Tag Archives: slave

When the World Comes Crashing Down

There’s no how-to for the worst. No one likes to talk about the hard truths of M/s or 24/7 dynamics; that they are hard, almost impossible to maintain. That they require time and energy and commitment on both ends. That they can be draining on vanilla life. On your mental health. That unless you have the spoons and tools and time to put into it, that you shouldn’t do it. M/s is BEAUTIFUL, but there are degrees in it. No one tells you any of these things until it’s too late. This is the letter I needed to see a little over two years ago.

Dear little lost one,

Breathe. I know it hurts. I know everything is on fire and numb all at once, but you need to breathe. It’s going to hurt long before it gets better.

Put away the phone. Out of sight, a little bit less in mind. I know you don’t want to hear this, but distance is the best thing in the world for you right now. You’re not going to wake up and have everything suddenly get better. You can’t undo what’s been done, nor should you. The world is different. There was a collar and now there isn’t. It’s okay to hurt, to feel it. It’s okay to cry, and scream like an animal, but don’t get lost in it. Each time it feels like too much close your eyes and breathe. Get through the pain bit by bit.

Next challenge is eating. No one is going to tell you to. Not even if you check that phone that should still be living in your purse for another week or so. Nothing is going to taste good. But like I said, it’s going to hurt a lot before it gets better and it can’t get better if you die of malnutrition along the way. Instant meals are your friend, for now. Consume as needed.

You don’t have to pretend that it’s all okay. I know it isn’t. Your direction is gone, and that’s terrifying. Your protector is gone. Your safe space is suddenly the most painful thing in your life. You aren’t anyone’s.

Here’s the thing. Before you were anyone’s, you were yourself.

There was a time before the collar, just as there will be a time after, and while it’s hard to remember through the haze of pain you survived without the collar around your neck. Without a man called Master giving directions. Without having to ask permission for dates, and food, and play.

Now that you’re breathing, your phone is safely hidden, and you’ve gotten some food in your stomach here’s what you do.

Keep a healthy distance to allow time and space for healing. Do NOT go to a play event two days after breaking up and try to get him to spank your ass. Do NOT then drive him home and have to sit alone in a car with him till 5 am wondering if he will touch you or not. He won’t, and it will continue to confuse the fuck out of the reality that you two are done and everything is different.

Please understand that I am friends with a good portion of exes and former lovers. I’ve identified more and more as Demi as time has gone on. It takes an emotional closeness for me to want to be fucked senseless (although trust me, that’s there), and more often than not that means a fantastic friendship is built up before romance. Even after a romantic relationship ends I have typically resurrected a friendship in its place, but that takes time. A breakup puts you much further back than the beginning. You’re not starting at zero. You’re starting at -100 for trust, caring, intuition…did I mention TRUST? All of that takes time to heal, and won’t be easy. Time apart before trying to sew any sense of relationship together is a very, very good idea. It will feel strange, but until you’ve put yourself back together and remembered who you were before you were a WE there’s nothing to be rebuilt.

You can’t go back in time. Wanting you two back together is one thing, but don’t try to resurrect what was when you spend time together. It will be very hard to call him your ex. It will be hard to say friend. Or former partner. Practice it, to yourself. And no, you’re not a freak for doing so. Practice saying his name instead of Master or Sir, over and over, until you stumble less. It’s not a curse word. It’s not too informal, and sometimes it can hurt less to say “Oh James and I aren’t together” rather than, “My ex Master”. Especially if his first name is foreign to you after having titles for so long. That little bit of the unfamiliar can give you a little extra time to adjust and heal. That phase of the relationship is over. There’s no definite on what will happen after, but you and them part one is closed.

Come up with a mantra or sentence for sticky and overly-painful situations where you don’t quite have the words. Like when someone asks you how your Master is and you just want to cry. Or scream. Or flip him the bird because he’s across the room and could see you do it. It’s going to be hard to respond with what you need to, that you two aren’t together anymore. There are going to be nights when you have to repeat it five, ten, twenty times because of circles you two run in, and it’s going to be a lot easier for the one that removed the collar than for the one missing it. These tough situations often mean freezing, or saying ‘good’ out of habit instead of answering with the long mouthful that is the truth. This will end in trouble if not remedied. Nothing causes waves more than the idea of you denying the breakup, and not being able to spit out that mouthful will look to your former partner as if that is what you’re doing. The phrase will absolutely suck, but give it time. It does eventually hurt less.

