Magical Beasts

It is not my intent to sound dramatic, but I always seem to find myself in a hostage situation. Not literally. But different things consume my life. They hold me there with their demands. Their ransom disguised as responsibility. I can see freedom, but I can’t seem to get there. And just when I resign myself to Stockholm Syndrome, I am rescued.

Released.

Despite the titles I wear and roles I assume, I cannot deny who I am.

Always, I am his.

He is the only one who can rescue me from my captors.

He tears down the walls and pulls the doors off of the hinges. He scoops me up with his strong arms and takes me away from my holding cell.

He rescues me. He releases me. He reveals me.

He reminds me of who he is when he tilts my face to his. When his eyes meet mine. When his fingers touch my skin, the invisible rope that has me bound in knots slides effortlessly to the floor.

When his lips touch mine I am transported to a beautiful place. A sanctuary where I am always safe.

He slowly leads me back to me. Because at my core, I am a flawed and needy magical beast. I crave nothing more than my Master’s touch.

I am transformed by our depth of intimacy. I am changed by our absolute love and devotion to each other.

It is beyond a kinky scene. It goes beyond lovemaking. It is a metamorphosis, really.

And maybe I am rambling on about this man of mine. Maybe I am just pensive from the amazing time we spent together. I cannot do it justice with words. It transcends language, as it was on a different plane.

But I do feel different today. Closer to who I am. Closer to him.

Unicorn 420

(More to come)

 

 

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Knowing My Place

Hello there. Where were we? I hate to admit, I don’t even remember. I’ve been away from this blog for a long time. I felt like our story was told. M and I found something we both wanted. We found each other. We found our rhythm as a D/s couple. We found our groove as a family. And despite rocky roads and winding paths, life is good.

I’ve started a side job…more like a side-hustle. By day, I work in my own consulting firm. By night, I am a phone sex operator. Yes. It’s true. I get on the phones late at night and speak with a variety of callers. It is interesting and fun.  M is fine with me chatting up these anonymous gents. The money is good. And for the most part, it’s easy work. The only issue is that I work late hours. Those late hours cut into “our time” and we fall asleep before we can have any fun.

Most couples struggle to find connection because we are inundated with responsibility. Being pulled in so many directions, often clouds our vision. Even the mirror is foggy and we cannot see who we are. That’s when it’s high time for a reminder.

Last night, I had a very long call. It was originally a 30 minute request, that turned into a two and a half hour conversation. By the time I finished, M was already in the bed. He was lying there completely naked, with a sheet over him. I looked at him and contemplated waking him up. I wanted him so badly. But I realized he was tired. He’s been working long hours and he appeared to be sleeping deeply. I quietly got into bed and rolled over to go to sleep.

“Get down between my legs, slut.” he commanded.

I was shocked. I thought he was asleep. I slowly rolled towards him when he said in a more direct tone. “Down between my legs. Suck my cock, slut.”

I scurried down to take him into my mouth. It’s been a while since he talked to me like that. I was aroused and eager to please him. I felt his hand on my head, pulling me by the hair as he guided the pace. He was forceful and aggressive. I loved it.

“Don’t take it deep, unless I tell you, slut. Or unless I shove it down your throat like this.”  And he pushed himself into my throat, gagging me. I nodded in approval. “You need to have your face-fucked. You need to be reminded who you are, slave.”

The word “slave”, as if by instinct, caused me to take him deep. Remember, he told me not to, unless he instructed me. He yanked me up by the hair and pulled me off his rock hard dick. Growling at me he said, “No slut. I decide when you take it deep. You are here for my use. Now rub my cock all over your face. Slap your face with my cock, you dirty slave.”

Holy shit it was hot! I was so into our scene. He took anything he wanted from me. He ordered and commanded me to pleasure him as he wanted. He posed my body in the positions he wanted. He reminded me of who I am as he relentlessly used me like a dirty slut.

Because, that is who I am. I am his dirty slut. My purpose is to serve and submit to him. And although our dynamic is ever-present in all we do, it’s nice to have it demonstrated in such a direct way. Such a deliciously dirty way.

The intensity of our scene brought me to subspace. It was a perfect conclusion to our night. As the tears fell, I relaxed into his strong arms and let go of everything. Expectations. Responsibilities. Stress. I let go of it all and found my place.

My place is right there. In his capable grasp. Under his spell.

In love.

In service to Him.

know my place

(photo credit, Pinterest)

The Journey Ahead

It has been far too long since I’ve written on here.  Life has become very hectic and my time very limited.  But life is good.  And it gets better every day.

Maestro and I are still growing as a couple.  This past year of living together has been exciting and tumultuous. And scary.  And challenging.  And wonderful.  We are a great match.  We complement each other.  Where I am weak, he is strong.

It is all good…but I really miss the scenes.  Those over-the-top sexual marathons that left us both breathless and sore.  Those weekends where our only goal was to worship each other.  We still connect.  We still play.  He still beats my ass when I am smart-mouthed and defiant.  But with the day-to-day, with the demands of work and kids, we have little time left over for those hedonistic weekends we crave.

