Tag Archives: dominance

Smol Problems


I’ve been struggling with the concept of “just”, in regards to Ryan and the little aspect of myself.

Let me try to explain.
There are many bottom/little letter roles that I am well-versed in. The reality has slowly been sinking in over the last year that I would be considered a ‘seasoned’ s-type (submissive type) in the local community. This..is somewhat of a rarity. Even in poly circles, s-types get claimed. They have a partner that takes the majority of their time, collars them, marks them, and pulls them back from the public scene.
When I wasn’t in service to anyone, when I was no-ones partner, I was in service to my community. I threw myself into parties and classes, conventions and events, and tried my best to be of help in the ways I knew. Eventually I was claimed by someone who was even more involved in the public community than I was and part of serving him was serving my community even MORE. More parties, more organizing, and in time more networking. When the collar came off I had a choice; I could either return from the shadows whence I came or figure out how to navigate the new dynamic between he and I and keep up the pace of parties that I was helping with.
It was likely not the healthiest of choices mentally, especially in the beginning, but I chose the latter. My submissive side is well honed. My slave exists, and can come out for the right partner. I excel in high protocol and can brat with the best of them if the mood is right. I have even discovered that I can switch.
But my little…my little girl side is relatively new, and in many ways still not fully accepted.
I fought being a little for the longest time because of how I look. Cherub face. Short stature. Squishy, and usually with something chibi or stuffie on hand.. It’s how I’ve always been. I didn’t know it was a fetish. It was Smith who flushed it out first, so long ago now, and then Ryan that allowed the little in me to truly flourish and explore in a safe, loving environment.
I have no qualms littling in Ryan’s apartment, or when I am with him at the Citadel or sometimes BaGG. It’s lower-key in the public settings typically, but it’s there, and it’s a HUGE part of our dynamic. But there is a stigma to littling that isn’t often associated to other s-types. Because of the age regression it’s harder to keep the play between just you and your partner in a public setting. Others will notice, and then it can become a consent issue.
‘Daddy’ can be a triggering term to some. I’ve talked about that before. It can be triggering for some to see a DDlg dynamic, even if it’s a healthy one, because of past traumas. It can make others uncomfortable to see age regression, especially in a kink that stresses adult 18+ or 21+ only.
This past weekend was the first time in a while that I have felt shame associated with my little side. I had brought on the camping trip two stuffies that Ryan had given me over the last couple months. They are my absolute favorites, and sleep in bed with me every night whether I’m feeling little or not. I hadn’t plan on littling or regressing at all over the course of the weekend; it was the first time I’ve spent extended periods of time around my meta, and we were not in a kink setting necessarily. Both factors made something vulnerable like age regression not safe… but I am who I am.
I had brought the stuffies for my own personal comfort. For me. For the person that’s loved stuffies for her entire life. And yet the moment my meta came into the tent I tucked them both back in my backpack where they stayed for the rest of the weekend. Even though I was just..me.. 26, full grown woman who had had a long work day the day before, was in an unfamilar place, and wanted something soft and squishy to cuddle with.
There were the brief moments of jealousy during the camping trip, as are bound to happen at times. I am poly, but I am also human. One of those moments happened after the ritual on Saturday evening. Ryan, my meta, and I were curled up outside by a bonfire.  For a while Ryan stood between us with an arm on each of us, and it was this lovely moment of poly bliss, and then he shifted away from me on to my meta’s other side, crouching by the fire to warm his hands.
She turned to him and cupped his face, looking into his eyes. It was…beautiful, intimate, touching, and there was a sea of love between the two of them. I felt so much compersion watching that moment for the beat or two I did (before looking away because..well, it was their moment!), but I also felt a pang of jealousy, because he and I haven’t really had a ‘grown up’ intimate moment like that.
Have there been intimate moments of love and squish and feels? ABSOLUTELY. FUCK YES. NOTE THE CAPS FOR EMPHASIS YES. But..they’ve all happened when I was Daddy’s little girl. When a part of me had regressed and I was smol and curled up in Daddy’s arms, or at his feet, or curled up in the nook. I had a moment at the campsite where I was at his feet and was able to nuzzle his leg while he pet and snuggled my meta…but it’s a very different type of connection. One that is harder to show in public.
There are two directions my brain goes in with something like this. The first is fear. Fear to want to deepen anything Ryan and I have and let him love the big me as much as the little, worried that he won’t like what he finds. He knows the big me, of course. I don’t little ALL the time.. but I’ve never tried anything overly intimate as my big self. I haven’t done any play with him as a big since our very first date. After that, little play started being discussed and we just..clicked there. I’ve kissed him as a big..but he always boops me or tickles me and I slip and then I’m little.. I don’t have a BIG term to call him. Sir is easier to slip out in public. Daddy.. well, I bit my tongue and talked quietly a lot last weekend, for fear of triggering anyone. I fear wanting big translations of these things and expanding into subby interactions, not just DDlg. I’m not unhappy with our dynamic.. at all. I LOVE our dynamic and that I’m his little girl. I just struggle with having to turn it off or tone it down so much and wish that switching gears in a less stifling way was possible instead. There is a fear of wanting those Big intimate moments..that Ryan will go, ‘but you’re my little girl. Aren’t you happy with that? I don’t think I can give you more.”
The other direction my brain goes in is shame. I am incredibly good at kicking myself, especially when I’m down. I used to be ashamed of the noises I make when I play; high squeaky noises that some people just can’t stand to hear. I’ve gotten sever “Can’t you please be quiet”‘s over the last few year..and to be honest I can’t. I wish I could. James started working on volume control with me before the collar came off..but it was always difficult. The shame is associated with the fact that for the first time I have a fetish that I feel like needs to be hidden more often than not.
I’m not bedroom only. I never have been. My dynamics with my partners are ongoing and I am very much a lifestyle person. I have never hidden my submissive side as far as things like tying shoes for partners, retrieving and disposing of dishes at cafes, fetching things when asked, even sitting at partner’s feet when the facilities permit. But I am also blessed with living in the bubble that I do. In the Bay Area, kink is fairly common. We might get a double take walking through downtown Oakland if someone here’s me call Ryan, ‘Daddy’, but it’s not a huge deal. Leave the bubble and.. it’s a different ball of wax.
Last week, I left the bubble, and ran face first into my dirty little secrets. And I didn’t like that I felt the need to clamp down on all these aspects of myself that I like. I didn’t like that I felt ashamed for wanting to curl up at Ryan’s feet and nuzzle his leg, or for wanting head scritches and pets. I didn’t like that the main way I knew to show someone that I loved and appreciated him was a way that I did not feel comfortable showing in that particular setting.. And if I wasn’t comfortable, then there must be something wrong with it…right?
No. Not true. But that’s where tweaking brain goes. Accepting a kink that can sometimes only be shown behind closed doors, and learning through time what being Daddy’s little girl actually means and encompasses.
There was a night a few months ago where Ryan and I were curled up in bed. It was after BaGG, I was spending the night, and it dawned on me that I could possibly be comfortable wearing a collar for him. It would have to come off and it could not lock..but the idea of him leading me around on a leash was INCREDIBLY appealing.I tried to communicate that and he reminded me that that wasn’t part of our dynamic and not necessarily something he was interested in with me. I got quiet and he nudged my chin and started listing all the things that go in to me being his little girl. I’m a submissive, and a masochist, and a pain slut, and an age player, and a cuddle bug.. I am more than just the ‘submissive’ title.
But where does that comfortably extend to, for both of us? And is there room and space in the dynamic for big me to have a real, intimate, connection with him as well. Would he still beat me as a big? Would he still want me if I called him Sir sometimes?
I suppose I will find out.
Yours, a lil little
-Rene
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Teacher’s Pet


Cal and I have been dancing around each other for four years, on and off.

