Communication

13195153284_fb587ea938_k

Beginning in the open lifestyle was a rather tumultuous, stressful and halting start for me. When I was the single one and Ren and Nox were the couple, I had nothing to lose.  Nothing other than them as play partners.  And back when I played with them the first time I lost them pretty regularly. Most of the time I understood.  It was new, they had to figure it out within their love cocoon.  I didn’t take it personally for the most part but I got ousted pretty regularly.  I tried to watch and listen and do things the way they wanted.  Eventually, they moved on to many other people and my part was in the past.

Fast forward to now. I have Mr. D.  I am insanely, passionately and completely in love with him.  When we first began to date we shared our pasts and that we’d both tried open relationships in different ways.  We both wanted to continue with that openness. Two years later and we were still blissfully exploring our own relationship with no need of others.

Then I start talking to my couple again.  We talk, we share where we’re all at and playing again seems a good option.  I’m safe to them after so many problem people.  They are safe to me because they are a known factor.  Mr. D says, go have fun. Great and great.

But then, what I didn’t factor in (oh I tried and failed) was how I have changed and how I haven’t.  I played twice.  Both times it did what I set out to accomplish.  Nox seemed to enjoy our time together and Ren got heated up and touched by her kink in a good way.  Win win.

How I failed was to handle the whole situation along with my relationship with Mr. D poorly.  Bottom line, I did not communicate. I left Daddy wondering why I wasn’t giving him all the details. My failure to be completely honest was my downfall.  I had no reason at all other than timidity for why I didn’t and that brought near ruination to us.

I was a child playing with the seasoned adults and I acted like a child. On the other side of the coin, Ren and I talked for a long time in text.  We felt each other out.  She touched the edges and walls of her kink with me, testing the boundaries, feeling how it pulled her chains.  Before, it was always solely for her that we did this.  My joy was in serving her need and her kink. This time it was different for me because she touched a boundary I didn’t know was even there.  It felt like she was encroaching on my cherished relationship with Mr. D.  Wait, I thought, this is supposed to be about you not me!  Go back, we can’t go there. But, again, I communicated my needs poorly.  She was hurt by my actions.

For Daddy’s part, his engineer’s mind took over and he dealt with me swiftly.  I felt so horribly low for making him doubt me and doubt us.  And why? For no other reason than I couldn’t just treat the situation openly like an adult. I learned a hard lesson.  Holding back ultimately hurts more than anything else.  We talked but I still must be ever watchful that I am completely honest for him.  He deserves that from me always.

With the couple, I have no idea if we’ll play again.  Ren said no matter what we’re still friends.  I’m hopeful that’s the case. But she’s hurt and I don’t know how to fix that. Will we play again?  I don’t know.  At the moment, I just want to be in my love cocoon with Mr. D.

Photo courtesy of Sebastian Wiertz through CC 2.0 with Attribution

Advertisements

Rudderless

-i-b-the-gulf-stream
The Gulf Stream – Winslow Homer

From Mr. D.  He wrote this but chose not to post it because he wouldn’t impugn me.  He is a good man.  We are in a much, much better place today than two weeks ago.  I post this to remind me and to show all the raw hardness of life.  I learn and move forward.  I stand before him naked and bare.  I will not flinch, I will be better and do better.

Rudderless:

I am in pain. I am fighting within my soul for the sanctity of my being. I love a creature that is caring, epitomizes my desires in ethereal form, and is divine in her capacity to fuse my dreams with reality. Yet, she cannot follow the one tenet I require. Honestly communicate with me.
I will rise to any occasion. I will champion that which doesn’t deserve it. I will support the underdog and provide for all if they just treat me with honest respect… Never lie to me. Never tell me a half-truth. Never protect me from your feelings – if something or someone else touches your soul – amen. That doesn’t detract from us. It is separate and beautiful in its own right. Just be honest. Love is the answer not the question.

