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Dangerous Game

(I apologize for being so behind in posts, lovelies. Much has happened and so I will be posting a couple in rapid succession. It just took me a wee bit to get off the hamster wheel of life long enough to actually write about it).

I feel your fingers
Cold on my shoulder
Your chilling touch
As it runs down my spine
Watcing your eyes
As they invade my soul
Forbidden pleasures
I’m afraid to make mine… 

A world ago, on one of our car rides home, James and I talked about songs summed up kink for us. We’re both theatre geeks.. a lot of kinksers are, or started that way, and have a love of musicals. My first introduction to kink was Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera. His, he told me, was Dangerous Game from Jekyll and Hyde.

“It’s the perfect scene,” he told me. “Just taboo enough that you can feel yourself losing control, but not so far gone that true harm is done.”

Over a year after that conversation, I sat in the Citadel’s photo room with him, on my perch as always. It was another night, another working party with the regulars. I had a cleanup shift. James was shooting. It was one of my favorites; a nerd themed party that gets busy but not bonkers and attracts some of my favorite people.

We have our routines, he and I, for various settings. Our rituals to continue the dance that is our complicated relationships. One of those steps is me asking in a slow moment if James would like to duel. Our Yu-Gi-Ioh cards have been the preferred, safe method of play since my collar came off. It’s topping, but without the intimacy of physical touch. …It wasn’t nearly as satisfying, but it got me by.

“Not today.” He said when I showed him my deck box and pouted. “I’m actually not in much of a dueling mood.” That’s..odd for him. Very. And I asked what was up. “I don’t know.” He said. He paused and looked at me. “It’s just a weird day.”

Sometimes that man just knows too much.

At the touch of your hand
At the sound of your voice
At the moment your eyes meet mine
I am out of my mind
I am out of control
Full of feelings I can’t define! 

“I want you to ask for your collar back.”

The day before the party I was at Daddy’s. It had been a rough night. I had planned to spend the night with Ryan, but at the last minute James had asked me for a ride home. He had a doctor’s appointment early in the morning and would have been stranded without my help. I promised him long ago that if he ever actually needed me that I would be there… and it as the first time I had hesitated.

My feelings for Ryan are… strong. Kick in the teeth strong. He’s the one I spend the most time with. We talk almost constantly at this point, and he knows far too many of my secrets. He has seen parts of my mind that James hasn’t even uncovered, and instead of running stood and faced demons that would have made anyone else head for the hills. I love him. I trust him absolutely.

…I… couldn’t make myself say no to James when he needed me, and so asked my Daddy if I could crawl into bed after driving James.

Selfishly, I’m glad I asked. The ride back with James was fantastic, with banter and stories and him so excited about his new motorized attachment to his chair. The talking was easy and unfiltered. With the only off-limits topic being Ryan.

I crawled into bed with Ryan after 5 am, the cost of taking James all the way to Napa and then driving back to Oakland. And I knew I was it hot water. How I didn’t see two Dominant men in my life butting heads as an eventuality I don’t know, but a bit of a pissing contest had started between the two. Ryan has gotten the closest to “taking Jame’s spot”, making rules for me, setting boundaries and bedtimes. Checking in with me about partners and relationships and statuses… It’s..a primary role without the label. Cause labels can be very bad. James did not respond well to Ryan setting rules for me. Rules he disagreed with, and pushes repeatedly in a “No, I know you best” bullheaded sort of way.

Both men care for me. In very different ways. And both were getting dangerously close to killing one another. To the point where my Daddy asked me to close the door with my former Master once and for all the following morning. There had been other slights, on both sides. Things had been building.

“I will talk to James tomorrow.” I promised. And I would. I promised I would. I did not promise I could close that door. But I could modify the entrance to make it more healthy, for James, Ryan, and myself.

It’s a sin with no name
Like a hand in a flame
And our senses proclaim
It’s a dangerous game!

It was towards the end of the night that the regulars started drifting into the back room to hang out. I moved to the main cluster of chairs with friends on either side and James across from me. The talk turned, as is often did, to James’s toys. He had gotten two new pretties at Dore Alley and had been showing them off almost non-stop since, demoing them when he was allowed.

A beautiful creature from Boston came into the photo room and started chatting with us. She watched how James and I interracted and asked me quietly what our relationship was as we exchanged Fetlife information. I told her the honest truth; the truth that has remained since day one.

“He was my Master. I was his slave. He took my collar back over a year ago. I still love him. I do what I can, and accept the relationship that I am permitted to have with him.” I play by his rules. Or, I try to.

She got teary eyed. “That’s beautiful.”

In a way, I suppose it is, but it’s also incredibly masochistic.

A crowd had drifted into our little room. James turned to face us and join in on the conversation. I was curled up cross-legged across from him, at eye level. This is a rarity for me. It make me nervous. We started telling stories of past parties and surprisingly, he started telling stories of our past. Little things that I had forgotten, or tucked away for another time when sifting through the memories would be less painful. The pinky he used to dig into my skin and drill with that I hated. The hair pulls to kill off some of my worst fatigue headaches when we pushed ourselves too hard. How when the back room got slow he would slam down on my ass to get me to scream and pull people in. A scream that no one in that room had heard come from me. They had all become my friends after the collar came off.

