Tag Archives: submissive

Scavenger Hunt

 

My mind wandered while walking through Good Vibrations in the Mission neighborhood of San Francisco today. This is what it came up with. Not a journal entry… but a story.

Daddy and I play fun, fun games when he lets me come over.

 Sometimes, I get to play with Daddy’s lollipop and make it big and hard while he’s talking to bigs on the phone. Sometimes we get to play hide the lolly, and I have to guess where Daddy’s gonna put it next. We’ve tickled, wrestled, and played doctor… our little secret, Daddy says.

Sometimes, Daddy tries new games. Like the scavenger hunt. 

Daddy and I had play time at night. I was ready, making sure I had my stuffy and binky all ready for play time when my phone went BUZZ BUZZ

Daddy: Put down your little stuffy for a minute and go check outside, poppet. 

I giggled and raced to the door, dropping my stuffy along the way. Sometimes, Daddy was magic. He knew the things. 

A small brown box sat outside of my door. I took a photo and sent it along before bringing the box inside. 

Good girl. Now look inside and let Daddy know what you find. 

I squeed loudly and opened the box. What could it be? Candy? A new stuffy? Chocolate, which is soooo much better than just candy?

Inside were three little pink bags with numbers on them.  1, 2, 3. My phone lit up. 

Open number 1, princess. 

Inside was a pair of tiny, tiny panties that didn’t cover anything. I giggled. They were pretty, and soft, and see through. 

Put them on for me, princess. Daddy likes pretty little panties over your pretty, pink princess parts. Open number 2 for me. 

Inside the little pink bag was a tiny buzz buzz, one so tiny it could slip inside me and stay. I stared at it, already getting squirmy just looking at it. 

That goes inside your princess parts, poppet. Can you slip it inside for me? I bet you’re nice and wet for Daddy already. 

I sat down and pulled the tiny bit of pink aside, taking the buzz buzz into my other hand and slowly, slowly slipped it inside me. I was all wet already, think about Daddy’s fingers and lollipop instead of a silly buzz buzz. 

Now number three. 

Number three was a card with an address on it. After the first two I pouted, surprised and disappointed. 

We’re playing a new game, sweetie. I want you to go to where the card says. Take a photo and send it to me when you get there. Can you do that for me? Be my good girl? 

Yes, Daddy. 


The address had big person toys inside, like buzz buzzes and dress up clothes for bigs. Daddy had taken me here before, one time when we were playing dress up and he said I could be a big girl for the night.

Good girl. 

Just as I walked through the door the buzz buzz between my legs turned on. I squeaked, confused, and pressed my legs together as the cute pink panties got all wet. 

Don’t get too distracted, poppet. I need you to find something for Daddy. Go all the way in the back and find me something big, and silver, and pink.

The buzz buzz was still on.  I moved to the back of the store soooooo slowly, trying not to look at all the bigs. They didn’t know about the buzz buzz. It was our little secret. 

The back of the store had more fancy dress up things, things that went in instead of on. I liked things that went in. I ran over the the row of shiny silver buttplugs that sat in rows, the stainless steel shining in the light from the store windows. This had to be the silver, but what..  

Bunny! BUNNY BUNNY BUNNY!

There right in front was a fluffy pink bunny tail. I squealed in delight and picked it up, forgetting for just a minute about the buzz buzz while I sent a photo to Daddy. 

Good girl. 

I didn’t forget long. Suddenly the buzz buzz was BUZZING so much I let out a moan in the store.

Cum for Daddy. 

I did, there in the corner of the store, wet trickling down my leg as I tried to keep standing and not have too many people look at me. I loved when Daddy told me what to do. 

Good girl. Now on to the next place. 

I whined as the buzzing lessened. I wanted to see Daddy NOW! Especially with the buzz, buzz, buzz making me all squirmy. 

The next stop was a clothes store with all the things littles like me like. Little skirts, bows, pretty socks and shoes. My phone went buzz buzz while the buzz buzz inside woke back up again. 

Go find a pretty outfit for Daddy, princess. Try it on and send Daddy a photo. 

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZZ

I ran into the store, picking out a tiny black skirt, pretty pink top and pretty white knee socks. Giggling inside the changing room, I sent more photos to Daddy. 

You are such a good girl for me, kitten. Now I need you to do something very special for Daddy. Can you do that for me? 

Of course, Daddy. 

Daddy doesn’t want anything underneath your pretty new outfit. I want you to take your pretty new panties off. Let Daddy see.

I gulped inside the dressing room. How was the buzz buzz going to stay in?

