You broke me to your will by allowing me to impose my will upon you
I’m in a position now where I want so much to be holding in my arms the ones that I love. But I know that is either a distant future or a impossibility and I have to deal with that.
In a way it’s like a breakup but without the constant questioning and self recriminations. In this case I know the reasons. I just lament them.
Right now, I’m sad often and I don’t want to be but I also don’t know how to stop it my self.
I’ve been incredibly lucky to meet extraordinary people through my blog and though some hurt me, I still feel incredibly fortunate to have the chance to be with people who meet my mind first rather than the crucible of a dating site or a munch or something. Because, I’m not great at those.
Let’s be clear. I’m weird. I have odd notions and hobbies. I have strange views and see things differently. What the majority find interesting, I find mostly a nuisance. I point this out, not to set myself apart, but to demonstrate that I feel as if I’m a outsider.
When you add in BDSM and a preference for strong submissives, I find I’ve narrowed my interests perhaps too narrowly.
I’d love to say that such a narrow focus means that I find my way clear but really I’m all a muddle.
I scare people away because I’m intense and always seek clarity. Not because I am meek but because I can have a effect where I bowl someone over.
But then I just melt if someone says, “Yes, Sir,” and means it.
I don’t know where forward is. Or if I need to heal first. Or if I just need someone I love to look me in the eyes and say “Yes, I choose you” and mean it down to their bones.
You know, what seems simple as you drift off to sleep is never quite the same as dreams fade. I know I had a great idea that put me at my ease but now I just can’t recall it.
My eyes drift across the softly snoring form of my Sara. I could have Tara wield the whip, but no she’s not ready for that. Leashes and walkies? No, Sara dislikes humiliation and she’s done nothing to deserve a punishment. Simple may be best.
I slip out of bed and pad to the closet. Simple slacks and a buttondown worn untucked. The grey slacks and cream shirt with the herringbone buttons. Clothing is a form of armor but in this case merely a canvas for later ventures.
I walk the five feet back to the bedroom and see Sara watching me. My smile pours out; matched by her grin until, like a candle, it’s snuffed out. I school my face to impassivity. A cool mask belied by wicked eyes.
“First position,” I purr.
Languid, almost boneless, Sara falls graceful as a cat to her knees. She leans back. Sitting on her legs folded underneath, shoulders thrown back, eyes cast down.
“Wait here, in position, until I return.”
“Yes Sir,” her voice a deep pool of acceptance.
I walk to Tara and gently shake her awake. Her eyes slowly open, telling me that her sleep is feigned. Never in the time I’ve known her has she ever woken so easily to a interrupted sleep.
“Put on your collar, my little fox. Let us go for a walk in the garden.”
Walking in the garden is something we do when dear Tara is feeling a bit more animal than human.
Proudly, Tara places her new collar around her neck, pulling the clasp closed but not tightly. I reach down and cinch it down. Close enough to not chafe but not so tight so as to choke. Tara reaches into my pants for her lead and pulling the soft leather leash snaps it into place. Shyly looking at me, she places the lead into my hand. I beam at my dear pet. I know she’s seen Sara do this but I didn’t expect her to be so equally bold.
I lead her to the black oak toy chest and pull the chrome butt plug with fox tail from its position. She shifts and smiles up at me, skipping my heart a beat. With thoroughness, her eyes a heady weight on my motions, I slather the plug in velvety lube.
“Present, please,” my voice soft but full of command and desire.
Tara turns and leans against the hardwood floor, cheek pressed flush, head turned, presenting the soft pink pucker for her present.
I run my fingers around, exploring the edges. Soft, pleasant loam drifting from her. I work the remaining lube over her. Into her, probing with wet fingers, the slight hitch in her breathing my reward. I press the point of the bulb in. Meeting with resistance then relaxation sucks it in as I press, inexorably, in.
And voila, my foxy girl has her tail. And a gentleman has his pet.
It’s been a day of surprises I think. I was so sure Tara would say Yes. I suppose I was lost in the romantic idea that a collar and a wedding on the same day would be a great story. I catch a glimpse of Tara on my left.
She’s curled up, held in my wife’s arms.
Sara sleeps with the sunlight streaming into the back seat of the car. The heat lulling her to drowsiness. Softly snoring in the way I find so cute. Though, in all honesty, I find most everything about her cute. Gods, I love her. I sometimes have this conflict because of that. She desires pain and in the throws of it she is glorious. And I enjoy her pleasure. But it’s so hard to start hurting her. To think up these scenes and walking the edge that she needs. I suppose I’m more D/s than S/M. But I’ll keep her happy. She really has me wrapped around her finger. Even if I’m the one laying down rules and behaviors. Punishment and play. She would never top from the bottom, but through our love she has mastered me. I can’t conceive of a situation where I’d will it otherwise.
