I love, love, love the upturn our relationship has taken lately.
Won't kid you, won't lie... I am one pleased bitch these days.
But like anything involving growth, it can be a mixed bag. Sure, I'm thrilled by the "getting closer, relaxing, and letting down our guards" portion of the program but this is a real-life D/s relationship -- Check Your Complacency At The Door.
Lately, he's been starting to utilize "corrections" a bit more. I cannot in all honesty call them "punishments" -- they're really nothing more than brief, intentional reminders of his control. A nipple-flick that lacks the usual hint of playfulness; a swat with just enough additional edge to remind me that it's his choice whether this really hurts or not; a stoppering of the throat for just that miniscule moment too long... Nothing particularly dramatic -- just minute, deliberate checks to my behavior.
I'm not complaining -- this is the kind of challenge that I knew I would eventually face. But it's also one of those situations that you can see coming and still not adequately anticipate. You may think you know how you'll react and yet find yourself stunned by the reality, both of his action and your response.
Because, of course, I don't always agree that the checks are warranted. Sometimes, yes -- and sometimes he's doing it just Because He Can. Both of those instances can be accepted with relative ease, even grace. But every once in a while, there's a genuine misunderstanding and I end up being corrected "unfairly".
Now, nobody ever likes to be wrong but to be wrongly thought to be wrong...? And then to be "punished" as well...??
Somehow I never accounted for that possibility --but here it is.
and oh, the turmoil!!
Feelings of injustice erupt in a positively pyroclastic flow.
I am hurt, I am indignant, I am contrite.
I want to wail in petulance, snarl in ire, AND apologize profusely.
I want to burst into tears.
My inner child wants to stop and argue passionately;
the inner slut recognizes the challenge...
I must struggle to rein in my feelings, to push them aside for now, and regain the single-minded degree of purpose I had just a moment ago.
I must breathe out anger and breathe in calm.
AND I must do all this without biting off anything dear to us both.
(Actually, he must have far more faith in me than I initially assumed...)
So far, I have pulled this off successfully, if with some effort.
And it's a lesson I'm happy to learn -- in the abstract.
If only I didn't keep tripping on the concrete.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
There's Something In The Air Down There
I, Jz -- aptly-named bitch; the one "having to work harder than you might expect to embrace this eventuality with any sort of grace"; originator of the query, "Spit and snot -- this is attractive to you?? ... Really?"...
(Yes, I'm talkin' about ME...)
...spent yet another evening as crumb-catcher under the table, out-slurping the spaghetti-eater chowing down 3 feet above my head, awash in drool (and, um, then some)...
And this time, it was completely voluntary.
Not only that, I loved every minute of it.
:pauses to scratch head:
I'm not entirely certain, but if any of you out there are cosmologists, you might want to take a peek at recent planetary readings -- cuz I think the universe has slipped out of rotation...
(with additional imbalance created by the fact that he later attached my little hot pink nipple suction doo-dads to an absolutely antipodal anatomical region, so that this time I sported the quivering, chubby pink antennae... on my rump.)
Obviously, we are ALL head over teakettle here!
(Yes, I'm talkin' about ME...)
...spent yet another evening as crumb-catcher under the table, out-slurping the spaghetti-eater chowing down 3 feet above my head, awash in drool (and, um, then some)...
And this time, it was completely voluntary.
Not only that, I loved every minute of it.
:pauses to scratch head:
I'm not entirely certain, but if any of you out there are cosmologists, you might want to take a peek at recent planetary readings -- cuz I think the universe has slipped out of rotation...
(with additional imbalance created by the fact that he later attached my little hot pink nipple suction doo-dads to an absolutely antipodal anatomical region, so that this time I sported the quivering, chubby pink antennae... on my rump.)
Obviously, we are ALL head over teakettle here!
Monday, July 16, 2012
You Guys Knew, Didn't You?
You knew the bitch would go under the table...
AND that she'd emerge having eaten her words right along with, um, other things. (In truth, I knew myself -- despite faint misgivings right up until the last moment.)
Those didn't slow me down, tho'. I'd double-swept the kitchen floor, put a little throw rug under the table for my knees, was in the required state of undress, with dinner on the table, beer opened... Ready for the next instruction, sir!
Mind you, there was a slight alteration to the original plan. Before he sat, he actually looked at my table and realized that the old drop-leaf design was simply not going to allow him to sit fully at the table and still leave me room to kneel under it and pleasure him. (The skirt only barely clears a person's thighs.) We'd both be contorted and, let's face it, teeth become a concern at that point.
Not wanting either of us to be damaged in the name of kink, he was going to bag the whole "sous la table" portion of the idea, and just sit sideways to the table with me on the floor to the side. But I suggested a kitty-corner arrangement that still had me tucked down beneath the drop-leaf but outside of the skirt, hence with enough room to get on with my appointed task. (After all that mental pep-talking, I was NOT about to give up unless absolutely required to!)
