Tag Archives: submissive

Three Necessary Pieces

I was having a rough time of it last Wednesday, so much so that I decided that going to BaGG that evening would be too much for my fatigued body.

I was hitting drop from all angles and just needed to go home. At that moment in time, however, I couldn’t. I didn’t have my wallet. Foolish me had forgotten it in a jacket pocket back at the apartment and I was waiting on my roommate to bring it when she came to BaGG. On top of that, I hadn’t gotten to duel with James yet.
He rolled in when I was lost in melancholy thoughts and pulled me out of them, slamming me with a new brutal deck that I both hated and loved at the same time. There was no way that he didn’t see how eager I was; that he missed my eagerness when I begged for a duel. It remains our play; as safe as it can be nowadays. We are incomplete, he and I. The story isn’t finished, and forcing chapters to completion hasn’t helped. Because of this, we’ve mostly just left it be. I push back when I need to. Like with Surrender; I begged for photos of my partners and I and pressed how important it was that they get captured (an entry for Surrender shall follow later). And he did as I asked, often taking shots when I was too far gone to notice where the camera flash was coming from; piqued in an intense orgasms or being shocked by a violet wand. He’s good like that; capturing those unfathomable moments, but I digress.
I’ve been through four Surrenders and seven cons total; con-drop is not new to me. I knew to pace myself, to give myself Monday off from work, to sleep in and self-care. What I hadn’t expected was the whole separate drop when Ace left.
At the very beginning of our dueling a dear friend, Sage, joined us in our little corner of Wicked Grounds. She passively worked while commenting on our game from time to time, chuckling when James made me curse or when I begged for mercy. When his alarm went off to go over to the club James pulled me into one of his REAL hugs and humored me; he let me bury my face in his hair, relax in his arms for the briefest of moments and let the tension leave my body. There is still something about James’s scent that drives me bat shit; I’ve never been able to figure it out and I’ve never been able to shake it, but in moments when I am at my limit I am grateful for that fact. I’m grateful for the knowledge that a hug and a moment of touch from James is usually enough to calm me down.
Sage remained behind after James rolled off to the club, worried eyes on me. She asked what was wrong and I explained that I was just feeling… off. That I was tired and feeling at my emotional limit and just wanted to go home. A call to my roommate had informed me that she was still 40 minutes out and I was done, so very done. And frustrated without enough gas to get me back.
“And it’s been..how long since Ace left? 24 hours?” They had met at the con when Ace was on security duty and I was curled up at his feet. She had seen him throughout Surrender and began singing his praises when I told her it was his first con, ever.
The truth is, Ace had blown me away that weekend. I hadn’t expected him to take to Surrender like a duck to water, and he had. He made new friends with ease and giggled each time he mentioned my name to find that these new friends knew me already. He excitedly gobbled up information from classes, learning for himself, for me, and for my dear meta (his nesting partner) back home. He even got in a little pick up play and was a good, brave boy and bottomed to me. He paced himself well, ate when he needed to, and blended into my crowd as if he had always been there. And it had felt like he had. My Ace, my constant anchor, navigated my world with shocking ease that there was so much reluctance to give him back. I knew I had to, and know that I always will, but it was not easy.
Ryan, on the other hand, struggled more. He attempted to make new connections but I saw him drifting back to knowns. He circled back to me whenever I was working and spent more time messaging me on shifts than socializing with new people. Another bottom he plays with was also at the event, but with restrictions that prevented him from playing. He kept me going and pleased me to the best of his ability, but having never been through a con didn’t know how to pace himself. He was burnt out by early Sunday evening, unable to do the final scene that he and I had talked about. And yet still, even while he was burning out completely, he took me to the hotel restaurant to make sure I was fed and not crashing with five more hours left that evening.
And then there’s James.. Balancing Ryan and Ace, while also remembering what Surrender was, what it meant to James and I, was hard. There was an ache there when it reached late into Saturday and I hadn’t quite connected with James yet… It’s hard, with Ryan around. The two butt heads at an almost toxic level at this point and don’t particularly social well with one another anymore. When Ryan left early on Sunday it was.. a slight relief. I drifted upstairs to a cigars and chocolates social and found James playing with the cigar cutters up there. We talked, joked, even flirted a little, and I made a point in saying that I would be there till the end and I wanted to say goodbye (the year before I hadn’t had the chance to because of my security shift and it..bothered me a great deal). We talked, shared stories, smiled…and I felt better.
I relayed all this to Sage when she asked about my Surrender, and she smiled as I voiced my frustrations over James and Ryan. “You know why they fight, don’t you?”
“Because they’re two Dominant assholes in a pissing contest?”

“Well, yes. But there’s more to it than that.” She paused. “Who has your collar?”
“But that doesn’t matter! The collar is null-en-void. It’s been discussed that if we restart we restart fresh and-”

