Tag Archives: service

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 about 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

 

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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

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

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