In the middle of May, I will be going away for two weeks. I will be going out of th country with my family. I will have limited contact with anyone in the U.S. He will not be going with me. This trip has been in the works for almost a year and it is one of the highlights of my hear, possibly my life. I started planning this trip before I met Him, before I knew that I would have to spend two weeks away from the most amazing person that I have ever met.
As the day looms ever closer, I get more and more anxious. I am nervous about seeing Him; I want to see him all the time. I want more intensity, more pain, more ownership. I need something to carry with me while we are apart so that I don't forget, to make me believe that he won't forget. I need some reassurance while I am away that this is real, that this is lasting and forever. I want his mark to take with me so I can see the tangible proof of his power while I am free.
I have been increasingly insecure and needy for his attention during this time. These feelings have made me wish that I could stay home with Him, they have made me wonder if I am completely unable to be without him. Does that make me weak? I have been having problems sleeping lately, but when I do sleep I am troubled by terrible dreams. He is there but just out of my reach, his attention is on someone else, I shout but he cannot hear me. He drifts away into the darkness and I am left alone.
Daddy, Part II
He took me to the bathroom so that I could pee for him. He knows how very vulnerable, how small, that makes me feel. He loves that feeling of benign power and trust and honesty between us when I'm feeling small and calling him Daddy.
Our Daddy/little girl dynamic is so interesting to me. It was a longtime fantasy of mine, one that I was hesitant to share with him. But once I did, it fit perfectly into what we already were doing. He always made me feel like he was taking care of me, whether he was pampering me or cruelly hurting me. Now I find myself crying out for Daddy when he spanks me or when he beats me. Of course, there is the grownup, wanton lust part of our dynamic. But the surrender of power that leaves me little and shaking is wonderful too.
So anyway, he brought me out of the bathroom and laid me down on the bed next to him. He started touching me, touching himself. He was talking quietly to me, telling me that I was his good little girl for peeing for him while he stroked my hair. I rolled my hips slowly as he gently massaged my clit and dipped a finger into my pussy. I was biting the nail on the thumb of my right hand to keep from crying out. When he saw that, he moaned with longing. I knew what he was thinking before he even said it and I blushed with shame.
"My little girl," he cooed, "are you going to suck on that thumb?" I looked down. I wanted to, but it seemed too far over the line. We don't do true age-play - not the bath times or the coloring - and this was unexpected. But I did it anyway because, beyond all rational thought, it felt right.
He pulled me closer and looked down at me as I slowly started sucking the tip of my thumb. I turned over onto my stomach and bent my legs up at the knees as I sucked, feeling so little and very ashamed. His eyes raked over me and he stroked himself faster. He groaned and came all over my ass as I arched my back up to meet his come.
I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed. I was worried that he would judge me for doing that, but he just held me and kept me safe.
Our Daddy/little girl dynamic is so interesting to me. It was a longtime fantasy of mine, one that I was hesitant to share with him. But once I did, it fit perfectly into what we already were doing. He always made me feel like he was taking care of me, whether he was pampering me or cruelly hurting me. Now I find myself crying out for Daddy when he spanks me or when he beats me. Of course, there is the grownup, wanton lust part of our dynamic. But the surrender of power that leaves me little and shaking is wonderful too.
So anyway, he brought me out of the bathroom and laid me down on the bed next to him. He started touching me, touching himself. He was talking quietly to me, telling me that I was his good little girl for peeing for him while he stroked my hair. I rolled my hips slowly as he gently massaged my clit and dipped a finger into my pussy. I was biting the nail on the thumb of my right hand to keep from crying out. When he saw that, he moaned with longing. I knew what he was thinking before he even said it and I blushed with shame.
"My little girl," he cooed, "are you going to suck on that thumb?" I looked down. I wanted to, but it seemed too far over the line. We don't do true age-play - not the bath times or the coloring - and this was unexpected. But I did it anyway because, beyond all rational thought, it felt right.
He pulled me closer and looked down at me as I slowly started sucking the tip of my thumb. I turned over onto my stomach and bent my legs up at the knees as I sucked, feeling so little and very ashamed. His eyes raked over me and he stroked himself faster. He groaned and came all over my ass as I arched my back up to meet his come.
