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.

 

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The Four-Letter Word

And as our weekend came to a close, I found myself spent and euphoric.  Maestro and I had an amazing time together.  I feel us becoming closer.  Our connection deeper.  Our future together more certain.  Our plans more definite.

I can say, without a shred of doubt or hesitation….

I am His.

He left early Monday to return home.  I was in desperate need of a nap and a shower.  There was only time for one of them…so I took a shower and readied myself for work.

After showering I noticed there was something written on my backside.  Something left behind by my Maestro.  I turned to look more closely in the mirror.

And there it was…

His mark.

My title…

Written in beautiful block lettering, by the hand of the man I love, was a four letter word.

Scribed backwards, so I could read it clearly in the mirror, was just this single word that says it all…

MINE

Mine

 

 

 

 

 

The Sub-Whisperer

We were having such a lovely evening together.

Such connection.

I am a hater…let’s read that again, HATER, of public displays of affection.

I always find a way to avoid it.

No hand-holding…I’ll pretend to fidget with something in my purse to keep my hands occupied.

No hugging or embracing…I will fake a coughing fit that could bring medical personnel from a two-mile radius to avoid this in public

And no kissing…I will keep coughing if needed, but I may throw in a fake phone call for good measure.

But this time, when He reached for my hand I didn’t fidget.

I let go of me and all of my weird quirks and grabbed His hand.

His big strong hand.

And yes the PDA was slightly uncomfortable at first, but I quickly acclimated.

We did it all…out in the open.  Hugging, kissing and hand holding.

Dinner was perfect.  He is a natural gentleman, pulling out my chair when we arrived at the table.  The server was impressed and forgot herself when she said out loud, “Awwww. Real chivalry.  Sweet!”

We noshed off of each other’s plates as if we had been together for years.  The conversation and the energy was so intense, we made the server a bit uncomfortable.  We could tell she was afraid to interrupt us to ask if we needed anything.

After dinner we talked.  And talked.  And talked.  We were never without something to say to each other.

We arrived back at his room and we laid across the bed and talked.  And talked.

Did I mention that he drove SEVEN hours (VII in Roman numerals) to see me.

Yes, SEVEN hours one way.

We began kissing and it was amazing.  The closeness.  The intensity.  The undeniable depth.

He was in no hurry to move to anything more.  We just laid there and kissed.  And talked.

Each kiss drew me in deeper.  I knew this was different.,,what I was feeling was different.

He was different.  I could be myself around Him.

Just me…

He whispered in my ear, “You please me…I love how you respond to my kiss…to my touch.  Now, I would like for you to take your dress off.”

Without thought.  Without trepidation, I removed my dress.

I had no inhibition.  None of the usual body-anxiety that I typically feel when undressing in front of someone for the first time.

I confidently stood in front of him.

Completely naked.

And he was still fully dressed.

He sat there and just took me in.  Looking at every square inch of my body.  Touching me as he carefully studied each curve, each bend, each edge, each blemish on my skin.

Even the scars.

Even the stretch marks, remnants from three children.

Again…I had no reservation.  I felt comfortable.

I felt beautiful.

And for once, I truly felt at peace in the moment.

I reflected on what was happening as it happened.  It was almost as if I stepped out of the moment to observe the moment.

And during this reflection, I began to think of Him like a horse whisperer.

He had a way of taming me…but not breaking me.

He knew how to speak my language.  He knew how to make me comfortable and at ease.

He also knew my issues with trust.  My instinct to run.

But I chose not to…not this time.

I was steadfast and still

But without a bridle.

Not saddled.

Not tied.

Not whipped.

I was free to go.  Free to roam.

But I wanted to stay.  I wanted to be in His presence.

I craved his touch.  His kiss.

His approval.

The evening carried on and he continued to explore every part of me.  His attention to detail was beyond overwhelming.  He knew how to bring me over the edge in ways I had not experienced.

And he relished in doing so.

Over and over.

And over.  And over.

