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01 March 2010 @ 10:52 am

He does not treat me like a delicate flower; He pushes my limits, driving me to become better, stronger, more open, fearless, trusting. He makes me feel that being at His feet is/would be the greatest privilege; I feel honored for being previously allowed to kneel before Him, and I hope to earn that privilege again. He inspires a depth of submission I did not know was possible; He can make me bow in reverence via text message (and has done so on multiple occasions).

The submission I experience is primal and heart-felt. It takes me outside of myself to view things in terms of whether or not my behaviors will please Him. There is no room for my ego, and while I have needs and desires, they are pushed aside in deference to His needs and desires. He gets the first claim to my time, attention, energy, and body, not because He has demanded it (truthfully, He never has), but because I willingly give it. I want to give it. Should He decide that He has some use for me, He gets priority.

I feel as though He sees who I am and what I can become, and He bends me to His will. He recognizes certain aspects of my submission and puts them to work. When others did not understand service-oriented submission, He did.

I struggled for a long time in accepting my identity as a submissive/slave. When the only person I could count on was me, it was natural to take on the role of Dominant/Top, even if that's not where I truly felt "at home." I have been very fortunate in meeting people who are competent and capable, people I can trust, even though it has taken some adjustment in order to hand over control. When Life situations dictate that you HAVE to be the one in charge, the organized one, the responsible one, finally being able to let go takes some getting used to. Now that I find myself in a time and place where I am no longer forced to be in control, there has been a fair amount of internal conflict. I have both longed for and feared the changes taking place.

The key, of course, is not allowing that internal conflict to impact my behavior, to sort it out on my own, on my time, without impeding His time, or anyone else's. To let go of fear and instead embrace trust. To trust not only Him, but also myself.

It cannot be forced, and it cannot be attempted. It either is or it is not; it is done or not done. I am, from now on, being open, honest, respectful, humble.

In time, I will trust, and I will have no fear.

01 March 2010 @ 10:54 am

A very wise woman said this evening that when one begins to identify as a slave, that person's world becomes very black and white.

A fantastic example of this, one I use quite often, is what I call "The Neck Stroke." This is when a slave or submissive strokes his or her neck in a demonstration for whatever Mr. or Ms. Domly Dom may be attempting to give orders. It is a very graceful way to convey that either "There is no collar here; I do not belong to you..." or "This collar is not yours." Sometimes it is a humorous joke among friends, often it is a message to assholes. Either way, the matter of "I belong to you" or "I do not belong to you" is very black and white. There are no shades of grey.

One very sharp contrast for me personally has been that of assertion. It is surprisingly liberating to put my foot down and protect my very sacred personal space, whether that space is physical, mental, or emotional. "Freedom in bondage," indeed! In that same vein is the concept of realizing my self-worth, and in doing so, weeding out those who do not deserve my submission or my power. Why would I give my power to one who neither respects me, nor treats me with dignity, kindness, and courtesy? Simply put, I will do no such thing.

Another contrast is that when I formerly identified as a Dominant/Top, there was never an issue with someone invading my scene space, therefore, as a Dominant/Top, I never had to challenge or confront anyone and tell them to go the fuck away. That changed when I began to explore submission; something about the energy changed. If I could give a newbie just one teeny, tiny piece of advice it would be this: never make assumptions about people, or their fetishes, or their roles, or their relationships. Hell, just don't make assumptions, period. Otherwise that pretty little slave girl (or maybe the not-so-little 6'4" slave girl) might just turn around and take you out at the knees. Say, if you made the egregious error of interrupting a scene where those two slave girls are in the role of Top (and there are plenty of slaves who Top on occasion)...especially if that scene involves them putting someone else in chastity. For disrupting not only their headspace, but also that of their bottom's, you might lose more than your legs.

Just sayin'...

~force field shimmy~ (A move I love so much, it just became a new fetish... ;-P)

01 March 2010 @ 10:55 am

Every faith has its symbols. Communities and groups often have them, as well. Many people attach tremendous amounts of meaning to their symbols - items and pictures can be used to convey status, religious or societal affiliation, gender, orientation, etc.

The problem is that I believe people often attach too much meaning to their symbols, to the point where using the symbol in a situation outside of "the norm" is considered extremely taboo and unacceptable no matter the circumstances. (If I'm dying of thirst, is God going to smite me for consuming holy water?)

Some groups/organizations require that symbols be removed when attending their events, and while I, personally, don't need a collar in order to be owned, telling a submissive or slave to remove their collar at a BDSM function or event is like telling a christian not to wear a cross in church. It's bullshit.

Going to the thread that started this chain of thought: Is it "bad" or "wrong" to use a holy book as a device to beat someone? Personally, I say that it's a book, and it only has meaning if someone gives it meaning...otherwise it's just a collection of paper and ink with a pretty cover. Using it for an alternative purpose may seem disrespectful, but does that really make the words, ideas, and ideals contained within it any less poignant or powerful? Does that somehow diminish your faith? Isn't faith something that supercedes material things?

