Wondering About My Submission

In my new years post I mentioned my submissive side still exists. I’m trying to identify what that means to me at the moment.

I think I’m still fighting it. I know rough, kinky, ‘come here and get fucked’ sex can still excite me, but I struggle to explore such fantasies.

I know some things I don’t want right now.
I don’t want to be controlled, I don’t want lifestyle D/s. I’m really enjoying being in control myself and I don’t want anything to take that away or make me feel less strong and capable.
It’s far too easy for me to be submissive in that sense and it’s not good for me.

I still maintain my dislike of rope, pain and fear but reading back I see a desire there for a positive form of submission, one that brings love and approval; I cannot currently imagine receiving that without feeling lessened, diminished.

Yet there is a desire for something, a fantasy I don’t feel safe enough to allow myself to explore right now. Not even here.
Perhaps what I’m waiting for is the right moment with the right person? Who knows.

I’m Only A Tiny Domme

When I first discovered I had a dominant side I did say that it was only tiny.

I don’t feel like a ‘True Domme’. I don’t wear scary boots or rubber. I don’t have hordes of submissive men crawling at my feet. I don’t play elaborate and complicated scenes with people and then throw them out into the night.

It’s not that I want to be all those things. I don’t. I do sometimes feel as though I will be judged as being less than a real Domme for not living up to such images.

I do feel like Mat’s Domme though. He’s my boy and my puppy and I’m utterly comfortable with that.
I recently went out with him to a slightly kinky social gathering. Despite my being achingly shy, I found I actually felt more confident with Mat at my feet playing the puppy. There is something, dare I say it, comforting about having him being submissive with me. A sense of freedom in being ourselves regardless of observers.

Sometimes though even that seems difficult. We slide out of alignment with each other. He becomes irritable and in it I sense his need to be submissive and yet his rejection of it; that in turn leaves me uncertain how to reach him. With each little rejection I find it harder and harder to be dominant, even as I recognise his need for me to be so.

Eventually, somehow, we resynchronise and everything feels better for us both. I’m still left feeling inadequate though. Able to recognise the problem but unable to identify or control the solution.
Unable to be the Domme he needs me to be. Lacking the confidence and the ability to reach his submission even when I can see it lurking beneath the surface.

I do have a Domme side but it’s only tiny.

Cloudbusting

I dislike conflict. Indeed, I’m prepared to admit, excessively so. I find it particularly difficult when I am unsure of the root cause (even when I may be aware of the immediate trigger) and when I don’t have a clear idea how the conflict may be resolved.

That in itself is probably unremarkable. My difficulty lies in the intensity of my reaction. One cloud of disharmony in my emotional sky seems to call the thunder. The rains come, lightning strikes. I am distraught and inconsolable.
I need to find calmness within myself. To be able to think clearly. To continue to function, but I struggle to do so.

One of the readings at a wedding I attended recently was the Apache blessing. It included a reminder that storm clouds visit all relationships, but the sun, though it may not be seen, is still there.
Perhaps I simply need to remember that.

Look, is that the sun?

Waking up

This morning, I’ve come to a realisation. It’s been a bit of a painful process, though I think I’ve not done too badly, all things considered.

Readers of this blog will be aware that towards the end of last year, I (and Caitlin) split up with the gorgeous Amy. My relationship with her was intense; physically, emotionally and D/s. It’s taken a while for me to recover from.

The final part of that happened last night, or more accurately when I woke up this morning.

Last night Caitlin and I went to a lovely play party held by the nice folks at After Pandora. I should have had a really good time, and I did… mostly. I left, however, feeling rubbish. This was entirely my fault, though it was through this black aura that, with Caitlin’s help, I have regained my sense of self belief, and my confidence as a Dom that I had been lacking since splitting up with Amy.

You want some more details? Well here they are:

My polyamorous relationship with Caitlin has been transforming from something that we were considering, evaluating, into something that is definitely looking right for us. As I speak, Caitlin is entertaining our house guest (her boyfriend) in the spare room, and by the sounds of things, both of them are having a lot of fun. I wouldn’t admit it at the time, but this had bothered me a bit the last time it happened. I had a feeling of envy that I thought was because she was getting all the fun, but I now recognise was actually jealousy. The questions going round my mind were ones of ‘how do I compete with the fantastic time Mat is giving her’.

Of course, it is not a competition. Though I do recognise now that I had lost my mojo rather, which does bring us on to last night. At the party I met a lovely lady, whom I certainly hope I’ll talk to (and see)  lots more. But, because I have been in this rather indeterminate state, I rather ignored Caitlin. Now, we’d attended the party to have fun time, and part of that was meeting other people, so this was not, in itself, a problem, but we’d talked about some things that I’d wanted to happen, specifically, I’d wanted to have my cock sucked while people had been watching.

To cut a longish story short I was getting a little tired, and had decided that it was probably time to go when I came across Caitlin just having had sex with one of her friends with benefits. Again, this was completely with our agreed bounds, but instead of being my Dominant self, and insisting that she repeat her efforts with me, I got hugely jealous, spoiled my evening, and left in a huff with her in tow (Apologies to her beau are in order).