He was completely focused on figuring me out from the inside out.  His pleasure was in seeing me (and hearing me…my God I was sooo loud) enjoy Him.

His focus went on for hours.

He would whisper in my ear, stroke my hair.

Clutch my throat.

And make my body shake uncontrollably with pleasure.

Sublime in His style of dominance.

And knowing how I craved His touch, He saw fit to give me a proper spanking.

Knowing just how I wanted it.

This time, I am shameless…

Shameless to admit to you and everyone, that I have fallen.

I am under the spell of this “sub-whisperer”

Finally understanding that what I have been missing is Him.

And as I spend more time with this man…this gift, I realize more and more that what I seek from my journey is more than kink.  More than a scene.

I want the full dynamic.

The 24/7.

The mundane and the erotic.

The vanilla and the kink.

The public displays of affection.

And of course…

The whispers.

His whispers…

“Faith requires following the power of a whisper.”Shannon Alder

“You know I can’t let you slide through my hands”

The Road Not Taken…

We all know the poem, a Robert Frost classic.  It is a poem about the choices we make.

One road is traveled, assumed to be the easier path.

The other road is less traveled and unknown.

Unpaved and filled with uncertainty.

I have spent the majority of my life walking between these two roads.

In career, I have often taken the road less traveled, making instinctive decisions and taking risks.  Luckily, this has paid off for me.

In my family life, I have always done what is expected of me on the well-traveled path.  My methods may be a bit unorthodox, but I am usually able to keep everyone healthy and happy.

In my social life I teeter between the two roads with an eclectic mixture of friends and acquaintances.

Some friends stay on the main road, never diverting their eyes from the path in front of them.  Only going where others have gone before them.  Obligation and expectation serve as their compass.

Other friends occasionally take a detour off of the main thoroughfare, but always return to the comfort of the well-established, clearly lit road of familiarity.

A handful of friends don’t need a stinkin’ road.  They blaze their own trail in their bare feet.

In my love life, I have always taken the paved road complete with signs, mile markers and most importantly…

Well-defined EXITS…

When it comes to matters of the heart, I have never wanted to venture down the road less traveled, with unexpected twists and turns, one way streets and potential for dead ends.

I have never traveled that road until now.

Here I am on my journey to enlightenment and the only way to reach my destination is to navigate this elusive path of unchartered territory, that in a word… is love.

Until this point in my travels, I have been led by guides…gentlemen I’ve met on this trip who have pointed me in the direction of my destination.

I’d like to take a minute to reflect on those whose guidance led me to where I am now.

There are the ones who showed me what I don’t seek:  Don Knots, Dr. Pierce and Bond/Ike Turner.

I learned a lot from exploring what I did not want, understanding that I have no use for frustrated boy scouts, pierced psychiatrists without social skills and cruel bastards who pretend to understand the lifestyle.  These experiences allowed me to further bypass these exits along the journey.

No need to travel these dead-end roads once again.

There are those that just didn’t work out.  They weren’t disasters, but there was something missing from either the chemistry or the dynamic:  Father D, The Captain, Marky Mark.

These gentlemen had all the makings of guiding me further on the journey, but fell short of navigating the distance.  No hard feelings.

There are those with amazing potential, that just never happened:  Mr. Hyde in Baltimore and the trident carrying firefighter, who told me to trade in my trainers for stilettos…it was time to stop running.

There are those who made a significant impact on my life: Sir, Hemingway, Henry Hill, Billy the Kid and the Natural.

Each of these gentlemen transitioned from their position as guide to being a friend.

Sir still gives me spiritual guidance (whether or not I heed it).  He is always hopeful that he will someday save my wretched soul.

Hemingway gave me my confidence back.  He helped me heal from a horrific experience.  He restored my faith in the journey.  He put me back on my spiritual sojourn.

Henry Hill has morphed into one of the best friends I have.  I rely on him to help me make difficult decisions.  He has a true wisdom and has yet to steer me wrong.  He is one of the few people on this earth that can make me laugh out loud.  And he’s pretty easy on the eyes.