I grab Tara’s leg and pull her towards me.
She starts awake in fear. Her eyes going wide. I place my finger to her lips. She stills.
“We should finish what you started in the Garden,” I whisper.
Her smile spreads lighting up a face which moments before was a mask of fear. She crawls over to me and unzips the soft cotton pants. Her slight rough calloused hand pulls me free. The feeling of her clutching my cock is delicious. I want to see what she will choose. I give no direction or order. Just revel in the warmth of her touch, eyes half lidded.
I feel her locks cascade down the length of me. A waterfall of individual strands moving over sensitive nerves. Her lips press down over the head of my cock. Lips just parted enough to provide pressure. She works her way down me. Savoring the softness of flesh over steel. Her teeth scrape against bulbous head, sending a tidal wave of shivers down my spine. But still, I am quiet.
I guide her mouth off of me. Hands brushing her cheek. My girl. Mine.
“Face me. And wear me.” I state.
She straddles me. Her dress riding up revealing the pale curve of her ass. Crisscrossed pale lines of scarring from previous canings stand out. Her lower lips suck me in as eagerly as her mouth did. Pressing over the hard/soft button of her pleasure.
I lift my eyes to hers, slowly drinking her in. The feeling of fabric and the heat of our joining blurring the lines of beginning and ending. I press my lips to hers. Softly at first. Just pressing in, smelling the wafting musk of heat and bodies. I fall on her like a beast. Pressing into her mouth, our tongues fighting to taste and press against each other. Holding us tightly together. Trying to merge as completely as possible. Needing her. This animal connection.
I would have told Pel it was too soon had he bothered to ask me. I don’t disapprove and we had discussed it but I didn’t think he would be this rash. But of course he would.
I don’t know why I thought this time it’d be different. He takes awhile to work himself up to something but once he does, he commits to it fully. And there was never a stupidly romantic gesture that he could ever pass up.
Collared and married on the same day makes for a great story but Tara had to be overwhelmed. After we assured her that we both wanted this, she settled down. However, her nature is skittish as a colt.
Pel doesn’t realize that she is a true submissive. I’m sub behind the bedroom door. I am a proud pain slut but our 24/7 is all scene oriented. Tara needs to please her master and surprises throw her off. She’s thinking, what did she miss, what mistake did I make.
Pel knows about her abuse. He knows how to help her through that. How to treat her but he’s never had a true 24/7 Submissive. He’s lucky I’m here to help him. Cause he’d be at a loss. She’s sitting on his lap listening to him tell her a story. I imagine it’s something lascivious. And I hear the soft tinkle of her giggle.
I look over and see Pel looking at me. Knowingly, like he’s reading a book of my thoughts. He smiles and say “It’ll be OK, my brightest day.”
How does he fucking do that!
I reply, “Yes, my darkest night.” As protocol demands. Damn the man, he’s infuriating.
And he’s mine, mine, mine, I think as the grin breaks across my face.
The speaker is someone new. Tall and swarthy, kinda smarmy. Dark and cute but slimy. I don’t think he belongs here. We are protocol oriented and safety conscious.
Practically speaking, I think Pel uses this group to Vet potential masters before releasing them out into the wild. Tara’s former master is not abnormal. This lifestyle draws predators like flies to watermelon. I don’t think Pel appreciates their “interference” as he calls it.
He’s so feudal minded. He considers his territory to be inviolate and anyone that threatens that he removes. If I didn’t know that he took protecting us so seriously, that he did it from a place of love and trust, I’d think him a specialized serial killer. Looking for prey. But the community IS better for it. In a real way, our community needs policing as much as any society.
Holding my hand to my mouth, I look down at my Master, wide eyed. My sight goes all blurry as tears begin to full and I blink.
“Sir,” I gasp, “I…I d…”
I don’t think I can. How am I deserving of this. He bends his desires to my benefit instead of bending me to his. I don’t understand how he would to do that for the rest of our lives. I can see the pain and disappointment in his eyes as the moment drags on.
“Sir, Are you…are you sure?” I ask, knowing that I am allowed this one clarification by his rules.
He smiles, sadly.
Sometimes his sadness looks like it could drown the world. I’d do anything to keep that expression off his face.
