A View from the Floor

“Let your tears come. Let them water your soul.” ~Eileen Mayhew

More than anything else that may result from a session with Taylor I find that tears are what leave me feeling it was “enough”.
Orgasm I can take or leave during or after a S/m scene.
Subspace? Well, we’ve been over that already.
Pleasure in the sensation is wonderful… sometimes.

But mostly…
I just want to cry.
I want to be brought to that point of tears.
Of cleansing, releasing, beautiful tears.

I
want to cry pretty tears. The kind where they well up and nearly don’t
fall. The kind that, when they do fall, leave distinct and gorgeous
tracks down ones cheeks. The kind that make your eyes glisten, that
make for a beautiful pouting face as you look up at him.
But more
than that I want to cry ugly tears. The kind that make your face swell
and get red and blotchy. The kind that leave snot trails down your
chin. The kind that make your chest heave in anguished sobs, that leave
you breathless and hiccuping, your shoulders shuddering and the air
hitching in your throat.
I want to cry out my pain, sob out my
pleasure, wail out my fear, soak my pillow and Taylor’s chest in salty,
snotty tears. I want them to drip down my face, plopping on the ground
at my feet. I want to cry until I am mindless with it and the power of
the person who took me there.

That…
That is my happy place.
When
I am used up, wiped out, mentally and physically exhausted, wrung out
and left with nothing but the core fact that I am his, to do with as he
sees fit, reduced to so little but feeling so very fucking much.

Yeah.
That, right there, is my happy place.

I don’t get there every time. Not even most times. But when I do…

Oh lords, when I do…

It’s food for the soul.

Technorati Tags: BDSM, domination, submission, scene, s/m, play, session, tears, masochism, cry

Powered by ScribeFire.

“Does it matter if my slavery is not ‘gracious’ as long as I do what I’m told?”

So I was catching up on other people’s blogs the other day and I came across this statement by kitten over at …a subtle slavegirl (which is a phenomenal blog, btw.) I’m not really using the statement in context because the rest of the post isn’t what made the wheels in my brain turn… it was just the one little grouping of words and my thoughts went off in a totally different direction. (Or, I guess, down my own meandering path of musings and introspections)

So…

Does it matter?

Most of me wants to say no.
Realistically I realize that none of us can be gracious all the time. We can’t mindlessly obey without any type of reaction or with a good reaction every time we’re commanded to do something. Stress, exasperation, incredulous-ness and blatant unwillingness will (WILL, without a doubt) creep out at times and show in our reactions, our attitudes, our demeanor - preventing gracious, eager and willing service.
Realistically I realize that, for Taylor and I, that’s usually ok. As kaya was sort of saying the other day, it’s part and parcel of opening up and allowing him in to all aspects of who I am. I can’t be an open book for him to worm around in and memorize if I’m hiding certain facets of my personality. He can’t make good decisions if I’m, in essence, lying about how I feel when he asks me to do certain things. He needs to see the reality of me - all of me - in order for this to work properly.
And, besides, part of both of us enjoys the bitchy side of me, enjoys watching me struggle and bend, enjoys some forced surrender even when what I really want to do is spit in his eye and run like hell.

But…
(of course there’s a but, right?)

How much is too much?
There comes a point when he’s got to be thinking…
JUST DO IT. Shut up, stop whining, stop balking, shut the fuck UP and do it. Once, just once, make this easy you stupid heifer.

Yanno?

So maybe…
Maybe gracious does matter.

I mean, if I go to a restaurant I’m certainly going to be happier with a waitress who smiles and is friendly and gets me what I order without trying to convince me something else would be better, right? As opposed to a surly, inattentive, argumentative server who, none the less, got my meal, refilled my drinks and handed me a check just like the friendly one? I’m going to have a more pleasant experience with the gracious waitress, right?

Maybe it’s like that. The end results are the same but the one experience far exceeds the other.

Maybe it comes down to knowing our Owners as well as they try to know us. Knowing what times are “okay” for balking and speaking our minds more freely and what times we should just shut up and do it.

It’s something Taylor and I have been working on lately.
Do first. Just do it. And then, later, sit down and talk about it or ask my questions about it or whatever.
And I have to admit things run more smoothly that way.
And it’s really pretty easy to tell when he wants to see me struggle as opposed to wanting respectful and gracious service.