Until fairly recently, we’ve gone in cycles of being connected and falling out of contact, usually because a partner of his has blacklisted me yet again. I stopped being a threat to his partners a long time ago romantically. Nevertheless, until recently it’s been an ongoing thing that I’ve been aware of. Cal will come back. We will get in close contact again. He will disappear. Again.
Lately, and lately being the last few months, he hasn’t. It’s been nice having my old teacher around, and having him meet those that I consider my people and be part of my family as he considers me part of his. As I’ve grown and matured in the kink scene here in San Francisco, Cal has become something that I never thought he would be.
Safe.
We are aware that we are on each other’s radar, and have been forever. We are also much more aware now of each other’s limits than we were when we first started this little dance of ours. Neither of us is any sort of ‘primary’ material for the other. However, Cal has become a trusted confidant for myself and he has always respected the weird, complicated relationships I have with the people (cough cough James) I have in my life. He lets me figure things out in my own time, though will give me a good mental thump when I need it and I’m stuck in my own way. He’s honest with me, sometimes brutally, and I’m grateful for that.
I had a hard weekend ahead of me a couple weekends ago. James had asked me to trek him up and back to a campsite two hours north of him, and I was the stupid ass that agreed. It ate up my weekend, except for Saturday evening, which Ryan was busy for. I was frustrated, frazzled, and in desperate need of a good beating. Cal had offered to ‘break me’ if I needed it weeks before. And so, I finally took him up on it and asked him to a party I don’t normally go to, with both James away and Daddy busy and my brain fairly safe from squirrels.
It was Meet Market, an auction not unlike Master’s Den, however anyone is allowed to auction themselves off. Top. Bottom. It doesn’t matter. It’s a bonkers party with many of the people showing up that don’t like the hetoronormative spin that Master’s Den has. I can understand that, however I also enjoy the vetting system of the Master’s Den parties, and the talk about proper behavior that they have before. I trust the people at the Master’s Den parties more.
I was a dittering mess before the party, texting Ryan (whose playdate ended up having to cancel šŸ˜¦ ) about what I should wear, all the nerves of finally having a scene after four years of sexual tension. I ended up getting to the party late, having to park blocks away and fight catcalls along the way to the citadel door. Cal was kind enough to pay my entry once my frazzled self got inside, and together we watched the Meet Market auction.
I tried to bid on a couple pretty things to beat, to no avail. All of those that I would enjoy playing with went for extremely high prices, and even with Cal’s and mine’s money envelopes combined we didn’t have that much. He and I both rolled our eyes, chuckled and winced at all the ‘this is my first time’ers.. Those whose first kinky event it was. First play. First auction. We were two jaded kinksters in a sea of noobs; him because of the amount of time he’s been involved in kink and me because of frequency in the time I had been involved. I learned fast, especially with him as my jumping off point.
After the auction and its follies we searched for a place to play. “Cross or bench?” He asked. I’ve always preferred crosses, to brace myself against hard impact.
We ended up at the predicament chair, a piece of equipment that essentially looks like a shorter, fatter cross with a chair attachment for when you decide to flip the brat around and beat the crap out of their front. The shorter worked to my advantage. Normally I’m too short to be shackled to crosses with just simple clips. His cuffs managed it without problem. I braced myself, the edge of the chair only slightly touching my stomach, prepared to show off and show him just how tough I had become. That I was far from the little one that he had found so long ago.
“How hard do you want me to go?” he asked. After four years of waiting, I asked him not to be nice
BAM. Holy crap. I saw stars. The wind left me in one foul swoop as his palm slammed into my ass. To my shock I realized he could actually PALM my ass (no small thing…as my ass is no small thing…). I had always considered Cal’s hand to be rather small. His fingers are short. Turns out, his palms are massive. And hurt like a sonofabitch.
Bam bam bam. Tears started rolling down my cheeks as he hit me full force, with no warm up. I felt disappointed in myself. I thought I could take more.
There is something about Cal, probably because he is where I started and because of how we started, that always feels like I’m letting him down. That I’m sub par. That I fall flat at what he expected me to be. Logically, this is not the case. But logic and emotion are two radically different things.
He checked in with me after a few of the harder blows and in a shaky voice I tried to express how I was feeling; that I felt like I wasn’t good enough all over again and that I was letting him down.
“Oh no!” he said with a grin. “You’re not disappointing me at all. I told you I hit hard. I’m just happy that this is finally happening!” And to tell you the truth, I was too.
I registered the noises that came out of my mouth as he laid in to me with hands, with a wooden paddle, and with his flogger as well as mine. They were screams that only one other person had managed to wretch out of me since I had stared playing.
He hit harder than James.
It was a startling revelation, but also rather freeing. If I had started with a warm up (as any smart submissive not hell bent on showing off to her former teacher would have) I would have lasted longer, but even with the length of our scene being rather short I felt the catharsis that came with especially hard blows. There were points that he hit me so hard that my feet curled up under me and I hung from the cuffs. I screamed bloody murder. I shook. I cried. I wanted more, and was bound and determined not to be the one that called for the end of the scene.
I wore him out. I have various stages to hard scenes; transitions that my mind does. When I’m adjusting to the pain I scream and shake. When I’m more used to it I start cursing. When I’m flying I become much more silent. I was cursing, playful, and jumping when he leaned in close to my ear and said, “Okay, the mean man is warn out. I’m done.” And I giggled.
He set my wrists free and let me drop to my knees for a moment to recover before I cleaned off the chair and we went to cuddle. It was..easy…and yes, I very much felt safe and protected. That big bear of a man wouldn’t let anything hurt me, and knowing that..is an immense blessing. He’s a good man, at least to me. The cuddles were nice, the chatter our normal dialogue..and I found myself looking forward to the next time he beat the crap out of me.
The only thing I would change is with Cal I would actually climb up on a spanking bench. He’s not used to small people…I am tiny. I think he’s gotten so used to my tiny that he forgets sometimes… When he tried to flog me the falls either hit my tail bone or my neck, and that made me sad as this little leather slut loves a good flogging.. But that was discussed. Lessons were learned, and I was gifted with another safe outlet to find catharsis. He can make me fly just as easily as James could, without the emotional baggage attached… I can keep up with him and let him play heavy when his partners tend to be..fluffier, newer, and not quite used to a thorough beating. The balance is nice, and easy.
I suppose this four year dance is finally paying off. We are finding balance with one another..and I look forward to discovering more.
yours, most certainly a pain slut at times
-Rene

Adrift

adrift

It always happens this time of year.