A darker dream
That has no ending
That’s so unreal
You believe that it’s true!
A dance of death
Out of a mystery tale
The frighted princess
Doesn’t know what to do!

James brought out his big knife. Now, I have a love affair with this knife so intense that it transcends the affair with its wielder. James spanks with it, and then will slap you across the ass with the sheathe. The combo is by far one of my favorite sensations on the planet. I relish it.

He started giving some of the others tastes of it and I watched, drooling as I have in times past. I knew better, at this point, then to ask for play. He spanked the pretty Boston girl, and then asked if she would like to feel the knife.

She was uncertain.

I don’t know what possessed me to open my mouth. I had asked the questions countless times and doubted that I would end up with a different answer. But, nontheless, I asked. “Would you feel more comfortable if someone demoed the knife before you were hit with it?”

Both her and James turned to me. He had his eyebrow raised. I crept over and grabbed the knife off the table where it laid, then walked over to him and spoke low enough for only him to here.

“There is no going backwards. We will not be getting back together. If we do, it will be a hard reboot form the ground up. That starts as play partners again, and trusting each other on that level. I know this knife. I know it better than most. I would like to feel it again.”

He grinned, and shocked the hell outta me. “Well, get over there!”

Will the ghosts go away? (No)
Will she will them to stay? (No)
Either way, t here’s no way to win

All I know is I’m lost
And I’m counting the costs
My emotions are in a spin

He hit me, without reserve, and gods did it feel glorious. The cold steel against my ass, the blade that I knew was a sharp, working blade that he had used to slit animal’s throats before (he lives on a farm..). The harsh SLAP of the sheathe as it hit me and reddened my ass.

It was short..maybe ten minutes. I caught my face during it in the mirrored wall. The bliss. Caught his reflection. The grin. ‘Oh godde’ I thought. ‘Oh godde this is too familiar. I’m in trouble. How can this still feel so good? I forgot how good it felt’

My turn ended soon enough. Others went. There was more talk. More stories. And then a round with more toys. His wooden sword and dagger, which I had yet to feel.

Again, I got bold. About ten minutes before the party was to end I crept over and took the dagger off the table. I walked over to him, the timid mouse I had once been to him. “You know. I haven’t felt this one before, ever.” He met my eyes. Motioned to the cross. I got back in position, bracing my knees against the cross at the memory of his blows and hugging the center as I once had countless times before.

I don’t know who’s to blame
It’s a crime and a shame
But it’s true all the same
It’s a dangerous game. 

I didn’t expect his hands. The hard wood of the dagger, I expected. The softer wood of the sword as well. But his hands. The double blows I had craved for so long, dreamed about, fantasized about. I hadn’t expected a scene.

I howled under his hands, screeching and squealing as I hadn’t in over a year and a half. I had forgotten how sweet his particular brand of sadism felt, how he switched up sensations just as my body adjusted..I didn’t expect him to still know and remember my body’s responses and reactions. He dug his pinky into my ass and I nearly wept as memories came rushing back; things I had tried to forget. Things from when I was his.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye place the toys back on the table and let myself sag against the cross, recovering. My ass was hot, my voice hoarse, and I knew that was barely a warm up for him. We had played for over an hour easily every time we had scened, and this had been only a few minutes.

No one speaks
Not one word
But what words are in our eyes
Silence speaks
Loud and clear
All the words we don’t want to hear!

“I missed it!” Our friend stood in the doorway of the photo room, one of the citadel managers that had been keeping an eye on the party. “I heard the screams and I rushed over, and I missed it!”

James turned to me and grinned, then went back to the table.

“Well. Which would you like me to hit her with?” I stared at him in shock. I thought that taste was it. That we were done.

“Whichever one hurts more?” I groaned. He chuckled. We began again.

At the touch of your hand
At the sound of your voice
At the moment your eyes meet mine
I am losing my mind
I am losing control
Full of feelings I can’t define!

He wasn’t gingerly, which I had expected him to be after so long without playing. After all the talk of how he couldn’t trust me in that way. After how he wasn’t comfortable. He pushed me. He slammed into me for a good 20 minutes using the toys, his nails, his hands. I let myself fall, feeling a release I hadn’t known I was craving. I flew so easily with James, so naturally. I had gotten so accustomed to his ramp up and play that my body fell into the memory of it with no resistance.

Again, I watched my face. Again, I watched his. There was a brief wonder as to why but I shoved it away and enjoyed the feeling of him whaling on my ass. Even through panties, I could feel the bruises forming. I don’t bruise anymore. I get deep tissue bruises, but it is almost impossible to mark me.

He did it so easily, without breaking a sweat.