But things are looking up.  We are moving to a new city.  M was recruited by a large firm in a neighboring state and has landed a dream job.  For now, he is commuting, but next month…we will all move there.  It’s very exciting.  What is more exciting is that we will be able to reclaim our bedroom.  Our sacred space.  The bossy two-year old is getting her own room (finally) and we will be able to sneeze without the risk of waking her.

I can’t wait to begin this chapter of our lives together.  I have never relocated with anyone before.  I have never packed up the family and moved to another place for work.  It’s a great feeling.  Liberating and secure, all at the same time.  And I cannot wait to have more alone time with M.

More to come…

journey

 

 

Pavlov and the Well-Trained Sub

There is a certain amount of training that goes into a D/s relationship. Learning your Master’s rules. His expectations. Learning to obey. Learning to give Him everything…the good, the bad, the ugly and the part of you that’s been hidden away for so long.  It’s a process.

And for the headstrong submissive, it can be a bit challenging at times.

I find it most challenging to give M everything.  I only want to give Him the good, the shiny, the polished, the organized part of myself.  I try to pretend that the forgetful, ADD, scattered, emotional, overwhelmed person doesn’t exist.  And then he sees the inside of my car, and that perfect, shiny illusion is shattered in a matter of seconds.

My life is full of responsibilities and sometimes I get so wrapped up in the “have-to’s” that I forget all of the “want-to’s” in my head.  I think we all do that to an extent.  I find myself so focused on the to-do list, that I sometimes forget that my number one responsibility is to be His.  To give Him all of it, all of me.  And if I do this, He will take my burdens away.  Lucky for me, M is patient.  He understands my reluctance and He gives me the time I need to turn over more and more to His capable hands.

This is all part of my training.  At times, I do forget that I need to be trained.  I am naturally submissive to Him, and I feel that I should innately know how to serve M best.  And in some ways, this is true.  But He is in charge and looking back, I see subtle ways that He has trained me.

When we walk into a store, a restaurant…or anywhere, I stand on his right side, slightly behind his shoulder and he takes my hand and leads me in to where we are going.  There’s a feeling of safety.  A feeling of protection.  I like it.

When we go to a restaurant, He usually orders for me.  He knows what I like and He will ask, “What sounds good to you tonight?” And if I say more than one item, he will choose which entree to order and that’s that.  He never gets it wrong, he knows me so well.  And on a side note…He will, at His discretion, order me a drink from the bar.  Sometimes I think the man is just trying to get me drunk to have His way with me….but He has his way with me anytime, anyway, without the drinks.

He has trained me to have an almost Pavlovian response to certain phrases.

  1. “Assume the position.”  (This means on the bed I am to be on my knees, presenting myself for His use, close enough to His cock to pleasure and worship Him and within His nimble reach.)  These words cause an immediate physical reaction that changes the humidity in a few seconds.  In crass terms, these words make me soaking wet.
  2. “That’s my good girl.” (M says this at different intervals, but almost always praises me when I cum for Him.  When he sees I’ve let go and shed every layer of skin….torn down every wall and revealed myself to Him.) These words evoke a multitude of emotions.  It makes me feel proud that He is pleased with me.  It makes me feel small and submissive.  It makes me want to be His very bad “good girl.”
  3. “Cum for me” (I love the way these words sound whispered in my ear.  The feel of his breathy voice is an automatic turn-on.  And to be quite frank, these words…His command…produces almost immediate results.  He has trained me so thoroughly, that I will cum on command and let go with abandon.
  4. “Suck my cock, little slut”  (Holy mother of Don Draper, those words….those words flip a switch in my brain that turns me into a voracious slave, eager to savor every inch of Him.)

I think it’s fascinating how mere words can produce such a response.  I love that He has such control over me.  That He can elicit such intense reactions from simple phrases.  I often fantasize that we are in a public place where he leans over and whispers one of these catchphrases in my ear and I immediately begin to salivate from my head to my toes.  I turn into a shameless mess of a woman, my only goal to pleasure Him and serve Him.

Pavlov was onto something.  And so is my M.

truth

Our Story of “O”

Sometimes, life gets in the way.  The desire is there.  The passion is there.  But so are the kids.  The bills.  The housework.  The jobs.

And waiting in the corner…staring at me smugly is that ever-growing bastard…the laundry.

So what’s a couple to do with limited time on their hands?  This is an age-old question and I bet if you Google it, I am sure you will find several versions of the same Ladies Home Journal article, along with multiple Cosmopolitan articles about how to keep the fires hot.  There may be some valuable advice in there about making time…about connecting…about reverse-cowgirling your lover like Seabiscuit till you both win the race.

But let me ask this….what’s a kinky couple to do with limited time on their hands?  A couple who pushes limits.  A couple who teeters towards edge play.  A couple whose marathon scenes have been known to go on for days.  How do they find the time to-do-that-thing-they-do?

