Tag Archives: questions

Same Dance, Different Steps

 

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The rhythm of routine is a comforting one in a world that no longer makes sense to me.

I see hate in so many places and cruelty where there once was kindess. I admit that I hade in the welcoming arms of my community. I mark, I protest, I growl with the rest of them, and then I run back to my land of misfits to dance another day.

My routines are simple, and exhausting. And I suppose, simply exhausting. I go to BaGG every week, managing to show up hours early to sit across from the stubborn asshole I love while he works and I work.. and then we dance.

We have yet to physically play, James and I. Not since he took my collar, slave ring, and pendant. I often wonder about the box they’re placed in. Is it plain, decorated. Does he take it out, along with photos and momentos, love letters and notes, and godde knows how many gifts, or does it stay locked away in some corner of his closet, another mistake he doesn’t want to look at? I don’t know. It’s eight months today, and I still don’t know.

What we do end up doing is dueling. Trading cards. An old game called Yu-Gi-Oh that he’s been into for eons, and that I enjoyed as a kid. I never played before him. I ‘built’ decks in the loosest of terms, with the childlike mindset of “Oh, this is pretty! Let’s put this with this!” and never had anyone to actually play with. Eons ago, a world ago, he tasked me with learning the game again. I did…and then the world exploded. And exploded. And exploded, and playing cards was the furthest thing from my mind.

After I was released, there was a time when playing cards was…all we ended up having. He shoved the fact that I hadn’t build a deck in my face during our breakup, and my rebuttle was to show up at the Citadel two days later with my skeleton of a deck, ready to duel. Since then, it’s been the only thing guaranteed safe to talk about. When he’s in a foul mood during a ride I bring up Yu-Gi-Oh. When he’s overly stressed and obviously needs a break from work, like he did today. When the dungeon is slow on a work night and I can seek him getting stressed. We duel.

It’s become such a lovely ritual as time has gone on. The banter has increased, to the point where there is quite a bit of sexual tension with our duels. There’s more joking, more teasing, more… comfort, and slowly, bit by bit, we have begun to feel like our old selves. He’s more approachable and less intimidating, and things like sitting in silence together have stopped feeling so uncomfortable. They are, in many ways, oddly comfortable. I know why he’s quiet some nights; I can still read his body like a book and can tell when he’s stressed, or sore, or in a mood.

That being said… the duels are all I get. I can’t touch him. I can’t snuggle him, or kneel at his feet, or go in for the big, long hugs that other can. I still am only permitted a hug goodbye most days, and I am touch starved. We spend so much damn time together that in certain ways it can be cruel smelling him, hearing him, being surrounded by him and yet being unable to reach him. There are times when he looks so damn fucking good… and I curse that he still pushes all of my fucking buttons. All of them. He always has, and I have no clue anymore what I push of him, if anything good.

Today, we dueled as always. He brought out his Blue Eyes deck, I my Lightsworn, and he destroyed me like he always does. He topped me through cards, because he could. Any progress I make he lets me do. I’m well aware of this. It’s always been that way with James. Any progress I’ve made, it’s because he’s let me. The banter, the dance, lasted until a friend mentioned that she played.

This friend is not a threat in any way. She doesn’t make me jealous, at all. She is safe, a beautiful soul who still calls James my person and is well aware at just how complicated she is. And the truth is, I love watching James duel. It’s fun sometimes when it’s not me. It wasn’t that they dueled… it’s that they interrupted the ritual that triggered some brain squirrels in my mind.

He doesn’t top me right now, in any way but the cards. That’s all I get. I don’t get swatts at BaGG. He won’t pull my hair, or bring me to my knees. I’ve forgotten, for the most part, what his lips feel like. I don’t get casual kisses or bites. He still won’t even just… poke me in the arm in a friendly way. Touch was so much a part of our love language that it was one of the main things taken away when we ended, and so I cling to the cards. I cling to the ritual of every Wednesday I get my dance with him. He will give me time, top me, and then go off to the others.

Today, that wasn’t the case. He played a few rounds with me, and then moved on to someone else. It was bound to happen. The nature of games is that you play other people. It’s a silly game; it’s fun. But… it’s our fun. It’s our thing, and for an hour I sat and watched while they played. I watched the bit of time I normally get with him tick away, and as it did I felt more and more invisible to him.