Fusion is approaching. This will be my third year going, and my second anniversary with Chris. I find myself… more unsettled than ever.

Technically I have four partners… I joke that I have four partners and a complication.

The first is my Sir, Chris. I’m proud of us for making it two years. There have been some… severe bumps and nightmare metamours along the way, but we’ve still managed to be a thing. I enjoy our D/s dynamic, and I find great comfort in the ease that has always existed between us when we spend time together…but at the same time I have felt more and more ‘friend zoned’ lately with him.. That spark, that desire that once had him frantically running to a 7/11 to buy condoms so that we could do it in my childhood bedroom just… hasn’t been there lately. I sleep in my dog bed, which I love, but it leaves me… wanting when I know that another partner gets to sleep beside him at night, and frequently. I’m fighting the ache of displacement with him, and honestly hope that Fusion will ease some of those aches and reinforce our dynamic. Fusion has always been good for us.. I am hopeful it will be that way again.

Then there is Grey… We are fantastic when we are together. It’s just.. The getting together part that is hard. I think the last time I saw him was around March.. I can’t even remember at this point. It’s on both of us. My schedule, his crazy life with his awesome life. Poly can be complicated, especially when you throw in the demands of work and home. I miss him, more than I’m probably willing to admit out loud. I miss his touch, him growling in my ear.. his hand wrapped around my throat while his other sneaks between my legs and..

Gah. Rabbit hole. Sorry. Summation, I miss Grey. He doesn’t even know Ryan is my Daddy; it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other…

Ryan has the patience of a saint with me at times… Easily the most emotionally accessible of my partners, he’s also human. For some reason days when I get overloaded tend to allign with the same days he is, so the few moments when I would let myself go, “I need my Daddy..” just don’t happen. I don’t let them. I can see him balancing me and my meta best he can, as well as trying to make room to date others… and he tries. He does. There are times when I just feel… forgotten. Like my meta’s shadow. Part of it is because I am the second parter. Secondary or not, I’m entering a dynamic that’s already been established, and that can be hard. She had dibs on certain days of the week long before I arrived, meaning less time for me off the bat. I’m… scared of time right now, with Ryan. I disappear for two weeks on the 18th, and then by the time I get back he’s off on a meditation retreat. I’m scared our dynamic will fizzle while I’m gone, especially when I’m off to something like Fusion. I can feel my emotional walls going up; can feel myself bracing for the inevitable letdown that my brain is convinced is going to happen. I don’t want to shove my Daddy away… If anything I want the opposite.

And then there is Ace, a partner I haven’t talked about on here. He and I have the loosest D/s dynamic.. We’ve also been on and off for almost a decade. I credit him with poking my kinky side before anyone else. When I was sixteen he and I started talking, and though there were gaps in-between he and I have never fully lost touch. Ace is currently where I was last year; dealing with the recent death of a primary relationship, and slowly gaining ground back to peace and emotional health. I’m grateful to have such a sweet, loving creature in my life…but he’s 3,000 miles away most of the time, works opposite hours of me, so that I am sleeping when he is awake and vice versa, and has so much on his own plate that tackling mine as well would be some sort of cruel joke to play on him. I won’t do that to him. It’s easier to try to help him than to try and decode my brain squirrles.

There’s my complication… the same one that’s been there for a year. James. We finally had a fundraiser for him, a week ago. For a single night I saw a James I had not seen in a year. I saw MY James. Sweet, and open, and loving, and willing to go to the deeper, darker areas that we don’t touch to keep the peace. I got my hopes up that maybe, just maybe, we were making progress… I’m not naieve enough to hope for a relationship right now, but I felt this rush of hope that maybe we were to the point where we could negotiate a scene. I wanted to kiss him, hug him. And he let me. And then he snapped back like a rubber band so hard I got whip lash. It’s been a while since he’s gotten me to cry.. Both last Wednesday and Friday he managed it, lashing out at the only safe person to do so to… My James, who does not do emotions, had to deal with a lot all at once. He’s compensating for it. I know that. But still… Godde does it hurt.

Five wonderful people. Five very different dynamics with their own separate challenges… and no anchor. That’s where I struggle. There’s no main, safe person to go to when my emotions become too much. No one to cling to to bring me back when I begin to drift away. I could reach out to Ryan, or even James..but Ryan has been so overwhelmed lately… and he has my meta. James… he overwhelmes himself, and I’m lucky to get an answer from him most days. Ace tries. He tries so hard..but my dark days are… bad. Dark. And with him trying to get over his own I don’t want to infect him with mine.

So here I sit, feeling more along than I have in a while despite all these amazing, loving people in my life. I still reach up to my bare neck and sigh, missing what used to be there; knowing that I’m not at a place where I could have that again right now. I miss the anchor of being someone’s, and that fear exists that no one will ever want me to be theirs again. That I will find all the other pieces of my puzzle.. except for that last one that makes me whole.

I try not to dwell, and to be grateful for what I have…but there are nights like tonight when I am truly lonely. My beloved roomate is curled up with her primary, more content than she has been in days because he’s here. I’m on the couch, restless at 2:30 in the morning and unable to motivate myself to sleep alone yet another night. There are these broken, jagged pieces of myself that cut away at the parts of myself that I thought I had built up… The parts that want to be a kink educator, that shine at things like Bondage a Go-Go and Citadel events. I am the little thing that does tours, and leads discussions, and is always there to get that last clean up shift to make sure that everyone gets out of the Citadel on time. I’m good at it.. I think..maybe.

Fusion, as beautiful as it is, tests me. It’s complete immersion into this world of kink for a solid week straight… and it’s a lot to take. I find myself looking at it similarly this year as I did my first. I feel..disconnected from it, unsure, overwhelmed at the idea of being gone so long and at what I will see and experience there. I don’t know if I’m open to new partners, or pick up play, or exploration with others as I have been in the past. I am freyed and covered in battle scars. You have to cut mighty deep into me to cause either pain or pleasure..and it’s hard for a stranger to get there in a week. I wish.. Ā I wish I had some direction. Some marching orders to follow. Go to these classes. Wear these outfits because it will please me. Get pictures of yourself doing this. I miss that.

I’m going into camp with no plan or goal in mind… I hadn’t even planned on going this year. I’m going because Chris made it happen. He wanted me there, and there I shall be… but my walls are so far up with him as well. I don’t know what I’m doing, or how to make this feeling of being lost go away. I feel as if I am adrift in the middle of an ocean, miles from everyone. Unreachable. Eventually a boat will find me and fish me out, or I will drown.

And if I drown.. does it really matter? There are echos in the back of my mind. Yes. It does. No. It doesn’t. The argument as to which is the truth.

