Kneel

kneel

Master, I need to kneel
Your hands I long to feel

Around my throat
And in that “place”

Taking up all the space

Every inch
As I flinch

I beg for even more

Master, I need your grasp
So firm I gasp

My breath you take
My body quakes

And I beg for even more

Here for you,

Here to use

I beg for even more

 

(Picture courtesy of Pinterest)

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Tests, Initials, and Labels

So the post I wrote on the alphabet had me thinking…there are really so many letters and labels out there in the BDSM community.  Think about it, the community itself is identified by it’s four letters

Bondage and Discipline/Domination and submission/Sadism and Masochism

Keeping this theme going, the main tenet to the lifestyle are these 3 letters:  S S and C

Safe, sane and consensual.

And preferably, DDD

Drug, disease and drama-free.

And for those who practice DD (domestic discipline), the lifestyle is often described as TTWD (this thing we do).

So many letters…

And with the recent BDSM test that circulated around here on WP, I found it interesting…

The categories that I fit into…

Of the M/s, I am the s (no surprise here)

Of the S & M, I am the M (truly no surprise either)

I enjoy the B.  I enjoy the D.  (not a shocker)

Along with that analysis…

And I am venturing into a 24/7 dynamic with my M, as we are embarking on a TPE relationship.

But we are currently in a LDR.

In addition to these initials, I am a SWF and have been told on some occasion that I also fit into the MILF category, which makes me chuckle.  I think that horny bag boy wanted to put more than groceries in my trunk.

So many initials.  So many labels.  But it doesn’t define who we are.  And if I may digress for a quick minute…on the Myers-Briggs personality test, I am an ENFP, for those who keep up with that stuff.

For those who follow astrology…I am a Sagittarius.

For those who follow the Chinese Zodiac, I am a rat, water rat to be precise.

Back to the BDSM labeling… let’s summarize by the letters only:

I am a SWF, who is a s to her M, that is the M in S & M, enjoying a little B & D as she ventures into a 24/7 TPE relationship, that is currently a LDR, until her M in FL is able to relocate to GA.

What the letters don’t say:

She is fierce, strong woman who openly and freely chooses to submit to her partner, who has evolved into her Master.  She has been plagued with significant trust issues for most of her life and enjoys being able to let go completely as his devoted slave, giving all control to her M.  In doing so, she enjoys that he pushes her limits through various scenarios…and she finds those involving a certain degree of pain and/or bondage, to be the most pleasurable.  She is eager for the day when she and her M are able to live freely in a total power exchange relationship, because for now there is 7 hours separating them.

But their day is coming.

masters feet

 

And they won’t define themselves by the letters, or the labels.  But rather they will define their devotion to each other by:

The unspoken.  The subliminal.

The mundane.  The profound.

The awe-inspiring.  The day-to-day.

The good.  The bad.

The everything.

Because that is what they are to each other…

ABC’s of BDSM/Kink

In celebration of Dr. Seuss’ birthday this month…let’s go on a little sojourn into the ABC’s of BDSM and kink, shall we?

A is for Anal.  Come on ladies, ass up.  It’s no longer just for birthdays, anniversaries and make-up sex.  I’ll Analyze it for you.  It is Amazing. So get off of yours and get some…

B is for Bondage.  Bound by ropes, cuffs or even words…there is no freedom like it. Hog-tied.  Tied to the bed.  Hands in front.  Hands behind.  Legs.  Ankles.  Hands tied to legs…to ankles…to the bed…I could go on…

C is for Control. The word itself stirs me…In my humble submissive opinion, it is best given away and Consensually coerced with the use of a strong Crop and well-positioned Clamps.

D is for Dominant.  Delicious.  Decisive.  Direct and Demonstrative.  All I can say, in Southern-speak is DAAYYUUMM. (Which is DAMN…for those of y’all who don’t speak the language)

E is for Exhibitionism.  Could you would you in a boat? Could you would you in my throat?  Could you would you in plain sight?  Could you would you when it’s bright?  It’s anytime.  Anywhere. Exposed.  Erotic.  Exciting.