Emotions rarely have logic, and unfortunately for me my emotions are almost always written on my face. If anything, I’m sitting and writing this all out to get the kicked puppy expression I know I’m wearing to disappear. I am posessive of the few points of connection that I consider mine with him, logical or not, and I don’t think I realized how posessive until tonight. I felt.. inferior. Our friend is a better duelist than I am, with more experience. She was more of a challenge for him, and he and others commented that despite having months of practice now, she played better than I have. She lasted better.

There was a moment, hearing all of this, that I realized how easily replacable I could be. I wonder what value I still hold to him, this man that never seems to want to know his own heart. Over a silly game of cards that have been our safe-zone.

Maybe it’s the time of year; that Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, and I remain without a primary. Maybe it’s looking around and seeing other people valued by partners, and finding myself at war with my self-imposed loneliness. Maybe it’s that fear that… I’m just another background piece for him now.

None of this is logical. Time is gold to James, and more than anyone else I get his time.

Except, for when I don’t.

When the dance gets interrupted, the partners changed out, and you find yourself doubting if it was a dance at all.

It’s time for BaGG. Perhaps I will be brave and approach him for a different type of dance.

Yours, in routine

-Rene

 

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Day 27

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27) Do you have submissive desires or fantasies that you have yet to be able to explore? Do some of your desires confuse or frighten you? Do they excite you?

I don’t know a single person out there than can safely say “I have explored and satisfied every sexual fantasy I have.”

I know I’m not one of them.

I am, as I’ve said before, blessed. I live in an incredible area with open minded people who encourage the type of sexual fantasies I have.

My desires…are strange. They shift from partner to partner. My main kink is service and submission.. From there it morphs, depending on how I would please that partner the most. James is a sadist. Therefore I become his masochist. I enjoy being his masochist, I want to clarify that… I love (and hate..and love..and hate..) what he does to me and serve willingly and happily…but I can’t go into that masochistic head space unless he’s around. It doesn’t have to be him doing the scene. But I either have to be focused on him (like at Fusion where my ass got spanked black and bloody blue so that I could have pictures taken of it to show him) or he needs to be taking photos of it or watching… Otherwise I’m a whimpy light weight.

From this it’s not that my desires or fantasies frighten me.. It’s that they surprise me. If you had asked me a year ago I would have been horrified at the idea of someone digging his nails into the skin of my chest and basically drawing with my raw flesh.. Now I love it. And hate it.. And love it. I love the results, I should say. The beautiful spiral designs that are currently on my chest. I curse him out as much as I can get away with when he’s doing it… Which isn’t much, but it does feel good…

I do have some sexual fantasies still unfulfilled… but that’s what Dark Odyssey events and dungeons are for.. There’s a list in my head… Threesomes, both mfm and fmf. Orgy…because why not? Sometimes I get in a slightly toppy head space and I think about fucking a girl I know with a strap on… I don’t know where that toppy place is coming from lately. If anything, that scares me the most.

Submissive fantasies… I want to be owned and collared again. I think about his hand wrapped around my neck too often.. He does it once in a blue moon, but I’m hungry for more of that…breath play. I love breath play…. And yes, I think about fucking him.

And no, we still haven’t.

I fantasize about little things too.. things I sometimes took for granted. Curling up in each other’s arms. Going out on dates. Sleeping next to one another in bed.

The biggest fantasy?

One uninterrupted day with he and I. No stress. No money worries. Just one day when I can get lost in the company of my Sir.

A girl can dream, right?

Yours…exhausted

-Rene

ps. I do apologize for how lax I’ve been with these 30 Days entries… I’m sure that you’ve seen that there has been a LOT going on in my hectic thing called life… But I finish what I start, and now that life is slowly returning to normal on planet subby, I plan on finishing the last three entries in a timely manner. Thank you all for your patience, and as always for glancing at my humble blog. I am, as always, grateful.

Day 11

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Day 11

Do you include service as a part of your expectations of your submission? How do you define service? What does it mean to you? If not, what is it about the concept of service that is not for you?