The pretty pink panties were all wet when I took them off. I spread my legs for Daddy, showing him they were all gone while the buzz buzz kept buzzing. 

Cum for Daddy. 

I didn’t change back into my clothes. Daddy said that was okay, since the skirt was all wet now.  

Last stop, poppet. Daddy’s inside waiting for you with nommy food. Just make sure that your little buzz buzz doesn’t fall out, okay? Otherwise you don’t get the rest of your surprised. 

I moaned out loud, trying to walk quickly yet carefully to the nommy food. The whole time the buzz, buzz, buzz kept buzzing. 

I sent Daddy a photo of the nommy restaurant as I walked inside, looking around for him. 

Buzz buzz went my phone. 

Not so fast, kitten. You’re all wet. Go to the bathroom and clean up. 

Groaning, I scurried to the bathroom as fast as the slippery buzz buzz would let met. Buzz buzz went my phone as I tried to clean up some of the wet running down my bare legs. 

You’re forgetting something, poppet. Your outfit isn’t done. What’s missing? 

The bunny tail.  I gulped. 

Be a good little bunny and put your tail in for Daddy. It will keep your buzz buzz nice and in place. I’m sure your princess parts are so slippery and wet by now. The buzz buzz needs help staying in place. Just remember, it can’t fall out princess 

The silver plug at the end was soooo big. There in the bathroom stall, skirt hiked up and legs spread, I slowly began to ease the plug, but by bit, into my naughty back door. I moaned quietly, aware of the women in stalls on either side of me, working the plug in and out, in and out, until it worked itself in with a POP. 

Daddy was MUCH bigger. Still. With the buzz buzz and the tail my little princess parts felt so tight. The wet got even worse as the buzzing started again.

Time for dinner, poppet.  

I got three steps out of the bathroom when I felt a hand on the back of my neck. I squeaked, wanting to turn around and hug him but he squeezed, silencing me. 

“This way, little love.” He started steering, using his hand on my neck to guide me to a table. Just as I reached the chair I felt the whiskers from his beard by my ear. 

“Come for Daddy, my dirty little bunny girl.”

I let out a chirp, my legs slamming together as I sunk into the chair that Daddy pulled out. He laughed and kissed the top of my head. 

“Good girl.” He pulled out his phone as he sat down. The buzz buzz buzz between my legs got worse. Between that and the tail I couldn’t sit still. I squirmed around on my seat, imagining the wet spot I was leaving. 

Daddy ate SO SLOWLY. Any time I would let out whimper or wine he would hit his phone and the buzzing would get worse. “Patience, poppet.” 

Finally, finally we ate all the noms. Daddy took my hand and walked me to the car, taking his time while I wiggled, the tail and buzz buzz still inside. 

“Did you like our little game today, kitten?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” I tried to find a comfy spot on the seat. 

“Good girl. You know what you get?” He reached into the glove compartment and handed me a small container of chocolate sauce.

“You did so well on our scavenger hunt, princess, that I thought we could try two new games today. When we get home I thought we would see if chocolate tasted different on lollipops.”

I squirmed, all wet and drippy from my pretty tail and the buzz buzz and now there was chocolate. 

“Does that mean I get to play find the lolly, Daddy? I’m good at finding things!”

“Yes you are, princess.” Daddy smiled. 

I do so love when Daddy and I play games. 

Aaaand the end. I do hope I managed to entertain all of you 😉

Yours, creative

-Rene

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,

-Rene

Same Dance, Different Steps

 

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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

-Rene

 

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,

Rene 

NRE

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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 played..plays..it’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 me..in 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

~Rene

 

Closure

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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

-Rene

 

 

 

Daddy’s Girl

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I am sitting on a plane back to San Francisco after one of the most painful visits to New Jersey I have ever had. We buried my DadDad on Saturday… Something my brain still hasn’t really processed. His failing health ended up eclipsing the kinky fuckery entries that I started, and then stopped and put off to the side until I could emotionally handle them.. For that I am sorry. I am going to try to start writing more frequently again. I miss the outlet of writing. It honestly helps when shit hits the fan to process it through these entries… And I admit my voyeuristic side greatly enjoys sharing my journey with all of you.

Today, two worlds met in a surprising way. I’ve mentioned before that I am very close to my dad. I still call him daddy (and no, I have never called a partner that, even when I go into little space..), and at 24 still consider him a super hero and partner in crime.

