Monthly Archives: March 2014

This is my life: whipped bloody

He stood there excitedly while I put rope around his legs. He was smiling and practically vibrating with the excitement of what he hoped was coming. I took the opportunity to run my hands over his lithe body as I was working the rope around his legs. Then I led him over to the hard point and put the cuffs around his wrists. He smiled at me as I raised his arms up and locked him into place.

I smacked him around a little bit and bit him. He was already shaking and moaning, and still almost vibrating with what I was going to do to him. He’s wanted it since I first kissed him with my whip. And tonight I wanted to give it to him. But not yet. I got out my thick leather flogger. Getting hit with it is almost like being hit by a bat, it’s so heavy. He was having trouble keeping his feet. But I could tell he was also enjoying it.

Then I got out one of my new whips. He was the first to feel it. I got it just for him. I wanted to bloody him with it and make it my whip for him alone. He was shocked but excited by the change. His body reacted. He jumped a little with the lick of the whip. Slowly, I worked up the intensity. Slowly, his reactions changed from sighs and moans to yelps and gasping. He was shaking now. Well past the excited vibrating. It was no longer coming. No longer a concept. A wish. It was here. It was now.

As the whip kept coming, no longer kissing him gently, he started crying. Beautiful tears flowing down his beautiful face. His body was trying to get away from the whip, but he wanted it to keep coming as well. If he’d really wanted to get away, he could have done so many things. He could have moved out of my striking range. He could have turned around. He could have used his safeword. But he didn’t. He shook and moved a little, but never so far I couldn’t reach him. And he was sobbing now. His back striped and starting to bleed. His whole body was heaving with his tears. I kept going. I kept going til he was a sobbing, bleeding, beautiful, glorious heap.

When I finally stopped, I came around to his face with tissues. I knew he would need them. And he did. His face was wet with tears and snot. And I let him blow his nose into my tissues before I would let his hands free. He was trying, somewhat incoherently, to apologize for the snot. But I wouldn’t hear of it. I couldn’t let him apologize for something so raw and vulnerable and exquisite. I finally freed his wrists and his arms dropped like stones. I held him tight, unable to express any other way how awed by him I was in that moment. His capacity for vulnerability and pain leave me speechless. He started crying again in my arms. I wanted to tell him how amazed I am by him. Giving me this. After all the years I’ve been doing this. Finally. But I couldn’t. All I could do was hold him as he cried some more in my arms.

Later. Much later. When I could speak clearly again. I finally told him.

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This is my life: the threat assessment

Once upon a time, the husband tried to shove me at the wild thing. At every chance he got, he tried to get me to play with the wild thing. Do something with the wild thing… Look! There is the wild thing right over there and he’s looking this way… Don’t you want to play with him tonight??? Then, eventually, I did. I asked him about it after the play, and the husband remarked that he didn’t find the wild thing threatening. At that time, I thought to myself…

You will.

And he did. In a way he does, even though we’ve talked about it and he knows I love him and I’m not going to put him aside for anyone. So how did I know that the wild thing would move from “not a threat” to “potentially dangerous”? I saw what the wild thing might offer me. And he has. He is. He offers me things I have always wanted. He loves to touch me and be touched by me. Any touch. A kiss, a swat on the ass while he makes my tea, my nails in his flesh just because I felt like it, a bite on the neck because I love to bite. The wild thing wants it. He wants it in a way the husband doesn’t. He wants it whenever I want to do it. When he’s walking. When he’s watching a movie. When he’s in a scene. Doesn’t matter the timing, he wants it on my time frame and at my whim. And that’s scary.

The wild thing is just beginning his kink journey. He wants to try everything (well almost everything) and he wants to explore with me. He is willing to try things that the husband either can’t do due to his work or won’t do because he isn’t interested. I’m not just beginning my kink journey, but I’m an explorer. I like to examine and delve and learn new things. The husband is basically done learning. The only way he explores new things in the kink realm is if I make him. And since we are not in a TPE relationship, I can’t always make him. But the husband sees how much fun and excitement I’m experiencing trying all these new thing with the wild thing. And it’s scary.

I’m also getting service. Not service which someone else wants to do for me. Not service that I can’t call “service.” I call it service. I tell the wild thing what I want him to do or fetch or make, and he does it. He usually does it joyfully. He is serving me in a way that is obvious and blatant and servicey. And the husband can’t or won’t serve me in such a blatant way. That’s scary.

I understood that it would be scary. It’s scary for me too. I know that the husband doesn’t always react well to his fears. I’m not the only one with a history of being used or betrayed by my lover/partner/better half. He could have run. So far he hasn’t. He could preemptively betray me to cause me to leave. As far as I know, he hasn’t. What he HAS done is be honest with me that he’s threatened now. What he HAS done is tell me slowly and in the best way he knows how, the things that are scaring him and why. And what I’ve done is try my best to make sure he knows he’s not going to lose me unless he does something ridiculously hurtful and stupid. I’m not going to leave him for any reason he doesn’t give me himself. I’ve done whatever I can to make sure he knows that I still love him. I love him more today than yesterday. And my new joy in someone else does not negate the joy I feel in him. It just gives me more joy to share with them both.

(And really I find that I’m much nicer to the people I come across in my daily life as well! It’s amazing what having your needs fulfilled can do!)