I’m finding that if I just get up and run to the store for that ice cream and a hose gasket and tell him, later, that it put me behind in my other chores he’s 1) more apt to think about it next time, to pay attention to what I’m doing when he asks and 2) happier and more pleasant to be around himself if he doesn’t feel like he had to wring the smallest service out of me.
If I take the time to really slurp his dick and get it wet instead of complaining that my jaw hurts I’m saving myself the time spent arguing - cuz he’s gonna stick it in my ass regardless and the slight pain in my jaw is going to be a lot less than the pain in my ass if he shoves it in dry - and the whole experience is going to be better because that wet dick will make a nice ass fuck for me AND him. Whining and crying about it isn’t going to get me out of the ass fuck, it’s not even going to get me out of the cock sucking most times, but it’s going to make for a miserable fuck because, really, how much fun is it for him to use his property if it’s behaving like a shrewish vanilla wife?
The end result is the same.
I get ass fucked and he gets off.
But the experience is way cooler if I’m gracious about it.

Sure, I’m still gonna ask him if he’s whacked in the head when he pulls out the sjambok. But he actually LIKES that response.
I’m still going to cry and sob and freak the hell out if he tries to blindfold me. I can’t help that. I’m terrified.
But do I really need to struggle and act graceless every time I feel put out or disinclined to do something?

Grace has it’s time and place - as does struggle and less than polite comments - and it feels pretty good to be learning just where and when that is for each of them.

Powered by ScribeFire.

“Love makes it harder. It complicates a relationship that

could be so simple. A man who loves his property must resign himself to knowing
that he will eventually hurt her feelings, break her heart, damage her in some
way, and he will have to pick up the pieces and build her again. A woman who
loves her owner must resign herself to knowing that his love for her will not
sway his judgment, afford her leniency, protect her from punishment. And they
both must trust that the other will hold to their side of the bargain
regardless of the love they share.” This incredible quote is from Rayne over at Insatiable Desire . Her blogs are absolutely, positively, something else. Something wonderful.

Anyhow…
I touched on the whole love and power exchange topic a week or so ago. (maybe two… or even three… I get so lost when it comes to that) At the time I couldn’t quite figure out where I wanted to go with it and I’m pretty sure the whole post was stinky because of it. Kaya has touched on it. So have a few others recently. I should probably just leave it alone.

And I’m still not sure where I want to go with it. But it’s there, gnawing at me in some weird way.

Because…
It’s hard.
Being so in love.

Five years ago I would have adamantly protested it making a wit of difference.

But, my gods, it does.

Being so in love with this man effects EVERYTHING.

Because I love him I’m jealous; unwilling to share, cripplingly terrified of not being “enough”.
Because he loves me he doesn’t push the issue; too worried about the irreparable harm it may cause to both me and our relationship.
Because I love him so much things hurt in ways that are not the least bit pleasurable. My feelings and sense of self worth are all tied up in this love we have for each other and some of the very things that turn me on the most, that most put me in that deeply submissive place, are the things that break my loving heart when he tries to do them.
The submissive and masochistic part of me wants a, b and c but the part of me that is in absolute romantic love with this man will sit there with her lip quivering because he’s not being nice and sweet and kind and loving, because he’s not acting like he’s all in loooooove.

Sometimes, we find the perfect balance. Sometimes he does just the right thing at just the right time and all sides of me are happy and satiated.

But, goddess, isn’t even that THOUGHT a little fucked up?

I mean, I HATE that he can’t do certain things because he loves me. Yet in the same damned breath I’ll cry about how if he loved me he wouldn’t do this or that or would do such and such to be nice.

That’s fucked up.

Things conflict, like vinegar and oil, not wanting to mix properly. Maybe, like that vinegar and oil, we just need to shake it all up a bit?

Maybe I just need to remember that love doesn’t equal getting everything I want, just how I want it. And somehow retrain my mind and heart, reprogram them or something, so I can stop feeling so conflicted half the time.

Ugh. I’m babbling. I can’t help it. My mind is racing and the thoughts won’t come together.

Ugh, ugh, ugh.
What do I want, damn it?

I want floggers and canes and clamps and leashes and collars and kneeling and crawling and corner time and a bed on the floor and other women worshiping his dick (ok, that’s a tough one. my head wants it. I know he wants it. but gods almighty it makes me want to vomit as much as it arouses me as a dark and awful fantasy), I want choking and hair pulling and power and control shoved down my throat, I want rules and boundaries and to live to please him. I want him to look at me like I’m this lovely and amusing object to be toyed with. I want to look at him like he’s a god…

But I want bubble baths and massages and the occasional foot rub, too. I want hugs and snuggles after sex and foreplay before. I want someone to run to the store for a candy bar when I have PMS instead of having to do it myself. I want him to touch my skin or my hair just because it’s soft. And I want him to look at me like I’m the most beautiful, precious, wonderful woman he’s ever known, with his eyes all soft and adoring.