Eventually, the blows calmed. He pealed me off the cross and pulled me into his arms, holding me. My body shook as I sobbed. I think I muttered several, ‘oh my godde’s and ‘thank you’s and ‘wow’s. My body calmed. I pulled away. We both smiled at one another, and then he gave me another quick smack and sent me off to cleanup.

It’s a sin with no name
No remorse and no shame
Fire, fury and flame
Cos’ the devil’s to blame!

We didn’t talk about the play during cleanup. Or after that. I collected his photo signs and folded up the backdrop with him as I had countless parties before. We joked around, talked a bit, and avoided the pink elephant in the room. He had hit me. For the first time in over a year. I had loved it. I had drawn a new boundary in the sand with our relationship, asking for a hard reset instead of ever getting my collar and ring back.

And I didn’t know what any of it meant. I didn’t know if things had changed. If he was suddenly comfortable playing with me now, or if it had just been a weird night. If this was progress toward a more amicable friendship and relationship, or if this was a child throwing a tantrum at his toy almost being taken away. I knew I wanted to do it again, and that is, I think, what scared me the most. I didn’t know what I was going to tell Daddy. There had been a shift in mine and James’s interactions, but I don’t think it was a shift that either of us had expected.

It has been two months since he touched me, and we still haven’t talked about the scene. What it meant. If anything. The next week before BaGG during our duel, while I still wore his bruises, I baited him. Saying he could always beat me for my brattiness later.

“Well we know that’s not going to happen.”
“Meh, never say never.”

Paranoid me even checked in after, making sure that the joking and kidding was okay. That it was just joking. That this new level of banter was alright and that I wasn’t overstepping.. Instead I was overthinking.

I still don’t know what any of it means, especially now.

Daddy still doesn’t like him. Two days ago, he asked me to give up my friendship with James.

I don’t know what anything means anymore.

And the angels proclaim
It’s a dangerous game…

-Rene

 

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A Duty, an Echo, a Bow-Out

She wanted to own him, for him to want to own her, but he tread lightly around her. He didn’t want to mark her. She wanted to be branded; a red, raw wound.”

-The Piano Teacher

‘In an Open Relationship since May, 20, 2015’

“WHAT THE FLYING FUCK.”

It was the cherry on top of an overly-saturated emotional cake today, full of feels I am still processing. I agreed today to walk into a situation that will end up likely breaking a large part of me and force me out of my community for a while. It will be the catalyst to something that I have been chewing on for a while. Facebook just took the time to remind me that even when I think the ghosts are gone.. sometimes I miss a spot.

The status wasn’t linked to James. That has long since been gone..but it was there. Our anniversary staring at me. Mocking me, as the loose end that said ‘you haven’t walked away yet’ while his details say single. I can’t do that. I’m not single. I have partners, though no primary. I can’t draw that clean line like he can..but has it ever been clean?

We’re getting James a car. The wheels are in motion, no pun intended. It’s what I sat down to figure out today. Will it be possible. Can it be done? Yes.

This passed weekend I watched him break. Again. I saw him on Friday at a play party and barely recognized the stubborn man I know and love. I saw… a broken, exhausted shell of a man that is so far beyond the reach of those who love him. I was afraid. Unsurprised, and afraid. I asked if he wanted a ride home, and of course he said no. He can get himself home. I wasn’t surprised when he posted a status the next day saying that he was going into full hibernation mode and would be back in a few days. He needed it. I knew that, watching as an outsider looking in that knew way too much about him. I don’t have a right to know anymore, but I do. I know his body ticks. I know the look he gets when he’s hit a wall.

I can’t watch it anymore.

There’s a selfish element. I realize that I can get certain gears rolling for him, connect certain people together, that others can’t. It’s why I’ve been pulled in. I also realize that in doing this, my usefulness to him will be removed. I’m his ride. Removing that factor severs our necessity in one another. It removes a huge way in which I passively serve him and reduces our interactions purely to choice.

I’m not sure what either of us can choose. Will choose. But I would rather give up the choice to be around him than watch him kill himself. I… can’t. I love the asshole. To actually be permitted to pull my resources and do some good with them for him… It’s one last hurrah. The last act of real service I can give him before I am completely rung dry. Before I am used up emotionally and break myself.

After the meeting today I came home and let myself trip back down memory lane, digging into the Dark Odyssey photo albums. I let myself look at the old shots he’s taken of me, vs the ones he takes now. I let myself register the disconnect and distance. I found the Facebook slip and while it stung on top of everything else I feel relieved to have remedied the error. I know I’m going to put way too much into this, both time and energy… and then I will finally rest. I will walk away, explain why, and see what happens next. If he comes after me I will honestly be shocked. If he notices what I’ve done I’ll be doubly shocked. I don’t expect anything in return for all this. And I know I’m being way too vague in this entry, but I can’t talk about details.

I have to do this. One last time.

And then… I will probably disappear for a while.

I don’t have a choice. I won’t disappear from here. I’ll still have my partners… but James and I are so tightly entangled. I fear after he gets his wheels..even before, now.. that entanglement will become a strangle hold. If it hasn’t already. I will suffocate under the weight of our connection, unable to move forward and forbidden to go back. Whether I go or stay, it will break me..it’s just the damage that must be calculated. The recovery time. The risk and reward.

