A View from the Floor

The six year anniversary of Taylor and I meeting for the first time is coming up pretty soon. Early in February, actually.
We’d known each other years and years online but rarely talked.
He used to tell me “one of these days, sin”. (That was my screen name back then. Submissively_sinful. Most people called me sinny. Taylor always called me sin.)
I would say “it’s never gonna happen”.
But mostly we just ignored each other. We chatted for different reasons and, while we got along quite well when we did talk, we didn’t talk often.

In fact, I was still in a long distance relationship of some years around this time six years ago.
I believe we split up just after the new year.

The very last thing I was looking for was a new relationship or a new dominant.

Well, our mutual online friend Rainie had different ideas.
She’d met Taylor the previous year for a weekend - he’d always been a sort of mentor to her and they hooked up for her to experience some of the stuff, for real, that she’d been exploring for so long.

I remember telling her when she first met him that it figured, as she’d always had a thing for those psychotic, bi polar types. (Amusingly enough after we hooked up she sent me a copy of that very IM to torment me with my own words. The brat)

Anyhow…
She decided we’d be good together.
She invited us both to Cincinnati to spend her birthday with her.
She could explore her bi curiosity and I could get the flogging Taylor’d been teasing me with for years. A rough and tumble ass fuck or two. You know - casual, kinky sex between friends.
All cool, right?

So we started talking more online and on the phone.
Casual, at first.
Kind of getting to know each other more before we actually met and had a fuckfest of a weekend.

If I admit it to myself I started to fall for him then. Before we ever met.
But the real deal sealer was when I looked into his eyes for the first time at the bus station. (Yes, yes, we both did the Greyhound thing. He was coming from WV, me from WI and my car was NOT doing so well at the time. LOL)
One look and I was a goner.

But I still insisted to myself that I wasn’t looking for permanent.
Reminded myself thru the entire long weekend that Taylor was NOT a keeper.
Even Rainie agreed with that.

Well…
One long weekend and a thousand phone calls later and he came to WI for an extended visit.
Ten days, I think, three weeks after the Cinci visit.

Three weeks later he moved in.

I still didn’t think he was a keeper.

It was what it was for as long as it lasted.
I still told myself I wasn’t looking for another Steve, another Master, another Owner.

We did things fast and casual, taking what came as it came with absolutely no rule book, contract, check list or agenda.

Almost six years later…

He’s a keeper.
I can’t imagine my life without him in it.
He makes me believe in forever.
In an old couple, still in love, rockin’ on the backyard swing.
And in the endurance of D/s once you put your fantasy based expectations aside and realize it’s still a relationship between two people in love and is never gonna be a Marketplace novel or the Story of O. (Who’d want THAT anyhow????? But that’s for another post. This one is for mush, damn it.)

He was exactly what I was looking for when I didn’t even know I was looking.

Thru the shit storms and the easy, breezy flights of near perfection…

He still is.

Everything I’ve ever looked for.
And more.

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I’ve been absent from here for awhile, haven’t I?

Nothing pissing me off enough to spur on a rant, I guess. Nothing majorly angsty going on in my life. Not much in the way of creative juices, either.

Sometimes you’re so full of stuff - emotions and thoughts that make your fingers itch with the need to get them out of your head and onto paper. Or the computer screen, more realistically. I so rarely write anything long hand these days.

Sometimes you simply have to write. The stuff pounds in your head, threatening to explode if you don’t set your fingers to the keys and let it out, threatening to scramble your mind with the masses of words that will not be contained.

And sometimes you just don’t.

Lately it’s been a don’t time.

Been coasting along on normalcy for about a month and enjoying it quite a bit.

Also enjoying the warning label a few people are including with their links to me. Seriously. I get a giggle out of those words that follow the link, letting folks know in advance that I can get a bit agitated, angry and extreme in my musings. What a way to stand out from the crowd, eh?

I feel a bit disappointing lately, though, with my silence and ordinariness. Even worse is the fact that my whole reason for sitting down to write today will seem so ordinary to many of you - but was astounding to me.

With all my years experience have I mentioned that I’ve never been truly bound? I mean bound with yards and yards and seeming miles of rope that immobilize and wrap my entire body, leaving me strung up and totally helpless?

I hadn’t. Until the other night, that is.

I’ve been cuffed and shackled. Tied to beds and crosses and benches and tables. I’ve been strapped down. I’ve had pretty little bits of rope tied in decorative little ways to show off the knot skills of this Dom or that. I’ve been told to stay put, the only bondage being in my head, in the knowledge that I must not let go of those rings, that I must stand still.