Which leads me to Billy the Kid.  Billy has been the biggest surprise of all.  Who would have thought that this young gun would make such an impact in my life?  He is the personification of cool.  A true gentleman who enjoys the finer things in life and reminds me that to get the best, one must demand the best.  Never settle.  In my humble opinion, no one will ever be good enough for Billy.

And finally….

The Natural taught me valuable life lessons.  He allowed me to hear my inner voice, to atone for things in my past and to let go. Most importantly, in his own way, he prepared me for the One.

No longer will my fragile heart seek the solace of the well-traveled road.  Instead, I boldly skip along on this path of unknown origins heading straight for the One.

He is out there.  I now know Him.

I have looked into His eyes.

I have kissed His lips.

He has touched my soul.

I am His.  I give myself…

Freely

Shamelessly

And although I am walking upon this road without signs or exits, I have a peace knowing He is leading me.  Walking with me.  Protecting me.

Guiding me on this road to enlightenment that just so happens to be filled with love.

No doubts

No detours

Just hand in hand on the journey to happiness, how ever we define it.

Heading confidently towards our destination.

As I close this reflective post, I can’t help but think of one of my favorite quotes:

“She wasn’t where she was,

She wasn’t where she was going…

She was on her way.”

Off we go…

Wreckage

road closed

So I surveyed the wreckage of my accident last week and realized it was just that…

One accident…

A wrong turn…

Other driver was at fault.  The asshole didn’t yield to the “right of way” of his trusting submissive.

If I look back upon the countless hours spent “in transit” on this route towards discovery, my track record is actually pretty strong.

One accident.  One.

And I can hear the doubters out there….”it only takes one accident.  It could have been fatal.”

True, it could have been.  (And note readers, there is much I didn’t share on the blog about the “wreck”.  It was brutal, horrible and scary)

But the key in anything, whether it be a real traffic accident, or the wreckage from a foiled BDSM relationship, is to come out of it wiser.

To come out of the experience having learned something.

I learned that I was out of balance..

And as most you know who follow the blog, I live two completely separate lives.  I have not talked much about my day-to-day life on here, but I think it’s time I let you in.  I need to illustrate why I found myself so out of balance.

My “Vanilla life” is compartmentalized into more boxes than you could load into a PODS unit.  It is all about the “have-t0-do” lists (not “to-do”, but rather “have -to-do”) that make up my existence.  I am a divorced single mother of three kids, so I am the mother, the father, the breadwinner, the nurturer, the teacher, the mentor, the listener, the car-pooler, the maid, the cook, the doctor/nurse, the diaper-changer and the chief reader of all bedtime stories.  In addition to this role, I am the doting daughter of aging parents with health issues, making me: the caregiver, the organizer of doctor’s visits, the scheduler of private duty nursing, the pharmacist, the doctor/nurse, the referee (truly, people are not meant to cohabitate together for this long), the listener, the advisor and the god-forsaken eternal optimist.  In addition to these roles, I work about 50 hours a week in a high-stress, demanding job.  I have lived this way for longer than I care to admit here in black in white, as it would be too painful to see in it writing.

So looking at that, one could see why I would be so drawn to the escape this journey to submissiveness offers me.  Look at my life, I am in charge of EVERY-FUCKING-THING.

With Bond, now known as Ike Tuner, it was easy to get lost in the moment.

Looking back, there were warning signs.

“Road Closed Ahead” Signs.

“Wrong Way” Signs

“Dead End” Signs. 

I chose to ignore them (guess some of that eternal optimist crap seeped in from the Vanilla side).

I was steady in my route, not realizing that I needed to detour from the path in front of me.

I felt as though I was in control.  I was behind the wheel and I could drive myself to the destination I sought, despite the signs in front of me.

And I had an accident.  A horrible accident.

One that shook me to my core.