And it worked - mostly. I did whack the bejeebers out of my head once -- and got a "Watch the beer!" for my pains. (Followed by a gentle hand smoothed over my head.) ;-)
But that simple demonstration of concern completely vanquished the worries of objectification and imbalance and allowed me to slide whole-heartedly into the spirit of the thing. Not that I'm ever reluctant to suck his cock... but this slut lost all her inhibitions down under that table. "BAM!" I dropped into deep submission -- and major voracious worshiping ensued. For which I was greatly rewarded...
One rope tied me to his chair, another bound my boobs to within an inch of bursting, and little pink candles dripped an icing of wax onto my swollen flesh.
(ooh, candles... mmmmmm.... ♪Happy birthday to me♪...)
What were those words I muttered earlier?
"a little faith here, hello?"?
Please remind me of this next time I squawk.
AND that she'd emerge having eaten her words right along with, um, other things. (In truth, I knew myself -- despite faint misgivings right up until the last moment.)
Those didn't slow me down, tho'. I'd double-swept the kitchen floor, put a little throw rug under the table for my knees, was in the required state of undress, with dinner on the table, beer opened... Ready for the next instruction, sir!
Mind you, there was a slight alteration to the original plan. Before he sat, he actually looked at my table and realized that the old drop-leaf design was simply not going to allow him to sit fully at the table and still leave me room to kneel under it and pleasure him. (The skirt only barely clears a person's thighs.) We'd both be contorted and, let's face it, teeth become a concern at that point.
Not wanting either of us to be damaged in the name of kink, he was going to bag the whole "sous la table" portion of the idea, and just sit sideways to the table with me on the floor to the side. But I suggested a kitty-corner arrangement that still had me tucked down beneath the drop-leaf but outside of the skirt, hence with enough room to get on with my appointed task. (After all that mental pep-talking, I was NOT about to give up unless absolutely required to!)
And it worked - mostly. I did whack the bejeebers out of my head once -- and got a "Watch the beer!" for my pains. (Followed by a gentle hand smoothed over my head.) ;-)
But that simple demonstration of concern completely vanquished the worries of objectification and imbalance and allowed me to slide whole-heartedly into the spirit of the thing. Not that I'm ever reluctant to suck his cock... but this slut lost all her inhibitions down under that table. "BAM!" I dropped into deep submission -- and major voracious worshiping ensued. For which I was greatly rewarded...
One rope tied me to his chair, another bound my boobs to within an inch of bursting, and little pink candles dripped an icing of wax onto my swollen flesh.
(ooh, candles... mmmmmm.... ♪Happy birthday to me♪...)
What were those words I muttered earlier?
"a little faith here, hello?"?
Please remind me of this next time I squawk.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Our Love is (apparently) Like a Paddle Boat
So, I've got a real challenge coming at me.
Mind you, it's not much of a humdinger in and of itself. In fact, you'll all probably go, "heh?" when you read what I'm struggling with. But struggling I am, because, well...
OK. This week, I'm supposed to eat dinner before he gets here -- then I will be spending his dinner time under the table.
Sounds wonderfully submissive and hot, doesn't it?
The sort of stuff we dream about, actually -- even me, so clearly it isn't a question of limits or fear. Yet I'm having to work harder than you might expect to embrace this eventuality with any sort of grace.
Partially because the whole "bitch under the table" thing borders on objectification, which, as I think you all know by now, I have issues with. So my desire to submit is struggling madly against my gross distaste for the careless dehumanization that is such a common trope of domination here in Blogland. This, in turn, means that I have to keep reminding myself that he's not one of those seemingly-MCP doms, he's the marvelously thoughtful, balanced dominant I've chosen to give myself over to. Which I honestly feel -- but still, that dehumanizing thing is one of my trigger points, so this is a bit of a challenge.
Further complicating my graceful acceptance is the fact that I'm concerned we'll disturb our new balance. For three years, our relationship focused solely on the D/s side and left the personal side unattended. There were obstacles and frustrations and reasons for this that I understood and accepted but still, it was a relationship out of whack. So, while the kink side may have been moving ahead, with the personal side so firmly anchored, all we did was chug in circles, like a boat that's paddled on only one side.
Lately, however, we've been working at breaking the cycle, relaxing our fears, and balancing the two sides of the relationship a bit better. One of the ways we've done this is through sitting down to dinners together. We chat and laugh and learn some of the vast amount of information we still don't know about each other, then go scene our brains out. :-)
And it works. The momentum created by improvements on one side feeds further improvement on the other, and back and forth, until slowly our little boat has begun to chug ahead in a (reasonably) straight line. But that balance is still new and fragile and I'm not sure I completely trust it yet. So cramming me under the table and saying, "Put a cock in it!" while he dines in hedonistic comfort in the unseen up-above, kind of erodes the feelings of mutuality that previous dinners have helped establish. Which in turn makes me worry that this could be the first step down a slippery slope to our previous ways... And yada, yada, yada.