I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed. I was worried that he would judge me for doing that, but he just held me and kept me safe.
Ownership, Part III
He's told me that he owns me for a while now. He's said it a lot more lately and I've been struggling to understand what it means, really means. My problem is that I still feel like such my own person, even though I know that I am under his control. I still get up every day, decide what to wear, and spend my whole day at work being this independent career woman. I support myself, make my own meals, pay my bills and arrange my finances, and maintain my own social life.
I guess I don't feel like I am tightly controlled all of the time though because I have so much freedom. He does not proscribe how I must dress, nor does he micromanage my time. I know that is not his style, that he would find that effort to be pointless and more work than is worth his effort. He has not laid down a litany of rules for me. I am only required to be a good girl for him and to obey. I must always obey and show him the proper respect. When I am not with him and am not under his direct control, it is up to me to think of him and have faith in his ownership of me.
There are times when I am happy for my freedom, when I am glad that he does not require that I interrupt my day or my routine with small reminders of him. But there are other times when I crave more rules - rules for their own sake - to make me feel more owned. I don't know - is it basic insecurity that makes me want him to watch over me at all times? If he is always paying attention to the minutiae of my life, he can never forget about me. He can never leave me behind if he is constantly tending to me.
Maybe I am expecting too much from him by seeking his attention all the time. Maybe I am expecting his ownership of me to obliterate my ego, to disintegrate it completely until all I feel are his desires. There are times when I truly feel like nothing, and I always know that I would cease to exist completely without him, but I can never forget who I am. I can never not be inside this body, can never leave my identity behind, no matter how many rules he lays down or how strictly he controls me.
But that might be what he wants from me in the end. Could it be that he wants me to be myself to make my submission that much more valuable to him? I may never lose myself in his ownership of me and that may be the way it is supposed to be. I may always be my own feisty self, my self, even though I know that he owns me completely. That is the true essence of his ownership of me, and it is just as he intended.
I guess I don't feel like I am tightly controlled all of the time though because I have so much freedom. He does not proscribe how I must dress, nor does he micromanage my time. I know that is not his style, that he would find that effort to be pointless and more work than is worth his effort. He has not laid down a litany of rules for me. I am only required to be a good girl for him and to obey. I must always obey and show him the proper respect. When I am not with him and am not under his direct control, it is up to me to think of him and have faith in his ownership of me.
There are times when I am happy for my freedom, when I am glad that he does not require that I interrupt my day or my routine with small reminders of him. But there are other times when I crave more rules - rules for their own sake - to make me feel more owned. I don't know - is it basic insecurity that makes me want him to watch over me at all times? If he is always paying attention to the minutiae of my life, he can never forget about me. He can never leave me behind if he is constantly tending to me.
Maybe I am expecting too much from him by seeking his attention all the time. Maybe I am expecting his ownership of me to obliterate my ego, to disintegrate it completely until all I feel are his desires. There are times when I truly feel like nothing, and I always know that I would cease to exist completely without him, but I can never forget who I am. I can never not be inside this body, can never leave my identity behind, no matter how many rules he lays down or how strictly he controls me.
But that might be what he wants from me in the end. Could it be that he wants me to be myself to make my submission that much more valuable to him? I may never lose myself in his ownership of me and that may be the way it is supposed to be. I may always be my own feisty self, my self, even though I know that he owns me completely. That is the true essence of his ownership of me, and it is just as he intended.
Consent/Non-Consent, Part II
I've been dancing around this on this blog, but astute readers might gather that I have a rape fantasy. I've thought about being overpowered, being taken by force, for years. I've though of it over and over again and from every angle. I'm past the point where I wonder whether this particular fantasy is part of a forgotten memory from my past. I'm done with worrying that I am sick or flawed or somehow a traitor to women everywhere because of this fantasy. It is a part of me, it is a part of my submission - it just is.
He knows about this fantasy. Of course he does - he guess that I had it even before I told him the details. And he has been into it the whole way.
I don't think my desire to explore this fantasy makes me a bad person, but I can't help but wonder about him, about his motivations. Why exactly would he want to participate in this act, this forcing of my body, this bending of my will? There are a lot of submissives who have pondered this topic, but not that many dominants have weighed in (although part of the paucity of consideration may be attributed to the few male dominant bloggers out there).