My dad is no angel. He went to art school in Soho in the 70’s… He’s told me stories from getting drunk in the darkroom of the photo lab to fucking one of his professors and still only getting a B in her class. These aren’t exactly normal dad stories.. But as I’ve grown we’ve become friends as well as father and daughter, and his stories have always been a way to illustrate that. They’ve also been an outlet for him, I think. My mom and him have had a rule since they got married. Their pasts don’t exist. They don’t talk about exes or past lovers. In nearly 30 years of marriage they never have. It works for them… And so I get to hear all the stories of my dad’s past so that he doesn’t blab them to my mom.

That being said, my parents are pretty vanilla. My dad has always been a one-woman man and my mom has only ever been with my dad. She lost her virginity to him. She doesn’t own a vibrator outside of a little bullet I bought for her (the big ones scared her…) that is still in the box. They don’t have toys. There’s no cross hidden in the closet. They, in the past couple years, haven’t quite known what to make of me, or what questions were safe to ask. They were curious.. But anything kinky often fell into the third category of knowledge (1:need to know. 2: don’t need to know. 3: DO NOT TELL ME UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE EVER).

So, imagine my surprise when on the way to the airport tonight my dad goes, “So… What exactly is the scene?”

Ho boy. How to explain.

“It’s a lot of things, daddy.. And different for different people. For me, the kink scene is BaGG nights and parties at the Citadel. It’s when a group of us with shared interests, usually influenced by BDSM, get together and do our thing.”

“And what is BDSM?”

I knew my dad was vanilla. I didn’t know he was THAT vanilla.

And so I broke it down for him. I explained my world to him, best I could, in a way that wouldn’t make him sick to his stomach while He was driving me to La Guardia.

There was no disgust. No, “I forbid it!” Just a series of questions I could tell he had been wanting to ask for a long time. Most I had the answer to. Why do I have to wear a collar. Why do I want to. What exactly is a play party. How does this scene relate to James and I.

Some questions were harder to answer. Like, “Do you get hurt? Or is it just play?”, and, “Will you continue to live this lifestyle when you get married? Do you still want to even get married?”

It’s hard for someone who has only known monogamy (with a VERY possessive wife) to imagine wanting more. I could see that when I explained poly play, my other partner Chris, and what happened at Surrender. He didn’t understand why I wanted to do what I did. Didn’t understand why it was a need. I saw him wanting to understand. Saw him struggling.

My dad is afraid of heights. He gets a tone in his voice when he gets scared while we drive over bridges. As we talked, his voice took on that tone. His responses got shorter. His breath came heavier.

“You get why this is hard for me to understand, right kid? You understand why this is all hard to hear?”

Of course I do. I’m daddy’s girl. I was the first one to sit on his lap. I was the one he would read stories to every night growing up. HELL I have the female version of his name. We both have the same initials, and both go by our middle names.

What father wants to imagine their daughter having sex with multiple partners, or asking someone to hit them or bruise them? I doubt there is any protective father out there who would enjoy watching their daughter accept the kiss of a whip. If anything I know a few that would throw themselves between the whip and their child.

Still, even with this struggle he listened. He asked questions. He tried to understand. He would rather hear about this side of myself that he doesn’t know, one that’s hard for him to know, than have me hide myself. Would rather squirm than create distance between us.

I have always talked about my boyfriends to my parents. I have gushed many a time about my men, and usually they respond. With James, however, it’s been different… And that has made me a little sad, I’ll be honest. My parents know how we met, how we know each other. It took them a little time to process the wheelchair, and after that it took them a lot longer to process the rest. Any time I would share something of what James and I were doing (always vanilla. Comforting me after DadDad died, excursions to the movies or Black Bear Diner) the retort was always the same. “That’s nice, honey.” They never asked questions outside of how he ended up in a wheelchair. They never wanted more information, when they always had before.. And they never trusted I was safe with him. My parents never out right said that last part, but when I was with previous boyfriends for the night they would leave me alone. When I spend nights with James they make me check in.

For the first time, once we had exhausted the uncomfortable part of our conversation, my dad asked questions about my parter. I told him about the geeky sides of James, about being wrapped up in a James burrito at night and Hamlet monologues, and 5 am conversations that turn into 8 am snuggles because we don’t want nights to end.

I also told him about James’s family.. And in doing so found myself grateful for my family. I haven’t gotten to know my boyfriend’s parents or siblings because they will dislike me without knowing me. His family wants to know nothing of the kink side of himself, nothing at all. That includes partners.

James constantly walks this line between respecting his parents and respecting me. Here is a man flourishing in the kink community, connected with some of the top names in the business, and he can’t share his success with his family. They don’t want to know. He takes beautiful photographs of fetish models, and even gets to be a staff photographer at an international BDSM convention. They don’t want to know.