Is it any wonder I feel conflicted by this love stuff?

And since when does what I want matter, anyhow? (Yes, yes, I know we should all get what we want and in a perfect balance we do. I know it can’t work if I get nothing I want. But that doesn’t mean I have to be so bloody focused on myself now, does it? If he never gives me anything than the relationship is shit and I leave. Except I can’t leave. Hmmm… good thing I actually do get what I need out of it, eh?)

Love.
It sure makes it hard to focus on just one aspect of the relationship, doesn’t it?

Let’s all remember to keep it shook up, like a grand vinaigrette on the finest salad ever made, shall we?

That’s got to be the only way it works.

Training. Vigilance. Surety of our places. And a good shake now and again.

~peace

Powered by ScribeFire.

“The longing to serve, to submit, to abandon oneself sexually, emotionally, and physically makes one a slave either to a man, a woman or to God. Submission to that passion is divine degradation.”
– Dorothy C. Hayden

Every so often I come back to trying to define things. I don’t know why since I know that, in regards to my own relationship, the labels and definitions don’t matter one single bit. We are what we are no matter what we call it.But, still, the compulsion to give things a name.
It makes me wish there was another name for what I am. Some new label that works for me. Something that fit just right instead of feeling like it’s too big or too small, too much or not enough.

I’m submissive to Taylor but am I “a” submissive?
Well, yes, in that the ideal dynamic for me is always going to be one of dominance and submission, of power exchange, of control and surrender. I’m never going to be happy in a relationship where I am equal in power. But I don’t always act very submissive. (How does a submissive act, anyhow? I’ve been told often enough how they don’t act - that would be like me - but, really, how do these dream submissives act?) I don’t always submit easily, even though it’s my deepest need and desire. It’s too ingrained in my very nature to struggle and fight against certain things to ever be able to just mindlessly submit without the occasional negative reaction. I’m not soft spoken, I don’t get every iota of joy in my life from serving someone, I don’t even always enjoy the service I do for Taylor. I do it, because I’ve agreed to the dynamic of our relationship and that requires obedience and service even when I loathe it - but loathe it I do on occasion.

So, I dunno, am I “a” submissive? It’s the term I use to describe myself most times, the one I use when I’m communicating with others in the lifestyle…

But is it correct? Is it what I am?

Am I a slave?
Gods, but I hate that word. Not for the horrible historical connotations but for it’s over use and the attitude that often comes with it. (Can anyone say holier than thou? That’s not to say all slaves have that attitude. I’ve met many who don’t. But I’ve experienced it too many times to not get that squicked out shudder every time I contemplate using the term for myself)
Besides, I feel like a slave is only a slave so long as they have a Master - and a Master a Master only so long as they have a slave - and I don’t like to define myself with a word that is so subjective to circumstance.
I’d like to think I am what I am despite my relationship status.

I guess I just make too big a deal out of words.
Maybe I care too much cuz I’m confused about it myself.
Maybe I want to be more than just a submissive.

I don’t know, man.

I guess what it comes down to is…
I’m his.
I belong to him.
I obey.
I serve.
I strive to be pleasing though I can’t say I always make the best effort I’m capable of.
I’m not allowed to leave.
I’m not allowed to say no. (Well, I can say it. He’s just not required to listen.)
Limits? Right. He respects my intense dislikes because they mostly match his or because he doesn’t want to permanently harm me. Beyond that, if I even use the term he laughs.
Safeword? Yeah. It’s “powder”. The last time I threatened to use it he laughed. I can scream it until I turn blue in the face. He’s only going to stop if he feels we’re done - not because I muttered some word.

I’m his girl.
He’s my world. My dominant, my lover, my best friend, the very essence of home and happiness.

Definitions, labels…
They’re useless.
We are what we are and I don’t think there’s a word for it.

That still doesn’t help me explain it to other folks, though! And, I tell ya, if I hear “you’re just a submissive, you wouldn’t get it” (or any of those other belittling, nasty, snide one liners so many toss out there) ONE MORE TIME….

Technorati Tags: labels, BDSM, us, doh!

Powered by ScribeFire.

“Flow with whatever is happening and let your mind be free. Stay centered by accepting whatever you are doing.” ~Chuang Tzu

One of the hardest things for me is not knowing what is going to happen next. In general, I mean.
I’m one of those people who plan their day out the night before, who wake up with a set of expectations about what the day is to bring.
It’s not like I plan out my life weeks and months in advance. I’m not a routine freak or anything like that.
I just function best when I know what’s going on in the immediate future.I bet you can guess where this is going.