F is for Fetish.  Fly your freak flag. All are welcome.  Flags of a feather Freak together, with Floggers and all.

G is for Good Girl.  These 2 words, when used together, dripping from the lips of my M, ignite a fire in my loins that burns like the flames of Hades. That’s HOT…Damn HOT.

H is for Hitachi Wand.  You know you’re in for a fun night when the lights flicker and dim as it is switched on. Now, that’s some powerful shit…Hello and HOWDY, Mr. Hitachi.

I is for Insatiable. To quote the late-great-Barry White…”My darling..I can’t get enough of your love baby”  (Sing it to yourself in his baritone and you’ll totally get it)

J is for Jesus.  Not trying to be funny here…but I guarantee I say His name about 100 times in the midst of a kinky weekend.  Just sayin’.  As God is my witness…

K is for Know thyself.  To set boundaries and establish limits, one must know who they are.  K is also for Kink.  And lots of it.  Go big or go home.

L is for Little.  It’s a wonderful place to be…sometimes stocked with glitter and rainbows…It can also stand for Love.  Lust.  Lustful.  Lusting after…

M is for Masochism.  The sheer pleasure from pain. Mouth-watering smacks on the ass that Melt. My Master is a master at this…More, please.

N is for Nipple clamps.  These implements demand upright attention.  And there is something so Naughty about having someone tug on your chain.  State of Nirvana guaranteed…

O is for OH MY GOD…Orgasms.  Preferably lots of them.  Sometimes they are denied, but when allowed…they are Overwhelming.  Oh..my.

P is for Paddle.  Ah, the precise Pain from the use of a Proper Paddle. It’s Penetrating.

Q is for Quiche.  In order to do all of this kinkery…one must eventually eat to keep one’s strength up.  On a side note..real men do eat quiche and they also eat pussy for that matter. So eat the fucking quiche already.  You already know what’s for dessert.

R is for Rope.  Japanese silk.  Jute.  Nylon.  Regardless of the material, it’s the technique that counts, Scout’s honor.

S is for Safe and Sane.  It’s the Sadists out there you have to watch out for, you know.  Sluts beware.

T is for Talk.  “I am your dirty whore from way back, Daddy.” I fucking love to Talk dirty during hot, carnal sex.  Although I don’t always get to say much when his cock is halfway down my Throat.

U is for Use Me.  Analogy:  What “good girl” is…when spoken to me…”Use me” is…when I say it.  It’s global warming, climate-changing dialogue that turns me into a dripping mess…as I anticipate the Unspeakable things awaiting me.

V is for Vibrators.  Be mindful of the friendly Vibrator packaged as a personal massager…it’s certain to Violate you in ways unfathomable…such Vigor.

W is for Wet. Here it is used in a sentence.  Whips and Wartenburg Wheels make me Wet. Weally…Weally…WET.

X is for, you guessed it…X-RATED.  Once again…my humble and submissive opinion.  Handle your business in the bedroom (or wherever it may be for the Exhibitionists) and act like you are making an XXX rated movie.  Crank it up a notch whether or not the camera’s rolling.  Or whether or not you know it’s there….

Y is for Yours.  It is about belonging to your One.  It should be said frequently.  It’s a powerful statement.  Practice with me, “I am YOURS.”  Say it loud.  Say it proud.  You know who You are.

Z is for Zen.  We, subbies out there refer to this as “subspace” which is a state achieved when you lose all conscious awareness and rely on the sublime feeling of pure ecstasy as you float in the moment.  It is heaven on earth.  ZEN….Namaste…hey…hey…hey

So I will close with this…

Down and dirty and downright flirty, this little post is meant to amuse those who use those

For their pleasure, with a feather or even paddled and likely straddled.

Some like it hot and some like it cold.  Some want them young.  And some want them old.

