Showing posts with label him. Show all posts
Showing posts with label him. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 5, 2023

Down



When I am standing against a wall, a mantel, a cross, a bedframe, I get overwhelmed before it even begins. I start thinking about what's to come, what is about to literally hit me, and I start questioning my life choices. 

It's over in a split second or two. It's my opportunity to either let go, or stay. It's my chance to resist, refuse, speak the manipulation, voice the no. A fellow submissive said recently something like "I can either give myself over to it and let it happen, or stop now." Every day, every minute, is a submission. Every time I choose to move forward and submit and stay in place. There's no law that keeps me standing there. 

The other choice I have to is go away, and leave by body where it is. Disassociation, they call it. Stepping outside of my body and letting it happen to someone else, is what I call it. Except it's me, there's no avoiding that. I'm the one with the marks, the success or failure, the residual aching and arousal. So many times you have recognized where I am, and your hand on my shoulder or between my legs, or around my neck, reminds me that there are not two identities but one, and I must daily make peace with all of it. All the parts. The beautiful and ugly and disappointing and raging with joy parts. The hot and cold, the smooth and razor sharp gouges that everyone including myself has left. 

There's more to a beating than the physical. 

Tuesday, August 15, 2023

Fuck Material

"Hi slut, i want to rent you from your guy and fuck your brains out. Do you think he will allow"

(My most recent friend request on Fetlife)

It's an interesting question. Will he allow?

Probably not. But not for the reasons you think. It mostly has to do with grammar, location, (this dude's from Belgium. I am not located anywhere near Belgium.), but most has to do with making assumptions. 

It's a natural human response, to make an assumption about someone else based on your own history, the impression you have of them, their behavior and actions. It's how we get along in life, how we form our own created families and relationships as adults. We call it social context, and friendships and families are based on it. There's this new modern complication (or maybe it's not that modern, we just didn't talk about it as a society as much) of created families rather than biological ("family of origin") ones, and those require, I think, even more emotional investment. That's part of how assumption works, it's a psychological tool humans use. 

Who am I to him? There are so many descriptors. I title myself "slave", but that's kind of a fantasy term, since legally there's no way to follow through on that. I'm a wife, a deputy, a "helpmeet" (I kind of love this one), an object, a warm hole or three, and sometimes a pain in the ass. 

We ran into another gentleman who was very interested in playing with me. Not particularly interested in playing with my owner, and the gentleman in question made a lot of assumptions about *how* we play, and what our dynamic is. How we function together, what turns us on (and off) and that, more than anything else, was the reason it was a no go. 

Making assumptions about people is a tool to use as we get closer to each other, we use it for safety purposes and for empathy, and closeness. It's also a dangerous edge tool, because making the wrong assumptions push you further apart. 



Tuesday, August 1, 2023

Ah, Polly.

"Sometimes when you lose your way to me
I think you don't care at all
If you don't get here soon
I'll tear that clock down from the wall"
- Billy Bragg

You surprised me, Polly. I've been riding this rollercoaster for weeks, and I've made a lot of assumptions. Some of which are incorrect. Some aren't. 

I'm still learning where the lines are, because they have been redrawn. Do you have lines? Where are they? Not where I thought they were. 


Tuesday, June 2, 2009

a little something

a possible play date has come up in the kinda-near future.

part of the complications of being poly is that - well - it's somewhat difficult to find poly people with whom you'd actually like to become involved with. anyone out there who's poly is probably saying "ya think?" finding my way through the mire of the different definitions ("open", "poly", "slut", "etc") has been an ongoing challenge. i gave up a long time ago, and began using the term "polyamorous" because it seemed as close as i could get to what i was talking about.

i don't make the decisions regarding sex in my relationship with my owner. not when i have it, not how i have it, not with whom. i suppose i have some input, and i certainly have opinions, but ultimately, it's not up to me. as a result, i've ended up in some sexual situations in which i was pleased as punch, and in others where it kinda sucked.

but the possible one upcoming has me nervous. the last time we met with this person, i almost-barely survived. okay, that's not literal, but it felt like it at the time. while my owner scares me in a primal way that only he knows how to accomplish, this person scares me - differently. physically. i've tried to articulate it before, but i can't quite seem to come up with the right words.