Taylor is a very spur of the moment sort of dude. Or, better yet, he’ll have something planned in his mind but doesn’t let me know until a few minutes before he wants to do it. Or, even better, he changes his mind!

And, yes, it does make me about crazy.

I think part of my need to have everything planned out comes from the fact that it’s my job to take care of everyone. You can’t work, run a house, take care of a kid, a dog, a cat and the Dude in your life without sort of planning things out so you can fit it all in a day.
So, yeah, pretty much every night I start thinking about the next day; what I have to do, what I should do, what I’d like to do and how to fit as much of it in as I can.
I also loathe not accomplishing what I wanted to.

So you can imagine my reaction when someone puts a wrench in my plans.
It’s never pretty.
It’s probably the one thing that has me rolling my eyes, huffing and gritting my teeth more than anything else in the world. I also bitch and moan and whine on occasion. (Taylor is probably reading this and sputtering, “occasion? Occasion?? OCCASION???” He once told people “if her head had spun around just ONE more time, I was leavin’!”)

So this is one of the things I’m trying, really hard, to work on.
It is SO not easy.

I feel so fucking out of control when I can’t do things in the order I intended to, when I sometimes don’t get them done at all because I was interrupted or our plans changed.

It’s not like I need to be in control of our lives. I just need to know what’s going on so I can fit everyone else’s extra stuff or changed stuff into my schedule of what I have to do or am supposed to do. I don’t want to feel in control OF stuff…
I just don’t want my day to be like being on the bumper cars, either.

And it’s not like I feel like I”m “being” controlled, either - unfortunately. I just feel like I’m running an obstacle course.

So, yeah, I really need to work on this.

Cuz I know Taylor gets to feeling like I’m just a troublesome cow when I’m having fits over my schedule being interrupted. And it has to feel like my obedience is given very begrudgingly.

And that’s really not the case. I want to obey and I do obey. I just want to be able to finish the tasks I’ve mapped out for the day.

(Taylor doesn’t give me a daily routine, schedule or tasks. We both know what things in the house and out of it are mine to do and I’m expected to get them done. He’s not going to put me in the corner if I don’t get the house vacuumed and the world is not going to come to an end but if I go too many days without getting the vacuuming done I’m going to start feeling like a failure, like my life has gone to hell and my home is a disaster site. Those feelings are not conducive to my submission because I get to feeling overwhelmed in incapable and worthless and… you get the point. So while I don’t have tasks or a schedule I do have things I must get done - hence the planning out of my days.)

Am I making a bit of sense?

I dunno. I just feel like I would be a much better submissive if I could just chill out and accept whatever comes next - no matter what it is - instead of getting in a panic because I might not get things done if I deviate from the little schedule I’ve mapped out for myself.

I’m working on it. I really am. Cuz I don’t want to seem like an ungrateful, complaining heifer every time he tells me to do something I didn’t have planned or every time he decides we’re going here, there or wherever instead of staying home (or vice versa). I want to be able to smile and accept and move on without losing my friggin’ mind.

That’s part of making him happy, right?

(But, honest to gods, WHO is gonna vacuum my floor if I put it off too many times? No one else even cares if it EVER gets vacuumed! Lol)

Maybe I need a twelve step program. Meditation. Yoga. Valium?

Can you just imagine what my reaction to a blindfold is?

Powered by ScribeFire.

Here is the obligatory part of the meme:“Each player starts
with 7 random facts/habits about themselves. People who are tagged need
to write their own blog post with their 7 things as well as these
rules. You need to tag 7 others and list their names on your blog.
Remember to leave a comment for them letting them know they have been
tagged and to read your blog.”

My seven:
1. I have a long standing soft spot in my heart for Winnie the Pooh (Not the cartoon - the books)
2. I keep my desk very neat and tidy
3. Bath products make my heart go pitter pat
4. I don’t like chocolate much
5. I really want a boob job
6. I love my own toes
7. I can cook but I’m fairly hopeless when it comes to baking

There ya have it. I hereby tag:

1. Rainie
2. That Venomous Chica
3. & 4. The Blue Eyed couple - angel and Devil
5. The Hippie Chick
6. The always beautiful Ravyn
7. My fellow quicksander, Embre

Have fun, guys. (I wouldn’t have done it but, yanno, I was tagged!)

Powered by ScribeFire.