He met someone. Someone he has feelings for. He’s in a good, healthy relationship for the first time in almost a decade and it’s going somewhere.

They don’t want to know.

My dad may have been uncomfortable. He may not understand. But he wanted to know. He wanted to try.. And while it’s not his thing he accepts me for who I am.

It’s possible to be daddy’s girl and a kinky, submissive slut.. If you dad will listen. I am lucky.. As much as I am hurting, I know I am blessed.

Yours, so ready to be home
-Rene

A Change in Title

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I have identified as a ‘submissive’ since I entered the public scene. It’s a catch-all term, a word that was the easiest way for me to explain the pleasure that I felt kneeling in front of Sir, of having someone I care for use me how he sees most fit and gaining pleasure from it. It was the easiest term to use as the flashing neon sign next to my Fetlife tag. “Use me. Please. For your pleasure and mine. Mark me. Claim me. Want me.”

For as much as I’ve played and explored, I clung to that title above all others. I’ve identified sides of myself that are little, masochistic, a wee bit switchy at times, hedonistic, damn slutty, and bratty to name a few… and it was easiest to just throw them all underneath the submissive umbrella. All were components of my service, and service meant submission, right? Different ways, different times, but everything I did was to serve my partners and bring them as much pleasure as possible, which in turn gave me pleasure. A great deal of it.

Very rarely are the right paths the easiest ones.

I am going to start with two short stories that seem unrelated, but then combine into one. One is that my primary has told me, from the beginning of our relationship, that regardless of whether or not we work out he’s determined to see me a better person as a result of it. He pushes me, not hard enough for me to ever come close to breaking, but hard enough that I question myself in a healthy way. If I say self-demeaning comments, usually out of complete reflex, he will catch me on it and ask me why I say that. He peels back layers I have safely hidden behind, my armor that keeps people from getting too close and knowing too much, and waits. Waits until I trust him enough to give him a straight answer which then unravels my behavior… And yes, I love him for it. I love him for his patience with me, for being understanding, and for being there to stop the negative spirals when it seems I’m falling too fast or too great.

And now, story number two. Not so long ago, Sir and I met a couple. We were at Master’s Den, one of my favorite events both for high protocol it is and because he doesn’t work..and so I get to play. Before Sir and I played, we watched this particular duo. The female, small yet incredibly mighty, took quite a lot from her Master in the exact opposite way that I do. I’m… vocal. Very. I will stay mostly still but I scream. She danced, and jumped, and wiggled, but remained silent. After their scene, Sir approached them both and asked permission to play with miss Small yet Mighty… Which led to a scene, and more scenes, and talk of photoshoots and friendships…

And thus, with a couple beatings, began a bit of a learning experience for me that I’m honestly still exploring. The couple have become fantastic friends, with an incredibly energy about them both individually and together. Watching them I was surprised at some of the similarities between their dynamic and my own… The fluidity they had between strict protocol one moment and laughter and giggles the next. The sassy playfulness. The respect all around when respect was due.

She was his slave. He was her Master. Two titles I had never considered in relationship to myself.. and yet…

I was always afraid of the label of ‘slave’. I was taught, early on, that slave’s were not allowed to say no. A slave gave up their safeword. A slave was used whenever, wherever, with nothing off limits.. As much as I’ve explored, and as much as I want to please, I do have limits.

…But I’ve also never let a man push my limits as much as James has. I’ve never trusted someone so completely to know my limits, and to listen to me when I express that we’ve reached one.

The lovely slave and I have met up a couple of times on our own and talked, about our relationships, our pasts, our current friendships..and the parallels continued to tweak in my mind an identity I had been so set on.. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know for sure.

And so, I did what I knew to do. I asked James.

We were driving back from an event earlier in the night..and I love those car rides, because we talk about everything from childhood road trips to future naughty plans to what he plans on doing once the car is in park… In the dark, uninterrupted, with no one else around and with a great night behind us, I asked the question that I had been asking myself for a couple of weeks.

“Do you think I’m a submissive or a slave?”

I got a raised eyebrow and a volley of questions back and forth as he searched for the origin of my question and why it was brought up. He answered some of my questions..and dispelled the last of my fears. Slaves, just like submissives, can say no. They can always stop it..and he will always respect my limits. And so, I asked again what my Sir thought I was.

“I don’t know.” Pause, a smirk, a raised eyebrow. “What are you?”

I didn’t think about my answer. I didn’t pause. I didn’t have to. It came out on its own.

“I am yours.”

He chuckled. “Well that answers that question, now doesn’t it?”

And it did.