But I’d never been trussed up and helpless before.

Never had my arms so completely immobilized.

Never had rope wrapped around my chest and strung to the ceiling, keeping me on my feet in a tight, secure hug.

Never had my legs bound together so that I couldn’t stand on my toes (as I’m wont to do in a scene, I have no idea why), so that I couldn’t do anything but balance precariously.

Never had my feet go out from under me only to feel rope both invasive and comforting wedging itself into the folds of my cunt and the crack of my ass, holding me up.

I had NO idea that I liked bondage!

I didn’t know it would have me light headed and half floaty before the ties were even done.

Didn’t know it would feel so comfortable and secure, that it would free my head to accept things the way it did.

Didn’t know it would add so much to the fear I revel in.

I had no idea that the helplessness would do so much for me. That the simple feeling of rope sliding across my skin would be so damned wonderful.

Or that I would feel sad when it came off.

Or that I would want more so soon.

More. Tighter. Longer.

Little miss proud of herself for not needing bondage has become an addict.

Thank you, Robert, for rigging me up.

And thank you, Taylor, for giving me yet another new experience.

God help us all now that it’s bound (hehe, pun intended) to become a new need.

I still don’t know that “just” bondage would do much for me but writhing helplessly in the embrace of that rope while my ass was being tortured and knives were scaring the sniveling crap out of me was just shy of heaven.

So I woke up this morning and kissed Taylor out the door. In return I got a face slap that left me vaguely cock eyed. (As in… cock… now… please…)
Turns out he gets a phone call on his way to the truck and doesn’t have to be in for another couple hours.
This, of course, sets me right out of cock eyed mode and into money worry mode and the subsequent griping, bitching and general panic induced cuntishness that comes along with it.

That lasted until I ran out of steam and, next thing ya know, I find myself prodded thru the house by my hair.

Bent over this and that, hair being tugged out by the roots, face being assaulted with the occasional smack…

And I’m STILL sort of bitching and moaning and muttering in my head about the crappy ass timing and the coffee I haven’t even sipped.

He hasn’t said a word yet, mind you.

And he’s groping and yanking and tugging and slapping at me and all of a sudden I start to bawl.

Why?

I dunno. He asked me that, too. I didn’t have an answer then, either.

I guess it all just felt so fucking impersonal.

I’m not a morning person at ALL and my rapid mood change just sort of had me reeling.

So he’s got me bent over this and that, smacking my ass and spreading my legs painfully wide and ramming his substantial dick into my internal organs, determined I taste it from the inside or something…

And my knees are being ground into the carpet, my hair breaking tearing out by the roots (or so it seemed), my uterus is calling 911 and he decides to rapidly switch from pussy to ass.

The tears are copious, the snot is running down my face, my instinct is to fight my way free and beat him over the head with something and, suddenly, he starts to talk.

And, yes, all the aches and pains were still there - as was the crappy mood - but within moments they were secondary to the arousal and keen feeling of my place, of being shown it so adamantly.

I still got up when he was done and griped about being smooshed and battered to death but inside my trembling body (and I was trembling, oddly) I was all soft and warm and squishy and totally head over heels in love with this man I would have sworn I hated half an hour ago.

Yeah.

I’m definitely a word whore.

It’s not so much that I need him to call me a whore every time we fuck or tell me how dirty I am.

I just need words to clue me into what he’s feeling inside as he does these things to me, words to point me in the right emotional direction, to put me in the headspace he wants instead of following my own crazy thoughts to the wrong place.

Words, eye contact, kisses…

These three things seem to keep my head where it should be.

I guess I need even the most impersonal use of my body to be…

Personal.

Is that what it comes down to?

I know I’ve been absent. Give me a detention. I’ve been in a slump.

I do have something for ya today, of a sorts.

A few words from Taylor, followed by a wee revelation about myself.

From Taylor the other day, posted on one of the forums over at MyDungeonSpace, on the topic of Humiliation:

“Now I am not writing this with a dictionary in hand but I feel these deffinitions should be acceptable to most if not all. To humiliate, is to force humility. What is humility? Is it the same as humbleness? No not really. Being humble is simply NOT being overly prideful.

Humility however, is knowing one’s station in life, knowing their place in all things. Knowing exactly who and what they are, and being completely content with that knowledge.