This is my life: the text message

The wild thing is young. Much younger than I am. He’s young enough to be my son (if I’d had children young). And though he reads as a wild young fairy boy to me, his actions are those of a man. Most of the men who have wanted to submit to me have been very secretive about me. I didn’t realize until this week how much it’s sunk into my skin. How much it has affected me. How much it taught me to expect less. To expect to be treated in a way that made me feel like I wasn’t valued. Sometimes it takes a boy (Well, technically he is not actually a boy, but he’s a young man at least!) to show you what a man is.

Him: I still need to learn how to [very particular cleaning thing I hate doing] and also to [clean this thing that we discovered needed cleaning yesterday].

Me: Yes you do. Why don’t you come over on Friday evening for some naked cleaning instruction!

Him: Well I have this cocktail thing I’m already committed to doing with my mom and some of her work friends. I could do something before or after or both. Do you want to come to the cocktail thing?

 

Edit: I’ve met the wild thing’s mom and several of his friends. All seems to have gone well! I’m feeling slightly relieved and also very lucky to have such wonderful men in my life. The husband was supportive even through his fear of my getting something I usually can’t get from any guy who’s wanted to submit to me.

This is my life: the phone call

We’re driving to an event together. He’s driving. I’m looking around and relaxing. The phone rings. He lets go of my hand to answer it.

“Hello.”

A woman’s voice on the other end of the line. Alarm bells start softly sounding in my head. So many times I’ve been suspicious that I’m actually a mistress in the traditional sense of the word.

“Yeah. Ok.”

The bells are louder now. He sounds like he might be avoiding. Is he? I can’t really tell, but I don’t want to be a dirty little secret. I hate that. I already have one man in my life that won’t talk about me to any of his friends or family. And I’ve only known the wild thing for a few months. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. Maybe I’m his dirty little secret and I didn’t realize it. The alarm bells are going crazy.

“No. I’m hanging out with Anonymouskinky today. Ok. Bye.”

I look at him and I almost want to cry. He grabs for my hand again. Smiling at me. He wants to touch me. He is telling the other person on the end of the line that I’m in his life. He isn’t keeping me a secret. He isn’t ashamed of me or of what we are doing together. I hardly know what to do with myself.

“What? You’re looking at me funny. I was just telling my mom I am busy today.”

And later. Much later. The next day later…

“I’m having dinner with a few friends tonight. Would you like to come? I’m inviting you.”

I’m floored. It hurts me a little that I’m so floored by this. I shouldn’t be. But I am. I just want to hold him and make every single one of his dark dreams come true.

 

Edit: And as a contrast. The raven broke our date tonight with about a half hour’s notice. It’s been over a year we’ve known each other now. Nobody in his life knows I exist. The contrast is staggering.

This is my life: be careful what you ask for…

I read a series of books wherein women rule in basically every kingdom… or queendom as the case may be! In this particular series, the court isn’t chosen via political manouverings as in most historical kingdoms. Rather the court is chosen because the people who are meant to serve a particular queen recognize it, as does the queen. She recognizes those who are meant to serve her. It is innate and does not require much effort in the actual recognition.

I’ve often wished for that. I’ve wished that I could just recognize those with the potential to serve me well or to be mine. Well, I’ve gotten a taste of it I think. And now I’m not exactly sure what to do about it. Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.

When I met the husband, I knew he was mine. It wasn’t exactly immediate, but it was a certain feeling that this one… this one is special. This one has potential. And within a few weeks, I had that “You just know” feeling about him. Now, several years later, I have been running into men who strike something in me. None of them strike me in quite the way the husband did. But they do strike me. They make me want to engage them. They make me want … something … from them. They bring out my desire to control. To hurt. To own.

But there are too many of them! I never wanted a harem of men to serve me. I don’t even know if I could manage so many. First there was one. Then two. Now there are three of them. What the hell would I even do with 4 submissives? Who has that much time? And yet… and yet… I find myself drawn to all of them for various reasons. The husband, the raven, the wild thing, and now one more. I was not prepared for the wild thing. He hit me like a baseball bat to the head. And now I feel like I’ve once again been sucker punched. What was I thinking asking for a gut instinct to guide my hand in whom I should be having a D/s relationship with?

This is my life: where the wild things are

He’s like something unreal. Out of a fairy tale. He’s a little otherworldly. He’s a little wild. He’s a little femme. He’s a little like an overgrown kitten. But that body… that body is like a perfect little work of art. He is a canvas for me to use however I might like. He has a much broader back than he has any right to possess. He has a long neck that just begs to be bitten and choked. And he offers it to me. Even when it’s already sore. He looks up at me with his almond shaped eyes and bends his head in that certain way as if to say, “I know you like to bite me here, and I want you to know that it’s yours if you want it.” And when I do, he can’t get close enough to me. He wants to touch me everywhere if I let him. He quakes and shivers and gasps. When I stop to look at him, his eyes are locked shut or wide open and wild. His reactions are like a drug to me. And I’m already addicted. I want it again, though I don’t have the energy.

I love how he struggles. But he isn’t going anywhere. He fights the pain, but he doesn’t fight me. He lets me. Whatever I’ve done. He lets me. He looks at me with those wild eyes, and I know he wants it as much as I want it.