Hello, my name is Rene. I’m a 24 year old kinkster living in the Bay Area. I enjoy submitting to people and playing in all manner of fun ways, from impact to sensation to fire and wax. I am polyamorous, though lean more to the realm of poly-play than poly relationships… I am a lover, a girlfriend, a little, a partner, a pixie, a squeaky toy..  And I am a slave. I am owned by an incredible man. I serve him happily.

As it was in the beginning, it is even more so now.

I am his.

And I am happy.

(A Long Overdue) Day 30!

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30) Is your need to submit being met? If not, or if your situation changed, do you think that you could continue in your life and still be happy/content if you were never able to express your submission in the way that feels best to you again? What makes submission special to you?

This is being asked to me after a night that is still making me smile. James and I went on a date last night. A simple thing. A bite to eat and time together. But not something I ever take for granted..  Something I am very, very grateful for.

There was a time when I struggled with being ashamed of what I was… for a variety of reasons. There was a time when Kane was ashamed to be attracted to me, to want me..and that made me extremely ashamed of myself. What was wrong with me that he didn’t want to be attracted to me? What I so repulsive?

After that finally ended, after I removed myself from a relationship too emotionally masochistic for me, I came to terms with focusing on myself for a while. I wasn’t interested in dating. Didn’t want a relationship. Didn’t want to have to put in the work when I was already working on myself and had finally gotten used to being completely on my own.

And then I run into James, quite on accident. I’ve seen him a couple times before then, but not on his own. Always in the Citadel, always with our friend Squeeks in his lap. They kissed a lot, and she wore his collar from time to time. I assumed that they were together.

They weren’t, I found out. He was very single. I was working on it. And it was finally okay for me to feel attracted to him. It was April. I hadn’t been under his hand since November, at Surrender.. and I wanted to be. I ended up on my knees in front of him, exploring pain and pleasure in a way I hadn’t before.

Are my needs being met as a submissive?

I am a greedy sub. I always want time with Sir. I’m happy when I’m with him… The world shuts up for a little while, and even if we’re stressing about life, the universe, and everything we have the time to talk to each other.. We have a confidant that isn’t going to squeal about every last little thing about our conversations. There are head pets, snuggles, kisses…spankings and scratches and bites.. Sometimes screams. And I love it all. I love the play, and I love just going out to dinner and talking…

My submission is a part of me.. I’ve said that time and time again in these entries. It is as much a part of me as my brown eyes or my curvy figure. I can’t change it about myself. If it wasn’t able to come out in serve to a person, as I thought was going to be the case for a long while, it’s going to come out in service to the community. I show up to quite a few events as-is, because the kink community has become my family out here. Just because a relationship begins or ends doesn’t mean my submission does the same.. A Top, a Sir, a Dom, or a Master do not make me a submissive. I make myself submissive. I own that identity, and it took me a damn long time to do it.

Thus far on my journey, I have no regrets. Although I gotta say, I’m kind of glad this is the last of the 30 days.. It will be nice to get back to the regularly scheduled programming (and allll the backlogged entries that I have saved). Thank you for putting up with my tardiness on the entries, as well as for reading my words at all.

More to come, as always, and as always I am yours

-Rene

Day 29

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29) Is pain or humiliation (spankings for example) a part of your submission? What is your relationship to it? Do you embrace it as a part of your submission, tolerate it as necessary or have some other type of relationship with it?

I feel like I’ve answered this already…

Yes, pain is part of my submission. My relationship to pain is…confusing for me. Because it’s new, it’s shiny, and it’s something that I never thought I would love.

It’s become, as weird as it sounds, its own type of love language. I love when James spanks me..because it’s not just the spanking. It’s that caress before. It’s when he knows just the right moments to check on me, where I need to see his face and have a hand in my hair before the beating continues. It’s that thrill of showing him just what a good girl I am and how much I can take.

I like pain.

I love when he doodles on my chest, carving beautiful designs in it with his nails. I love when he yanks my hair. I become a rag doll, pliant and compliant and a giant ball of need… I love love love love LOVE being marked up after all of this…

But I love all this with James.

My pain threshold is dependent on my Sir being close by and accessible. He’s in the same building, he’s administrating the beating, he’s helping, or he’s taking pictures.. Then I want to fly. I want to excel and pose and show off and show him just how much I can take. When he’s not nearby, or I can’t reach him… The safety blanket just buckles and I can’t perform.

I like pain, when it’s balanced by James’s protective energy. He hurts me, yes, but if anyone harms me he will protect me. I know that with absolutely certainty.. The community knows you don’t harm what is his. And I’m his.

Yours 29 posts later (ONE TO GO!!!)

-Rene