“And you’re right. It doesn’t matter.. The restart, that is.” She smiled, sadly. “You love each other. It’s very apparent, even in small things. That love is very there, and very apparent to anyone with eyes. It’s only a little threatening to someone who wants to be important in your life, especially when you love the other person more.”
I sat, gobsmacked for a moment. I had been wrestling in my own head for months with my feelings for Ryan and James, trying to tell myself that those with Ryan were growing while those with James were fading.
“You two aren’t done, you and James. You aren’t in your final form yet. Right now, what you two are in is limbo, and it’s driving Ryan crazy. You two are either going to grow closer together or further apart, but until then the two are going to fight over you like open game because they both see you as their’s. Whether or not a certain red head admits it.” She smirked. “You are still his, Rene, and that’s okay. You’ve learned to live with that in a way that is much more healthy for both of you, but it’s a different type of love than what you have for Ryan.”
“And I do love both of them! I love Ryan very much!” And it’s true, I do, with a depth of feeling I didn’t think myself capable of.
“Oh, sweetie, I know you do. It’s just different.” And then my wise friend told me about three crucial love figures in ones life, and about how I was blessed to have all of them, whether or not they worked out.
There’s the one you learn from, the one love stories come from, and the one that stays.
Ryan is the one I learn from. Since being with him I have truly learned what self-care is, and how to better take care of myself and set my own limits. I eat better, sleep better, and I honestly relish being Daddy’s little girl. I feel taken care of, loved, cherished…but not claimed. It’s a soft love, a nurturing love. I enjoy doing his dishes, helping to tidy around the house, and yes, I enjoy the fantastic sex.. but even our rough is not too rough. There is a softness and a sweetness to Ryan that I cherish; a rarity that  you don’t often find in tops. There is also sometimes a cockiness about him in that Father Knows Best sort of way that often rubs me the wrong way.
“I had a Ryan for YEARS”, Sage shared with me. “He taught me so much about myself; how to live, how to be, how to help me be more me. I’m incredibly grateful for the time we had together, but it’s not the kind of mind blowing, bone-deep soul connection love I had with my James.” She locked eyes with me. “And you know exactly what I mean by that.”
She’s right. I do. James is the one my love stories come from. It is a bone-deep love that I can’t shake, no matter how I try. It’s why his scent gets to me, why I’m hyper sensitive to him being in a room. Why my loyalty to him just..doesn’t sway, doesn’t go away. Because those moments of sweetness exceed any others even as the sour moments destroy unlike anything else. He has the power to rip me in two; he always has. He almost did once. There remains this pull between us; this interaction that goes passed friends but doesn’t know where to extend beyond that. I can see why that’s a threat to Ryan; because if that gets re-established, then he gets bumped from spot one, and he knows that. Then James gets all the power again, and Ryan doesn’t want that. Right now, I don’t want that, but I miss sweet kisses and brutal hands.
“And then there’s your sweet boy”, Sage said, smiling wistfully, “the rarity we all search for. A gods honest everlasting love.”  The one that stays.
My Ace, my beautiful rarity. Without him, loving the other two would be impossible. He has been my anchor, platonicly and otherwise, for a decade now. When my engagement ended he was a text away. When my first boyfriend broke my heart I could call him. We Skyped to make each other laugh through the tears when his wife and him had a fight or I broke up with yet another partner. He’s always been there, the carrot dangling in front of my face just out of reach. While I may not be able to share a bed with him every night, and while our lives are in many ways very separate..they have always included the other. Even when we weren’t actively engaging with the other. When we lost contact I thought about him, and he about me, and we both knew that eventually one would reach out to the other and all would be right with the world again.
And so it was. And so it always will be.
If I didn’t have my Ace, I would not survive Ryan and James; the ebb and flow, up and down intensities of love. My good, sweet, mellow boy that takes to my world like a duck to water… because he’s always been there, and was always supposed to be there.
“You have what so many of us search for, especially those of us that are poly. You have managed to find an actual love of your life, and hold on to one another for all of this time.” She got tears in her eyes as she said this, and I smiled. “Is it any wonder that you’re dropping, honey, with all these moving parts in your life?”
No, it was no wonder..and after the talk with Sage so much more made sense. There is a lingering of guilt there, for James being the one I write love stories about…but I can’t change my nature, and what I am instinctively drawn to is..him. The edge of him, the gruffness, the growl with a hint of sweetness… What I knowingly go to are soft, kind hands that hold and caress and teach. What I’ve always known, always wanted, and will always gravitate to is an open heart that constantly wishes to learn more, see more, do more, and sees all of it eagerly and wide-eyed with an innocence I don’t think I’ve ever possessed and a nature that is truly… good. No ego. Just good.
Willow gave me gas money to get home when I collapsed in the chair across from her, more emotionally exhausted than I was at the start of all of this. “Go home. Rest. And smile.” She grinned. “It could be worse. Your soul mates could be boring, complacent partners instead of the pains in the ass they are. Now where would the fun be in that?”
Where would the fun be, indeed?
Yours, piece by piece
-Rene
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Smol Problems


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

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

Snip-Slit-Slip


I got to go play at Daddy’s last night after work, and after a couple of incredibly stressful days.

I needed to decompress, and of course he knew that. Daddy knew about my bad days, and that I had been squirmy most of the week… Daddy lets me tease him sometimes with pretty distractions from Tumblr. Whenever I ask if I should stop distracting him, Daddy says, “don’t you ever, kitten.” And I smile. A lot.

Yesterday we were both tired. We had been running, trying to adult on both ends, and it meant that we finally got to calm down and focus on each other hours into when our date technically ‘started’. I love tagging along to Daddy errands and helping…but we were both squirmy and tired and…we didn’t watch as many cartoons as we normally do.

I was wearing big girl clothes from a job interview earlier in the day; sheer black pantihose and a form fitting deep red dress that has always brought me luck in the past. I had kept the clothing on on purpose. I knew Daddy would love the outfit, and I knew that there were several runs in the pantihose, meaning that it had lived its lfe and deserved to die an honorable death.

I found out several months ago that a meta I have become fast friends with had a fondness for sharps. This is a fondage we VERY much share. I have enjoyed knife play since before I ever identified as kinky. I’m a sensation slut, and the cool steel against skin combined with the adrenaline of the fact that it can easily slice my flesh (because, YES, I love playing with working blades) for some reason makes me absolutely drenched. My body and mind still, and I all but purr when the blade skims over my flesh. I like to share with partners, and gift-giving is a huge part of my love language.. For some reason blades are high up in the hierarchy of gifts I give if I love someone. If I give you a blade, you are a significant fixture in my life.. You mean something. Chris has a blade from me that he often beats me with. James has countless blades from me of different styles (him being an avid sharps collector himself). Ryan has received two blades from me so far as I endeavor to grow his sharps collection for all of our pleasure.

Daddy led me of the couch and through his apartment, stopping briefly to pick up one of the blades I had given him. “Come with me, kitten” he purred, sadist smile on his face as he led me to the bedroom.

He slipped my pretty red dresss up and off, setting it safely aside before spinning me and having me face the bed. I heard the click of the knife coming out and bit my lip, holding off an orgasm when I hadn’t asked permission yet.

He attacked my waistband first, making quick work of it and my upper thighs. ” Oh goodness.. How attached to these panties are you, kitten?” Apparently, Daddy had sliced through the back of them. They still stood, but my red lace panties now had a slit right above my naughty back door.

There are times when Daddy is incredibly tender with me. He holds me, REALLY holds me, cradling me to his chest while I sit in his lap or simply surrounding me with his body. He makes me feel small, and safe, and cherished, and every time he’s done it in that moment it was the best feeling on the entire planet.

This was not one of those times. All the pretties from Tumblr in the last week had been rough. Being fucked with a hand wrapped around the throat or covering the nose, or both. Face fucking. Lots, and lots of face fucking. Hair pulling. Fucking within an inch of your life. I REALLY needed to be taken, and take Daddy did.

He grabbed me by my throat and squeezed before turning me and pushing me on to the bed, so that I was looking up at him. I couldn’t see the knife anymore. Daddy was on top of me, choking me, pushing down on my chest, teasing me. I sqirmed, I cried. He made me cum, purring out “cum for Daddy” over and over again.

He moved down my body, off the bed at one point. I felt cold, cool steel between my legs and then heard the sound of lace tearing. He sliced my panties further, exposing my bare princess parts. The legs and waistband were still in tact and Daddy hesitated. ‘Oh fuck’, I thought, ‘he’s going to fuck me through the panties.