 

I placed myself in her life behind her son and her well-being. In so many instances I needed her and did not ask so as not to impart stress or force a choice between her or her son’s needs and myself. I would bide my time and when she was free; we would explode in light and love. Planning for when he was grown we would continue to grow without limits. I never acted in anger, fear, spite, or malice. I want peace in my life and a loving meaningful and explorative kinky love that allows personal growth for all.

 

I am unhinged, off the wagon, and in my darkest place. I am intoxicated and wallowing in self-pity. Feeling inadequate and self-abhorrent because I could not fill the void – I could not meet her need and demanded more than she could give. Her life before me was rife with stress due to a partner that was raging, chemical dependent, and volatile… a son that is at once empathetic, compassionate, and loving and fully ADHD. She bears the scars and walks upright as a survivor. I am awed by her. I love her. I love what we have and yet my trust is shaken. I am wholly unnerved and lost in doubt.

 

I know not what to do and feel adrift at sea… oarless. rudderless. at the mercy of fate.

Image available through Public Domain – Winslow Homer, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Missing Daddy

I have an early night tonight on the travel schedule.  It’s 9 o’clock here and I’m showered and in bed.  I was thrilled when I knew we’d be home early because I knew I’d be able to write.  I know how much Daddy misses me writing and I miss it too.

I haven’t written about our entire last weekend together.  I was behind writing when I arrived to see him that weekend so the time I spent writing then just got me caught up to that weekend.  I had writing on my mind that whole week prior but hadn’t made it happen.

At one point during the weekend Daddy held my head to his chest and told me he was disappointed that I hadn’t written.  It was honest and raw to my ears.  He told me I wasn’t in trouble and that he wouldn’t punish me but told me how much it means to him. 

It made me feel so much more deeply how important my writing is to him.  He needs to hear what worked, what didn’t and the thoughts in my head so he can move us forward in this lifestyle.  

I try my best.  I really do.  He knows that.  He also knows everything else on my plate.  But there’s only so much I can do for so many.  I spread myself too thin.  I’m learning not to do that.  At least I think I am. 

Once I’m back from this trip, I’m focusing on family.  That’s it.  Mr. D and my son come first then the rest of the family.  One thing at a time, just the most important things.

I miss my Daddy so much it hurts.  I feel tears ever near the surface.  Damn it all.  Why did he have to find all my buried emotions and bring them to the surface?  Really, I was just fine before! 😉

Impact

After coming into the house, the same night we enjoyed the front yard, Mr. D told me that we would use the spanking bench tonight. We rarely get to have this kind of play because he has roommates. They are kink friendly but not part of our play. So, we can only play when they aren’t home.
Mr. D gave me a gift. He has started learning how to craft leather. One of his first projects was to make me a hair restraint. It is a leather sheath with snaps up the length of it. It encases my hair and holds it out of the way while we’re playing. Here is a picture of it in my hair and by itself. It is similar to the restraints that bikers with long hair wear when they ride. I love it. He put it in my hair before we began to play to keep it out of the way. Since I don’t have a collar, the leather you see around my neck was a combination of the two straps of a ball gag and a chain cock ring that held the two pieces together.  It sounds odd but it worked great.  I was truly shocked he put a collar on me and it felt amazing.  You can see part of it in the picture, that’s why it is so long.



He pulled out the bench and moved the furniture so that it was in the center of the living room. He brought out his rope which is cut in long lengths. He also placed the safety scissors out. When playing with rope, he is always prepared. I feel completely safe and trust him implicitly when we play. I stood at the bench in the nude as he was preparing.

“Setting the scene,” he said, “it takes time. Up on the bench my Love.” Ropes in hand, he watched me as I mounted the bench. I have provided a picture here so you know the structure of it.

2014-12-28 09.32.17

He had me kneel on the lower step and lay my body across the upper platform. My breasts were pressed to the cushion under me, my arms hung down each side and my head was free to hang over the edge or lift up and look around a little. He picked up my wrist and looped the rope around my arm until he had a manacle arranged just above my wrist. Then he tied the other end to the brace of the bench. He continued to the other side and tied another manacle above my wrist on the other arm.