I consider myself to be a service oriented submissive… Now, what that means to me when I say that can mean something different to another.

To me, that means that when my Sir says “jump”, I already know how high he wants me to be jumping and instead I am asking him how long. If it’s a partner I truly care about, I try to anticipate his needs. I know what he likes from Wicked Grounds on Wednesday nights when we grab a bite before BaGG…but know not to order it unless he asks me to. I know how a play partner takes his coffee at this point and will fix it for him before I bring it to him in the cafe.

I anticipate and learn how best to serve the person I’m with… which for me can mean learning how to make his favorite meal to learning proper deep tissue massage to help with backaches..

I enjoy this. I get pleasure from giving pleasure, even in the simplest of ways. If that means they want me to clean up their place or cook them dinner then I will, but only if that’s what they want.

Cal’s partner and I both share a certain… erm.. opinion of his ex partner. Her and I ended up in a conversation about service submission the other night, and she expressed the irritation in how the ex would come and clean the house, do the laundry, and how her partner didn’t actually like that.. Those domestic duties are what a lot of people associate with service. Okay, yes, that can be part of it..but that’s not the first thing I think of when I identify myself.

Honestly, when I think about service in regards to myself I think about my relationship with pain.. My masochistic side developed because the person I belong to is a sadist. He enjoys digging his nails into my flesh, making me squeak and yip and whimper in the club and cafe and..wherever else he decides to hit me. The first couple times we played in any way I remember thinking “I don’t know if I can do this… I don’t like pain. I can’t take this. This HURTS.”

And then I saw the twinkle in his eyes.. I saw the sadistic smile that lets me know just how much trouble I’m in… The impishness. And I wanted more, not because I craved the sensation but because I craved that reaction from him.

I crave the look of pride he gives me when he’s beaten me to my limit and he has to all but peel me off of the cross because standing is hard… When he pulls me into his arms while I’m still trembling and gives me the feather light kiss on top of my head, and then the gentlest kiss on my lips.. Little, silent thank yous that let me know that I did good, that I made him proud. I love the look of delight on his face when he’s taking photos of me being beaten by another, the voyeur in him enjoying every second of it.

I get pleasure from giving pleasure, and that manifests in multiple ways… That is the best way I can define service for myself.

Yours, a content service subby

-Rena

Safe

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Today on the way to the way to the dungeon I got stopped on the street. I’m used to it, in certain ways. The Tenderloin is a rough neighborhood. Cat calls abound, there are some sketch characters on the street, and I’m not exactly the most intimidating creature in the world. It’s getting to be that time of the year where it’s no longer daylight when I get to the dungeon to play.. It’s getting dark again. And I, being foolish, walk through the Tenderloin alone.

The person who stopped me wasn’t part of the usual suspects.. It was a tourist, a woman who was obviously uncomfortable with the neighborhood she was in and took a wrong turn somewhere around Union Square, by the fancy hotels. I gave her directions to where she needed to go. She was polite, thanked me..and then paused, giving me a once over.

“Aren’t you scared of walking this neighborhood at night?”

I laughed. I’ve worked in some rough areas of cities in the past, especially back when I was in college. Internships were part of our requirement to graduate, and more often than not the internships that needed psych majors the most were internships in the not so pretty parts of the state… I got mugged twice while working at my second year internship and took several self-defense classes as a result so that it would never happen again. I’m tougher than I look… But that’s not why I laughed. It was the reason I gave, but it’s not why I laughed at all.

The woman was satisfied with that explanation and went on her way. The honest answer to why I laughed?

Because anyone stupid enough to harm me will suffer a much worse fate than anything they dish out.

I am a bit of a Tumblr addict these days. I was on the other day and saw that someone I follow, a Dom called lovemysub, got accused of not being a real Dom by an anonymous asker because he cared for his sub too much. Because he was too affectionate. Because he loved her. This is part of his response..and I think it’s brilliant.

“A dom does not demand respect. He conducts himself in such a way as to be worthy of respect.

A dom does not bark commands. His presence is such that he can seduce and command with nothing more than a glance.

A dom does not raise his voice. He is the kind of man who gets what he wants without needing to.