To bring that into our little deviant world, a submissive who has humility, know who she is, knows her value and knows her place. She knows what is expecte dof her and accepts those expectations. She knows her place is one of submission and subservience to her man and not only accepts that but is content with it, even revels in it.

To humiliate her, is to show her undeniably who she is, and what she is, not only to you but to the world in general.

As an example I’ll use an incident from my own life. One afternoon I got the urge to have my dick sucked. Carrie was about as far as a girl could get from being in the mood to polish the knob. However me being me, and her being her the mood she was in was not part of the equation.

So she found herself on her knees in the middle of the kitchen floor with my dick shoved down her throat. Her eyes tearing up and watering, her makeup smeared and running her hair a mess her lips bruised and cut. My dick forced into her mouth and troat. At one point I stop and grab her face look her in the eye and say something along the lines of “look at you. This is who you are, this is what you are, this is the only thing you are here for” now the wording may have been slightly different but the sentiment and statement is the same. Now did this mean that she was only there to give blow jobs? Hardly, it meant she was there to serve me, to please me, to be the object of my desires and lusts. It meant that she was mine to be used as I see fit. Something no one else is in any position to do.

That is humiliation, forcing her to have the humility, the knowledge of exactly who and what she is and forcing her to accept and be content with it, to even enjoy it and be happy with herself.

It has little to do with shame, embarrassment, or anyof the other negative connotations that society has conditioned us to associate with the word humiliation. It is in a nut shell the very thing that 90% of submissives want from their dominants. Being made completely aware of themselves, of who they are, and what they are, but most importantly what they are worth, no matter what they may or may not do.

A humiliated girl, is fucking priceless.

By dictionary deffinition humiliation shame and embarassment are pretty much kith and kin. But in a BDSM context, which is the context it’s being applied here, it has a completely different aspect.

Humilation play isn’t exactly about embarassing the submissive, it isn’t exactly about shame. it’s about reminding her of her value, no matter how filthy, how nasty, how animalistic she may behave to please her man. She is who and what she is.

At least that’s how I see it.”

Another bunch of words I feel the need to share and save.

But…

Beyond that it made me realize something.

I am a very…

Hmmm…

I need words.

I’m a reader, a writer, a speaker, a listener.

I don’t visualize well. I don’t follow hand signals well.

I get more turned on by a few choice words than by hours of foreplay.

And sometimes when I think I’m missing certain aspects of BDSM, when I think I’m craving certain things or lacking certain facets…

What I’m really missing, craving and lacking are the words.

Sometimes you can’t just do things to humiliate or use me, to control me, to punish me, to praise me, to… whatever.

Sometimes you have to tell me.

Sometimes you have to give me words.

You can’t just fuck me like I’m a whore and expect me to get it, much less get anything out of it - which I normally would cuz it’s a huge thrill for me.

Sometimes, ya need to TELL me you just used me like I’m a whore.

Does that make me stupid?

I don’t think so.

I think it just makes sure I know, exactly, what your intent and purpose was.

And…

It turns me on more.

Makes me feel more accurately.

And most definitely locks me more firmly in my place.

I’m a word whore.

How did it take me 37 years to figure this out????????????

A forum post Taylor made the other day…

shared here just cuz I liked the way he put it and wanted to save the words.

Punching

“Yup, you read it right, I said punching.

Balled up, clenched up, rock hard fist slammed into the face or flesh of your partner.

Punching, the brutal impersonal jab of dominance in a very raw and primitive form. Bruising sent deep, deep into the muscle of her thighs, so deep they take two days to become visible on the skin. A solid blow to the back, heavy on the ribs, pounding the breath from her but leaving no discernible mark, except the one on her mind.

That shot to the head when she’s crossed the line she knows is going to get her knocked on her ass. That fat lip that quivers and bleeds as it swells below those begging, pleading, needing, adoring eyes.

That soul shattering, world rocking, unequivocal bashing that reminds her of the power you wield over her, of the strength you possess to rend her body, to hurt her, to manipulate, bully, possess and control her.

Knuckles to the back of the head during and rather intense and brutal ass fuck. Scared knuckles mashing her body under you.

Leaving that goonie right above and behind her ear, the one only you and her know is there, that lump that’s still tender, that makes her flash back to the fist that made it, to the passion behind the fist.

The undeniable act, the vulgar display of power. The unquestionable act of brute force.

Punching her.

Too far? Too much? Turn on? Turn off? Heavy play? Abuse?