“Yes, my love. I’m sure,” he replies, softly almost too low to hear.
“Yes,” I declare voice still with a conviction I don’t feel. I’m not sure. I don’t know. But I know I don’t want to lose him.
My master stands, placing the engagement ring on my finger. It fits perfectly.
I follow his arm up to his eyes and still see that quiet sadness. He gestures to Peter.
“I think we’ll have a somewhat longer engagement than anticipated,” he says through a lopsided grin.
Even now he is taking care of me. Making positive that I am all the way in. That I am taken care of. He’s not selfless. But I know, he’d sacrifice nearly anything for those he loves.
It breaks my heart to not be able to give him what he needs right now. I just can’t say that I’m worth what he’s offering. Though he’d disagree. I wish I could be as sure of it.
He slips his arm in mine and walks us back our seats. Sara coos over the ring and presses her sweet lips to mine. The soft pleasure of peach wine tingling against my tongue. Tasting…tasting my wife to be.
It bursts in my mind what he said. Marry us. Marry both Sara and Pel. Pel is so generous, I could anticipate he would offer something so romantic at the collaring ceremony. But Sara? She’s so down to earth.
I open my eyes from the kiss and see Sara looking at me. Amusement twinkling in her smile.
Sara says, “Of course you are worth us. You are perfect.” I feel Sara’s hand slip under my dress and Pel’s lips kiss along my spine.
“Perfect,” mutters Pel.
I moan and try to press back into Pel’s caress while straining to arch into Sara’s hand.
I read many blogs about BDSM. Mostly they are stories written by or in Submissive voice. Because I don’t need to know Master voice. There are a few that I read that are for Dominants but those are mostly theory or techniques. I read those to learn or to see what other Masters think on a subject.
The ones written by Submissives or in the Submissive’s voice almost all seem to focus on the acts or what they feel during them. And a repeated theme is the suddenness of switch from normal to scene. The seeming randomness and, for some, the thrill of fear that this elicits.
Now, I won’t speak for other Dominants. But, those sudden scenes, those seemingly random changes? If I may pull back the curtain? They aren’t.
They are not random. They are constructed. Piece by piece, idea and accouterment. Sometimes they are pulled together on the fly from already used or existing pieces. But the sequence is planned. The beginning to the finish, as much as possible, each possibility and the outcome of each branch.
For the Submissive , it’s a bolt out of the blue or a rollercoaster ride. For the Dominant, it’s nested if/then statement. Done well, the Dominant can let one thing flow to the other naturally, each piece of the orchestra working in concert. And they can be in the moment, but at another level, they are running the scenario.
The Dominant has goals, has points that must be met and, in some cases, a scoreboard of reward vs punishment.
The Submissive dances on the stage. The Dominant is the choreographer, the stage director, and the audience. Done well, they feel like they are a fellow dancer.
Just, there is much thought and planning that gets us to that point
I will make a canvas of your skin
In blacks and blues
In swirled greens and yellows
In words pressed deep into flesh
My marks will bind us
Deep as the soul
This possession of all that you are
Belies the truth
Your total possession of me
Eyes pleading for one more flick of the lash
The key to your ownership
Words drip like heroin
“Thank you, Sir”
power and grace
focused on desire
move at my command
expecting mock anger
smile and comply
teasing each other
with what we desire
me to control and her to comply
a hands breadth away
and a lifetime
She stood before me. Tall in her heel, standing fierce. The soft paleness of calves curve upward. Her form is strength and hardship. But soft, so soft. Flesh that takes the markings of our lovemaking, that marks the lines of her possession. The heady scent of her cunt mingles with her soft perfume. Smelling of delicacy and delight, recalling the taste of her sweetness. Eyes take in the slight abundance of belly, this she sees as flaw and I see as beautiful. Yielding, the sound of a flogger slapping lightly, further marking her as mine. Her breasts are pillows, showing my bite marks, bruising in blacks, blues and yellows. She says they hurt and remind her of my attention and intention throughout the day. Each mark, each bruise, each small pain, reminding her of my total possession.
She watches me drink her in, wicked grin on her face. This our ritual each time. Her grin bursts wider pulling deep within me. This the smile that makes me want to ravish her, to take her until there is nothing left but grunts and pain and pleasure. All humanity torn away. Give in to shear animalistic rutt.
Her eyes twinkle, like she knows what I’m thinking. Like she knows and deeply approves. Knowing in my gaze and less than tender mercies, finally at last, how truly beautiful she is.