Some crave the pain while others like to restrain.  Some prefer the view from the top as they wield their crop to their unsuspecting bottoms’ bottoms…

Waiting to hear that first “POP”

But it’s all in good fun, for now I must run.  The wheel calls my name in decibels of pain.

Waiting for “good girl” to drip from his lips as I arch my back and hips and spread my thighs, I watch his eyes and I hear my sighs ring out into night’s sky…

I recite in my head as I approach the first O…

Oh The Places You’ll Go.  And Go.  And Go. And Go.

Oh the places

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss…

 

 

Joy, Pain, and Minnie Pearl

Where were we?  Oh that’s right…we just finished up Saturday.

Maestro conducted a full orchestra throughout the weekend.  By the time Sunday rolled around (we affectionately call Sunday, Subday around here) I was soft putty in his hands.  Honestly, he could look at me and evoke a reaction.  Every nerve in my body longed for his touch and I found myself, once again, sequestered to the bed.

Under his spell.

He held me captive for hours delivering immense pleasure as only he can.  I love that he keeps a close check on my needs.  He got up and brought me some water, but paused before returning to the bed.

He rummaged through our bag of tricks and I was once again redirected…this time to keep my eyes closed.  He came back to the bed and put my collar on.  The collar that has his affectionate pet name for me (SLUT) in silver on the front.  Once I have that on, I find that any inhibitions I may have are erased from my being.

“I didn’t tell you to open your eyes.  Now close them, my dirty little slut”

Damn…he has a way with words…

I could hear him open something…like a cap.  I realized it was the tube of lubricant in the bag.  I wondered what would come next…

I readied myself.  I could feel him looking at me.

“Open your eyes.”

I opened them and saw that he’d selected a new item from our collection.  He was holding the new anal plug I’d ordered.  He wanted me to see it.  He wanted me to know what was in store for me.

It is a bit imposing, I must admit.  Have you ever ordered too much in a restaurant, only to realize that your eyes were bigger than your stomach?

In this case, my eyes were bigger than my ass…

I had a slight bit of fear pulsating through my veins as I watched him position me, ready me for this session of play.  I knew it would be intense, but I welcomed the opportunity to push more limits…and as I pondered this limit-pushing…

Maestro slowly pushed the tip of the plug inside me.

(Here’s a bit of trivia for you folks at home…I have named it Minnie Pearl, because when it goes in it makes me want to say….”HOWDY!”)

He continued to push further in….slowly…checking to see if I was okay.  And I was.  I was really okay.  It was wonderful.  I wanted it deeper…and Maestro obliged.  Once fully engaged, he took out another trick from the bag…

The riding crop.

He taunted me with it…rubbing my back with the tip.  Gliding over my legs and circling my backside.  He walked around me, surveying his best angle and then he delivered the first blow on my upper right cheek.

Such a sweet combination…the sting of the crop caused me to flinch, enhancing the depth of the plug.  He continued to find targets all over my bottom and was quick in his work.  I found myself close the edge when introduced the crop’s cousin…

The flogger.

Maestro is a professional when it comes to flogging.  He knows the exact force to use, the best places to strike, and the perfect rhythm and I found myself over the edge with Minnie in tow, before I could say Chuck Norris.

Then he began to alternate the crop and flogger and things became very intense.  I could feel my back warming from the sensations and I wanted more.  Being the adept Master he is, Maestro obliged and brought me to oblivion with swift precision.  I ended up in subspace once again and found myself joyously laughing from the experience.

Once I was back from the clouds and onto the bed…Maestro had another implement pulled from the bag (the never ending bag…reminds of Mary Poppins’ carpetbag…what else could possibly be in there). This time I was not allowed to open my eyes and felt the sharp sting of something metal…

The Wartenberg Pinwheel…or as I now call it, the Wheel of Fortune.  He started on the bottom of my right foot and came all the way up the back of my leg, across my reddened bottom, up my back and back down the other side…when he arrived at my left cheek, I began to laugh uncontrollably.  The sensation was unlike anything I’d felt before and I LOVED IT!  I felt the sensation of pain from the sharp points on my ass, but the feeling was more like a relentless tickle.  Maestro loved hearing me laugh and he tortured me with the wheel and his nimble fingers until I could take no more and I ventured into subspace again.