What if she consents to it? What of she even needs it, wants it, gets the fuck off on it?

Time to take off the gloves, time to put the masks aside and let he societal accepted norms go. Time to be raw and dirty.

Time to stop being nice proper well mannered kinkies and reveal the real perverts inside.

Come on…lets talk about it.”

And now I just need to inspire him this weekend.

Cuz, yeah, when he writes about brutality it makes me want some.

Bad.

* So I was cruising the net looking for icons yesterday and came across this one.

* It made me realize just how deeply I believe in the school of hard knocks.

* And then it made me realize that…

* Some folks never learn. No matter how many knocks they take, no matter how often they crash and burn, they never ever learn.

Maybe I’m jaded. Maybe I just suck as a teacher. Maybe my advice isn’t as good as I think it is. But it seems to me that folks just don’t listen. So unless I’m giving a demo with Taylor or have been asked something directly, I don’t generally bother anymore to give advice or try to teach anyone anything. (And, let me tell you, you’d think that at a demo or presentation people would be there to learn and listen - and some are - but you’d be amazed at how many are not. Do not.)

I tend to shrug things off and say to myself… eh… let her crash and burn. She’ll learn. Because if they won’t listen, won’t hear you, won’t take and use your advice…

What else can you do?

Which brings us back to those who don’t learn even when they’ve crashed and burned.

What do you do?

Again with the jaded thing but I’m truly beginning to believe they’re the folks who are most happy at the bottom of a smoldering heap. Most content when life is falling apart around them and they’re the center of some drama or another - mostly created by themselves.

And so I’m becoming apathetic.

Unless I’m asked I just don’t give a shit.

And even when I’m asked…

When it comes to the drama kings and queens…

I just don’t give a shit.

Crash. Burn. Learn or don’t learn.

I just don’t care.

I know it appears, sometimes, when you leave a comment that it just vanishes.
It does it to me on occasion as well.
You type, click submit, enter in the little spam security text and…. poof. Nothing.

I don’t know why this happens but I actually am getting the comments.
They just don’t seem to show up on the blog until I read them thru my dashboard thingy first.
It seems as though once I do that they then show up on the blog itself.

A small glitch here, I guess, but worth it to me for the adult hosting.

Anyhow…
When it seems your comments are eaten don’t despair.
I get them.

And appreciate them muchly!

Hope y’all have a great weekend!

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So…

Had we not been at the end of the night and out of time Taylor was going to let a friend of ours tie me up and have his way with clothes pins with me.

See, Taylor isn’t real into bondage as he prefers the pure torture of keeping me still and in position by simply telling me to stay. I suspect he likes my responses better unbound and I suspect he enjoys watching me fall out of position just to return to where I should be as soon as my eyes meet his.

And the simpler forms of torture… clips and clamps and whatnot… just don’t do much for him. I’m not exactly sure why. (Why is that, Honey?)

Now I, on the other hand, quite enjoy clips and clamps and butt plugs and tack bras and all the other little things that don’t take much effort but sure put me in a nice head space. I like a bit of bondage on occasion, too. I’ve talked about that before…

Anyhow…

I was encouraging some friends of ours to play and the submissive of the couple was telling me it had been awhile and she’d prefer to regather that closeness with her Dude at home before opening up in public with it. Believe me, I can understand that! But she was saying that next time she was sure R would tie her up and whip a bunch of clothespins off her. I, of course, started lamenting the fact that Taylor doesn’t get into those things much and next thing ya know he’s offering to let R tie ME up and fiddle with the clothes pins.

Like I said…

It was late and the party was coming to a close so there was no time and no such thing happened but…

BELIEVE me I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

And while I’ve had rather a lot of thoughts on the idea what it comes down to is… I don’t really know WHAT I think about the idea!

So I’m gonna babble a bit. Just let the thoughts wriggle out of my brain as they wish and apologize later for the tangled bits y’all have to sort thru if you actually finish reading this.

Part of me is extremely leery about letting anyone else have control of my physical self, letting anyone else dish out pain and sensation upon my body. It’s been seven years since anyone but Taylor has and, in reality, despite my years of experience my partners have been few.

Bri, Steve and Taylor. That’s it.

I can count on one hand the number of people Sabrina allowed to touch me and one of those was an utter disaster. None of it very intense and most of it just someone joining a scene with her, to do something she couldn’t do with only two hands.

Steve was a long distance thing and no one but him touched me while we were together.