So… adrift I shall remain, in a sea of emotions that I don’t understand right now, and don’t quite know how to sort through. I suppose this is how one learns to be their own anchor. To not need anyone.

I should probably sleep.

Yours, restless

-Rene

Who’s On Top

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Hello, lovely internet world. Yes, I still live. I’ve..been through quite a bit since my silence, and I will get to what I can, when I can as time goes on..but I am back. I hope some of you are still around, and willing to continue to read my thoughts as my journey continues.

I am very much active still in the local San Francisco scene. James is still in my life, though we are..complicated (as if we have ever been simple). I remain unowned and uncollared for now, but I am far from single.

For now, I’m not talking about James. This entry will be aboutĀ another partner that I’ve mentioned before, Chris.

Chris and I have had our bumps, but even through me being released we’ve managed to stay together. For a time I was..terrified. There are still times I feel unbalanced, not having a primary and remaining in a relationship that would be considered a ‘secondary’ relationship. Right now, officially, I belong to no one. Emotionally is a different story..but I’m digressing.

It was about a month ago that Chris and I hit our biggest bump in the road. One of the reasons being with him was always so easy was that I felt like I was on an even playing field with all of my met amours. For the longest time, Chris preached that he did not believe in hierarchy, and that he did not have primaries and secondaries. There was no worry about who came first. We were all even, and would be what we would be.

For the most part, I get along with my met amours. Some I want to play with. Some I enjoy a sort of sibling relationship with… there’s a kindred spirit feel. I work to maintain these relationships because these people matter to me, and matter to a man that I call my Sir. I enjoy the family feel that I have with the majority of my partner’s partners. There is..one, however, that does not fit this mold.

Emily, my partner’s parter, is a force of nature. She is a polarizing, creative soul that has frustrated the majority of us from the very beginning. She wants nothing to do with any of us, and that (for the most part) is okay. It’s her personal choice and not something any of us can really impact. Not even Chris can. Their relationship has been..turbulent to say the least, and the only time the lack of contact with Emily has bothered me has been when I’ve had nights with Chris a day or two after a drama-filled visit and my partner was visibly distraught. She has effected him emotionally unlike any of the others; the highs with her are the highest for him and the lows are the lowest.

I suppose, knowing this, I should been able to predict what would happen next. I got a call from my partner informing me that he was going to choose a primary, and that it was Emily.

There were many emotions associated with this decision..still are.. I was so angry at first. I felt betrayed. Hurt. Confused why he never communicated any of this to me. We had just had a very intense, connection-filled camp at Dark Odyssey, and during all of it he could have easily opened up to me. Out of all of his partners, I was one that understood hierarchy and the complicated emotions often associated with it. I felt like I had been slapped, backhanded. Not only had he not trusted me enough to open up and tell me what was going on, he had chosen for his primary the most unstable relationship in his life. One that I had seen almost destroy him emotionally multiple times.

Slowly, the other partners have adjusted. I have as well. I am now the closest partner locally that he has. Emily is next, at a couple hours away from him to my half-hour. I see the little changes the most..and some have them have hurt me.

This world of hierarchy is wildly new to Chris, and I know that… and I’ve watched him struggle with navigating it. For the majority of the summer Emily got all of his weekends, which cut off most of the time he could have spent with two partners that were long distance and only are able to see him about once a month each. The bit of time I got with him was almost always good, especially when we were out and away from his place.

The last couple visits to his home, however, have felt like I was on a day with not just him, but with Emily too. The first real blow came when I walked in one day to see an art piece Emily had made up on his wall. Chris has artwork all over his apartment, including mine, and Emily’s was a rather big piece on a wall that had nothing yet besides it. It framed the wall funny, and I mentioned to Chris just shifting the piece over a tad.

He agreed, but only after going to his front door to look at it on the wall. “I want it to be the first thing I see when I walk through the door,” he said. I winced at the words and looked over at the piece I had given him; a painting I had done a lifetime ago that had meant the world to me. I never thought I could give it to anyone. I let it go to Chris because he had worked on me so much, gotten through my armor. Slowly, he had taught me how to love more than one person. That meant so much to met that I wanted him to have the 2D piece I was most proud of making. In one moment, with a single comment he probably hadn’t even thought twice about, he had thrown that out the window.

Another time I had opened the fridge to find it filled with food; a rare sight in the land of the Chris. None of the food was for him. It was all for Emily’s kids, who he loves. Over and over, throughout the evening, he mentioned how much he was enjoying the uncle role and how amazing the children were. I felt like a bitch, staring down at my dinner, upset about him loving something so much that I was unable to touch, or see, or fully understand.

There are many conversations about Emily being his number one, and wanting to be number one with her. Emily getting the most of his time, the most of his energy.

Emily, Emily, Emily.

I felt myself swallowing bitter pills more and more as time went on. Chris, this strong top who is quick to punish me for being five minutes late to lunch, let Emily get away with murder. Rescheduling and canceling things last minute, not showing up to something after a fight when she had made a commitment to, calling and having a fight with him in the middle of a date he and I were having.. More and more, I felt my territory stomped on. And there was always an excuse. If I pulled half the crap she did with him, he would have dropped my ass months ago. I couldn’t understand it. I was so hurt, so terribly sore, and yet even as he bent to her I saw him happy and fought being upset and jealous. I disregarded my feelings, chalking up what I could to a lack of primary and a need for more attention. I was okay, until I saw a photo of Chris wearing a leash and collar.

Chris is a switch, but his submissive side rarely comes out to play. It exclusively comes out with Emily, and I knew this. I was aware of this. But he is my Sir. Selfishly, I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t understand it. I was..disturbed by it. Upset he didn’t give me any warning about it. Angry at the amount of power and control she had over him. Very human emotions.

I asked him to give me a call when he could. He was away, on vacation, and we could not talk face to face. When we did talk I shared what I could about how I was feeling; that I didn’t want to be a bitch and be bitter when he was so happy but that I felt neglected. Shoved to the side. Second fiddle. I am aware that Emily comes first. I don’t need it shoved down my throat. James always came first for me and I tried my damnedest to make sure that Chris was always sure and steady in his importance and his place in my life.

Chris said one very key phrase, and suddenly everything fell into place in my mind about their relationship. Why he gave her so much lee way. Why she could do so much damage to him and why the effects lingered long after a fight with any of the rest of us would have been recovered for. Why he was so greedy for as much time with her as he could get.

“I feel as if I belong to her.”

The moment I heard the words, I felt equal parts pain and understanding. The subby ache inside of me reared its ugly head, and I let a couple silent tears fall. Yes, I knew that feeling well. From the beginning I had belonged to James. I didn’t need a collar to tell me that. He has always been able to touch parts of me that no one else has gotten near.

Chris, as much as he was my Sir, as much as he was a sadistic bastard at times, was not the emotional top in the relationship. He was hers. Emotionally, he was submissive to her.