It made me not want to get behind the wheel ever again.  Not even on a drive to Mayberry.

But I was equally at fault for the accident.  And although I charge him with the damages, I should have avoided his road altogether.

So get out the atlas.  Program the GPS.

I plan to drive again towards my destination…much to the chagrin of a few of my friends.

They think this accident may have “cured” me or made me see the “evil” in my ways.

They were so hopeful that this would have ended the journey for me.

Wrong!

I don’t need to be cured…or fixed

Nor do I need to repent (well honestly, I probably do, but that’s for another post)

And I certainly do not need to be judged by them, or anyone for that matter.

Believe me, I am hard enough on myself.

I am now wiser.  And more apt to see the signs on the road before me.

And it may take me a while to venture off of the mainstream highway, but I know I will.

I am still on a journey.

I think Jim Morrison has it right, “Keep your eyes on the road.  Your hands upon the wheel”

Well said, Jim.  Well said.

 

 

 

 

Getting to the Point (Bond-part 2)

 

Disclaimer: Like the one before, this post may be too intense for some readers, especially those who do not subscribe to the lifestyle. Use caution before reading.

Now on with it….

Bond and I were about to explore limits with knife play. Here’s where we left off:

“Are you ready to test your limits, little girl?”

Am I ready?  Really ready?

Please note, readers:  Rational thinking should really kick-in at this point. The sound of the little voice that says, “this is crazy…get out before it’s too late” should be deafening.

Instead in my own voice, I confidently said, “Yes, Sir”

I had my back turned towards Bond.  He wrapped his arms around me from behind in a very affectionate embrace.  He slowly ran the point of the knife up my left thigh, applying some pressure, but not breaking the skin.  He traced a line on both of my legs and up stomach, up further and further.  He circled my breasts and traced my spine.  It was not painful, but I could feel the point of the imposing knife.

Which brings me to my point.

In this session of play, it was not about pain, but rather the intensity.  It was the taboo of playing with sharp and dangerous objects.  The fear of being cut.  And most of all, it was about trusting Bond.  I realized at this “point” that what I crave along with fear is the ability to trust.

Enlightenment.  (I should really be able to get this type of thing (fear/trust) from a company-paid ropes course, but this is far more fun)

We carried on with our evening.  Bond was a very experienced Dom.  I initially thought of him as a pain Dom, a sadist, a cruel bastard.  I realized as we went further, that he was more of a blend.  He craved my response.  That was his drug.  He was part sensual Dom.

Once again, Enlightenment.

Mr. Bond continued to test my limits and delivered pleasure beyond anything I’d ever experienced before.  And although I ventured into the session with a distaste for bondage, Bond helped me understand it’s purpose.  Sometimes the intensity and release would become too much.  It was too good to experience.  It was beyond my threshold.  Had I not been restrained, I would have tried to escape.  I would not have allowed myself to go that far.  To be that consumed with pleasure.

Bond took me there.  Somewhere….where no one has gone before.

There’s really not much you can do to resist, when your legs are tied.  Your wrists are cuffed and tied behind your back.  It is a feeling of helplessness.  You must be able to fully and completely trust your Dom.  That’s the mental part of submission.  It is born out of the restraint.

In between play time, we talked at length about different things.  Our vanilla lives.  Our dark desires.  Our struggles to blend the two worlds.  (He was adept at the blend, it’s me who struggles)

Mr. Bond explained to me that I had a strong personality. Trust me, I’ve heard this before.  He went on to say that because of my dominance in my vanilla life that I try “topping from the bottom”.  This means I try to “control” the situation from my submissive role.  And if I truly wanted to submit, I had to let go of all control.

Which is precisely what I did.  We carried on for hours.  Testing limits.  Giving and receiving pleasure.  Talking.  Playing.  And being intimate and close, the scariest part for me.  But I took Bond’s instruction and let go.  I deliberately gave away control.

I gave it all to him.  As an offering.

To be continued….sog - Copy