The 9 Service Languages | Intensive Session Wrap Up Thoughts

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On Sunday, I wrapped up my first small group FULL INTENSIVE workshop that spanned 6+ hours over the course of 2 days. Anyone who has sat through my Intro class knows, The 9 Service Languages is a fucking BIG IDEA! When I first launched my class, I naively believed it could be tackled in a typical 90-minute or 2-hour session. I quickly learned that was impossible and that few platforms (cons, orgs, mtgs) had the ability to hold space for me and attendees to get DEEP in the weeds of WIITWD as it relates to Service. I am PROFOUNDLY HONORED that @S-O-C—the Service Oriented Conference—reached out to me earlier this year to be a part of their inaugural Intensive Program. They were the perfect partner with the perfect target audience for an Intensive of The 9 Service Languages of Authority Transfer Relationships/Dynamics. The session allowed me to work with a small group as we got our hands dirty, dissecting where, when, how, and why we do Service and considered ways to adjust, tweak, evol...
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Flesh Privileges

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Sometimes a bitch just needs to be snatched up. 
A slow harmless caress that gently eases into thought-shattering pain. 
In a heartbeat nothing mattered in my world but where His hand touched me.

No passersbys on their way home from their Manhattan commute.
No dog walkers following their four-legged companions along crowded sidewalks.
No city bike riders feet from His driver's side door.

All that mattered was my surrender to Him and the pain that echoed throughout my body.
I needed His touch and bruising acts of methodical violence more than I needed my next breath.
My world simply felt better suffering under Him.

My masochist woke from her slumber and wept in relief.
My Lioness stirred for the first time in weeks, listening in case He called.
My whore longed for Him to spread her legs and take everything and anything He wanted from her.

My dress crept up my thighs even as slickness drenched them.
My hands clenched and teeth dug into my bottom lip.
I lost count of my quiet whimpers.

No words were necessary.
Though I wonder now what He thought.
As His fingertips stained my flesh and nails raked my soft smooth skin.

This woman?  This bitch?
This pain slut?  This piece of property?
Mine? 

What does this Man thinks when I shamelessly embrace His cruel touch damn near in public without hesitation?
I don't know.
I may never know.

But my body knows and welcomes His every touch.
Soaks it up like rain falling on the desert sand.
And on that Brooklyn street tonight, His pain felt like thunder warning of a coming storm.
~DominaKat

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