In mainstream society, using any religious item in a manner other than its intended purpose is generally considered wrong. The taboo aspect of it is what makes this sort of play fun and appealing to me...and it takes a rather creative sick fuck to command my attention. Tell me you're gonna tie me up with silk scarves and I'll probably respond with a yawn. (If that's what works for others, go for it! Your kink just isn't my kink...) But tell me that you want to do a scene that has a high potential of offending, scaring, or squicking people, and I'm all ears...not because I like offending people, but because I find it interesting to observe how and why people are offended.

While I can, at times, see the need for symbolism, I think that it is often necessary to step back and see the bigger picture, and realize that they are just things. Things people have created. Things people have imbued with power. We can just as easily (or maybe not) change their meaning and power.

01 March 2010 @ 10:56 am

There is something almost excruciatingly erotic about breath play...to the point where I have achieved orgasm solely through the use of asphyxiation.

It doesn't just come from the physical high of oxygen deprivation, but from the intimacy involved. It is said that choking or suffocating someone is a crime of passion. Breath play, at least, the kind I prefer, is up close and personal. It involves one-on-one contact. A hand (or two!) on my throat, having my mouth and nose covered, being deprived of air while staring into someone's eyes, being put in a choke hold from behind, having the breathing port on a mask simply and sadistically cut off - delicious! Few things are hotter than feeling a Dom's hands squeezing my neck as he kisses me deeply, or being choked while I cum.

I've always enjoyed giving breath play, as well. During a recent scene where a young woman was bound to a table, I was asked to join as a Co-Top. I accepted the offer, and began biting, nibbling, and choking the victim. At one point, my hand closed tightly around her throat, pinning her head to the table, and I could feel her pulse through my fingers. As she started to physically cum, my brain went into a mental orgasm - it was one of the most erotic and intensely animalistic feelings, and before long my teeth sank into the front of her neck, biting and choking like a wolf slaughtering its prey.

To take one last breath before orgasm, one last breath before descending into headspace, one last breath before being claimed...

One last breath, and I'm His. One last breath, and she is Mine.

01 March 2010 @ 10:58 am

I am a slave. (Go ahead. Take a minute to consider that. Hell, I needed a week to process and let it sink in.)

Such a simple statement, with so many connotations.

Admittedly, this is something I've struggled with for a long time, something I've resisted, vehemenently declaring, "I'M NOT A SLAVE!" "I'm a switch, dammit!" "Fuck you! You can't control me!" Sometimes the things we hate/fear the most are the things we really crave, and this past week I was eating those words like a massive slice of humble pie.

Part of the reason I've fought it is because it's such a...label. There are far too many who do not understand it, and there are those who would take advantage. Add on the element of power exchange, of giving up control and consent...well, it was a lot to accept. I didn't think I was ready for it, but apparently the Powers That Be decided to push it through, anyway: "Here, ya go! You've fought it long enough. Oh, you're drowning? It's ok, you LIKE waterboarding! Sink or swim, bitch!"

Some have been following my journey over the past year, watching me descend deeper and deeper into a slave mindset, and when I finally accepted it, they replied with a very insightful, "Well, DUH!" Yeah, thanks guys. I love you, too. It's like when your friends and family all know you're gay, but you're still in the closet; I finally "came out." I had always wondered why people gave me funny looks when I said that my limits were flexible, that I liked to leave room for improvisation in a scene, that if the Top/Dom took the scene in a different direction, I'd go with the flow...but "I'm not a slave." Now I know. (Chomp, chomp. Tasty humble pie!) I've been eternally blessed with a very loving, very kick-ass Leatherfam, along with a hoarde of dear friends; they really are amazing people. One friend in particular has been a source not only of inspiration, but also support and guidance, and we've been in a teacher/student dynamic for a while. This past week, we made it official, and I am beyond grateful to have a mentor who can help me along this new path. He's there to listen, to talk me through things, to offer suggestions, to let me pick his brain, and to call me out when I'm full of shit.

This inner slave had been sort of crouched inside, waiting to emerge. And emerge it did. The Zen broke, and had to then stitch her Self back together. (Thanks, @Midnght, for that analogy!) One day I felt hurt and broken, the next I felt lighter, happier, more complete. One person called me a phoenix rising from the ashes. Someone else said I was like the velveteen rabbit - finally "real." People who have known me for years have literally been doing double-takes. It's an odd feeling to have random strangers approach me to chat, saying that I'm glowing and radiating pure joy. The statements "Freedom in slavery" and "Freedom in bondage" have never been truer. Knowing that I don't need a collar on my neck, nor do I need a Master to feel what's inside is an incredible thing. When my mentor used the phrase "slave heart" I broke down crying; I had NEVER heard anyone else refer to it like that, and it really captured the essence of the emotion. I was flabbergasted when he said I could learn to speak to my inner slave...What. The. FUCK?! You mean to tell me that this thing has been lurking, hiding, sleeping inside me for so long, and all this time I could have been talking to her? ~jaw drop~ How much time has been wasted not communicating with the slave inside, not acknowledging her, not accepting her? No matter. She's awake now. :)

The circumstances surrounding the breakage made it quite a learning experience. But that's my modus operandi/life philosophy: if I'm not making mistakes, I'm not learning, and if I'm not learning, growing, and changing, then I'm stagnant. Stagnation makes for an unhappy, unhealthy Zen. No matter how negative a situation may seem, if I can take a step back, look at the bigger picture, and say I learned something, THAT makes it a positive experience. And what I've recently learned about myself and my role changes everything in the most incredible way.