I had been looking at the whole situation from a top’s prospective. Why was she given special treatment that the rest of us never would have gotten long before she became primary? Why WAS she the primary when she was by far his most difficult partner? Why did he cater to her so much, when so much of what she was would be a deal breaker with anyone else?

Because he was emotionally in service to her, and probably had been for some time. Now, as their relationship develops, he is comfortable enough to be physically in service to her from time to time as well. She is the only one he can do that with; the only one that he can even begin to imagine doing that with.

In a way, I understand. I can call any man who tops me that I respect sir. James remains the only man I have ever felt the desire to call my Master. He is the only one I can be a slave to, as of now.

I don’t know where this relationship with Emily will go. I hope that Chris doesn’t end up hurt, and I’m going to do my best to help him begin to navigate this sort of relationship in a slightly healthier way. There are ways to belong to one partner and still not make the others feel like crap. Partners are partners for a reason. Relationships are hard work. You don’t continue them, especially through conflict, if they aren’t things that matter to you. And I know that, realistically, I matter to Chris. I know he absolutely loves me. I know that I am not Emily, that I do not touch certain parts of him that she touches, but I also know that we have other things in common, and that’s okay too. Other things is different… not ‘not as good’. It’s teaching him how to communicate that (at his request) that will be..interesting.

Poly isn’t easy. But honestly, at this point in my life I can’t imagine being monogamous. Even with the drama, my life is much better with Chris in it. He is a good man, and for the most part a fantastic partner. We’ll navigate this. Nothing is unchanging. Nothing is perfect. Life is change, and development, and growth; and there is so much beauty in that.

Yours, still very much alive and kicking

Rene

 

Too Much

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It’s Christmas Eve.

When I was a child, this was my favorite day of the year. My Grammy would hold court at my Grammy and DadDad’s house and all the family would go up for Italian Christmas Eve. The cousins would receive gifts from the aunts, uncles and grandparents. We would eat the best food we would have all year, play with our new toys, and go home to quickly scamper into bed before Santa came.

As I’ve gotten older, it’s morphed into something else entirely, a grotesque mockery of the happy day it used to be. When my Grammy died, my aunt took over holding court. When she passed away… I stopped wanting to go. My cousins and I have no relationship. I don’t know my uncles at all. I went for my DadDad, because Christmas Eve was when he told the best stories. I would sit and drink coffee with Sambuca and Baileys with him and listen to him reflect. It made the Christmas Eves bearable.

The last month… the last week… has been hell for me. It started with my DadDad’s death… and then a couple weeks later I totaled my car in a stupid accident because I hadn’t been able to get my breaks done. I found myself without my income, and scrambling more than ever because that night I learned my rent was going up $200 the next month. I had nothing in savings, living day by day as I did… and I knew my parents would be no help. When I told them about the accident my dad called me stupid, and said he didn’t know what to tell me. My mom just cried. The car had been hers first, and was her first new car.. and me without income meant I couldn’t send them student loan money, which meant that they would have to cover my loansĀ againĀ this month because I “can’t get my life together and don’t have my priorities straight.”

I am blessed in other ways… my friends, my chosen family, and my partner have been incredibly supportive. One of my best friends, a firecracker named Annie, helped me get a gofundme together and told me over and over not to be ashamed to ask for help.. that big girl or not, life happens to the best of us. She’s kept me going, helped me with the car shopping process (my credit is shit, so I needed cheap and fast..which often means fixer uppers. She’s also a mechanic, and a lifesaver in so many ways). Another friend, Brian, came out and looked at my car after the accident and gave me options as to what to do next. The gofundme itself has raised over $1000, giving me a little bit to work with when I have no new income coming in. So many people have hugged me and told me it was going to be okay. Others have said if I’m still short when it gets closer to rent day to come to them. They will help. At home, I feel supported, and loved. Person after person has slowly been convincing me that it’s going to be okay.

My partner Chris has been incredible support, from little things like making sure I’ve been eating and that I wasn’t alone to bigger things like helping out with the gofundme. He’s kept me smiling, and I am grateful…

And then there is James… my Master, who is far too much in the same boat that I am in. He’s helped in ways that have honestly meant the most.. Giving me time he didn’t have to spare, arms to curl up in, kisses that make me feel adored and wanted. He’s held me when I needed the safety of being swallowed in his arms, and when I’ve started dropping caught me before I fell. He’s known when I needed pleasure and when I’ve needed play without me asking… without me even knowing. The man can read me like a fucking book, and I’ve been more grateful for that in the last week than I can properly express in words.

Tuesday was my last night in the Bay for two weeks. The trip to New Jersey for Christmas was pre-planned and pre-arranged by my parents. I couldn’t get out of it. I couldn’t say no when my mother was clinging to me being ‘home’ for Christmas. It was also my last day watching a child that I’ve been caring for for over a year and a half; an adorable two year old that has made a huge impact on my life. Knowing my emotional state leaving this little girl, my Master invited me along to a game night up in Napa. I love his friends, and have felt so accepted by all of them, so of course I said yes.

I’ve been using Getaround cars to..well… get around (yay smart phone apps. The Bay Area has certain advantages). I had a rental expiring that evening, and so made a plan with James to rent another car just for the time in Napa, drop the car back off in the city after the game night, and then James would drive me the rest of the way to my house. He would spend the night, we would get much-needed intimate time together before I disappeared for the holidays, and he would bring me to the airport in the morning before going into the city for BaGG that evening (which I was regrettably missing because of my flight time… The holiday flights were so expensive I didn’t have much choice in that matter).

We never made it into the city. The game night was fabulous, and brought me a lot closer to his friends. I gave each of them a tarot reading that I think did some good…and even gave one to my Master himself which revealed a few things.. I’m still not sure I’m ready to face or process. He was going to bring his best friend home and then follow me into the city.

Master’s car has needed to be serviced for a while. The poor thing has had its check engine light on for as long as I can remember.. he just hasn’t had the money to fix it. On the way into the city that night the poor car finally broke down… Smoke coming out of the engine and all. I got a call for him while I was driving ahead saying that I would need another ride to the airport tomorrow. I turned around to find him, scrambling as to how I was going to get back to my place all the way down the peninsula. Bart wasn’t running anymore and the rental had to be back by 6 a.m…

I found him finally, pulled over by the entrance to a bridge whose name I still can’t remember. He was distant… trying to think of all that needed to be done now. He had to get down to BaGG that evening. Had to figure out how to get his car up and running so that his life didn’t end up on hold. He’s a paraplegic, so it’s not so simple as it is for me of just find a cheap, running car and move on. Hand breaks are expensive. Life is expensive.

It was freezing… my cold is now back with a vengeance from waiting around for a tow truck for two hours. But it’s two more hours I got with him. There was a little cuddling… and a slightly devastating conversation with him where he told me there were similarities between his relationship with me and his relationship with his ex wife (someone I never want to be like, ever). There are ghosts I can’t shake from his past..and they are impacting my relationship in the present… Combine that with him just being so far away, me losing that night with him, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get to the airport and get home and general and worrying about him getting home, about his car when I know he’s in a worse financial state than even I am in… I was, and am still, a mess. I was of no use to my Master, my boyfriend..and only proved to add to his plate, because on top of his worries he was worrying about what I could do to get where I need to go safely.