And then his face lowered between my legs. Something he has, never, ever done before… I’m 90% positive that some of the mental, ‘oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck’s became audible at that point as Daddy teased my clit with his tongue. I get eaten out once on a very rare occasion. I’m an internal girl, and so it’s not something I honestly ask for when I know a partner has talented fingers and an amazing talented cock. There was something about the image, though, of Daddy’s head between my legs when I’ve so often been between his, that caused a ripple of pleasure I hadn’t expected. It was.. hot, the image almost surpassing the act itself. Almost.

The scruff of his beard created an usually delightful sensation as he teased and taunted licking and sucking and poking and doing godde knows what while I gripped the bedding like my life depended on it and tried not to curse as I slowly came undone. I cum at the drop of a hat…with almost anything. Only two partners have ever gotten me to cum while eating me out. It’s just a rarity to me.. I’ve faked it in the long past to make partners happy back when I was monogamous.. but..fuck.. There was no faking anything last night. Daddy drove me over the edge before crawling off just long enough to cut off the last of the panties, baring my pussy completely before he climbed on top and slid inside of me, fucking me with a hand wrapped around my throat. He came close to choking me out a couple of times… it’s a sensation I greatly enjoy and ahve missed… I trust Ryan enough that I think I honestly would enjoy him chocking me out and fucking me… but part of me is afraid of squicking him out with how rough I am willing to play and how much I trust him…

Thoughts for another day.

He fucked me, thoroughly manhandling me and positioning me as he pleased. I came, and came, and came, coming undone again and again, wrapped around his cock. Daddy is good to me. He always makes sure I cum a couple dozen times when he’s enjoying his hole.

He slipped out and decorated me, making a mess as he growled out an order to come with him. I, of course, did, and was all but purring by the time he cleaned both himself and I up and crawled back into bed. He pulled me into his arms, both of us panting and sweaty, and slowly, our breathing calmed and synched. Before I knew it I was asleep, surrounded in a cacoon of warmth and afterglow.

I still haven’t figured out how. But somehow, Daddy seems to always know exactly what I need.

Yours still purring,

~Rene

In My Defenses

It’s amazing how people and habits shift as time goes on. You think yourself the passive observer, and then you discover that you’ve become something that you never thought you could be.
When I was being mentored, I was bothered by how Cal compartmentalized his partners, both past and present. We were all placed in boxes with different labels, and he would divy up his attention between all of us depending on how much value we had to him, and what priorty we had in his world. As someone new to poly, it bothered me horribly. He was never fully present when we were together, and compersion was a very new, unknown phoenomenon to me at that time. I felt neglected, but malliable. I morphed into what he needed me to be.
It wouldn’t be the last time I morphed; accomodated to suit the needs of partners. Ryan calls it resiliency. I suppose I am resilient. I survive. I go on.
I did it with Kane, attempting to adopt the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ mindset to function through the relationship and not feel like his dirty little secret. I’ve done it with Chris, sensoring what I share with him and put on him so that I’m not too much of an emotional burden when I know he’s going through his own emotional work. And Godde knows I’ve done it with James; walking on eggshells and morphing to his emotional means and depth, limiting myself to keep him comfortable. And my sweet boy, my Ace.. he has so many brain squirrels of his own, a world away. He.. did not react well to some of mine. Certain things just don’t need to be talked about between he and I, especially with so many other things on his plate for the time being. I’m in his life and I’m not all at the same time. Grey… pops up too sporaddically to really share things with. No one, romantically, has seen all my bits and pieces. Ever. Even when I was monogamous. Hell, even before I was dating, I morphed and adapted to be the shadow that followed my pretty best friend around through high school and middle school.
And that scary, scary thing that I’ve never done is the main thing that Ryan is asking me for. Uncensored, unboxed, unmorphed, me.
I’m. Not sure I know who that is.
I realized while Ryan and I were talking the other night just how much my poly practices began to resemble that of my former mentor. Instead of putting my partners in boxes, I put myself in them. I cut off certain aspects of myself that I deemed “too much’ for them to take, sometimes without asking, because I became use to partners like Kane and James. Loving, good men, but with so many stressors of their own they couldn’t handle mine. Kane saw one of my anxiety attacks at one point and absolute froze; he had no idea what to do. How to fix it. I remember the lost panic in his eyes… and knew I would never let him see one again.
There’s always been fear as to how easily Ryan has gotten under my skin.. Bit after bit, he’s hacked at my armor, dug out the holes of my past, and tried to heal what he could. He is.. a Daddy.. A caring balm unafraid to push and correct me when necessary. And he’s wormed his way deeper than I ever thought I would let him. There was a DO NOT PASS GO line when his primary partner was in the picture, but they parted ways a month ago and since then… That line has been erased. With that invisible barrier no longer in place, suddenly a lot more of me is aired into the light. I find myself showing him more, and more, and more…pieces of myself that no one has seen in years, if ever. And he still wants more. He hasn’t shrunk away from the danaged parts of myself. He tries to push me through them. I am grateful..and also overwhelmed. Terrified. Spent. Last time someone tried any sort of process like this… Well.. James had a tougher lover approach, but…
Yeah. You get it.
The last talk between Ryan and I got..intense, raw. I found myself much too bare underneath his gaze; he sees too much. I could be wearing a fucking parka and he would still see too much. He knows my manerisms too well at this point, and could see when I slipped back into old defensive habits. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I fidgited. I refused to touch him. I tried to put my walls back up while he asked me, over and over, what was wrong. The more I shared, the more he seemed to ask the impossible of me. The more got shook loose. The louder my head got and the harder it became to actually answer him. The more intensely he stared.
“I will nto let you think of yourself as a burden. I. WILL NOT.” But… that’s all I’ve ever been in my mind. A weight carried until dropped. Shaking an idea that’s been with me for twenty six years is… Is it even possible?
For the longest time, my nickname has been Shadow. My friend back in NJ, Dragon, gave it to me a world ago.. I think we were twelve or thirteen at the time? For half my life, I’ve been the little shadow. The reprieve for others but never for myself. The safe space without safe spaces that simply fades into the background when no longer useful. It’s a solitary existence, but it’s suited me relatively well until now.
Now, my Daddy is asking me to shine. And.. I don’t know how. I know in some ways.. I shine at parties, and at BaGG. I put on a persona and can perform like nobodies business. I kick ass in a world that so many fear entering.
But in the normal world? How do I shine in the normal world?
I have always been overlooked. I don’t mean that in a self-depricating way, just as a fact. I’ve always been the supporting cast rather than the star. The backup that keeps the others going, the supportive best friend to the pretty, sexy girls who dress girly and sexy while I tend to be plain. Even now, I’m sitting around in one of my dad’s old button ups, hacked up jean shorts that are two sizes too big, and an ill-fitting but comfy tee shirt from Surrender years ago. How do I shine, when I’ve trained myself so well to hide?
I.. I need help. And I’m so scared to ask for it.
If I let him in more.. if I show him all of me… then what? Ryan asks me often, what is it that I’m not telling him. What is it that I’m afraid to share.
Everything, love. Everything. You are the first, the only, to ask me to share so much… and I’m not sure I know how. I’m not sure I have words for the fear and panic in my belly at you seeing too much..at me loving you too much. At me letting myself fully fall.
If I hold myself in check, if I block parts of me off, he can’t reach primary-level closeness in my mind. He’s not one that practices hierachy, and for the most part I’ve stopped as well.. But. He was never supposed to get this close, never supposed to see so much.
Physical pain is so much easier for me to process than emotional pain. It acts almost as a relief, especially on days when I am feeling more masochistic. When Ryan and I were talking I got defensive and laid the bratty sarcasm on hard, hoping that would stop him from trying to dig deeper. He treatened to beat my ass with a broom handle and I almost jumped for joy at the chance. Yes, beat me. Make this horrible feeling and buzzing in my head stop. In odd ways.. it was a reality check.. The more in pain I am emotionally, the more I crave the outlet physically. The physical pain silences the emotional and buries it back down deep, and I can continue functioning.
He didn’t beat me. He continued talking.. and my loud brain spiral has continued.
There’s a familiar panic in my soul. It started when I sat with my parents, waiting for an event last week, and the subject of Ryan came up. My parents are trying their best to understand poly, and kink, and to their credit they haven’t run screaming yet. They have a rhudamentary knowledge of my world, and work with what they can of it.
“So,” my dad asks, a grin on his face, “is Ryan your primary?” The only question he could think to ask to try and explain the closeness between my partner and I.. To explain to himself why I light up when he walks into a room, or my body relaxes just a tad more. Why my dad saw me more and more with stupid, shit-eating grins on my face every time Ryan was mentioned. And the term triggered so much in my screwed up little head.
Brain squirrels. Horrid, rabbid brain squirrels. They haven’t ceased knawing on me since then. Because what if the answer is yes. What if it’s no. What does that all mean. Can I even do that?
…is it safe to love him that deeply?
If I show Ryan all of me…do I get the same level of transparency in return?
Do I take the risk? Or do I do what I’ve always done?
Do I run like hell?
I could run.
.
.
.
……
No I couln’t.
There is a part of me that loathes myself right now. I felt the changes in my yesterday; the armor that I had let fall away steadfastly being put back into place. We were outside Ryan’s work. He was talking to me.. and I only half heard him. He kept trying to meet my eyes (something I’m bad with in general with people.. I can only really do it comfortably with James and Ryan) and I kept looking at my heads.. I kept walking defensively, with hands in pockets, and hesitated to return touches from him and reach out to him when he reached for me. I could feel myself closing in. Backpetaling. Going “Nonono! You got too close! You’ve seen too much! You’re done now!”
… I don’t.. I don’t want to. I REALLY don’t want to… But something got shook loose the other night. My head is so loud… and I am terrified. And I don’t know how to tell him how I need him. How the fuck do I do this?
Yours, torn to metaphoric pieces,
-Rene