For M and I, we have always somehow found a way, and the only rule (which is more like an anti-rule) is “anytime, anywhere and any way we can get away with it.”

But a little while back, we were struggling to find a way.  It had been a couple of weeks since we’d engaged in anything sexual.  I’d been dealing with putting my father on hospice and we’d both been busy getting the kids settled in school.  There was little to no time for anything other than kids/parents, bills, meals and everything else that demanded our attention.

But one night lying in bed as I was about to fall into a deep coma from exhaustion, I felt his breath in my ear.

“Assume the position, my little slut.”  I could feel his hand clasp my throat and I quickly rose to my knees and faced him.  He stroked my hair and face.  I was immediately awake and at attention.  He pulled me to his lips and kissed me as if it were our first kiss.  Long and passionate and purposeful.  I could feel his hand between my thighs searching for his perfect spot.  Within minutes I was a puddle of a mess.  He kissed me again.

And then he said, “Go get a towel.” I am glad thought of that.  My M definitely knows best.

For hours we worshipped each other’s bodies.  It was a session of pure, uninhibited play.  I don’t know when, if ever, I’ve had orgasms like that.  They were so fast…one after another…after another…after another.  The towel was soaked from his handiwork. We barely came up for air…each of us pleasuring the other.  I loved that his hips came off the bed as he plunged himself deeply in my mouth, clutching my long hair in his hands as he unloaded himself down my throat. Neither of us could get enough.  It was as if we made up for lost time, many times over.

My journey to subspace was swift and beautiful.  I was able to find the peace I so badly needed.  I let go of all that was vying for a place in my thoughts, and realized that my only real need is to serve M.  If I do this.  If I give Him my everything, he will lighten my burden.  He will ease my mind.

And he will fuck the ever-living shit out of me at a moment’s notice.  DAMN…..

Oscar

When we finally passed out, sated and exhausted, it was almost 4:00 in the morning.   I was up early for work the next day.  Rejuvenated.  Refreshed.

And reminded…that I am His.

 

Grey…

Lately, I guess I have been in a bubble. With so much fun going on at home, I haven’t really kept up with current events, or even local news.

So I just missed this one…

While shopping at Target yesterday (honestly readers, you would think I live there) I noticed a large display of books near the check-out. It was the new E L James’ book, “Grey”. It was brazenly on display, right where they place the “impulse items”. I snickered to myself and thought, how appropriate.  Next to the guilty pleasures of candy bars, expensive Chapstick and individual Frappucino bottles, lurked the latest tome on the man himself, Christian Grey.

So this is a book written exclusively from Christian’s perspective.  In his words.  A work to further explore his sadistic mind.  His quirky ways.  His brooding intensity.  I pondered purchasing it.  But instead, I impulsively picked up the EOS Chapstick and a Frappucino, and made my way out of the store.

Driving away, I started thinking about the name “Grey”. I started thinking about the connotation behind it.  I began to reflect on other movies who had a brooding leading man with the same surname.  And it was distracting, so I pulled over, reapplied my Chapstick and finished up the Mocha.

One of my favorite independent films is 2002’s Secretary.  Maggie Gyllenhaal played the role perfectly and the movie jump-started her career.  And then there was James Spader….whew.   His character was none other than, Mr. E. Edward Grey, an OCD attorney who plowed through secretaries faster than a Kardashian changes shoes. To me, he is who I think of when I hear the title, “Mr. Grey”.   Since he was her boss, she always called him Mr. Grey, especially when he fashioned his angry red Sharpie to her work and bent her over his desk.  Love that movie. It was so quirky and bizarre, but nonetheless, brilliant.  And a happy ending.

spader

If you take it back a bit further, you will find the character of John Gray, from 1986’s Nine 1/2 weeks.  Back then, Mickey Rourke was the bad boy the good girls loved.  And boy was he bad in the movie.  Dark and mysteriously charming he seduced Kim Basinger and made her a wanton wreck of a woman in the end.  A not so happy ending…and a terrible sequel, too.

rourke

And of course, there is the now infamous, Christian Grey.  The ultra-successful billionaire who wears his jeans off his hips, likes his women submissive, his dungeons red and his ropes tight.

jeans

All of these similarly surnamed characters made me think…what is it about the name “Grey/Gray” that aligns with the aura of dominant mystique?  The word literally means, the “color intermediately between black and white” (no surprise there)  So is it because all of these characters embrace both the light and dark sides of their psyche?  Is it because they are the balance of both good and bad?  They have in some way mastered the place in the middle where those lines are skewed?  Possibly?  Thoughts?

But grey/gray also means “dull and nondescript without interest or character” and I wonder if that definition is a direct reference to the new book?  HA!  Just kidding!

Don’t fool yourself…I am sure I will pick it up on my next venture to Target…after all this pensive thought I need to go back, I am almost out of Chapstick.

greyd