A dom is not a braggart. He is possessed of a calm, quiet confidence that is evident in his demeanor, the way he walks, the tone of his voice, and all other aspects of him.

A dom understands balance. He knows that while a firm hand and discipline are critical in this type of relationship, knowing when to be gentle and understanding is every bit as important.

A dom is a gentleman first and foremost. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he is a fancy man who values the finer things in life, but he does understand manners and protocol. He opens the car door for her. He orders for her if she is having trouble deciding. He treats strangers with courtesy and respect.

A dom is a protector. He makes sure that his submissive feels safe and protected at all times. This means so much more than just telling her you will protect her. A dom shows her. He keeps a hand on her shoulder or on her waist in crowds so she doesn’t get nervous. He sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door so that he is always between his submissive and an intruder. He walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street so that an errant vehicle will hit him before his submissive. If anything or anyone should threaten his submissive, he must be prepared to fight for her with the ferocity of an alpha wolf.

A dom earns her submission. It is not a thing to be demanded, expected, or assumed. And he continues to earn it, each and every day.

A dom values her submission. Fully submitting your will and trusting your body and well-being to someone takes a kind of strength most can’t imagine, and a dom never loses sight of that.

A dom understands that being a dominant is 10% privilege and 90% responsibility. He is literally taking her life into his hands. He is accepting the most sacred and important thing she has to give. He is taking her burdens and bearing them as his own, always, every day.

A dom is consistent. He understands that he can’t just be her protector, lover, confidant, master, etc. when he feels like it. There will be days when a dom is tired. There will be days when he is stressed. There will be days when he is broken. On those days, it is more important than ever for a dom to show his submissive that he is still everything she needs him to be. ”

Why am I confident walking to the dungeon at night?

Tonight, I was at a party. An amazing party where James wasn’t working for once. I got some much needed play time with my Sir, and some even more needed cuddles with him after. The night ended too quickly… and when I knew it was ending I groaned. I was wrapped up in his arms, decompressing from the scene and enjoying aftercare, my head on his chest. I didn’t want to move, and voiced my dissatisfaction about the idea.

“Until they say that everyone has to leave you’re staying right here.” Sir squeezed me just a little bit tighter then… and I felt completely untouchable in his embrace. Safe from the world. Cherished, in my own little kinky cocoon.

My Sir is a Dom. He expects me to have common sense, and to protect myself when I possibly can. But that does not mean he is not protective of me. He puts his hand on my knee when I feel uncomfortable in a crowd and it calms me down.. He sleeps closest to my apartment door. He will take the lead when I beg him too, and only when he’s sure it’s what he wants. And if, despite common sense and self-defense skills, someone manages to hurt me he and several others will break them in half. It’s not something I’ve ever asked him about.. It’s not something I’ve ever had to. It’s something I know from the way he talks to me, touches me, treats me around others. The safest place for any lucky submissive is with their Sir.

Okay… mushy post over.. I thought one was overdue.

Yours hoping you enjoyed it ;P

-Rena

Day 8

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Day 8

Is spanking or corporal punishment a part of your submission? Why or why not?

…This may end up being a very short post.

Yes. Yes. YES it is part of my submission. Big screamy capital letters YESSSSSSS.

It used to scare me.. being hit. Spanked. Flogged. It used to scare the living shit out of me.

Now?

…mmmmmmmmmmmmm

With Kane, spanking and beating used to be the work for the reward.. The tender touches, the good girl, the fantastic sex to follow. I wanted to earn the ‘good girl’, the ultimate reward for the submissive…

James… He’s a whole other ball of wax. Ever since he and I started playing around months ago, before any feels or dating or… relationshippy stuff… he’s turned my perceptions of pain and pleasure on their heads. It’s just.. part of the dynamic between he and I… I take pleasure from being on my knees in from of James, chest out, knowing a hand is going to come down and redden it. Knowing it’s going to hurt, and it’s going to make him smile. I HATE when he hits my thighs, but smile after the pain fades and they are red and warm.

But spanking with James?

How do I put this…. and this is not in a bragging sense.. This is just him.

The man is to bare handed spanking as Midori is to rope.