“We’ll put this one higher on your arm to protect your wrist. Let me know if you have any issues with this side.” He knows I have rheumatoid arthritis and this particular wrist had been acting up recently. He’s a careful Dom and he knows it’s important to take care of his submissive. We practice a lifestyle that skirts the edge but we still know that being safe is necessary. This way we’ll be able to play no matter what physical issues arise. He tied the other end of the rope to the side of the bench. I was immobilized and presented for his pleasure.

He stood behind me admiring his handiwork.  I felt his hand caress my back and cooed at the delicate sensations his fingers brought to life.  He came around the side until I could see him.  I lifted my head to look at him. “Everything good?  Everything feel okay Baby?”

“Yes Daddy.  Perfect.” He had checked in and I was aching to feel what he had planned.  He ran his hands over my arms, my back, my buttocks and my thighs.  His touch awakened my skin and brought me to life.  The sensations were intoxicating.  I love feeling his hands on me. His touch increased in pressure.  He pressed into my body.  I felt his heat and knew he was preparing me, lulling my mind for what was to come.

He began with the stingy cane.  Before he wielded a cane on me the first time I feared them.  Still, there is a trepidation and a healthy respect for the cane and the wielder but I no longer run from it.  He has shown me how it can be used for warming up the skin.  He uses gentle taps and never hits the same location until the sting is gone and that area craves attention again.  The cane made me itch for him to begin in earnest.  The tap, tap, tap was making me aware of an inherent vibration inside me.  I was rejoicing that he was doing this and eager for more intensity, more of it all.

When I felt the first thud of the flogger I sighed with pure joy.  I ache for his flogging when he hasn’t done it in a while.  I want to feel it on me constantly.  He began with long slow thuds of the falls across my back, on my ass and on my thighs.  He moved the falls across my skin with a rhythmic cadence. At some point during his ministrations I felt a blanket resting across my calves and feet.  How amazing that he understood how much this would comfort me.  I relaxed even further.  When the body is experiencing any sensation play it’s easy to get cold or jittery from the rush of blood to the surface of the skin.

He took a break from flogging and I felt a soft ticklishness cross my skin.  It was the feather duster I gave him.  It has pristine white feathers and a black handle with a black lace decoration.  A joke between us and not a duster to be used to actually dust.  Maybe…we’ll see if he decides I truly need to dust his home with it.  I purred and moaned in unison.  I’m such a sensation slut.  He brings it out in me with all that he does to me.  He came around to my face so that I could see the duster.  As I smiled up at him, he freed his cock and pushed it up to my mouth.  I struggled against my restraints to reach him.  My lips strained to capture the head of his cock in my mouth.  I darted my tongue out, desperate to reach him.  He pushed up against me but still I could only suck the tip.  What a tease that was.  I wanted him deep in my mouth.  I wanted him to fuck my face but it was not to be.

He pulled away from me and went back around to the side of me.  He still had the duster in hand.  Something more than tickling was on his mind now.  His hand grabbed the collar from the back of my neck. His breath warmed my ear.  “You’re mine, you hear me? My slut. I think I’m changing my mind about the collar.  I like this a lot. Yes, I do.”  He pulled on the collar and it choked me.  His hand rubbed across my ass.  He pulled up and I felt his fingers push inside my sex.  The ache for that had been building.  My body opened to him.  I moaned and thrashed on the bench eager to push back on his hand.  He pumped me and I cried out in ecstasy. The next thing I felt was something very hard up against my tight puckered asshole.  My mind grasped at what it could be.  The handle of the duster!  He pushed it up into the tender skin of my opening and I cried out.  It bit and it felt like needles being pushed into me. Being a prop, the handle was plastic and not well polished.  The little bits of plastic from its manufacture were biting my most tender spot.  “Well, that didn’t go as planned.  We’ll try something else.”  I love that he’s creative and yet flexible when things don’t go as planned.

