Office Call

I was at my desk in the early evening, shuffling through some papers. I had the phone propped against my ear. I was trying to look busy but I was distracted.

He was growling into my ear, telling me all of the things he wants to do to me. I was quiet except for occasional murmurs. I couldn't melt into my chair like I wanted to do, nor could I address him as "Sir" like I know he expected.

But he knew that he was getting to me. I was quiet, but he knew. He kept talking until I was lulled into a trance. His words were so cruel and sadistic, but I felt calm, like he had laid a heavy blanket over me.

"You love this, don't you?," he cooed.

"Yes," I whispered, afraid to say any more.

"I can tell. I can hear it in your breathing. I can hear your submission. I can hear the change in your voice."

I sighed and let his words wash over me. Outside my office door, the busy day continued but I remained still at my desk. I breathed in and out, shallow expectant breaths.

"Listen to what I can do to you," he whispered. "I love what I can do to you."


He is not my boyfriend. He is my owner. I must keep telling myself that. I forget that I cannot act the same way with Him as I acted with my other boyfriends. Whatever his failings as an owner and a partner, I cannot respond the same way.

I cannot respond to the disappointments - which, for the record, are the result of my own unrealistic expectations of a person that He cannot be - like I usually would. I cannot stockpile my resentments and take them out on him through other means. I cannot use my hurt feelings as an excuse for my misbehavior. And I have misbehaved. I am paying the price for that and it is not pretty. It should not have happened like this.

He gives me the space to be upset at him. He does not want to brush things under the rug. I must feel out that space, live in it with my anger and grow out of it. I must be honest about my feelings within the framework that He has set up. I cannot go outside the lines with my feelings because I have no power there. That way lies danger and betrayal and more hurt, the kind of hurt that cannot ever be exorcised.

Holiday Illusions

I never used to think that people could get talked into things. I never believed in brainwashing or coercion, not if you were an adult and were of adequate I.Q. How do cult leaders get people to follow them, abandon their whole livelihoods, without threatening, without force? With the power of words and the power of the mind.

I never thought that I was weak or that I could be talked into anything. I was stubborn and knew my own mind. But now, I bend. I am pliant, I twist whichever way the wind is blowing. When I am mad at Him and have had enough, when he has disappointed me so greatly that I do not think that I can go on with him, I lose all of my strength before I can even begin to fight. I try to take a stand, I even try to take a day to think things out, and He will not let me. There are veiled threats, but in the end they are just words. He would not hurt me, right?

He tells me that I cannot be alone. He tells me that I must be under his care, that he cannot abandon his Kitten in the cold. He tells me that he knows what is best for me and that I cannot decide for myself. I protest, I whine that I can do whatever I want, I stomp my foot. I could change my locks and spend Christmas alone, tell everyone that we are through and that I am done with Him. But in the end I fall defeated. I am just a petulant child who cannot take care of herself and cannot be without Him. He is right.

Sometimes giving up is easier than fighting. His words and his tone, the gentle lull of his voice...they deflate me and I cannot stand up for what I thought I wanted. Sometimes it is easier to give in than to be overpowered. Maybe there is strength there too? Maybe if I look hard enough, I can find it. Knowing that this is all I am, that I cannot be alone, is a form of submission. It is a final acceptance. It is the ultimate surrender.

So while last week I thought that I would be a strong woman and walk away from Him for doing something that so upset me, I did not. I admitted that I am just a little girl playing a woman at work and that I cannot be free. I resumed my Christmas shopping for Him, I fell soft into the bliss of making cookies and sending out holiday cards. I pretended like nothing had happened because there was nothing I could do about it. I could not be alone, stand by myself, endure all of those dark nights with all of that pain. He convinced me.


I know that many of you understand what a joyful experience a paddling can be. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, but I know you understand. I recently heard someone say that any man who gets turned on by making a woman cry is sick and I nodded for a second, but then I changed my mind. He is not sick but I cannot explain why. The fact that sadism is not bad, that love blossoms here when it looks like hate...I know that you understand that.

Anyway: the paddling. It's been a quiet few months with us. We continue to work on our relationship and spend time together. We continue to spend significant time in bed, but the kink has been limited to some light choking during sex and the more psychological aspects of things. Last weekend, we were getting ready for bed when I think our hard physical kink came back full-force.