Of course, I know this is unfair, on many levels.
For one thing, it's just one evening, out of many fine ones we've had recently. I didn't complain when we spent an evening in mostly vanilla fashion, did I? Nor did he. So, hello...? A little faith here? Reciprocity, even?
Nor do I want to get looped back into another circle, no matter what the direction. He's absolutely right to keep tweaking and pushing and growing us -- and progress can't always go in a straight line. Because that would be too much like driving through central Florida for the rest of your life. (Just Say No.)
Nor, finally, does progress have to unfold in strictly "First A, then B" stages. It doesn't matter which side pushes first, as long as they're both paddling. And that, we're doing, so...
Hey... I seem to have talked myself into a more positive frame of mind, here! Hot diggety!
thanks, guys. :-)
Mind you, it's not much of a humdinger in and of itself. In fact, you'll all probably go, "heh?" when you read what I'm struggling with. But struggling I am, because, well...
OK. This week, I'm supposed to eat dinner before he gets here -- then I will be spending his dinner time under the table.
Sounds wonderfully submissive and hot, doesn't it?
The sort of stuff we dream about, actually -- even me, so clearly it isn't a question of limits or fear. Yet I'm having to work harder than you might expect to embrace this eventuality with any sort of grace.
Partially because the whole "bitch under the table" thing borders on objectification, which, as I think you all know by now, I have issues with. So my desire to submit is struggling madly against my gross distaste for the careless dehumanization that is such a common trope of domination here in Blogland. This, in turn, means that I have to keep reminding myself that he's not one of those seemingly-MCP doms, he's the marvelously thoughtful, balanced dominant I've chosen to give myself over to. Which I honestly feel -- but still, that dehumanizing thing is one of my trigger points, so this is a bit of a challenge.
Further complicating my graceful acceptance is the fact that I'm concerned we'll disturb our new balance. For three years, our relationship focused solely on the D/s side and left the personal side unattended. There were obstacles and frustrations and reasons for this that I understood and accepted but still, it was a relationship out of whack. So, while the kink side may have been moving ahead, with the personal side so firmly anchored, all we did was chug in circles, like a boat that's paddled on only one side.
Lately, however, we've been working at breaking the cycle, relaxing our fears, and balancing the two sides of the relationship a bit better. One of the ways we've done this is through sitting down to dinners together. We chat and laugh and learn some of the vast amount of information we still don't know about each other, then go scene our brains out. :-)
And it works. The momentum created by improvements on one side feeds further improvement on the other, and back and forth, until slowly our little boat has begun to chug ahead in a (reasonably) straight line. But that balance is still new and fragile and I'm not sure I completely trust it yet. So cramming me under the table and saying, "Put a cock in it!" while he dines in hedonistic comfort in the unseen up-above, kind of erodes the feelings of mutuality that previous dinners have helped establish. Which in turn makes me worry that this could be the first step down a slippery slope to our previous ways... And yada, yada, yada.
Of course, I know this is unfair, on many levels.
For one thing, it's just one evening, out of many fine ones we've had recently. I didn't complain when we spent an evening in mostly vanilla fashion, did I? Nor did he. So, hello...? A little faith here? Reciprocity, even?
Nor do I want to get looped back into another circle, no matter what the direction. He's absolutely right to keep tweaking and pushing and growing us -- and progress can't always go in a straight line. Because that would be too much like driving through central Florida for the rest of your life. (Just Say No.)
Nor, finally, does progress have to unfold in strictly "First A, then B" stages. It doesn't matter which side pushes first, as long as they're both paddling. And that, we're doing, so...
Hey... I seem to have talked myself into a more positive frame of mind, here! Hot diggety!
thanks, guys. :-)
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Water on Stone
I don't think it's fair to say that he is changing me -- I think we are changing me, that our dynamic is subtly altering my way of thinking.
Because changes there are.
Nothing dramatic, mind you.
I haven't, like, run out and gotten a vanity plate that announces "FUKT01" to the world, or anything like that.
But I'm not reacting to things the same way I did four years ago, either.
You may remember that the whole reason for this blog's name is because I had SUCH a hard time reconciling myself to being referred to as a bitch. Oooh, I didn't care for that at ALL!
Yet now, not only do I adore being called, "my bitch" but he's even coined a diminutive version of the term that actually makes me go all girly-mushy and weak at the knees. (*rolls eyes at self*)
But we can't let that comfort rest, can we? Oh, no. Instead, his next step has been to add "whore" to the list of verbal praises given. Now, whore, as SP can tell you from personal experience, is NOT a word that I've ever been able to accept with any degree of grace or equanimity.