His friends came through.. two women who are slowly beginning to feel like sisters to me. They met me in the city (when they also live in Napa) and drove me all the way back home. Last I saw my Master, he was getting into a tow truck. We’ve texted briefly…but he’s been busy…

I got home at 6 a.m… finally fell asleep around 7, only to wake up at 11 to pack. I couldn’t bring my cat with me like I’d planned, and leaving Poe for two weeks, even in the hands of people I trust, is hard for me. I left the meager gifts I was able to get together for my roommates (I haven’t Christmas shopped at all and have scrambled and scrounged instead) on the kitchen table, took a Lyft to the airport that I couldn’t afford, and boarded a plane that stayed on the tar mat for two hours before finally taking off with at least six screaming children on board.

I have not Christmased. I have had neither the energy nor the heart to. With all that has happened my mind is three thousand miles away, with my family and my Master. I didn’t know we would be doing Christmas Eve at my DadDad’s house when my parents picked me up last night… my mother sprung it on me today. We are going up to a house that has already been picked clean by spiteful siblings, a last hurrah before its sold. A house my DadDad built with his two hands, that his children and grandchildren grew up in, is an empty shell, a mockery. I will be asked over and over to explain myself. Explain my life. How I’m doing. I will be judged and picked apart by strangers I share blood with.

My parents are trying to put on this charade that they’re all excited for Christmas… but none of the traditions have happened that have happened in years passed. For the first time in my life the gifts are under the tree before Christmas morning. There is no surprise this year because my mother just doesn’t have the time to wrap and arrange them tonight. Santa Clause and the mystery around him is dead. My father is exhausted, my mother has just been going on about how much she’s been working and how she has no time off while I’m here. And I have been crying.

There is no safe place to cry in this house. I broke down in the shower and my mother came in to ask me what was wrong. How do I say everything? How do I say this Christmas is hell and I just want to go home, when she expects the house I grew up in to still be my home? How do I tell them I feel like a stranger, intruding on rituals I don’t understand.

The cherry on top of all of this is that my parents have figured out that my lifestyle isn’t a phase. My dad noticed the slave ring on my left ring finger, a gift from Master. A day collar. Both of them have problems with it, and keep asking what I lacked in my childhood to want to walk this path. I can’t be who I am anymore around them. I can’t talk about what’s bothering me. I can’t be open and honest. I can’t even cry safely, because when I cry they expect an explanation for it.

Why am I crying? Because it’s all too much. Because I feel so very broken.. so lonely. So isolated from everything that I love. Because I desperately miss my Master even though it’s only been a day. Because I haven’t heard from Ā him today and worry that spam texting him will only make him go further away and not want to talk to me when I need his voice, his touch, his presence.

He dropped me off at the airport when I was going back for my DadDad’s funeral… That morning, he gave me a pendant of his. A geeky, Harry Potter pendant that I love. A part of him that I could have on me, so that even when he wasn’t here, he was. I have been clinging to it like my life depends on it… that and a tee shirt of his that I’ve had for so long it no longer smells like him (I was going to get another on Tuesday night..but…).

It’s too much. It’s all too much… I’m hurting so bad and I can’t cry because if I do I’ll get asked fifty thousand questions I can’t answer. I don’t want to hurt my parents more than they are already hurting. Better I be the one that hurts. At the end of all this I get to go home. They have to stay here.

I want to go home for Christmas. I want my Master and my friends… I want to feel safe, and wanted, and loved. Who gives a shit about gifts and charades.. I don’t know how much I can act tonight. How much I can pretend that I give a fuck, or don’t when they rip into me. Because they will. They always do. I said I was done with them at my DadDad’s funeral..and my mother is making me see them again. Making me pretend, for her sake, that we’re a happy fucking family.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

They say home is where the heart is. I can never tell my parents that my heart just isn’t here anymore. It’s with my Master and my family in California.

I am battered, I am bleeding, but I am still yours.

-Rene

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jealous

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Jealousy is a thing.

I know there are some people who claim not to get jealous… There are also some that claim that if you’re poly you can’t get jealous.

The second one is bullshit, and I envy those that can accomplish the first. I can’t. I fully admit that I can’t, even with the poly element as part of my relationship.

James has one friend that is literally everything that I am not. Friend is a very loose term.. They’ve known each other for years and, as it often can be, it’s complicated…

I don’t mean the whole she’s everything I’m not as a dig against myself.. she just.. is.. While I’m a brunette and dark of features she is a blonde and fair. While I am compact she is tall and leggy, and while I have some extra curvage she is quite literally perfectly proportioned. It goes passed physical into the world of skills..Ā  I was excited to show off belly dancing for James..until the first time I saw her move with a grace I just don’t have and went “nope!”. She is also rather skilled as deep tissue massage, something that helps James when he has a sore back that I just don’t know how to do right now.. She is outgoing while I take a while to warm up to people, and has no qualms plopping down in my boyfriend’s lap when I am incredibly skiddish about trying such a thing.. I am incredibly self conscious (especially recently… I can feel clothing being tight on me…) about my size.. I’m worried I’m too big to plop in his lap… and the thought makes me very sad. I want lap time too…

I digress. As I said, James has this friend who is everything I’m not. She is very sweet, very nice, and so for the most part I ignore the triggers she causes in me. I know it’s me, seeing my own inadequacies and girl brain, and that there is a reason he chose me as his primary. There’s a reason he keeps me. But that doesn’t help when the pretty leggy blonde is in his lap and I’ve been begging for lap time for a good month…

There is a routine to BaGG nights, one that I have fallen in to easily. The time before BaGG is my time with James. It’s when we snuggle, do very bad things in his car that could possibly get us arrested (tee hee), talk, and basically touch base before the hecticness of the night begins. Once we walk into Wicked Ground we can still snuggle and often play for the entertainment of ourselves and others, but that’s when the performance starts and I have to share him. Once we enter the club I know he will spend time with me when he can, but the performance continues. It only breaks when I need him… when something’s seriously wrong and I need that point of connection, of eye contact, of him to hold me for just a second or give me one sweet kiss to tell me everything is okay. Once that performance starts there is no stopping it, especially in the club when you add work mode on top of it. I know this routine, I know it well, and I don’t attempt to stop it. I love watching James work. He works his ass off and he’s got a damn good eye. I’ve even learned to love giving him material to shoot… I have a group of friends that I play with at BaGG. I love when he takes photos of me playing and I catch the smirk on his face as he clicks the shutter.

It’s a good routine, one that I don’t think to disturb for lap time or unnecessary snuggles when he’s focused… I play by the rules, afraid to break his focus or be too much of a pest. Afraid of the reprimands he may give. It can be hard, especially when BaGG is the only day that week I get to see him and that hour alone in the car together is the only in-person time I get with my boyfriend.