And I do mean ever elusive.Everyone talks about it. Some seem to drop deep into it after just a few minutes.
In 17 years I’ve never experienced it.
I do not know what y’all are talking about.
Honest to gods.

I have, many times, been over the reasons why I like, need, crave and submit to pain. It’s about power and control, about sensation that engulfs, surrender that leaves it’s proof in bruises, cuts and welts across my body. It’s about the ultimate submission and the forcing of the mind, body and spirit to give in and accept that you are owned, utterly owned by this person who can make you curl on the floor, sobbing until you hiccup but still beg for more. It’s about feeling small and helpless and completely used. It’s about the satisfaction of being spent, wore out, used up and blissfully free of any question about who is in control. It’s consuming. All else fades to the background for the small bits of time that you are under his whip.

So many reasons for my need for the agony, shock and anguish of pure physical pain.
Subspace is not one of them.

I don’t understand this floating, not in the moment, out of your head sensation in regards to pain.
I’ve done some wicked, evil, intense and even horrifying scenes. I’ve had more broken skin, blood and bruises than even I like to admit. I’ve been beaten until I was hanging, completely, from the cuffs that tied me to the cross, legs collapsed and useless, until I slid out of the cuffs (custom cuffs that should have kept me immobilized) like my body was suddenly made of liquid, and balled myself up on the floor, only to be beaten more, in that position. I’ve crawled across the floor to escape the whip, laid upon that floor and let him whip me more…
No subspace.
I’ve been in the moment, every moment, of every scene I’ve ever done.

Sure, I hit a place where the fall of the flogger, whip or cane becomes a drone, a mindless, seemingly unending repetition that causes me pain. A place where it hurts a little less than it did in the first twenty minutes and a lot less than it will in the last. A place where my skin warms and almost numbs a bit, where the sensation is a little less sharp for awhile, where I can take more, where I might even begin to laugh out my release, laugh in pure joy at the exquisite release of emotion and tension and inner pain, laugh at the loss of my own tight control over my feelings to him. Right up until he switches spots, that is. And then it’s back to white hot, searing pain in a new, less warmed up spot; pain that will make me hiss and scream and go up on tiptoe.

I revel in it all.
But I still don’t get this subspace stuff.
It’s foreign. Alien. Bizarre.

I think the closest I’ve come is during mental stuff.
You can beat my body bloody and I won’t fly but if you bend my mind…
I am lost.

I still don’t know that it’s subspace but I have hit a strange mental zone when the BDSM has been of the psychological kind rather than physical/pain based. A place that is a little blurry and unfocused, that is like tunnel vision and all I can see, hear and feel is him.

Being restrained, being denied orgasm, being talked to - you know, that dirty talk, those whispers and growls that tell you, over and over and over again, who you are and what your place is - those things will tip me over into a space that is “other”. A space where I almost forget to breathe I’m so focused upon him.
I’ve actually had that happen not only in real time but on the phone and online.
I still don’t know that it’s subspace, though.
I think it’s more like hypnosis. Mind control.
Whatever it is, it’s yummy. Just as yummy, in it’s way, as pain. Sometimes even more so. When he can bend my mind to get the same reaction as pain - that utter surrender of all - on top of pain, in addition to pain, at the same glorious time as pain, it’s about the best thing there is in life.

But I still don’t think it’s subspace.

Ever elusive, like a delicate lavender butterfly, always flittering out of reach.

The question is; do I want to reach it? Or would I lose all I now gain from the things we do?

Powered by ScribeFire.

‘One of the pleasant things about owning a slave,’ I said, ‘is the opportunity to converse with her, to listen to her, to hear her express herself, her feelings and ideas. One can learn much from a slave. Many slaves, like yourself, are highly intelligent. They can express themselves articulately, clearly, trenchantly, and lyrically. It is a great pleasure to talk with them.’ ‘Then when one wishes,’ I said, ‘one puts them again on their knees.’ ~John Norman

Not a Gor fan but I do love this quote.

Half my problem lately, I think, is that I’ve sort of forgotten how to gracefully go back to my knees.
I’ve gotten too big for my britches, my nagging and complaining has gotten to be habit and I’m finding it hard to stop.
I’ve done better, lately, than I had been doing but I really need to focus more. More on him and less on me. It’s really the only way to get what I need. I’ve always known that his pleasure comes first and mine comes only after he’s had his. I don’t think I’ve truly pleased him in a long while.

*sigh*

More over here
I thought I had it in me to do two blogs today from slightly different perspectives but I”ve depressed myself.
~peace

Powered by ScribeFire.