Decide what level you wish to be involved in the community. Or rather, what is a healthy level for you to be so. Relationships tend to change our relationships with the communities around them. Some need a break to recover. Others want to throw themselves back in at full speed

Be careful with breakup burnout. It’s a thing, where suddenly you go from taken to banging everything that moves until you crash and burn into an emo pile of woe and angst. Breakup rebounds are legit, just be careful you don’t throw yourself in with such gusto that you forget to feel the feels. And yes, feeling the feels is required. Numbing it with others won’t work. They’re not going to be able to itch that scratch that only one specific top cam, no matter how many souls you bottom for. It won’t make that itch go away. You’ll still want that specific touch, and the more you try to replace it with others instead of letting yourself feel the pain the more likely you’re going to cause more emotional trauma.

You matter as more than just “X’s Girl”. I know that’s hard to fathom after being someone’s is your entire identity. You were someone’s. Now, you are you, and that can be an amazing thing in and of itself. I know it seems like a lonely thing right now, but it being you and not the Master you always hide behind gives you space to sparkle. Be seen. And yes, you do deserve to be seen and you are worthy. Give it time. Give it some play parties that you go to alone, maybe ones you never went to with him. Give it nights out with friends that know just how to distract you and maybe even dates with other partners (especially if you’re poly).

In time, your relationship with your former Master may not be what you would want, but it will be what you need. It’s hard. You want them to scoop you up again and call them yours and bite you. But then you see the bags under their eyes, even when they aren’t having to worry about scheduling you in. You see lack of room for a partner, or all these issues you never noticed were there. Do you want to rebuild a friendship? Do you want to distance yourself and wait it out and see where romance could go? Do you want to continue to adapt to he changing relationship, or do you want to cut the chord. Guess what? You aren’t a slave in this choice. You have equal say in whatever this future will become.

Rebuilding anything will take time, and it very likely will not give you your hearts desire, but rebuilding at the start of friendship allows something unique. Suddenly your former Master is a man. He’s taken off his high horse and is human just like the rest of the men and women around you. Suddenly, flaws are visible. You watch and see mistakes. You see where something is his fault, or where he caused that. You see that not everything that went wrong was your fault. That there were two flawed humans in a relationship and sometimes that doesn’t end well.

You were human. So was he. That is allowed. And here, with formalities removed, you have the power to tell him no. To say something is too much. To call him an asshole and unfair when he’s being an asshole and unfair. You have the power to ignore your phone, and to avoid interactions and to draw boundary lies.

You both have the power to say what you two adapt into. That may mean a platonic friendship, that may mean a new romantic relationship with a switched up dynamic. That may mean both of you going separate ways down different paths. Either way, you will go on. You are more than just your Master’s. IF your brain is unkind and tells you that the opposite is true, you can always count on this.

Your Master picked you for a reason. There was something about you, in the beginning, that drew their eye. It was there before. It will be there again to draw another eye. You are so much more than just your Master’s, and if anything you will grow from this experience. It will hurt, and ache, and I can’t guarantee or promise that itch to be under that particular hand will ever be scratched for another. It hasn’t for me. I can’t promise that there will be a time that you aren’t hyper aware that he’s there, or what his needs are, or if he’s sick or tired or cranky.

I can say that in time you will laugh again. That food will taste good again. That eventually the hurt lessens, even if the small ache never quite goes away. You will come away knowing yourself better, both in what is healthy for you emotionally, and what you have the capacity to overcome. You are so much stronger than you think you are. Let a powerful relationship teach you, not bring you down.

I learned from my collar coming off that I was resilient as fuck. That I mattered in the community as more than James’s sqeaky toy and somewhere along the line had become an asset to them. I learned how to properly get in to a Citadel event when you weren’t a plus one, and discovered that I enjoyed being able to get myself in without the help of others. I enjoyed once again choosing what kink events I was involved in and which ones I missed. I controlled my schedule and didn’t have to double check with another every time I made plans.

You are so much more than what you think. You are capable of so much more. It’s okay to change with the loss of a collar. I can’t wear collars that lock, it’s a hard limit for me now. It’s much easier to be led by a harness than by a leash. I don’t submit as deeply as easily as I once did. There are lots of trust road blocks, and often play dynamics go at a very slow burn buildup for me. But I discovered a dynamic I didn’t even know existed in me with the partner that followed my Master, and while some itches aren’t being scratched so many new ones are. Different is very okay, and there’s so much more out there than M/s.

There is more than just this relationship. You will keep going. You will be okay.

Yours, then and now

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.

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