Taylor and I are closing in fast on our sixth anniversary and other than a few nipple tweaks by other Dominants - or the stray whack with a frying pan (Ed!) - we’ve not had anyone else involved in our scenes or had me scene with anyone else. There have been a few times he’d have liked to but I balked out of discomfort. We’ve teased with a few female Dominants online and discussed how much we’d have liked to bring them in on some of our play but I think that’s mostly because I sometimes miss the oddly different touch of a Dominant woman, the complete different mindset that forms when a woman tortures another woman. And, hell, Taylor would love nothing better than sharing me with another chick - Domme, sub or alien.

So anyway…

It’s almost a foreign concept for me - someone else being part of our play or being given the right to control my body, give my flesh the sensations and torment that normally only Taylor does.

I can’t quite imagine it.

I don’t know how I’d react to it.

And I’m fairly certain I’d disappoint whomever was Topping me.

Cuz there’s another aspect.

For most folks, S/m is about sex. It’s about wet panties and hard cocks and becoming aroused. And, for me, it just ain’t. Rarely, anyhow.

Sure, the idea of being tortured and tormented and whatnot turns me on. It makes me fidgety and squirmy and sometimes wet. But the actual act rarely does. Well, ok, I guess I generally get wet regardless but my brain doesn’t process pain as arousal even if my body does. When in the throes of a session I don’t really want to be touched in a sexual way. I don’t want to get off. I don’t have the craving to go from pain right into sex. I don’t want someone to set a vibrator on my clit while they beat me. Etc, etc, etc. It is very, very, VERY rare for pain to manifest as a physical and sexual arousal.

What I like, what I get from pain is the chance to revel in the damned pain, the sensations. To absorb them in my body, to catch them in my breath and hold them there until my skin can’t take it anymore and feels it’s going to split, until if I don’t release them in the next breath, the next moan, the next scream I’m going to explode.

And it takes a certain kind of Sadist to suck those sensations into himself on his next breath, to take the power and emotion I’m giving him and feed upon it.

People watch Taylor and I play and, while I know they’re enthralled by the extremity of it, I also know they’re baffled by the lack of eroticism and sex.

And, yeah, we usually fuck like starved Ethiopians when we get home but that’s, for me, less about the pain and almost totally about the power - the taking, the drawing out, the forcing, the surrender. (Oh god. Now THAT makes me wet!)

So…

yeah…

I’m a little worried that playing with someone else would be a huge disappointment to them. And maybe to me, as well. I dunno.

I’m just not very good at being casual about all this. I guess cuz it’s not casual to me. It damned near spiritual.

So, ok. There’s also the fact that I’ve never actually seen R play before. I’ve heard about his skill with ropes and some of the things him and p do but I’ve never seen it. Never felt the energy so I don’t know if we’d be compatible that way.

I’ve seen a lot of people play and there are very few that have spurred me to think “oh, yeah, I’d let him do that to me”. Very few people have the same sort of scene energy I do. I dunno, damn it.

Then I have this reputation as an extreme pain whore to live up to. And, fuck, man, I don’t know if I can take that kind of pain from anyone but Taylor. I really never had in the past; not like what we do.

So I feel as though I’m bound to disappoint there, too.

I think that in order to scene with anyone else I’d need to have Taylor RIGHT THERE. I’d need to know his attention was on me through out the scene, that I could meet his eyes at any time. (I feel a little bad. I know R reads this blog occasionally and now I feel like I’m saying I don’t trust him. I do. I have much love and trust for R and p. Please don’t take any of this wrong!)

See, it’s all in my head and in my heart and I’ve given so much control to Taylor, surrendered so damned much, I don’t know if I have anything left to give anyone else. With Taylor right there I’d still feel I was giving to him, doing what he wanted me to.

Make sense?

So, I’ve got all these “oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods, what if….” things running thru my head and a boatload of insecurity and fear and blah blah blah…

But at the same time there’s this niggling little voice that says “some rope and clothes pins would be awful fun, pussssssss”.

And, yeah, I’ll admit that ideally I’d get that from Taylor. But at the same time I don’t want him to do stuff that bores him to tears just to make me happy. I don’t end up happy then, yanno? I end up feeling guilty and unfulfilled and plain old icky.

So what does one do, huh?

Trust the Man, that’s what. Cuz he’s gonna do with me what he wants regardless. Or let someone else do. And we already know he’s not going to let harm come to me so…

Shut up, puss puss.

Ok.