I will step back from BaGG. From the Citadel parties I love.. I know the ones he works. The ones he doesn’t. I won’t cut myself off completely from the community but…

If I am useless and unwanted, I need to hear that. If I am wanted and needed, I need to hear that. And I don’t know if I ever will.

So now I lay sleepless on my couch with a snoring dog and a cat desperately trying to flatten my chest, attempting to see which end is up.

Yours, drowning

-Rene

Birthday Spankings

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Yes, that would be my ass.. The last remnants of the marks are still there from last week’s birthday spankings.

Not mine, mind you, but my Master’s. James’s birthday was on Thursday..which meant that Wednesday evening was his birthday BaGG.

Wednesday was… a much needed day. It started with a hot tub photo shoot with a friend of our’s, a beautiful model who knows how to work her body. I assisted, James shot, and then there were some shenanigans and a wonderful hot tub blow job that our friend was kind enough to take pictures of. After it was to BaGG, where my ass was already tingling in anticipation.

There was a bit of debate over who would take Master’s spankings. Spanking him.. is a difficult thing, and he’s more a Dominant than anything (although there are rare occasions when he will switch). Typically he asks for volunteers, who would take them.. but I had been missing him lately, missing our connection, and I selfishly played the girlfriend card. I wanted them. Badly. Knowing just how badly they were going to hurt.

And so I was excited when one of the BaGG members came to find me on the dance floor, telling me around midnight that my Master needed me. I all but skipped to the back dungeon, waiting with anticipation while the girl before us took her birthday spankings.

I have a love/hate relationship with spanking horses. I’m a wee bit too short for them.. I have to climb up onto them, not just bend over, and have to wrap my legs around them to stay up properly. Because of this, the harder slaps will actually cause the bench to dig into my inner thighs and bruise me, no matter how good the padding is. There would be four people spanking me that night. Two were my roommates, both people I adore and both people who have spanked me in some semblance before. I screamed and squirmed a little, though not too much. They were a lovely warm-up, getting ten spankings each. The woman after them was a friend from BaGG. She’s a tiny, beautiful thing with the most stunning outfits and a surprisingly sadistic side. With every couple of smacks she would pull me by my hips further back on the horse, having it dig further into me. By the time she finished, ending on a lovely note with a wooden paddle, I could feel the warmth coming from my ass. Tom, a BaGG member and friend, was holding my hands in front of the horse and checking in to make sure I was okay.

BaGG math is a funny thing; it’s never quite linear. Master James turned 32 this year.. so I should receive 33 spankings (one to grown on is important). The first three spankers gave me ten spankings each. This should leave Master with three, logically.

Nope. Somehow three turned into thirteen, which doesn’t sound like much, but my Master’s hands are his feet. When he spanks someone, most people tap out at three, five at the most. His hands are like concrete, and there is very rarely any sort of warm up. Often when he’s working the photo booth at the Citadel he will bend me over one of the benches in the back and use my screams to attract people to the room. I love it..

One, two, three spankings in I scream. My body shakes a little. Tom checks in. The crowd watching cheers. By spanking six I’m openly sobbing. With each one I’m slammed into the horse more, aggravating bruises that are already forming on my inner thighs. By ten the crowd seems quieter, further away. Tom is checking in with me more and more, asking if I want to tap out. I don’t. This is my normal. These spankings that feel like concrete. I hate and love everyone. It’s just a rarity for people to see us play for any length of time. Normally I get a few whacks in between at an event he’s working. This was enough to make up a decent scene.

By the time Master is done the room is almost quiet. I remember stumbling off the horse to Tom’s horror and immediately turning around and sinking to my knees, straight into Master’s arms. He held me like I was the most precious thing in the world, kissing the top of my head. There, wrapped in the cocoon of Master’s arms, I heard someone behind us say, “James and Rene, everybody!”. The quiet room erupted as Master helped me to my feet and led me to the side, where I could sit and curl back up in his arms again. After snuggles, and kisses, and a decent amount of aftercare he ordered me up and had me bend over to take this picture.

I love my marks…and the Master that gives them to me.

Yours, happily bruised

-Rene

 

A Change in Title

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I have identified as a ‘submissive’ since I entered the public scene. It’s a catch-all term, a word that was the easiest way for me to explain the pleasure that I felt kneeling in front of Sir, of having someone I care for use me how he sees most fit and gaining pleasure from it. It was the easiest term to use as the flashing neon sign next to my Fetlife tag. “Use me. Please. For your pleasure and mine. Mark me. Claim me. Want me.”

For as much as I’ve played and explored, I clung to that title above all others. I’ve identified sides of myself that are little, masochistic, a wee bit switchy at times, hedonistic, damn slutty, and bratty to name a few… and it was easiest to just throw them all underneath the submissive umbrella. All were components of my service, and service meant submission, right? Different ways, different times, but everything I did was to serve my partners and bring them as much pleasure as possible, which in turn gave me pleasure. A great deal of it.