He picked the paddle up off of the shelf and told me to come over to Him. I quailed. It had been so long. I wasn't confident enough in my ability to take pain, so I crouched on the bed rather than remain on all fours and hold my head up high. I curled around a pillow and tucked my head under.

He started and I didn't cry, not until almost the very end. I was quiet, I was focused on breathing. He went easy on me, to be sure, but I was handling it quite well. I murmured, "Daddy" over and over again when things got intense, but it wasn't out of fear or an immediate need for him to stop. It became more like a mantra, like I was naming him and calling out for his strength. At one point, I reached my hand back so he could hold it as he hit me. He curled his body around me briefly, stroking my hand and running the fuzzy side of the paddle over my pink ass cheeks. Then he stood again, still holding my hand, and resumed the paddling.

Each blow was getting harder. I could tell it was almost the end when he paused. He crouched next to me and looked at my face. There were some tears there, but I hadn't fallen apart. "Maybe just six more," I thought, hoping that he would have mercy on me.

"Kitten, how many more? Pick a number between 1 and 10."

"Six," I said immediately.

He gasped and lifted my face by my chin. "You're amazing. How did you know that I was thinking six?"

I smiled. "The number was in my head before you asked me to pick." I was full of such joy at that moment, I was practically giddy. I wanted those last six paddles so badly that I could hardly wait for them. This was the most perfect moment. We were both smiling, there was so much synchronicity. The whole universe was spinning just for us, around us, at that moment.

I know you understand that moment, that feeling. It is the most wonderful thing in the world, it is the reason that we all got into S&M to begin with. It is the epitome of all the good that submission brings. It is the peak. No orgasm, no amount of pain, no money or love or anything could top that feeling.

And the part of this feeling? It can happen over and over again. The possibilities are limitless.

Voluntary Reality

I have a rich fantasy life.

No, that's not exactly true. It's vivid, but it's not particularly varied. I've relied on the same masturbatory scenarios for years.

They are all similar, even in their difference. They all are semi-public. I am being used, sometimes harshly. I am exposed and humiliated. There is usually more than one person there. He is leading, but the others are faceless. Often there are hands touching and sensations without reason.

But almost always...more than one person there, either participating or watching.

I haven't sought this out. I don't go around trying to recreate these scenarios. They are in my head and they are safe, tucked away where I can control them.

He knows about these fantasies and he thinks that it is his job to fulfill them. Plus they suit his needs. He wants to see me shared and passed around. He needs to see that, for whatever reason. He wants to know that I made someone else moan like I make Him moan, and he gets pleasure out of just that idea. He is making this happen, even though I did not ask for it.

But I cannot now deny that I wanted this. I have thought about it for years. How can I say now that I don't want this? He has been there as I confessed these fantasies, he saw the physical evidence of my arousal. He knows.

Will I be able to perform the way that he wants? Will I be able to hold it together? It will just be sex, it won't be intimacy like with Him. How do I go back to just sex after more than a year of the closest, most intense physical connection I have ever had with one person? I know that I have been trained, I know how to shut off that part of me and focus on being what he wants. But putting theory into practice is something else entirely.


I'm trying to find a model for where we're going, where we've been heading over the past couple of months, but I'm coming up short. That's okay, I don't mind making my own path. It just seems to me that we're venturing away from traditional submission into something else.

When we started, I was focused on finding this path through the quiet, through meekness and through humility. He wore me down a lot, roughly molding me into shape and into submission. His focus was quieting the screaming voices in my head and replacing them with His voice. I hear him now all the time, even when He isn't speaking. We reached this place of solitude together and it is pure and dreamy and quiet.

Once we were there, He told me that he loved how trainable I am. He loved seeing the fire in my eyes and the struggle, and then gradually the acceptance. He loved that I thought that no one could tame me, but he always could. He loved the clearness in my eyes.

So after he could focus me, he started training me for something else. He started making me a whore - that's the only way I can describe it. Remember those moments where I came out strong, eyes flashing for him, when I took a bit of control and let myself run wild? That's often what he wants to see now.

He talks about putting the regular me away and letting that wild girl come out. Sometimes I struggle against it, but he usually manages to make her emerge anyway. The scary part is that I do things in that state and I couldn't even imagine otherwise. He tells me that sometimes my eyes are glazed over like I am somewhere else, like I am someone else. I guess that I am.

I fuck him like he wants to be fucked, performing for him and doing whatever he wants. It is still a form of submission, in a way. But it is much less violent and much more coercive. He talks to me throughout, and I have to act the way that he wants or else.

