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In Tatters

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I knelt at His feet in the utter mess I’d made. My struggle to succeed was stark. No one had ever seen me so disheveled…in such embarrassing circumstances. As He cleaned me up for the second time two minutes, I looked up to meet His steady gaze and tried to gauge his reaction. Disgust at another disastrous, completely unimpressive act of service? Frustrated at my inability to get it together? Sadistically amused at another ridiculous unglamorous predicament I’d once again found myself in? I knew he was taking in every fucking minute detail of the wreck before Him and squirreling it away in the vault of His mind, but what did He feel? His stoic expression offered me no hint. Without comment He stood firm in front of me. Fuckin unwavering. He hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t stepped back. I swear He may have even leaned in. As soon as I’d semi-collected myself, I began my third attempt even as I tried in vain to push the remaining proof of my ineptitude out of view, hoping it would simply
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Whip Lash

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The first time I heard a whip crack in my presence was a lightning strike. Electricity danced up and down my spine, bit my nipples, and seized my pussy in a vice grip.  Luckily I’d more than mastered the art of masking my sexuality by my late thirties and managed to keep from cumming on my good friend’s lawn chair as her husband continued to practices his throws. With every crack that rang through the air, everything in me responded with a “ Fuck yes...THAT. ” Me being me, it only took a minute or two before I asked for a try. My friend snickered and warned me not to kill myself while her husband raised an eyebrow in typical amused hetero-male doubt. I’d seen that look more often than you can image throughout my life.  He handed my the coiled serpent. I asked a few quick questions about stance, rotation, and placement of wrist snaps.  As soon as I began to swing that six foot bullship's beautiful weight above my head, I felt in perfect synch.   Fuck yes...THIS.  The dance
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My Sacred

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At my soul...at my very foundation and root is M/s. "The things which are sacred or precious to us are the things we withdraw from promiscuous sharing." ~Howard Roark, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand Sacred  | ˈsākrid | adjective   regarded with great respect and reverence by a particular religion, group, or individual The Dominance of Owner. The submission of property The Power/Authority Exchange. Simply  sacred . M/s entwines itself across every core element. Of my existence. And delves so deeply into my soul. I will not. C annot. Promiscuously share. Sacred. My sacred... Is not a kinky game. Or haphazard wrapper. Or just spicy sex. It's not pretend. Or a mirage. Or a costume. Or part-time. Submissive property. Is who and what I am. Even if I'm simply waiting. To be Owned. Claimed Treasured. Led. Sacred. To serve. To please. To be used. To support, encourage, guard, protect, love, ADORE. To give... All the best I have. To bel
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Soul Searcher

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I do not know how to do surface level. Ask any of the few men I've been in a relationship with, and they are likely to say I know them better than anyone including the women they were married to for more than a decade or their mothers. I go deep. Soul deep. Every. Damn. Time. It's just how I'm wired. I don't know how to do chitchat or meaningless casual flings. I'm awkward at them. Besides, those are for silly games and temporary pleasures. Neither of which I indulge in often. Fluff and bullshit do not sate me. I want the richness that comes with depth of knowledge, vulnerability, and soul searing truth between partners. I crave the whispered confessions between us after night falls and the angry explosions of real when pushed against the wall. No...my soul searching is not always comfortable. Truth rarely is. Life, society, circumstances, and pain often force most of us to create illusions and deceptions to hide our souls from the world. We do
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Broken Rules

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Last Wednesday marked one year since we met. Flashbacks to that evening and those initial days have plagued me the last week. How quickly life can shift. Four days before we'd met, I’d sent a follow up email after a TES class to another attendee. It had been my first TES class, and I'd been a couple minutes late, missing the initial intros. Turned out I emailed the wrong contact. What a blessing. ( Sidenote: Thank you again, Sherpa, for your inadvertent match making!!! ) Kwesi and I met days later. Though it had only been intended as a casual networking connection over a drink, that evening turned out to be the sexiest first date, I’ve ever had. From the moment I saw Him, looking down that New York City avenue with his hands in His pockets, something settled in me. My instincts instinctively whispered, “Yes, Him.” There were no nervous butterflies or awkward moments that simple Spring Tuesday evening. Instead there was an easy calm unlike any energy I’d ever felt with a Man.
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My Masochist's Betrayal

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There in the too well lit room where I couldn't hide, He rained down Pain.  It's what I wanted.  I am a masochist after all.  I escaped the world at large until only three elements remained: Him, my body, and Pain. The music faded.  The Sadistic sounds of the other couples crammed near us disappeared.  The voyeurs became an indistinguishable blur.  And my pride...my pride was nowhere to be fucking found. I was grateful for every damn bit He gave me.  I greedily drank up His violence, lapping at it like a dog on a hot August day.  I never got to safeword stage.  It was never too much.  I wanted...no...needed to suffer.  Maybe I needed it too damn much.  Lap, lap, lap...I lapped it up, searching for the usual sweetness only to find a dusty bitter tang. Every smack of His palm, crack of the crop, slap of the flogger exploded across my skin and within the landscape of my mind like a chaotic bomb.  I was neither tranquil or calm or peaceful or serene.  I moaned, whimpered, sho
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Enthusiastic Assent for My submission

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I had to suffer through some brutal, long-term lessons before I fully comprehended what I now consider the Number One rule in submission (after the overarching fundamentals of trust, respect, honor, etc. that apply to both the D and the s.) I can ONLY give as much as He will TAKE. I wish someone had explained that to me at the beginning of my journey.  Though, I'm not sure it would have made a difference.  I can't tell you how many have verbally proclaimed on countless occasions that they valued and wanted everything I had to give only to prove the exact opposite in action.  Whether due to misaligned/misaligned expectations or outright mirages and lies, it didn't matter how many ways I submitted or how well I submitted, I eventually had no choice but to face being... untaken... unwanted... unneeded. Over time, my emotional wounds and physical frustration became devastating.  Imagine a torrential wall of hot lava (submission) fueled by a mountain of thunderous eruptio
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Tell Me "No"

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Floggers, crops, whips, rope...heady, sexy, yummy toys of kink.  The showmanship, the Pain, the obvious position of Power and Authority to submission are tangible, bold opportunities to share intimate experiences with one another, especially those in D/s dynamics.  Yet, often a simple, reasonable, deftly placed "No" lands much deeper and last much longer than a night's pretty bruises or vicious lashes.  In fact an occasional denial (preferably accompanied with a why) is essential to a healthy Power Exchange relationship. A "No" in a sea of "Yes" demonstrates that He listens. A "No" because He wants that Privilege with me shows He still desires me. A "No" draws a Boundary that reassures me. A "No" to keep me safe reminds me how much He values His property. A "No" to make me uncomfortable allows me to please and amuse His Sadism. A "No" once again establishes His Control. A &quo
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