Very rarely are the right paths the easiest ones.

I am going to start with two short stories that seem unrelated, but then combine into one. One is that my primary has told me, from the beginning of our relationship, that regardless of whether or not we work out he’s determined to see me a better person as a result of it. He pushes me, not hard enough for me to ever come close to breaking, but hard enough that I question myself in a healthy way. If I say self-demeaning comments, usually out of complete reflex, he will catch me on it and ask me why I say that. He peels back layers I have safely hidden behind, my armor that keeps people from getting too close and knowing too much, and waits. Waits until I trust him enough to give him a straight answer which then unravels my behavior… And yes, I love him for it. I love him for his patience with me, for being understanding, and for being there to stop the negative spirals when it seems I’m falling too fast or too great.

And now, story number two. Not so long ago, Sir and I met a couple. We were at Master’s Den, one of my favorite events both for high protocol it is and because he doesn’t work..and so I get to play. Before Sir and I played, we watched this particular duo. The female, small yet incredibly mighty, took quite a lot from her Master in the exact opposite way that I do. I’m… vocal. Very. I will stay mostly still but I scream. She danced, and jumped, and wiggled, but remained silent. After their scene, Sir approached them both and asked permission to play with miss Small yet Mighty… Which led to a scene, and more scenes, and talk of photoshoots and friendships…

And thus, with a couple beatings, began a bit of a learning experience for me that I’m honestly still exploring. The couple have become fantastic friends, with an incredibly energy about them both individually and together. Watching them I was surprised at some of the similarities between their dynamic and my own… The fluidity they had between strict protocol one moment and laughter and giggles the next. The sassy playfulness. The respect all around when respect was due.

She was his slave. He was her Master. Two titles I had never considered in relationship to myself.. and yet…

I was always afraid of the label of ‘slave’. I was taught, early on, that slave’s were not allowed to say no. A slave gave up their safeword. A slave was used whenever, wherever, with nothing off limits.. As much as I’ve explored, and as much as I want to please, I do have limits.

…But I’ve also never let a man push my limits as much as James has. I’ve never trusted someone so completely to know my limits, and to listen to me when I express that we’ve reached one.

The lovely slave and I have met up a couple of times on our own and talked, about our relationships, our pasts, our current friendships..and the parallels continued to tweak in my mind an identity I had been so set on.. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know for sure.

And so, I did what I knew to do. I asked James.

We were driving back from an event earlier in the night..and I love those car rides, because we talk about everything from childhood road trips to future naughty plans to what he plans on doing once the car is in park… In the dark, uninterrupted, with no one else around and with a great night behind us, I asked the question that I had been asking myself for a couple of weeks.

“Do you think I’m a submissive or a slave?”

I got a raised eyebrow and a volley of questions back and forth as he searched for the origin of my question and why it was brought up. He answered some of my questions..and dispelled the last of my fears. Slaves, just like submissives, can say no. They can always stop it..and he will always respect my limits. And so, I asked again what my Sir thought I was.

“I don’t know.” Pause, a smirk, a raised eyebrow. “What are you?”

I didn’t think about my answer. I didn’t pause. I didn’t have to. It came out on its own.

“I am yours.”

He chuckled. “Well that answers that question, now doesn’t it?”

And it did.

Hello, my name is Rene. I’m a 24 year old kinkster living in the Bay Area. I enjoy submitting to people and playing in all manner of fun ways, from impact to sensation to fire and wax. I am polyamorous, though lean more to the realm of poly-play than poly relationships… I am a lover, a girlfriend, a little, a partner, a pixie, a squeaky toy..  And I am a slave. I am owned by an incredible man. I serve him happily.

As it was in the beginning, it is even more so now.

I am his.

And I am happy.

(A Long Overdue) Day 30!

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30) Is your need to submit being met? If not, or if your situation changed, do you think that you could continue in your life and still be happy/content if you were never able to express your submission in the way that feels best to you again? What makes submission special to you?

This is being asked to me after a night that is still making me smile. James and I went on a date last night. A simple thing. A bite to eat and time together. But not something I ever take for granted..  Something I am very, very grateful for.

There was a time when I struggled with being ashamed of what I was… for a variety of reasons. There was a time when Kane was ashamed to be attracted to me, to want me..and that made me extremely ashamed of myself. What was wrong with me that he didn’t want to be attracted to me? What I so repulsive?

After that finally ended, after I removed myself from a relationship too emotionally masochistic for me, I came to terms with focusing on myself for a while. I wasn’t interested in dating. Didn’t want a relationship. Didn’t want to have to put in the work when I was already working on myself and had finally gotten used to being completely on my own.

And then I run into James, quite on accident. I’ve seen him a couple times before then, but not on his own. Always in the Citadel, always with our friend Squeeks in his lap. They kissed a lot, and she wore his collar from time to time. I assumed that they were together.