Recently, He's talked a lot about sharing me. He talks about showing another man what I can do and how good I am. He pretends that he is the other man and makes me show him all of the things that I would do. He wants to watch me with the other man and if I'm good, he'll let me alone with the other man so I can do whatever I want. But I have to be a good girl and please the other man and tell Daddy all about it when I get home. It is so convoluted that sometimes I wonder who we really are, who I really am.

I know that He's getting ready to whore me out to someone else. There are e-mails and conversations that I am not a part of. I know that this is love, but I have a hard time finding it. I don't understand why this is the form that we are taking. I want so much to please Him and I will go wherever he sends me. There is a part of me that would love this, the wrongness of it, but I know that I would never pursue this on my own. This is an instance where, without training, I would keep this in the realm of fantasy. I suppose that is why He is working so hard to mold me into this girl. I just wonder who I'll be when he's done.

Feminist Theory

I struggle with the question of abuse. I wonder too. I no longer think anything is wrong with me - time and a lot of reflection have settled that in my mind - but I do wonder if I've lost sight of the line sometimes. I want terrible things, unbearable amounts of control. I want not to be able to get away, to be held in place, to be told that I'm nothing without this. It is the absolution so many of us seek, not the perfection, but the washing away of ourselves.

I don't make things any easier on myself. I think that I can hold two contradictory ideas in my head at once - I can be a feminist and I can be a submissive. But my feminist sisters don't want me. They would excommunicate me (and pillory Him) if they knew. I am either a bad feminist, or a hypocrite, or a fool, or all three.

I know the theory. I understand it from years of study. I see everything they hate in the structure of BDSM. I know why it is wrong on a macro level and yet...and yet...

If they could just understand how things are between us, all the generalizations would melt away. If they knew how much love and respect live here, they could never condemn our entire belief system. If they understood what this feels like, this submission that makes me stronger, this reliance that makes me calmer, they would stop writing their screeds about my relationship. If only they thought for ONE SECOND about what it feels like to have your whole world examined and judged to be destructive to all women, maybe they would stop what they're doing that's hurting this woman.

I still am who I am. I was born this way. I cannot go back. They claim that they do not want to judge or condemn my choices, but what choice do I have in the face of this? I am who I am. I cannot unmake myself or take this back. I am here and I am not going away. So what am I supposed to do? You tell me! What is it you want? An apology or a renunciation? His capitulation? Because I am not going away. There is no other way for me to be. I will not justify this to you, not anymore. I am not ashamed, no matter how much you try to disavow me. I am here and I am not going away.


On Thanksgiving day, we stood in a gathering of boisterous relatives. We were a quiet island in the bustling kitchen as we leaned our heads together. I told him that I love him, but he ducked his head away.

"No," he whispered, "I'm a bad boyfriend."

"What? No, you're a wonderful boyfriend."

"No," he said with a bashful look on his face. "I abuse you." He was only half-serious, but there was a bit of truthful hurt behind his joking.

"You don't abuse me. You do nothing of the sort," I said as I touched his face. He gave me the most wounded smile.

"I hate your blog sometimes," he sighed.

I know how he feels about this blog. He does not read it, preferring to leave this space for my semi-private thoughts. But I do keep him updated about certain things that concern the blog, including some of the more negative comments and e-mails that I have received. The accusations of abuse weigh heavily upon him since he knows how much I enjoy our dynamic. He sees the fire in my eyes and the desire for the way he touches me and hurts me.

This blog his chronicled my journey, but it has been largely silent about his journey. He never owned anyone before me and this has been an experience of tremendous growth for him. He has taken on so much responsibility for my progress and development as a person, and not just as a submissive, that I think he has matured in a way as well.

He can be an impetuous person, often ruled by emotions. He can live inside his head at times and that can keep him disconnected from himself. But when he is with me, he is grounded. He comes back to earth, all that fire and emotion channeled into me. I see the best of him in me.

I don't idolize him or think of him as a god. He is not perfect and thank God for that. But I do love him more than I've ever loved anyone because of what I have seen in him over the past year. I have seen all of his dedication and determination in this relationship, as well as the soft under belly of his strength. I love him all the more for that.

I hate to see him hurt by this. He doesn't deserve that from me.

Later that Thanksgiving night, I laid next to him and cradled his head to my chest. I ran my fingertips over his face. I wanted to ease his mind about everything. I said the only thing I could: "I love you more than anything."