I, to be frank, was fucking stupid. I could have turned this rather hot image in front of me into some really hot sex. *sigh*

Caitlin reminded me before we went to sleep, myself still in a terrible mood that she was mine, and if I’d wanted her, I should have just taken her.

Sometime we need to be given a slap round the face, and this is what I required. With those words, she put in place the necessary things for me to sort my house in order.

I’m back, and it feels great!

P.S. I do hope I’ve not put off the lovely lady I met with my indecisive behaviour, I’d like to get to know her better 😉

Making Sense of It

Things have been pretty quiet on the blog and twitter lately. The reason for that of course, is that things have been busy in the real world.

Over the past week there has been a serious explosion of emotional experiences, each different, each fanning out in a different direction. If you imagine one of those domino toppling layouts you’ll probably get the idea. Lots of little pieces, each one individually hardly noticeable, combining together to form a major emotional disruption.

This has been followed inevitably by an attempt to reach resolution. I seem to have been working backwards (perhaps that is the only way to reset dominoes) , tackling one set of feelings before moving on to the next. I’m not quite done yet. And I won’t sleep soundly until I am.

Each problem is unique. A different problem, a different solution. Some emotional, some practical.  Yet, in each case, I’m attempting to process what has happened, where I am, and how I feel about it.

Right now polyamory just seems like a way to hurt in lots of directions at once.

Struggle

So these past few days I’ve been feeling pretty rough. Physically I’m fine, but emotionally I appear to have crashed into a complete mess.

This has been coupled with a real need for kink. Perrin suggested when I got my hair done that I would be more trouble now I was a red-head, and certainly I have been that.

I’ve oscillated between being good girl and bad girl (mostly bad). Searching for some kind of resolution.  I’ve certainly got a reaction. There has been loving support, discipline, and even sex. All of which are things I’ve thought I was looking for, and yet I haven’t felt (or behaved) any better.

Finally Perrin sat down with me this evening, and we talked some more about how I felt. Then with his usual knack of seeing the things I cannot, told me I was struggling with my submission. He is of course completely right.

There is an innate conflict between wanting to submit and the things that means giving up. While I love being owned by Perrin there is a pain to giving up control. The annoyance of being made to stand in the  corner when you want to curl up in bed, or of being denied the right to complain about Sir’s ‘unreasonable’ behaviour. It is a pain heightened by being thrown into an ordinary moment, when submission comes contrary to natural behaviour.

Of course, many people play without that dimension. Keeping D/s neatly in scenes with a beginning and an end.  Our relationship, by choice, is not so neatly compartmentalised.

All of which leaves me struggling to accept how I feel. Realising that I need to embrace my submission instead of fighting it. And writing this makes me feel better already.

Collared

In our recently new found enthusiasm, Perrin and I decided to buy some new toys. We’d not looked very far before we came across a leather goods site which we simply couldn’t pass by without buying something. After much admiration we decided on impulse to buy a collar and some cuffs, and placed an order.

Perrin has never put a collar on me. Our bdsm play has always been implicitly negotiated, starting and ending in a fairly ad hoc manner.  It tends to the informal; playing punctuated by random side comments and discussion. Not that it can’t get quite focused, the whipping this weekend being an example of an impulsive moment which worked perfectly.

I have however worn a collar before. My ex, who we’ll call Sam, gave it to me.

My submissive fantasies have been with me all my life, but I had never given them expression. Sam and I were involved in a long distance vanilla relationship. Occasional weekends of intense sexual activity followed by long periods apart. On one of these weekends he loaned me the first Gor novel by John Norman. I read it, and wrote him a long letter (essay) discussing the story and it’s plausibility for real human relationships. The short version probably goes ‘It’s completely unrealistic but there are some great ideas in there’.

Sam clearly understood what I was saying, because he turned up to see me next with a collar and proceeded to collar me as his slave girl by candlelight getting me to sign (in retrospect) a slightly ridiculous contract. When he left he instructed me to wear my collar in bed every night; which of course I did.

Looking back I remember how seriously I took that collar. When it was on, I was totally focused on being submissive and obedient. I felt owned, and safe. For me to wear a collar is to be submissive. But a submissive without a Master is a sad thing. It was Sam’s attention that made it valuable, his exercising of control that made it meaningful. Later of course we lost all that, but that is another story.

I came home today to be greeted at the door by Perrin. Without warning, he fastened my newly arrived collar on me and proceeded to play with me, including walking me around the house on my leash (it matches the collar – it’s pretty) and fucking me on the dining table (for the first time in ages).

Then he chained me up by my collar and left me. I considered for a while and decided that I could move myself to a more comfortable spot within the confines allowed by the chain.

When he returned he was instantly angry and punished me for having moved, even though he hadn’t told me I wasn’t allowed to. It felt so unfair, and I’m pleased with myself for not talking back to him then; without the collar on, I would have objected loudly, I’m sure. Still it left me unsettled, and we ended up discussing it while he was rewarding me with my orgasm, which felt all wrong to me, still in my collar. I don’t think collared girls ought to criticise their Masters, even if they’re wrong! *grin*

So here I am, feeling we have some way to go to define what a collar means to us; but we have made a start.