His upper body is BUILT. Pretty sure his biceps are bigger than my head… and he wants to get in even better shape. The man can bruise with a single strike.. He could easily finish me for an evening easily.. and instead he pushes me.. His spankings are a rare treat for me. It’s never just a strike. It’s always a build up. He will reach out first, let me know it’s coming, and gently put a hand on my ass, caress it.. sometimes squeeze. And then his hand comes down. I scream. I buck. I gasp. I wonder if I can possibly take another, because damn if that man isn’t always symmetrical. It hurts..and I want more.

There are times when his spankings are gentle. Well, at least for him. Sometimes he will spank me while I’m in between his legs sucking him, light taps compared to his normal strikes. Just enough to attempt to distract me and make me moan, through pants or skirts.

Other types of play… Floggings, paddles, mean wooden spoons that I am still not on speaking terms with… Yes, I like all of that as well. Intense scenes don’t happen as often between James and I.. It’s usually quick moments of play. We’ve only had one full official play scene at a party, on the cross, where he beat me to my almost-breaking point… and then stops right before I would have yellowed.. The man can read my body extremely well. He’s learned how I react to different types of pain even before I process how I handle them.. Yes, I love the intense scenes as well. I look forward to more.

So yes, spanking and corporal punishment are part of my D/s relationship. Why?

Because we enjoy it, both Sir and I. Because we both, in certain ways, need it. And love it. And crave it.

Because it’s part of who I am. And I relish it.

Maybe if I’m a good girl, I’ll get spanked tonight.

I’ve made it more than a week. YES!

Yours in antici…..pation,

-Rena

Day 3

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Day 3

How do you know you are submissive or have the potential to be submissive? How do you feel when you express your submission?

How do I know that I am what I am? Honestly, that was something I asked myself for a long time, before I really understood what a submissive was. Before I knew that someone could take on that label.

When I was 17 I had my first real boyfriend. There were follies before that, including the boy that I gave my first blow job too, much childish groping, and some very bad kissing incidents (I nicknamed one of my potential suitors ‘fish lips’ at one point…), but eventually the 19 year old from U Conn stuck. He was literally a farm boy from a small town in Connecticut, as vanilla and wholesome as you get. He was also addicted to video games, specifically the Halo series and a few others. He taught me how to play some, but rather than play along I often sat and watched him play. There was an open couch to lounge in, a bean bag chair, and his favorite arm chair that he liked to sit in when he played games. Rather than sit on the couch or the bean bag chair I sat at his feet on the floor every damn time, for not other reason other reason than it felt good. No one ever prompted me to, and I have no idea why I ever thought it was a good idea. It just felt…right. As time went by I asked him to pick out my clothing. I would bring thing to him when he asked..and then when he didn’t asked. I made him breakfast without question when I spent the night and learned quickly what to make him for breakfast before asking.

Certain fetishes have developed over time. They show up with specific people, in specific circumstances. Not every person I’m involved with spanks my ass till I cry or pulls my hair, turning me into a rag doll, just like not every person I’m involved with flogs my bag or pets my head or scritches behind my ears or tucks me in at night and reads me a story… My kinks are eclectic and continually developing, but the instinct to submit has been there for a very long time. It’s a core part of who I am. It comes out, whether or not I’m trying to lock it away.

How do I know I am a submissive? The same way I know that I am an artist. Even when I can’t work, even when I don’t have time to get in the studio, it’s a need inside of me. It’s part of who I am. I have no choice.

As for how I feel when I express my submission… It varies. When it’s casual play it depends on the motivation for the play. Sometimes I need a cathartic spanking.. I want to cry, but I don’t want it associated with the person I’m closest to.. Sometimes I’m playful. I want to try new toys I’ve never felt before. Sometimes I’m feisty and bratty and goad tops into biting back. It all depends.

But submitting to my primary? To the person I belong to?

I feel at peace. I breathe better. Muscles that I never remember tensing relax. Even if it’s pain that follows my submitting.. Even if it’s his hand coming down on my chest or thighs or ass. Even if it hurts, it’s so good. It itches a scratch, sates a need that only one person can fill. Submitting makes me feel whole and cherished.. For however long there is a collar around my neck or a strong voice ordering me to present my chest or lean back so he has access to my legs, the giant weight I carry around during my everyday life is lifted. Someone else has control in those moments.. someone else calls the shots. Someone who can read my body like a book, who knows how far to push me and when to back off, who knows when I need a tender touch after several very harsh ones before I vocalize that need.