They weren’t, I found out. He was very single. I was working on it. And it was finally okay for me to feel attracted to him. It was April. I hadn’t been under his hand since November, at Surrender.. and I wanted to be. I ended up on my knees in front of him, exploring pain and pleasure in a way I hadn’t before.

Are my needs being met as a submissive?

I am a greedy sub. I always want time with Sir. I’m happy when I’m with him… The world shuts up for a little while, and even if we’re stressing about life, the universe, and everything we have the time to talk to each other.. We have a confidant that isn’t going to squeal about every last little thing about our conversations. There are head pets, snuggles, kisses…spankings and scratches and bites.. Sometimes screams. And I love it all. I love the play, and I love just going out to dinner and talking…

My submission is a part of me.. I’ve said that time and time again in these entries. It is as much a part of me as my brown eyes or my curvy figure. I can’t change it about myself. If it wasn’t able to come out in serve to a person, as I thought was going to be the case for a long while, it’s going to come out in service to the community. I show up to quite a few events as-is, because the kink community has become my family out here. Just because a relationship begins or ends doesn’t mean my submission does the same.. A Top, a Sir, a Dom, or a Master do not make me a submissive. I make myself submissive. I own that identity, and it took me a damn long time to do it.

Thus far on my journey, I have no regrets. Although I gotta say, I’m kind of glad this is the last of the 30 days.. It will be nice to get back to the regularly scheduled programming (and allll the backlogged entries that I have saved). Thank you for putting up with my tardiness on the entries, as well as for reading my words at all.

More to come, as always, and as always I am yours

-Rene

Language and Bubble Popping

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I identify as a submissive.

That is the very first line of my Fetlife profile, as to the point as I can possibly be. I do not say sexual submissive, I do not say bottom or switch. I say that I identify as a submissive.

Labels have power, and as much as we hate to admit it the world of BDSM is absolutely chock full of ’em.

submissive
Dominant
Top
bottom
Sir
sir
Master
Mistress
Ma’am
pet
brat
nonbinary
binary
secondary
primary
girlfriend
boyfriend
play partner
leather family
tribe
chosen

I could go on..and on..and on..

But if I did this entry would just be one long list and nothing explained, and that would be bad.

That being said, I am far from an expert when it comes to terms of ownership and how everyone should properly use them (honestly, there doesn’t seem to be one proper way, but that’s a whole other ball of wax). I am, however, very good at seeing the terms fumbled, and fumbling them myself.

What makes all these terms so messy is that every small orbit, every family, every clique or dungeon or group or sect or event has their own definitions for each one of these terms and what they mean to them. Every small clique of people I’ve seen uses these words in a slightly different way. That SLIGHT difference can cause a shit ton of drama if you’re drifting from one kink bubble into another.

A good example: When Cal and I first started speaking, he instructed me to call him Sir. Capital S, term of respect, proper noun to use as his name. I happily agreed to this. I knew nothing of other terms of ownership and language of the BDSM world at this point. I was green as green can be, and he was the center of my little BDSM orbit.

Enter into our dynamic Cal’s primary at the time. She had been bouncing around the Bay Area scene longer than I had been on the West Coast. Like Cal was trying to do with me, she was properly mentored, but by a hardcore Domme. She had her ways of communicating, her own kink language. To her, addressing someone as Sir was a term of respect earned. It bothered her that I used the term so half-haphazardly and automatically when addressing her Dom and boyfriend.

They were in a TPE (total power exchange) relationship, and she was as possessive and protective of him as he was of her. So, in talking to me, hearing me address her boyfriend as Sir, as if that was his name, bothered her a lot. From her perspective it was understandable, but I was following an order. I didn’t know what else to call him besides Sir. He calmed her, explained this to her, but she still had her issues with the conflicting languages. Certain things were embedded from way back when, when she was where I was at that moment. Green, new, absorbing everything and anything I could get my hands on that would set the foundation for how I navigated this new, kinky world.

This is my personal language, as it works in communicating with my friends in the San Francisco kink scene. It’s one person, in one bubble, in one community’s views. I identify a submissive as someone who gets pleasure from service, and from pleasuring others. It doesn’t always have to be naughty, kinky things. One of my favorite rituals thus far was having the opportunity to make Kane coffee in the morning and serve it to him to start his day. I enjoy cleaning up to make someone else’s life easier. I like doing dishes, as odd as that is to say. It makes me feel very zen.

I enjoy sexual service. I enjoy submission in the kinky sense, on my hands and knees, back arched, ass presented for use. I willingly give my body to those I trust to use for their pleasure, and I get pleasure and gratification in knowing that I’ve pleased others. But that is not why I label myself as a submissive.

I call myself a submissive before a bottom, a Little, a Furry, or any other fetish or label because I need to submit. I don’t want to. I need to. I am most content on my knees in service of someone I adore… The only term that comes first is “girlfriend” and that only goes to a primary for me (I know. I’m weird).