("Duck and Cover!" would be a more accurate description of the reaction previous usages have elicited…) And I won't lie -- the word still disconcerts me -- but only for a second now. Then the beginnings of a tingle start at the back of my mind and I find myself nodding in agreement...
But even that's not enough, apparently.
Patient,sneaky determined dominant that he is, he's also been pushing the envelope on a more physical level, exploring my reactions to, hmmm... what to call it? It's not exactly exhibitionism. I'm not having to expose any naughty bits, thank you, lord. (And my neighbors thank you, too...) But the venues for activity are getting a little more public, rather more risky... and a lot more trepidation-inducing.
Hmmmm....
A subbie friend asked me if I found this a turn on.
I'll be honest... "Hawt!" is not the first thing that comes to mind. The reaction I most register is surprise -- because I haven't balked at all.
He tells me what I am to do, I point out the aspects of the situation that unnerve me, he says, "OK"... and proceeds to wait calmly for me to continue. Which, without further thought, I do. And not because I'm certain he'll protect me -- he actually goes out of his way to convey the impression that his attention is focused entirely elsewhere from the areas where I'd hoped for vigilance. Rather, he puts me in a situation that, before meeting him, I would never have been able to picture myself enduring. At least, not without much annoyance, squealing, and slapping of hands.
Yet the current reality has become one where none of my previous concerns seem to matter. To a point, in fact, that beggars belief.
The situation certainly registers, there's still a tiny voice in the back of my head trying to trigger my fight response... but it's not getting anywhere.
Because somehow, that self-protection is no longer my job.
THIS, right here, right now, has turned into the only thing I care about.
It's a very weird realization for me. And the most disconcerting part of it all is that I'm not even appalled in hindsight. Distance does not change my perspective. Instead, I'm still wrapped in the happy certainty that I've got my priorities right.
Really, really odd...
Mind you, I haven't completely succumbed to his channeling yet, either. My nipples remain unpierced, for example.
But I strongly suspect that the fact that I've dummied a pic in photoshop just to see what they would actually look like on me is an indication of further shifting ground ahead...
oh my
Because changes there are.
Nothing dramatic, mind you.
I haven't, like, run out and gotten a vanity plate that announces "FUKT01" to the world, or anything like that.
But I'm not reacting to things the same way I did four years ago, either.
You may remember that the whole reason for this blog's name is because I had SUCH a hard time reconciling myself to being referred to as a bitch. Oooh, I didn't care for that at ALL!
Yet now, not only do I adore being called, "my bitch" but he's even coined a diminutive version of the term that actually makes me go all girly-mushy and weak at the knees. (*rolls eyes at self*)
But we can't let that comfort rest, can we? Oh, no. Instead, his next step has been to add "whore" to the list of verbal praises given. Now, whore, as SP can tell you from personal experience, is NOT a word that I've ever been able to accept with any degree of grace or equanimity.
("Duck and Cover!" would be a more accurate description of the reaction previous usages have elicited…) And I won't lie -- the word still disconcerts me -- but only for a second now. Then the beginnings of a tingle start at the back of my mind and I find myself nodding in agreement...
But even that's not enough, apparently.
Patient,
Hmmmm....
A subbie friend asked me if I found this a turn on.
I'll be honest... "Hawt!" is not the first thing that comes to mind. The reaction I most register is surprise -- because I haven't balked at all.
He tells me what I am to do, I point out the aspects of the situation that unnerve me, he says, "OK"... and proceeds to wait calmly for me to continue. Which, without further thought, I do. And not because I'm certain he'll protect me -- he actually goes out of his way to convey the impression that his attention is focused entirely elsewhere from the areas where I'd hoped for vigilance. Rather, he puts me in a situation that, before meeting him, I would never have been able to picture myself enduring. At least, not without much annoyance, squealing, and slapping of hands.
Yet the current reality has become one where none of my previous concerns seem to matter. To a point, in fact, that beggars belief.
The situation certainly registers, there's still a tiny voice in the back of my head trying to trigger my fight response... but it's not getting anywhere.
Because somehow, that self-protection is no longer my job.
THIS, right here, right now, has turned into the only thing I care about.
It's a very weird realization for me. And the most disconcerting part of it all is that I'm not even appalled in hindsight. Distance does not change my perspective. Instead, I'm still wrapped in the happy certainty that I've got my priorities right.
Really, really odd...
Mind you, I haven't completely succumbed to his channeling yet, either. My nipples remain unpierced, for example.
But I strongly suspect that the fact that I've dummied a pic in photoshop just to see what they would actually look like on me is an indication of further shifting ground ahead...
oh my
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