say that my parents didn’t make a big deal of my birthday growing up. They did. But the gifts usually consisted of a family party and cake.). He’s giving me the opportunity to work again, in the form of a 24/7 studio pass to a clay studio.

I’ve missed the feel of wet clay between my fingers; the cathartic release that it gives me. I am very much determined to get into grad school yet again, and that means making new work. 

I am tired, but I am not uninspired. Being with Kane makes me extremely happy. There’s a security, a rightness, in curling up in his arms at the end of a night. He says I give so much to him in my submission… but in truth it is simply my nature with him. 

In my routine I’ve developed an incredibly comfortable rap pour with the man I love. With him I can be completely myself…and I admit, I push my limits with him in ways I wouldn’t with other Doms. I act, dare I say, bratty at times, pushing him to one day go through with his threat of tying me to his bed for an entire evening. I’m sure he will one day, and I will relish every moment of it. I tickle. I poke. I play with his beard. I giggle, shamelessly, and watch that wicked gleam appear in Kane’s eye that means my ass is about to turn bright red from a beating.. 

I can go without the play parties when I get that most evenings. He picks up the pieces when I fall apart. He listens, always, when I need to talk. He’s not just a Dom.. he’s my boyfriend as well. Having that relationship where we can just sit and talk for hours on top of having incredible sex.. He helps to ease the wear. To remind me that I’m still breathing. That it will still be okay. It’s so easy to get lost in the sanitary he offers. 

Which is why it’s good when Cal pokes me from time to time. Otherwise the relationship hibernation would get me. And then the wear. And then I would probably suffer burnout. 

No burnout for me. I refuse. 

A rest would be nice though… a couple days just curled up in Kane’s arms.. and then flogged, and then fucked… 

I promise, I will get better at updating and actually typing about topics I want to discuss, not just rambling about my personal ish.

Yours…tired.

-Rena