He checked in with me to make sure I was okay and then I heard him take a drink.  He came around and gave me some water.  He began again.  The flogger warmed me once more and then he used something new.  He made a leather strap recently and hadn’t used it fully until now.  Here is a picture of it.  It is made out of Buffalo hide and is quite stingy.

My body was warmed up, my skin must have had a blush to it because I felt warm all over my thighs, ass and back.  He kissed my ass with the strap and I cried out.  It hurt and was stingy as hell.  I squirmed but told myself to hold still.  I wanted to take it all.  I wanted him to be proud of me and I wanted to endure all I could.  I calmed my mind and let my body loosen on the bench.  When I would normally clench, I let go.  The strap kissed my ass more and more deeply.  I heard the thwacking sound fill the room.  I breathed deep and just as I was about to cry out the pain morphed into hot pleasure.  I felt myself float and the pain and warmth buoyed me up.  I wanted it all, I took it all, I moaned in the purity of the pain.  This is what I wanted, what I ached for.  As I drifted, he told me to open my legs and he strapped my outer pussy folds.  I cried out and still he came on.  The strap bit my ass and my cheeks burned.

Just as suddenly as the sub space came it went.  Even as he continued to strap my ass, it began to sting and he noticed the change in my reactions.  He stopped and untied me then.  “Stay there and catch your breath, when you’re ready, rise slowly from the bench.” As I rose, his hands steadied me.

“You knew when I left and when I came back.” I was amazed at how he knew so well my state of mind.

“Yes.” He said.  “I was surprised it didn’t last longer and that you came back so fast.”

“How long was I on the bench? It didn’t feel very long to me.”

“You were there an hour and seven minutes.” He said. I was surprised.  Even though I was only in sub space for a short time, the whole experience seemed to pass by so swiftly.  Probably because I love it all and want it all and I just want it to continue forever.  I’m a happy girl that he takes the time and wants to do such things to me.  I loved every minute.

Grief

Since my mother passed away, I find myself crying at the oddest times and for the strangest reasons. The grief of losing my her is there.   I am fine and yet it is there.  I’m learning more and more about how I process emotions these days.

During my divorce and surviving a relationship with an alcoholic, I felt numb.  I felt like they say survivors can feel.  We put aside our emotions and dull the pain by burying it.  Alcoholics train their victims and themselves to shut down emotion.  It is a defense mechanism.  They drink to hide their inner anguish and yell at family to stop showing how the drinking hurts them too.  It is a vicious cycle of guilt and pain.  Eventually, you stop feeling.  You grow cold and numb.  It was the coldness and compete absence of joy that finally woke me up. I had to float slowly back up from those depths.

Having an Ex in recovery and working through those feelings was harder and easier in ways I didn’t expect.  He also had to find his joy again and do it while sober. He built new coping skills.  He went through therapy.  He had many people guiding him.  The result of this was that he became someone who knows the process.  He looks at me and wants to ‘fix’ me too.  He actually wants to fix everyone he comes in contact with.  His hyper focus on healing and therapy has brought him to this strange place where that’s all he sees.  He sees everyone’s faults and psychoses and wants to ‘heal’ you too.  It’s the pendulum swing.  I hope and pray he gets over that too.

Before I realized this was happening, I listened to him to a greater extent.  He was better at recovery than I was.  I left him and my life got suddenly and quickly more normal.  I began to feel fine again. I didn’t go through a huge cathartic healing like he did.  But then I didn’t go through that many meetings or grief over my lost life. I did but in a different way. I had gone through so much anguish in the choosing to leave. Once I left though, I did not look back on my decision.  What’s done is done. 