Ace in the Hole

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I’m sure this will surprise most of you.

There was a time, long ago and far away, when I was an innocent virgin girl.

Okay, it was LONG ago and far away, but it was indeed a thing. I was a virgin until seventeen. At sixteen, I was restless. My libido was in full swing and I rarely slept before two or three a.m. during the summer months (…that hasn’t changed much). So, being a restless 90’s child, I would go onto one of the few forms of electronic entertainment that I had that wouldn’t cause a lot of noise. I went on to online chat rooms, back in the day when most internet people were catfish and it was still much more of a dangerous place.

On one of those restless nights, I got lucky. I met a twenty-one year old from North Dakota. He and I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning. He told me of his visits to Rome and Helsinki, far away exotic places that I had very little concept of back then. My world was a cage, trapped in a small town in New Jersey, and here was a handsome man offering me a window into another world. We would talk for hours, on and on for week, and my poor little heart didn’t stand a chance. I fell. Hook. Line. Sinker. I fell for him.

Of course, it was an abstract sort of first love. There was the reality that I was a poor sixteen year old and North Dakota was far away. Visiting was an impossible idea at the time, and so I let myself love him. Because I knew I could never have him.

Time passed. Years went by. I remember the sadness that struck when Ace told me he was engaged to a local girl a couple of years later, not much older than myself. At the time I was very much monogamous, and knew that in that world marriage meant there really was no room for my little fantasy. He was lost. Someone else had won him. In the early days of his marriage we didn’t talk much, as life got in the way…but through time, from time to time, my phone would buzz and there would be a text from Ace. We would pick up right where we left off, talking about everything and nothing.

During all this my world was broadening. He was still in North Dakota, but I was in Boston for school. He would call me while running errands for his brothers or on nights alone while his wife was out and we would talk into the wee hours of the morning as we once had. Gradually Skype became a more normalized thing and we saw each other’s faces… and other things sometimes. There was always a flirty energy between us…and often that would cause blocks of silence where we couldn’t talk to one another. Feelings would rear ugly heads and we just…couldn’t. But we never fully left each other’s lives. I would watch his posts. He would watch mine. We always found one another again and continued to talk.

It’s been almost ten years since he and I first began to talk. In that time I’ve had my series of relationships, including a short engagement, and moved from New Jersey to Boston to San Francisco. He picked up and went from North Dakota to North Carolina with his wife and child, and gradually began his own discovery of kink and polyamory. The stars began to align where we were once again on the same wave length as we had been a world ago. We were both poly, and kinky, and for the first time ever I had his partner’s blessing to pursue some sort of..thing with him. But. I don’t do distance anymore. It’s just too hard, and so Ace remained a relatively abstract concept.

Sometimes I make very poor, masochistic choices for the right reasons. One of those was deciding that I was going to find a way to finally, FINALLY see Ace after Fusion this year (I promise there will be a Fusion entry as well. There’s a draft, I swear). Him being an eight hour drive from the campground was the closest we had ever been to one another. He was separated from his now-ex wife, and his adorable kiddo was with grandparents for the summer… We made a date. He got off from work and I drove as fast I could after camp to make something that had been abstract for so long a reality.

Driving through con drop is not one of my brighter ideas. I was wrecked, dealing with mundane blowups (June is trying to kill me…more on that later), and frantically calling my roommate during anxiety attacks to help remind me where the break was on the car when I got out of control at one point. I was exhausted, functioning on almost no sleep, and fucking determined.