I am, personally, very big on showing respect in the language I use. It was instilled in me very early on that the use of capitalization of certain words helps in that. I was taught to capitalize the word Dominant in reference to any Dominant man in the kink scene, just as I was taught to reference submissive with a lowercase s (any time I reference any sort of D/s play, this capitalization comes into play). Capitalization, however, can be a land mine to walk into when talking to people from different kink groups. Some people reference capitalization Dominant with ownership. Ex: Dom James hit me with the cane at the party last weekend. It is assumed that Dom James is THEIR Dom, not just a Dom in the scene.

I am not one of those people, and I try to be aware that the language I use can trigger someone who is. For me, and for the community around me, there needs to be a “my” in front of the Dom to make that person mine, and mark him as the man who dominates me. I have also frequently heard the phrase “my Sir” used. I have played with many Dominant men in the scene, and will continue to show respect with that upper case D, but there is only one man that I have ever referenced as my Dom.

The only time that capital letter comes into play with ownership for me is the word sir. It slips out of my mouth when I’m in subby mode, even if it’s just a scene in a dungeon with a friend. It’s a term of respect for the people I serve, especially those I’ve played with more than once. It’s for Dominant men that I respect and have relationships with, even if they are very good friendships that extend into the dungeon and I’m not dating them. When I am in a submissive mindset, the man topping me is sir. However, the man that collared me is always referenced as Sir. Capital S, proper noun. I learned something from Cal’s primary a year ago. That capital S needs to be earned for me. Getting me to kneel at your feet is one thing. Getting me to stay there is something all together different.

I realize that not everyone uses the language and terminology I do in reference to the partners in their lives. As stated earlier, I don’t claim to be an expert on this. I am just sharing what is true for me, in my little kink community. I know there are others out there who use other words, other upper case letters, other phrases to explain relationships and interactions.

The one thing that I will stress as a truth in all this is the same thing I would stress as true in any dynamic of D/s or BDSM. Communication is absolute key. Please remember, dear readers, that almost every conflict is worth talking out. If you have an issue with language someone uses, pull them to the side and ask them about it. They may come from a different kink background than you do. They may have been taught that every man they play with is called Sir with a capital S and that anyone who puts a collar on them is Master. It doesn’t make them wrong. It makes them different from you and your group. They may come from a group where everyone is called a Top until they show their dominance, then they are referenced as Dominant, or they may be in a relationship where a submissive will only talk about her Dom using capital letters (He hit me with His new paddle, which W/we bought together at the Fetish Flea a month ago).

Wrong is not always wrong. It is just different. I challenge readers to expand their bubbles and learn other kink languages. Be open minded. Ask questions that will help prevent miscommunications and remember that everyone has their own path to walk. Each path has taken different twist and turn along the way and led people to learn different truths. They may not be your truths, but they are truths just the same, and they should be respected.

Yours walking her own path, as always

-Rena

Poe

The closer it gets to leaving for Boston the more I think about the people that really matter in my life… and the relationships I have with them.

California seems notorious for fair-weather friends. I’m sure there are close relationships somewhere.. I have met a couple Cali people that I know would be there if shit went down. One I know watches, just as I watch, even if we don’t speak so often. The other is slowly becoming an important member of my life.

I haven’t gone to the dungeon to play since I got back from Thanksgiving… and that hasn’t eaten at me. It hasn’t bothered me. I haven’t felt the need to be fawned on or flirted with, and have casual encounters. I enjoy the people I know through the Citadel, but that craving hasn’t been there. I’ve been working, actually working my ass off..and suddenly I have expendable income again. I will be able to truly enjoy myself over the holidays without fear of running out.

The lack of contact, for whatever reason or motivation,  has rubbed several people the wrong way.. I can understand, but in the end there are time when I have to put obligation above a fun night out. I work hard so I can enjoy myself and play later. I know too many people who just get by in the community I swim in; people much older than myself. I grew up just getting by. I have a man that loves me enough to have made sure the bottom didn’t drop out when I was at my worst, but I have watched the strain on his face when I was barely getting by. I don’t want to do that to him, to us, or to myself. I may never be wealthy, but I’m determined to have a roof over my head and food in my fridge, even in San Francisco.

Recently another responsibility has fallen into my lap; one I wasn’t truly expecting. His name is Poe. He is a loving, purring black ball who greets me at the door when I walk in and snuggles with me at night. Kane is insanely allergic.. the one thing that scared me about getting Poe. I hadn’t intended on going to the shelter..but it happened. I visited him three times before adopting him. Before I bought the stuff for him, before I called the shelter asking if he could be mine, I talked to Kane. It’s true, I’m lonely in my apartment without him. I’ve said that several times. But I wouldn’t put a cat above Kane’s health and happiness. I pestered him.. asking for clear confirmation that he was okay with Poe. That if I got the cat things would still be okay with us. We would be okay.

I love that man so much.. He told me straight out that he wanted his Rena happy, and he knew that a kitty would make his Rene very, very happy.. and that little bundle of fur has.

My cat is a cuddle whore. He curls up with me and purrs throughout the night and will plop into my lap the moment that I get home. In the shelter he walked over to me when I was playing with his little roommate, plopped into my lap when I wasn’t looking at him, looked up at me, meowed, and started purring. I was hooked.. He’s settled into my apartment with no problems. The last step with him is meeting Kane, which will hopefully happen today. I pray my boys get along.. I have an odd feeling they will.