Submitting, like making art, allows me to function.. It gives me release when I have no words…

Huh. No wonder the kink world leaks into my artwork so much.. They’re both the same catharsis for me… Intriguing.

Three days done, 27 to go.

Yours,

-Rena

30 Days Of Submission

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I’ve seen this challenge posted on other blogs similarly themed to my own, most recently with a Dominant’s twist. The vein of this challenge that I have stumbled across is 30 Days of Submission. I acquired the questions off of Tumblr (a wonderful resource for kinky fuckery) from someone who also does not know the origin of the questions, and take no credit for them. However, I will enjoy answering them.

I wanted to create a separate page for this because..well.. 30 Days is a lot. Writing that consistently for that length of time will be difficult… I like a challenge. I promise to still do other writing of the kinky variety, but on my first full day of being 24 (my birthday way yesterday) I figured it would be a fun idea to start something.. different. So, here is the different.

Day 1

Does your submission – either what you practice or what you strive for – have a label? Do you view your submission as Taken in Hand, domestic discipline, top/bottom, dominant/submissive, master/slave, owner/pet, or some other description or combination? If you do not use a label, why?

It depends.

The poly thing adds a whole lovely twist to the whole thing for me… I’m weird about labels when it comes to multiple relationships.. and I tend to over-verify and ask questions about the ‘main relationship’ labels before I throw in any add ons.

As weird as it sounds, the ‘submission’ part of a relationship is easy to define. That part happens naturally for me, and usually for the partner I am with. I have said multiple times that I identify as a submissive.. and it’s the side of a relationship that comes out first with me. I will play with someone to get to know them.. to see if there’s chemistry, if it feels right kneeling in front of him and calling him ‘sir’. If I can picture that ‘sir’ getting capitalized to my Sir. If I feel chemistry, if it feels good, natural, not forced… then I try to flirt.

That tends to be MUCH more forced for me. Socially I can be an awkward turtle, especially when I like someone.. I will play with someone for once before I openly express further interest. I get there eventually though..

I have different facets to my submission. There’s a Little side, a pet side, a masochistic side… they all make up who I am. It’s a matter of which partner I am with at the time that dictates which trait is most prevalent, and how much it is prevalent. My masochistic side is very much alive and well with James.. I want to take pain when he and I play. I expect unexpected dashes of ow and tears when I’m around him… but I collect sadists like M&Ms. Almost all of my friends have some sort of sadistic side.. I’ve played with a very sweet, sadistic friend a number of times and struggled to take the pain he dished out, even though in comparison to James he’s incredibly light-handed, gentle even. It’s all about head space.

I’ve been collared before.. and I love the reassurance of the collar. In my ideal relationship there is a collar at the end of the tunnel.. that ultimate reassurance of belonging to someone, of your place.. It’s a fantastic feeling, but it’s something earned over time and not to be taken lightly. Even with the collar I’m not sure I would call myself a slave.. It’s hard to wrap my mind around that title. I will always go to submissives first.

Outside of the BDSM labels there’s all the lovely relationship labels that come with..well.. relationships. Primary. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Secondary… I’m weird when it comes to “boyfriend/girlfriend”. That’s my primary, in my mind.. Yes, you can have multiple people that you’re seeing but I’m more likely to reference them as ‘partners’ than boyfriends or girlfriends. My boyfriend is the one that would get the Facebook status if that was his thing, and who gets the big, shiny Fetlife status for all to see. He’s the one that owns me.. The boyfriend term ends up a bridge for me between the kink world and the vanilla world.. It allows me to talk about my Sir to vanilla friends in a way that they can understand.. Doesn’t mean that the relationship isn’t romantic. If someone is my Sir and not just a sir.. there are mushy feels there, at least for me.. But the way I use the term ‘boyfriend’ makes me a little bit touchy about it.

Wow.. that ended up a lot longer and more insightful than I thought it would be XD.