The first time I saw him, he had his back to me. He was watching TV. I let myself stand there for a moment and just take in the sight of flesh-and-blood Ace. The summer night was perfectly warm. There were lightning bugs dancing in front of his window. The air was just the slightest bit muggy. It was… surreal. It was happening. He was real.

I knocked on the door and was in his arms before I knew it, and then REALLY in his arms as he picked me up, excited. “You’re here! You’re really here! You’re real!” he said over, and over, and over, putting words to what I was thinking. He smelled surprisingly familiar, right, easy, and I quickly felt at ease in his arms. And then he kissed me…and as far as first kisses go… Whelp. Remember the ending to Princess Bride?

I am a lucky. Fucking. Bitch.

After ten years I was so afraid there would be no chemistry. Which. Would be fine. We had been forced to be platonic before. I could do it. In fact, the opposite was the case. The top had been let off of ten years of sexual tension and we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. He gave me the tour of his apartment and I found myself craving contact with him. A hand on my hip, or in my hair, or on my ass..just to remind me that this was real. That he was real. That we were actually seeing each other.

It still feels like a dream.

I was the bad one that started stripping first. He pinned me to the ground, eagerly grinding against my ass before flipping me over and diving between my legs. I have never been so eagerly eaten out in my LIFE. I don’t like it typically. I’m an internal girl. But my Ace’s tongue is incredibly skilled. K was screaming his name and bucking under him in a matter of minutes. 

There was groping, and playing, and flirting before we stumbled our way to the bedroom, both of us refusing to fully take our hands off of one another. Pardon my gloating, but my godde that boy has one of the prettiest cocks I have ever seen. He is thick enough and long enough that he’s a challenge for me to take… but not so big that I can’t deep throat him. 

I hoped we would have chemistry. I didn’t expect mind-blowing sex. Again. And again. And again. We took a break for food and to sleep, but I can’t think of a point when we weren’t touching somewhere. Hands. Overlapping legs. Me snuggling into the nook of his shoulder. Not even morning breath stopped the kisses. When we weren’t kissing or fucking we were talking, just as we did eons ago. He told me the intimate details of his world. I shared more of mine. 

There isn’t enough time. There never is. He took me to breakfast at an adorable coffee house. As we ate tasty treats he told me more about his amazing child and how much he loved his community. My heart twisted. I was so happy he had found home… And I selfishly wish I could take him to mine. He’s so far away. So. Damn far away. 

It’s been a long time since I have been around someone who’s a soothing balm to my soul… and that’s what Ace is. He pulled me out of an anxiety attack from outside stressors faster than anyone ever has. Being around him calms me down, just as James always has.. and yet he calms me in almost the exact opposite way of James. Instead of a man of few words my Ace is a wordsmith. A beautiful, wonderful wordsmith that showered me in compliments and kind words. 

There’s always been a switchy energy between us. Out of all my partners he is the one I have always felt the most equal too. We are both… fragile in certain ways. Both familiar with brain squirrels pertaining to matters of the heart. I am often pulled out of brain spirals through acts of submission. Focusing on the needs of others fixes my headspace. 

I didn’t know if it would be the same for Ace. He began to spiral at one point and I just… had to fix it. A part of me came out that I didn’t know existed. A Domme. Not a service top. I dominated that sweet boy. I crawled on top of him and rode him with no inhibitions, knowing he wanted me, knowing I drove him wild. The moment he drifted I had him focus on me.  I told him that all he had to worry about in that moment was pleasing me. 

He called me ma’am. For the first time ever that made my pussy wet. 

Yes, he was my sweet boy, and he let me fuck him at my leisure until I wanted him on top again. And then he pleased me with his cock, fucking me until we both toppled over that delicious edge. 

In about 24 hours we found that edge six times, sometimes with him as the dominant partner, sometimes me. After sex we would find equilibrium again snuggling in one another’s arms. I’ve never had such a fluid relationship before.  The switching happens naturally, with the top roll being filled easily in a split second by the proper partner. 

I’ve never wanted to be served before. Never desidered to collar a boy and have him sit at my feet as I socialize in Wicked Grounds. I am naturally very submissive… but also very protective. The desire to help the one I love won out, and even became extremely pleasurable. He is my boy. We belong to one another. 

And I am utterly fucked. 

I thought foolishly getting together after ten years would sate some urges. Instead it was like lighting a powder keg. A hunger that hadn’t existed before now eats at me. I want more of my Ace, both as my sweet boy and as my Top.

We have a lot of exploring to do, he and I. This is the tip of the iceberg with our dynamic, and I know that… Now we are learning how our lives can possibly fit together. He has a partner with a child, and a child of his own to worry about. I have three partners, a complication, and a community. We both have our homes. And there is that fear of once you leave the Bay Area you can’t return. Selfishly, I want him with me, in my world. I want to show of my boy at BaGG and the citadel. And yes, I want to sleep in his arms at night. 

I miss him horribly, and it’s only been a couple of days. Ten years, and it felt like coming home when I was with him. My mind is terrifying me. It’s thinking long term. And that scares me. I’m anxious to get my mark on him, to claim that part of him that submits as mine. And I am anxious for him to claim me again. 

I love you, my sweet boy. I’m.. scared, but excited for the journey ahead. All will work out when the time is right, just as it always has. I will see you in my dreams ❤

Yours hopelessly in love, and suddenly switchy,

-Rene 

 

Adrift

adrift

It always happens this time of year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I should probably sleep.

Yours, restless

-Rene

Teacher, Mine

Relationships go in cycles, or so it seems. At least, mine always have. Those who are meant to stick around in your life cycle back around in one way or another.

One of those that has cycled back for me is Cal, the person who started all of this. I still chuckle when I think about how I was when I started this journey. Monogamous, green, terrified of pain. Spankings were far from enjoyable for me and knives terrified me.

Now, most of that is the opposite.

Cal and I have danced around each other for years now… and we’re still dancing. It’s never been the right time. Things have always gotten in the way. He hasn’t been available. I haven’t been. And so, I swallowed the bits of desire that remained after his last breakup and told myself, over and over and over, I would be a safe person for him. I would be a friend.

What I didn’t factor in was that nothing about Cal is safe. At least for me.

I have several people that have always been kryptonite for me, just on a visceral level. James is one of them. He gets to me on every level. His voice, his smell, his presence… Cal is another one. When I was his mentee I would sleep in tee shirts that smelled of him. I think I still have one of his old green shirts stashed away that I sleep in on colder nights (I don’t normally wear shirts to bed. I get strangled by them). He figured out how to fuck my mind before he ever got to my body, which hardly helped things when I was first starting out. And he was protective of me. All things that give me a lady boner.