I’m so grateful to Poe..that little ball of love has eased the last of my ache. He’s allowed me to lighten up. To not be so tense. The more I lighten and loosen, the more I see Kane do the same. I know he’s been busy and stressed, but more and more of our interactions I see the man that I proudly submit to, not the shadow of himself that I’ve seen. The more I take care of myself the more he does the same…I still don’t know what will happen after the holidays. Neither does he. But I know the road trip will do him good, just as the trip to Boston will do me good… We both know what we want to happen. We just have to wait and see. But I’m hopeful. I’m optimistic.. and I’m actually happy.

And then there’s Smith. Yes, the man continues to have an influence on me and be a pretty active member of my life. We are slowly getting to know one another…but usually end up poking one another daily and trading a text or two back and forth. He was the first to scoff at me not having relationships with the people I play with and just going to play. I still think casual play can be good from time to time…but I’m starting to think Smith has the right idea. I am getting so much more out of the different quality relationships I have, why go give myself to people just to do it? That’s putting a bandaid just a problem for me. Not helping me become the best me that I can be.

I am very blessed. I have three fantastic men in my life, all gifted to me by a very kind universe when I needed them. And all of them share very well when the need is there.

Well.

Almost all of them.

Poe is incredibly possessive of his mama.

Yours with a content, purring cat in her lap =^.^=

-Rena

Dealing

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‘I know it’s hard not to worry… but don’t worry about you and me… we are not a function of the time we spend together, but of the understanding we have of each other as artists and D/s people’

Three weeks is a long time.
I know in the scheme of things it’s a blip in time, a pinprick that will barely make an imprint, but facing it down now.. Sigh.

It’s odd, after hearing and reading about these whirlwind D/s relationships, these super intense love affairs that give so much more than they take, being knee deep in one. Sir and I have talked, late at night in bed, about the different time different place scenarios. There are times when our relationship hurts like hell, and he could see the pain in my face, where I see this little flicker of regret in his eyes. We’ve bounced back and forth about what would have happened if we had met later, when all his vanilla stuff was resolved, or earlier before it all started.

The result of the discussion is always the same. It wouldn’t have worked. We had the briefest moments to meet and connect.. And I think the moment we did we knew that we were utterly fucked in the best way possible.

In certain ways I feel like such a lucky bitch because I have Kane, my boyfriend who is sweet and gentle with these kind blue eyes and this laugh that melts me. He is who I have art debates with, who I joke with, who I curl up and unwilling watch the Matrix with (and then thank him later for finally forcing me to watch the Matrix). And then there is Sir, my Dom, when he gets this look in his eyes that pierce through me. His grip becomes stronger, he’s mastered THAT VOICE, the sexy Dom voice that turns my insides to jello and makes me warm all over. Sir is the one that will not hesitate to grab me and use me as he wishes, yanking me into the best position to spank, or fuck, or flog, or bite.

I love when these two sides combine, in moments like our morning snuggles where I wake up with him wrapped around me, cuddling close. And then he grinds against me, his hand wanders over my body, loving and possessive at the same time, and in a tone that would make my clothes evaporate if I wore any to bed, he whispers in my ear, “I think it’s time to wake up.” Waking up means getting up, making his coffee just right, crawling back into bed with said coffee, and then happily crawling between his legs.

My vanilla life has been hard lately. I am away from him more than I like to admit, and find myself constantly stressing about money. I felt.. Useless for quite some time. Spent. Empty. No matter how hard I worked efforts never seemed good enough, and it took a toll emotionally and physically. I isolated myself, avoiding the play parties and the kink community I loved in order to hide and sulk.

No man has ever dealt with my unraveling before, no matter been able to fix it. Kane is the first. It took a lot of talking on both our parts, but I finally managed to communicate to him that walking gingerly around me gave me more chances to hide.

And so the walking on eggshells stopped. Sir became firmer, more prominent. When I mess up I get punished. When I do well I am rewarded with the ever sought after, “good girl” and a kiss on my forehead. We both let go again, him letting himself be Dom without holding back, me giving up all control to him again without fear. A week of getting back to the new, improved version of us and I felt myself coming back to life.

I started working again. So many of my supplies are still at Cal’s house.. But I used what I had. I started sculpting, and painting, and remember what I’m good at. That I’m not unless. That there’s a reason he chose me over countless others to own.

That’s another thing in the works.. A contract, to have me owned and collared properly. Because frankly I don’t think I could fully belong to anyone else at this point. I am his, heart, body, and soul.

So. Now that things are better, now that I’m getting back to myself and am making some progress in my life, how will it be spending a full three weeks without physical contact, and another month after that without being able to spend the night together?

I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I’m not scared now.. Or I try not to be. As long as we can still communicate I’m hoping we will be fine.

We will see. Either way.. It’s nice to be able to hope again.

Yours rising.

~Rena