I am one of those people that finds physical touch to be incredibly healing. I’ve mentioned before that I am a tactile person. If I’m not touched enough, held enough.. Emotionally, I shift. I become more on-edge. Sometimes I don’t realize it.

The other night I got no time with James before BaGG. This happens sometimes, it’s life. Sometimes adulting gets in the way of kinky fuckery. The week before I had only gotten to see James at BaGG itself, and he had barely made it in time. There was no check-in, no snuggles… and the day had not been the easiest. The week had not been the easiest.

I didn’t quite realize how much it had effected me until I looked over and saw Leggy Blonde in a little outfit walking off with my boyfriend just when I had gone over to talk to him about something. I gave them a wide birth, and did what I tend to do when my friends are not at BaGG and I’m not otherwise occupied. I watched.

I watched her curl up in his lap.. Watched him hold her, nuzzle her. Watched them kiss. I was shocked by the amount of jealousy and hurt that I felt. We’re poly. It wasn’t as if this was breaking any rules.

…But this wasn’t play. This wasn’t sex. This wasn’t kinky fuckery, which we both get off on watching the other do.

This was intimacy. Something I can’t ask for once the performance starts, and something I hadn’t gotten much of with him lately. I fought the tears burning the corners of my eyes as I watched, half talking to the friend who had come down to sit next to me.

She, in turn, followed my gaze.

“He picked you, you know. She doesn’t have the girlfriend title. You do.”

That didn’t mean that the girlfriend title would have been denied to her if she had wanted to. I didn’t know. I don’t know their past. I haven’t asked. I’m too afraid that my girl-brain will self-combust and I will become an insecure mess no sir wants to touch, no matter MY Sir.

I could feel my hurt turning to resentment and anger. Before I did something based off of heat of the moment emotions that I would regret, I sent him a text telling him that we needed to talk.. that I needed to talk to him as his girlfriend, not his submissive.

It’s when communication breaks down that you’re fucked over jealousy issues.. And while James and I don’t have great amounts of time to discuss things, when we do sit and really talk we do well. We clear up a lot of miscommunications and issues and leave the conversation a lot lighter than when we entered it..

I entered the conversation pissed and hurt, angry that while I played by the rules someone he has a past with was getting the physical attention and intimacy I craved and, at times, begged for. I went back into the club a bit more reassured about my place. I understood why she was receiving such physical intimacy, and understood why he reserved such intimacy between he and I for when we were alone.. I know when the mask goes on, when the performer goes on stage, I should not try to pull him off. I wouldn’t want to. I love the man behind the mask and know when to watch him on stage, when to join, and when to be in the wings for the intermission.

That doesn’t mean I still don’t want physical attention while in the club.. and that doesn’t fully kill off my jealousy issues. She is still everything I am not. And I am still aching for more touch from the man I adore..

But I can see James doing what he can to squash those issues, as I try to work on the internal triggers in me that cause the issues I have in the first place. Neither of us shut down, which would be the easiest thing to do. We hear the other out. He’s got the patience of a saint with me when it comes to the feels, and it reminds me often how lucky I am to actually be in a healthy poly relationship.

Jealousy happens. We’re only human. It’s what you do when the jealousy spikes that matters.

Yours reassured,

-Rene

Day 23

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23) Is there anything about submission (yours or what you see in others) that you question, dislike or repels you? Was there a time you questioned or were resistant to your own submissive feelings?

I am a big fan of different strokes for different folks. However, there are limits to this. I believe in the safe, sane, consensual tenant of BDSM.. and while the sane part is up for debate, the safe and consensual are not.

The only time I have questioned another submissive is when they were going into truly unsafe situations… I had a friend at Bondage a Go Go when I started going early on who called herself a pain slut. In all reality she was a heavy bottom, but not a pain slut, and she pushed her body too hard to prove just how much she could take (because she wanted to be the best of all the subs… Subbies you know how this is…). To do this, she would eat AFTER bag and not have any food before, because she believed that it allowed her to take more pain. One night she did this and on top of this took several medications that left her not in her right mind, combined this with alcohol, and then went to go play… The partner she was playing with cut the scene short because they saw she wasn’t right, but it was one of the few times I have gone over and lectured another submissive, as well as her primary for letting her put herself in that situation.

I’ve also met many a young ‘sub’ that was “looking for her Christian Grey.” They are easy to spot in a dungeon setting. Usually younger, dressed to the nines in lingerie and brand new heels, walking around with a bit of a dear in the headlights look. These lost little ones me and a few other experienced submissives will sit down and talk to, and try to explain the difference between Christian Grey and real Doms. It’s why so many of us read the books, so we could know thy enemy and keep young, vulnerable subbies from getting hurt.

There is a difference between a submissive putting herself in danger because she is under some sort of influence (be it alcohol or some fictional character) and a submissive letting her Dominant push her. I have seen a couple scenes that have had me question whether or not an ambulance should be called. You sit, you watch, you wonder, but in those moments you know that an experienced submissive has not had alcohol or drugs before playing, because they want to be fully aware of their body and what is is going through. An experienced Dominant will be able to read their submissive’s body to pace the play out so that even if they’re pushing, it will be something they know that their submissive can take. And if something happens, if something gets pushed to far, everyone knows how to safeword, and will if they need to. You sometimes just have to trust that. And when you can’t, well, that’s what dungeon monitors are for.

You can’t always judge a book by its cover. James and I have made the dungeon monitors look up a few times, because he makes me howl. He will hit me hard enough that the sound of the crack will echo throughout the entire dungeon, and I in turn will scream like a banshee. He pushes me, and I let him push me. Everyone in that dungeon knows we’re experienced. The DMs have seen James for years in the scene, and while I haven’t been around for as long they know me as well. They trust that if I need to, I will red out. And I have in the past, with other partners.

As for my own submission… of course I’ve struggled with it. When my mother told me I could be anything I wanted to be I don’t think she pictured one of those things as someone who craved spankings, floggings and the phrase ‘good girl’. Strong, independent women are not supposed to want to kneel at their boyfriend’s feet.. I struggled most with something that has become one of my biggest kinks. The concept of being owned.

The collar. One of my biggest turn-ons is the thought that someone wants me enough, values me enough, that they want me to be one of their possessions. They want to own me. They will share, but I will be theirs to do with as they well. Coming to terms with wanting that, with craving that.. it took me some time. There is still a stigma to D/s, and to BDSM in general. It takes time to realize that the stigma is just somethingĀ  you learn how to live with.. That it’s going to be part of your everyday life whether you want it to be or not.

It’s a matter of how you live with it that matters. I will never be ashamed of who and what I am. It has taken me a long time to get there, and I’ll be damned if I’m going back… But I’ve learned what to and not to share with people about who I am. Sometimes that makes me sad, that I can only be half of myself with people.

But then I rejoin my people… and I frolic in the dungeon. James makes me scream, and all is right with the world.