For those of you at home, keeping score…yes, that was twice in one day.

At this point, I wanted nothing more than to pleasure him.  He had given me an afternoon of hedonistic delight and it was my turn.  I love when he watches me take him deep in my mouth.  I love hearing him moan.  I love it when he talks explicitly dirty to me.

And I love the prize I receive when I bring him over the edge.

After all of the fun, I collapsed in his embrace and we woke up just in the nick of time.  The babysitter was due back any minute with the kids and everything was a mess…the room…the bed…and especially me.  We gathered everything up in the room…straightened the bed and hopped in the shower in record time and were ready to greet the kids as they came in the door.

Sigh….

What a perfect “Subday” Sunday…

 

 

Don’t Believe the 50 Shades of Hype…

Since the title of my blog is derived from the infamous book, Fifty Shades of Grey, I feel compelled to wax poetic about the upcoming movie, scheduled for release this weekend.

So here goes….

Quite frankly, I am growing tired of the hype surrounding the movie.  The question of rating.  The reference to “unusual behavior”. The constant barrage of trailers and previews.  And it all comes down to this, in my humble…submissive opinion.

It’s all a marketing ploy…

After all, while shopping for diapers, shampoo and beauty products at my favorite place, Target, I discovered that I can buy a “Fifty Shades of Grey” Starter Kit.  WHAT?  Yes..they exist.  There are different kits.  One comes with two blindfolds (I snickered to myself in the store, thinking that would be one hell of a game of blind-man’s-bluff) along with the obligatory massage oil.  The other kit has some form of sensual lubricant.  And they retail for about $20.00.  And just in time for Valentine’s Day, right?

So what’s all the hype about?  If you take away the kink, it’s just a story.  A contrived, unbelievable tale about a young, innocent woman who is seduced by a billionaire …who falls head over flogger in love with her.  Quite simply, in it’s skeletal form, it’s just a love story…complete with pages of playful email banter, tactile family dinners and grown-up sleepovers, with  explicit playrooms.  But because there is bondage.  Because there is a well-defined, consensual power-exchange, there exists this cloud of dark mystique.

Here’s another tidbit from my humble, submissive opinion:

Yes, it was the hot sex scenes that initially drew in the masses, causing a buzz louder than an archaic Hitachi Wand…but it’s the story of love that hooked the reader.  We all want to believe in it.  We all want someone who understands us.  We all want someone whose demons play well with our demons, right?  Well there you go…he’s a young executive with a troubled past, who happens to be a Dominant.  She is a wide-eyed, new college grad, who happens to be a submissive.  His need for discipline and control plays well with her need for direction and guidance.

And have you heard that one of the CEO’s from a major hardware chain sent a memo to several stores warning of a possible “run” on rope, in response to the movie.  Really?  And if that’s true, let’s hope they are giving away complementary safety cutters.  There are going to be a lot of novices out there…fired up from the movie…excited to duplicate the BDSM scenes from the dungeon.  And again, all of this just in time for Valentines Day.

Can you imagine what the conversation will be around the water cooler on Monday?  Wonder if the ladies will compare rope burns and dish about their marked bottoms…

And please know that my intention is not to be snarky…or cynical in this post.  I am shooting straight from my leather-clad hip.  It’s a book…that’s now a movie…that’s now a franchise…that will ride the wave of notoriety for as long as possible.  Ten years from now those “kits” will be yard sale fodder and we will look back at this phenomenon fondly, grinning to ourselves…sadistically.