So, here I am, seemingly fine.  Moving on with life.  Occasionally being told by my Ex that I must have this deep well of emotion buried in me that is going to break out and drown me.  His drowned him for a while, that was for sure.  I saw it and experienced it. I wondered about it.  Do I? Is there this scary buried well of emotion inside me just waiting to drown me?

I’ve talked about my many reasons for moving towards a D/s relationship. One of them had to do with this fear.  Can edge play push me to find that well and experience those emotions?  Is this a way to break out of the cocoon?  While playing with Mr. D, I have found myself being tested and prodded and my buttons pushed. I have experienced many emotions but nothing has triggered this possible well of pain to surface. I began to stop worrying about it so much. 

Now that I am grieving for my mom, a very hard emotional thing, I  see more about how I process emotion.  I am in pain.  I am grieving.  I feel it ebb and flow over me.  Most days now I am completely fine and life is good.  Some days, though, I can feel the emotion well up and I sob for a few minutes here and there.  Then it passes and I am fine again. 

Mr. D worried that our D/s might have resumed too soon. I understand that concern.  I can feel myself react to his play differently right now.  I am more fragile.  I can feel that and I see myself taking our play more to heart.  That’s okay.  It gives me chances to experience the well of emotion that is me.  Now that I see my way of dealing with life, I don’t fear that I’m some emotional ticking time bomb. 

Mr. D gave me the final piece to this puzzle the other day.  At my mom’s memorial a good friend of mine broke down and cried.  She got semi-mad at me and asked, “But why aren’t you crying, too?” She feels that I’m entirely too level, too happy most of the time. I’ve been told that by other friends.  They think I’m too even all the time.  That it’s weird, in their eyes, that nothing bothers me. I relayed her comments to Mr. D and he immediately said, “But you’ve been feeling it for weeks now.” He’s right.  I have.  

I’m done doubting myself and fearing that I don’t feel like others feel.  I don’t and that’s perfectly alright.  We all feel emotions in our own unique ways.  I allow for others to feel and react as they choose.  From now on, I will give myself the same courtesy.

Anniversary

Friday afternoon was organized chaos. I was prepared but I had a lot to do before I was ready to leave. I had presents purchased, not wrapped. I had food ready but cookies to bake. I had child in tow but not dropped off yet. I wanted to be on time. I’m really working on not overdoing things and being places exactly when I say I will, especially for Mr. D. I wanted to show him how much I love him and honor him for our first anniversary. Rush, do, rush, pack the car, rush, drop the child and on the road on time….whoop! Awesome!

I was so excited about the plans I made for us to have a picnic and go see a comedian on Saturday. I had every detail planned. I wanted everything to be smooth and relaxed. Big public venues can be stressful so I tried to mitigate that as much as possible.

When I arrived, Mr. D kissed me and said we had dinner plans. He took us to Inka Mama’s for Peruvian food, yummy. Then we came home and had presents. Mr. D gave me my poem and a beautiful Steam Punk corset and flask. It’s my first flask. I’m excited for us to go do something Steam Punk-oriented now that I have all the fun stuff to outfit myself. I gave him a cigar travel carrier with some of his favorite cigars, two canes, and a feather duster. If you recall the conversation at our friends’ about the maid service, this last gift was a little joke on my part. 

Feather duster in hand, Mr. D told me to lie down on the bed. Face down, I felt the duster slide over my curves. It was so soft and erotic, not ticklish at all. Then he said, “I like the handle,” and smacked my butt with it. That smarted! Well, that’s what I get for making jokes with Doms!

Then he took out the cane and used it very lightly on my ass and thighs. He was letting me get used to it. I heard how stingy canes were for so many years, I had a built up scare factor. He went really easy on me for the first time. Then he took his time and caressed my whole body with his hands and gave me a beautiful flogging. I love the skill he uses and the way he builds the flogging pressure over the session. He warmed my whole body with thuddy strikes and then rhythmically peppered me with more stingy hits on my back, ass and thighs. I could honestly have him do this all day. I’m so addicted to that feeling. I always want more.