Yours, as always

-Rene

Day 22

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Day 22

Can you feel submissive without a dominant partner? If so, how does your submission express itself? If not, how do you handle your submission or submissive feelings?

My friend Cal is a Domly Dom. I’ve described him as being able to be spotted as Dominant from 100 feet away. This attribute may be heightened when his girl is kneeling at his feet or curled up in his lap, but standing on his own he reeds as Dominant. Those who aren’t in the scene may not know that he was a Dominant, but he would read as a domineering person in general, a take charge boss man that looks like he should be calling the shots.

The same can be said on the other end of the spectrum. My submissive tendencies don’t go away when I’m not with my Sir… and somethings this can be a really annoying thing…because I can’t control it.

When I am upset and around people I trust I become incredibly submissive. Most of my friends know that I like to sit on the floor when I cry, that I will apologize for every little thing (including apologizing so much) and that the easiest way to make my mood right is to order me to action. Tell me to do something so that I’m not focusing on my own melancholia.

My submissive side is strong enough and, ironically, dominant enough in me that it comes out, partner or not, and I am lucky enough to have people in my life that know how to handle me when this does happen. They are not necessarily Doms but toppy people that know what to do when I go subby.

I’m not necessarily one of those people that goes “Dom shopping” when I’m single, and I have been single in the scene before. I’ve mentioned before that I am a picky bitch when it comes to relationships. When I feel a need to formally submit but don’t have a Dominant in my life, I am lucky in that I have friends. Friendships in the scene…can be interesting. Some of my friends I go to dinner and drinks with… some of them beat my ass in a dungeon when I ask. It ends up not being in a sexual way, rather in a cathartic way. Their need to Dominate ends up as strong as my need to submit, and the play makes both of us feel better and more right in our own skin.

I’m one of those who is blessed and cursed with the fact that my submission never really goes away. I would like to think that has the ability to make me a damn good submissive to my Sir, and that he is proud to call me his, because it isn’t an act. It’s not a mask that I put on for an evening performance. It’s in me, same as my need to create. I love it, and sometimes I hate it.

Yours, subby as ever

-Rene

Day 21

Day 21

Is there a physical position that makes you feel most submissive?

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I’ve always had a thing for sitting on the floor. I’ve mentioned it before, that I liked sitting at an ex’s feet while he played video games.

I’ve never been ordered on the floor, though I have been ordered onto my knees once or twice. I just.. enjoy it. I like feeling grounded and stable, safe, and there’s something about being as low as you can possibly be that lends you to that.

With James there are two positions that I enjoy the most, that make me feel the most submissive to him in particular. One is kneeling on the floor and then laying my head against his wheel or his leg, depending on where I’m facing (and what mood I’m in honestly… This is usually the ‘I have no words but help please…’ position XD). This will either result in head pets and snuggles or a raised eyebrow and a few nails buried into my chest, depending on the mood. Both are happily received.

The other position I love is actually off the ground. There’s a little black chair in the photo room at the Citadel, often nicknamed the blow job chair. Usually instead of James sitting in it, I end up sitting in it. I love when he comes over and sits across from me, putting his legs on either side of me. He’s slightly higher than me when I’m sitting in that chair and he’s sitting in his.. and he is deceptively HUGE. Stretch the man out and he’s 6 ft 4 easily, with huge feet and…

No I’m not going to finish that sentence, you perverts ;P

But yes, back to the position. It’s a simple one. It’s not a proper D/s one..but it’s one that has me completely surrounded by him, where I know his focus is on me. I feel possessed.. and Godde is that a powerful feeling. Outside of being curled up in his arms it’s the position where I most feel like his.

With D/s in general I enjoy being on my knees. I can kneel for long periods of time.. My background is somewhat high protocol, with positions and postures, so being used as a drink holder or foot stool is somewhat my comfort zone..

I like crawling. I like being lower than my partner. I like being grounded…and I LOVE being possessed. I am my Sir’s favorite toy ;P

Yours, making progress.

-Rene

Day 20

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Day 20

Has your submission increased or decreased over time? Have you ever had to renegotiate your submission due to a change in your feelings or circumstance?

I wouldn’t say it has increased or decreased.. I would say it’s stabilized.

When Cal found me eons ago all he had to do was tell me that it was real for me to be all in. I had wanted it for ages… felt a need to submit that I couldn’t understand and couldn’t name at the time. I was one of those hopeless souls that clung to kinky novels and prayed that something, anything like that existed… And when it did I threw myself in full-tilt. So much so that I think even if Cal hadn’t had a significant other the mentor-ship would have ended. I wanted to swim in the deep end of the community when he was slowly dipping his toes back into the water.

I did… but perhaps not in the most healthy way. When Kane and I were together, we were basically 24/7. I would live at his house during the week while his wife was away and then go back to my place on the weekends. Certain things I loved.. I still love. I would have dinner waiting for him when he got home from work, along with me on my knees at the front door in lingerie. I would clean the house. He would leave me chores to do; exercise, do laundry, etc, and I admit weight wise that I was lighter then than I am now (and no I’m not happy about that dammit -_- But I’m a work in progress).

…I think we loved the fantasy of 24/7, but neither of us were ready to deal with the realities of it.. That eventually he would need to deal with the stress of a failing marriage, that I was too young realistically for him because he could never comfortably swallow that age gab… That I wanted children and he was past that age where that was going to be realistic.

It was a gradual shift. It started with me staying home two weeks and being with him for a week. Then five days. Then four.

Eventually the sleepovers stopped.. His life had become too hectic. There was too much stress at work to try to fit me in. And because he was my Dom, because I wore his collar, I trusted that it would all be okay. We talked about it all being okay. That I loved him and he loved me and that was all that mattered…

… This is surprisingly hard to write… It’s been about a year since things started falling apart. Since the downward spiral began.

I had to renegotiate the entire relationship in my head time and time again, not because I willingly wanted to and it was the healthy thing to do but because I had no choice… He was my Dom and my boyfriend. I had to trust that he was doing things for a reason at that it would all be alright. That eventually we would get back to Disney. In my head I explained away the way he treated me time and time again, something I’m incredibly conscious of now. Dominants are not gods, they are humans, and when they stop communicating they make very bad, very painful mistakes. Kane made a few. He is still my friend…but he very much shattered parts of me. That’s taken a while to heal.

The relationship with James is a different D/s dynamic than I’ve had before.. There is no label, bedroom only, 24/7, etc. I’m not in subby mode all the time. There are times when I am very much, and very happily, his girlfriend. And then he flips that subby switch. He can do it with a look, a tone, a glance, and I’m on my knees with my chest out and my back arched. It’s laced through everything for both of us..because kink is laced through our entire lives. What we do, how we both want to make our livelihoods, is saturated with the kink world, and rather than fight against it and try to create a separate persona we’ve both embraced it whole-heartedly.

Sometimes labels just don’t work.. When you remove some of them, you find the balance.

Yours playing catch up

-Rene