He started coming to BaGG, on and off, a couple of months ago. He saw James again (James doesn’t like him), met my Daddy and my Sir. BaGG… is a work in progress for Cal and I. The first time he got me shit faced on scotch and left me before saying goodbye and after making out with me. Several times. And telling me that he would be there long after James was gone, and we would end up together because we’re both too broken not to. The second was similar to the first, only I was more sober and stuck him on a stool for the last hour of the night to sober up while I rubbed at bruises he left on my neck. He’s into breath play, which is something I also love, but when he’s drunk his hands are very rough. And I was afraid.

Still. There had been kisses. And hugs. And he called me little one.

I found myself protective of this man, broken again by a relationship that I saw going down in flames long before it did. And I found myself terrified of him as well. He apologized for the incidents and promised to try and manage the alcohol more. He’s hurt, physically, and not eating as much as normally, and so alochol is affecting him more strongly than it normally does.

There is a war in my head when it comes to Cal. There is the good, protective friend that kinda wants to guide him back into our local scene and then there’s the submissive chomping at the bit to prove herself to him. To show what he missed. It’s the submissive that gets me in trouble, in ways that I didn’t see coming. And it’s the submissive that still.. can’t help but react to him. Smell. Voice. Presence. ESPECIALLY when he milks it. When he purrs my nickname after too many drinks and I tell my brain to shut up for a minute so I can enjoy.

He’s gotten better. We both have. Thank godde for time, firm boundaries, and bunnies. He has a new love that has slowly wrangled a lot of the darkness he has been carrying..and it means he’s behaving a lot more. And she is lovely.. Full compersion here. She’s the right age and the right temperment to actually be GOOD for him after his string of lemons, and I’m happy for him. I truly, honestly am. I just…have brain squirrels.

Last week, Cal came to BaGG. I was freshly back from a trip east and felt like absolute shit. I now know I probably had a fever..but I was determined to go. My friends wanted to see me. My meta wanted to talk about her trip and mine. I wanted my time with James. I was getting there.

I spent a good portion of the night on my knees, which were so sore they could barely support my weight. I didn’t think about this, until Cal saw me do it in the back of the smoking alley.

His hands were in my hair before I could warn him not to. He pet me gently, and I purred. Daddy was right in front of me. I knew it was safe, and Cal kept saying it wasn’t sexual. He was careful not to call me my nickname. I was careful not to call him sir. We were Cal and Rene and it was just a few head pets when I was in pain.

Later in the back room, he hugged me hard. He gets emotional after a few drinks and has a habit of thanking me for still being around.. which I appreciate. The hug captured my head. He had his hand in my hair and pulled, hard. I whimpered and reached for Daddy’s shirt, tugging just as hard. It was a signal we had agreed upon earlier in the evening that I would do when I was scared. Daddy interviened, gently pulling Cal off of me while my meta calmed me down. I blamed the last double he had and tried to shake it off.

It’s just with alcohol that I find myself on edge with Cal. When four or five drinks are removed he’s a safehaven. I crashed at his place after a play party last weekend, grateful for the couch and a day when I didn’t have to pay a bridge toll in order to get to work. He hugged me hello and I smelled him and immediately knew cuddling was out of the question. I put a big, fat blanket between he and I on the couch until he went to crash for the evening.

The next morning I tried to sneak out, dressing quickly for breakfast with Chris and scampering out the door. I dressed quickly before tossled hair and a furrowed brow stumbled outside, slightly confused. He was adorable. Bits of me melted that had been holding firm, and I smiled. He hugged me goodbye a beat too long. A dangerous beat. I wanted to kiss him.

But. I also want his head on straight. I want him established with his new parter. I want him happy and mostly whole. I want him to know that I am safe, and stable, and honestly pretty fucking close to poly saturated right now. I want to see more than one BaGG in a row without me getting scared of him physically harming me.

I want time, that lovely balm that heals all things, to finally decide the course for Cal and I. I keep telling myself that we are going to be friends. Friends are safe. Friends are good.

And all my instincts keep wanting more.

Yes, Cal is my teacher from a world ago, but lately we’ve been teaching each other. We talk daily, reading one another and keeping each other in check. For now, this is healthy.

For later?

I don’t know. Time will tell. Time always tells. For now, I have brain squrrels and he has a bunny. And this is how it should be.

So, what have you got left to teach me, teacher mine?

Yours, playful,

-Rene

Scavenger Hunt

 

My mind wandered while walking through Good Vibrations in the Mission neighborhood of San Francisco today. This is what it came up with. Not a journal entry… but a story.

Daddy and I play fun, fun games when he lets me come over.

 Sometimes, I get to play with Daddy’s lollipop and make it big and hard while he’s talking to bigs on the phone. Sometimes we get to play hide the lolly, and I have to guess where Daddy’s gonna put it next. We’ve tickled, wrestled, and played doctor… our little secret, Daddy says.

Sometimes, Daddy tries new games. Like the scavenger hunt. 

Daddy and I had play time at night. I was ready, making sure I had my stuffy and binky all ready for play time when my phone went BUZZ BUZZ

Daddy: Put down your little stuffy for a minute and go check outside, poppet. 

I giggled and raced to the door, dropping my stuffy along the way. Sometimes, Daddy was magic. He knew the things. 

A small brown box sat outside of my door. I took a photo and sent it along before bringing the box inside. 

Good girl. Now look inside and let Daddy know what you find. 

I squeed loudly and opened the box. What could it be? Candy? A new stuffy? Chocolate, which is soooo much better than just candy?

Inside were three little pink bags with numbers on them.  1, 2, 3. My phone lit up. 

Open number 1, princess. 

Inside was a pair of tiny, tiny panties that didn’t cover anything. I giggled. They were pretty, and soft, and see through. 

Put them on for me, princess. Daddy likes pretty little panties over your pretty, pink princess parts. Open number 2 for me. 

Inside the little pink bag was a tiny buzz buzz, one so tiny it could slip inside me and stay. I stared at it, already getting squirmy just looking at it. 

That goes inside your princess parts, poppet. Can you slip it inside for me? I bet you’re nice and wet for Daddy already. 

I sat down and pulled the tiny bit of pink aside, taking the buzz buzz into my other hand and slowly, slowly slipped it inside me. I was all wet already, think about Daddy’s fingers and lollipop instead of a silly buzz buzz. 

Now number three. 

Number three was a card with an address on it. After the first two I pouted, surprised and disappointed. 

We’re playing a new game, sweetie. I want you to go to where the card says. Take a photo and send it to me when you get there. Can you do that for me? Be my good girl? 

Yes, Daddy. 


The address had big person toys inside, like buzz buzzes and dress up clothes for bigs. Daddy had taken me here before, one time when we were playing dress up and he said I could be a big girl for the night.