He is a gentle and considerate man, all sadistic dominance put aside. He is respectful of women and not the type who would engage in an actual forced sexual encounter. I know this about him and his character is without question.
But there is a darker part of him, a secret evil side that enjoys my humiliation and my shame. That dark side of him enjoys when I cry, when he can make me do something that I don't want to do. That same dark part of him feeds the rape fantasy, doesn't it? There is a fine line between fucking me while I beg him to stop and taking me by force against my will, isn't there?
There are no answers here, no judgments. This dark part of him that wants to rape may be no sicker than the dark part of my own psyche that wants to be raped. This may be just another example of how complementary and healthy our dynamic is, nothing more, nothing less.
He knows about this fantasy. Of course he does - he guess that I had it even before I told him the details. And he has been into it the whole way.
I don't think my desire to explore this fantasy makes me a bad person, but I can't help but wonder about him, about his motivations. Why exactly would he want to participate in this act, this forcing of my body, this bending of my will? There are a lot of submissives who have pondered this topic, but not that many dominants have weighed in (although part of the paucity of consideration may be attributed to the few male dominant bloggers out there).
He is a gentle and considerate man, all sadistic dominance put aside. He is respectful of women and not the type who would engage in an actual forced sexual encounter. I know this about him and his character is without question.
But there is a darker part of him, a secret evil side that enjoys my humiliation and my shame. That dark side of him enjoys when I cry, when he can make me do something that I don't want to do. That same dark part of him feeds the rape fantasy, doesn't it? There is a fine line between fucking me while I beg him to stop and taking me by force against my will, isn't there?
There are no answers here, no judgments. This dark part of him that wants to rape may be no sicker than the dark part of my own psyche that wants to be raped. This may be just another example of how complementary and healthy our dynamic is, nothing more, nothing less.
Masochism, Part II
I am empty, starving. I eat but the hunger inside me is not satisfied. My limbs shake with anxiety, but no amount of activity or meditation will relieve the tension. I am not sexually frustrated, just craving something that has been missing for the past few weeks.
I need to be hurt by Him so badly. My back aches for his belt and my cheeks burn in anticipation of his slap. Everything inside me is taut, coiled tight, ready to be snapped by his force. I need him to beat me until skin is raw and my will is obliterated.
I am waiting, impatient and waiting. I know that I cannot control what he has planned for me or the course of my training. I cannot choose his methods or decide whether this will be the week when he marks me with the knife and I bleed for him. So I wait, vibrating with an anxious hum. I do not cut myself. I am a good girl. I will wait.
I need to be hurt by Him so badly. My back aches for his belt and my cheeks burn in anticipation of his slap. Everything inside me is taut, coiled tight, ready to be snapped by his force. I need him to beat me until skin is raw and my will is obliterated.
I am waiting, impatient and waiting. I know that I cannot control what he has planned for me or the course of my training. I cannot choose his methods or decide whether this will be the week when he marks me with the knife and I bleed for him. So I wait, vibrating with an anxious hum. I do not cut myself. I am a good girl. I will wait.
No, Part II
Words cannot describe how I feel as you held me, as I clawed at you to get away, as I cried please no, I can't, no. There isn't an emotion to describe this, this miscalculation, this mistake. I have no one to go to for relief from what I asked for, what I gave you permission to do to me. When even no means yes, more, more, how can I expect you to read my broken mind, to see how fragile and ready to crack I am under your touch?
You wanted me to submit, to forget the world outside the door, but I couldn't. Not that night, not at that moment. You wanted to teach me about trust when I could not bear another lesson. All I needed was your care and understanding but you were offering something else.
I learned a lesson anyway, if you care to know. I learned that I am nothing but what you have created me to be. I am nothing but your need.
I forgive because I must. I am nothing without you. And with you I cannot say no.
You wanted me to submit, to forget the world outside the door, but I couldn't. Not that night, not at that moment. You wanted to teach me about trust when I could not bear another lesson. All I needed was your care and understanding but you were offering something else.
I learned a lesson anyway, if you care to know. I learned that I am nothing but what you have created me to be. I am nothing but your need.
I forgive because I must. I am nothing without you. And with you I cannot say no.
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