Someone found and pushed the "reset" button. ;-)

01 March 2010 @ 10:59 am

Quietly, she rang the doorbell as the snow fell lightly on the grass. Shivering in the cold night air, she waited, listening intently for approaching footsteps.

The sound of a sliding lock pierced the silence; the door opened slowly. Inhaling quickly, she tried to hide her surprise - she had not expected Him to answer. His eyes cold and dark, He uttered one sharp word...


Startled by His abruptness, refusing to meet His gaze, she replied softly, "I'm here for a meeting."

He moved aside, opening the door further. She stepped into the foyer; bowing her head, she spoke, "I won't be long."

"And when your meeting is over, you will come see me." He closed the door behind her and walked away without another word. Fear gripped her as she watched Him leave - What did He want? Why tonight? A thousand questions raced through her mind. Hesitantly, she went to her meeting, knocking carefully on the door, praying that tonight's discussion would distract her from the swirling thoughts.

With a smile, he answered, sweeping her into his arms in a warm bear hug before ushering her inside.

"So, did you complete your assignment?"

"Yes." Already her mind began to focus on the task at hand.

"And? What are your thoughts?"

"Like you, I disagree with the idea that I NEED a 'Master' in order to be who I am..." She hesitated. He probed further...

"But...? Continue."

"Well, I have to acknowledge that he is entitled to his opinion, but it is just that, an opinion. He does not speak for me, I speak for myself."

"Good girl. You are making progress already. What about the other thing we discussed?"

"I completed that task, as well. I sat, for a long time, in silence, in meditation, in reflection, and then I tried to speak with her."

"How did that go?"

"She did not answer. I sensed that she felt...hurt. Angry. Betrayed. So I spoke my piece. I apologized for the pain I've caused us both, and told her that I'd be returning on a regular basis to try and connect with her. That it is a long road ahead, but I want to make it work. I will make it work. And I will keep coming back to speak with her. I will feed her. Nurture her. Embrace her."

He scooped her up in a tight hug, exclaiming, "Excellent! I'm so proud of you! I know that wasn't easy, but you're really making progress. Don't worry, she'll come around eventually."

The rest of the meeting was a blur - more discussion, another assigment. It was soon time to leave, and she bid him farewell.


Standing before His door, she knocked slowly, hesitantly. Listening carefully, she was unable to make out the muffled noises coming from within. The knob turned and He opened the door. Motioning her inside, He spoke roughly, "Come in and sit down."

She did as ordered, swallowing hard. She started to speak, but the words caught in her throat as He stood, towering over her, glaring intently. Afraid to even breathe, she trembled as He snatched her by the hair, pulling her head back and gazing into her eyes.

His words, cold and cruel, "You are not to speak unless I say so. You will not speak unless spoken to, unless I ask you a direct question, in which case you are to answer immediately." He paused momentarily. "Got it?"

She nodded and started to answer when His hand stung her cheek with a quick smack. Her eyes began to water and her face burned as He spoke once more.

"No. I don't want any of this head-shaking bullshit. Don't fucking nod at me. You will answer when I speak to you, and you will address me properly. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir." There was no hesitation this time; she knew He meant business. This was not playtime and nothing was up for debate or discussion.

Letting go of her hair, He ordered her to strip and take a spot on the floor. Removing her clothes, she laid them in a neat pile by the door; kneeling silently, her eyes closed and her breathing slowed.

"It is my understanding that you have changed your role, and are now to be treated as a slave."

Should she answer? No. He had not asked a question, He had made a declarative statement. She waited in silence.

"Do you remember what I said after our last scene, regarding your marks?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And what was that?"

"Sir, you explained that next time you would strike harder."

She gulped, somehow knowing where this was headed. He was not being gentle or kind. He was not asking about her limits, or how she had been, or what she wanted. He was cold, cruel, distant, detached.

Suddenly, she fought against the need to cry out as blows rained down on her body. Tears streamed down her face as He struck again and again. She could feel blood trickling down her thighs as He continued beating.

"You will cry, and you will bleed. Just think of this as your punishment, your penance. I will decide when your mistakes have been reconciled."

His words pierced her heart as surely as the falls from His flogger pierced her flesh. She could hear it in His voice - the hurt and anger and utter disappointment. In one moment she realized that it no longer mattered what He did to her body, nothing could compare to the pain and anguish of knowing that she had caused Him grief.

Still, the blows continued. Her penance would be paid in blood, sweat, tears, and flesh. In silent acknowledgement, she accepted her fate.

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