Day one down, 29 to go.

Yours, as always

-Rena

Day 2

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Day 2
Describe who you might submit to and how. Are you exclusively submissive in marriage or just in the bedroom? Are you submissive only in the context of a scene or in a role or throughout your daily life? Are you submissive to play partners or only in the context of a relationship?

There are those dangerous categories on Fetlife when it comes to the amount of time you spend “involved” with kink. ‘I live the lifestyle when I can’, ’24/7′, ‘bedroom only’, etc. What is the line between ‘I live the lifestyle when I can’ and ’24/7′. It is not as if I am always thinking subby thoughts.. but it takes me almost nothing to get there. It’s a look from James, or his tone, or from other partners I play with.. It is definitely not just a scene or role for me. My submission is part of who I am. I fall into it naturally, without a fight… but I fall into it when signals from a Dominant man are sent.

I’ll give you a for-instance…both are playful, as I am a sassy little sub. James and I will ‘poke’ each other. I mean literally reach out and poke each other with our fingers. Sometimes this devolves into tickles, licks, and playful nips and both of us end up laughing hysterically. Other times he will look at me, suddenly calm, and just go, “Really? Really now? Are you sure?” The moment those words are out of his mouth I’m in sub mode, mentally bracing for the nail about to pierce my skin or the hand about to come down on my chest or thigh. I don’t fight him, I don’t question it..because I don’t want to. Because those words are the trigger that make me want it. I want the sting of warmed, reddened flesh and the feel of his nails digging into me…

It works in text as well as in person, at least for me. I have a play partner in San Mateo that will text me orders from time to time when I’m on the way to see him, simple things like “pick up chocolate on the way and I’ll pay you back” or “park in the space next to mine in the garage.” My automatic response is almost always, “Yes, sir.”

However, only people relatively close to me text me…and have that power to get that response out of me. If someone is a casual play partner that I see only at parties then I’m only submissive to them during our scene at that party. I belong to James. I submit to James whenever it is asked of me.. When it comes to playing with others they have to ask his permission, so it almost feels as if I’m on loan to them for those moments, and then I go back to where I belong.

And on a final note to today’s question: why does the phrase ‘marriage’ have to be used? The idea of getting married right now is terrifying… just saying.

Two questions down, 28 to go.

Yours, as always

-Rena

Peace of Mind (In Uncertain Times)

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I love watching Kane paint.

It’s not one of those things that I can put into words as to why, and it’s a hard balance for me between wanting to indulge in the enjoyment and making sure that my watching doesn’t make him uncomfortable. I don’t particularly like people watching me work over my shoulder. But he puts up with me doing it, and so I watch, content to sit quietly while he paints.

He and I are so different in so many ways. He is practical, he is logic. I am emotion, always emotion first. Sometimes that can be a fantastic mix, and sometimes it can be volatile.

It has been over a year now since I’ve started this journey. Over a year since Cal first messaged me and I jumped down the BDSM rabbit hole. Do I regret it?

Kane and I were out to dinner the other night and I mentioned it to him, that I had been in this world for a year. I asked if he thought I had made a mistake in staying in San Francisco.

“Sometimes.” He said. “I feel like you would had been further down your path if you had gone.”

I disagree. I feel as if I would have been further down my path as an artist.. but my work would be going in a very different direction from the turn it has taken. I would be in a city that yes, I enjoy greatly, but that has very few jobs. I would have enough student loan debt to keep me drowning for the next 40 years. I could teach, yes…but at what cost?

I didn’t choose the path he would have. I chose my heart over my head, emotion and need over logic. Do I regret it? No. Not at all. Not a single day.

Submission is a need for me. Even when I didn’t acknowledge it, it was there. I can remember with my very first “real” boyfriend certain key behaviors; for instance, my favorite spot was sitting at his feet while he played video games in his favorite chair. Why? it wasn’t as if I thought less of myself than I did of him. It was just that I enjoyed sitting at his feet. I felt at peace being there. By the time Jason and I split I knew well what I was. I had gotten him to dress me, spank me, claim me, mark me.. I knelt at his feet out of my own choosing, not his. I had Googled these urges to know what it was without Cal having to give it a name.