As for me…and my Valentine.  We won’t be lining up at the movie theater.  Nor will we be lined up at the hardware store.  We are well-stocked over here with an assortment of accouterments that would make the man, Christian Grey, himself… blush.  We are not even going out in all of the Hallmark madness. We are simply celebrating each other…

Letting our demons come out to play together.

“Sister Christian”

Thought I’d lure you in with the title!  Who can resist that?

The sheer mention of the Night Ranger classic takes me back to a simpler time…when the biggest dilemma in my life revolved around which acid-wash jeans to wear to school. When my biggest inconvenience was having to fast-forward through the songs I didn’t like on my worn-out Footloose soundtrack cassette.  When my hopes and dreams were as big as my hair. It was a time when my burdens were few.

Life was good.

And Sister Christian was the song.

What a venture down memory lane…

If you will recall, I recently wrote about meeting one of my readers in person.  That may not seem like a big deal to some of you.  For me it was huge.  The fact that I write about D/s along with spirituality, attracts a mixed group of followers.  This particular reader finds herself on a similar journey within her marriage.  So we do have common ground, but within very different contexts.  She is married and engages in D/s with her husband.  Until recently finding the One, my Maestro, I went through men like I went through those acid-washed jeans in 1983…fast-forwarding to the ones I liked.  Thank God, I found Him in the midst of the chaos.  And thankfully I am finding what I seek spiritually, reconnecting with God.

I was initially nervous about meeting her in person.  Like I mentioned before, there is a safety and comfort of writing behind a computer screen…putting your deepest, in my case-darkest, thoughts out there for the world to see.  So the thought of meeting a reader, face-to-face, was a bit unsettling at first…there is nowhere to hide.  This is where the shit gets real.  And it did.

She was an absolute delight.  We met in a nearby restaurant and immediately hugged, like long-lost friends do.  The conversation was non-stop from the moment we got together.  She is a brilliant woman with several degrees, one of which is a PhD in Theology.  How fascinating.  We dished on everything from D/s…to kids…to marriage…to all of the different kinks we’ve read about on here….to spirituality….to business ventures….to health and wellness…to the Bible….to discipline…to healing spiritually…and all the way back around to the subject of D/s.

We eventually went to my house where we could have some privacy to talk in more depth.  We were standing in my kitchen when she asked about different blog characters.  I provided a bit more detail about those she asked about.

She then said, “Tell me where you have found God in all of this.”

Wow…that’s the question, isn’t it?  Where did I find God in the midst of my turbulent descent into BDSM?

My answer, “Everywhere.”  Which is so true.  As I reflected on the question, I realized that He has been everywhere. First and foremost, as my protector…I did some risky things in the beginning, scary things, things I haven’t even written on here, and through His grace, I came out of it safely.  And then He has served as my guide…helping me to discern those who were worthy, from those who weren’t.  Giving me the insight to know when to let go.  And then as a father…forgiving me of my trespasses. loving me unconditionally as I sorted all of this debauchery out.  So in a strange sort of way, God has been the prototype, the example of the ultimate Dom.  Which is completely her line of thought.  She just helped me arrive at the same place by posing the question.

You know, she helped me through a lot things.  And I don’t feel this was a coincidental meeting at all.  I feel that we were meant to meet….meant to be friends.  She is an amazing woman and I have deep respect for her.  I admire her commitment to her husband, to her family, to her faith.  I know I will learn things from her.  I realize that our meeting was yet another one of those God-moments in my life.  Despite her background in theology, her knowledge of the Bible, and her deep and unwavering belief, she was not “judgey” at all.  Like me, she is who she is and she is a real person. She is a person who understands my journey, without critical judgement.  A person convicted in her faith that didn’t try to condemn me for my unorthodox path.  And she didn’t try to convince me to drink the Kool-Aid.  There was no Kool-Aid.  All she was offering was friendship.

And because I felt a sister-like kinship with her immediately, I am sure she understands my choice for the post song.

So my dear friend…my Sister Christian, thank you for the visit.

And many thanks for the gift of your friendship.