As I was basking in the sensations of the flogging his fingers began to probe my backside.  “Daddy, can I go to the bathroom?”

“No, not right now.” He pushed his fingers inside my ass until my body responded to him.  He alternated between my pussy and my ass, filling each hole.  It felt more intense because my bladder was full. Then he used the cane to smack back and forth between my thighs.  It surprised me more than anything.  I expect he knew it wouldn’t hurt because there was no wind up on a short little stroke like that.  But when he pummeled my holes with his fingers rapidly, that was different.  The speed and the intensity was astonishing.  Rapid fire fucking by his hands forced me to grab the bed and hold on while my moaning filled the room. The sensation was doubled because I had to pee! Finally he stopped.

His hand gripped my hair and pulled me up off the bed. “You have three minutes, understand? Don’t make me wait.” I took a deep breathe and went. The way he talks to me in those moments just sets me on fire.  Just incinerate me from the feet up!

When I returned he positioned me on my back and mounted me. He looked down at me, looked from my eyes to my breasts. “Hold them up.” I know what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to push them together and up towards him. I’m to move my fingers out of his way.  And I also know what’s coming.  God, I hate it and I love it. He smacks my tits so hard and it is so stingy. I just want to cry out and plead for him to stop.  This time I didn’t. I just cringed and held my breath.  The smacks came and I whimpered.

“I don’t know how you do that.” He said between thrusts and smacks.

“What Daddy?”

“I hit here and then you flood down there. Every time.”

He hit and thrust and then fucked me so hard and fast it left us both completely breathless.

Pain Slut

  

I want to write about pain. I suppose it is on my mind because I’ve been struggling with emotional stuff this week and that’s an entirely different kind of pain than the physical kind we play with in the lifestyle. Oddly enough, the physical pain and the mind games of D/s tend to allow me (and I think for Mr. D too in a different way) to release a lot of pent up stress. I’m not going to go into the science of it, though that is interesting in itself, but I have learned that pain can be valuable for release.

Before Mr. D, I had not really experienced much real play with pain. I had some spankings and some flogging but not anything in depth. Mr. D chooses ways to inflict pain that I would not choose myself. He likes the stingy variety sometimes. He likes predicaments. He watches me squirm and is entertained as I try to get out of the situation. I think it thrills him to feel the play of power and watch the workings of my mind trying to escape.

When he has me in a predicament and I’m feeling the pain of his whipping or slapping or that $&@!! little paddle, I have the strangest duality in my mind. I desperately want the play. We’ve waited all week to be together and I ache for him. I also want the power exchange and feel the need for that build until he chooses to display his power and starts a scene. But, and here’s the predicament, its painful! I know, you’re thinking, “Well, no shit Sherlock, that’s what you signed up for.” Exactly! The thing is, I want it badly but it is real physical pain. No matter how much I want it, it hurts and my base instinct is to run from it.

When we’re in the throes of a scene, I’ll squirm and try to get away from the horrible stingy thing that is attacking me. I’ll try so hard not to cover myself and not to whimper but eventually it gets too painful and I break down. I tell him it’s too much, I whimper for him to stop. I beg him but I don’t use my safe word. Recently, Mr. D will call me a liar. He’ll quietly say, “Liar. You tell me you don’t want this and you cry to make it stop but I can feel your wetness and your body is telling me something entirely different than your words.” That gets me every time.  I’m not lying but my body makes me a liar.  The mind fuck of that and of being called a liar just stirs me to no end.
 

This is why I think I must be a pain slut. My body wants the pain and the release no matter what my mind wants. Against all instincts that pain is a bad thing and I should run, my body responds. I thrill for his power. I thrill at the shock and the fear. Something about it sets me off every time without fail.

Even when I don’t slip into subspace, I get wet and my body responds. In subspace, the pain becomes something else. The fear and desire to run from it disappears. I just want more. I want it to never end.

Image from Pixavay through CC0 public domain Public Domain