Good girl. 

Just as I walked through the door the buzz buzz between my legs turned on. I squeaked, confused, and pressed my legs together as the cute pink panties got all wet. 

Don’t get too distracted, poppet. I need you to find something for Daddy. Go all the way in the back and find me something big, and silver, and pink.

The buzz buzz was still on.  I moved to the back of the store soooooo slowly, trying not to look at all the bigs. They didn’t know about the buzz buzz. It was our little secret. 

The back of the store had more fancy dress up things, things that went in instead of on. I liked things that went in. I ran over the the row of shiny silver buttplugs that sat in rows, the stainless steel shining in the light from the store windows. This had to be the silver, but what..  

Bunny! BUNNY BUNNY BUNNY!

There right in front was a fluffy pink bunny tail. I squealed in delight and picked it up, forgetting for just a minute about the buzz buzz while I sent a photo to Daddy. 

Good girl. 

I didn’t forget long. Suddenly the buzz buzz was BUZZING so much I let out a moan in the store.

Cum for Daddy. 

I did, there in the corner of the store, wet trickling down my leg as I tried to keep standing and not have too many people look at me. I loved when Daddy told me what to do. 

Good girl. Now on to the next place. 

I whined as the buzzing lessened. I wanted to see Daddy NOW! Especially with the buzz, buzz, buzz making me all squirmy. 

The next stop was a clothes store with all the things littles like me like. Little skirts, bows, pretty socks and shoes. My phone went buzz buzz while the buzz buzz inside woke back up again. 

Go find a pretty outfit for Daddy, princess. Try it on and send Daddy a photo. 

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZZ

I ran into the store, picking out a tiny black skirt, pretty pink top and pretty white knee socks. Giggling inside the changing room, I sent more photos to Daddy. 

You are such a good girl for me, kitten. Now I need you to do something very special for Daddy. Can you do that for me? 

Of course, Daddy. 

Daddy doesn’t want anything underneath your pretty new outfit. I want you to take your pretty new panties off. Let Daddy see.

I gulped inside the dressing room. How was the buzz buzz going to stay in?

The pretty pink panties were all wet when I took them off. I spread my legs for Daddy, showing him they were all gone while the buzz buzz kept buzzing. 

Cum for Daddy. 

I didn’t change back into my clothes. Daddy said that was okay, since the skirt was all wet now.  

Last stop, poppet. Daddy’s inside waiting for you with nommy food. Just make sure that your little buzz buzz doesn’t fall out, okay? Otherwise you don’t get the rest of your surprised. 

I moaned out loud, trying to walk quickly yet carefully to the nommy food. The whole time the buzz, buzz, buzz kept buzzing. 

I sent Daddy a photo of the nommy restaurant as I walked inside, looking around for him. 

Buzz buzz went my phone. 

Not so fast, kitten. You’re all wet. Go to the bathroom and clean up. 

Groaning, I scurried to the bathroom as fast as the slippery buzz buzz would let met. Buzz buzz went my phone as I tried to clean up some of the wet running down my bare legs. 

You’re forgetting something, poppet. Your outfit isn’t done. What’s missing? 

The bunny tail.  I gulped. 

Be a good little bunny and put your tail in for Daddy. It will keep your buzz buzz nice and in place. I’m sure your princess parts are so slippery and wet by now. The buzz buzz needs help staying in place. Just remember, it can’t fall out princess 

The silver plug at the end was soooo big. There in the bathroom stall, skirt hiked up and legs spread, I slowly began to ease the plug, but by bit, into my naughty back door. I moaned quietly, aware of the women in stalls on either side of me, working the plug in and out, in and out, until it worked itself in with a POP. 

Daddy was MUCH bigger. Still. With the buzz buzz and the tail my little princess parts felt so tight. The wet got even worse as the buzzing started again.

Time for dinner, poppet.  

I got three steps out of the bathroom when I felt a hand on the back of my neck. I squeaked, wanting to turn around and hug him but he squeezed, silencing me. 

“This way, little love.” He started steering, using his hand on my neck to guide me to a table. Just as I reached the chair I felt the whiskers from his beard by my ear. 

“Come for Daddy, my dirty little bunny girl.”

I let out a chirp, my legs slamming together as I sunk into the chair that Daddy pulled out. He laughed and kissed the top of my head. 

“Good girl.” He pulled out his phone as he sat down. The buzz buzz buzz between my legs got worse. Between that and the tail I couldn’t sit still. I squirmed around on my seat, imagining the wet spot I was leaving. 

Daddy ate SO SLOWLY. Any time I would let out whimper or wine he would hit his phone and the buzzing would get worse. “Patience, poppet.” 

Finally, finally we ate all the noms. Daddy took my hand and walked me to the car, taking his time while I wiggled, the tail and buzz buzz still inside. 

“Did you like our little game today, kitten?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” I tried to find a comfy spot on the seat. 

“Good girl. You know what you get?” He reached into the glove compartment and handed me a small container of chocolate sauce.

“You did so well on our scavenger hunt, princess, that I thought we could try two new games today. When we get home I thought we would see if chocolate tasted different on lollipops.”

I squirmed, all wet and drippy from my pretty tail and the buzz buzz and now there was chocolate. 

“Does that mean I get to play find the lolly, Daddy? I’m good at finding things!”

“Yes you are, princess.” Daddy smiled. 

I do so love when Daddy and I play games. 

Aaaand the end. I do hope I managed to entertain all of you 😉

Yours, creative

-Rene

Down the Rabbit Hole…

There is a lot about my various kinks that I have embraced over time. The further down the rabbit hole I go, the more I discover about myself. Some of it stopped me short when I realized it was a part of myself… That there is an aspect of myself that is very much a slave to the proper Master, that I just can’t do pick-up-play. That there is a part of me that is a pain slut when I’m in the proper mindset.

That I very much have a little side, and that that little is sexual…

My first discovery of my little side was with Smith…and when that blew up and bit me in the ass my little went into hiding, DEEP hiding. That aspect of myself was a core part of our dynamic. He was the first one to expose me to phrases like ‘princess parts’, who made me stop squirming at the idea of calling someone ‘daddy’. He helped show me that taboo can be attractive, erotic… that the fetish could be done in a healthy way and can be incredibly fulfilling. And then our whole dynamic exploded and I was cut out like cancer, my little discarded because his partner was severely triggered by he and I… Not even James could coax her out again.

For two years, my little hid. Unfulfilled. Slipping out in spirts of a bubbly voice and an obvious love of stuffies; a side of myself that filled me with severe amounts of shame because when she finally came out she was told she was horrible and wrong.

And then I got to know Ryan.