he is not my owner, but he does care about me. those are two separate things. he is not my owner, so his personal obligation towards keeping the property intact, healthy, and humming along smoothly, is non-existent. he may very well care about those things, but because he cares about me as a person, a friend. but as a dominant, it's not his problem.

he's there for the show.

it's turning over in the pit of my stomach with a sickly twist like nausea, but my mind's eye sees it coming like a car crash that i can't wait to see.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

too far, not so fast

you asked me if, in my moments of objectification and muffled screaming, i'd have preferred to be used sexually instead.

within seconds, images of everything that happened flashed: four hands pinching and placing and moving and slapping and hurting. unable to breathe through the gag because my nose was stuffed from sobbing.

"i hate electricity," i responded. "i've always told you that."

"that's not an answer," you said, as you kept your eyes on the road, and my eyes wandered around your face. i kept looking for the real question there, but couldn't find it. i occasionally forget that you are a man of action over words, and that it doesn't occur to you to hide your meanings.

"i'm not sure if i can answer that," i said finally. i looked out at the road in front of us as we were driving away. "i don't think it even occurred to me that that was an option."

"it wasn't. an option for you, anyway. you don't have options."

"that's not what i meant." i tried again. "i mean that in the midst of it, it did not occur to me that something could be different. that i could want something other than what was happening, even if i hated what was happening. electricity play is something i've never done well with, and there's really nothing about it that's erotic to me." i paused, carefully trying to get my meaning across.

"i wasn't thinking that i'd rather be fucking. i was thinking, frankly, about survival and trying to obey what was happening in the present, and wherever it went, i would go. for you."

a few seconds passed as i watched the graying sky beyond you and the slow smile that grew across your lips.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

self control

i would never ask you to change, because you gave me every opportunity to examine what you were. you never lied, you never changed. your cards were always all on the table, face up, even as i slowly revealed mine, one by one.

that's called integrity.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

the chances we take


how many times, do you think, does someone get another chance before the chances are all gone?

just a thought.

(photo credit: little green man, quilt by vanessa brisson.)

Friday, June 13, 2008

the introduction

sometimes i say things that later come back to haunt me. so i have no doubt that this one is in the making.

we've planned this weekend for weeks. we don't have much time, usually, so the few moments we have alone and unscheduled, you jump on with excitement. a dinner, a show with loud music, and i'm wearing thigh highs in the summer heat. frantic dash for a cab and we're laughing at our escape.

it's a long drive, and it gets quiet as you close your eyes for a rest and i'm watching the city moving along the glass window. my eyes are lulled by the glittery night lights, and my body is lulled by your steady breathing, and i fall asleep.

you're shaking me awake, gently. i wake up quickly, as your hand snaps out at my cheek. i grab my cheek, in shock - "but i'm awake!", and you smile, big, teeth, saying "i know. i just want the handprint there. come on." and we're out of the cab, in front of a tall building. we may be in the middle of a big city, but suddenly i feel like we're in the middle of nowhere, alone. no protection. and my skin goes cold despite the summer heat.

the entryway, the elevator, you're silent. i'm staring at you, my hand on my cheek. small ding, and you push me off the elevator, and grab my shoulder to push me down the hallway to an office. too dark to notice the name outside, but my heart is my throat because i know where we are, now, although i've never been here before.

"there you are! i was getting a little worried..."

"sorry, the show ran a little long. good to see you..." and hugs between the two men who haven't seen each other in a long time. i'm standing there nervously, looking at him, looking at the floor, my feet, nowhere for very long.

"so, this is your new property." he's taller than i expected. he's looking at my face, and grabs my chin. i'm much shorter than him, so he pulls it up to stare into my eyes. "one glance, bitch, and then you're not to look at me anymore." i gasp a little, my eyes drink in his face, and shut tightly. he laughs. "she responds well. i think this might work for a trade."

"yes," you say. "she's born for this."

his hand lets my chin go, and reaches up my skirt, stabbing fingers. "spread," he says, and i do. i hear you laugh. "she's wet, isn't she."

the man laughs. "soaking."