With how much these behaviors leaked out of me, there was a time limit on how long I could suppress my submissive side. Cal’s first message was just the final excuse to embrace it.

Submitting is the only thing that makes my brain STOP. All other aspects of my life are under control, for once.. Getting them under control have taken some time (hence my absence lately) but I’ve done it. It’s just.. a constant juggling act. And it’s exhausting. The NEED to submit becomes so strong sometimes it’s painful. Spank me. The silent voice inside me screams. Pull my hair. Fuck my mouth. Use my body for your pleasure. Take control and use to me to ease your aches. In doing so, you ease mine. You make the world stop, just for a little while, and I can be. Just be.

There are very few days where I feel as if I do good for Kane.. The other day I got the chance to do so. To aid him, and to help both of us. I am terrified of his rejection, of his frustration. I know I am a trying creature to deal with at times. I try his patience on a regular basis and can tank his mood if I push a subject too hard. The submissive of me is extra conscious about this…because each time I upset him it feels like I’ve failed him. I’m supposed to bring him pleasure and joy, not frustration and grief.

And so, when given the chance to do actual GOOD for him, un-fuckable good, I jumped for joy. Quite literally at one point. And I took a risk. I asked for what I wanted, for a way to aid both of us in sleeping well. I wanted to service him… needed to. I craved submitting to him, giving him pleasure and only pleasure. No grief. No emotions, no outside world or questions. Just service.

And he said yes.

And for just a little while, my brain shut the fuck up and I did good. I pleased him. And it felt so damn fucking good.

I am a submissive. I am not ashamed to crave his touch. A year ago, I would have been. I would have questioned what was wrong with me, that I wanted this man to use me. That my pleasure stemmed from his. That when he hurt me he didn’t harm me. Instead, that his spankings can bring me euphoric bliss.

A year ago I would not have called myself poly. I wouldn’t have even considered the idea of Smith, in fact a year ago a man like Smith who is VERY poly (enough partners to make up a small harem, as much as he disagrees with me) would have broken my heart. Instead, Smith has done so much good for me. He’s shown me how enjoyable poly can actually be, how multiple partners really do allow you to be the best you that you can be. He pulls out the aspects of my submission I still shy away from and has me stare them down, say that I’m not ashamed of them. Instead, he pushes me to embrace them.

He also.. listens. He loves hearing about Kane and I, about our relationship before we (Smith and I) met, about how it is now. What we do together when we are together. How I feel about him. Without Smith I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask for what I wanted the other night.

I love watching Kane paint, with sure strokes and a steady brush. I don’t know why. When I watch him, I think about my own work. The direction it is going in, the ideas his paintings give me for glazing techniques. As an artist, I admire Kane. On the canvas I see his emotions and his logic, I see his imperfections and his expertise, and part of me understands why I feel at peace when I kneel at his feet. Because for as different as he and I can be, we share a need that overlaps. We both need to create to function.. When we’re not working, we’re not okay. We both gain inspiration from dark desires, he from Dominating, me from submission.

Nothing in either of our lives is easily fixed, and nothing for either of us is certain right now. I don’t know when the day will come where he just doesn’t want me anymore. I’m terrified of that day. Because right now, I don’t need romantic hearts and flowers, or promises or expectations of love. I need use. I need a hand wrapped around my neck and a cock buried in my ass. I need to know that I do good with my service, that for a brief moment in our chaotic lives his brain stops going into overdrive just as mine does, and I bring him pleasure.

Use me. Twist me and turn me as you desire. Fuck me, don’t fuck me. Pull my hair, smack my ass.. because from your pleasure, I gain pleasure. From your release I gain inspiration. I am an artist inspired by my submission. And I refuse to be ashamed of that need. It has been a long fucking year, and I’m sure the next will be just as long, but it has given me a core part of myself and people in my life that understand and accept that part of me.

And a cat. I can’t forget Poe.

Many things in life change. Relationships change. Smith talks about necessary tweaking from time to time… and while my sexual identity may need “tweaking” from time to time, it’s no longer a big taboo question mark. That’s a good feeling.

Yours, as always, a proud subby and a work in progress

-Rena