Ryan is a BaGG regular who I’ve known for over a year now, in some capacity. For a very long time he was the rather attractive fellow that James gave rides to from time to time. Then he became the rather attractive fellow that was always at BaGG. Then he was the attractive fellow with the REALLY pretty partner. Like. Really pretty.

And then I found out the attractive fellow thought I was also attractive. Meep. MEEEEEEEEP.

As my squirly brain often does, it had labeled Ryan as ‘crush’ and therefore ‘untouchable. I found out that was very much not the case sometime in the late summer months. He was established with his partner, and I was slowly creeping back into dating after my release..and I was restless. I liked his voice, calm and soothing with a ‘sadist with a smile’ quality. I enjoyed his calm, easy going nature that was a balm on frazzled nerves. I especially liked how well we had begun communicating.

The first time we played he tied me up, giving me a pretty chest harness with bottlecaps underneath the rope for the edge of pain I craved…and then he fucked me into oblivion. Holy crap, that man scratches that particular itch for me in a way that will have me sated for a good few days afterward (a rarity with a libido as active as mine). It was good, comfortable. We played well with one another…though the dynamic wasn’t mind-blowing, it was fun. And I found myself much, MUCH more attracted to him than I thought possible… He has strong arms with just the right amount of muscle, a fit body, and his legs… Yum yum yum yum yum….

Another date followed, this time at his place, and then the weeks went by. We talked, both at BaGG when we saw one another and online when we didn’t. I don’t quite remember how it started, but somehow the topic of me being a little slipped out.

He was interested. He liked the idea of it. More than liked it.

Part of me was hesitant. Yes, it had been two years…and yes, this was a stable play partner that I trusted… but did I trust myself not to fuck up again? What if my little was just bad, and not in the good way? What if it was the rotten part of myself that I just couldn’t show?

…If I didn’t try, I would never know.

 

And so, I dressed up. I wore a frilly pink shirt, my ‘little’ underwear, my hair in pigtails. I brought stuffies and let myself slowly, slowly relax into the dynamic as I drove to Ryan’s house.

I love when risks pay off. He spanked me, of course.. He pulled my hair, played with my ‘princess parts’ and made them feel ‘funny’ and ‘got me all wet’. He had me cumming so many times I lost track, and seemed to all but purr every time I called him ‘daddy’. That magic switched that existed when he called me ‘kitten’ or ‘sweetie’ worked both ways..and the dynamic went from good to pretty fucking fantastic. We found a very natural niche for both of us to play in, a need that others weren’t sating at the moment, and so we played through taboo whispers of mommy not finding out what we were doing, and the little girl begging for daddy’s hard cock in her bum and princess parts… I let myself go, let myself enjoy.

The dynamic has developed over time, and now our play dates are some of my favorite things. They are catharsis, release, whether he simply fucks me into oblivion or beats me with a hairbrush before. It’s fun, and easy. There is something about Ryan that from the beginning has felt incredibly… safe. Our relationship isn’t romantic, but I do very much love and care for the man, and his partner. I know he’s protective of me, that he has my back. I know that I can run to him and his lovely at BaGG if I feel unsafe or uncomfortable. I also feel so free to talk to him about my headspace, how I’m feeling and what I need from play on a certain night. I don’t feel on edge, or ashamed, or in need of censuring myself with him. Our negotiation skills are kinda top knotch, and there’s an ease to he and I that I respect and enjoy.

Some of my favorite parts of our playdates are our ‘games’. I have a wee bit of an oral fixation, as I’m sure has become quite apparent in my entries.. I love sucking cock. We developed a ‘game’ a couple of dates ago. While daddy is on the phone ordering take out, kitten kneels in front of him and sucks his cock. This usually continues until long after the phone call is over, much to my great pleasure. Ryan is not small..and I take great pride in being able to take all of him down my throat, even if it’s not for long yet.

Last date he led me into the bedroom by his cock, starting with me sitting on the couch. He let me suck him for a few moments, and then took a step back, forcing me to my knees chasing after him. Step by step, he backed toward his bedroom. Inch by inch on my knees I followed, eagerly bobbing my head after his cock in an attempt to keep a steady rhythm as we moved. He’s one of those that I always love the taste of..male and musk and..mmmmm.

He pushed me down onto his bed and thoroughly beat my ass, literally punching into me. I remain very much an impact slut and absolutely love rough body play. I can take a lot of thuddy punching, especially with two or three fingers shoved up my pussy as a fist slams into my ass. I get off on the impact, asking for more, begging for it…and I did beg. Asking daddy for more and begging to be allowed to cum. Sometimes he makes me wait… He gets me there so easily. Other times he forces the orgasm out of me, having figured out on our first date that I can cum on command. By the fourth or fifth orgasm I am spent, screaming and begging daddy, daddy, daddy over and over as fingers fuck me, and then his cock. He’s not one to relent, to let me off easily, and I enjoy the play even more for that. He stretches me, pushing me through orgasm after orgasm, his cock going so deep it hits my back wall more often than not and sends me spiraling even more often. If I’m a good girl, if I ask nicely, he’ll toy my ass. If I’m really good daddy will have me spread my bum and slide his cock, inch by inch, inside, pausing just for a moment before picking up a punishing rhythm that gets me off so quickly I can barely see straight. All the while I cling to the blankets, begging for more, trying not to scream..

Afterwards, there is tobacco (he smokes. I don’t, though I will at times steal a drag after sex). He more often than not will offer his house coat and slippers to me over real clothes, a touching gesture and ritual I’ve begun to enjoy. I like the fuzzy texture on my skin when it’s still buzzing with aftershock goodness. I love it combined with cuddles, the smell of tobacco and man and sex, and the ease in which Ryan and I communicate both in and out of scene.

It’s taken more than words to make my little side feel safe, cared for, and like she isn’t…bad. Innately evil. It’s taken touches and teases. Cuddles, cartoons, and dozens of sweeties, kittens, and lots and lots of patience. Ryan has seen me cry, both in and out of little space, and has offered a safe space for me. He is honestly an incredible top and an even better friend… and I’m not sure my little would have ever been coaxed back out of hiding without him, and the encouragement and support of his epic partner. The combo platter of the two of them in my life as my people, my safe place, my friends… I am lucky. Very, very lucky.

The further I jump down the rabbit hole, the more I learn about myself. I continue to marvel at how kinks and preferences can change, and how relationships can be so meaningful and yet so different as well. A few years ago I never though I would be talking about poly pods and seeing someone I’m involved with not just as himself, but part of a unit. It would have plagued me with so much jealousy and made me feel like a third wheel. Instead, compersion is very much a thing, and my happy little side squees at time with both of them.

And so, further down the rabbit hole I go.

Yours, ever growing and ever changing,

-Rene

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