"a born whore."

Thursday, May 22, 2008

hood

lately i've been including hoods a lot in my fantasies. maybe slut on display started it up again, but it's always been part of my schema.

the extreme de-personalization of it strikes a nice balance, i think, with the fact that you don't have be turned into a piece of furniture (something i'm decidedly not-turned-on by) to achieve it. sometimes i don't want to be your girl, i don't want to be your cunt, even, as much as sometimes i want to be a thing, an object, with no voice and no face, just a useful purpose. and i'm selfish enough in my fantasies to imagine exactly what that purpose *is*, and it ain't a table. when you throw in a perfectly casual conversation about nothing-in-particular while i'm *wearing* the hood, well, then, i'm off and running. so to speak.

you asked me what i was thinking about while you made me come for you. nothing much more than your voice, at the time. but later, later...

a hooded thing on a leash, ignored and crawling behind you. knowing i'm being watched. sometimes discussed. conspired against. dragged. clamped, tied, teased and hurt to screaming.

just a thought.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

shocked


i'm a gift, a sacrifice, a negotiation. a solution. a puzzle to be solved, passed from hand to hand until someone either figures it out or sets it aside. never sure if it's something i want - to be given away - you neatly removed me from having to decide. i hadn't gotten far enough to notice the choice was even missing.

does the jealousy alchemy solution work towards me as well? because one puzzle may be solved, but i'm made up of parts to a whole. there's more to solve, and more hands will be at work, i'm guessing.

[photo credit to Una Ros "missing piece"]

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

she's a good girl.

discussing a good friend's new submissive:

me: i know what kind of girl she is.
him: oh? what kind of girl is she?
me: she has a huge sense of humor (she'd have to, to be with you). a basic if not good understanding of polyamory. and a very deep need to serve, but that probably isn't obvious externally.
him: yes, that's about right. and really smart.
me: of course.
me: and she's a good girl.
him: what do you mean by good girl?
me: the priority is making Him happy, and that means suffering for Him.

(long pause)

him: yes. she is a good girl.

Friday, November 2, 2007

what would it be like

what would it be like if it was someone else? what would it look like, with someone else between my legs probing and taking? watching my face and it's changes, it's expressions. what would he give me, what would he take?

i don't have room to think about it, other than in the half-dream world of 5 am waking up fantasies, when you allow me to let him in. the strings that tie me are loosened then.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

this is not a seduction

How many times did you grit your teeth and speak the words that they wanted to hear? How many times did you force the gentlest tone through your lips, slow your hand down to make it sweet and sticky as you touched her, listening to her pant and moan and whisper "yes..."

When what you wanted was to scream, to grunt, to slap? To force, to cut, to fuck dry?

What men said to me when they were making love to me: you are my love, my love. you taste so sweet, and is it here you like it? i want more, and i need you, i love you, i want you, and only you....

What I wanted them to say: you are nothing but my bitch.

you are naked, and i am naked, and we see things no one else has witnessed in each other. i've lost all shame except that which you want me to have.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

i saw it

i saw the look on your face. the tightening of your jaw. the set of the way your eyes looked up quickly to grab mine. you looked back down at my thighs and your finger touched the marks lightly. small ovals the color of raspberries slowly turning purple. and then the questions.

"what did he use." "did you like it." and then as your fingers forced their way into me, "tell me what you were thinking about when it happened, when he was fucking you." your voice was harsh and angry, your fingers brutal and unforgiving. i did not want to see your eyes, so there was a small kindness of letting me squeeze my eyes shut against that.

with my answers, you abruptly let go, suddenly silent.

i didn't know what to do with that. so i told myself it wasn't what i saw there, that it was not.

jealousy.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

hard peeling


i got overwhelmed by the amount of layers that got pulled off. i don't think you ripped any on purpose - mostly it was my own doing. i don't have an excuse for my disobedience, although i know any excuses are irrelevant anyway.

sincerely,
onion, stewing in it's juices.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

i wouldn't give this up

right now for cash.

between the two of you, i have more than i could ever have imagined. i imagine myself strung up, suspended and spread between two poles.

it's amazing the power you have by giving up control.